Survive and Conquer match RP thread

[Andy D]

This Kind Of Stuff Happes To Me All The Time

Sometimes I wonder just how I get into these situations. And then other times I remember… unfortunately

Action Packed Wrestling is hosting a little match that allows wrestlers from outside their organisation to partake in. Pure Class Wrestling, the place where I work, decided to send a couple of our starts to compete in this match. Put of the four competitors our place is sending across, we have our World Champion who decided to backstab his friends, his fans and seemingly everyone else who supported him without any kind of explanation, a guy who has the worst case of bipolar disease making him almost a Jekyll and Hyde kind of guy, and a Drunkard who genuinely believes he’s a pirate.

I don’t know if they sent me to be ‘the normal one’ or if everybody has a completely different opinion on my mental state than I do.

To be fair I wasn’t just selected at random to represent the fed, I volunteered. Or to be more accurately, I was volunteered without my say so. The people who decided to sign me up without my knowledge? My ‘life advisors’, which just to be extra annoying, would actually mean they were doing their jobs.

Ok, let me explain this a bit. I was out of work. I was in denial about being out of work, appearing in the odd match here and there, but in truth I was out of work. Jackle and Menace were some old acquaintances of mine, I used to use them as my training dummies just after I graduated from wrestling school. Menace had been doing some work for PCW as a podcaster (or ‘audio… thing’ as he used to call them) and obviously had some connections within the promotion. Their bright idea (which wasn’t that bright) was to get me to make them money. In simple terms it is actually a good idea. The problem is things is never that simple.

Being former PCW wrestlers themselves, going under the tag team name 2Guys, Jackle and Menace knew that they could get me a spot on the roster if they asked. So they made me an offer I wish I refused. In return for getting me into PCW, they would have to become my ‘life advisors’ which meant they would decide stuff like my wardrobe, entrance, gimmicks and the like. Or at least, that’s what they thought anyway.

Now before you decide on whether this was a good idea or not you need to know a few things about the 2Guys. The biggest and most important thing you need to know is that they’re idiots. They make dumb and dumber look like MIT graduates. Give you an example. The old Joke ‘What’s the capital of France’ and instead of Paris you say the answer is F, because that’s the capital letter in France. The 2Guys said that it was B… because B was the capital letter of Berlin. This made sense to nobody else but them. As I said, stupid

The other thing you should know is that they have little attention span. They constantly change their plans and ideas shortly after making them, sometimes even in the middle of making them. It was this fact that I had counted on when I agreed to let them be my ‘life advisors’ hoping that they’d forget about me in a couple of weeks and everything would all be over.

I’m not that lucky

Hopefully this explains why I was able to be volunteered without consultancy. It might also go to explain what happened one Tuesday afternoon prior to the PPV event. I’d gotten used to these ‘meetings’ that I had been having in my little hideaway. That makes it sound a bit cooler (or creepier) than it actually was. I rent an apartment that’s above a training gym, which I train in quite regularly. Towards the back of the gym were several, often unused rooms. So I’ve basically set up shop in one of them. Turned it into a bit of a locker room, got a bench to lie back and relax on (you’ll find I do that a lot), and there’s a table for my manager to work at.

Lucy Hunt is difficult to describe for me. Sometimes she’s the most amazing person in the world, like when she books me in for promotional tours and leaves days free in the middle for me to relax and have fun. Then there are other times when she’s the devil in disguise, like when she convinced me to take the 2Guys offer to become my life managers.

Most of the time, however, she tended to just sit at her little table, nose buried in a pile of books and papers of stuff I really don’t want to know about, and gets on with her work. We speak about business when needed and other stuff when we feel like it. Otherwise we just tend to let each other get on with whatever we want to get on with.

The 2Guys on the other hand tend to show up when they want, annoy me with whatever inane idea they have at that moment whether I want them to or not, then just leave, with me usually baffled by whatever happened.

Which is exactly what happened that Tuesday. Lucy was working away on whatever she works away at long before I even showed up at the room. I took my usual spot on my bench and lied back. “Don’t get too comfortable” Lucy said without even raising her head “I think Jackle and Menace are planning to drop by”

I groaned. I groaned even louder when they burst through my door with their usual “Andy” Greeting. As they started to kick into their usual spiel, I wondered if they took the time to register if I was there. I later learned that the 2Guys could go on for almost a minute before realising I wasn’t in the room, when they would promptly leave and try again another day. I thought of those times as lucky escapes from then on.

“Have we got an idea for you” Menace said, which translated as ‘Have we got a headache for you’

“Survive and Conquer is coming up soon” Jackle informed, before sighing blissfully “you against 85 other people”

“Man, I wish we could lose against 85 other people” Menace added. I should point out here that the 2Guys wrestling career was based off losing, the knowledge that they were going to lose, and the general enjoyment of losing. The only thing that would be better for them to be in this match would be if they were the last entrants in this match, only one other person who was in the ring who was completely exhausted and even a feather could throw them out of the ring… and for them THEN to lose.

“You realise I’m not planning on losing” I said, finally sitting up on my bench

“Of course not” Menace exclaimed

“We want you to win” Jackle added. The whole reason they wanted to be my life advisors was so that I could win more money wrestling that they could losing. I had to be honest, for a couple of idiots it was a really good plan.

“To help you win” Menace started while I thought ‘here it comes’ “We’ve got you a new gimmick.” Fantastic! And for those of you who don’t know me, that was a sarcastic fantastic (which, I’ve noted down, is a great name for a band). Ever since we started this arrangement the 2Guys have been trying to give me a new gimmick. The problem is that they’ve been trying to give me more and more ridiculous ideas each time.

Case in point, when the 2Guys pulled out a display chart, setting it to a page with a photo shopped image of me in a very brightly coloured pink and yellow costume. Before they even said anything I blurted out “I am not wearing spandex”

“It’s not spandex” Menace started”

“It’s lycra. There’s a difference” Jackle added in the way that those idiots seem to just finish each others sentences “We checked” He added.

“Ok, Ok, Ok.” Menace said in a similar way to Joe Pesci’s character from the lethal weapon movies. “You don’t like that idea, we have other ideas” I groaned again.

“Up next…” Jackle changed the page on the chart. On it was another photo shopped picture, this time with me in a black mask, a hat and a cape. “The mark of Dee!” Jackle said very dramatically

“You’d go around, saving oppressed people and leaving your mark, a D, on all those evil tyrants” Menace explained

“Oppressed people?” I asked “And who would these oppressed people be exactly?”

“Well…” Menace started, and you could literally hear the gears turning in his head. And of course those gears had no teeth so it made things really difficult to come up with an answer.

“Maybe the fans?” Jackle finally chirped up

“Yes” Menace came back excitedly “The fans are always oppressed with high ticket prices and bad confectionary choices”

“Ok,” I started, pausing for a moment “So who would be the oppressor in this situation?”

“The arena managers?” Jackle suggested

“The Promotion heads?” Menace suggested in a similar manor

“Let me get this straight” I started “You wanted me to go around attacking and defacing the people who pay me to appear?”

There was a long pause as the 2Guys looked at each other, silently communicating. “Ok” Menace finally broke the silence “Next idea”

After flipping a couple of pages, Jackle finally spoke out “You know what, you wont like this idea”

“Oh” Was all I could say in response

“Right” Menace confirmed “I mean if you didn’t like our best idea and our second best idea, there’s no way you’d like our third best idea”

“You don’t have any more ideas do you” I stated, seeing through their charade

“Nope” Jackle confirmed

“Those last two ideas took ages to come up with” Menace explained

I sighed, heavily “Why am I doing this?” I rhetorically asked. I was mainly referencing this whole discussion from a couple of people who’s combined IQ is about a quarter of the average persons trying to change, in effect, who I was. The response I got wasn’t assuming my question was rhetorical and was in reference to the upcoming match

“Well you’re in this match for a few reasons” Jackle started

“A lot of reasons in fact” Menace added

“I can think of one very big reason off the top of my head” Jackle added again

“Yeah, that one hundred thousand dollar prize would be really nice to win” I said.

This caught Lucy’s attention, and she looked up in confusion “Isn’t the prize five hundred thousand dollars?” She asked. I immediately looked at the 2Guys who looked like rabbits caught in headlights.

“Err… well” Menace started off “We… err… had to take our twenty percent?”

“Twenty Percent?” Lucy asked “How does twenty percent leave Andy with just a hundred grand?”

“Well, two hundred for me” Jackle started “And another two hundred for him… all that’s left was what we offered Andy”

Ok, first off, they can’t work out percentage but some how still manage to get all three numbers to add up to the actual total. Somehow I felt a calculator had been used.

“Oh well” Lucy sighed “as long as I get my cut I don’t care how you divide up the rest”

“Hey!” I exclaimed, slightly annoyed “Don’t I get a say in this”

“No!” Was the very quick response I got from all three of them, I sighed in defeat.

“How about we start talking strategy” Jackle changed the subject after a few moments silence.

“Oh yeah” Menace excitedly bust out “We have a great strategy for you to use in the match”

“I almost dread to ask” I thought out loud

“Don’t get eliminated” Jackle said with look of beaming pride on his face

I paused, waiting for the rest of their strategy. When nothing was said for about 30 seconds, I finally spoke up “Is that it?” I asked

“No of course not” Menace explained and I sighed in relief. I was about to say ‘for a moment there I was worried, when Menace cut me off “Eliminate other people at every opportunity.” He said with the same look of beaming pride

“As strategies go” I started, diplomatically “It’s a bit obvious.”

“If you don’t try the obvious plans” Jackle started “Your goals may never be obtained” ‘Wow’ I thought ‘that was a bit deep for them’

“This pearl of wisdom was brought to you by the fortune cookie from last nights Chinese meal” Menace said in his best presenter’s voice. Of course the wisest thing they’ve said was from a fortune cookie.

“Its not like you can plan anything more than that anyway” Lucy added with a sense of logic “You don’t know most of the people in the match”

“Except the other people from PCW” Jackle quickly added

“So what,” I calmly responded “It’s not the first time I’ve been in a match against people I don’t know.”

“True” Menace redundantly added

“But this is a lot of people you don’t know. In a match that will probably get crazy very quickly” Lucy again tried to bring down my mood

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a crazy match, managed to keep my head and not let the crazy cost me the match”

“He has a point” Jackle threw out

“Lets not forget that you will have to some how survive past all those people you don’t know, and a couple that you do know, heavily exhausted trying to just stay upright when the last entrant finally arrives and still have enough energy to finish off the last few people in order to actually win this” Lucy again pointed out

“Well it’s a good thing that this isn’t the first time I’ve been up against impossible odds, fought through sweat, blood and pain to conquer all opponents despite being almost destroying my body to come out on top and win one of the biggest matches I’ve ever participated in” I proudly said

I looked at the quizzical looks from all three of the other people in the room for a few moments before I finally asked “That’s never happened to me has it?”

“Nope” “No way” “Sorry”

I sighed in defeat, again. But then I brightened up “Maybe this will be different” I said “There’s a first time for everything right? Maybe this will be the first time I overcome insane odds to win a match. Maybe there’ll be a first time where Lucy comes in and doesn’t bury her nose in all that stuff” I waved my hand towards Lucy and her table where she responded with a slightly annoyed look “Maybe there will be a first time where you two would come up with an idea I actually like”

“Maybe there will” Menace said hopefully

“Maybe we’ll go and do that right now!” Jackle added and started to drag Menace out of the room. I sighed in relief at finally getting rid of those two

“Nice job convincing them to go away” Lucy said, obviously annoyed with the 2Guys as much as I was.

“Thanks” I responded “Nice job with the reverse psychology trying to pump me up”

“You noticed that huh?” Lucy playfully said. I moved to lie back down on my bench to relax “Shouldn’t you get back to training” My manager asked me

“I’m suppose to have a 20 minute rest” I said

“You’ve been in here longer than 20 minutes” Lucy shot back

“Yes, but it was dealing with them” I waved my hand to where Jackle and Menace had been standing “That is not restful” Lucy just nodded in agreement and got back to her work.

After a minute or so, I’d picked up a furniture catalogue that had randomly been on the floor. Flicking through the pages I stopped on one. “Wow, this looks interesting” I said out loud. Lucy made some sort of noise to indicate she was listening but still working. “It’s a chair, draped in fabric, which you can have in either black or light brown. Its got four stumps at the bottom raising the base off the ground, its otherwise box shaped with a reclining back, which a footstool then appears from the base when it goes back. Rounded arms and headrest. Eighty five centimetres in width, ninety four centimetres in depth and 97 centimetres in height, although the seat itself is fifty four by fifty four by forty five. The fabric cover is even removable and machine washable.”

Lucy stared at me for a good minute before asking “Why the hell did you tell me that?”

“I don’t know” I started “Just felt like I had to describe something”

“And why the hell is it in metric?” She asked again

“Huh” I muttered in puzzlement before closing the catalogue and staring at its back “You know I might have brought this back from the UK last time I was there” I suggested as an excuse

“Sometimes I think you’re just as stupid as the 2Guys” Lucy said in frustration and irritation. We both looked at each other for a moment

“Nah, that’s not even possible”

[goldenboyent]

ONE LIFE TO LIVE
"Fifty Thousand Bullets"



January 25th 2012
Day after Phoenix Wrestling’s Redemption

9:48 A.M EST

Right after my title defense against that old ‘hag’ in Jinx, quickly boarding the American Airlines plane, all eyes was on “Survive and Conquer”. The redness in my eyes had slowly disappeared from the much-needed rest during the flight to Miami. All I could think about was delivering disappointment to the face of Johnny Rebel and being one of the final four left in. It was just me and EMPIRE to take out the stale garbage that would enter that ring. Right now, I had some much needed business to take care of.

With the plane finally landing down at Miami International Airport, with my black suitcase in hand, Giorgio Armani suit and Versace glasses, I was ready to take care of business as it was a ‘make or break’ deal.

“Can I take that for you, Sir?”

The limousine driver asked as I was in close approach of the vehicle. Nodding my head as I came to a halt, he took my suitcase and put it in the trunk as he closed it. Entering the limousine, the driver closed my door as I was seated. Re-entering the driver’s side, he closed his door as he looked into the mirror, looking at me.

“Where’s the location, Sir?”

“Twenty-fifth and Oakton Street … Right by the Pier!”

Nodding his head as he held two fingers up.

“Alrighty, Sir … Thank You!”

The limousine took off immediately after that as I rested my head back, gathering all together before approaching the Pier.

………………………………

10:53 A.M
25th & Oakton Street – Fishing Dock/Pier

Arriving close to the designated time of 11 o’clock, the limo driver quickly got out of the limo to open my door as he retrieved my suitcase from the trunk and delivering it to my hands as he closed all the doors while getting back into the limo and remaining there for the time being. Looking around for my apprentices, absolutely nothing was seen or heard as I decided to take a few steps. After those three steps forward, a ‘click-clack’ of feet were heard as the recognizable bodies were then visible behind one of the small, abandoned Pier warehouses. Four individuals who I definitely found out that I could count on were needed for service once more.

Going up to each one, I gave them a firm ‘President’ like handshake as I backed off a few feet with the suitcase in hand. I then kneeled down slightly to sit the suitcase on the concrete. Their arms were folded, gaining their full attention as they waited for my next proposal. Before I started, I chose to acknowledge their work for what they did at the recent airing of Redemption, coming out and keeping the hired ‘Cabinet’ away from me, clobbering them down with ease to end the night on a high note.

“Before I say anything pertaining to what is next … I want to congratulate you four for coming out there and once again beating down the competition and being my bodyguards. ‘The Cabinet’ could have stuck their nose in the ring and cause me to lose my title. Luckily you were there and worked as a team to put them down.”

Bowing down with a gracious smile, they slapped each other on the back for their work.

Goon(#1) “After what we have done the past several weeks, I’m beginning to love doing this kind of work on a daily grind.”

With him saying that, it was going to lead in to what I was going to talk about.

Goon (#2) “Yeah, this shit is what we do … We never got paid for it until now … We got yo’ back man, whenever needed!”

Nodding my head to his line, I was surely banking on his promise of having my back and doing what was needed.

“Good to know that because that leads me right to the next task. Kill that fucking maggot, Johnny Rebel. You did half of the job with his friend, Sarah … Now you’re in to finish it up!”

All four showed their teeth with smiles as they rolled their hands along the knuckles of their fists. Working them around slowly, they began cracking them.

Goon(#1) “How you want em’ … Dead or badly beaten but still able to breathe?”

“I want him DEAD … He’s going to be alongside a friend, Steve Saunders. Get them both … better yet, just demolish it!”

Nodding their heads to the information on the task, I opened the suitcase as I pulled out a manila folder with a paperclip on it as the label on it read “John R.” abbreviated enough to fit the short label.

“This is what he looks like!”

All four looked at the information with a mug photo attached via paperclip as two of the members in the squad shook their head.

Goon (#3) “Damn if that dude ain’t ugly … Shit!”

Shaking my head for a moment before showing a small crack of a smile, I straightened my face up quickly, pointing my finger.

“Stay on task … You have only one shot to pull this off without being seen or caught.”

All four looked at each other with a nod and a dapping of fists as the leader of the group grabbed a hold of the folder with all the needed information.

“I’m counting on you to take care of business … five hundred grand at stakes here. You already have two hundred and fifty grand for taking out his ‘baby’. You take care of this and you will certainly receive the ‘pay day’ of your dreams.”

Looking at all four’s eyes for sincerity, it looked like the plan was fully in effect. I looked behind myself to see the black, dull-painted Passenger Van as they caught sight of it behind the limousine.

“There is your transportation … weapons are inside. One of you will be the driver, one will be the ‘shotgun’ and two will ride the back and all should be a ‘breeze’.”

All four ran towards the van with the mentioning of the weapons. Opening the passenger door, they saw the money put into the selection of weapons as they approved.

Goon (#2) “Nooooiicceeee! Gonna be like Elliot Ness and Dillinger all up in dat’ shit!”

“Just make sure to do the job ‘clean’, because if anyone see’s you and describe you to the officer, my black ass ain’t getting ya’ll out … All I can say is just not to drop the soap!”

Having to stick that statement in there caused them to raise an eyebrow. I was not about to go pay for their bail to get them out, not at all. You’re just hired men, not friends … They looked to have a problem with that.

“Just to cover it all, you got the information, the location, the transportation and weapons. I believe you are all set. Go tear shit up! Call me when all is done!”

With a “peace” sign, I backed up a few steps before pivoting down on my foot and spinning around towards the limousine as I shot a smirk at the four with another quick “peace” sign before inserting myself in the limousine. Closing the door, the limousine began backing up.

“That’s how you take out the trash …”

Saying that to myself, the limousine was back on the move. Next location for me, meeting up at the desired hotel in downtown Miami, meeting up with EMPIRE’s BAD ASS and Seth Black for a meeting of the minds. Time was slowly ticking away and the 29th was hours away from being reached. With everything on my end set, all should be fine come time to battle.

………………………………

1:35 P.M
Downtown Miami – Hotel

It had reached the “after” part of Noon. I was feeling much better, awake and alert. After a quick bite from one of the many small restaurants in the district, the limo driver had safely reached the next destination point, the ‘Cardigan Hotel’. Somewhat high class, but not expensive. Getting out of the limousine.

“Hey, I’ll be here for a while … Why don’t you go and get yourself some food or rest? Here …”

Reaching into my pockets, I whipped out a hundred bucks in two fifties as I handed it to the driver. Food and a place to rest. An early tip for the work of hauling me around town. Closing the door, I made my way inside the hotel and meeting at the Kiosk desk, a blonde-haired lady was the first to serve me.

“Hello, welcome to the ‘Cardigan Hotel’ … How can I assist you?”

With a pearly white smile awaiting my service, I leaned my hands onto the desk.

“Yeah … I’m looking for a couple of men, we are supposed to be having a meet. Seth Black and BAD ASS.”

Looking down at her log, she looked back up with confirmation.

“Yes, Room 143 … up the steps and down the hall to your right!”

She said as she maintained the smile. Nodding my head I quickly scatted up the steps, taking a left and heading down the hall, overly repeating myself “Room 143” until I came up on it, the last room on the left side of the hall. Without having to knock, the blusterous music and laughter with the including of fumes that were leaking underneath the door. The sounds of Wiz Khalifa was hammering the door. There was no need to knock on the door due to the possibility of no hearing the knock. Plus, it was a crease in the door, meaning that it was pretty much open. Pushing the door, a blast of smoke smacked me ‘dead’ in the face as the fumes inserted themselves up into my nostrils.

“So I see ya’ll bastards started the party without me!”

Both Seth and BAD ASS were as high as the Monument. BAD ASS got up and gave me a dap of fist before handing over one that was untouched.

“We were waiting on you, homie … All is good?”

BAD ASS asked, wondering about the scheduled “hit”. I nodded my head as my eyes rested upon the neatly, rolled-up joint.

“My boys got that handled … Should be a clean sweep at “S & C!”

With a wink, I took the joint, stuck it in my mouth and used BAD ASS’s lighter to light it as I took a puff before exhaling what I consider the ‘good life’ into the cloud of smoke in the room.

“You know you should not leave the door open, homie!”

“No wonder you got in with such ease!”

BAD ASS said as he did a ‘Homer Simpson’ smack against his head. Seth Black was busy watching the two female strippers in the corner as they were under a supernatural high. Seth was having fun, laughing while plastering bills into their G-Strings.

“This is greatness, man. I feel it!”

I said, as I was continually puffing it, a few coughs in the middle of it but I was feeling satisfied. Propping myself on one of the twin beds, I laid straight back, continuing to puff away.

“To victory, we are going storm through that motherfucker and lay waste to all in our way!”

BAD ASS said as he was blatantly shouting it out. Everyone was ‘chilled’ out as this was a pre-celebration.

………………………………

3:25 P.M
“Big Mouth” Restaurant – Miami, Florida

With Juan and half of EMPIRE completely ‘blasted’ at the hotel, the hired crew that Juan had recently used to take out one of the subjects, it was onto the next task of taking out Johnny Rebel. Close to a half hour past three o’clock, the men were settled inside the black van, across the street in a parking lot eyeing the “Big Mouth” restaurant as the one in the shotgun seat was looking through his binoculars.

The information was a dialogue from a phone conversation between Johnny Rebel and Steve Saunders and their plans along with a meeting at the local hub restaurant which was called “Big Mouth” restaurant to have a burger while discussing some things. They looked over the information and the picture of Rebel as the folder was closed and sat to the side.

Goon (#1) “Remember the details … We have to get paid!”

Goon (#2) “Yeah, also we gotta’ avoid being seen or the tag plates.”

Goon (#3) “Let’s just get this shit over with…”

Goon (#4) “What if there are children in there?”

The one in the shotgun position looked back at the one in the back, slightly with a nervous look on his face.

Goon (#1) “We can’t worry about that … Let’s get this done!”

With that of the leader of the group, he nodded his head to the driver as the van was put into motion. Everyone put their weapons into position, loading as needed as it was time for action. Pulling out, the van did a complete 180 turn as it rolled out of the vacant parking position and out onto the streets. The shotgun rider looked back at his other two troops with his three fingers up at them.

Goon (#1) “One…

Two…

Three…

GO!!!!”

Pulling out of the lot, making it’s turn, the driver stomps on the gas pedal as at high acceleration, the black, bulky van is zooming through the red light, in public through the small lot of stores including the small restaurant. The side doors on the van opened and as they did, fire was unleashed as one held a Gattling gun while the other one and the shotgun rider had Uzi’s. All the people scattered like crazy to find a place to hide. Those in the restaurant were in trouble as the place was completely shot up. The van took back off after minutes of spraying as the driver’s adrenaline was pumped up.

Goon (#2) “WE GET HIM? … WE GET HIM?

The shotgun rider looked over at him, nodding his head.

Goon (#1) “He has to be dead … No one is living through that! Hurry, let’s get the fuck outta’ here!

People coming back to a slightly composed state after the unreal, unbelievable mayhem that just occurred. Those lives that were in the restaurant were either severely injured or dead for just one man. The van was out of sight as no one really could think of grabbing the License Plate number.

………………………………

5:40 P.M
“Hotel Cardigan” – Downtown Miami

Back at the hotel, BAD ASS, Seth Black and I were full of laughter and having a good time. Watching the girls challenge each other with shots, as everyone was in a complete ‘high’ state. The cloud of smoke wasn’t thick as it was at first, clearing out. The girls began rubbing on each other before they locked lips causing us all to cheer them on. Meanwhile, the sounds of “I’m a Boss!” by Meek Mill began playing, signaling my phone ringing. Picking it up, I answered it as it was from the four men I hired.

“Is everything alright?”

I asked, hoping all was a complete success!

“Yeah, man … we got that motherfucker and his homeboy! By the way, that Uzi was a nice one!”

The leader of the group said as there was a bunch of noise in the background. It threw my ears away from the phone.

“The hell is that?”

I asked as I became curious.

“Nothin’ man … We inside a warehouse, hiding. Just know your boy is done!”

I nodded my head with a small fist pump.

“Good, I’ll be seeing you soon!”

I said, hanging up afterwards. Throwing the phone back onto the bed I was previously laying on, I went back over to BAD ASS and Seth to tell them.

“All was a success!”

“YEAHHH!!!!”

The cheerful expression of BAD ASS and Seth Black with the coming of the news.

“It’s clear ‘money’ shot for us now … I knew you had the hook-up! Wonderful!”

“For sure, in that case, another hit for the road!”

An agreement of nods from all, we took one last hit as I sat back down on the floor with everyone else, Indian-style.

………………………………

6:10 P.M
“Hotel Cardigan” – Downtown Miami

Downstairs, a crew of Caucasian men came through the door, a group of three with one holding a box of Domino’s Pizza in their hand, with one additional person in the background. Just when things seemed to have gone in the right direction, all quickly turned upside down as a ‘grinning’ Johnny Rebel was the one behind the three men, entering the hotel and stopping at the Kiosk desk. Rebel stepped in between the three men as he smiled at the clerk.

“Well Hello there, My name is Christy … Welcome to the ‘Cardigan Hotel’, may I help you?”

Rebel smiles.

“Yeah, me any my friends are here to bring a few of our friends a hot spankin’ pizza!”

Rebel again smirks as he brings the guy with the pizza in hand beside him, showcasing the pizza box.

“Uh, may I take a look inside … We have a strict priority of the food that comes in.”

Rebel shakes his head.

“But that will cause the pizza to get cold.”

She doesn’t budge, but feels Rebel’s pain.

“Again, I’m sorry S—-“

One of Rebel’s men pulls out a foldable Bowie knife as the lady completely freezes.

“Fine, Go … Who to?”

Rebel leans in towards the lady with three pictures, one of BAD ASS, Seth Black and Juan Ramirez. The lady’s look grows worse as she points, shaking up towards the steps going up.

“Room … Room 143 … Down the hall, to-to your left!”

The three men with Rebel leading the way go past some people as they shove them out the way onto the floor while pushing shit around and messing up as they make their way up the steps. Following the continuous blasting music, their location grows easier by the minute. Seeing the same thing Juan saw when he entered the door, smoke trailing from underneath the door, Rebel pointed with a smile. The henchmen lays the pizza on the Room service tray as Rebel hides behind the three.

“Knock on the door!”

Rebel said as he had that evil, devil-like grin. No one answers on the first time, the man looks at Rebel, who tells him to knock once more. The smoke continues to follow through underneath the door.

“Hey, Don’t answ---“

Hearing one voice from the inside yell to not open the door, it gets opened anyways by the highly intoxicated stripper/whore who immediately gets ran over by a force of an 18-wheeler as BAD ASS, Seth Black, and Juan Ramirez are totally unprepared for what was to come. They were in complete shock.

“I … I thought you were …”

Rebel shook his head.

“I knew all about your plans, dumb ass … That’s why neither I nor Steve decided to show. It was all a hoax!”

Standing there several seconds more as Seth was out of it, BAD ASS was stumbling to even get up, Juan was the only semi-alert one, although fixated under an extreme amount. The henchmen grabs him, holding his head, he shoves Ramirez right into the flat-screen television as sparks fly, leaving Ramirez’s body shaking. The other two double-team EMPIRE in BAD ASS, grabbing him and tossing him face-first into the wall as blood comes shooting out of his nose, hearing a crack afterwards with his nose completely broken. Seth, couldn’t manage to get up, he was under possession, they could care less as Rebel took care of Seth, taking his steel pipe and split Seth right in the skull, busting him open wide as all three of them were laid out of consciousness. The other girl took off and out of sight. Rebel and his men stood over our the bodies as he nodded.

“All is now fair … They will barely make it!”

Rebel said as he tapped his men on the shoulders for the good work. Leaving the site, Rebel stayed behind as he looked back at the three motionless bodies.

“See you punks at “Survive and Conquer” … that is if you can MAKE IT!”

With that, he left the room, not even closing the door. All the smoke had entered the hallway, clearing out the room fifty percent. The scene came to a fading end as all went to black.


END.

___________________________________________________

THE MIXTAPE OF A WARRIOR: “NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW!”

Johnny, I surely hope you got your ‘shots’ in because you will surely pay for it. So, you escaped death by finally ‘smartening’ up for once in your life and thinking ahead to outsmart us. Well done! I commend you for using that ‘Pistachio’ of a head you possess. We are going into this bitch under a hundred percent, You, Me, Seth, and BAD ASS. You may have gotten that on us, but you aren’t getting the ‘last laugh’. The fact of the matter on this tournament is that you aren’t going to make it to the end. My sights are on taking your ‘crusty’ ol’ ass and dumping out of that ring onto that hard concrete floor, let that Arthritis set in.

Surviving and Conquering in one word is “LIFE”. You live it every day, the jungle that steadily surrounds one human being. My upbringings, it was all about surviving the hardcore streets of Harlem and Brooklyn. Shit is nowhere near ‘Vanilla’ as it is portrayed on television. I had to find out the hard way and for that reason that is why I am here today, this very moment. Surviving and conquering every day on the calendar like a B-O-S-S.

You feel bitter still about me taking the only thing that made you an irrelevant case in Phoenix Wrestling. You and TJ Jones both were failures with the International Title. I have taken on the top talent and went through them with ease. Yet you struggle like hell to pass the third stage. You should just stay in your bedroom and drink a daily dose of hard liquor, rinse the misery away. That’s the only successful thing you have done. Be honest, Johnny … You can’t even think straight with all this shit happening to you. First your girl, then the bashing of you on Explosion last week. Now you feel the need to want to show you have a fire lit underneath you. Impress your little ‘friends’ here in APW, to make sure they know, you aren’t a ‘Puss n’ Boots’, some who tend to defend you ignore the facts. The rest, they know the truth and come Survive and Conquer, they will see it all too clear. The beginning of the end of Johnny ‘Simply Put In Nothing’ Rebel. A complete failure. A waste of talent. I proved it a few weeks ago, I’ll easily prove it again.

Your buddies can’t help you at all, Johnny. You are all by yourself. It’s Seth, BAD ASS, and I against you. No one has your back. If anyone tries to even do such a thing, like that cruise ship, your ass will be tipped over and out. I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again … This is not a game. Eighty-Something enter, One remains standing. I plan on being in that top five, and last to stand. I bet if you saw me go into your own company’s hosted event and win it, it would drive you nuts to see it happen. Drive you over the edge into complete insanity, basically calling it “quits” and pulling the trigger on the loaded gun …

BOOM …. HEADSHOT!

Someone better call 911 … Because the ‘Golden Boy’ is going to take the crown, believe it!

[Faith Simpson]

As the scene opens, we see a young girl seated dead centre of the screen, in front of a red backdrop. Her blonde locks flowing freely, the girl looks a little too young and a little too pretty to be mixing it in the wrestling world. In reality though, that's exactly what she had been doing. Faith “The Future” Simpson had never once stepped in a wrestling ring this time a year ago, but was now well and truly on her way towards what could become a very successful career.

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Hey there, I'm Faith Simpson, I'm 15 years old, and I'm a professional wrestler...so don't mess with me!

We see Faith attempt her best scary face, which isn't very successful. For those unfamiliar with the 15-year old wonderkid's explosion onto the professional wrestling scene, she isn't scary. At all. Faith struggles to hold the expression for more than a second or two before it turns into a smile, and then very quickly after that, a giggle. Faith loved to chat, and with the time allocation for participants in the APW Survive and Conquer match, she had a chance to do just that.

A series of questions begin to appear on the screen – White text on a black background. The first one: When did you start wrestling, and why?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I only started wrestling 6 months ago, maybe a little longer than that? My Grandpa used to wrestle, he was pretty good too! So did my Dad, he runs his own promotion now in New Orleans, that's why we moved there. My Mom wanted me to be a typical girly-girl, nice hair, nice clothes, that kinda thing, ya know? It worked as well...kind of anyway, I like to make sure I look nice, and I love my little shopping trips, but I got my Dad's competitive streak as well. I never really thought I'd get into wrestling, never really saw it as a girl's sport, but it's been such a big part of our family for so long and I thought “hey, why not give it a go!” I know it seems strange a 15-year old girl coming up with that, my friends couldn't believe it, but I'm a tough cookie really. Yeah alright, maybe I'm not that happy if I'm having a bad day with my hair, but I'm not gonna go and cry in the corner if I break a nail or something in the gym when I'm training! That's just silly.

Is it true that you just turned up at your local gym one day, and that's where it all started?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Yeah, this new wrestling gym opened not far away from me called The Dragon's Lair, and I went to check it out. It was being run by Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who was wrestling in GIW at the time, and his mentor Leon “Octane” McKane. They've got like...50 years experience between them or something crazy like that, Dad said a lot of guys wanted to go and train down there to try and take their wrestling to the next level, but when I first went down there I just wanted to give it a try, see how I liked it. I didn't plan on it being too serious! It turned out I was pretty good out there, Mark seemed pretty interested in how I was getting on when he was there...but he always talked to all the guys and gave them tips and stuff so I didn't think a lot of that. I was surprised when Octane offered to train me full-time, apparently Mark sacked him and told him he HAD to take me on instead. I was so surprised, but it was really cool! Octane's pretty damn old, and he's been involved in wrestling since he was about my age, so it was great to have him in my corner. He's seen it all and done it all, I always love listening to his stories!

Who is your favourite mentor?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I couldn't choose! I've learnt so much from both of them already! Mark's been away wrestling in Japan recently so he's not been around very much, but it doesn't matter, Octane's done a great job with me. He works me way too hard sometimes, and Dad says maybe he's too old school a lot of the time. I dunno what he means by that, but I know he wants the best for me and there's nothing he doesn't know about wrestling. I guess with Mark he's better for when things get tough, he pushes me pretty hard as well, but he knows when to ease off, or when I just need a breather or an arm around my shoulder. I used to watch Mark train in the gym sometimes, that guy is INSANE. I don't think I could ever train that hard, my lungs would explode! He knows that though, and he doesn't expect it of me either, while I think Octane's just got used to the Mark “The Dragon” Cross level of training since he's not worked with anyone else in ages.

So Mark's your favourite mentor?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Yeaaaah alright you got me, but only just! Don't tell them I said this either!

How hard is it combining wrestling with your studies?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: It's really tough. I mean, I'm coming up against guys who only have to worry about wrestling, working out in the gym, eating the right food, but not me! I come home from school, then I have to go down the gym and train, and THEN I have to come back and finish my homework. I don't wanna seem like I'm abandoning my friends either so I have to find time to see them at the weekends, I lead one busy life ya know? My head's always so jumbled anyway without all of that going on as well! Thing is though, after all that, and with how little I've been doing this, what I've achieved so far is so amazing, and there's no way it can't get better. Imagine what I could do if I could concentrate on wrestling the whole time! I'd be taking out 85 guys for a warm-up! Honest!

You mentioned your friends, how are they dealing with your new career?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I think they're used to it now. When I first started out I didn't really tell many people about it, didn't want to get everyone all excited and then fail and fall flat on my face...but after I'd wrestled a few times and had the GIW Legacy title I couldn't really hide it anymore. A lot of the boys at school suddenly started taking an interest in me, which is pretty cool I guess, but most of them hardly even spoke to me before. I know I'm just getting their attention 'cause I'm a wrestler and I might be famous one day, that's all it is. Bit shallow really! My friends just tell me to be careful and not to get hurt, but I don't think they watch my matches really. I don't expect them to, and we don't talk about it that much, they don't like wrestling, and I'm happy just talking about normal girls stuff with them anyway. I spend my whole time hanging round with guys who either don't watch 90210 or they're too old to watch it, and besides If I want to talk wrestling I've got Mark, or Octane, or Dad...and they know way more about it anyway!

How would you describe the Faith Simpson style of wrestling?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I haven't really got a style yet, it's still so early in my career that things could change anyway. Right now I'm all about the excitement, I guess. My mind's going at like...ten million miles an hour when I'm out there, so I just try and wrestle at the same kinda speed so I don't confuse myself. You'll probably see me in the air a lot, plenty of springboards and top rope flips if I get the chance. I know I've still got LOADS to learn about the technical side of the game, but even Mark isn't too worried about me learning that any more, and he was always promising never to let me in the ring until I had a good technical grounding when I first started. He's seen what happens when I just go in there and bomb around like some little kid on a sugar rush and it's been working. The way I figure, if I move fast enough nobody's gonna be able to catch me, and if they can't catch me they can't hurt me. Maybe one day in the future I'll slow down and be Little Miss Ring Technician, but I've got a lot of hard work to go before I can pull that off!

What's been your favourite match so far?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I've loved them all, especially when I win! My favourite match has to be my second though. I was facing this guy Jeremy Baltimore in GIW, and it was where I won my Legacy title belt. He was a whole foot taller than me, and a LOT heavier, you know when you look at someone and think “OMG that guy's gonna be amazing?” He kinda looked a lot like that. I was so nervous out there anyway, being in front of all those fans in a real match was sooooo much different to the little practice matches I'd been having in the gym. I mean, some people take years in training before they even get into their first professional match. Two matches into my career and I was wrestling for a title! AND I WON! It was so cool! I hugged that title close to my chest like a favourite teddy bear all the way to the back. It was such a great feeling. I didn't really believe I deserved to be out there, that I was good enough to make it as a wrestler that early on. It was when I really started to get some self confidence, and I've just kept on going up from there!

There have been a lot of concerns about your durability. Do you think it's something that will hold you back as your career goes on?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: No way. I've taken a beating in a couple of matches already and I've gone on to win, or at least made it one hell of a fight. Jeremy Baltimore threw me about a bit and I still won the title! I don't like getting hurt, and I can't take anywhere near the same damage as the guys out there, but I'm a wrestler. I know what I signed up for, and I know even if I'm really careful and really really quick out there I'm going to get into some nasty situations anyway. I know I'm a 15 year old girl, and I'm not exactly big either, but I'm a lot tougher than I look. Don't expect me to take a couple of big hits and be scared and run away. I'm better than that. I've been taught to be better than that. If anyone wants to put me away they've gotta work hard to do it!

What's been the worst hit you've taken so far?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: The worst has to be my Legacy title match against that biatch Alexis Terry. I'd love to send her butt flying out of that ring...but anyway, If I get slammed and thrown around it's not so bad, it knocks the breath out of me for a few seconds, but early on in the match she busted my nose up pretty good, and I caught another couple of shots on it as well as it went on. There was blood everywhere by the end of it, like a fountain, it wasn't nice. I think seeing that was when a lot of fans stopped seeing me as Faith Simpson the wrestler and remembered I was Faith Simpson the 15-year old girl as well. It didn't bother me that much. I got up and kept fighting on as long as I could, but I was in such a mess it wasn't a surprise I lost really. If something like that happens again I'm gonna have to wear a catcher's mask or a football helmet out to the ring, don't wanna mess up my lovely face now do I?

For someone of your age, you seem so relaxed about getting hurt. Do you think your success will inspire other young people to think about jumping in the ring?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I wouldn't go as far to say I'm casual about it. I guess seeing Dad get hurt when I was young and hearing the stories he told me over the years, I'm kinda used to it. I'm not fearless, and I don't really think of myself as being an inspiration or anything like that. I wanted to have a go at wrestling, and it turned out I was really good at it, to the point when I could probably do it full-time when I finish school if I wanted to. I don't expect every teenage girl to suddenly start going around wanting to be a pro wrestler like me...but I kinda hope I'm proof that if you want to try something, you've just gotta go for it and something really good could come out of it. Maybe you'll just find you had this natural talent for it. If I spent a few months in training and I was terrible and kept falling on my face I probably still wouldn't be wrestling now, ya know? I would have just stuck to soccer and basketball at school 'cause I wasn't bad at those, good enough not to embarrass myself anyway.

So you were already pretty athletic before you started wrestling?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Not really! I tried hard but I didn't have skillz! Like I said earlier, I got my Dad's competitive side. I've tried out a lot of sports, a lot of them I wasn't very good at. With soccer I was good enough to at least come off the bench and make something happen, and I think sometimes they liked that I'd sprint around like a headless chicken for a while when everyone else was too tired, or saw me diving into tackles. I wouldn't get the ball all the time, I probably had the most fouls on the team before I stopped playing to concentrate on wrestling. I wasn't gonna let anyone get past me without a fight! It wasn't in a nasty way though, I didn't try and hurt anyone, I just wanted the ball off them, I'm sure they understood. It's nice being the girl with natural talent and loads of potential now though, rather than the girl that runs around a lot and boots people up in the air! Well...I do still boot people up in the air...but at least wrestlers are allowed to!

What made you sign up for Survive and Conquer?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Honestly? I thought it'd be a lot of fun for a start, and probably good practice for me as well! I've only ever had one match before where I've had to deal with more than one guy, at the same time anyway, tag matches are a liiiittle bit different, those only get hectic some of the time. It couldn't get more crazy than a Survive and Conquer match, ya know? A lot of the GIW guys were getting involved as well so I thought I'd join in. I'm not going in there expecting to win the whole thing...but maybe I can have some fun, eliminate some fools, get a few cheeky shots on a few of my former co-workers (they know who they are) and get some new Twitter followers on my side while I'm at it! Anything else will be a bonus really.

With a number of Galveston Island Wrestling competitors past and present in the match, will you be working together with your former co-workers?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I doubt it! When things start getting crazy out there you won't be able to count on me helping anyone out! I'll be so busy ducking and diving around...oh yeah and flipping off things, I could send anyone flying out of the ring, Team GIW or otherwise. The more I think about it, I'll probably end up trying something so wild I'll dump myself over the top rope, or maybe forget people that get knocked out of the ring are out of the match – Not cool. I guess it would be pretty funny though huh? Like a handspring-front-flip-springboard-corkscrew-splash on someone on the outside. At least people will remember me! Think they'd let me come back in if I got enough cheers for it?

You've recently moved on to another company. What prompted the change?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Yeaaaah I had to leave GIW in the end. I could have stayed I guess, but a couple of the girls were a bit jealous of me I think. They didn't realise I'd turn out to be as good as I was to start with, but hey neither did I! Neither did Mark or Octane, it just kind of happened. I like where I am now though, the company's a lot bigger, I'm working out of their development territory, and it's so amazing being around all the experience and ability they've got up there. It's not nice feeling like you're not safe when you show up to work, and that's what I was starting to feel. I wasn't nasty to anyone, I just wanted to be the best wrestler I could be! The company promised they'd look after me, and they didn't. Where I am now I feel safer, I've got so many more people to learn from, who seem like they want to talk to me and help me get better, and if I improve enough and make it to the main show I'll be wrestling in front of way bigger crowds than I would have done back in Galveston. It just feels right for me...and they've given Octane a little position so he can be there to keep an eye on me.

Do you think it'll be a GIW wrestler coming out on top?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: I don't see why not! I mean, a couple of the biggest names in the history of the company are turning up, current and former champions, I had the longest reign with their Legacy title before I left, so there's a lot of talent being brought along. Who knows, if we all work together in there, something good could happen. I'm starting to learn that there's always nasty stuff that goes on in companies though, two of them need a good kicking for what they did to me, and they probably still hate me for being good at what I do and making them look bad...I mean I'm supposed to be the 15-year old here, the immature little kid, but I get some 30-something year old and the girl that's held the most titles in GIW history getting jealous of me! I guess they won't have grown up by the time we get out there. There'll be history between some of the other guys as well, and it won't all be good, so don't expect Team GIW to be in perfect harmony or anything!

What do you hope to achieve in the future?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Right now I just wanna keep on wrestling. It started as something I just wanted to try out 'cause of Dad, but I love it! Being out there, hearing the fans cheering me on and reading all their messages afterwards, it's the best feeling in the world. I've got a lot of things I need to learn over the next few years...A LOT of things. I can't just be the girl that flies around the ring for 10 minutes and somehow comes up with a win, even though it's so much fun! I just hope I can keep being entertaining, hearing the fans going crazy after I land “Have a Little Faith” off the top rope, but I want to keep winning as well ya know? I miss carrying my title belt around, it made me feel like a boss walking around with it draped over my shoulder! Oh well, I'll win another one soon enough though. Who knows, maybe I can smash through 50-odd guys and win Survive and Conquer? Nobody would expect that!

Do you have any last words ahead of the Survive and Conquer match?

Faith “The Future” Simpson: Yeah, watch out APW! I'm coming for ya!!! Oh, and follow my Twitter, @faiththefuture! Thaaaaanks!

The write writing on black background appears one last time with the words “You've been warned.” before the scene fades to black.

[leonstone]

[Rec]

Hello fuckers and welcome to another episode of stone says hello, not just any episode either, it’s the SURVIVE AND CONQUER episode. The big show APW is holding so let’s get this show on the road.

You say "Yes", I say "No".
You say "Stop" and I say "Go, go, go".
Oh no.
You say "Goodbye" and I say "Hello, hello, hello".
I don't know why you say "Goodbye", I say "Hello, hello, hello".
I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.

As everyone knows I’m the last entrant of the match, meaning I have one hell of an advantage over my competition. Unfortunately two of my coworkers are coming in quite early so I will get no help from either of them. I mean hell crowbar hates me with a burning passion.

Smirking I carry on

So I imagine some of you watching don’t know who I am. Well allow me to introduce myself, my names Leon Stone and I’m going to win survive and conquer.

Laughing intensely at my joke.

Seriously though I’m not going to bore you with my life story, I’ve had a tough life end of story.

Calming down I get back to the point.

So let’s get to the meat of why I’m talking to you guys. I’m in a
match, a really big match, what will most likely be the biggest match of my career. I got lucky though I’m the 86 sixth entrant aka last. I’ll be nice and fresh, while everyone else has worn their asses out. When my number is called you’re going to see me running down that ramp, while everyone else is stumbling around like drunken zombies, I’m going to start laying fuckers out and that’s when the real fun will begin. It’s almost guaranteed ill be in the final four MEANING ill be in a steel cage, all I have to do is be one of the first three to escape the cage, from there all I have to do is not get pinned, now the hard part, back to the cage with a ladder thrown in the mix, all I have to here is incapacitate my opponent long enough to climb the ladder get through the cage and claim my 500,000 dollar prize. Sounds easy enough right?

Pausing for effect

Hell fucking no, some of the best wrestlers in the business will be in this match, people with way more experience than I have. That also makes them old, but that’s beside the point.

This match is going to be one of the biggest events I will ever compete in; I will remember this match for the rest of my life. I could blab on about how this is my chance to make it, or how I’m being given a chance to make something out of myself, but hell who wants to listen to that shit.

Even more importantly one of my biggest rivals, Alex Black is in this match, now I have been in match after match with him, I have lost again and again to him, and actually I have never beaten him. I hate the guy; I owe the guy my life too. If not for him I’d be in a ditch somewhere tripping my balls off. Yet he saved my life. I want to meet I’m in that ring one more time so badly, I want to show him how much better I have gotten, as much as I hate that bastard he is probably the only person in this business I actually respect. If there was any one in this match I actually would go out of my way to face it would be him. He ruined sccw’s chances in supremacy; he put me through a table for Christ sake. Again I hate him, but I fucking respect him. Alex Black this is to you, if I see you in the ring, or even if I see you leaving the ring. I am going to hurt you. I’m making it my mission to show you what you have missed, how I have changed and gotten better. So be ready. The rest of you good bye live long live strong.

Screen fades away

We come to a club scene loud music a few people dancing but it seems like almost everyone is in a cluster in the middle of the room. We can see some one’s head but it is not clear enough who
it is yet.

“Ladies Ladies one at a time pleases. “

We still cannot see him but it is obviously the sound of Leon’s voice.

The camera surges forward into the crowd so we can finally see
Mr. Stone.

Leon: ladies please ill answer all your questions and more just let me get a drink first.

A random chick red in the face with excitement asks what he wants, he answers with a beer, and she skitters away like a dog playing fetch.

Leon: Now I am not answering any questions from guys nor any questions from ugly chicks, if you’re one of those you need to go about your business right now.

The crowd shrinks a little bit but there is still an amazing amount of people around him.

Leon: You get one chance, if you stutter, mess up, or ask a stupid question I will not answer and you’re going to be thrown out of this great establishment.

We barely here a lady in the back say

“Bu bu but.”

Before a big burly black man takes here away.

As if turned on just by the sight of him the first women ask “soooo Leon, why did you join survive and conquer?”

Leon grabs her and pulls her planting a kiss on her lips before he answers.

When she faints as he lets her go, he decides he should still answer.

Leon: I joined survive and conquer because I was bored and it sounded like fun. Is that good enough? Probably not, so I’ll answer more, survive and conquer is bigger than any match I have been in to date.

He pauses to bring the beer to his mouth as the lady delivers it.

"Ahh that’s good, thank you Hun."

That’s when the big burly kid takes the camera. As he takes it we notice that the person that was holding it was a teen age kid. The bouncer throws the kids out but lets him keep the video he
recorded.

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

I stand in the dark in front of the APW arena it’s just past 11 and the place is obviously empty. I start to pick the lock, to get in. I walk in still in the dark but out of the wind. Not knowing where I’m going I look left then right finally deciding on left. Walking down the hall for a while I finally get to where I’m going.
I just stand there on the ramp looking at the ring with the cage already down. The musty smell that it seems every arena has. Empty seats, but it still seems like I’m being watched by so many people. I hear my entrance music in my head as I run down the ramp and around the cage. Then I stop, staring at it so much bigger than I expected. So I climb it right to the top. I stand there for a second taking it all in, taking in everything. The darkness the smell the emptiness instantly put me in an ominous mood. I sit down in the middle of the cage looking out. I say to myself,

” I’m the last entrant but I’m the first one here.”

And I say it again “I’m the last entrant but I’m the first one here.
I lie down and stare at the ceiling, that same thought going through my head “I’m the last entrant but I’m the first one here.”

I sit there for hours taking it all in when my phone rings from my bag on the ramp I quickly scale the cage and walk to my bag it was my sister Chelsea.

“Hey bro you on your way home?”

“Yup Chelz I’ll be there in a little bit order some room service will
you?”

“I’m on it see you soon.”

I turn around on my time to see the place that the biggest match of my career will take place. Where I will hopefully walk out 500000 dollars richer. The place where I’ll be in the ring with Alex Black one more time. Then it hits me, I’ll never forget this, this is a bigger deal than I think. I say it one more time.

“I’m the last entrant but I’m the first one here.”

I say it as if that would change anything, as if it made a difference, and I believed it would. I was here no one else was, no one else had the dedication to come here the night before. I didn’t know if this was going to matter I didn’t know this would make a difference but I could only hope it would.

[Slaine Rodrick]

This rp is part of a four part story that Juan Ramirez, Seth Black, Johnny Rebel, and myself are a part of. For optimal effect, please read our rps back to back.


You wanna know something hilarious? Three men have subsequently invaded a fed and forced it into a corner. All it took was three gallant, regal, stud muffin scholars amongst dunces to drop Hurricane Jeff to his knees and pray to whatever deity he gives sacrifices to. He forced men like Blade, Kurt Noble, Cj Gates, Johnny Rebel, and Keaton Saint to go to battle with Empire. A battle that they ended up losing, as we show up to any damn Overdrive we please and proceed to steal more airtime than Michael Jordan and Allen Iverson combined. Were there consequences for our actions? Of course. Rebel payed off his shuffleboard partners to beat the boys and I down with a baseball bat and a crowbar. But really, do you think we’ll fall in that same trap again? Ah hellllll nah. We’ll continue to do what we want in APW until Hurricane Jeff grows tired of the humongous rating spike Overdrive has when we show up. Especially being I have some far from unfinished business with Kurt Noble and Johnny Rebel.

Speaking of Johnny Rebel, grandpa I’m going to fuck you up for that hit you ordered. If you even THINK that our match on Explosion was me closing the book on your petrified ass, think again. This is only the beginning of a war that will last until I choose for it to end. I know you’re a dirty player, but you don’t want to fuck with the dirtiest in the game. You want to know what happens when you fuck with a dirty player? I’ll show you what happens.

Post Overdrive After-party
Orlando, Florida
January 5th, 11: 17 PM

(Champagne and titties. Quite possibly one of the best combinations out there, and the boys of Empire (+Juan) were enjoying that to the fullest. Each man took his turns emptying out bottles on exposed cleavage, then asked the girls to shake them dry. Dom Perignon and Cristal bottles littered the mega-stretch limo Empire and Juan rode in. It was one of those really expensive party limos, like the type only Bruce Springstein has the privilege to rent. The escorts, the blinking acid trip roof, the seemingly endless supply of top shelf champagne...all a part of the package. Juan Ramirez made two chicks wet titty slap each other. BAD ASS pulled a Nick Cage and tasted some champagne tits. As for Seth Black? Well he rolled a fat blunt of Super Bubba Kush and smiled at the festivities. They deserved this party, especially after such a successful invasion.)

BAD ASS: WOOOO!!! THOSE SEMEN LAPPING MONGRELS DIDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT HIT THEM!!!

Juan: Dog, we fuckin’ rocked that shit. Did you see the look on Rebel’s face? That bird lookin’ motherfucka got all bug eyed.

BAD ASS: Yeah, kind of reminds me of the time I ziplined down to the ring and caved a chair over his skull. That surprise, it’s priceless I tell you.

(Finishing up a big hit, Seth Black nodded his head and passed it to BAD ASS.)

Black: Damn straight. It was also great to see CJ Gates get knocked unconscious.

Juan: Hell yeah! That nasty kraut Gohren fucked his shit up.

Black: I think that proves right there that CJ Gates ain’t shit. You’re a world champ, and some free agent makes you his bitch on YOUR show? That’s just goddamn pathetic. If I were in his shoes, I’d surrender the strap for Survive and Conquer so a worthy person can hold the Undisputed gold.

(A giant inhale, followed by deep concentration as BAD ASS held in the smoke and passed the blunt to Juan. He then released in right in the face of a champagne ho as she was about to open her mouth.)

BAD ASS: Man fuck the APW Championship. Our goal there is to fuck up Rebel, and anyone who tries to stand in our way. I already had heat with the bitch Noble, but after tonight, I must, and I mean MUST kick the fucking shit out of that zombie walking Leno spawn soon.

Black: C’mon bro, you really think he wants a match with any of us?

(Black questioned, leading BAD ASS to do something he rarely did to Black, disagree with him.)

BAD ASS: You know what, I think he does. He has to be in order to be crazy enough to interfere in our plans. And I bet with a victory over me in the Extreme Tournament he thinks he can smash us all.

(Ramirez held in a good choker for ten seconds, then released to the ground, surrounding their feet in fog. He then passed the blunt back to Seth, who tipped the cherry and re-lit.)

Ramirez: BA got a point Seth. This bitch had no business being down there. I say one of us makes him pay.

BAD ASS: In due time. In the meantime however, I think I got the perfect plan to let Johnny Rebel know we’re not fucking around. And it involves you Juan.

(Juan feigned surprise in his blurry eyed state, collapsing back into two high class whores.)

Juan: Moi?

BAD ASS: Yes you. See, you have connections.

Juan: Mo’ connections than AT&T.

BAD ASS: Precisely. You know people outside of this business, dangerous people, who will do dangerous stuff for the right amount of cash.

(Seeing that he’s serious, Black and Ramirez leaned forward.)

Juan: All ears man.

BAD ASS: Alright. So, as of late, it seems this Sarah bitch has been a motivator of sorts to Johnny Rebel. Before she came along, Rebel was scraping to get by as International Champ. This woman elevated him to main event status, something he doesn’t deserve for shit. We need to knock out that motivation, and knock Rebel back to where he belongs.

(Burning a fat ash pile, Seth took it in like a pro and blew the pot spear towards the driver so he could get a whiff of stinky greatness.)

Black: You dirty fucker you. You’re suggesting we knock out Sarah?

BAD ASS: Not us, Juan’s boys. Sarah knows our faces. She doesn’t know Juan's posse. With a phone call they can be down to the arena, ready to fuck that bitch up.

(The raucous drunk women got immediately quiet once BAD ASS’s suggestion became clear.)

Ramirez: Damn dog....I LIKE IT!

Black: Fuck yeah, I’m always down to ruin someone’s life. Let’s do it. Juan, make the hit.

Ramirez: Aye aye captain!

(Sensing that he had killed the mood with his suggestion, BAD ASS looked to the disappointed faces of the escorts and shouted...)

BAD ASS: So who wants some premium boog shoog!!?! I got softball sized sphere ready to cut!!

(Instant mood change. Escorts love coke, always keep that in mind.)


Post Overdrive Planning
Sunrise, Florida
January 24th, 11: 30 AM

(They couldn’t have expected their plan to go through without retaliation. While Juan’s goons were successful in taking out Sarah, Rebel’s goons were successful in taking out Juan Ramirez and Empire, leaving the group bloody and disorientated. Once they shook loose the cobwebs, planning began to truly put the hit out on Rebel and this little group of his. Seth Black told BAD ASS to get inside Johnny Rebel’s hotel room when he went to do his usual late morning workout. His objective? Tap Johnny’s cell phone so they could put out a proper hit. Let’s see how that turned out.)

BAD ASS: C’mon motherfucker, hurry up a leave!!

(BAD ASS whisper shouted as he watched from the janitor’s closet on the 15th floor of the Sunrise Hilton. It had a convenient viewing spot to Johnny Rebel’s hotel room door, number five fifty four.)

BAD ASS: C’mon Matlock, I know you move at snail speed but I ain’t got all goddamn d...

(The door opened. BAD ASS immediately silenced, watching as Rebel walked out of the hotel room. He made his way past the janitor’s closet, sniffing at the air, contorting his face, then shrugging and walking down the hall. Making the most of his window, BAD ASS race tip toed to the door, whipping out his hotel room door scanner. A wire lined credit card was slided through the reader and left at the midway point, all while a digital box attached to the card fooled the reader into thinking it was a key card. The green light blinked on, the door unlocked, and in went BAD ASS. Right there in front of his face on the dresser was Rebel’s cell phone.)

BAD ASS: Easy money.

(He walked up to the cell and pulled out a small white sheet of paper from his hoodie pocket. Attached to the white sticky back paper was one of the world’s smallest mics, so flat, miniature, and discreet that it wouldn’t be noticed by the owner of the phone. Pressing an index finger to the tiny dot on the paper, he removed the mic and placed it deep into the grooves alongside the phone, hiding it perfectly deep in the crack. A smile cracked across his boyish ugly looks as he stood proud of his achievement. That didn’t last long though, as the sound of footsteps could be heard coming towards the door. Immediately BAD ASS dove under the bed, with the sheets stopping their sway just as Johnny Rebel returned to his hotel room. Just the sight of his white Nike tennis shoes made BAD ASS turn white. A cold sweat slicked him as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.)

Rebel: Hmm...smells kind of skunky in here.

(He could feel himself on the verge of passing out after hearing that, and that wasn't from the dank he smoked earlier. Pulses pounding, adrenaline flowing...it was a good thing he was concealed under a bed.)

Rebel: A skunk probably got ran over on the nearby freeway. Too many of them around Florida.

(Rebel said, filling BAD ASS with relief. He mouthed “oh thank fucking god” as Rebel snatched the gym towel he forgot off his bed, and walked out of the hotel room. Feeling a light wet spot in his BVD’s, BAD ASS reached for his cell phone, choosing to stay concealed in case Rebel came back. With hands trembling like a meth fiend, BAD ASS sent this text to Seth Black:)

Mission accomplished

Are you ready to fight? I know I am. I have no choice with the absolutely ridiculous amount of people competing in this shindig. So many to mention, so little time. First, let me start with a man I know and truly fucking hate with the passion of a WOW player, Johnny Rebel.

Rebel, I hope you know you DESERVE everything that happened to you. Everything that has gone wrong in your life as of late is because of your inability to control your own life. You've let Ramirez, Black, and I do whatever the fuck we want. You've let this war between us escalate to the point that someone's going to get hurt, real hurt. It's bad enough Sarah was busted up bad and left laying in a bathroom. I know you probably think somewhere inside that punch drunk brain of yours that you might've done something to lead to this. That you possibly instigated this. You'll say to the media and friends that Empire fucked your life up. WE'RE the scumbags. When you know, YOU KNOW this is all karma, coming back to get you. Stop fooling yourself Rebel, you're no hero. You're a grade A cheese dick felon, and you always will be. Nothing has changed from the days you started out hazing rookies in the locker room. You're still the same lame asshole, stepping on anyone and everyone to get ahead in this industry. You proved that recently with CJ Gates, and you'll prove that again in due time. You don't know how to be a good person, so stop trying.

Another thing that hasn't changed since the Louisville days is you're still the same wack ass main event choke artist you always were. You've always been good enough to be the mat warmer for the World Champ. You're secondary belt material, at best, and that's how it will be for the remainder of your declining career. You've proven that against CJ Gates, You'll prove that tomorrow against Seth Black, and you'll prove it time and time again. Give up Rebel, give up before I shelve a dusty old antique like you. This game has passed you by, and it's high time you realize that. If it’s not me crushing your dreams, it’ll be CJ Gates. You can’t escape Rebel.


As for you Gates, let's face it, everyone wants to beat you right now. I'm one of them. I bet you think you're hot shit because you took my team out at Supremacy. Think again. Now you're facing my other team, Empire. One that will royally fuck your shit up. I'm 77 in this shindig homie. That means that even if you do make it to the final four, I will be there, waiting for you. And by the grace of God's nuts, so will Empire as well. I long for the day when I can get a greasy, silver spoon fed Bush clone like you all alone so I can show what Brokeback really means, you hillbilly rope sucker. I see through the bullshit, I know you're not all that. Just a doughy pile of fluff. Your mortality will be made apparent in this rumble as I WILL take you out CJ. What you couldn't do as I moonwalked your sacred halls, I will do as I toss your slicked up, man-titty having lard ass over the top rope. Everyone in this tournament may shake before the almighty CJ. I'd rather slap his ten gallon off his head and headbutt his porcelain chompers into chiclets.

Another person who I’d love to make a gummer is Kurt Noble. It's funny what a little gold can do for a white collar gimp like him. This man defies the odds like Ted Kennedy Jr., being successful with only one good leg. And much like Ted Kennedy, he's a fucking fake. I know the true Kurt Noble. The one chintastic is afraid to show you. He loves the whores, the gambling, the drugs, the dirty lifestyle of a champion. But every time he comes out on camera, he plays the good guy to you all, and all you suckers buy it without hesitation. Honestly, do you really believe he could've became the True Experts champ, and the Overdrive Champ just on being a really good one legged grappler? Oh hell fucking no. Miracles are myths meant for kids with cancer, and Kurt Noble is a dirty filthy roid boy pill popper. He's shoving black tar up his ass, then going to a DARE seminar in an hour all jacked up. That's not enthusiasm as he hop-limps around the stage, that's an overabundance of testosterone. What does he do to come down and deal with the pain? A wide, colorful galaxy full of pain killers and muscle relaxers, putting him into a droopy eyed drool filled coma. That's the real Kurt Noble. Not this Captain APW fuckhead who can't keep three of the world's best assholes off his show. Survive and Conquer is here Noble, and I really hope I get another shot at you. If I don't, Rival Factions is right around the corner. Regardless if I don't even see you in this rumble, just know, I can't wait to get the rematch I deserve. It’ll take more than you and Keaton to keep us away.

Saint, you say you're not an errand boy, but that's what you've succumbed to. You've succumbed to being told by your boss that you need to halt this 'PW threat' before they do any damage. Buddy, the damage has already been done. It's to the point we can walk into any APW event we want and fuck all shit up. We can piss on the lighting structure from the rafters, causing your main event to turn into a literal dark match. We can cut promos during every single match, solely on how fucking gay your haircut is. We're just that intrusive Keaton. We're always ready to infiltrate cunts, which I guess why coming in APW is so easy. You failed to keep us from strolling in last Overdrive, and you didn't have a goddamn thing to do with taking us out. So basically the camera got to film your ghostly pale heroin face and yellow butter spitting teeth for nothing. You got airtime just so you and Kurt Noble could reenact 48 hours. You're a Mighty Douche Keaton, and if you get in my way I'm nut punting you back to whatever feminine planet you come from. If I don’t, I know Azrael wouldn’t mind.

Mr. Gohren, our German partner in crime through out our invasion in APW. While we're not exactly friends, we appreciate someone with the nazi balls to stand up to those three reigning Hurricane salad tossers, Noble, Gates, and Rebel. For some reason people actually fear these ass hair flossing roid boys. Yet Azrael, the man who is only CWC champ to this day because CWC doesn't want to shell out for a decent arena, does not. He was willing to take it full force towards this ramshackle group of egos when no one but Empire would. That said, he's also my opposition for this rumble. And if it comes to Azrael and I, rest assure I won't hesitate to dump that cologne ad model looking foreigner on his head and call him out for a shot at the CWC World Title. Seth Black was robbed! I hate that piece of shit Noble, but he was robbed too! You get in Empire’s way, and we WILL fuck you up Azrael, understood? We’ll have you well on your way to a career downward spiral, just like that battered old bastard, Level One.

So the big bad Lester Only makes his APW return. He's won some scrub matches here since returning, but has yet to be tested. My personal opinion? Level One is now fluff. The formerly hard gangsta mothafucka that used to be a true True Expert is now no more than a name without the talent to back it up. Another Black Death, floating around and trying to matter in a world of true
experts, such as myself. He scraped by Georgie Nickles in his Experts return match, and even then that fat fuck looked like he had to wear his slimming shorts just to keep from popping out. There was so much back fat popping out of that tucked in singlet that I thought Barney Green got a tropical tan and made his return. You are just another Rebel, just another Jackson now L1. A useless, past his prime relic who is draining that name value for all it's worth. Your career is purely based on royalties and residuals now. Give it up and go back to drinking 40's on the curb, thinking about how great of a career you had.

I may not know much about Jackson, but I will say this. People call me crazy? Jackson is motherfucking crazy. I'm talking batshit crazy. I heard this fucking weirdo actually believes he's a demon hybrid and crime fighter when he's not headlining high school gyms across the country. Talk about nuts. This asshole has gone done the shitter since losing the HiWF World Title, the last meaningful title he had. My boys Ash and Maz trashed him and his gibberish speaking john McIntyre in no time flat to become the CWC Tag Champs. Now he's apparently representing a fed that shut it's doors in an eye blink, and he's claiming he's going to win this. Bea Arthur, fuck off. There's not one goddamn person repping the panda who has a shot at winning this. You're the most name value that fed has, and even that is a dwindling resource. You are a product of a dated time period, still trying to be relevant. You're like Johnny Rebel, but somehow even more mediocre and injury riddled. Make this your last match Jax. Realize that your name value is slipping, and that you don't need to go out supporting a fed that doesn't even exist while you live motel to motel. You can go out with dignity, like MDK won’t one day.

Oh MDK, we gotta do a little catching up brother. See, I'm still quite peeved about what happened at the Extreme Tournament. I know you've probably forgotten as your pinhead has taken more shots to the head then James Toney, yet somehow you're able to form sentences properly. I guess CTE sets in with age. Oh well, enjoy your coherency while it lasts MDK. If I see you, I'm going to enjoy every single minute of smashing your teeth down your throat so you stop scraping Doug E Fresh's dick. While you may forget, I will not forget Douchie's initiation into One Ring Circus. It took interference from a club stall buff fluffer like you and a well placed pin from Douchie to eliminate me and move that sack of shit on to the next round. For that, it's war Murder Death Kill. I'm going to hunt down each and every one of you ORC fucks, just as soon as I get rid of APW's finest. By the way, my name is cooler.

From a somewhat cool, known name we go to the name of a man who can’t even say his own name. Adrian Specter, you really think you have a chance to win this? Really? I think you've shown everyone just what you're capable of since the passing of the Extreme Tournament. It's shown you can be the king of a controversial indy. It's shown you can hold a low level championship in a respectable fed. And it's shown that when you face the best in the industry on a consistent basis, you go on a losing streak. Do I deny the fact you have talent? Absolutely not. I know a cue ball hum master such as yourself has what it takes to get far in this match. But the question is, are you going to let those nerves shake you? Are you going to succumb to the beast which has snagged you in any competition where you KNOW the quality of the competition you're facing? You beat Masaru Inoue in a hardcore match. A FUCKING hardcore match. Something only Seth Black has done in all my time knowing that gold brick shitting killer kabuki. Bring that Specter on the 29th. Show these fools what the man of a 1,000 hand signals can do.

So if I didn't mention you, don't be offended. I got a minimal time window here. I know an eighth of the entrants, I've heard of at least a quarter of the entrants, and the rest of you are just random faces with maybe a little name value. Do you know how fucking long it would take to call out each and every single one of you? Hell, just to give you a twenty second sound byte on just one? Too damn long. Not to mention tedious, laborious, and borderline useless. You'll probably skim my promo(if I'm lucky), look for your name, and if you don't see it you'll shut it off right away. That's fine. This is one of the few times when I know my soul ripping trash talk won't be able to effect all the participants in this, simply because of how ginormously huge this rumble is. But I can say this. Whether I mentioned you or not, I will do ANYTHING it takes to win this match. Coming in at slot number seventy seven, and being a master dirty genius means I already have a solid advantage on all you cookie cutter heroes. Only the true survivors and assholes in this tournament will make it to the final four.

I'd like to consider myself one of them.

[The Matlock]

In a career that has spanned close to a decade, you see a lot of things, and experience a lot of things. The blood trickling from your face, as the spiderwebbed glass of a windshield slices your skin; that horrific feeling as you fall thirty feet through the bottom of a cage and onto the canvas below; the feeling of euphoria you get when you finally prove thousands upon thousands of naysayers wrong.

But a Royal Rumble style match featuring eighty-six people? You mean to say I have to survive eighty-five other people? EIGHTY-FIVE? You serious bro? That's not something I've ever experienced. Ever.

But you know that? That's fine. It could be fifteen, thirty-five, ninety-five, one thousand and five, it wouldn't matter. Because when all of it is said and done, it will be who stands with the victory, the glory, and the bragging rights.

Oh, but who am I? I forgot, those of you in APW are sheltered litttle morons, only knowledgeable about APW and it's brethern, whether in The Experts, or CWC. You don't know jack about what lies outside of all that. I come from some of the greatest wresling companies on the planet, and battled against men who would turn the ones you call 'legends' into mush. Hell, some people count me amongst those legends. I come into this match, Survive & Conquer 2012, officially representing Total Wrestling Entertainment, and unofficially representing other places that I work.

Only a few familar faces stick out to me in this match. The legendary Seifer, a man who comes from the same circles as me, a man who has accomplished more then me; Alexis Terry, the wannabe ex champion of TWE; and Paradox McSweeney, my partner in crime in the Sin City Wrestiing ring. The rest? They have no idea who I am, and that's a problem. I'm not your ordinary superstar. I'm not the type who can easily be predicted. Trying to guess what Matt Matlock does? Your odds are better at finding the sewing needle in the stack of hay.

Survive & Conquer? That's what I've done my whole career. This match is mine to win, whether you like it or not.

---

A nice slick and wet pussy. Just how I like 'em. Early on Thursday morning, inside a hotel room in the northern part or Toronto, myself and my fiance Jessica were enjoying an early wake up call. I swear if you've never had sex the first thing in the morning, you're missing out. As we finished, I could tell she was about ready to fall over. Me? I wanted to keep going, but the poor girl had to stand. I didn't want to cripple her.

I had just finished a show with the Global Wrestling Alliance the previous night, here in front of my fellow countrymen. With the sort of schedule I practiced, I would be busy all weekend long with multiple matches. But of all those matches, none of them weighed as highly on my mind as the "Survive & Conquer" match, hosted by Action Packed Wrestling. Despite my high opinion of myself, I knew that most people in the companies that comprised the CWC had never heard of me. A match like this, and winning? That sort of thing can turn you from an unknown into a houseland name overnight.

My head ached. Years of taking hard bumps, numerous shots to the head with everything including the kitchen sink, mutliple falls from numerous height, and a very deep seated, secondary 'dark personality' I'd kept under control for years all caused me pain every morning when I rose. I took two asprin, plus some Smirnoff left over from the previous night's festivities. Jessica spoke to me, as I sat on the bed facing the hotel room window.

Babe, I wish you wouldn't do that. You know how often people die from taking pills and alcohol.

It hasn't killed me yet, right? I'll be fine.

I'm just saying, take it easy.

Look! I'll be fine, alright? It helps me to think straight. And I need to think straight, going into this weekend.

Right you have that big Jackpot match in SCW.

Not just that.

Your tag match over in Majestic?

Not just that.

What then?

The Survive & Conquer match? The one where I need to survive a rumble of 85 other people? I'm starting to think it was a mistake to sign up. This, I dunno. The breed of competitor inside this match is, unreal. Beyond anything I usually come across. You know how hard I fight to beat even five or six guys. This is like, eight times that.

You okay? You normally don't sound so down on yourself.

I'll be fine. Just I have strange thoughts early in the morning. Always have.

She walked over now, and sat next to me, now dressed in a bra and panties. At least she ahd clothes on. She leaned in, and kissed me softly.

You'll do fine. I wouldn't just date any wrestler you know. I date the best wrestler in the world.

Thanks babe. ....You wanna fuck again?

She stared at me a moment, and then just rolled her eyes. She stood up and walked over to the hotel room's bathroom, shutting the door.

Was it something I said?! Fucking women! Sigh....

---

The heat of the Miami sun was quite a change compared to the cold wind of Toronto. After taking care of business on Friday & Saturday night in my other promotions, taking an ass kicking and giving an ass kicking like only I can, I arrived early on Sunday morning, and Jessica and I checked into a suite at the Four Season Hotel Miami. A few hours later I rose. Normally I'd try to get a decent amount of sleep, but I wanted to do some last minute endurance training. If there's one thing that's served me well in my career, it's my strong endurance. But it's never been put to the test as it will be at Survive & Conquer.

I put on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a loose jacket along with a pair of sneakers. Heading out onto the streets I jog. I start at a steady pace, and slowly increase it. As I jog down the street, I think about the match. I was coming in at number 53, in the second half of the match. The chances of the 52 previous entrants in the match still remaining are slim, but I will still have to fight whoever is in there. Not to mention the equivelant of a WWE Royal Rumble coming in after me.

The advantage I had is how adaptable I was. In my career I had been able to adapt to any situation, any match. I was confident I would win. It was a big challenge, perhaps my biggest challenge ever in my career. But if there was a man who could overcome odds and come out smelling like a rose? It was me.

I felt good about this round of training. My heart, my lungs, everything felt like it was in better shape then it had been before. I decided to head back to my hotel room, for my pre-match preparation.

---

Now, you might ask yourself, what exactly does a worldwide sensation like myself due to prepare for such a big match? Drink, of course. Stone Cold Steve Austin & The Sandman be damned. No one could drink like me. I'm a Canadian, a Nova Scotian, a goddamned "Cape Bretoner, the term used for a resident of Cape Breton Island, off the eastern coast. We were essentially born and raised drinkers, with alcohol being easily available and drinking it being the main passtime since there wasn't much else to do.

You would think the consumption of alcohol shortly before a big match like this would be a mistake. But again, this is the pre match ritual. After the match is when the heavy consumption comes. Jessica was out and about, shopping or something girly, whatever it is she does. Maybe buying tampons, I didn't give a fuck. I sat there, in the quite of the room, looking out the window of the hotel. I decided to lay my Samsung Galaxy S II smartphone on the desk, and check my voicemail, putting it on speaker. Seems I had some well wishers, wishing me luck in the match. First up came from my old boss, and rival, Shane "Daddy" Mack, owner of the ten year long running Showstoppas Extreme Federation, a place where I spent a majority of my career.

Ha ha, Matlock! This the one and the only, the sugar daddy, Daddy Mack! The fuck are you doing? I heard you're entering some big bad battle royal called Survive & Conquer. All these people coming in from different companies, and you're looking to outlast them all. Let me tell you something Matt, you tell them all that SEF is the greatest company of all time. We've dominated all the competition the last ten damned years! You tell them that SEF is the best company in the world, and then you win that fucker, and you come back home. The ten year anniversary show is coming up, and you should be here. Anyway, got weed and bitches to smoke. Best of luck jackass!

Heh, wow. I hadn't heard from that old bastard in a while. He didn't sound any different either. There had been a dispute years ago, over him officially changing the title history of the company to state I never held the Heavyweight Title. He said he did it to motivate me, since he figured I never proved myself worthy of the title. All it did was piss me off, and I severed all ties with the place. Still, he remembered me enough to wish me luck. Maybe I'd take him up on that offer for the anniversary show. I pressed the button to go to the next message.

Matthew, it's Taylor. I know you and I haven't spoken a lot since the ICWA closed down last season. Still, I heard you're still out and about, raising hell as usual. You're not "Matlock'ing" the ball still are ya? Ha ha ha, just kidding. I know you have a lot of potential, just that you never pushed yourself to be able to reach it fully. Then I heard you're stepping into a battle royal against 85 other people? It's too bad I hadn't heard about that. You know the WallStreet Brawler would whoop so much ass in that, it's not funny. Anyway, I'm wishing you luck in that. You do the legacy of the ICWA proud, and DON'T FUCK UP! Got it? Peace.

Another old boss, another old rival. Taylor McCallister, aka The WallStreet Brawler or just WallStreet. A multi-millionaire and the head of the once prosperous ICWA for years. It was thanks to him I won my first ever, and only ever, World Heavyweight Title. He came out that night to congratulate me. That made the ICWA home to me. I would do my best to honor the legacy of my home come the match.

Ha ha, well well well. The old glory hog is at it again, is he? You weren't planning on telling me about this, were you? Fucking bastard. But I can't blame you. I've beaten you so many times, I'd have taken you straight out of this Survive & Conquer match. Next year maybe? Anyway, wishing you good luck and all that crap. Knock 'em dead, kick some ass, and try to come out unscathed, aight?

My tag team partner, Adam Smith. He and I held the tag titles of about a dozen or so indy companies back in 2003. We had a falling out over a lot of things, and the guy had beaten me in several of our matches. I think he's up like three to two, or something. I was on my second beer now, and I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't often I got a lot of good luck wishes from people, so to get this many was a treat indeed.

Hey Matt, it's Mom. How are you? Your father & I were just sitting here thinking about you. I know I always say this but we miss having you here. It's hard to look after your Father with my bad eyes and everything, and you're always such a help when you're here. Plus there's too much food in, and the cat and the dog miss you like crazy. All the money you sent helps of course. But still, it doesn't compare to having you home. We're going to be watching that big match on Sunday, the one with the 85 people in it. We'll be rooting for you. Do your best. You know your father and I are proud of you. Don't get hurt! We love you. Be careful.

Heh, aren't I always Mom?

Matt!

I had been remembering the parting words my Mom & I always had. She would always say be careful, and I'd respond with "Aren't I Always?" It seemed like a good luck thing, since I always was safe. I had a big fat smile on my face, and Jessica hollered into the room.

Matt, it's almost time. We gotta get ready.

I finished my beer, and set it down. I decided to grab a third and chug it, for the hell of it. I let out a belch, one that could wake the dead. It was time to get ready and go. So, off I go.

---

The American Airlines Arena. I had been to Miami before, and I probably competed inside this arena before. But it had been a long time. One of the crew members took the bags belonging to me, and to my fiance Jessica to our locker room. Jessica followed him to the room, I wanted to look around. I saw a banner, a poster even, with the black and white image of the Survive & Conquer event emblazoned on it. In front, a camera of the APW production team, no doubt ready to capture any promos or interviews that would come throughout the night. I approached the crew, and told them who I was. Knowing this, they got their cameras ready.

I stepped into position in front of the large poster, the cameras catching the top half of my six foot three frame. Black denims, and a burnt orange colored muscle shirt covered my body, with a pair of sunglasses over my eyes. But I removed those now, and tucked them into my pocket. Time for the real deal. Time to commit verbal murder, to cut a promo like ONLY I can. Roll camera motherfucker.

LADIES and gentlemen! Boys and girls, bitches and assholes, cunts and cocksuckers, welcome to the only promo you need to hear for tonight's Survive & Conquer Match! Sure, others have spoken their mind. Others have let the verbal diareha flow from their gaping mouth holes, but you can forget about all that. Because the man, the ONLY man who matters in this match is here to speak his mind.

So you might ask yourself, who is this tall, rather ragged looking, slightly chubby Canadian bastard? The one with the short cut facial hair, and yellow slightly crooked teeth? The name is Matlock. Matt Matlock. For close to a decade I have wrestled all over the world, in any place that's fit to name. This is the first time I've been around a fed affiliated with the CWC though. I know you all have your little organization, and your titles, and your tournaments. I, come from the former territory run by MSN, and now run by the Aimoo Corporation. I have battled the best and the brighest from there, and continue to do so. I may be here "officially" representing Total Wrestling Entertainment. But I represent every company I compete in, or have competed in over the years.

You might say, well Matlock, what makes YOU any different in this match then anyone else? To put it simply I am one of the toughest men on this planet. The shit I've been through, the battles I've fought in, the men I have fought against, have forged me into a machine of pure endurance. I've fought against the best, and I've learned from the best. I'm a highly adaptable wrestling phenomenon. You take to the air, I can counter you. You wanna do a ground game, chain wrestle? I can counter you. You want to take those huge gorilla arms and toss me around the ring, I can counter you! You want to stand toe to toe, punch for punch, hit for hit, with ME?! I will lay your goddamn ass OUT! No question! I am a fighter, a brawler, a wrestler supreme. And I thrive! I THRIVE in a match like this.

Everyone in this match, they don't know what they're in for. Especially when I come in. Sure I'm way down on the list, number fifty three, and I have thirty or so more people in behind me. But if you've never faced me in the ring, and all but maybe three of you haven't, you can't understand me. You don't know how my mind works, you don't know how I think, what I'll do, when I'll do it. I have no game plan, no strategy. I improvise and adapt as the situation changes. I could have sat down and tried to find information on every sumbitch in this match but why? Why, why, why? WHY?! It wouldn't matter. I could study tapes of all of you, but I won't learn a thing until I wrestle you. It works the other way. You can try to dig up shit on what I've done, but I've never been in a match like this. So you won't know, what I will do, in a match like this.

This is a match about overcoming odds. You need to be one of four people out of eighty six who survive. They used to call me The Cornered Animal. You know why? Because of the odds being stacked against me all the time. They made it seem like I was a wounded animal, stuck in a corner, ready for the kill. Only to lash out and rip our their fucking throat! I am not just a number in this damned match I am THE number in this match. I am the man who needs to be watched, I am the man you need to have an eye on.

Because another name I've adopted, is the name of The Crownless King. The pinnacle, the king of all I survey. And I survery the wrestling world. But I have crown, no title, no championship. No major accolade. This match? Survive & Conquer, that briefcase, the money, and the prestige, and the bragging rights that go with it? That will be the best crown a guy could ask for. The best prize any man, or woman, would want. The Crownless King will be crownless no more, I will be the winner of this match. Battle royals? I excel. Street fight? I excel. Steel cage? I excel. Hell in a Cell? Ladder or no ladder, I still excel. I am a brutal, bloody, nasty, motherfucker who will do ANYTHING to win.

This might sound cliche, this might sound like everything you've heard before. But don't you dare, DON'T YOU DARE, pass me over like I'm some curtain jerking rookie here to pad out the damn match. I am equal to or MORE of a match for anyone in this damned thing. And I will be the winner. That is something you cannot prevent. That is something that is bound to happen. That is DESTINED to happen. You think you can prevent me? TRY IT! TRY IT MOTHERFUCKER! I DARE YOU TO TRY ME! Because I will diseembowel your punk ass, and leave you bleed to death!

I am Matt Matlock. I will win Survive & Conquer. If you don't like that? Well....

Go fuck yourself.

That epic promo concludes our broadcast day. I walk away from the cameras, as our scene now fades to black.

[Michael Jennings]

Two months ago…

A man wakes up from an extended period of sleep. He tries to get up but for some reason he cannot. At this point he glances at his wrists before noticing that he is restrained to a hospital bed. He struggles to get free from his bondage for a few moments but can’t escape. A few moments later a doctor walks in surrounded by some mysterious men in masked armored uniforms.

Doctor: “We know who you are Mr. Williams.”

The man looks at the doctor with a strange look on his face.

Man: “Who?”

Doctor: “Temporary amnesia. It’s a side effect of the drugs we gave you. We know all about you Mr. Williams. Soon you will be one of us.”

The doctor then pulls out a needle to inject his arm and the man passes out again. The doctor then turns to the armored men with him.

Doctor: “Prepare the reeducation room immediately.”

The men nod their heads and run out of the room as the Doctor looks down at his next test subject with an evil smile.

* * *

Four weeks later…

Inside of the mysterious facility run by the Fall of Man organization the man who was brought in a month earlier is standing in a corridor as the doctor who treated him walks over to him. The man in question is now calling himself Halo. It’s an antonym of his true demeanor. He is not an angle with a halo but a demon filled with hate and disdain for the society he lives in. The doctor has been looking for him to tell him the good news that he has for him.

Doctor: “I have entered you into a large-scale wrestling elimination match that will take place at the end of January.”

Halo looks confused after hearing this. Something about this entire scenario seems a bit odd to him.

Halo: “What do you mean?”

The doctor smiles at him coyly before responding to his query.

Doctor: “We were looking through your file and found that you have an extensive background in the wrestling industry. We shall use that to our advantage to get our views out to the world.”

Halo seems pleased to hear that. In fact he seems downright happy about it which is a contrast to his usual melancholy and anti-social demeanor.

Halo: “I like it.”

Doctor: “The match is called a Survive and Conquer match. It will be featuring eighty six wrestlers from every major organization in the industry. The numbers were drawn last night and you received the number twenty two. That is good. You will be in there for awhile if all goes according to plan.”

Halo: “No worries there. They will underestimate me which is exactly what I want. I can handle going from coast to coast to try and win the match. I’ll have to look over and review the participants list as well as study their weaknesses and flaws to see what sort of a game plan I can come up with. Strategy will be the key to my victory in the match."

The mysterious doctor seems pleased to hear this. His last two reeducation projects failed miserably but the one with Halo has far exceeded any and all expectations.

Doctor: “Good, Halo. Good.”

They look over as a man wearing a suit is wheeled into the reeducation room directly behind them before the door is quickly shut by the armored soldiers who work for the Fall of Man. Halo turns to the doctor.

Halo: “Who was that?”

Doctor: “Oh no one important. Just some CIA operative we discovered trying to infiltrate our ranks. We will wipe his memory and let him go.”

Halo seems confused.

Halo: “But wont he be found by his own people?”

A sick smile creeps across the face of the doctor.

Doctor: “Nothing to worry about there. There is nothing but endless desert in all directions leading from here. He will not live more than two days. We have nothing to worry about…nothing.”

Halo: “Just like we will have nothing to worry about in my match.”

Doctor: “Exactly.”

They shake hands before walking down the corridor with the doctor to have a strategy session about his match before he appears to let the wrestling world know just who he is.

* * *

01/24/2012

Night…

It’s just another night in just another crumbling urban metropolis somewhere in the United States. The city air is almost as cold as the fading economy that has crippled the industrial sector of this city for almost three years now. Standing in front of the unused, decaying industrial plant in the decaying industrial section of town is the mysterious man known as Halo. He is wearing a bandana to cover his face. The only thing known about this man is that he is a member of the mysterious Fall of Man organization. Nothing else is known. However much more will be known as he begins to speak for the first time on wrestling television.

Halo: “This the way the world ends…this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends…

So said the poet and so says Halo. Now as you all can plainly see I’m not some video game fanatic or an angel. In fact I might just be a fallen angel. I am a man who has seen that the Fall of Man is coming more sooner than later. All of you are blinded by arrogance. Arrogance that has led you to believe that all of these doomsday prophecies are nothing but mindless dribble being put out there by the crazies of the world but I have been shown otherwise.

The Mayans ended their calendar for a reason. This year will be the dawning of a new age. It will be an age that sees the fall of man. I know, I know…this all sounds like hypothetical bullshit but the fact is that we have been slowly inching toward this happening since the dawning of the industrial age. More weapons of war have been made and are in use than in any other time period in human history. Industry has also been expanded to the point where there are holes in the ozone layer and increased global warming. Glaciers are melting at a record rate. The arctic is melting at an even faster rate than at any point in history. Global disasters are almost commonplace now. Don’t believe me? Ask Japan and Haiti among others. Those countries will tell you otherwise.

However I’m not here to tell you sheep what you should already know. Your government and media outlets have been hiding all of this for years. Any regular on Armageddon-online knows all of this to be true. But wrestling is the subject matter of the day and that is what I will be talking about today. You see the leadership of the Fall of Man organization has entered me into the APW Survive and Conquer match against over eighty other wrestlers. Some are well known, others unknown. I am an unknown and that works to my advantage.

Now let’s face it. None of you know who I am and that’s how I like it. Gives me an aura of mystery. It also makes all of you continue to scratch your heads wondering just who in the hell this guy is. The bottom line about that is that I am not going to divulge any more than I need to unlike some of my competition in this match.”

He seems a bit annoyed by some of the things that he’s been seeing on APW television. However with as little known about this man it is not known what could’ve annoyed him. He pauses for a moment before continuing.

Halo: “There are geniuses in this match who are telling the world what they plan on doing in the match. They show how they are training and brag about how much training they are doing. That is a stupid strategically maneuver. The fact that some of you are showing your training methods leads me to believe that this match is going to be filled with egomaniacy at its highest level. With eighty six wrestlers being involved that shouldn’t be a surprise either. This is a business filled with egomaniacs when the reality of the situation is that we are nothing more than entertainment for children.

These are the same children that are going to run the world after we destroy it and by we I mean civilization as a whole. The are the children that fund your overly extravagant lifestyles. They buy your t-shirts, they buy your merchandise, and instead of embracing them you shun a PG existence for one that is filled with degradation and decadence. That is why this society will fail. The fall of great empires has been seen throughout the history of civilization. The Romans, the Egyptians, the Greeks…we’ve seen this all before.

Now the world is mostly a scattered bunch of troubled nations filled with people who can’t get along. It doesn’t matter where you live. All that matters is how you live because you can make a difference just like I am. The Fall of Man has shown me that society is too sick to survive. There are too many nations and too many rogue factions out there for any kind of peace to last for long. People are killed daily for the most stupid, mundane reasons imaginable. Another big war is just around the corner and this match is just the prelude to it.

In this match there are some wrestlers who are well known so I’ll talk about them first. There are some notable APW wrestlers in this thing. Firstly I think it’s sad that the San Diego Seagulls are not participating in this match, I wanted to show them just who is the best technical wrestler in this match. However they are not participating so I will be addressing those of you who are that I have solid intelligence on.

At the top of that list is CJ Gates. You are one of the most intelligent and skilled wrestlers on the planet. You are a champion that should be adored yet at the same time you are just like the American empire. Your time has come to an end and it will be a nasty fall from grace for you. Same goes for Sally Talfourd. You are an APW legend who took her ball and went home. Now you are back and expect these fickle fans to worship you once again. That will not happen because you are the biggest phony here and I will expose more than your perky breasts to the world. I will expose your lack of faith in your abilities and your lack of intelligence in thinking that you can actually win this match.

Kurt Noble is a man who fought through the Experts Extreme Tournament and made fan boys out of all the internet smarks. Now you will be fighting through an even bigger challenge yet one you will not win. You will be the focus of my mission of destruction and I will relish eliminating you as much as I will relish the fall of the last great age of man. Chaz Dillinger is a man who thinks very highly of himself. Then again so does Donald Duck if that tells you anything. You are an egomaniac and you must be destroyed. All you are about is money. It’s not about money, it’s about sending a message. I plan on sending that by winning this match over every big name wrestler competing in this.

I see Terry Marvin is back in APW. I wonder if he’s back to give crabs to the entire locker room. You’re older and have banded more wenches than Trevor Jennings ever dreamed of doing. BAD ASS is here too. The king of anorexia is here to destroy us all. I’ve seen starving children on the news who are more intimidating than you are. This is going to be your worst night mare. I am the bad ass that you all need to be worrying about and that is a fact. I don’t come on here and talk smack like a lot of people do. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. That’s something that you’re going to find out first hand when you step into the ring with me, boy.

Leon Stone is in this too. I’ve seen him do his thing and he is one tough customer. He’s the Donald Trump of this match. He’s annoying but won’t go away. He’ll go away soon…you’ll all go away. MDK is competing in this too. He’s one of the best wrestlers on the planet and everybody knows it. The same can be said for Level-One. Both of you are big name stars in a big time match. However neither of you has ever faced me before. I am not the pushover that some of these pushovers that are competing in this match. I look forward to going at it with both of you in order to show the world that the Fall of Man means business.

Julius Farquhar is the top rising star in this company. He’s built a reputation on big wins and big talk but that’s not me. That’s not my style. I don’t ramble on and on incoherently like you do. So come on television. Speak in the Queen’s English to the masses while I give my message of hate to the world on the behalf of the Fall of Man. Zachary Rodell has been making a name for himself here lately. You have gone from being a joke to a relevant power here in APW. That is a big accomplishment for you. I am going to show you just how to make an impact in the world of wrestling. The world is going to be more fractured than it was after World War II by the time I get done at Survive and Conquer.

Brad Jackson is another wrestler who has my attention. You have been all over the world. My question is HOW have you been doing it? Are you powered in high octane Red Bulls or something? In any event I am not scared of you nor should anyone else be either. You are a wrestler who is built on hype just like the rest of these big names in this match. The same thing can be said for Adrien Specter as well. You are another big name in a big match. The thing is that hype is meant to be overblown and I believe the hype on both of you is overblown. I am in this thing to win it and to destroy the fragile little egos of all you egomaniacs in it. Egos are destroying this industry and I am going to kill some of those egos in this match. None of you know just what I am capable of doing but you’ll find out first hand when I eliminate a ton of dead weight from the ring at Survive and Conquer.

Johnny Knuckles is back too. The only way that guy is going to win by using weapons and cheating. Hot Mask is a man that not a lot of you know about but I have seen his matches before. He is going to be a power player in this match but none of you will see it until it’s too late. I am viewing you as a huge threat to me which should be an honor for you. However, that said, I am not afraid of you and you will be just one of my many victims in this match. I have no fear of any of you. The same can be said for Johnny Cedrone and Keaton Saint. I am not going to be intimidated by the likes of you nor the other scum infesting this match like a plague of cockroaches.

After all is said and done all that will be left in APW along with everywhere else is nothing but ruins. That said there is nothing but a bunch of nameless names in this other than the names I’ve mentioned. Let’s see there’s Chris Hart with the most non-descript name of all time. There’s Isamu Suzuki who is probably going to be using some puroresu and martial arts moves in this match. There’s Paradox McSweeney who is no relation to the Paradox from the old days of the NWC Pacific.

Wake Walker? What kind of a name is that? Sounds like a dream catcher owner or something. Whiskey Ayano? PLEASE. Naming yourself after an alcoholic beverage tells me that you’re going to be drunk coming into the match to go along with all of the drunk fans in attendance. Speaking of bad names that leads me to Justice Legal. I’m waiting for Hawkman and Green Lantern to show up on television with you as the Justice League goes on another adventure. You sound like some sort of a non-futuristic version of Judge Dredd. In any event I will destroy you just like the rest of these badly named losers. However sadly those are not the only badly named wrestlers in this match.

I know my ring name is Halo but that is nothing compared to some of you guys. Gabriel Alighieri sounds like someone who just traveled with Virgil from Hell to Purgatory to Paradise all in the span of eight hundred pages. Kid Dynamo is the comic nerd entry into this match. You talk a big game for a guy walking around in a full body condom. Just like the ozone layer has a hole in it I am going to poke a hole in that giant condom of a costume you wear and make you suffer like everyone has watching you try to talk coherently on television. Alioth Starre just got through playing Skyrim and probably won’t make much of an impact. Assassin hasn’t wrestled since the seventies so he shouldn’t be much of a threat either.

Donald Deruty is the Deputy Dog of this match. Acts big and tough but in reality isn’t a threat at all except for to people who have bad taste. Crowbar apparently escaped from the Curse of Russo with Daffney and is here make the Repo Man proud. The only problem is he needs to crowbar a personality into that brain of his in order to wake us all up from the slumber that is his in-ring skills. Billy Dork…yeah, that name sums it up. The guy is a dork of the highest order much like the mark fan base that will be infesting the arena like a disease. I will take great pleasure in sending you back to your regular lifestyle of playing World of Warcraft for seventeen hours a day in a full body cast.

I plan on peeing in a James Stall before the match so he will already be soiled even before stepping into the ring. Vantage…yeah, dumb name. Does that imply you know all vantage points in a match? Come on. You have no chance. Just turn back now before you really get hurt by one of the more dangerous animals in the match such as myself. Matt Matlock apparently thinks using his name as a tongue twister to win this thing will help him out. Sadly that may be his only shot to win it. Same goes for Lisa Loriann Lyon. What horrible strategies.

ArcAngel is waiting for Apocalypse and Mr. Sinister to show up before he even does anything which is both sad and pathetic much like the crowd that will be at the show. In related news Josh Redwood is going to be chopped down by me before I toss his pathetic carcass to the floor. Slash is going to be receiving a guitar shot to the head just for having a name like that. Justin Blade too. You sound like one of Skeletor’s fiercest warriors from the live action Masters of the Universe movie. Loki is a trickster but then again so are most politicians so we’ve seen that all before. Broken Saint will be even more broken by the end of the night at my hands just like every other wrestler in this match.

Now I know I didn’t talk about each and every one of you wrestlers that are in this match. The fact is that all of you will probably come on the television and put yourselves over because that’s all you care about. All you care about is yourselves. I on the other hand am here to talk about inflicting pain and punishment which is what I do best. I am also here to point out every single flaw in both your flawed logic and horrible match strategies. I may not be a favorite to win this thing but one thing is certain. If I don’t win I’m going to take a whole lot of you down to Hell with me on the way out.

At APW Survive and Conquer I will do just that. I will survive an endless stream of egomaniacs and idiots. I will conquer every competitor put in my path until I am victorious. If I win this it will be one of the biggest upsets of all time. Nobody knows who I am an nobody has ever heard of me for that matter. I am a virtual unknown floating around amidst a sea of veterans, big names, and nobodies. In the end I will make them all suffer the same fate that the world will suffer and that is ultimate destruction. The Fall of Man is coming and none of you will survive it…just like none of you will survive my wrath in the Survive and Conquer Match. The end is near…be ready for it. I’ll see you all on the other side."

Halo snarls under his breath before walking off screen as the scene slowly fades to black.

[kylico]

Whiskey V/O: Orue-sama! What-u do you have to show me?

{The screen fades in from black to reveal one "Deep-South Dragon" seated on a black metal folding chair, clad in here ring gear and looking for all intents and purposes, bored. Naturally, the drunken Joshi appears to already be three sheets to the wind - and looking to push her alcoholic tolerance even further before days end - as she's currently clutching a bottle of rye in her hand. If one were to look closely, pushed carelessly underneath her seat it a water bottle filled with a substance often unknown to Whiskey: Water.}

Whiskey: I thought you said I had to train-u... and train-u hard for this match at APW? Why else-u wouldja want Whiskey in here at 6:30 AM on a Sunday? I couldn't even-u start my hangover!

{From off-screen we hear the sounds of grunting and exertion when suddenly Whiskey's manager, Orue Destrega, appears on screen. He's doffed his usual three-piece suit for a pair of light khakis and an Alligator brand polo shirt, his more casual attire seems to be doing nothing in assisting him with physically pushing the P.A. set-up he's bringing with him into our view, a flat-screen television and DVD player on the cart he's struggling with.}

Orue: Whiskey *unf* my dim little signee, with the exception of doctor's orders not to drink back when Brittany Lohan smashed you with your OWN bottle of booze - one of the many you routinely drag down to the ring mind you - I have never seen you even allow yourself the chance to experience the hangover. You're the only drinker I know that has an alarm set at midnight, two, and five-thirty in the morning so you can purposefully keep yourself in this weird quasi-reality you seem to have settled into so nicely... even though your win-loss record is a point of shame amongst your opponents, peers, and of course I - Orue Destrega - your unfortunate manager.

{Finally getting the television in front of the "Deep-South Dragon", he sighs tiredly before plugging it in - oblivious or simply not caring about his charge's hurt exclamations about her failings as a professional wrestler, we don't know - and turning it on. Seeing it come on he turns to the drunken young woman.}

Orue: OK, so are you familiar with the concept of a battle royale?

{Drying her eyes after her manager's routine verbal abuse, she nods her pretty - and most likely, dizzy - brunette head.}

Whiskey: Hai! *sniffle* Many people enter, one wins, tends to be used for either really important things-u... or they simply couldn't fit-u all the useless people on the show any OTHER way.

{Orue nods, mock-clapping his hands in delight.}

Orue: Right on BOTH accounts this time, Whiskey! You get a cookie!

{"Fireball" looks momentarily confused until her manager grabs a singles package of Oreos and disinterestedly throws them at her face. Surprisingly, she dodges the confectionary by flipping her chair backwards and cracking her skull off the concrete. No cookie on her face though, SUCCESS~!}

Orue: *Snickering* Good job! NOW! What we have here, what I've signed you up for, and what you are most likely about to fail horrendously at is called the "Survive and Conquer" match, and it's a little bit different from most of these antagonizingly predictable clusterfucks, so get back up... Whiskey?

{Realizing his charge is either KO-ed or passed out on the pavement - depending on whether she's simply too drunk already or the blow to the head aggravated her recent major concussion - Orue does what any sensible and caring manager would do, he grabs the water bottle that WAS under her seat before she tipped it over, uncaps it, and then pours its' contents over her downed body...}

Whiskey: *Screaming* FUCK-U~!

{... That did the trick! The now soaked Joshi looks up into the face of her half-amused manager before rolling to her feet, setting the chair back up, and sitting down, but not without a show of professional, grade-A pouting to go along with it. Orue walks back over to the television once again.}

Orue: Now as I was saying, this fucking thing I've entered you into, it's even MORE convoluted than a regular Battle Royale, now watch this, it'll show you the rules, and for the love of god, try not to drink lighter fluid sometime tonight, it always makes you forget recent history.

{With that the taciturn manager presses the play button... and no, dear and gentle readers, we are not treated to some sort of highlight reel of last years' Survive and Conquer. We're not even treated to a match rule overview highlighted by the 500k purse everyone in this match will be fighting for. Hell, we're not even watching wrestling, instead, we're introduced to...}

Orue: What. The. FUCK!?

Whiskey: *Starts slamming the bottle of rye like a demon possessed* ...

{This: }

Whiskey: *Fearfully* You signed me up for this-u!? I can do better, Orue-Sama, I promise! THIS ISN'T EVEN A WRESTLING MATCH-U!

{Orue's mouth opens and closes several times as he gawks at the screen in wide-eyed fascination and horror, as Whiskey's hollow promises slowly devolve into a weird combination of her usual broken English, native Japanese, and incomprehensible sobbing you can almost see Orue's hair go a little bit more grey... look closely at his hair, squint if you have to.}

Orue: *Snapping* Dammit Whiskey, calm down!

{She keeps bawling...}

Orue: *Speaking louder still* Whiskey... shut up!

{She's entering near hysterics, breaking up her wailing cries with the occasional drink of rye, the bottle neck her version of a pacifier in this inane situation.}

Orue: *Near screaming now* GODDAMMIT WHISKEY! SHUT YOUR FUCKING PENIS-CATCHER!

{Now thaaaaaaat... only sorta does the trick, as the drunken Joshi's loud bawling gives way to pathetic mewls and whines worthy of a kicked puppy, Orue puts his hands on his hips and looms over her... it's okay to picture your oft-disappointed parents at this point.}

Orue: *Pointedly* What was just shown is NOT your upcoming match, it's not even a match, you will not be going to an abandoned Japanese island where the native equivalent of Samuel L Jackson will be waiting to strap a C4-radio-activated-collar-of-imminent-arterial-spraying-death around your - and likewise your opponents' - throats, you will not be armed with various guns, knives, hatchets, grenades, and fucking hobbyist crossbows in the interests of committing straight-up MURDER on one another, and though wrestling management does often appear to be an isolationist dictatorship, there will be no strange pseudo-military off-shoot that'll kill you with Chinese-knockoff M4A1 assault rifles should you, y'know, LEAVE THE FUCKING RING! *Deep breath* There, d'you feel better now, you dumbass?

{The "Deep-South Dragon" looks absolutely mollified by her managers' outburst for a long awkward moment...}














Whiskey: ...














{We DID say long right?}












Orue: *Agitated* ... Well!?

Whiskey: *Sniffle* Are you sure-u!

{At this the older man pinches the bridge of his nose angrily, a growl escaping his throat as he no doubt thinks - rather vividly - how easy it would be to dispose of the drunken Joshi's corpse, after all, she is comprised mainly of alcohol at this point, just one quick match strike and FWOOOOOOSH~!}

Orue: *Through gritting teeth* Yes. Whiskey.

Whiskey: Then what-u was that?

Orue: *Shrugging* Looked how I imagine this match going for you, frankly.

{Another whine starts to build in the young Joshi's throat, causing Orue to literally grab Whiskey's 'bottle-occupied' hand and shove it into her mouth, effectively silencing her before she can start the drunken theatrics all over again.}

Orue: OK, are you done? Please tell me you're done, if you're not done I can just phone management now and tell them you're not showing up, and then I can lead you out to the shed behind my mansion where I have an overabundance of plastic sheeting and lime for just such an occasion! Now, I'm sorry that was not the video I expected, you are in a match, and if you win, you get to move into a nicer place... or spend all the money on losing scratch tickets, frankly, I don't fucking care.

{Ever see someone retain the ability to pout around the lip of a bottle of hard liquor? Well you have now.}

Orue: Five hundred THOUSAND dollars, I mean, sure, I myself make that in a week, but I, of course, am a corporate mogul with an unfortunate addiction to lending my support behind the scenes to failing pro-wrestlers. To YOU - on the flip side of the coin hidden underneath the cool side of the pillow - that's a veritable fortune. Unlike most battle royales, as soon as this one starts to get down to the wire - in this case, eighty-two people have been eliminated - the match sharply changes from one of these 'over-the-top' dealies into a four-person cage match of some kind.

Whiskey: *Quirks an eyebrow at this* ...

Orue: Or a hell in a cell, or whatever type of specialty gimmick this particular fed likes to throw into being surrounded on all sides by mesh, metal, and pointy, skin-rending agony. NOW, these four duke it out, some may be more tired depending on their order of entry-

{Whiskey motions to take the rye-bottle from her mouth but her manager cuts her off.}

Orue: Before you ask, it's not gonna be a mystery to us, you're in it at number...

{He pauses and scratches his chin as he thinks for a moment, the look on Whiskey's face one of keen interest for once. Hey, entry numbers are more important than having her self-esteem destroyed for on-}

Orue: *Shrugs* Fuck, I forgot, ah well, might have something to do with not expecting you to last longer than four minutes in this debacle. I'll text you later when I give enough of a shit to remember it.

{DAMN! Foiled again! We can almost SEE the invisible dagger drive its' way into the "Deep-South Dragon's" heart.}

Orue: Moving on, this thing gets even MORE convoluted STILL! As these four continue to rumble, they can only be eliminated by pinfall or submission, because apparently death is not a deciding factor in a match, keep that in mind if you hematoma and die in the center of the ring, you went out a winner for once Whiskey!

{Another pout as she drains the bottle of rye... she then reaches off screen and magically produces an even BIGGER bottle of... what does the skull-and-crossbones signify again?}

Orue: When two of the last four opponents is pinned or taps out, the match changes once more, this time into some insane spectacle involving ladders... ladders on top of the cage, or hell in a cell, or octagon of Cthulhu, whatever until whichever poor, sadsack sonuvabitch - likely the only one with any remainder of spinal fluid left in their body - retrieves the briefcase dangling high above the cage using a ladder. And then - I'd assume - spending the remainder of his pained retired life living in agony and unable to afford his hospital bills after three years of living as such... NOW!

{Clapping his hands sharply, a flood of people enter the room, all of them wearing cardboard "Troll" masks... only the printed faces are altered images of every single opponent she has in the upcoming Survive and Conquer match. You might wanna record this, this may be the only time in recorded existence there was ever a "Smiling Troll" Isamu. Or you could, you know, bleach your frontal lobe to remove this affront to wrestling as a whole... oh wait, BAD ASS's "Troll"-face counterpart appears to be a midget, you're welcome.}

Whiskey: *With the bottle still in her mouth* MFhagahw PHGK!?

Orue: Watch you language in front of the guests, Whiskey! Anyways, this collection of people here are going to represent your opponents for this training session. They've even all been so kind as to wear masks representing you opponents! C'mon, take a look at them through your double vision!

{With that "Fireball" calmly stumbles to her feet in front of the crowd of what are no doubt homeless people wearing masks, she squints and leans in, surveying the crowd as intently as one might think given her current BAC level as read by most breathalyzers: "Error". After several long minutes, awkwardly quiet save for the rasping breaths and sick coughs of the group she's gazing at, she turns back to Orue...}

Whiskey: *Confused* Do I know any of-u them?

Orue: *Bellowing laugh* Of course you do Whiskey! Why there's...

{Points at a stout man wearing a Juan Ramirez mask... and a traffic safety pylon for a hat.}

"Troll" Ramirez: I'm Wu-Han Ramirez *Coughs harshly*

Orue: You look a LOT more Caucasian than I thought you'd, uh... be? Also there's-

{This time he points at a lady who is obviously one of the cheapest, dirtiest, worm-ridden, STD-Riddled cum-dumpsters possibly available in any Bowery, whore house, horror house, or CSI-crime scene imaginable... naturally wearing a Azrael Goeren "troll" mask.}

"Troll" Whore-Goeren: We gonna fuck yet, Mr Destrega? My pimp said if I wasn't back on the street within the hour it was gonna be another night in the dumpster, sleeping beside the rats and a disturbing copy of the "Best of Johnny Rebel" DVD...

Orue: *Shirking in disgust* Fuck, you're too much like real thing to be a parody, take your money and get the hell out you horrible little creature!

{Orue turns back to his charge with a smile on his face, thumbi9ng to the crowd like they're all old friends that she should be familiar with... one steps out and lightly taps the manager on the shoulder, causing him to wince in realization that his shirt would now need to be burned, because NOTHING gets hobo-grease out. He turns to stare into the "Troll"-masked face of...}

"Troll" Vantage: I'm VANTAGE!

Orue: *Angrily* And I still don't give a fuck!

Whiskey: ... these are my training-u partners?!

Orue: You're damn skippy! You need to learn about the type of situations you could get into in this match, there's gonna be people gunning for anybody, I figure a perfect starting place for that mindset is to instead have everybody just go after YOU and work up from there!

Whiskey: *Nervously eyeing the advancing hobo mob of 84 people since "Troll" Whore Goeren was dismissed* I'm the only Asian bartender in Nashville-u, I already know what it's-u like for everyone to want-u to kill me! You already did-u this to me when we went to that-u Irish Pub!

{Slowly, like a horde of zombies they creep towards her, the "troll" masked faces of all of her upcoming opponents' mock her mercilessly and visions of painful dismemberment or orgy car sex from a particular Will Ferrel movie dance through her head}

Orue: Nonsense! That was an Irish Pub to deal with a much larger opponent, the unruly homeless mob you see before you are armed with shivs, shanks, razors, a bitter rage against society in general, psychosis, the moral support of Rutger Hauer, and of course the promise of a turkey-bacon club sandwich for their next meal! GOOD LUCK!

{With real fear in her eyes, Whiskey flips the remaining bottle in her hand to grip it by the neck, emptying her much-beloved contents onto the floor, before she looks up at the crowd, trying to find out a weak point... naturally, her eyes fall on "Troll" Midget BAD ASS.}

Whiskey: *A few short, deep breaths as her adrenaline kicks in* ... KAAAAAAAAAAAMIKAAAAAAAAAAAAZEEEEEEEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH~!!!

{And with that the drunken Joshi with the slight frame and diminutive stature charges (Read: Stumbles drunkenly) into the mob, shattering the liquor bottle over "Troll" Midget BAD ASS as we fade out to black...}



{...}



{We fade back in to show both Whiskey and Orue sitting on the curb outside the small wrestling gym, which is now currently engulfed in flames. Firefighters running past the duo as they join in the fight to keep the flames from spreading to the orphanage beside it. Across the street, several hobos - "Troll" masks still firmly in place - are getting the Rodney King treatment courtesy of the LAPD.}

Orue: *Off-Handedly* OK... I'll admit it; I could have planned that better than I did.

{His managed talent can barely muster a glare at the older man through her swollen eyes, she's currently holding a bag of frozen peas - where she got them from, we'll never know - on an angry bruise on her jaw and her face is a myriad of superficial cuts and dirty ash.}

Orue: Hey! Don't gimme that look! They wouldn't have been able to burn down the gym if you'd have fought harder! I mean seriously, who goes down from a wrench shot to the base of the spine these days? I thought you were tougher than that...

{Whiskey sniffles lightly, causing her left nostril to start running blood before she leans forward and spits out the remains of what may have been a molar that she'd just discovered rolling around in the back of her mouth... Orue looks a wee bit stunned by the display.}

Orue: Ooooooooookay. I'll say it, I'm sorry, hiring hobos at a cheap rate to beat the shit out of you under the guise of "Training" may have been across the line... MAY have been.

{Still ignoring her managers' comments she reaches into her wrestling boot and produces a small flask, unscrewing the cap she tilts in back with glee... before sputtering - and nearly choking on her sweet nectar of life - in pain.}

Whiskey: ... fuck-u...

{She shrugs it off for a moment before tilting it back to drink again, and obvious wince on her face with every gulp and a small, pathetic whimper escaping her every wince. It's a sorry sight, yes, even you feel bad and affected by this show... admit it you TEARFUL BASTARDS!}

Orue: *Sighs* ... Whiskey...

{With that the older man promptly reaches over and snags the flask from her mouth, and for the first time since the corporate mogul/manager has known the young Joshi, she does not even complain about the removal of alcohol from her gullet. She instead looks at him with the expression of an orphan puppy watching her beloved master get shoved into a woodchipper by a sentient vacuum cleaner.}

Orue: OK, listen Whiskey, I don't get to say this to you often, but these types of matches are crapshoots, not always is it that the best man wins, sometimes it's just the luckiest. Unfortunately, you're neither the most talented nor are you anything remotely considered CLOSE to lucky. But - and I can say this honestly - you are good, goddamn good, at what it is you do, and for all I needle and prod and pour salt in the wounds... I really do wanna see you succeed...

{OK, seriously, the heartless prick that edited this promo just inserted this into the scene, fuck you, you heartless prick... *Sniffle*: }

Orue: I push you hard because I fully expect you to rise to the occasion and maybe be able to push yourself beyond your limits... this IS a match you stand a chance at winning Whiskey, whether you believe it or not!

{Through the ashes and the bruises, we see the "Deep-South Dragon" look at her manager with tears in her eyes, a single, solitary drop makes its' way down her bruised cheek, it's a beautiful moment, even though the normally clear tear is turned opaque by the grime currently gracing her features...}

Whiskey: *On the verge of not just crying, but UGLY crying* R-really?

{And with that final, tear-filled ray of hope, the emotion and illusion is shattered as Orue busts out laughing in her face. Her eyes narrow angrily and she throws the frozen peas, missing by a mile because she's still hammered, in the background we see the peas connect with the back of one of the police officer's knees, who in turn thinks it was "Troll" CJ Gates' fault and responds accordingly... with a taser.}

Orue: *Snickering as he comes down from a laughing high* Oh c'mon, Whiskey. Everyone has a chance, I mean, Hell most of your opponents aren't even noteworthy. There's a hot goth chick with pink hair that I don't believe has ever even wrestled before, CasIron or CasCopper, or some type of metal attached to the prefix “Cas”, then you got BAD ASS! Who's not nearly as tough as the midget you bottled earlier!

{At the memory they both laugh, albeit Whiskey's is rather pained, but still, nothing brings a wrestler and manager together quite like assaulting someone with Dwarfism, an act Whiskey looks more than willing to reproduce should she meet the "Real" - and yes, quotations are intentional - BAD ASS during the match.}

Orue: I couldn't even name half these guys but they're all busy stroking each others' dicks or trying to kindle their old rivalries that nobody gives a shit about at every possible turn, rivalry doesn't factor into this, Whiskey, this is simply a war, every man, woman, and whatever the fuck a "Blake Quinn" is - he's an ex-con, by the way, he'll rape and kill you so I'd recommend not meeting him in this match.

{Whiskey's head cocks to the side, her face so swollen you can't even tell if her expression is one of fear anymore.}

Orue: Everyone has a chance, you do, Crowbar does, Jacob Davies doesn't - but the little guy tries so hard it's hard to tell him so - and Seth Black most certainly does, and from the shit I've seen spouted revolving around this guy, and his proposed entry into the match, it's a high probability. But never discount anyone...

{Whiskey nods before grabbing her flask back from her manager, staring at it in deep though before throwing it back down her gullet again...}

Whiskey: ... Orue-sama, is there anybody I need-u to keep my eyes on?

Orue: *A thoughtful look* ... hmmm... maybe Johnny Knuckles...

{A sideways glance at the mention of the name.}

Whiskey: *Hic* Who's Johnny Knuckles?

Orue: Some guy who put together some cute little sketch... frankly, I think he looks more like the type of guy that'd strangle his wife, smother his son with a pillow, and then hang himself from his weight set if he doesn't get his way, but that's just me...

{Both pause and look at each other, across the bottom of the screen we see: "DISCLAIMER - THE WORDS AND ACTIONS OF THESE TWO ARE NOT ANY INDICATION OF DESTREGA CORPS OR ITS AFFILIATES... EXCEPT FOR THE CEO, ORUE DESTREGA"}

Whiskey: *Polishing off the flask with a wince, stares at it with a frown* We almost-u done here, Orue-sama?

Orue: *Standing Up* I should goddamn hope so, now come on, let’s get you to a dentist, then a liquor store, and then bed, you have a LOT of being drunk to do before Survive and Conquer...

{With that he helps the Drunken Joshi to her feet and they wander off down the street as the scene fades to black...}

[Jackson]

darkhorseonline.net blog posting || 01-25-2012 NYC 1315 hours

Oderint dum metuant— I don't survive, I conquer.

See there's this thing I know, one simple truth that remains when you strip away all the posturing and the rest of the bullshit that goes with this profession of ours: we're all grasping at straws. What I mean is we all want immortality in some shape or form. We all want that one shining moment where the world stands up and takes notice of the greatness in their midst. We all want to be remembered as something more than a sweaty actor-cum-athlete who does what the world largely regards as scripted entertainment. I've been chasing this particular dream for years, and while I've had a few peaks, a few plateaus where I had gold around my waist and was getting name-dropped in public pretty regularly, I still felt empty. There's got to be something more. Something bigger. I bet you're wondering why I'm here, and the question becomes rhetorical in the mere mention. I'd mention the pedigree, the shit that everyone's thinking like how I've been Nasty National Champion for more than year after dominating their first tournament (not that anyone cares since that place has lost all credibility). I could talk about how I'm some multi-time World Champion in at least ten places that have gone under in the last year and a half but what the fuck's the point? It wasn't here in APW. It wasn't in the place I'm representing. It might as well have happened in some mirror universe filled with evil doppelgangers.

The question's rhetorical because I'm here for the same reason those other eighty-five people are: fame. Yeah, that four letter word that plagues our existence. That's the same reason I've done everything else in this nineteen-year long career. I've come to a conclusion, though. Sad that it's come this late in the game, but here it is: the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep. I know, I stole that from Kenny Rogers, but it's true. Going out with a bang is too much of a calculated risk and you never know when that true perfect high point's going to happen until it's already gone. Sad but true, folks. So I figure it's best to go out quietly— slip out the back door when nobody's looking, you know? It'll be better that way since the reporters won't be there, in your face, asking you why you dropped the ball, passed the metaphorical torch to that asshole you just jobbed out to, whatever. You'll crawl home, licking those wounds for the last time and then drop dead in that no-tell motel you're shacked up in. They'll call it a tragedy. Another life ripped away too soon in this revolving-door industry that employs us.

They won't tear at their hair and compose songs in my honor and I'm fine with that. The only guys around here who'd be likely to show up at the funeral are Jason Kash and Johnny Knuckles, and the latter's likely because that fucked up little freak's still got that man-crush he's been cultivating since that first time we faced each other back in whatever shitty little fed that was. The last time we met up, I tried to kill him in a cage made of light tubes. Garbage wrestling at its finest. I'm not proud of the depths to which I've sunk for bigger and better thrills. Took them three hours to pull all that glass out from under my skin but it was worth it for that fifteen minutes and another golden albatross to hang around my neck.

The days when our ilk were considered up there alongside legends like Johnny Cash and Ronnie James Dio passed by years ago— now we're just statistics. Before the big Internet boom, before the YouTube craze and the thousand and one backyard wrestling promotions we were heroes. We were deified nightly. We're not that special anymore and that's why we're all here. We want to rise above that cookie-cutter sameness for one last epic hurrah.

Or at least I do. Maybe you don't. Maybe you're fine with being the best run-of-the-mill bitch or asshole from GIW or APW or SCCW or wherever you call home. And if that's the case, bully for you. Accept mediocrity, and wrap yourself up tight in the blanket of complacency. It'll keep you warm when this wrestling machine gets going and rips you out of your cute little delusion of greatness.

This is how it'll end, inevitably: I envision my hand lifted in victory with you standing there sporting that stunned expression, wondering what the fuck just happened. Then I'll laugh, you'll cry and the critics'll try to write something clever to commemorate your passing. I'll move on down the road, add another highlight to my resume, go back to my bat-wielding lunacy back in SVW and call it a day. Whatever.

I could tell you all about how ready I am for this rumble and how eighty-five other competitors from promotions I hadn't even heard of before a couple weeks ago don't make my pulse race. I could do that but I'd be completely full of shit. I could babble about how I was born ready and that all my training led up to this moment, but that's a bit clichéd, no? I'm sure that's what you want to read now that fifty other people have said the same damn thing, right? Yeah, I'm going to pass on treading down that worn-out road, if it's all the same to you. I'd prefer to avoid those same empty words that everyone else is using. No, that's not a fucking excuse.

Why not? Well, it's not because the typewriter monkeys are on strike and I couldn't find a generic rant from 2009 to reuse for the occasion. If I wanted that I'd just look up that jackass named Brennan Knight from VWA or one of those other posers who stole words from my mouth and passed them off as their own over the past couple years. Whatever. You think by now I'd be used to the fact that I'm so damn good everyone wants to be me.

Fucking hell; I get so easily sidetracked these days. I have to be careful I don't do that here— not because I care deeply about this tournament or the people in it. Truthfully, I'm bored by the whole thing already and it hasn't even started.

But a wall of words is what they want, isn't it? That's what they want to judge you on. How well you can talk the talk before the fur flies. So, the words come out. The dicks come out. The chips on the shoulder get a new coat of polish. The knee pads get a nice workout (at least in the case of one who shall remain nameless).

All boils down to the three letter word that's the worst of them all: ego. It's a necessary evil in this business and I know I've said this a million times before but it's true. You know it is because this business is really all about a sick addiction to lights, cameras and applause. Anyone who denies that is full of shit, especially in this setting.

Truth, folks. That's what I'm selling from the back of this wagon— not snake oil. A nice shiny ego's not going to save you when there are this many people vying for that single top spot. You can't bank on a fluke. You can't bribe someone to hand you a win. You can't lie or cheat because out there the stakes are the highest they've ever been in your career. You can act like this is nothing but you've gotta remember that you're not some a fictional character in a roleplaying game. You're REAL and if you're not careful, someone's going to make you bleed the hard way.

People make mistakes. I know I'm not infallible or perfect or the greatest fucking thing since sliced bread and processed American cheese slices. I'm going out there twenty-sixth out of eighty-six. Even I'm not fucked in the head to think I can survive that long without some sort of gameplan.

So, whatever. Get to the point.

I'm not a survivor now, if I ever was. I learned how to kill years ago. I'm a conqueror now, a warrior. I could write about this shit until everyone's bored. I won't, though because this business of constantly having to explain my every word really needs to stop. No explanations— my trip is MY trip. You can have yours.

You think you can do it? You think you can pull the win out of your ass?

Go for it.

darkhorseonline.net video || 01-26-2012

The video, upon clicking, took a while to load. Maybe the site was laggy. Maybe the file was just too damn big for the bandwidth. Maybe your browser just sucks? Either way, when it finally loaded, it almost seemed broken or at the very least, a low-budget editing job. Most of his videos seemed to start this way, as if that was part of his style.

At first there was nothing but silence. Darkness and silence. The picture took longer to fade in and when it did, it revealed little more than an amorphous blob, blue on black against the faint backdrop of the Manhattan skyline. The camera jiggled slightly and then shifted to reveal the lower portion of a face that was further illuminated by an inhale as the cherry on the cigarette clamped between the lips glowed orange. A square jaw line was barely visible, indented with a cleft in the middle of the chin and darkened with stubble. The camera was zoomed in far enough to pick out the orangeish-brown shape on the white paper between those almost sneering lips— Camel cigarette.

The lips curved into a sardonic smirk. With a creak of springs, he leaned back slightly, revealing more of his face; a crooked nose that definitely looked to have been broken more than once, followed by deep-set eyes beneath a heavily furrowed brow. A sharp bark of humorless laughter accompanied a waft of smoke from between those lips.

"So here we are, eighty six of the so-called best and brightest of this little profession of ours," the voice belonging to this man was raspy and hard, as though he'd just finished gargling broken glass and Drano. With him, it could very well have been true. "There's a strange sort of irony in this, if you look hard enough. Although I find humor in pretty much everything these days. Not gonna lie. Watching idiots whoring themselves out for energy drinks is pretty hilarious." The cigarette was plucked away with thick fingers, leaving that mouth free to curve into a predatory flash of teeth, "yeah, I'm talking about you, Knuckles. You just became relevant for ten seconds. Congratulations, buddy."

The dark eyes rolled in their sockets, accompanying a disdainful snort. "I'm sure you'll be composing some more of that fanboy poetry of yours in your head now that I said your name. It's nice to know some things never change. You and I, we're always going to be the same thugs we always were. The rest of these fucks don't understand that, do they? Yeah, I know. That whole 'nobody understands how hard it is to be me' trip," he finger quoted the words, sarcasm thick in his voice, "is so overdone these days. Some people just don't get what it means to be in this business. You put your face out there, you go on camera, an audio show, or type up some blog, and you'd better have a thick enough skin to deal with the flack you're going to get from the haters. Everyone's a fucking critic. The fans of this business are glorified armchair quarterbacks who like to judge every little thing we do. Sometimes we're worse than they are— I know I am because I NEVER cut you slack. If you fuck up, if you try to fleece the brainless lemmings with a flash of tits while licking your so-called lady lips, I will fucking eat you alive for the copout bullshit. Honestly, I really cannot stand those of you who are more than willing to cast stones but love to play victim when those stones are whipped right back. It's about as amusing as watching stupid whores pretend they aren't idiots that spend a good deal of their time on their backs. There's no revelation there. You know the drill. It's not personal, sweetheart. Just business and I'm sure anyone who's bothered to look me up, or has ever crossed paths with me in the past knows that MY business is making sure that I'm as hated as possible before we ever get between those ropes."

His eyes glowed with mischief as he turned his head slightly, looking at something other than the dead eye of the camera, "and that's what you love about me, isn't it?" His wink was slow, that grin easy and sexy, making it clear that he got his kicks off this sort of manipulation, making his opponents uncomfortable. "Besides, you're more likely to fuck up when you're running hot with emotion. I'd name drop but I'm sure you could figure it out with a little effort if you dug back through my Twitter logs. There's no love lost there; that's for sure. Betting you don't show up to the party. If I were you, I sure as hell wouldn't."

He cocked his head as though considering something, "and I suppose this little thing holds no water if I don't mention Terry Marvin, right? If memory serves, that's last year's winner, right? Winner of last year's tournament or not, he's still a fuckin' joke." He rolled his eyes, "oh, I went there. Get over it, Marvin. You're horribly outclassed this time around, and you know it."

Those broad shoulders rose and fell in an idle shrug as he snorted another laugh that held no mirth. "A little bit of honesty among all the fakes comes as a breath of fresh air. Most people don't notice because they're too busy combing through words to find the subtext of ego or fear. Don't bother. You won't find either here. See, I know you assume since I'm a somewhat successful wrestler that I'm high as a kite on the opiate of my own accomplishments. I can assure you that's not true. I don't envision myself as some sort of larger-than-life juggernaut, smashing through opponents like walls. I don't think I'm Godzilla to this tournament's Tokyo, crushing all the tiny people underfoot. Yeah, I might be kamikaze crazy, but I'm not completely deranged. I've lost some matches in my time. Hell, I just came out of a bad situation where my losing streak became quite epic before I got myself fired and stripped of a title in the same breath. Whatever. Adversity is a learning experience."

The cigarette returned to those smirking lips, and he devoured the remains in one deep inhale before leaning forward to crush it out off camera. Smoke poured out with the next words, momentarily obscuring his features from view. "The way I see it, nobody's here to coast. If you are, you're a fucking moron. This is a do-or-die type of thing in my mind. I don't give a shit about accomplishments or marketable skills. I'm not trying to collect life experience points for the next level up. This is serious shit, kids. Failure is not a fucking option. I have to last through SIXTY fucking entrants after I hit that ring to win this. I have to last through at least 20 or 40 other assholes to get my hands on the two people I most want to wail on. Not that I'm complaining, really. I like an uphill battle. At least I'm not as screwed as that pink-haired firecracker named Alyssa Casteele. I don't begrudge her that position. Least I get to relax for a bit- shit, who am I kidding? I won't be chilling out backstage, idly flipping through this week's Pro Wrestling Insider. I won't be chatting up some random groupie slut with the hopes of taking her back to my hotel after the show-"

His eyes shifted off camera for a second, as if he'd said that for someone else's benefit, "nope. I'll be pacing like a tiger in a cage, ready to unleash this violent urge that's been building up over the last two weeks since I tossed my hat into this thing. I'll be coming down that ramp and unloading every-fucking-thing I have. Every ounce of energy will be conserved until the moment I hit that ring. Until the SECOND my music hits the speakers. Then I'm going to unload every sick urge filling my head, every grisly fantasy spawned by a lifetime of violence… I'm going to break every person I lay eyes on. I'm going to leave them in pieces, twitching and crying in the middle of that ring. That's what I do best and the asses in the seats will eat up the violence like candy. They won't bat an eye at the carnage because I've done it a thousand times before in arenas just like this. Hell, my career began in Miami back in 1993. Feels like a goddamn lifetime ago now. Been around the world and back a million times over since then. Such is the life."

He stared forward with malevolent intensity, almost a feverish gleam in his eyes that matched that devilish grin. "And now it occurs to me that I never even told you who I am because I'm so full of myself that I just assumed you already knew. You managed to make it to my website where I hosted this little brain-dropping, right? So you should know, but we'll pander to those who might have ended up here by accident, or because it was re-blogged from somewhere else. My name is Brad Jackson but most people in these parts call me either Jackson or Jax. Honestly, I don't give a shit which one you use. All amounts to the same thing. You don't know me from this little song and dance so when I tell you that I loathe my first name, you won't know for sure if I'm joking, or I'm completely on the level. Best I figure a realization's gonna to hit you in the fucking face with the impact of a brick once we hit that ring. You'll learn all you need to know in the first ten seconds you see me right up in your face. Until then, take whatever you want from this. Call it ego masturbation. Call it public urination or verbal diarrhea. It doesn't fucking matter because the truth is looking you in the face. I'm here and you can't do a damn thing to change it, as much as you want to hide behind a smug little smile, the magic of reinvention through Photoshopping, retconning or even that wonderful DELETE button. Whatthefuckever. I know the truth even if you're going to deny it until you're blue in the face. I've got you and about 75% of these other jokers pegged from the first word that drops from the lips." He tapped his temple, that smirk growing more malevolent.

"But you know what? The longer I lurk here, the more I'm gettin' to liking it. Shit, maybe I'll even stick around after the tournament's over. Some of you might be thrilled about that prospect. And those who aren't can get fucked for all I care. Probably will, regardless." Jackson dragged the back of his hand across his lips, wiping away the spittle that had spilled out with the vehement words.

"Alright, I'm getting that look which means it's time to wrap this shit up." He flashed a thumbs up to the camera, "so we'll leave it with a little truth between enemies. The old ending scenario, wrapping up the whole thing. I lied to you before when I said you won't find fear in my eyes. Seriously, I'm actually feeling pressure going into this. Something about the scope of this place, the level of talent, I'm feeling this crushing sense like I'm going to fuck this up catastrophically, get eaten alive, and swallowed up out there. It's been a long damn time since I've felt that little prickle of unease and you know what? I embrace it. Doubts are a good thing and so are uncertainties. If I knew everything, life would be fucking boring. Shaking hands are a nice reminder that I'm still sane, even after all these years." He shrugged, raking a hand through his disheveled, silver-shot hair. "Y'know, all these words and actions that have passed between us mean nothing. Or maybe they mean everything. Depends on how you look at it, I guess. Perspective, right? Sure, and we all know the past paves the way to the future, and all that existential junk. You fall off the horse and you get back up unless your last name is Reeve— chalk it up to the human experience, and get back out there for another try. Prove the haters wrong. That's what I'm gonna do here because that's who I am. I'm a fighter by trade. I'm one of the best ones out there and it's time to CONQUER like I know I can." He grinned as a dark haired woman moved up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him from behind.

"You can and you will," she murmured, her voice a soothing whisper that the camera still picked up as she kissed his stubbled cheek. "That is, after all, what you do best, baby."

And with that, the video feed cut off abruptly in the midst of that abrasive, mocking chuckle that came slipping past that knowing smirk of his. Some might consider that a blessing.

[Alex Castellanos]

The Art of Survival
ALEX CASTELLANOS ROLEPLAY: #026

Scene One: In the Interim

Revolt had faded from the airwaves for two hours or so ago, but the night was still young. Earlier in the evening we had seen Alex Castellanos in his finest clothes preparing for a night on the town with his girlfriend, Sarah, but the return of one David Sinclair had thrown a wrench into their plans. He was a swindler, an anarchist, and someone who Alex believed had no rightful claim to the helm of Galveston Island Wrestling. He exited the ring soon after their first encounter, with Sarah close behind, enraged.

Alex Castellanos: “Get in the car. Were driving to the headquarters.”

And so they went: down Seawall Boulevard, up 32nd street, left on Cline Boulevard, and finally reaching the headquarters of Galveston Island Wrestling at the corner of Coffer and 10th. There were lights blazing through the windows of all three floors of the heart of the organization. Alex took a parking spot in the front row that was usually reserved for Blake Beckett, but had been crudely painted over to say “David Sinclair.”. He exited and rounded the car, ascended the steps, and pushed through the door, knowing exactly where he needed to go. Sarah was a few steps behind.

Sarah Sharp: “Alex, calm down…”

She was struggling to get the words out as she ascended the staircase in her heels. Eventually she pulled them off just to keep up.

Sarah Sharp: “I told you this would happen! You always act like a lunatic when something bad happens. Get a grip!”

She caught him and twisted him around using every amount of muscle she had. His eyes were darker than they usually were, she was amazed at the sight and ran a finger underneath it.

Sarah Sharp: “Look at you…”

He swallowed his words, then gently pushed her hand away. There was a moment of silence where Alex showed her that he was aware of what she was saying, but he knew what he had to do.

Alex Castellanos: “I’m going to talk to Kluge. Stay here.”

He quickly ascended another flight of stairs, leaving Sarah behind clutching her purse and heels in either hand. She stood for a moment chewing on her lip, then took off in the opposite direction, back down to the ground floor. Meanwhile, Alex entered the third floor through a door and began to walk down a hallway lined with doors. It extended both ways, but Alex knew exactly where he was going. He took a left, and his destination was the third door on the right. He didn’t knock, he didn’t need to, he simply opened the door and entered.

Alex Castellanos: “Kluge.”

This office was completely empty except for a TV tray with a laptop computer and a charger in the back corner. The walls were textured tan, old looking, and the floor was white tile. The roof was made of red brick like the exterior of the building. A burly man stood up, with an impressively groomed beard. He was dressed in a Packer’s shirt and cargo shorts, and his hair was wildly strewn over his head. His blue eyes pierced through the shadowy room.

Matt Kluge: “Mr. Castellanos, it has been a while.”

Kluge came out from behind the computer desk and extended his hand towards his old friend.

Matt Kluge: “I would offer you a seat, but I don’t have much in here. How did you know that I stole this office? Beckett took mine away a few weeks ago, so when I come down here I usually have to steal one. Then, I found this gem was vacant, and took it. Homey right?”

Kluge was a joker, it was part of his charm, but Alex wasn’t interested in the road agent’s games right now. Kluge sensed it and corrected himself.

Matt Kluge: “What do you need, Alex?”

The tension in the room was building. Alex balled his fists and gritted his teeth.

Alex Castellanos: “This Sinclair, he isn’t really in charge of GIW now is he?”

Kluge did not answer, he merely bowed his head and sighed. There was a moment, and then Kluge went back behind his desk and pulled out two slips of paper. Tickets.

Matt Kluge: “Alex, this is your Survive and Conquer ticket. I was supposed to give it to you a few weeks ago, but I kind of forgot.”

He handed Alex the ticket, and Alex stared at it for a moment. He folded it up, and placed it in his pocket with a disgusted mask covering his face.

Alex Castellanos: “I don’t know how they expect me to compete for a company I have no faith in anymore.”

Alex nodded to Kluge, then exited the room and headed back to find Sarah in the stairwell. As he went down each step one by one, he noticed she was gone. He sighed, then went out to his car as the scene fades away.


Scene Two: Promises

The Port of Galveston was a murky and dark place, the catacombs of docks and buoys separated the glossy, green Gulf waters from the sandy mainland, and for the most part the area was devoid of human life, with the exception of the workers who operated machinery and transported oil by day. By night, however, it was a much calmer environment. The water was sill here, much different than it was on the other side of the island, with the waves slowly sloshing rather than furiously collapsing and churning into each other. An eerie silence filled the air.

On the twenty third jetty from the fourth dock sat two people, and these two people would always sit here. Once per night every other night or so. Like clockwork they would arrive, kiss, and sit on the edge of the rocks, dangling their feet inches above the water. They had long conversations here, in the most peculiar of places to have conversations, and they would hide nothing from one another. They used this place as a way to express their deepest feelings, their inner demons, their fears, their shortcomings, their accomplishments - nothing was out of bounds between these two when they were here. They fell in love at this location because of it’s power to grant them freedom from their inhibitions. They weren’t people here, they were specters of ideas, thoughts, and plans.

He placed his arm around her, and they sat in silence for a moment, taking in the aura of the place. He turned to her and smiled, then kissed her on the cheek. The brief moment where his face hit the moonlight revealed him as Alex Castellanos, and her Sarah Sharp.

Alex Castellanos: “This place, it’s so beautiful isn’t it? I mean, it is so ugly, but it’s so beautiful. Maybe that’s by our own doing though, I suppose. The human mind is a powerful thing…”

She nodded, then pressed her head into his arm. It was January in Galveston, and it was around thirty degrees this evening. The chill resonating over the water turned it into an extremely cold night.

Alex Castellanos: “By this time tomorrow, I’ll be in Miami preparing for the most mainstream wrestling match of my life, Sarah. APW Survive and Conquer, representing Galveston Island Wrestling. The winner gets a $500,000 cash prize. No questions asked. But, even the losers get a very valuable prize. Recognition. If I put up a great showing, it could capture the attention of a totally new group of people. I’ll be on national pay-per-view Sarah. I’m so close to going from Galveston to Global. Are you sure that you don’t want to come with me? I can make sure you get Wake’s ticket.”

She sat up and looked him right in his blue eyes, then shook her head with a small smile on her lips. Even after everything they had been through, from the bad decisions to the betrayal, she loved him, and she was proud of him.

Sarah Sharp: “I don’t want to leave Galveston again. I belong here, so I will stay here. I support you in whatever goals you have, whatever dreams to can conjure, but Alex, I can’t go. If you lose, then you will be humiliated. If you win, you will be reaching for more. I know you. I know that when you get a taste of success, you don’t make the best decisions. It has been proven time after time, and I don’t want to have to see it happen again.”

Alex thought about what she said for a moment. His past actions ran through his mind like a video tape. When he became North Beach Champion months ago, he wanted more. In his quest for power and prominence, he sided with Aspen Chaud, and then things changed.

Alex Castellanos: “I was weak, and Aspen was conniving. I had been wrestling for only a few months Sarah, I didn’t know. Aspen came to me and asked me for help, she wanted to be the Undisputed Champion. If I was to help her, she said she would make sure I would keep my title, and I would be the next to challenge for hers. I couldn’t pass it up Sarah. I hurt you in the process. I’m sorry, but I’ve changed. I know what I want now, but I also know that I am perfectly happy with what I have. I’m not going to risk it all again for anything.”

There was a moment, then a kiss.

Alex Castellanos: “I promise.”

The scene fades to black with the sound of a boat’s horn blowing far in the distance.


Scene Three: Survive and Conquer

The scene is set during a GIW House Show in Texas City, a stones throw away from the mainstay of Galveston Island and a place where wrestling thrives in every neighborhood. “Wayward One” by Alter Bridge hit’s the PA system, and the crowd of around two hundred hopped to their feet to greet the number one contender for the GIW Undisputed Championship, and all around crowd favorite, Alex Castellanos. He wasn’t wrestling tonight, he was dressed in blue jeans and his black custom t-shirt designed by the folks who produce GIW’s merchandise. He climbed into the ring with a live microphone and waited for his music to fade out before he began to speak.

Alex Castellanos: “Ladies and gentlemen on Texas City, I’m glad to be here tonight.”

There is a large pop from the crowd, he lets loose a big toothy smile and continues on.

Alex Castellanos: “I’m glad to be here, but I am ashamed to be standing in a GIW ring talking to you right now. Some people think it is a surprise that the company is shambles right now with the usurping of Blake Beckett and the addition of a man who nearly tore the company apart just a year ago into the Chairman position, but I’m not. I’m not surprised, and in fact, I have been warning of this for months. Literally since the day I got back in GIW two months ago, I spent every waking second of my time trying to expose Aspen Chaud for what she is, and get you and everyone in the back to realize that she does nothing good for this company. And then guess what she does, she tries to kill the owner, and brings back David Sinclair, public enemy number one, to assist her in her journey to total control over this company. I’m not one to gloat and say that I told you so, but I told you so.”

He takes a moment, then continues.

Alex Castellanos: “And now, even though Sinclair’s first act was to make me the number one contender for the GIW Undisputed Championship, I still am sick and tired of how the inmates are allowed to rule this company at will. However, I can deal with David Sinclair any other time, but Sunday, I have to go to Miami to represent Galveston Island Wrestling in the Survive and Conquer match. Eighty six warriors from all over the world will converge in Miami, Florida, on night, with one mutual goal: fame. So everyone will ride in on their horses, wearing their shining armor and hoisting their federation’s flag, but what of me? I was crowned the King of Galveston Island Wrestling, but what if the King is ashamed of his own land? What if that King is so disgusted at what his domain has morphed to, what his pride had regressed to, what his passion has condensed to… that he is ashamed to fly his own flag? This is an opportunity for every knight who believes they call the best place in the world their home to fight for it, and prove it. Their patriotism will be all the motivation they need to slay the foes who want to kill them just the same. But again I ask, what of me?”

The crowd is relatively silent. Alex’s eyes dance back and forth as he looks down to mat, biting his lip.

Alex Castellanos: “If I can’t wave my flag while I fight, then what am I fighting for? Fighting only for the betterment of your reputation will only take you so far, I lost myself when I went that route. I refuse to do it again. So why should I lend my name to an establishment that is running itself into the ground? Why would I waste my time? So, I’ve decided to take everything that I have been preaching in GIW, everything from all these months: all these warnings, all these stories, all these issues, and dedicating them not just instilling a Golden Age upon Galveston, but to the entire wrestling world. Because it needs it. It needs a rational voice, because now, every step of the way there is another guy who is irrational. If some how I can manage to claw my way to the final four after entering at number five, if some how I find a way to win this match, then my words of truth will spread like wildfire, because I know that I am not the only one in this business that is sick of shitty wrestling.”

There is a huge pop by the crowd, Alex continues.

Alex Castellanos: “Even before Sinclair came back from the dead, Aspen Chaud and Alexis Terry were running over to APW Overdrive and ruining matches. They are so focused on proving which federation is better that they don’t even notice their own home rotting before their eyes. It’s the same thing with everyone involved! Faith Simpson, Tony Miranda, Alioth Starre, Marcus Hister… do you know what they have to aid me in my quest? NOTHING! Not a damn thing. Everyone thinks I’m crazy because I just to be able to say ‘I’m from GIW and I can proudly and confidently say that we put on the best wrestling program possible.’ I can’t say that because it’s a load of bullshit. They all hate Sinclair, they all hate his games, but all they do is complain. They never act. The never stick their neck out and say, ‘Kill me, I dare you!’”

Alex calms himself down, then moves on.

Alex Castellanos: “I don’t love what it has become, but GIW is my home. I love it there. Our motto is ‘Dare to Defy’, and that is a motto that I live by. So, on Sunday, I will be fighting for GIW in it’s purest essence, not the bastard it has become. I ‘Dare to Defy’ every day when I attack the management and force them to be better. I also will ‘Dare to Defy’ when I win the Survive and Conquer match after entering at number five, and having to endure eighty one other wrestlers. I will win $50,000 dollars, I will spread my message, and I will prove myself to wrestling world. I’m here to stay.

His music fades up, then we fade to black.



OOC: It's pretty short considering the limit, but I felt like even this RP had to much fluff, and I didn't want to add any more. Go get 'em GIW!

[Deleted]

To some people--winning $500,000 could be a life changing experience.

Robb Daniels is not one of those people.

The man who has been called the “Innovator of Wrestling” for the better part of the last decade didn’t do his job for free. He’s one of the wealthiest competitors in this business. He’s earned more money in his ten year career than most men could in a lifetime. His rugged good looks, freakish athleticism and nose for the wrestling business has made him stand alone--above and beyond his peers. He is a business man whom manages talent relations for college graduates aspiring to make the move to a professional level in there respective sports.

Daniels is a member of the Universal Wrestling League. Where he is a former Heritage Champion and Tag Team Champion with his Mainstream member Joey Hollywood. When Daniels was invited to the Survive and Conquer match here in Action Packed Wrestling he was hesitant about accepting the invitation. He found out the match would include 40 of the top wrestlers within the Championship Wrestling Council’s circle of wrestling companies. Being one half of the CWC Tag Team of the Year he felt he should represent him home fed UWL by competing. Once confirming his affiliation with APW for one night and one night only--he later received a call that the 40 Man Limit would be raised. He asked to how many and when he was told 86 he was shocked. Daniels decided he was going to act on this situation that had been given to him to be the 1 whom defeated 85 other men.

UWL is well represented in the Survive and Conquer Match. Besides the “Innovator of Wrestling” Robb Daniels--Billy Dork and the UWL Television Champion--Jacob Davies will be competing including former UWL superstars Alan Christopher, Chris Hart and Kurt Noble. Although Daniels hasn’t been in the ring with any of these men in singles competition he is fresh off a 6-Man Tag match on this past weeks UWL Television Taping where across the ring from him on the opposing team stood Billy Dork. The match ended in an epic no contest when all competitors begin to brawl and the official lost control of the bout. With the addition of Justin Brooks to the Mainstream stable it’s beginning to turn things upside down in the League. Daniels left Brooks and Hollywood in a very good situation. There the Double Main Event for the Access Denied super card the same weekend of Survive and Conquer. Brooks is challenging for the Heritage Championship while Hollywood is trying to bring the World Heavyweight Championship to Mainstream.

The competitive spirit within Robb Daniels won’t allow him to just be push aside and go unnoticed in this match of such collective talent. He’s representing a brand of wrestling that is so well respected among it’s followers. The South Eastern states are dominated by the traveling society of wrestling fanatics whom know there going to get more than what they paid for when they purchase a UWL Live Event ticket. One thing is for damn sure--is everybody in APW will be satisfied with there product and the fans are going to get there moneys worth when Robb Daniels throws back the curtain and walks down the aisle.

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

APW Survive and Conquer
American Airlines Arena
Miami, Florida
Sunday, January 29th

The weather in Miami is much warmer than Tennessee this time of the year. Almost double the temperature of Knoxville. Mainstream will have to wait a few more months for Knoxville to warm up to there liking but Robb Daniels is going to Miami to bring the Heat to APW! As a matter of fact two nights before the huge Survive and Conquer pay-per-view UWL held the annual Access Denied super card for the sixth year. And on that night in Chattanooga--Robb Daniels made an unscheduled visit to the Memorial Auditorium for an unexpected appearance to a show in which he wasn’t even on the card. That night he ventured down the aisle unannounced to the crowds surprise as well as fellow competitor in tonight’s APW Event. That person was none other than Billy Dork. Daniels came out to ringside and made a trip around the ring seemingly scouting the match between Dork and his opponent Jason Graves. The two men acknowledged him at ringside but continued on with there bout. At the end of the back and forth debut for Jason Graves the man with his arm raised was none other than Billy Dork. But not by the referee--post match Daniels slid into the ring raising his hands showing that he came with good intentions and meant no harm. He shoves the referee aside with a distraught and tired Billy Dork and reaches for his wrist then raising his arm as the victor to a very surprised Dork. Daniels takes his left hand pointing at Dork before letting go and walking over to the ring ropes and stepping through to the ring floor. He walks midway up the aisle before turning back and pointing at his watch on his left wrist several times before cracking a smile and backing behind the curtain. He left a very confused Billy Dork standing in the ring while he exited the arena.

[From a far distance you can see a long black limousine pulling along the back side of the American Airlines Arena. The vehicle rolls to a complete stop along the curb in front of the back door. The door opens and the driver steps out of the vehicle making his way around the rear of the vehicle opening the back passenger door and allowing Bret Hamilton, Lauren Parker and Robb Daniels to step from the back seat. Daniels is dressed in his typical black suit pants, white dress shirt with a purple tie and a black vest. Lauren is wearing a very sexy green cocktail dress with white heels. Bret Hamilton is wearing his usual suit and tie dressed to impress. The driver closes the door and walks around to the trunk opening it and retrieving the duffle bag with Daniels’ belongings. He hands the bag to Daniels and he throws the strap over his head and across his shoulder.]

Robb Daniels: Thanks Sully.

Sully (The Driver): Anytime Mr. Daniels.

[The three begin walking towards the door where there is arena security waiting with a clipboard. Bret Hamilton is holding his flip camera recording the nights events. He begins filming with Robb and Lauren standing just outside the building with the security guards in the foreground.]

Robb Daniels: Tonight’s the big night. I’m Robb Daniels--she is my beautiful fiancé Lauren Parker. The soon to be “Mrs. Innovator of Wrestling”. The young man holding the camera is the Bret Hamilton and we’re here in the awesome Miami, Florida at the historic American Airlines Arena for the Action Packed Wrestling pay per view Survive and Conquer. Tonight I will be competing in the huge 86-Man Battle Royal slash Fatal Four way slash Cage match slash ladder match. I want all of you to come along for tonight’s experience.

[Daniels turns and motions for the camera to follow. He and Lauren are leading the way up to the men standing by the door. They approach him--as Daniels reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet for his id the man stops him.]

Security Guard: That will be alright Mr. Daniels. You’re on the list--along with you wife and business associate. Welcome to APW.

Robb Daniels: Thank you kindly. If you don’t mind could one of you fine gentlemen help us find our way to my dressing room. We’re not accustomed to these large venues because in UWL we only travel to the ballrooms, high school gymnasiums and fairgrounds.

Security Guard: That will be our pleasure. Also upon arrival you have 25 minutes to be fully dressed for your match and you are required to meet with the media before hand.

Lauren Parker: As long as he has a private dressing room and a clean one at that he has no problem meeting all of the agreed conditions.

Security Guard: Alright then--follow me.

[The guard slides his card which unlocks the door. He opens the door and holds it for Daniels, Lauren and Bret. They walk into the building where numerous people are walking all over the backstage area. Many of them are unrecognizable and Daniels has never seen them before. Because of such a large card and diverse group of people included in the Battle Royal it seems that the back is filled with people. The guard approaches a doorway with a piece of blue paper on it with ‘Robb Daniels’ written with a sharpie on it. He twists the knob--opens the door and turns the light on. He holds the door open welcoming them in before wishing him good luck and shutting the door behind him.]

Robb Daniels: This is nice. I could get use to this.

[Daniels walks across the room sitting his bag down on the bench before looking around in the bathroom.]

Bret Hamilton: You’re going to have to call up your old boy JJ and get him to start booking these larger venues.

[Daniels backed his way into the dressing room before sitting down on the couch beside his fiancé Lauren Parker. He sits on the edge of the couch rubbing his knees. Bret sits down in the chair across from him still recording from his camera.]

Bret Hamilton: So Robb let’s talk about your big match tonight and what you have to look forward to going back to UWL.

Robb Daniels: If I go back is the question. I like the special treatment I’ve got since coming here.

Bret Hamilton: You don’t mean that--do you?

Robb Daniels: You know not--UWL is my home. I’ll be back sooner than later.

[Laughter]

Bret Hamilton: What are you most looking forward to tonight in the unpredictable Survive and Conquer match?

Robb Daniels: You said it best--the pure unpredictability. You never know who the next person to enter that ring will be--hell I don’t even know what number I will enter. I just know that at some point there could be as many as 86 men inside that 20x20 ring. The collection of talent will be unmatched by any other single roster. The natural competitor inside me shall come out trying to prove that I am the very best at what I do.

Bret Hamilton: You sound confident in yourself. Rightfully you should though.

Robb Daniels: Absolutely--but I’m not doing this for the money--I’m challenging myself to see how I do in a promotion with a new setting. Different rules and different competition to see how I handle myself.

Bret Hamilton: There are various people in this match you know of--I’m going to throw a name out there and you tell me what you think of them or how you feel about them. Okay?

Robb Daniels: Shoot.

Bret Hamilton: We’ll start out with Kurt Noble.

Robb Daniels: He’s great. I’ve never been in the ring with him--but during his tenure in UWL feuding with Jerry McClean he is a proven competitor and has had many good matches that I have watched from my dressing room preparing for my own match. Although I was never in the ring with him I knew eventually someday down the road our paths would cross. And here in UWL it shall--he is a great guy with unbelievable talents he’s a first ballot hall of famer in my book.

Bret Hamilton: The UWL Television Champion--Jacob Davies.

Robb Daniels: He’s on a roll--damn good roll. Probably on his way to a shot at the Heritage Championship. Whether he’s ready for that I’m not sure. The Heritage Championship is a very prestigious title in UWL. It is respectfully held by a man named Evan Caravelle. A man that less than a month ago was defeated by yours truly a former multiple time Heritage Champion. I have never held the Television Championship--but in order to prove yourself to the “Innovator of Wrestling” you must beat Robb Daniels. I’ve never been in the ring with Jacob Davies--eventually I’ll probably get a shot at him one on one but perhaps tonight I’ll have the opportunity to send him over the top rope just as soon as he slides under the bottom rope entering the match.

Bret Hamilton: We all know how you showed your support the other night for Billy Dork--so now tell us what you think about him?

Robb Daniels: …Everyone saw how I feel about Billy Dork. Everybody who bought the pay per view or were in attendance two nights ago in Chattanooga saw the appreciation I have for Billy Dork. He’s a great talent and valuable asset to the UWL Roster. But it’s went long enough--it’s time for some answers--time for Mainstream to draw the line in the sand. And see which side Billy Dork stands on.

Bret Hamilton: So what you’re saying is…

Robb Daniels: All I’m saying is that tomorrow night I’m going to be in the UWL Arena. Making my return after a 3 week absence to get some answers. So tune in.

Bret Hamilton: Any final words before I shut this thing off?

Robb Daniels: The odds are not in my favor--but there not in anyone’s favor. I’m going to step into that ring and throw one man right after the other over the top rope to the floor of the American Airlines Arena crushing there hopes and dreams of becoming a half a million dollars richer. From what I understand when we finally narrow it down to myself and the other three remaining joe schmoes I’ll then have to face them in a Fatal Triple Threat One on One Triple Steel Cage Ladder Match to determine the winner. It doesn’t matter what you throw at me because I’ve always been the type that if you give me a lemon I’m going to make lemonade with it. I’ve got shit to take care of in the Universal Wrestling League. Tonight is just a small challenge I’ve made for myself to do a self review for where I truly stand against new talent. I have the life of a rockstar with my sexy girl Lauren here by my side. The best manager money can by in you Bret Hamilton. Friends that are truly priceless in Mainstream past and present along with the career I’ve had and the future I still am looking forward to. I’m a man of great success--failure never was an option for me so I never let it consume me unlike much of these beer swelling, drug taking, woman beating, child ignoring, son of a bitches that regret every damn second of there past for all the piss poor choices they’ve made. I’m a man of pride. I pride myself on being the best. I may not hold the World Heavyweight Championship but tonight it’s not the size of the belt you wear or even if you have one at all--it’s if you can survive the unthinkable. This match a year ago has doubled in the number of participants this year. Not only will it be exhausting on the body but the mentality you will need to succeed is in order to win you must Survive and Conquer your fears…

[Daniels does the throat cutting motion with his closed fist and thumb pressed against his neck. Bret Hamilton turns off the camera as Daniels walks into the dressing room to begin putting on his wrestling gear.]

END

[James Stall]

James Stall is pacing back and forth across his bedroom floor inside his apartment in Brighton, Beach Brooklyn. He is dressed in a pair of black jeans and a plain white t-shirt. On his bed is an open rolling luggage case. Next to the silver case is James’ New Era North American Championship. In his hands is a navy blue bathing suit with a white flower pattern. He stops in front of the bed and turns his head to look at the camera that has been set on his dresser. His eyebrow cocks as he bites his bottom lip.

“Why do we do it? I mean really. There are eighty-six men in the Survive and Conquer match. Do you know what the odds of winning are?”

He folds the bathing suit and tosses it into the luggage case.

“Neither do I. Math has never been my strong suit. But I’m good at logic, and logically the odds are astronomical. Think of it this way. Only four people even advance out of the battle royal stage. That leaves eighty-two people out on their asses. That’s simple enough math.”

James steps toward the dresser. His hands disappear as he grabs something. When he steps back it’s revealed to be his ticket to Miami and a copy of the Survive and Conquer card.

“Is it even a fair test of a person’s ability? Sure, if you get down to the finals you deserve to be there, and if you win it all after lasting god knows how long it’s amazing, because who knows how long it’ll take to eliminate eighty-two people. I’m betting on at least a few hours. If you win it all, you deserve all the praise people can heap on you. But the battle royale portion? No.”

James continues to talk as he turns his back from the camera and walks over to set his ticket down on his nightstand.

“Anything can happen in a battle royale. And this one has eighty-six people! Say you eliminate twenty people by yourself. Who can help it if ten people decide to band together to eliminate your ass? I don’t care who you are. Nobody is beating ten men by themselves. What if you’re grappling with somebody by the ropes? What’s going to stop some lucky punk from coming up behind you and eliminating you both? And don’t even get me started on the numbers system. Everyone gets a random number that they enter at right? That’s one to eighty-six. As I see it that means that fifty or so people theoretically have absolutely no chance in this match. I’m number seventy-four. So at best my odds are slightly better.”

James turns back toward the camera, but his eyes are still trained on the Survive and Conquer card.

“So why do we do it?”

He looks up.

“I suppose we all love chasing those astronomical odds. It’s like the lottery. Gotta be in it to win it right? And things are getting to the point where so many of us will do anything to make a name for ourselves, to stand out in this industry.”

He sets the card down on his bed and gestures toward the camera with his hand.

“Think of it this way. How many successful wrestling companies have you heard of? How many of them are represented in just this Survive and Conquer match? In this lousy economy our industry is booming. Wrestling seems to be the one sure fire bet at getting a job and making some money. Hell I don’t need to do a ton of research to tell me that at least twenty of the people in this match are calling themselves millionaires. Coincidently I’d reckon about half of those also call themselves messiahs.”

James sits down on the bed and rests his chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Of course this is juxtaposed by the numerous people who make their careers off of being “blue collar”, the slubs who wrestle for twenty years and still barely scrape by in an industry where some people clear a million dollars in a week. I’m sure there are plenty of them in this match too. And that’s not to mention the darksiders. They’re the ones who are seemingly so poor they can only afford to sneak into basements to shoot their promos.”

He slaps his hands on his thighs and smiles as he rocks back and forth slightly.

“But I digress. After all, I’m not here to start an occupy APW movement.”

James picks up his New Era North American Championship and looks down at it. He eyes shift to the Survive and Conquer card and then back to his North American Championship.

“No. My point is we live in a world where you can win the world title in your company, multiple times, and you go somewhere else and no one has ever heard your name. Hell I’m sure this match is full of champions and even celebrities that I never knew existed. In our world of social media and twenty-four hour news that should be impossible. But it’s the truth.”

James shakes his head, tosses aside the North American Championship and picks up the Survive and Conquer card.

“So we come here, to APW, eighty-six of us from God knows how many companies. And we all hope maybe, just maybe, after this someone might remember our names. We can win as many titles as we want in our home companies, but who sees? This everyone sees. Right? What is my New Era North American Championship worth in another company? Nothing.”

He holds the card up toward the camera in a clenched fist.

“But this?”
James’ eyes lock on to the card. A grin stretches across his face as he sees himself with his hand raised in victory.

“This is undisputable.”

The grin disappears as he brings his fist with the card still in it to rest on his knee. James leans forward and presses his fingers into his chest.

“I’ll tell you why I do it. My grandfather and uncle wrestled for two companies, FWF and UCW, for their entire careers. I’ve lost track of how many titles they’ve won. They’re goddamn hall of famers. Raise your hand if you’ve heard of them. I won’t hold my breath.”

James leans back and throws his arms into the air with his hands open. The card falls to the bed.

“Me? I’m only twenty years old. In my short career I’ve become one half of the longest reigning tag team champions in FWF history and won the New Era North American Championship after beating three people in one night with a broken nose and a fractured jaw. I expect all of two people to actually talk about me in their promos, Jimmy Helmsley and Christian York. Other than that I expect no one to even know my name.”

He leans forward again and points his fingers in a triangle down at the bed. His shoulders arch as the muscles in his neck tighten and his face grows red.

“I’ve spent my whole life in the shadow of my family. I’ve spent my whole life competing with them, being compared to them. They’ve won battle royales before. My uncle Bill is kind of famous for it. Do you know how many people have won a battle royale with eighty six people in it? No one to my knowledge. My, uncle, Mr. Blizzard, Bill Jones hasn’t. My grandfather, “Captain” Joe Stall, certainly hasn’t.”

He stands and moves toward the camera. There is slight tremble in his voice.

“So this is my chance. I can stand out not just from the competition in New Era, not just from all the people in all the companies that are competing in this match, but from my own family. I will win Survive and Conquer. I will overcome astronomical odds and beat out eighty-five other people. And here’s how I’m going to do it.”

James turns his head slightly to the side to regain his composure. When he turns back his eyes are much brighter. The usual confidence has returned and he talks rather matter-of-factly

“First, when I enter at number seventy-four, I’m going right for Jimmy Helmsley and Christian York, assuming either of them is still in the match by the time I enter. After all, there are no alliances in this match, and if I don’t win at least being the last New Era wrestler standing will be a decent consolation prize.”

James gestures nonchalantly with his hands as he continues to talk about his strategy. He begins to lecture.

“Then, I’m aiming for the big guys. You gotta. The longer they stay in the match the harder it gets to get them over the ropes. Admittedly I’m a pretty decent size guy myself, but I don’t trust my ability to get a seven foot tall five hundred pound monster over the ropes by myself.”

Years of training from his wrestling family have imbued him with these lessons. He talks like a well prepared school boy giving his presentation on the French Revolution.

“Next you want the small guys, those light mother fuckers who have seemingly boundless energy. You let them get to the end and they’ll run circles around you while you’re exhausted.”

James holds his arms as he prepares to close his performance.

“That leaves me with guys who are comparable to me in size and speed. Them I beat by being better. That’s ultimately how I win this match. I win because I’m the best. At twenty years old I’m already the best, and I’m not even in my prime.”

He beats his chest with both hands and points at the camera. The grin has once again stretched across his chest.

“I’m going to go into this match and run roughshod on the competition. I’m going to start hitting people, and I’m not going to stop until the referee raises my hand in victory. I will win this match, and I will walk away with the most coveted prize in wrestling history. I’ll do it, because I’m James Stall, and that’s what I do.”

James nods his head. He begins to head toward the camera when a sudden knock on the door stops him in his tracks. James does not answer. Instead the door begins to open, and a man with a white handlebar mustache that points toward his chin and a mostly empty head of white hair pops his dace into the room.

“Good evening.”

James glares at the intruder.

“Grandpa.”

The man who enters the room is none other than James Stall’s grandfather, “Captain” Joe Stall. The three hundred and seventy pound man stands at a tremendous seven feet tall. He lumbers into the room on his sixty one year old knees, and James seems to shrink in his presence.

“Your apartment door was unlocked so I let myself in. I heard you talking in here, but you sounded like you were finished.”

James looks up at him with a glare.

“What are you doing here?”

Joe places one massive paw on James shoulder and looks down at his grandson.

“Is that anyway to talk to your Grandfather?”

James pulls away.

“What are you doing here?”

Joe staggers forward as James turns his back and faces his luggage. Joe slips his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans.

“I’m in the neighborhood.”

James slams the top of the luggage case closed.

“You live in Great Neck.”

Joe steps around James so the two can be face to face again.

“It’s not that far of a drive.”

James is still looking down at the luggage. He zips the case shut without looking up.

“And?”

“And I heard you were in town.”

James pulls the case off the bed and turns to set it down by his bedroom door.

“I’m only here for the day. I fly out to Miami tomorrow.”

The Captain spots the Survive and Conquer card on the bed.

“Survive and Conquer right?”

“Yeah.”

Joe picks up the crumpled piece of paper and eyes the long list of names.

“Eighty-six people. Big match.”

His grandson finally looks at him while Joe’s eyes are focused on the card.

“That’s an understatement.”

Joe looks up from the card, but James has already averted his gaze again.

“And I heard you’re in the CWC Ascension Tournament.”

“I was invited to compete.”

Joe looks at the North American Championship.

“Plus I’ve been watching New Era. Big things happening for you there, Mr. North American Champion.”

James picks up the title and sets it on his dresser.

“I like to keep myself busy.”

The old man nods his head.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“What?”

Joe steps toward James. There’s a tremble in his deep voice.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

James scoffs.

“I’m not going to get myself hurt.”

His grandfather looks down at him. The tremble is gone as he speaks down to James in a much more forceful tone.

“You know that?”

James looks down at the ground. There is a bit of doubt in his tone.

“I know that.”

Joe places both hands on James’ shoulders.

“You’re in a match with eighty-five other men, and you can honestly tell me you know you’re not going to get yourself hurt?”

James looks up at his grandfather.

“Why are you so worried?”

“Because you’re spreading yourself too thin.”

James knocks Joe’s arms away and steps toward his bedroom door.

“Bullshit.”

Joe catches James by the arm before he even has a chance to consider leaving.

“Survive and Conquer, Ascension, New Era, you can’t be flying yourself around the world trying to fight someone every day of the week. You need to give your body time to rest or you’re going to run it down.”

The younger Stall shakes his Grandfather loose, and his face begins to redden.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

The Captain steps in front of his Grandson. His imposing frame blocks James from the door.

“Which will be sooner rather then later if you keep this up for too long.”

Tears of frustration begin to form in James Stall’s eyes.

“I need this.”

“Why? I don’t understand it.”

“I didn’t expect you too.”

“In my day I never-“

James jams his finger right into the center of Joe’s chest. He makes himself as tall as he possibly can, but he’s still no match for the sheer size of his grandfather.

“Exactly. You never. You never fought in the Survive and Conquer match. You never traveled the world to compete in a tournament while still fighting in your home company. You never won a title, defended it two weeks later and then headed to Miami to fight eighty-five other men.”

James covers half of his face with his hand as he steps toward the bed.

“You don’t get it Grandpa. What did you have back in your day? Who did you have to be compared to? It was great wrestlers who shared that era with you, legends that you beat while they were still in their prime. You were able to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were better than them.”

He collapses onto the bed and looks toward his grandpa.

“Well I’ve still got you Grandpa. And I can’t face you in a match. This is my chance. Even if I win Survive and Conquer I’ll still be compared to you.”

He looks down at his lap.

“I’ll always be compared to you.”

James slams his fists into his thighs and his head snaps back up.

“But damnit if I win this at least I’ll stand out. At least people will remember me as James Stall, and not as “Captain” Joe Stall’s grandson.”

Joe takes a seat next to James and gently drapes his arm across James’ shoulder.

“I just don’t want you to end up like your father.”

He is talking about Steven Stall, James’ father and the first ever UCW Intercontinental Champion, who, shortly after winning his title, was crippled in a match. James looks at him with squinted eyes.

“I’m not going to end up as some cripple that nobody knows about.”

“It’s not that.”

“I’m going places.”

Tears are in Joe’s eyes now as he thinks about his son Steven’s injury. He thinks of the man who now walks around only with the help of a can and a clanking metal leg brace.

“When it happened, when he got hurt, I always blamed myself. I pushed him into the business. He was too young, not ready.”

James shoots up from the bed.

“Not ready?!”

Joe realizes his mistake he tries to get up, but his aged knees makes such a quick movement impossible.

“James, I-“

James is pointing at the door. The veins are popping out of his neck and forehead.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

James roars.

“How dare you try to tell me that I’m not ready!”

Joe touches his hand to his temple.

“It’s just- Fine. You’re not ready. That is what I meant.”

James snarls as he stands over his grandfather.

“And I meant it when I said get the fuck out.”

Joe looks up at his grandson.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re doing too much too soon.”

“No I’m-“

“You’re only twenty years old.”

“No!”

James slams his fist against his dresser and a chunk of wood splinters off. His eyes are wide and wild as he pounds his chest with his other hand.

“I’m twenty years old, which means you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

James stomps his foot and points at the floor of his apartment.

“I pay my own rent. I fight my own battles. I earn my own titles. I don’t need you. I don’t need Uncle Bill. I don’t need anyone to shadow me around and tell me what matches I should and shouldn’t be in. I decide when I’m ready, and that’s right now.”

The tired old man looks down at his wrinkled hands as they lay in his lap. A tear rolls down his cheek as he sighs.

“I’m just worried.”

James tilts his head and, with his mouth agape, looks at Joe. The red tone of his face subsides and his shoulders relax as he looks at the old man with wonder and confusion. He speaks with a slight tremble, but this time it comes not from fear or sadness, but from pity and understanding. He sinks down onto the bed next to Joe.

“Listen Grandpa, this is the time for me to do this. I went through a dark period awhile ago. I didn’t think I could win. I thought I’d be stuck midcarding for the rest of my life. Then I beat three people in one night to win the North American Championship. Since then I’ve defended it. I’ve been invited to represent New Era in the CWC Ascension tournament. I’ve even got a girl I’m interested in. This is a good time to be me, and I’ve got to strike while the iron is hot.”

He stretches his arm across Joe’s shoulders.

“Survive and Conquer is my chance to do something huge. Survive and Conquer is the biggest opportunity that I’ve had in my career. If I win there it will probably be the biggest accomplishment in my lifetime. I need this.”

Joe places a hand on James’ knee.

“Just promise me you won’t get hurt.”

James pauses unsure of what his response should be. Then he says the only thing he can.

“I promise Grandpa.”

Joe simply smiles.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

James taps his head against Joe’s shoulder, and for just that moment he is a child again.

“I love you too.”

Joe straightens up and after a moment is able to climb to his feet.

“So a girl aye?”

James blushes.

“Yeah.”

Joe nods. With his business done and his connection to his grandson rebuilt, he begins to head toward the door.

“Good luck.”

James doesn’t say anything, and, not wanting to push things further Joe makes his exit. James watches his grandfather leave before looking down at his North American Championship.

“Thanks.”

James looks up and sees the camera on his dresser which is still rolling. He looks at it for a long while until his eyes move down to the Survive and Conquer card. He picks up the card and looks at all of the names that are listed in the Survive and Conquer match before turning his attention back toward the camera. After deciding he like the moment of total honesty that the camera has captured, James gets up and quietly shuts it off.

[jer]

::To Survive Is To Conquer::

The pain was intense, with each rep from the weights, he could feel the metal and biotics turning in his arm. But this was for the best, it would help him get used to it much quicker than just sitting at home and doing nothing. Rory O’Connell had not seen action inside a wrestling ring since what occurred to him down in Phoenix Wrestling. It was something he would never forget, even though he never submitted, he never gave in, he still had his arm shattered and his career for all intents and purposes should have been over.

He survived it.

The trainers after the match told him he would never wrestle again, that his arm would never be the same and he might as well find another line of work, something that would not be so demanding on him. That was not Rory, that was not the Braveheart... this was his life. Wrestling was all he knew, all he ever wanted to do.

He conquered it.

Rory took the risk when he went into the surgery to fix his arm, to make it usable again... then he took the ultimate risk, he drank the blood of Valerie Belmont. Against the wishes of Jeremiah, due to the unknown factor; none of them knew what would happen should he drink it. Would he become one of them? Would his body reject the surgery due to what he had just done? Would he die?

He survived it.

Dropping the weight, Rory stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, the scar that now adorned his body near his arm would the constant reminder of what had happened to him... that a man tried to end his career and that the company that employed him, instead of paying for his bill... fired him. Instead of doing the right thing, instead of being man enough to go ‘this happened on my watch, let me help you out.’, the owner of PW did nothing, not even a phone call to ask if he was okay. Rory did not even know he was fired until a week later when his girlfriend, Shauna read him the fax he had received. He was livid upon hearing the news, but who wouldn’t be? A man’s dream was crushed in one week... in one week, all that he knew was taken from him. It was why when he learned that two of PW’s superstars would be in this match, he made himself a vow... he’d make it long enough to see the both of them... to see BAD ASS and Seth Black and he’d do what he had to do.

He’d conquer them.

****

::You Fight to Conquer... I Fight to Survive::

“It has been months since I’ve last been inside a wrestling ring... going into Survive and Conquer it will be the first time I’ve done so since my accident in Phoenix Wrestling. To say I am some what nervous is an understatement, but in order to prove I belong in this business, I cannot shy away from true competition. I cannot deny my chances to try this, to go out there and do what I have to do in order to win this match.”

These were the words that greeted the APW fans as a video came to life... the location was a simple one, an empty gym with a ring in the middle of it. Inside the ring was a young man by the name of Rory O’Connell. His arms were behind his back as he rested his body against the ropes, he turned his head to look right at the camera.

“For those who do not know me, my name is Rory O’Connell, I made my official wrestling debut back in Phoenix Wrestling Revolution as part of a group called The Final Solution and in my debut match I defeated Bones McCoy, one of the greatest wrestlers this business has ever known. But other than that, I did not do much and that was my own fault, my own ego getting in the way. I thought I was the best thing since sliced bread and I was quickly reminded week in and week out, that I was not. It humbled me, it truly did. My luck was starting to look up when I defeated Chris “Exile” Lemke in what has been called the biggest win of my career thus far. But fate is a fickle mistress... shortly after that, in the opening match at a pay-per-view in the re-branded Phoenix Wrestling, I shattered my arm and was told I’d never wrestle again.”

Rory sighs before he moves off the ropes and shows off his arms, a big scar present on the left one and he tilts his head to look at it.

“I had to have surgery to repair this arm... metal and biotics now run through me... I am basically part machine thanks to that company. I do not blame the man who did it, as he was just trying to make a name for himself, much like I was... I do blame Slaine though... I blame Slaine for not caring that one of his stars got injured. I blame him for not having the guts to call me and tell me I was being released from my contract and instead opted to send me a fax instead. I’ve never forgotten that, and I never will. That gave me the fuel to want to get better... to go ahead with the surgery that was risky to the point there was the chance my body would reject the biotics and I would never be the same because of it. I survived it, I survived my arm being broken, I survived my career basically being called over... and come Survive and Conquer, I’m going to survive this match.”

Rory smirks and runs a hand through his hair, it was apparent for those who knew him from his days in Phoenix Wrestling that his confidence was still not lacking in any form.

“I would be a fool to say I don’t want to win this contest, because I do... I would not have signed up for it if I was just going to go out there and collect a pay check. I signed up to win... to outlast eighty-five other men and women, to be called the best of the best. To prove that despite what happened to me, I still got IT. I got a great number, late sixties is a damned good time to come into this... not as great as getting the last spot, but hey a number is just a number as you can go out at anytime by anyone. Hell for all I know, Terry Marvin could still be in the match by the time I come out there... that is the beauty of these types of contests though... it truly is survival of the fittest.”

Another smirk came from the young Scotsman as he started to pace around the ring, his eyes never once leaving the ring.

“Ever since I came out of surgery, I’ve been rehabbing my arm, on top of training in this very gym here in Las Vegas, Nevada. I knew that if I wanted to be somebody in this business once more, I had to make that leap, had to take the chance... had to start training once more. Survive and Conquer is my big return and I have no choice but to do great in this... to validate myself. My only hope is that I am still in this thing long enough to watch those from Phoenix Wrestling crash and burn, and should I get the chance to do it myself, even better. BAD ASS, you want to call me out on twitter through blasting ‘Miah? Well here is some food for thought, be careful what you wish for lad, because you just might get it. I have no qualms taking you out, BAD ASS, none what so ever, and trust me after I’m done with you, your little bitch boy in Seth Black is next. I back down from no man or woman... you two might believe you are the greatest things since sliced bread but the fact neither of you can win Championships in the CWC says otherwise... the fact that you, BAD ASS, lost to... who was it again? Oh yes, Shau Khan in the first round of the Supremacy tournament only further proves just how out of touch you really are, lad. This is not Phoenix Wrestling where you are a big fish in a very small pond... you are in the ocean with sharks and they will eat you alive out there. It’s sink or swim, and from the looks of things... all you can do is sink.”

Rory closed his eyes and let out a very loud sigh.

“But me? I plan on swimming out there come Sunday night... I plan on going the distance with the sharks of APW and the rest of the men and women in this match. You fight to conquer.... while me? I’m fighting to survive. I’m fighting to make a living because this is all I have, boys and girls... this is all I know. If I fail here, if I don’t make it to at least make it towards the end, I will be disappointed in myself. Because I know I can do this, I have the drive, the passion, and the heart to win this. Survive and Conquer will be my night, I know it... so I am going to leave you all with one word of advice and please listen closely.... when I roar this elbow.”

Without so much as thinking, Rory spun his body and arm back, smashing the point of his left elbow into the camera, sending cracks through out it!

“Pray I aim high.”

With those words, the camera faded to static.

[Alex Black]

The scene fades into a normal elementary class room. There are about twenty or so student sitting as there teacher is talking about the lesson. The audio cuts in as she is explaining the problem she had just written on the chalk board.

Teacher: and as you can see if Y equals 5 then what is X?

A smile crosses her face as she looks around obviously waiting on one or more of the students hands to shoot up with an answer. All of the sudden she looks up at the clock and puts up a hand.

Teacher: Oh, I am so sorry class. I had a very special guest schedule to come and read to the class, and it would seem he is a bit late. Let me call the office and see if he has checked in. We will resume tomorrow with this question, so please study the equation and be ready to answer. I know this is a little advanced but the more you learn now the better you will be for later in life. Please be quiet for a moment while I use the phone to call the office.

She smiles again and walks to her desk and sits down picking up the phone and dialing the number for the office. It rings a couple times and then it picks up.

Teacher: Oh yes, I was supposed to have a guest for my class today for about an hour, I was wondering if he had arrived yet. Oh his name, it's Alex Black. He wishes to read to the children, oh he is, thank you, please send him this way if you could. Haha yes, thank you.

She spins around in her chair as she finishes the conversation and rolls her eyes and mouths “bitch”, then she spins around and looks back at the kids. It only takes a couple minutes before there is a knock on the door. She stands up and answers it, greeting Alex with a smile. He nods as she does and walks into the room, holding a very thick book.

Teacher: Class I would like to introduce you to our guest, his name is Alex Black, and he is a professional wrestler, but aside from that he also has a great fondness for history. He has agreed to read from one of his favorite books today. So I want you all to be on your best behavior for the next hour and make our guest feel welcome. Do you all understand me?

There is a few murmurs but a general acceptance from the classroom. The teacher smiles and then turns and looks at Alex.

Teacher: I just want to thank you for doing this. I hope you have as much fun as I'm sure they will. Do you have any questions before I leave?

Alex thinks for a moment and then shakes his head smiling.

Alex: No, none at all, I do want to say that it is a pleasure to be doing this and thank you for allowing me into your amazing classroom for this next hour. I'm sure it will be a very educational experience for both your students and I.

She blushes and smiles and heads towards the door. Alex walks with her, he opens the door and she walks out. He sticks his head out as her footsteps get further and further away before he comes back into the classroom and closes the door. His expression however has changed from friendly to angry.

Alex: Ok you little ****heads, my name is Alex Black. I am the greatest wrestler ever born, and today I'm going to be reading you a ****ing story. If any of you have a ****ing problem with it, well then too **** bad. So lets just do this **** and get it over with and we can all move on with our lives. How does that sound?

He licks his lips scanning the room, as he is just about to say something though, a girl with glasses raises her hand. Alex looks at her and raises an eyebrow.

Alex: What?

She puts her hand down and promptly goes to ask her question.

Girl: Well, firstly you should not be cussing so much, my mothers don't encourage that sort of language in our house and secondly, I don't think your the kind of role model we should be having in our class, could you please go get Miss April please?

Alex places his hands together and a smile appears on his face once again.

Alex: Oh, I'm sorry that my language is bothering you little girl, but I'm sure if you sneak into your mothers room at night, you'll hear much worse while they shove there faces in each others ****s. Oh and I will not being getting Miss April any time soon, you see the reason I am here is because she is tired of you little ****s. She is out at her car getting high and you want to know how I know this? I'll tell ya how, because she told me so herself, right after I put my **** her brains out last night, so if there arnt any more questions, and there better not be another peep out of the lot of you, I'll continue with the story.

He scans the room once again, this time though no hand, no talking, just twenty straight faced, wide, frightened children.

Alex: Ok, great. So today I will be reading a bit from one of my favorite books. The Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Actually to be more precise I'll be making comparisons between the past and the present. You see children, those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it's mistakes. So my current job puts me in the ring with potentially Eighty-Five other men and women, the prize, half a million dollars. The only real difference between my current situation and the Romance of the Three Kingdoms is this, my match will be around two, maybe more hours long, the prize, and of course the players. So without further adieu, lets begin.

The children have not moved a mussel, this pleases Alex who smile widen. He walks around to the other side of the teachers desk and sits down, opening the book.

Alex: Now the Romance of the Three Kingdoms begin with the Yellow Turban Rebellion right after the end of the Han Dynasty. The Yellow Turban's can be explained as this in our modern terms, no bodies, and as such they can be compared with the group from the Wrestling Organization known as World Elite Wrestling, or WEW for short. You see, no matter what they tried, what kind of magic they though they had on there side they just where not on the same level as the rest of the true heroes, they where nameless, talentless, never beens. Now fast forward to this rumble, they are scattered across the Eighty-Six person field, but they might as well just be fu**ing cannon fodder. You see children in this day and age wrestling organizations like WEW will hire no talent hacks to compete for them because any self respecting wrestling organization would not even consider hiring them. What happens sadly is this, they see something working in another organization and they like the looks of them, so they hire an actor to play a part, teach them the persons moves and in the end all they are, are mimics so in the end, the guys and girls from WEW or the Yellow Turbans end up being vanquished faster then they even rose up.

He turns the page and looks around the classroom. Seeing no questions he smirks and continues.

Alex: It seems you all understand, you might not be as stupid as I originally though. So you would think that getting rid of the Yellow Turbans would be good, and for awhile it was, however now we ended up getting a greater threat. In Romance, it ended up being Dong Zhuo, and ultimately the fearsome Lu Bu. Galveston Island Wrestling or GIW now enters the scene as such they are a stronger fighting force, but they are just a stepping stone for possibly the biggest danger Lu Bu, or as he is called now M.D.K. You see Lu Bu was known as possibly the greatest fighter in all of China at the time, and if you ask the majority M.D.K would come up on that list for this Rumble. Before I forget though, GIW and there fighting force have the possibility of dominating a good part of this tourney, but who can tell me what happened to the Island in Nineteen Hundred AD?

He looks around but no one raises there hands, he rolls his eyes and smirks before continuing.

Alex: ****ing ******. In Nineteen Hundred AD a hurricane hit the Island of Galveston and killed thousands of people. I bring this up because just like Dong Zhuo, and Galveston in Nineteen Hundred, they will be stepping into the ring with a force of nature, for Dong Zhuo it was the forces of the Three Kingdoms, for Galveston it was a hurricane, in the rumble it will be Alex Black. Now from the ashes of what was Dong Zhuo's reign of terror rose Lu Bu, and even though Dong Zhuo was destroyed, Lu Bu was not. As so M.D.K will run roughshod across the field, and I can't guarantee I will be the one to defeat him but I will guarantee one thing, when all is said and done, I will be the winner, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Alex looks down at the book and turns a few pages and then looks back up at the class.

Alex: After the fall of Dong Zhuo the Three Kingdoms Shu, Wie, and begun to strengthen there armies with great fighters and fearsome Generals. As just as the past the same can be said for the present. The Three Wrestling Kingdoms, The CWC, The Experts, and the Miscellaneous wrestlers who don't fit into an inner fed group. The CWC being lead by there Champion Azrael Goeren, and Generals such as BAD ASS, Seth Black, and Brad Jackson. The Experts having former True Experts Champion Level One leading them, with notable Generals as Sally Talfourd, Kurt Noble, and C.J. Gates. While the Miscellaneous have no true leader but for arguments sake lets say Rory O'Connell is there leader, with Jim Black, Chris Hart, and Lisa Loriann Lyon as there Generals.

The children look bored and Alex frowns in disapproval, he gets up and begins walking between the desks looking at each student.

Alex: Of course during these times there are more then just the leader and notable Generals, each have warriors ready to fight for them. I won't go into the details of the battle or really much more from the book, but something you need to know about this is that each warrior is different. For example Juan Ramirez is a hell of a lot more talented then say Leon Stone. You see children Juan Ramirez can get into the ring and at any given time can win a match, Leon Stone, well he can't. If I may go off on a tangent for a moment about Mr Stone. I have been in the ring with Leon several times, and each time I have embarrassed him, but despite all this he keeps coming, and he keeps thinking ONE MORE MATCH and I can do this, I can FINALLY win. Sadly though class no matter how many times Mr. Stone and I face each other the outcome will always be the same, I will always come out the victor. It's just a statistic fact. You see Leon is angry at me, and if he lasts longer then ten seconds inside the ring he might get a chance to try to get his revenge for what I did to Team SCCW at a different show months ago. He and the rest of the pathetic group of nobodies in SCCW including Scott Matthews, will soon learn that Alex Black will not be denied anything.

He continues walking between the desks keeping the children on edge as he begins his next statement.

Alex: I could go on and on about each and every member of each Kingdom, BUT I would be here much longer than an hour. So really I'll stick with the men who honestly are the only competition for me. The Generals and Leaders. I'll start with BAD ASS, he and I have a bit of history, he and I faced off during the final round robin round of the Extreme Tourney, and it was a double count out, and he ended up higher ranked then I did. So yes, I want some closure from that and I really hope our paths cross, and I'm sure at some point they will. Seth Black, I think its obvious why he is a General, he's the PW World Champion, taking it from a good friend of mine Georgie Nickles. You see class in my book, no matter how much of an ***hole I am, when it comes to my friends then payback's a bitch, so Mr Black, the other Mr Black must watch his back, and that’s a courtesy warning because once I step into the ring at my number thirty spot all courtesy goes out the ****en window. Speaking of Georgie though, this leads me into the final CWC General class. Jax, Jackson, Brad, Dark Horse, whatever he wishes to be called, the only reason I added him into the General category is this, people expect him to do great things, but I can tell you the truth about Brad Jackson, he's a talentless, no good, hack, and I will make sure to wave as he is taking a flying leap over the top rope.

He stops looking as one of the children is drawing a picture of the class beating Alex with there books. He promptly takes the paper, crumples it up and tosses it into the garbage.

Alex: Focus class, this is important, one of these days you may be asked who you look up too, and I want you to tell them, NOT Alex Black. I would suppose someone like Azrael Goeren would be your role model, you see I can't tell you much about him kids. I would of met him during the CWC Destiny event, but sadly I was unable to enter the arena, god forbid the greatest wrestler to come out in generations be allowed to wrestle, but as it ends up I did not have to embarrass myself and I did not have to swim to safety. So I guess it was a win-win, so you see class good things do happen to good people. Azrael though can bring it from what I seen before the building begun to fill up with water.

Alex walks back to the front desk and leans against it.

Alex: I digress though, lets get back on track, those are probably for the most part my biggest competition on the CWC side, now we slide over to the Experts shall we, Sally and Gates are both incredibly talented, and I can't wait to see what they can do inside the ring during the rumble, they are both front runners, and I think given the opportunity they can indeed win it all, but I'm playing opportunity spoiler for the evening. Now for the third General, a man I know pretty well, a spoiler in his own right. Kurt Noble, another definite front runner, but a man I have unsettled business with children. You see this gimp ass mother ****er took advantage and I promise it will never happen again, so mission number one kids, take out Noble, and break his ****ing leg. Am I angry, you bet your *** I'm angry.

He licks his lips as he looks around, he points to one of the children in the back, a small boy with blonde hair.

Alex: You, Blondie in the back.

The kids all look up and the kid looks at Alex nervously.

Blondie: Y..yes'sir?

Alex: If I have gone threw CWC and Experts, what would you say was next?

The blonde boy thinks about it for a moment. He blinks a few times trying to muster his voice.

Blondie: Umm, ummm, the other group.

Alex looks less then amused.

Alex: Oh yes, sit your ***damn *** down. Yes as the fat blond kid said, the other group is up next, the final of the three Kingdoms, and really the most scatterbrained. You see class, this last group is made up of the people who did not really fit in anywhere else. As such there levels are slightly different, and there strengths and weakness vary. Lets start with there leader Rory O'Connell, I can't say much, I have heard to be careful of him, he's a dirty Scotsmen, and they are not to be trusted, but other then that I know nothing of him, but out of his whole group I guess that's the norm. There is something almost Zen about not knowing what someone is going to throw at you, and I can't wait to see that from Rory, as well as Chris Hard and Triple L, I'm sure they will be tough opponents, but nothing I can't handle. Now for the last of the Black's. Mr. Jim Black, you see class when someone says something about your mother you can do one of two things, you can either, shrug it off, or kick his ***. You see I am not an overly violent person, not even when it comes to my family, but when half a million dollars is up for grabs, him saying he ****ed my mother, is a good enough reason to stay in this thing until he comes out at number seventy. It looks like our time together is almost over with, but there is one final part of the story left.

He walks back around the table and grabs more then half the pages and turns them to the end.

Alex: The ending, you see as I said before the Three Kingdoms gained strength and had many battles with one another, and during which time they even managed to take down the great Lu Bu. After many many battles with one another though it left them exhausted, it left them easy to defeat, and while they battled another force arose. Just as in history there downfall came when infighting tore the kingdoms apart, and Sima Yan swooped in and took up the title of The Prince of Jin. You see class, I am Sima Yan , when all is said and done, and the end of the story of the Romance of the Three Wrestling Kingdoms come to it's end, it will be Alex Black, and the beginning to the Black Dynasty. You all may have trouble seeing the future right now, but I have given you a inside look at the end of APW's Survive and Conquer, I will have my hand raised up at the end, you can take that to the bank.

Alex closes the book, picking it up as he stands. He walks to the front of the class. By this point he has all of there attention.

Alex: Boys and Girls, my name is Alex Black, I am the Black Rose Villain, and at APW Survive and Conquer, I will be the last man standing while Eighty-Five others have there dreams of being half a million dollars richer and the fame of being the winner under there belts, dashed. I'll leave you with this, and you can go on with the rest of your miserable lives, Alex Black did this for the money, for the half a million dollars, and nothing else, and when he wins, you can all kiss his ***. So **** off you little monkeys I am outta here.

Alex tucks the book under his arm and walks towards the door, he stops with his hand on the door nob and looks back with a smirk. He then opens the door, turns out the lights and walks out, closing the door behind him. The scene fades to it's end with Alex walking down the hallway and finally vanishing down another hallway.

[Jessie Goldberg]

@ HOME WITH GOLDBERG & MAXIMUS

Our scene opens up in the Goldberg San Diego home where Jessie Goldberg is sitting in her media room watching Survive and Conquer 2011 from Las Vegas. That's when her girlfriend Jesikah Maximus walks in.

Jesikah Maximus
What are you doing?

Jessie Goldberg
Watching this Survive and Conquer from last year.

Jesikah takes a look but she doesn't recognize anybody.

Jesikah Maximus
Who are these people?

Jessie Goldberg
I have no idea who some of these people are but I do recognize Jason Kash from UWF. Well that's where he was at the time this aired last year. Not sure if he's still there or not because I haven't been watching.

Jesikah Maximus
Don't you mean James Kash?

Jessie Goldberg
No, I know what I said. I also recognize a few other names.

Jesikah Maximus
Oh wow, a woman in the final 3.

Jessie smiles and nods her head

Jessie Goldberg
Fuck yeah. That's the shit I'm talking about. And with the dominant talent in WEW I can see one or more of our starlets in that final stages.

Jesikah Maximus
One of our? What about you? You talk like you're not in the match.

Jessie takes a sip of her drink without saying a word.

Jesikah Maximus
Jessie?

She doesn't answer

Jesikah Maximus
Bitch don't ignore me.

Jessie laughs then she finally says something, but not what Jesikah is looking for.

Jessie Goldberg
What?

Immediately following that what Jessie begins laughing again

Jesikah Maximus
Bitch don't what me. Now how come you're talking like you're not in that match anymore.

Jessie Goldberg
I'm still in it. I'm just not as pumped up about it as I thought I was when I signed up.

Jesikah Maximus
Why?

Jessie Goldberg
Look at it. This big battle royal is just to say I was there. It don't really prove you are the best. I mean really, how much effort does it take to sling some idiot out of the ring? Hell, if you're smart you can steer clear of the action until you're one of the last 4 then you move on to the next part without doing jack shit, yet you get bragging rights over 82 other people.

Jesikah is laughing. It seems that Jesikah and Jessie do a lot of that, which is great.

Jesikah Maximus
Ok. But what about the steel cage, the street fight and the hell in a cell that all come after the battle royal.

Jessie Goldberg
Yeah I know about that part.

Jesikah Maximus
Then what's the problem? You never quit anything.

Jessie sighs then takes another sip of her drink while the 2011 Survive and Conquer dvd is still playing on the big screen.

Jessie Goldberg
It's the money. I feel bad about the 500K. I was blessed enough to be in the right place at the right time and now I'm a billionaire. But many of those people in that match never seen 500k. I can't take that away from them.

Jesikah Maximus
The hell you can't. You just feel like this because you personally know some of the people in the match. Now what if this were a WEW event giving the winner 500K? You would be right in the middle of it, dropping people like flies and walking out with the cash. No difference here. So you listen and listen up good. You are gonna go into that match and you will kick some ass or you'll have to answer to me.

Jessie laughs because she's 5'10" - 185lbs and Jesikah is 5'4" - 125lbs. Jessie just loves how Jesikah has no fear of larger people.

Jessie Goldberg
Ok damn. I got this crazy feeling that me winning this benefits you more then it does me.

Jesikah Maximus
I have no idea what you mean.

Jessie Goldberg
Yeah ok.

I HATE THE MEDIA

The stage is set inside of Jessie Goldberg's Gym in Mission Beach, an area in San Diego, California. There is wrestling training going on in the ring behind Jessie as she's comfortably seated on the apron with all the reporters and cameras in front of her.

Jessie Goldberg
This was some nuts crazy ass notion of a good idea (Staring @ Jesikah) so let's get this over with.

The 1st reporter Jessie points to starts off

Female Reporter 1
Jessie, what chance do you think you have of coming out on top in this Survive and Conquer match this Sunday?

Jessie Goldberg
I don't think of it in terns of chances. I look at it as either win or get my ass beat.

Female Reporter 1
You think that if you don't win it going to be because you took a beating?

Jessie Goldberg
No. If I don't win my baby Jesikah will kick my ass.

Everyone turns for a second and looks at Jesikah, who is standing off to the side. She smiles then all attention is focused back on Jessie. Now Jessie points to a guy for the next question

Male Reporter 1
The newly named cardinal of the Catholic Church, Archbishop Edwin F. O’Brien, mentioned in a press conference about keeping the sanctity of marriage. How does that impact you?

Before saying anything, Jessie glances over at Jesikah, who is laughing because she knows what Jessie is about to do. Jessie laughs too, then in a split second her mood gets serious.

Jessie Goldberg
Somebody tell me what the fuck does same sex marriage have to do with the APW Survive and Conquer match this Sunday. Now 1st of all idiot, I'm not nor ever will be Catholic. 2nd, I'm not married. Hell, Are you married?

Before the man can answer Jessie jabs him with another question

Jessie Goldberg
Do you like women or men? Do you have any kids? Do you wear boxers or nut hungers? Do you spank your monkey on a regular basis?

Jessie got everyone in the room laughing hard and this guy is turning red from the embarrassment.

Jessie Goldberg
Now what does any of that have to do with you being an effective reporter? Absolutely nothing. So why in the hell would you ask me some bull shit like that. What the Cardinal feels about some issue that has no baring on my relationship has nothing to do with how I will fare in this Survive and Conquer match. See, it people like you that make those much more famous than me hate the media. This was set up to promote one thing and you try to slip in some bull shit in hopes of getting some dirt to dish.

Wow, all eyes are on him now. He really looks stupid, but he's not the only one. Quite a few other reporters are scratching out things on their question papers.

Jessie Goldberg
What did you think I would say? Did you even think before you asked that or did you let some chicken shit editor tell you what to say because his bitch ass was too afraid to do it himself?

Jessie, who was comfortably seated on the ring apron, hops on the floor and makes a lunge toward the guy who bolts out of there like a mouse being chased by a cat. Once again everyone in the room is laughing, including Jessie. Now she sits back on the ring apron, once again give a quick look to her girl Jesikah then prepares herself for the next question.

Male Reporter 2
Being Lesbian...

Jessie stands up again and give this guy one of those watch your step looks as she slowly inches closer. The others begin to giggle slightly because they know where this can go if he steps in it. The guy nervously swallows

Male Reporter 2
Please, I have to ask this. I was told to try and get this answered.

Jessie Goldberg
Be careful.

Again the guy swallows while the other giggle in anticipation of him saying something stupid

Male Reporter 2
Ok, here goes. Being gay in Male sports has always seemed to be a problem, especially in contact sports. Does being a lesbian pose that same problem with the female athletes? And so you think it will give you an edge in this up coming APW Survive and Conquer match?

Jessie shakes her left finger at him as if to say he was lucky for not going in the direction of that last idiot. She sits back down on the ring apron and gets comfortable once again.

Jessie Goldberg
Well 1st of all we don't classify ourselves as lesbian. We are Bisexual. Now I'm not going to get into all of that so let me move on. Does it pose a problem? No, I don't think so. Unlike many of the male wrestler having issues with facing guys like Rico (WWE) or Charlie D(WEW), the ladies don't have that issue. Now as to if being the way I am will help give me an edge in the APW match or not, the answer is no. How is a sexual preference gonna make you a kick ass enough wrestler to knock off 85 other wrestling stars?

Just then that moron from before walks back in, shouting out some more stupid stuff.

Male Reporter 1
Oh come on! You know damn well none of these straight women want them man hands groping all over them in a match! And the men want something soft to handle their you know what, not something that will break it in half!

Now all eyes and ears are on Jessie. Everyone is silently waiting to see how Jessie is gonna respond to this. Jessie stands up and slowly walks toward the guy. When she gets close she cocks her fist back. The guy ducks then turns to get away from there when he's damn near decapitated by Jesikah Maximus' Maximum Exposure Super Kick to the chin.

Jessie Goldberg
What the hell Jesikah?

Jesikah Maximus
What?

Jessie Goldberg
Bitch, that was suppose to be my fun.

Jesikah just shrugs her shoulders and laughs. A few trainers from the gym tend to the knocked out asshole reporter while Jessie goes back to her seat on the ring apron.

Female Reporter 2
Aren't you concerned about a lawsuit from that guy?

Jessie Goldberg
Did you sign a waver before coming here?

Female Reporter 2
Yes but...

Jessie Goldberg
But nothing. it's in there. Go back and read it. Anything such as that, that happens to you during this interview, you've already agreed to it. You should never sign something without reading the whole thing.

Female Reporter 2
So you mean...

Once again Jessie cuts her off

Jessie Goldberg
Yup. We can kick your ass and there is nothing you can do about it except try to fight back. And as you just saw, that usually don't happen. But don't worry. As long as you're cool, we're cool.

Female Reporter 2
In that case, who the hell do you think you are thinking that you can win a match like this? As I just witnessed over the past few month in WEW, the so called great Jessie Goldberg was nothing but a joke. You and your team couldn't buy a match victory if it was in a gumball machine. And now you come off of one the longest losing streaks in the history of WEW and you actually think you have a shot at winning this thing.

Jessie stands up one more time. Everybody is waiting for her to go off on this woman but she just stretches and sits back down. Jesikah is in the back laughing as Jessie prepares to answer.

Jessie Goldberg
Who I know I am is a woman that worked hard to get where I am. Failure to me is not an option. Yes we lost every match in WEW but we had fun doing it so none of us failed. Our main goal in WEW is to entertain the fans and if we do that then our jobs is complete, win or lose. But like I told Jesikah the other day at home, I'm not feeling this match. I'm only doing this lame ass press conference because my baby set it up. Now don't get me wrong, I did have fun. Watching that fool get laid out made my whole day. So let me end this by saying that I'm going to compete in this thing and have fun. I wish everyone luck and I pity those that get in my way during my run.

After that Jessie thanks everyone for coming then she leaves with Jesikah.

DA 305

LEO'S BAR-B-QUE

Friday night January 27th, 2012 Jessie Goldberg and Jesikah Maximus are in Miami. The big pay per view event ain't live until Sunday so they decide to hang out on the town. Jessie and Jesikah aren't dressed to impress so they just have on some tight jeans, Jordans and a nice form fitting t-shirt. Jessie's in the restroom while Jesikah is in line of a popular restaurant and hangout spot, Leo's Bar-B-Que. Jesikah's on her phone laughing and having a good time when she accidentally steps on some girl's (Janet) knockoff Christian Louboutin heels.

Jesikah Maximus
Oh my bad.

My bad? That African-American ghetto ass chick ain't hearing that. She spent every bit of $150 to try to get that $900 shoe look.

Janet
Hey! Watch where the fuck you goin'!

Jesikah turns around and look at this girl who is standing 4 inches taller than she is because of the knockoff heels. She also weighs about 20 pounds more and the 2 sizes too small skirt she's wearing don't make it any better.

Jesikah Maximus
I said my bad so calm the fuck down!

Her 3 girls can be heard in the background saying "Oh no she didn't."

Jesikah Maximus
Oh yes I did. Now I didn't mean to step on your flea market shoes so I said I was sorry. So just let it go so I can enjoy my visit here in Miami.

Janet
I swear these halfassed models think they're the shit.

Now Janet and her 3 friends surround Jesikah who isn't the least bit scared. Jessie's not even here and Jesikah don't look worried. Everybody in this place near them back away. It seems that Jessie and Jesikah picked the wrong place to have dinner. This place isn't famous for it's food, it's famous for it's customer fights.

Jesikah Maximus
I'm sorry but one of you need a mint. Or is it all of you? All I know is somebody's breath is kickin'. Now get out of my way so I can order.

Now these 4 so called classy chicks start shoving Jesikah around. Jesikah sees Jessie coming her way so she does what any girl with Jessie Goldberg as backup would do, she shoves back. That's when Jessie pushes her in between this mess.

Jessie Goldberg
Hey hey hey! What the hell is going on here?!

Jessie and Jesikah's huge Californian Latina accents are prevalent in their speech. A few other girls don't care for the California people either so they step up in their knockoff gear as well. Now it's 8 surrounding 2. Jessie and Jesikah are now standing back to back

Jesikah Maximus
Damn it Jessie. Why do you always have to eat in the hood when we visit another state?

Jessie Goldberg
Because the food is always the best in the hood. I had no idea we'd have a hoodrat infestation. So Jes, what you wanna do?

Jesikah cracks her knuckles

Jessie Goldberg
Aw hell.

Jesikah swings 1st and the brawl is on. Jessie Goldberg and Jesikah Maximus quickly take out about 4 of them then get the hell out of that crowd. Jesikah's stupid ass yell out an order on her way out.

Jesikah Maximus
Give me 2 number 4's and we'll be right back!

Jessie and Jesikah break out the front door with the 8 hoodrats chasing after them. A few minutes later with hair all messed up, shirts torn, and a few bruises, Jessie Goldberg and Jesikah Maximus stumble and limp back inside. They grab their orders, pay for the food then slowly walk back outside.

Jessie Goldberg
Girl imma hurt you for getting me into that crazy shit

Jesikah Maximus
Uh, it's not over.

The 8 hoodrats they just barely squeaked by are pissed and they've managed to gather a few more friends. Now Jessie and Jesikah have to make a split decision, stand and fight or run like scared little bitches but live to fight another day. They decide on the later race out out of there with the gang of hoodrats giving chase. Luckily for them that running and high heels don't mix. Good thing Jessie and Jesikah have on Jordan sneakers. They have a few blocks lead when a car pulls up and tries to run them over. Jessie and Jesikah now wish they parked close by. They parked the rental a nice distance away and took the walk because they wanted to soak up the atmosphere of the 305. Big mistake. They make it to the car but can't find the keys because they're panicking. Ok they finally find them but it's too late. The mob of hoodrats that was chasing them has now caught up to them, along with the group in the car that tried to run them over. They rush to get in the car but they don't make it. The mob surrounds them and a few minutes later police sirens are heard in the background. The mob disburses, leave Jessie and Jesikah battered and bruised. Jessie crawls around the car to Jesikah who is seated on the ground and leaning up against the car. Jesikah takes a look at Jessie and giggles painfully.

Jesikah Maximus
Damn Jessie, you look like shit.

Jessie tries to laugh but ends up gripping her side when she does

Jessie Goldberg
I know you ain't talking with your left tittie hanging out.

Jesikah Maximus
Oh well let just sit here until the cops arrive.

Unfortunately the sirens they heard were not headed their way.

Jessie Goldberg
Shit, my soda.

During the scuffle Jessie lost her soda. Actually it got squashed.

Jesikah Maximus
Fuck that soda.

Exhausted and sore all over they finally get in the rental car and drive to the hotel. Once there they get out of the car and fall out on the hotel lawn.

Jessie Goldberg
Shit.

The 2 of them are breathing heavily.

Jessie Goldberg
I can't keep this up or I'll be in no condition to compete Sunday.

Jesikah and Jessie lay back on the lawn laughing and grimacing in pain at the same time. Then they get up a head to their room. Once inside the room they flop on the bed and look at each other.

Jessie Goldberg
Oh hell no.

Jesikah smiles

Jessie Goldberg
Jesikah, I have a huge match on Sunday. I can't...

Jesikah just keeps looking at Jessie and smiling

Jessie Goldberg
No!

Jesikah Maximus
Did you say you weren't feeling that Survive and Conquer match anyway?

Jessie Goldberg
Yeah but...

Jesikah continues giving Jessie the same look

Jessie Goldberg
What happened to the nice shy Jesikah Maximus I met back in 2007?

Jesikah giggles

Jesikah Maximus
She turned into a mini Jessie Goldberg. Now you know them hoes gonna be still there. Let's get cleaned up and go have some fun.


LEO'S BAR-B-QUE REVISITED

It's Saturday afternoon, January 28, 2012. With tomorrow's Survive and Conquer pay per view looming, Jessie Goldberg ignores her own thoughts about resting up and recuperating. Instead she follows her girlfriend who doesn't have to be in prime condition because, hell, she's not in this match. They take showers then they get dressed in all black (Black Tight Straight Leg Jeans, Black Form Fitting T-Shirts, Black Jordan 14's and their hair pulled back in a ponytail). Still sore from yesterday's brawl they head down to the car, get in and prepare to drive off.

Jessie Goldberg
I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this shit. I have to be in good shape for my pay per view match.

Jesikah Maximus
Will you stop whining. We're only going to get a bite to eat. Ok look, if you really don't wanna do this then let's go back inside.

Jessie sighs then drives off. They cruise the streets of the 305, driving right by Leo's Bar-B-Que. Jesikah has to look twice but she swears she sees 4 of those hoes from last night. She does and it's the 4 that started this whole mess.

Jesikah Maximus
You thinking what I'm thinking?

Jessie doesn't say a word. She just brings the car to an abrupt stop in the middle of traffic. They jump out and bum-rush the 4 who are seated at an outside table in front of Leo's Bar-B-Que. They rain down with great vengeance and furious anger upon those who attempted to injure and destroy then just the night before. Jessie grabs one chick and slams her face right into her plate. Jesikah does the same to that Janet chick. The other 2 get similar treatment. They literally beat the hell out of those 4 girls, leaving them hurt worse then they were last night. Afterwards Jessie and Jesikah get a round of applause from some of the locals who can't stand those 4. Jessie and Jesikah smile as they walk back to their rental car licking Bar-B-Que sauce from their fingers.

Jesikah Maximus
That was fun.

Jessie Goldberg
Yeah. I feel like kicking some more ass like that.

Jesikah Maximus
Well, you know what you have to do tomorrow then. Make your daddy proud.

With that the girls get back in the car and drive on.

Jessie Goldberg
APW, here we come.

[C.J. Gates]

Last year a war broke out that exploded into the forefront of everyone's mind. A war complete with turncoats, rebels, cannon fodder and heroes, the entire world found themselves engrossed in a bitter battle that was eventually won by a well known mercenary. For the better part of the year that followed, all was calm. Enemy borders had not been crossed, though the treaties that were put in place after the mercenary won were tested each day.

But everything had changed now.

The world now finds itself on the brink of yet another all out war, this one bigger than any previous. The first shots had been fired a few months earlier during a battle of Supremacy, and now those shots had ascended into a twisting rage of gunfire, creating danger around every corner. Tensions ran high as everyone kept a watch behind them to make sure that they wouldn't be the next casualty.

Because of that threat, we find one of the intrepid heroes working on a plan to combat the invaders of his land, as well as a plan to make sure that anyone who challenged him as the last person standing, whether it be from an outside force or from his own people, was pushed aside. The courageous C.J. Gates stands over a large board detailing the terrain wearing a camouflage military uniform, and beside him stand his loyal companions B.J. Gates and O.J. Gates. C.J. is hunched over the board, surveying the land, eying each set of figurines that have been placed throughout the map. In the center stands a large collection of figures, all standing under a flag that reads "APW". C.J. stands back and shakes his head.

"What's wrong?" B.J. asks as he takes a few steps toward the courageous hero.

"This," C.J. says, motioning to the table. "All of this. They're coming at us from all sides and victory, let alone survival, looks futile right about now."

"What about in-fighting?" The second companion, O.J. pipes up.

"In-fighting?" B.J. asks.

"Yeah, what if everyone decides to take each other out first leaving the group in the middle and those last few remaining."

"It's a possibility," C.J. admits. "But there is also the chance that our group in the middle might not see eye to eye. Even after what has occurred the past few weeks."

"Okay, let's go over this again." B.J. walks around to the far side of the table, across from C.J., who picks up a long pointer and points at the second largest contingent, stationed on a two dimensional representation of a hill, all standing under a flag that reads "WEW".

"This is the next largest contingent of fighters, though they don't seem to pose as much of a threat as others. They have the numbers, but they don't exactly have the co-ordination needed to work together and become the last group standing, let alone hold the representative that will be seen as the last one standing."

"What about this group?" O.J. asks pointing to another decently sized grouping.

"That group is probably one of the more unpredictable," C.J. says, moving the pointer to just in front of them, near the base of the flag that reads "FA". "Filled with mercenaries that haven't found a place to call home, there is the chance that they could join together and fight as one unit. Or," he pauses as he takes his pointer and splits the group in two. "they will be split apart and working for each other instead of for the collective group. Unlike the group before, they do have some possibilities that could end up being the last person standing."

"Sounds dangerous," B.J. says. "But what about this group? The one highlighted in the red ink?" B.J. points to a grouping of four figures, standing among two flags. One reads "PW" and the other, "CWC". They are positioned on the far side of a river, the closest group to the "APW" contingent.

"Those are the dangerous ones," C.J. says with a nod. "Those are the ones that have been taking found opportunities to perform raids under the cover of darkness. They've been hitting us where it hurts and making a mockery of what we stand for. Some of them have gotten theirs, that's true, but in the end, what does all of that mean, right? They will just be out for more blood when the actual battle begins."

"Then they should be the first eliminated," O.J. says, making a cutting motion across his throat. "Knocked out, whacked, exterminated. Just get rid of them and everything else will fall apart." O.J. sweeps his arm over the table knocking the pieces over and into the river.

"I don't think it's that easy because while they are working to eliminate us, this group," C.J. moves the pointer to point at those under the "GIW" flag, positioned behind a hill with a scout nearby. "They have also been taking pot shots at our front lines, so we will have to keep out eyes open for what they might be able to do to us when we're focusing too much on the other four."

"We are surrounded, aren't we?" B.J. says with a shake of his head. "How the hell are we going to make it out alive if we're surrounded on all sides?"

"Precisely what I was worrying about earlier."

"What if we just backed out? Ran away? Split town?" O.J. says adjusting his cap.

C.J. shakes his head. "Nope. Too many people are already calling this as a farce because I'm not doing what they think I should do, I don't want them to see me as a turncoat because I abandoned my brothers and sisters in the heat of battle."

"Again," B.J. chimes in with a smirk.

"Now is not a time for jokes, private. We've got a lot on our hands!"

Silence falls over the trio as they all survey the land. After a few moments, O.J. speaks. "What are all of these solo numbers? Rebel fighters? Deserters?"

"It's hard to nail them down," C.J. explains. "Some of them are working solo, others are in a group of two or three. I haven't been able to get a good read on these ones, but what I do know, is that they are always going to be a threat because these could be the ones that go unnoticed until the very last moment and then they could swoop in and take all the credit."

"Isn't that what the mercenary did last year?"

"Exactly. Some of these solo acts are pretty impressive though. Take this one, for example." C.J. points to a lone figure sitting in front of a clump of trees under a "TFWF" banner. "This one is a dangerous, vile fighter with ice water running through his veins."

"'TFWF'," O.J. begins, pausing slightly. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"A lot of good fighters have come out of that camp, and to have one in this war could mean disaster for everyone involved."

"Whats the deal with this one?"[/color] B.J. asks, pointing to a figure situated at the top of a tree, looking toward the center of the map. The figure has a "SVW" flag attached to it.

"I'm back and forth on him," C.J. says. "I hear that he is one of those fighters that can take over an entire fight by himself, turning regular fighters into mince meat at the snap of his fingers. But the more I hear of his brilliance when he's in the heat of battle, the more I question it. At the end of the day, I can't help but think he might be overrated. I can't help but wonder if the hype is too much."

"So, you're not going to worry about him?"

"I didn't say that now did I. I'm going to treat him like everyone else, as if he will be a threat to us. I'm not going to give anyone a free pass."

"The plan seems pretty cut and dry to me," O.J. states looking over the board, eying each piece. "You've got to keep the groups from working together while working together with your own, but also making sure that these little renegades don't pull out some sort of trick and end up toppling you and everyone in your squad."

"Easier said then done it seems," B.J. says with a shrug.

"But he's basically right," C.J. agrees. "There's a few others that could fly under the radar," C.J. pauses as he points to figurines under the flags of "SCW", "VWF" and "SCCW", "but I'm not too worried that they are going to put up much of a fight."

"You seemed to have overlooked a whole group of them on this ridge up here," B.J. points out, shrugging to the ones under the flags of "CRW", "FWA", "HSW" and one lone "APW". "This guys from your own squad!"

"He was, but he's gone rogue. Those are the ones that could just be lining up to take a dive off the cliff," C.J. begins as O.J. steps over and flicks each one off of the table, sending them crashing to the floor. "Just like that. On the other hand, we have also had some people join our ranks, but those ones I left on their own paths because I wasn't sure I could trust them. Joining up after declaring yourself for your own squad is a bit unnerving, if you ask me."

"Is that what these two are?" B.J. asks, motioning toward the figures under "GCW" and "RMP" flags. C.J. nods.

"You should just bring tanks into the field and clear everyone out. Make sure everyone is left down on the ground and you're the last one standing." O.J. drops a toy tank onto the board.

"Tanks won't do it," C.J. says. "Something tells me that heavy artillery won't be enough to knock down the forces that are still surrounding us."

"So," B.J. begins as he glances from one side of the map to the other, "what's are you planning to do? Pray to the Gods that some sort of divine intervention will flood the battlefield?"

"Nope. I'm simply going to do what I know I will have to do to have any chance at standing once the battle has come to a complete stop."

O.J. and B.J. exchange looks. "And that is?"

"Survive."

"That's it?"

"And then conquer."

The verbal volley's continue and the battle inches even closer to its breaking point. Our hero has shown that he takes no one for granted, and will treat everyone like the threat that they are. Whether or not his squadron will fight alongside him is an entirely different question, one that can not be answered until the first official shot has been fired. Once it was, unpredictability would be at an all time high.

Would our courageous hero win the war? Only time would tell. To do so would mean that our hero would have to exhaust himself, to risk being both mentally and physically broken, but our heroes heart for competition was as big as the match itself. He would have to push himself through anything that might force him to call it quits, to form bonds that he might otherwise have avoided forming.

This war is about more than defending his honor.

This war is about defending his territory.

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

C.J. Gates sits down in a leather chair with a sigh, still wearing his military outfit, currently topped off with his usual cowboy hay. He rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands before sitting forward.

"Last year, this was my coming out party. I was looked at as a nobody at Survive and Conquer in 2011, a hopeful with no chance to actually win. Someone who barely had what it took to make it to the final ten, let alone the final four that I achieved. After all, I couldn't even beat two of the favorites in singles competition. And sure, I was knocked out in that final four, but it was simply the beginning to what has been my best year to date.

"However, that was in a field of forty. This year, the number has doubled and there is no telling what could happen when nearly one hundred people are fighting for the same honor. When each one is doing what they can to be the sole survivor.

"Luckily, my experience from last years event has prepared me for what is to come."

He stands up and walks toward the board again and leans against it. A white bin rests in front of him, empty, as Gates stares around the board.

"I won't lie though, preparing myself for all of the different competitors was not an easy task. Is not an easy task. Seeing names that I have been at odds with for months and others I know nothing about. Names of people who have been hyped beyond belief, names of people that will float under the radar. Friends, enemies, adversaries, rivals, they're all here. I thought about having fun with it, throwing out the circus comparison, but it just didn't do it justice.

"Because, in the end, this isn't a circus. This isn't three rings of fun with popcorn and clowns. This time around, this is much, much more. This time, it's going to be an all out war.

"Everyone has already seen the blood that has been shed and the tempers that have flared in the weeks leading up, and everyone has heard the promises of victory. No one is going to be holding back anything once they get into that ring and as long as they remain, they are going to give it everything they have and then some. That's how it was last year, and that's how I'm sure it will be this year.

"After all, there are people in this field that have the ability to take any match over and run with it. Make it theirs to lose no matter the odds. We have former winners of this event, runners up, hell, three quarters of last years final four are involved. There are also men as clean cut as me, men who lie, cheat and steal, men who verbally abuse their opponents as if they have tourette's. There are a number of dark horses in this event this year, who could make it to the end with everyone watching on, mouths open, wondering how. There are those that see me as a talented man, and those that see me as a mere obstacle, a means to an end in their favor.

"And of course, there are the unknowns. The groups that seem to be hidden amongst everyone else in this shroud of a shadow. They remained quiet prior to the match and now they find themselves in prime position. I mean, take the representatives from World Elite Wrestling for example. I can't say that I've heard of a single one of them before, and since they haven't made any true noise, outside of tapes they are all relatively unknown. Their numbers along make them a threat, though, because if any of them team up and work together, then they could be a force to be reckoned with throughout the entire event.

"There are also the ones that I have only heard about through word of mouth. The Ricky Stanton's and Brad Jackson's of the business. People who have been highly touted and have big shoes to fill without ever having been inside of an APW ring. Do these people worry me? Of course they do. Everyone in this match worries me. Everyone has talent or they wouldn't have signed up. Everyone involved has their eyes set on winning. Do they have enough talent to win? Well, that's the question that all of us need to answer, but the answers can only come once the curtain rises on Sunday."

Gates reaches down to the board and scoops up a handful of figurines, most of which were standing under the "WEW" banner, and dumps them into the bin.

"Of course, there are also the people in this match who think that I signed up to avoid having to defend the APW Undisputed title. Sure, I won't say I'm surprised that some people decided to take that route, but the truth is that I signed up in order to defend APW. I was around last year, I saw what happened when Level One gathered up the Free Agency, and after how things started to unfold that first week of the new year...well, sitting back and watching wasn't what I wanted to do. I wanted to make sure that these invaders, these outsiders, knew that we weren't going to take kindly to there efforts to just walk in here and turn this into their own fun house. If they want that, they are going to have to go through me and everyone else from APW at Survive and Conquer.

"Maybe.

"Because what does surprise me, is that the ones that have called me out are the ones that are flying the APW banner. The ones I figured would be just as determined to rid the outsiders and invaders. Ones who wouldn't care that the APW Undisputed title wasn't defended, because we as a collective unit were defending something more important.

"APW.

"Kid Dynamo, Johnny Knuckles, Julius Farquhar and anyone else I might have missed, I am not hiding. I am not chickening out. If I could have fought in two matches without risking permanent injury, then I would have. But I decided that it would be best for me to defend the federation, rather then the title. So you can all continue to call me selfish, but if you choose to, you might have to look up the definition of that word, because I'm doing the exact opposite.

"Then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised. No one questioned Sally Talfourd last year for not defending her title or for her overall ability, yet I face them at every turn. It's as if I still have to prove myself even though I've done nothing but show that I am at the top of my game. That I'm fighting for APW. That I'm wrestling for the fans."

Gates shakes his head and reaches down, picking up a few select pieces.

"People still doubt me.

"And truly, I can see it from Rebel, since it is in his nature to berate and belittle me the way Biggs used to. And just like Biggs, he is finding it very hard to pick up wins over me. It seems whenever we're in the ring, I'm getting the upper hand. He has yet to slay his metaphorical dragon that is me."

Gates tosses one of the figures, presumably Rebel, into the bin.

"At least Goeren can claim a victory over me, having beaten me with the CWC World title on the line. I can't dispute that one, he did pin Seth Black fair and square. I have no doubts that he and I will cross in this match, and maybe after I show him once again what I am capable of, give him a replay of Overdrive, maybe he won't doubt me anymore."

Gates tosses a second piece, presumably Azrael Goeren.

"BAD ASS, Ramirez and Seth Black think that they're better than APW because...we beat them at Supremacy. Seems logical that they would think they should have bested us by didn't. All three of them do nothing but talk a big game and back it up with cheap tactics, but the minute they are matched at their own game, they fold. And I'm sure that the minute they are met in the ring, they will fold as well. After all, it wasn't me that got pinned by Azrael at the Finale."

Gates tosses three more figures into the bin.

"The list can surely go on. Helmsley hates the fact that I knocked him out of last years Ascension tournament. Paradox McSweeney feels cheated from losing Supremacy. MDK might feel like he deserves to fight for the True Experts title instead of me. Marvin, Cedrone, Level One, Quinn, Chaud, Terry, Specter, Daniels, Dillinger, I'm sure all of them doubt me, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what the silent ones might think of me. It just seems like no matter what I do, everyone continues to think of me as a worthless champion. That even though I have tested myself at all possible points and never backed down from a challenge, they think I still don't have what it takes."

Gates smirks as he tosses twelve more figures into the bin.

"Which only makes winning that much more desirable.

"Not because I want to win for winnings sake, but because I want to prove all of them wrong. I want to show them that this North Dakota Cowboy has what it takes to compete with some of the best. That the fact that I have been rewarded with CWC and True Experts title shots isn't just by some fluke. That even if I was defending the Undisputed title tonight, I would still come out on top.

"Of course, I haven't forgotten about the fans that have driven me to get to where I am. And really, if you ask me, that would be the only other thing topping the want to prove myself. Fighting for them. Rewarding them for all of their support over the past year. Some people question why the fans are so important, and to those people I say that the fans make the quintessential difference between a loss and a win. Chanting your name could be enough to get you over the hump, turn a lackluster effort into something of brilliance, and pull out the win against what some might call impossible odds. I will never forget the support they have given me. I make sure that every match is fought for them, so that they will always have something to remember. I make sure that their jaws are dropped at the end of each night.

"I show them that their support is welcomed.

"Though even with the entire arena behind me, I might not be able to overcome the odds. Entering at number thirty one means I'm going to have to outlast a lot of people to make it to the final four again, let alone to win the entire match. The odds are with those that enter toward the end. They are the favorites to come out with the win.

"But that doesn't mean that I am going to give up. I'm not about to roll over and admit defeat. I'll fight until there is simply no fight left inside of me to continue. I will match each talented wrestler with my own talent. I will use my speed, my skills, my intensity. I will make sure that those invaders never mess with APW again.

"Just like I did last year, when everyone saw me as a spot filler."

Gates smirks before picking up the rest of the figurines and placing them in the bin, leaving only one remaining on the table.

"This match is nothing but a war, and in the end, one person is going to have survived the onslaught and conquered over everyone else. It's what everyone is waiting for, what everyone has been expecting since the moment the match was announced. And while many of these people have legitimate shots at coming out on top, I am going to make sure that the match resembles this table, with only one courageous hero left standing tall in the center.

"I am going to do nothing but go big...

"While sending eighty five others home."

Gates picks up the bin and walks away from the table. The shot zooms in on the lone figure left, complete with cowboy hat and title belt, as the scene fades to black.

[mdk]

(Wildcard was in the bag and now the story and effort was exerted. Now all we had to do was wait and see the fruits of one man’s labours bloom and flourish at the next Pay per View; Jackpot. That man could proudly say that in the past year, he had turned a federation around from being just another generic company to one of the elite federations in wrestling containing some of the finest superstars in the sport. That had been proving time and again with performances against other companies across the world in both the CWC and The Experts.

There was a time when SCW was represented by one man and one man alone. He was already a mainstay of the inter-federation circuits and was already a household name when he dating way back to 2006 when he participated in the Roughkut Tournament and then later that year in the UWF in a 64 man tournament where he finished in third… He is a perennial member of the latter stages of the Experts tournaments and a regular in each of their events. As his performances became increasingly noteworthy, the urge to join up increased and the luminaries of SCW participated and became household names off the back of this man’s success. This man had already come to Survive and Conquer once before and finished fifth. Many would be watching and just like before, many are now inspired to enter the event alongside and against this man simultaneously. And this man? This man was sitting on the ring post looking out across all he was master of and couldn’t help but smile as he thought of those that had tried to tame this company – alumni of APW in fact – and failed dismally. He smiled as he thought of the fact that this man was the nubile young lover of a bored housewife that was SCW. He took SCW to places that it could only have dreamed of. He did things to SCW that others couldn’t. He put a smile on SCW and the fans of it and now, he got to step back into the ring.

He wasn’t rusty though; far from it. This man was setting the forums and Twitter feeds alight with each and every outburst and action. He was controversy incarnate and a master of carving through the masses. A Demi-God, a living legend and an icon of the sport, this man… was the three simple letters, the stalwart of Halls of Fame across the world and one violent man. This man was M.D.K.

He hops down from the post and climbs out of the ring as he looks around at the now empty arena. Some of the ring crew was checking the seats while cleaners were going about their work and one roadie struggle with the signage for SCW’s pay-per-view on Sunday. That wasn’t M.D.K.’s concern right now though as he had to look after the one person he was always looking after; himself. His actions and track record spoke for itself. On Hallowed Ground, TFWF, the Betrayal of Ryan Ruckus, the intimidation of entire federations and the physical and emotional crushing of anybody that stood in his path on his rise to the top. As he walks back up the rampway, a roadie offers a nod that is ignored and M.D.K. makes his way through the back where he is greeted by a PA.)

PA: “The press conference for Jackpot is booked for 3pm on Saturday.”

M.D.K.: “Brilliant. Let the selling begin.”

PA: “Your mother called…”

M.D.K.: “Next.”

PA: “We had an offer through from a documentary to follow you around.”

M.D.K.: “Tell them to shove it up their arse.”

PA: “Already done… Your match for the TFWF pay-per-view is lined up as well…”

M.D.K.: “Brilliant, have the script-writers work their magic on something special for that.”

PA: “And your entry into Survive and Conquer has been drawn.”

(This statement was enough to stop M.D.K. dead in his tracks. He turns and looks the PA up and down causing her to shuffle uneasily on the spot. She remains silent.)

M.D.K.: “Go on!”

PA: “Oh… sorry… You have been given number 17.”

(He smiles and continues to walk.)

M.D.K.: “Excellent! Remind me; how many people are in this year’s Survive and Conquer?”

PA: “Err… 85…”

(M.D.K. smiles and nods.)

M.D.K.: “Of course… 17 out of 85… how much worse could it be?”

PA: “I imagine being anywhere between one and sixteen would be considerably worse…”

(M.D.K. stops, puts a hand to his temple and rubs and takes a deep breath.)

M.D.K.: “I know that… it was a rhetorical question you fuck-knuckle…”

PA: “I’m sorry… I…”

M.D.K.: “Didn’t think? Didn’t put your mind in check before you put your mouth in gear? Your fucking right you didn’t. You’re fired.”

PA: “Again? Really?”

M.D.K.: “Yep, and before you clear your desk find an adequate replacement.”

PA: “Will I do?”

M.D.K.: “If you can get on with the job and keep your mouth shut then fine.”

PA: “Sure thing. Now, about this Survive and Conquer event…”

M.D.K.: “What about it?”

PA: “The APW powers that be have organised a televised interview for you. They want you to talk to them about your upcoming appearance…”

M.D.K.: “I’ll pass.”

PA: “Evidently it’s not something you can pass on I’m afraid. Contractually as part of the event, you are expected to speak about the show.”

M.D.K.: “And I will… just not to them…”

PA: “Any reason why?”

(By this point of the conversation, M.D.K. has arrived at a door marked ‘Exit’. They both stop and M.D.K. rests his hand on the door before turning to the PA.)

M.D.K.: “Look, as excited as I am to be in the Survive and Conquer match again, you need to remember that is am the proprietor of this company, SCW. SCW in no way, shape or form is APW and vice-versa. I am not going to give their interviewers the honour of speaking to me, of having me promote their company TO them. I will do the promo work of course but to do them a favour on top of that? I don’t think so.”

(The PA sighs and drops her shoulders in defeat. M.D.K. rests a hand on her shoulder.)

M.D.K.: “Look, stick to doing what you do best…”

PA: “Organising your diary and having sex with you on your desk occasionally?”

(M.D.K. smiles and slaps her behind.)

M.D.K.: “Who’s a clever girl? Right, I’m off to meet with the rest of the guys and girls before I fly out to S&C… Take messages, ignore the reporters and if anybody has an issue with management, tell them I said to go fuck themselves…”

PA: “It will be like you’re here in person.”

(But M.D.K. wasn’t there to listen to the joke. He was already out of the door and heading to his car ready for stage two of his intense preparations for the Survive and Conquer event…)

*Brief moment of black*

(And we return to find M.D.K. sitting in an airport bar alongside a few members of the ORC. The ORC were a group that – to the chagrin of certain APW and SCW alumni – had survived, thrived and conquered the wrestling scene since their inception. Starting with just M.D.K. and Ryan Ruckus, their creation was born when they turned on the Experts and gave the CWC a fighting chance at On Hallowed Ground. M.D.K. was the last man standing for them and they took their wares to the TFWF where dominance and conquering came second nature to them. Gold, glory and an arena full of the fearful was their reward. After ditching the deadwood (including Ruckus) the ORC stood proud as six demi-gods in the world of professional wrestling. M.D.K., Rebel Child, Rick Rampage, Michael Thunder, Sean Panache and Viktor Kovalenko, they continued their path of dominance through the realm of the Experts. Only one man was coming here though. Of the eighty-six in the ring, only one will have the interests of the ORC in his mind. We know him already as M.D.K. sits with the rest of the ORC drinking beer and putting the world to rights.)

M.D.K.: “So we have Cyclone thinking he is actually challenging for the TFWF Title, we have the TFWF on its knees, Las Vegas in our control and I’m heading into a bear-pit of eighty-five rivals, enemies and disgruntled employees…”

Rampage: “Is this wise man? I mean, we have pretty much pissed everybody off in wrestling. Is stepping into the ring with so many people who owe you an ass-kicking the wisest move?”

M.D.K.: “If I was anybody else I might see your point, if I didn’t think for a second that I am walking out with the money and the victory then I’d agree and if for one minute I cared about what people thought about me, I’d probably think twice about this match… There’s one problem though Rick.”

Rampage: “The fact you are a grade ‘A’ asshole?”

RC: “A stubborn son on a bitch?”

Kovalenko: “Zarozumilyy̆ durenʹ?”

(M.D.K. turns to Kovalenko’s translator.)

Anya: “An arrogant fool.”

M.D.K.: “Well thank you, thank you for that beautiful character witness testimonies… I must remember to quote them if I am ever in court…”

Panache: “You might need us… There is a fifteen year old in this match.”

M.D.K.: “Is she hot?”

Rampage: “Dude, she’s fifteen.”

M.D.K.: “That’s not the answer to my question.”

Kovalenko: “YA ne znav, shcho vin pedofil.”

M.D.K.: “What?”

Anya: “You really don’t want to know…”

RC: “Last word sounded like…”

(Anya glares at Rebel Child as M.D.K. drains the bottle of beer and slams it onto the table.)

M.D.K.: “Right, Sean? It’s your round sunshine!”

Panache: “Oh man!”

(Panache disappears briefly as the others continue to talk.)

M.D.K.: “So other than fifteen year old bits of snatch, is there anyone else I should watch out for?”

Rampage: “The usual suspects… Jonny Cedrone, Alex Black, Level One…”

(M.D.K. chuckles and shakes his head as he sits back and folds his arms.)

M.D.K.: “Ah, do you remember the days when he used to be the reason people bought pay per views? His battles with that Crazy Man… Stuff of legend and now people are paying to see me crush them while Level One? Well what is he up to now?”

Thunder: “I think he stays in APW after an insipid run in TFWF.”

M.D.K.: “Understandable. Some people just can’t cut the big leagues.”

(Panache returns with a tray of beers and jagerbombs…)

Panache: “Is that why Justice Legal is here?”

(M.D.K. almost spits his first mouthful of drink.)

M.D.K.: “What?”

Panache: “Yep, the homicidal, suicidal, pesticidal, regicidal, Matt Sydal, no-show Pop Idol is in it.”

M.D.K.: “As what? Comedy relief when I snap the twat in half?”

Thunder: “Is that the kid you used to set an example with in Vegas?”

M.D.K.: “Probably. The unwashed masses tend to merge into each other.”

Rampage: “Then you have the big dogs; Sally Talfourd, Brad Jackson…”

M.D.K.: “He’s still alive?”

Rampage: “Dan Bochner…”

Panache: “Trained by none other than Cid Phoenix…”

M.D.K.: “That whinging fucking cretin is still alive?”

Rampage: “… Seth Black, BAD ASS, CJ Gates, Kurt Noble…”

(M.D.K. suddenly falls silent. Kurt Noble was the man who took him out of the Extreme Tournament last year and was the bane of the entire ORC for the duration. Noble and his friends were almost the downfall of the ORC but only managed in getting past the obstacles set by them and didn’t do enough to bring them down. But the bitterness, the anger and hatred towards him was still fresh.)

M.D.K.: “Noble… what number?”

Rampage: “I don’t know man! I didn’t study all of them!”

(M.D.K. slams his drink down onto the table.)

M.D.K.: “WHAT FUCKING NUMBER IS KURT NOBLE?”

(Other people in the bar look across at the commotion. The entire bar falls silent briefly before everybody continues on their business. Rebel Child checks through her phone.)

RC: “: “It says here he’s 27th.”

Panache: “Ten away from you?”

Thunder: “So if you wanna get your hands on the son of a bitch, you had better be sensible about it.”

M.D.K.: “Meaning?”

Thunder: “Don’t let your hot-headedness or your pride get in the way of you doing something special.”

Panache: “Before he gets to the ring, you’ll have the likes of Sally, Azrael and Brad Jackson…”

M.D.K.: “He’s still alive?”

Thunder: “To get through… And on top of that you’ll have to make sure that all of those 85 sons of bitches don’t distract you. Whether they are a non-entity from the past, a rival or an employee of yours, you can’t let it get in the way of exactly why you are stepping into that ring.”

(M.D.K. leans forwards and listens intently to the veteran. In the eyes of most, M.D.K. was the leader of the ORC but in terms of the life experience and his deep knowledge of the ring, Michael Thunder was the man that M.D.K. turned to.)

Thunder: “What I am saying is that when you are in that ring, you are going to experience a number of changes. You will experience a wide range of emotions…”

Panache: “And get hair where there was no hair before…”

(Rebel Child elbows Panache in the ribs causing him to stumble from the stool.)

Thunder: “The point is you can’t let one man get in the way of the bigger picture. You wanna win this thing right?”

M.D.K.: “Of course!”

Thunder: “You wanna be the man stands tall over 85 others…”

M.D.K.: “Yeah.”

Thunder: “So you want to head out there, walk in 17th and wait for another seventy guys to step into that ring. You are gonna watch them come and watch them go and you are gonna be the last man standing.”

M.D.K.: “Look, what’s the point?”

Thunder: “If you see Noble entering the ring, are you going to risk everything just to take him out? He’s beaten you before and there’s nothing written that says he’s can’t beat you again…”

M.D.K.: “Thanks for the boost of confidence there… needed that.”

Thunder: “It’s a boost of reality. You are going to take this and take it by any means necessary. There are people you don’t like and probably a lot more who don’t like you. You are going to have to deal with that.”

(M.D.K. swirls his bottle of beer and looks down at it with a frown on his face.)

Thunder: “Look, you just need to realise that you can’t let the simple things get in the way. The emotions, the grudges and the urge to slaps an unreliable piece of shit silly may well be tempting but you have bigger fish to fry.”

(M.D.K. drains another bottle and a barely audible announcement comes across the tannoy. M.D.K. looks up and stands up to pick up his bag.)

M.D.K.: “That’s me…”

(Rampage is the first to stand up and the two shake hands. This goes for the rest of the group as well finishing with Thunder who shares a manly hug with him.)

Thunder: “Just remember the final goal. Fuck each and every distraction…”

Kovalenko: “NE p'yatnadtsyatyrichna.”

Anya: “Not the fifteen year old.”

(M.D.K. laughs and slaps the giant Ukrainian on the shoulder before slipping his bag onto his shoulder and heading for the gates without so much as a glance back to his friends who resume their drinking. As M.D.K. heads through the gate, he offers himself a small smile of self confidence before we fade to another momentary period of blackness…)

*Ow, don’t touch me there!*

(We return from the blackness to see a promotional event for APW’s Survive and Conquer in full swing. Fans from across the world are here and offering soundbites to cameramen who couldn’t give a shit about what any of the slack-jawed cretins have to say. The minor league characters had given their two cents at the mini promo time they were given and there was a semblance of order to how these things panned out. It started with the no-hopers, who might not event string two words together, then we have the minor leaguers, then it’s the turn of the non APW big cheeses and then the APW elite step out. M.D.K. was known on the scene in wrestling and had been known for a long time through the many events he has been and the fact that his company’s elite had crossed swords with the APW on many occasions during the last CWC events… This was an event where familiar SCW faces would be but none of them were associating themselves with M.D.K.

Paradox McSweeney – a man who craved the attention of M.D.K. normally didn’t want to be anywhere near him while the likes of Spider Bait and Matt Matlock were keeping a low profile and Adrien Specter? Well that was one unknown hornet’s nest that M.D.K. did not want to rattle at this present time. They too had crossed swords at the Extreme Tournament last year but M.D.K. eventually had gotten the better of him. Specter had joined SCW in order to get revenge on M.D.K. and was looking for any possible opportunity. An event like this was a prime time for him to get that chance. Because of who he is and because of the high profile nature and also because he was controversial leading to nobody wanting to share the stage with him, M.D.K. had been given a ten minute slot on the stage to himself.

APW management had given him a fifteen point code of conduct upon registering with them about what he couldn’t say, do or even think about while being in an APW event. They included refraining from use of the C word and not to use language that could incite public unrest. M.D.K. grudgingly agreed to the terms but still had spent the last few hours planning exactly how to get past at least twelve of them and as he was introduced by the master of ceremonies and Charlie Big Potato by Skunk Anansie started to play, a wry smile crossed his lips.

With a microphone in his hand and clad in a shirt and trousers, he stepped out to a hostile crowd that clearly knew of M.D.K. and who he was as well as what he could do. The realisation that the masses here knew who he was and offered reaction to his very presence bought another wicked grin to his face. He stepped behind the lectern that was situated in the centre of the stage and stood like a minister preparing to offer a sermon. The crowd died down to a murmur and he began.)

M.D.K.: “Pissants, peons and peasants… You’re welcome.”

(He sneered cruelly at the booing crowd and offered them a mock bow. He let the masses die down again before continuing.)

M.D.K.: “You are gathered here today to listen to a eulogy of sorts. A eulogy of the eighty-five deluded souls who honestly think that they have a hope in hell against me; M.D.K. Eighty-five lambs to the slaughter and eighty-five bottles hanging on the fucking wall. Eighty-five hurdles for my to hurdle or just plain run through if the mood takes me and eighty-five mortals who are setting themselves up for a mighty big fall.”

(As he continues, he steps away from the podium and paces carefully along the width of the stage with the microphone in his hand.)

M.D.K.: “For the best part of a decade, I have strived to be the best of the best in this business. I have aimed for the biggest prize in any company, endeavoured to be such an asset that I end up in the Hall of Fame, targeted the fame and had the best of the business gravitate towards me. I am a magnet to the great and the good and all the glory that comes with it and like a bee to nectar, I am drawn to opportunities that can expand that glory.”

“On January the 29th, I will be the 17th face you see stepping out from that curtain. Eighty-five other insipid plates of tripe will also be there but more important than being the 17th face you see because I will also be the last… I will be the last man standing, the god amongst men and the one who Survived and Conquered. You see, you can keep your Latin, keep your quotes, your song lyrics and your retina burning, mind-numbing, soul-crushing imagination-devoid cookie cutter videos of self-promotion. You can stuff your enigmatic monikers, your one word names, the stage names based on a film star you once accidentally found yourself masturbating to on a lonely Tuesday night up your arse. You can be a woman or a man, black or white and gay, bi or Scottish because it matters very little to me.”

“I am the equal opportunity herald of hate with a low tolerance for the incredibly fucking stupid – that means you Dan Bochner – and I am here to offer a dose of reality to each and every deluded son of a bitch who thinks for half a heartbeat that they have a chance when there is one factor guaranteeing their failure. That factor is three simple letters that when combined make one supremely handsome, unfathomably talented and incredibly violent man. M… D… K…”

“I have been here before in the final five in fact and I know what it takes. I know that I need to leave nothing behind. I expect every fibre of my being to ache and for the canvas to be stained with my blood, sweat and tears. I expect to be bent like a pretzel, slammed into the mat and to suplexed, kicked, punched and jumped on by the acrobats of the ring.”

(He raises a finger as he continues.)

M.D.K.: “You see, I can accept these facts and resign myself to that fate but can each and every one of the eighty-five of you that are stepping into that ring on January 29th with me and listening to my voice right now accept your fate? Can you accept the inevitable pain on which I am going to inflict on you? The angles I will twist your limbs? I will be treating you like a toddler treats his big sister’s Barbie dolls. Are you man, woman or jail-bait slut enough to resign yourself to the fate that I will be breaking you in half and taking you out of this match myself? Are you capable of accepting the words I utter that have sent shivers down the spine of everybody that has ever heard them spew forth from my mouth?”

(He returns to the lectern and leans on it to catch his breath and swallow saliva deeply.)

M.D.K.: “January 29th is going to be historic and I don’t need to bathe myself in Roman history, biblical verses or the latest fucking Avenged Sevenfold album. I don’t need fart jokes, casual sex or primitive violence against those lesser beings. The only thing I need is the self belief that has seen me get to the stage of my career that I am at now. One where I am the alpha and omega and the be-all and fucking end all of professional wrestling. At Survive and Conquer I prove to each and every one of you the one thing I have told you from the very start… and that is you are truly… and utterly… INFERIOR!”

(There is a moment of hush swept across the room as M.D.K. finishes speaking and gazes across the room with his brilliant sapphire blue eyes. He leaves the congregation in awe as he turns away and back behind the curtain as the crowd slowly start to speak amongst themselves again about what they have just witnessed; potentially the winner of Survive and Conquer 2012.)

[Flins.]

OOC - So I totally fucked up with the deadline, still a little unsure whether I've missed (not good with timezones, I'm the UK). Anyway just got in from work, went to finish RP, thought to myself that maybe it wasn't the same deadline as SCW (which is same day but different time), got confused and rushed it up. If it's past the deadline, apologies, but it was a genuine mix-up and as you can see I wrote the RP.

The Law of Club and Fang Pt 1

Spider-Bait grunted at the taxi driver as he handed him his fare, the lack of a tip and pleasantries a by-product of the foul mood the masked man had been in since his return to Miami. Long forgotten, hate filled memories resurfaced almost immediately upon arrival. The warm, humid weather coupled with countless flashbacks to his childhood choked him as he stepped out from the plane. He was not happy about being back here, but he wasn’t about to let it affect him... too much.

A cloud ridden sky brought a glum appearance to Spider-Baits surroundings. The increasingly aggravated wrestler stood before a large, decadent house. The remaining white paintwork, though wrinkled, offered some colour to the building, which was severely lacking any features. Splintered beams, half collapsed extensions, a roof riddled with gaping holes. This building was a far cry from the childhood home Spider-Bait recalled. Even the garden that surrounded the building was in decay, grass and plants alike wilting, dying. It almost brought an unseen smile to the face of Bait.

He cautiously made his way to the building’s entrance, carefully displacing his weight across the unsteady porch. The door handle almost crumpled at his grip, it was almost pathetic, that this, a once proud household had become rubble. He swung the door open precariously, his heart fluttering at the opportunity to see what the hellhole had come too. What he saw though, his heart sunk.

The chandelier hung from the tall, deep hallway, lighting up the passageway superbly. Red, regal carpet spanned out across the floor, the gold lining that bordered it glittered under the luxurious lighting. Paintings and pictures decorated the walls, all placed within outlandish, golden coated frames. Spider-Bait could not stop himself from turning back and looking out through the entrance he stepped through only moments ago. The dank environment he stepped out of remained. There was none of the green grass from his childhood, or the Grape Hollies that would flower at this time of the year. Even the door he remained a hold of looked as it did before, its paintwork peeling to the sides, the raw wood beneath scarred and warped. He slammed the door shut, turning back to the hallway he remembered so vividly.

He took a few guarded steps into the hallway, eyes curiously scanning his surroundings, trying to figure what was real and what wasn’t, not that Spider-Bait was in the frame of mind to contemplate such things. The medication had eased his worries as the flight grew closer to landing, cleared his mind, dulled the pain, and the apprehension. He knew where he had to come first; there would’ve been no other appropriate preparation.

SB: “You know, I had hoped I’d never set foot here again. Not in this house, per se, but this city.”

Spider-Bait began talking as he eased his way through the hallway, viewing each ornament, picture, and painting with intent as he passed them.

SB: “It’s not that I’m ashamed of my past, or that I dwell on regrets. No. It’s just somewhere that I’ve always felt I never belonged, somewhere that I was always disappointing someone, seen as a failure. It’s been a long time since I was here though; I’m not the man I was when I left. For starters, I wasn’t covered head to toe in lycra back then.

But enough of the vague history lesson, I’ll save those painstakingly boring stories for my therapist. I do intend to introduce myself though, I can’t see many of you having any idea who I am or what I do or even how I could compete amongst the superstars you’re used to seeing. I’m a pretty simple guy though, and I have few ambitions in life.

I don’t complicate things with greed, or the need for fame, glory, or money. Nah, me, I’m all about reaching that point of life in which it is at its greatest. And trust me, it isn’t when you’re too rich to function, or a regular at the playboy mansion. That point of life is something that’s pure, primal. It’s something that I have found can only be reached within those four posts, between the ropes, opposite the best in the world.

It took me a while to find it, and I hate to admit it, but I’m hooked. It’s a feeling that’s unparalleled, and believe me I’ve tested too many waters in the hunt for it. This feeling, this is what life is; you’re not living until you witness it. Witness how you become in tune with every inch of your body, every muscle, every joint, every ligament, ever sinew. Every part of you surrenders to this overwhelming rush of adrenaline, it takes over you, and all you can do is sit back and watch as your instincts take control.

Come Survive & Conquer, I’ve got the best seat in the building.

That’s why I’m here, in Miami, a city of a past no longer part of me, a city I’m looking to make a part of my future. I’m looking for it to be that pinnacle of living, that summit, that moment in which life cannot rise. Forget the prize money, the honour of the competition, the fans, and the fame. Forget everything involved in this match up that is outside of the ring. Eighty five of the world’s elite competitors will be stepping into that ring for whatever purposes they have, I don’t judge them, but only a few of them will be on the same wavelength as me.

There will be a few, there has to be. There has to be some of them that are looking for something beyond all the superficial bullshit that appeases the general populace. If there isn’t, maybe I’ve come to the wrong place to find that summit. But for now, I believe there is, I mean I have to, I can’t be the only one that lives by the law of the fang.”



This is Your Moment

?: “You taken them?”

The stern voice jolted a young boy into attention, his blue eyes glancing at his aggressor fearfully.

?: “Yes, dadd...”

?: “How many times?!”

?: “Sir. Yes, sir. Will they stop the pain? For good?”

?: “For now, it’s all we need. Look this is one of the biggest opportunities for us, this competition is here for the taking and no injury is going to stop that happening. You’ll be one of the greats, Carlton. You’ll be an Olympic champion, a World Champion, you’ll be one of the greatest gymnasts to have come out of America.”

Carlton watched as his father continued a tirade that he had many times, it was almost like he was trying to justify to himself the need to put his children through all the hours of torturous practice. A day didn’t go by without Carlton receiving an attempt at a motivational speech, or a smack across the head, either would achieve similar results, though the latter was more common. He wanted to speak out about the pain he was in, if only his father could understand how much it hurt, maybe he’d let him rest, let him stop.

C: “Bu...”

?: “But?! Please don’t tell me you were about to say that word, boy. You can’t have any doubts going into this; you need to be mentally prepared. We’ll go over the routines once more, I’m sure the pain killers will kick in once we get started. Go stretch out.”

He had no choice in the matter, he did as I was ordered.



The Law of Club and Fang Pt 2

Spider-Bait stops at one picture in particular, his eyes flicking over the image it holds. A family of four posing proudly for the Christmas themed photo, the mother and father at the back, each with a hand lovingly placed upon a child’s shoulder. The children were both of a similar look, and build, both with striking features, both with a piercing glare beneath bangs of blonde hair that loosely hung over their fringe.

Spider-Bait looked upon the image with recognition, the vivid memory of his childhood home now becoming all too real. The longer he stared, the more he saw past the facade, saw how despite its initial appearance, there was no love in this photo. The mothers smile was strained, her eyes sad and sunken, her hand was not lovingly embracing her son, instead it was hung upon his shoulder like a slab of meat. Whilst the father did not force his appearance, there was no warmth to his smile, his hand gripped tightly to the shoulder of the other child.

Looking at his past, seeing how young he and his brother were, it was no surprise they never saw it coming; her pain was not evident to the eyes of a child. But in this picture, it was clear as crystal, if only he’d known, if only he could’ve done anything about it, if only he wasn’t the cause.

SB: “The law of club and fang, a term penned in a famous work of literature by the author Jack London. And it has always been a point of discussion within the literary world, the meaning behind it and what not. It’s pretty clear, but interpretation is often with the individual. Myself, I see it as it as being pretty simple; it splits humans into two types. I mean, we’re all the same, but some of us, some of just can’t withstand that urge, the urge we can only satisfy with competing in sports such as this.

Whereas the other kind, well they’re happy sating such needs with video games, movies, war-games and jumping out of planes. I don’t know if it’s innate, or if it’s something to do with your upbringing, how you are nurtured. But me, I need the violence, I need the competition, I need to be living on the edge, fighting for survival. Everything else, it doesn’t feel like living to me, I’ve spent enough of my life feeling like that. So I live by the fang, I dance to the beat of that primal drum.

Does that make me dangerous? Depends on how much of a threat you are to me. That’s what I mean though, If you’re still not following me, that is what I’m talking about when I say I’m searching for that moment. The moment I’m talking about is when you’re fighting to the bitter end, when there is only one outcome that you want, and death is the other. Fighting for survival, the sensation of it all, that’s when you are at the pinnacle of living. It doesn’t matter if you’re the hunter or the prey. The pleasure of life does not exceed that, because at that point it’s never been as precious.

A lot of people think I’m suicidal; they confuse me searching for this pinnacle as me simply searching for an end. Those people either can’t comprehend what I’m trying to achieve, or they don’t want to.

It’ll be the same with the others in this competition; they’ll look at me with mockery, too blinded by their own concerns and preconceptions to realise I’m one of the biggest threats they may ever face. They all have their goals, their aims, their hopes and dreams. But then, they all have their worries, and their doubts. For me, I’m looking for a victory of the soul and spirit, I’m looking to survive, to live.

I’ve no qualms to worry about; there is no one in this match that I have neither any personal feelings towards, nor they me. I have no rivals. I have no enemy. No ally. Does it make me truly unique amongst the eighty six? Probably not, but a Lone Wolf in this kind of match is always a threat. Hopefully there are a few bright enough out there to recognise that, a few that’ll give me the fight I’m after.

Hopefully.”



Any Minute Now

The bright lights of the The American Airlines Arena stung the eyes of Spider-Bait, it had been quite the show so far, match after match of quality opponents, an amazing atmosphere bringing each to dramatic end. Except the one that was going on now, the Survive & Conquer match. He didn’t know who was in there at the moment, he couldn’t see much from where he was stood, and he certainly couldn’t hear anything over the deafening crowd.

?: Hey!

Spider-Bait spun on his heels towards the voice, one of the APW production crew headed his way, clipboard in hand.

?: You’re number is up soon, you ready?

He asked with a quizzical look. Spider-Bait simply nodded, and returned to watching the action, or what he could see of it.

?: Err, can I ask something?

SB: Sure.

?: I don’t really get it, are you a fan of Spiderman? What does the outfit and the name have to do with this sport and what you do?

SB: What’s your name?

?: Err, Keith.

SB: Right. Well, Keith, I had a dream.

K: Like Martin Luther King?

SB: I don’t think Martin was on the same prescription I’m on. But, Keith, does it matter what I wear? I have my reasons for it, but do you really need to get it?

K: You might find it difficult to connect with the audience, and there is copyright infringement, lawsuits.

SB: Right... I don’t worry about things like that. Maybe the day I start shooting webs out of my wrists we’ll have problems. How much do you know about me?

K: Well, I’ve seen some of your matches in SCW. And we have all your details on file.

SB: So why is it the suit that bothers you?

K: It doesn’t bother me.

SB: Yet, it was why you came over here, to ask me about it? You sure you don’t want to know what it was like wrestling Michael Thunder? Or how a failure of gymnast managed to make his way into one of APW’s most prestigious events? No? That’s fine. How about this, you hang back here, I’ll go out there when my number is up, I show the world what I can do and when I’m finished. Then you can ask me anything you want, deal?

K: Err, Ok...



The Law of Club and Fang Pt 3

Still staring at the family photo, Spider-Bait reached out. Fingers delicately stroking at the glass casing that separated him from his mother, his hand suddenly jolted back, stung in an instant by an unseen foe. The picture before him flashes; the image of his mother, and her so hand un-lovingly placed upon his shoulder, was crudely scratched out. The recognisable eyes of Bait all that could be made out between the two. He reached out once more, but the glass shattered before him, though nothing hit him. The edges of the photo became scorched and torn, its background stained with age. The golden frame became dull, and blunt, dust coating its once extravagant pattern.

He stepped backwards, away from the picture; now an eyesore amongst the beautifully decorated wall. The dull colouring of the frame began to spread across the wall, sapping the vibrant colours of the hallway; it was as though light itself was being consumed, as though two realities were combining. Spider-Bait turned his back on the scene, resting a hand on a nearby chair; a plush, richly coloured leather chair, rows of silver stubs lined up its back pillowing out the cushion beneath the leather.

The material felt smooth beneath his touch, cool, and calming. It didn’t last long. The leather slowly began to tear, and curl up around his hand. The soft cushion beneath, now exposed, became tough and rigid. The rich colour faded, and studs that shone so bright in the halls lighting, were now barely visible beneath the dust and webs that covered the chair. He withdrew his hand with haste, curling it into a fist as he did. His eyes turned back to the doorway, the beaten down, barely standing doorway.

SB: “That’s all I want. It’s all I want from this place, this city. A city where I was always pushed to succeed, no matter the cost, forced to win. Just a tool to satisfy the needs of others. That’s not me, it was never me!

My life started in Sin City. It started when I fought in my first fight, when I first faced an opponent who had the ability to end it all. I’ll do whatever I need to continue to make this life worth living. I’ll continue to survive, against all odds, I’ll face eighty five men; I’ll face a thousand... Next year, perhaps? Or is that getting ahead of myself?

I will leave my fellow competitors with one warning though, and it’s a pretty self explanatory one. Don’t underestimate me. Don’t look at me, at my outfit, at my mask, and presume you know what is to come when we face each other in the ring. Don’t look at my past, or yours, or the future. Just look at yourself. See if you can find the true reason for you climbing through those ropes every week and risking your life. Once you’ve done that, maybe you’ll be ready to face me; maybe you’ll be able to match the ferocity at which I compete at.

People can talk about experience and discipline all they want but I’ve been doing this, what? Six months? Look where I am; look at who I’ve competed against. I’ve been in the ring with several World champions, I’m about to enter the ring with several more. No one found it easy. No one ever will.

I don’t have a background in wrestling, or jiu-jitsu, or anything like that. I don’t think I even got into a fight until I hit my twenties. Yet it all came so natural, maybe it is innate, maybe some of us are just born survivors, born with the ability to adapt to any given scenario. I wish I could believe that, that I had the arrogance to plain out say that I am genetically superior. But I can’t, how could I ever know such a thing? I’m not.

I’m no better than Alex Castellanos, or Alexis Terry, or Ricky Stanton. Not even Gally Po... Err, well, maybe that guy. I think I can confidently say I’m genetically superior to... that guy.

Before I get off track and begin running through the competitors names that I managed to remember, don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll bring this little introduction to a close. You might think of me no differently, you might just see the outfit, the mask and have an opinion set. That’s fine. Just remember what I look like when the match is near its end and that little guy that looked like spider man that you doubted, he’s putting up a fight none of you expected.

I know how important this match is to a lot of people, I know how hungry they all are to be that last one standing, to become a part of APW history, to become part of a legacy. And I’d hate for people to think I’m disrespecting everything involved in this match up because of my reasons for being here. I don’t want to win it in the conventional sense. But there is a reason I chose to sign up for this match, and it wasn’t for the novelty of being in the same ring as eighty five other men, women, and Gally Po, in one night. No, it was because of who was in it, and how hungry they were.

If I don’t find that moment here, against men like Goereon, Noble, Black and Saint. No... I don’t see that happening. I don’t see how it can’t happen, the talent is too rich.

I’ll get what I came for, and it’s going to take a lot to stop me, let alone catch me. Whatever the result, there are no losers in a match like this.”

Spider-Bait once again gripped onto the flimsy door handle and swung open the door. Though the sight remained no different, the grass still blotted with death. The clouds had parted partially, and a slither of the Florida sunshine shone down on the garden.

[Metrodamus]

January 19th, 2012
Immediately after Overdrive.

“I knew it Chris! I knew you couldn’t stay away forever!”

Kurt Noble slides one arm into his shirt as he looks at Chris Hart lounging on the chesterfield.

“I told you, I’m entered into Survive and Conquer and that’s it.” Chris says before pausing for a moment. “Two weeks ago it was your ass on the line and this week it was returning the favor to CJ. If anything this bullshit with Phoenix Wrestling or those punks from Galveston Island …”

“Just shows that nothing’s changed in the past year.” Kurt finishes for Chris who stares at him. The two go without speaking for a few moments as Noble buttons up his shirt, the air remaining easy without a hint of animosity. “I know what you went through Chris. I know you said you were done but so did I. Then I said I’d just do The Extreme Tournament and now look at me.”

“Exactly,” Chris says with added emphasis before finishing. Look at you … Kurt Noble. Love couldn’t keep you away from the ring; neither could addiction or the fact that your body nearly fails you every time you roll out of bed. I don’t need this Kurt …

“But you want it Chris! Remember all the way back to the very first time I met you says Noble. “There was something about you that I hadn’t seen in a long time; fire, passion, a desire to be the best. You weren’t going to settle for less, there was no way you were going to let anyone or anything get in the way of what you felt was your destiny” he continues, punctuating the statement by pointing at Chris. “We moved mountains together Chris, Natural Disasters were no match for us. You showed the world that you were the best …”

“I’ve never been the best!” Chris says, raising his voice and catching Kurt off guard. Once again the room goes silent and this time there lies a bit of tension. Noble walks towards the small bar fridge and reaches into it and comes out with two bottles of Gatorade, tossing one across the room to Chris who deftly picks it out of the air. They both crack the seals and take long drinks, Noble’s brow furrowed as he pieces his thoughts together.

“You’ve never truly given yourself that chance to be the best though. That’s what this is for you Chris, and I think that’s why you’ve hung around the past three weeks. It was one thing to stop by for a visit when you were in the area but why stick around and come to Tampa? What about tonight Chris? Why not go home and train for Survive and Conquer and then ride back into the sunset?” accuses Noble.

The air remains heavy as Chris weighs the accusation before squirming uncomfortably on the couch. Taking another swig from the bottle of Gatorade, Chris sighs before staring straight at Kurt. “Sally Talfourd, Keaton Saint, CJ Gates … You! I’m never going to be on that level ...”

“That doesn’t answer the question Chris” Noble interjects, refusing to allow him to change the subject. “Is that what you’re afraid of, mediocrity?”

“No!” Chris says defensively before Noble cuts back in.

“Because as far as I’m concerned Chris that level you’re talking about is exactly where you sit and I know that a lot of other people feel the same way. Every name you mentioned Chris has fought alongside you the past two weeks and there is no one else that can claim that.”

“That had nothing to do with me …” Chris says before he is interrupted once more.

“It had everything to do with you Chris. God damn it you know better than anyone how this business works. If they had felt for a second that you didn’t belong here in APW they would have told you but instead they accepted: hell, embraced, the fact that you were fighting with APW. No one else that’s showing up for Survive and Conquer was willing to stand up to those clowns. Half the APW roster, that had a vested interest in the outcome, didn’t get their hands dirty but you did. You earned their respect Chris but more importantly for you, it seems, they accepted you on their level.”

With a small fire in his eyes Kurt stares down Chris, both of them analyzing each other, before the fire drops and he looks at Chris with a sympathetic glance. “Look Chris, if you want to show up for one night only at Survive and Conquer, give it your best shot and then call it a day, that’s fine. There’s nothing I can do to stop you. As your friend though I think you’re selling yourself short, you’re giving up on yourself; dreams, ambitions, potential. Worse than that though you’re doing something that was hitherto anathema to your entire being, you’re letting someone else win.

“The thing that brought us together above all is that we refused to let others dictate the way we conducted ourselves but that’s exactly what you’re doing now Chris. You’re willing to walk away just because you don’t like what happened a year ago but that’s in the past Chris. There’s a difference between that,” Kurt espouses as he points at a poster of the Action Packed Wrestling logo, “And everywhere else.”

Noble lets his words hang in the air for Chris to consider as he takes a drink himself. The silence lasts nearly a minute before Kurt finishes. “Take it from the guy who’s been getting his ass handed to him nearly every week Chris. There is nowhere I’d rather be at the moment than an APW ring.”

Chris nods his head at Kurt as he knocks back the rest of his Gatorade. “I don’t know Kurt” Chris quietly says as he gets to his feet and heads towards the doorway.

“Think it over” Noble says nodding his head slightly. Chris smiles slightly at him despite the tone of the conversation, and nods his head in farewell. Kurt returns the gesture as Chris opens the door before stepping out and pulling it shut behind him. Kurt stares at it for a moment before settling down on the chesterfield himself and shakes his head once.

“I’m glad one of us has a chance of winning.”

-
-
-

January 29th, 2012
Immediately before Survive and Conquer.

“What do you see?”

The words resound against the background of white noise produced by the crowd filing into American Airlines Arena. Though the name plate on the door reads Kurt Noble the former Overdrive champion is nowhere to be seen. Instead, staring at his reflection in the glass coffee table is Chris Hart. Placing his hand where his face would otherwise be as if reaching out to touch his reflection, he lets out a slight sigh. “It doesn’t matter what you see. Just like your reflection in the mirror it’s simply an illusion, your mind betraying you as it perverts your sense of reality” Chris says as he grabs hold of the roll of tape on the table beside him.

Ripping off a strip and places it right across where his eyes were on the table. “Yet if we limit our sight we are unable to see what is coming our direction be it good or bad. We are as blind to opportunity as we are to that which makes us restless” Chris pronounces as he looks down at the tape, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Yet if we combine what we see, with what we know and understand; take what our mind says to be real and combine it with intuition we reach something beyond explanation and comprehension: the revelation of truth.”

Chris exhales heavily before leaning back into the couch and staring at the ceiling. “It took me a long time to come to that realization” he confesses before continuing on. “Survive and Conquer marks my return to a wrestling ring. One year ago everything seemed to be breaking for me, an invitation to the Extreme Tournament, a successful entry at Survive and Conquer. Then everything came crashing down and I walked away from professional wrestling. I gave in to what I had seen; degradation of those who were looking to make a name for themselves by those who felt their position at the top being threatened. I refused to play the political game that seemed to be necessary to reach the top but instead of fighting against them, believing in myself and the ideologies that guided me, I took the easy way out. I ran away. I quit. I made a mistake. I lost the respect of others. I thought that if I stuck around I would lose respect for myself by appearing to tacitly endorse what was going on around, but instead as soon as I gave in I lost more respect for myself than I ever would have had I stuck around.”

Chris glances sideways at the door as if expecting someone to intrude as the noise coming from the arena grows louder, bell time less than ten minutes away. “For a long time I professed that I was the best. That was all I desired to be. The only measuring stick I used to judge myself was if some¬one was better than me. Survive and Conquer presents an opportunity for someone to prove once and for all that they’re the best; that even though eighty five other men stand in the way not a single one of them stands a chance. I could take that philosophy, that could be my mindset heading into Survive and Conquer but it isn’t. There’s no need for me to profess that I am the best. There’s no need for me to show everyone that they, in the words of a man who once bested me, are utterly and truly inferior. Being the best is no longer that which I hold myself to.”

“A year ago I abandoned everyone who saw me as the ‘white knight’. That was my mistake but I’ve learned from it. They needed to see that someone was able to overcome every obstacle put in his way and still come out swinging. I didn’t understand what was happening around me, all I knew is what I saw. I didn’t see any way possible to change it but as I sat watching on the sidelines I figured it out. I turned that mistake into a learning opportunity. I realized where exactly I had gone wrong and I promised myself that if I ever stepped back into the ring I was going to fix it.

“I wasn’t going to give others the satisfaction of ruining my career. I wasn’t going to let them dictate the way I saw the world. I swore that when I stepped back into the ring it wasn’t going to be about being the best no matter the cost. It wasn’t going to be about reaching a certain level no matter who I had to put down to get there. It was going to be something entirely different, it was going to be about being successful in a way that their short-sightedness prevented them from comprehending. I was going to reach the goals I set for myself the way it should be done. The way that when when you achieve that ever elusive victory within, be it championship gold, tournament victories, or historic accomplishments, it was going because you were willing to go the extra mile. My success wouldn’t be judged by my record but instead on the fact that I have respect of those around me. That no matter what happened I wouldn’t run away from the fight and those who saw me as a ‘white knight’, as someone who was fighting for the same side as them, or simply as someone looking to do the right thing.”

Chris stops as he removes the Livestrong bracelet from his wrist and grabs hold of the tape and rips off a strip about a foot in length and places it on the bottom of his wrist before wrapping the remainder around the circumference. “Over the past two weeks the APW roster watched as Phoenix Wrestling invaded their territory. Most did nothing to protect their promotion; they weren’t impacted by the events, if anything they benefitted as their competition this evening was assaulted in the ring. They didn’t go after the pawns in the Action Packed army; they went straight for the power pieces. They watched as the green and gold turned to black and blue without blinking, the company they had poured blood, sweat, and tears into slowly delving into anarchy. I could have stood by and watched as well, I had nothing invested in Action Packed Wrestling; no commitment beyond Survive and Conquer but getting involved was the right thing to do.

“I could have been seen as one of the invaders. I could have posed a threat to their establishment, the same as happened before. I could have been seen the members of Phoenix Wrestling and Galveston Island as a threat to their ambitions of conquest and become a target. I seemingly had nothing to gain by injecting myself in the conflict, either way I was placing a target on my back and throwing myself in harm’s way. I knew the risk I was taking but it was worth it – and then Action Packed Wrestling proved something – it was exactly what Kurt Noble said it was, different. Sally Talfourd stood next to me as we took the fight to Johnny Rebel and Bad Ass, Keaton Saint and CJ Gates came down to help Noble and I when we were getting battered four on two. They proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that respect is the name of the game; for your company, for your friends and most importantly, for yourself.” Chris says as he wraps a second strip about halfway across the first on his wrist.

“That isn’t too say that there isn’t going to be competition. That any of us will be happy if we don’t walk out the victor merely because we’ve prevented others from Phoenix Wrestling or Galveston Island from doing the same. Each and every one of them expects to walk out of tonight victorious, even if it means having to go through someone else” Chris explains as he puts the third layer on and then begins to go up towards his thumb with the stirrup. “That’s how they got to be on that level, they possess the killer instinct that when the chips are all on the table allows them to come up aces. I’m not loathe to think that if I turn my back on Keaton Saint he won’t seize the opportunity to eliminate me or that Sally Talfourd will spare me and go after someone else. If they give me the same opportunity I won’t hesitate for a second. It’s meant as nothing but respect for them, but more importantly it’s about my own respect.

“That’s what Survive and Conquer is to me. It’s not about the five hundred thousand dollars, it’s not about proving that I’m better than everyone else and deserve to be held as such. It’s a chance to finally get back the respect that I lost one year ago. It’s a chance for me to prove to everyone that supported me that they were right in doing so. That everyone who believed me when I said that I was the best wasn’t just buying into the hype but knew at some level it was true. It’s a chance to teach everyone a lesson, from Kurt Noble and Sally Talfourd to Azrael Goeren and Level One that you can’t count someone out. I know that they and a whole host of others are better than me but I embrace that fact because it’ll make what I accomplish tonight all the sweeter.

“Tonight I get to prove that just because they’re better than me doesn’t mean they can expect to win, and more importantly doesn’t mean that for one night I can’t be on their level. I’ve waited a year to make a return to the wrestling ring and don’t plan to simply make a token run at victory, making it down to the final ten or so before falling to those who are better than me. It would be an unexpected run, fresh off an entire year away from the ring and outlasting seventy five other, a pretty good story and proving that I have talent, that I’m worthy of their respect but that’s not what I came to Miami to do. I’m not worried about being the best wrestler but I plan on making this one night only return worthwhile by walking out of that ring tonight victorious.”

Chris has almost finished wrapping his left wrist as he reaches out and grabs the black felt pen on the table. Removing the cap he draws three small hearts on the top before turning it over and drawing a small fleur-de-lis next to a disjointed happy face. Grabbing the tape he rips off a strip nearly twice as long as the previous and wraps it around the markings twice, covering them up. “And in order to do that it’s got to be about so much more than being the best wrestler. You can’t be Kid Dynamo who’s only looking to win as a publicity stunt, who promises to buy tickets to Rasslemania for his fans and spends more time on Twitter in a day than he does on television in a month. You can’t be Johnny Rebel who’s merely looking to exert his dominance as the Overdrive Champion and fails to realize that he’s not going to be able to walk into the ring and blindside every single person.

“It’s not about being the Galveston Island Goof Troop who barnstorms Action Packed Wrestling and looks to take it over but get sent packing with nothing but broken dreams and the realization that failure is synonymous with each and every one of them. They in acting like a cohesive unit but that’ll all fall apart when they realize that even though they may have a six on one advantage against an individual that when push comes to shove they’re going to be outnumbered ten to one by everyone else and that eventually one of them is going to have to be eliminated because this isn’t little league where everyone gets a participation medal” Chris before a smile comes across his face.

“And this certainly isn’t about being a phony from Phoenix Wrestling; Juan Ramirez, Slain Roddick, Bad Ass, Seth Black. I’ve seen their type before, the “show up, kick ass, leave” mentality. They showed up with Azrael Goeren and decided that they weren’t content to just get their asses handed to them by TFWF at Rival Factions, but also by Action Packed Wrestling in the lead up. They made the same mistake that the Goon’s from Galveston Island made; they thought APW wouldn’t unite and stand up against them but they were wrong. They didn’t count on Kurt Noble and Keaton Saint working together to keep them out, they didn’t expect the unlikely team of Sally Talfourd and I to come down and prevent them from blindsiding CJ and Blade.

They thought because they were from Phoenix Wrestling we’d simply bow down and break for them. It didn’t happen two weeks, it didn’t happen last week, and it sure as hell isn’t going to happen tonight.

Chris stops and listens to the roar of the crowd from inside of the arena as the dark match going on inside of the ring marks the start of the night’s events. His smile grows before he turns and looks at the Collector Program for the evening, open to an image of Kurt Noble’s profile amongst the Survive and Conquer entrants and it turns into a slight frown. “And it isn’t about being the biggest free agent acquisition in Action Packed Wrestling history. I know Kurt Noble better than anyone in that ring tonight. I know that when the cards are on the table there is not a single person in professional wrestling that I would choose over Kurt Noble. For over a year the two of us dominated as a tag team, we brought down the house each and every night and there was no one, no team that stood a chance of taking us down. None of that matters tonight; whether he was the reason for our success, if it was all my doing, or the fact that we were simply the best team, none of that matters tonight. Even though he’s the reason I’m here if he is the person standing in the way of victory then he’s going to go over the top rope, he’s going to take a chair shot to the knee so he can’t climb the ladder. Unlike in the past it’s not Noble-Hart against the world, it’s Noble and Hart against the world ... and each other” Chris says with a slight nod.

Reaching for the program he turns the page and staring back at him is his own picture. His list of accomplishments is two lines long and his biography barely reaches the quarter mark of the page. Amongst many of the others his appears unimpressive, as if he was merely cannon fodder for everyone else. “It’s about having made so many mistakes that you shouldn’t even be wrestling anymore but somehow still find yourself able to make it back for more shot at glory, another final opportunity to accomplish something worthwhile. I’ve been to the brink and back so many times that it knows me by my first name. I’ve been told that I’d never win anything of consequence for so long that it simply became a parroted refrain” Chris asserts as he looks at the ceiling, then at the walls of the locker room and slowly a beaming smile comes to his face, the realization dawning: finally, he is back home. As he looks back at the glass table and sees his reflection and the changes that have happened in the past year his adrenaline starts to flow and his speech becomes more impassioned. “I want to show that every mistake I’ve made has built me into someone who isn’t just capable of being that kid who had all the potential of the world but was full of his own ego and never amounted to anything because he was a screw up. I want to show that even though I may not be the best that doesn’t mean I can’t compete with the best.

“More importantly though I want the respect that comes with winning the big one. I want every sacrifice I’ve ever made, every mistake that has nearly ruined everything I’ve worked for to finally come back. At the end of the day people will fight alongside me, they’ll know what I’ll stand for but to ultimately have their respect you’ve got to do something on the biggest stage. No one knew about Kurt Noble before the Extreme Tournament but his reason made him a household name. Survive and Conquer is that opportunity for me. That when I stand atop the cell, a on that ladder with my fingertips reaching for the briefcase I’ll finally have the respect I’ve craved. I’ll be able to say I did what no one expected me to ever be able to do” Chris pauses for a moment before continuing in a more measured, deathly serious tone.

“Earn someone’s respect.”

Chris nods his head for a moment before getting to his feet and heading towards the door. Opening it he reaches up and touches the lintel before murmuring something inaudible. Without looking back he pulls the door shut behind him as the cameras cut away.

[B.A. Styles]

Scene One: I Shall Survive And I Shall Conquer
Time: 3:16 PM 20th Friday January 2012



TBS: Chaos lives in everything…even saints.

I spoke out these words as the video camera, that I “borrowed” from the WEW production truck, began recording me. At the end of the month I’ll be competing in a “Survive & Conquer” match…never before have I heard of one, let alone competed in this kind of match. But maybe faring well in this type of mayhem could finally pull myself out of the darkness and into the sight of those who would class me has a somebody. Yet back to the word “mayhem,” why did I use such a word to describe such a match?

The answer is simple…up to eighty-six people, including me, can be in that sixteen foot by sixteen foot ring at the same time. But then again the “Survive & Conquer” match deserves such anarchy, considering that the winner not only will their representing federation will have the rights to brag about being the best federation around until the very next “Survive & Conquer” event…but the winning wrestler shall obtain a trophy to prove that they are indeed the best wrestler of twenty-twelve, the half a million dollar reward doesn’t hurt so bad as well.

Yet why should I care about the money? I had everything I ever wanted in life and stupidly threw it all away. Why should I care about making World Elite Wrestling look good? No one there even wants me to represent them, to a point where they book me as a “welcome to the place” jobber to any rookie that walks through the front door. Why should I care about some stupid trophy? It’ll just show me that I am just a shadow of who I once was in a few years time. To be admired by many? Why would anyone admire me, I’m an abomination that even death found unworthy.

So why did I sign up to take part in this kind of match up? To out perform every other WEW member that signs up? To prove to my trainer, Christopher Middley, that he didn’t waste his money on my bail? To show Darinah and Hanus that they both made a mistake in dropping the ball on me? To show the same duo what both their past and upcoming pay per view have missed? To finally shine in front of the millions around the globe? To eliminate all forms of self-doubt that floods, infest and eats away at my mind? To become the greatest wrestler throughout the entire twenty-twelve, the so called year when the world ends? To prove to the naysayers that I am worth a second chance? To save myself from eternal self-damnation?

I wish I know the answer…but I don’t, so for now I’ll make this first promo. The location was by some park with a lot of little children playing with swings, slides, seesaws and roundabouts while their parent are either assisting them or watching them. Even though the camera is solely watching me, I am almost vacantly staring out into the park, from the other side of this three foot metallic fence. What caught the focus of my gaze? A young brunette girl playing on the roundabout with some platinum blonde prat. I simply choose to ignore this prat. The brunette has ever so sweet crystal blue eyes, just like her mother, the young girl’s name…her real name…is Sabrina Agbonlahor, why do I know this? Because she is my three year old daughter, the very daughter that was “legally” stolen from me three years ago. And I use the term “legally” very loosely…but has I glare over towards her I think I now realise the answer to my question. “Why did I sign up to take part in this kind of match up?”

It was all because of her. My motivation to continue living through the past three years of emotional hell…was just to be with her, even if it is for the very last time. Perhaps I can use the money to obtain myself a lawyer, an impartial judge and “legally” take my little girl back. But first I need to win “Survive & Conquer,” if a such great opportunity to finally reunite with my birth child ever came, it is this match…all I need to do is to defeat fourteen women and seventy-three men. Screw bragging rights and the honour of World Elite Wrestling, having Sabrina in my arms is worth permanently crippling myself for. Will I have sorrow? Will I have regret? Will I feel sorry for anyone in this match? No I won’t, this is possibly my only chance to be called “daddy” again and there is no way I’m letting any of my feelings stop me.

TBS: Happiness, sadness…fulfillment, frustration…joy, depression…love, hate. Emotions that your hearts could feel, how much the hearts could save and damage you lot…a small weak object carrying so much. Acknowledge that I said “yours” instead of “our,” why did I do that? Because I am nothing like those eighty-five at “Survive & Conquer,” those eighty-five somebodies. They have the same amount of lungs as I do, same amount of eyes, same amount of nipples and a brain like me…so why am I different from the rest? Because they all have something that was torn out of me three years ago, a common weakness among them if you will…a heart. The easily breakable heart. The ever so vulnerable heart. The uncontrollable heart. The self-doubtful heart. Each heart controls ones emotions and, to a point, ones subconscious. It is that subconscious that injects paranoia through the hormones into every inch of ones body. It is then that the paranoia clutches the brain and sucks the concentration out of mind and body, leaving that one in a state of unreliability…

My English accent was thick and rich in every word I have spoken. Interestingly is seem to have chosen to speak about the difference between me and them. A faint chuckle escaped my lips after saying what I’ve said so far. My eyes never once glanced away from the park as I spoke, specifically from my beautiful Sabrina.

TBS: It is this state of unreliability that makes you weak and vulnerable to anyone, everyone and no one. I lack a heart, I feel no paranoia same as I don’t feel any emotions, I can remember how they. Chaos lives in everything, even saints, and it is this chaos that I feel so well. It is with this everlasting chaos that gives me the ability to do what no man, woman or child would do…sane or not. Be it by beating eighty-five others, or just one, I shall Survive and I shall Conquer over them all. I am the Broken Saint…break me! I don’t care.

Once these words were spoken I finally looked over towards the camera lens. But the sight of my face only lasted five seconds to when I pressed the stop button. Once it stopped recording I switched it off, I was about to put it away but then a young woman caught my attention has she began to approach me. Fortunately this girl is an old friend of mine called Rebecca Smith, maybe I’ll have a friendly chat with her about her time back at TWE before going back to one of the homes Lya kindly gave to a nobody like me.

Scene Two: I Will Survive
Time: 11:21 PM 22nd Sunday January 2012



“What could I ever do without you…”

Holy shit!!! Waah!!! Ow…damn…that is the last time I’ll ever sit on top of a vending machine. But why would anyone care? With eight or so days to go I sit here, alone, backstage during WEW’s Winter Warzone. Everyone had people to talk to…Twin K had the “wannabe saint” Jetstream, Jessie Goldberg had her Latin girl scout club and SM Raye had Lya Batiste-Jax. Yet I had no one…no one to laugh with, no one to talk to, no one to hang out with and no one to prevent me from sitting on top of the vending machine in the first place. I know that people knew I was up here since, before I originally nodded off, I saw the likes of Vantage and Jaxson Baxter walking past; none of them cared to even say hello…why do they hate me? Why do they dislike me? Is it because I am socially awkward? Is it because management doesn’t want to do anything with me? Is it because I am the fourth or so person to be romantically linked with Lya?

I wish I knew…just like I wish I know the reason why I got ignored in two consecutive pay per views and shun by those in charge. But what really baffles me at the moment was those words that woke me up, if I stated that this was the first time it happened then I would be a liar. Every time I tried to sleep that voice, those words, always wakes me up…but why am I haunted by these words? Is it because I felt love again? Is it because I’m going to take my little girl back? I wish I know but I don't...well, seeing that I'm awake and got nobody to hang around with, I guess its best to do what I seem to know best...shooting a promo. My last promo was a little, erm, quiet to say the least. So I pulled out the “missing” WEW camera from beside the vending machine and carried it all the way into my disastrously messy locker room before placing it on the bench. Afterwards I switched it on and pressed the record button. Once I did that I moved over to my closed locker room door and leaned my back against. Now my promo begins.

TBS: Terry Brunk, Lawrence Shreve, Michael Foley, Charles Milles Manson...what do we all have in common? We're all deemed freaks, all deemed insane, all deemed chaotic. But maybe it is just that we're carefree, rational...misunderstood. But before I continue, I must ask, what is normal? Nothing, that is what "normal" is. "Normal" is a matter of opinion...a matter of opinion that spreads self-doubt across the mind of those who succumb to opinions made not by others, but themselves...just like the eighty-five others I need to overcome to take my first step on my path of self-redemption.

I never moved away from the door as I gave each words air to be heard with. I probably have the least chance to win this match out of everyone from WEW since no one has heard of me. And while they all been exposed on national television, I've been rotting away on the pre-show called “Burnout.” I'm soon going to be forgetting what it feels like to actually wrestle a match that means anything…then again I have never appeared in a single pay per view yet. Yet I shouldn’t let myself immerse too deeply into thought, after all, I am shooting a promo.

TBS: Either you be a hero or some brawler with a Cockney accent, you are all hateful. You indulge with the tragedy of others because you lot hate yourselves more then you could ever hate something else. Why should I care though, the light died and my own hatred save me from everything. Yes, I no longer feel these emotions that you all can feel but without feelings…there is no reconsiderations or self-doubtful thoughts. I survive through my own hell so I can survive past the test of eighty-five others. Can those eighty-five survive each other, that is a great question…only one person in this match has won before…a “Level One.” I know nothing about him, except the fact he won this event three years ago, and he knows nothing about me. But I have something to ask One…was the world of wrestling that disastrous in terms of quality?

I admit that question isn’t a wise one if I aimed to gain any friends that have wrestled during that year but, then again, I’m not going out there to make friends or even find a new place to work…I’m out there to kill, obliterate and, if needed, maim for what I want the most…to hold my child’s hand, even if it is for the last time. This will be my pay per view debut but with painful memories of my daughter being taken away there is no way this minor hose will extinguish my burning fire. Any doubts I had seven days ago has completely morphed into the gasoline that spurs my thirst for forgiveness onwards and onwards and onwards.

TBS: Do I know anything about the eighty-five others, especially the fourteen fellow WEW representatives? No, I don’t know anything about any of them, not their wrestling style nor they favourite hobby. But I do don’t need to know anyone to beat anyone…am I a wildcard, because of how mysterious I am? No, if anything, I’m an underdog. I’ve only wrestled like five matches, never booked to appear at pay per view events and demoted to pre-show entertainer…all in just two months. Do I care? No I don’t, I can beat anyone that steps foot into the ring…no matter how stronger, faster, smarter, bigger, smaller or damn well more talented than I am. I don’t give a fuck because, like it or not, I am the percent of the germ that never leaves. I am the fog that no light can break through. I am the zero that can never be divided or multiplied. I am the angel that fell and lost his wings…The Broken Saint. You can hate me, cheer for me or fucking forget me but for while I roam across the world of wrestling…you’ll never ignore me and when I’m done you all have a reason to remember me.

“Remember me.” A weird line to end my set of words with, I admit…but if I don’t do anything to be remembered for, then why am I here? Why am I in a company that underrates me for anybody that previously worked in an organisation that wanted to cripple them? Why am I bothering to speak out my thoughts and words? Why am I bothering to even become a wrestler? Enough of these question, I’ll console them to myself later, for now though, I’ll finish this.

TBS: What could that reason be? I don’t care. Nobody in the world can survive my tragedy, nobody in this world can conquer my hatred. No hero in this world can save themselves from my fury, no brawler can out punch a thing that’s unable to feel mercy. No money can pay for help off something broken, no woman can distract something that has no heart. I am a nobody and I will survive the carnage put in front of me. I will survive this war inside me…and I will survive through these eighty-five other, thus winning the right to be the best there is today.

While saying my words I slowly stepped away from the door and towards the camera. My eyes kept complete focus on the camera lens, never moving and never blinking. My sound of my steps were both light and slow paced. I would not rush this at all. I tone began to become darker and darker with each word I spoke, my wandering pace remained non-budging . The expression on my face remained blank and lost, yet slightly maddened. It was when I finished my last line was went I arrived at the camera and picked it up, giving the lens an eye-to-eye level with my face. It was only two moments later that I finished my words.

TBS: I am The Broken Saint…BREAK ME! I don’t care.

I admit that I did shout at the camera, perhaps I was frustrated at my own loneliness. I don’t fully know but after I said my last words I stopped the recording and switched off the camera. Now should I do? I’m not booked t appear at all in this pay per view, I got no one to talk to and I can’t nod off because of those haunting words. I guess there is nothing else to do but switch on my own television monitor and watch the second pay per view to ignore me in the same amount of months.

Scene Three: The Indestructible Broken Saint!
Time: 8:51 PM 24th Tuesday January 2012



Here I sit with my back leaning against the front of my house in Los Angeles, all alone. My homes need personalising so I’ve tried painting and might, one day, get myself a dog to help my home feel more like a “home.” But for now I am just sitting about, bored to hell and back, with my a guitar to my left. What? I’m bored and needed to do something with what remains of my life, so what’s wrong with trying to be a musician? I badly need something to do though, I’ve painted a couple of times and even randomly wandered the city a few times…I need something to do…that camera is resting on the floor pointing directly towards me, I guess there is nothing wrong with making another promo for an event that comes in six days.

So I stood myself up and approached the camera and simply switched it on before pushing the record button. My next motions were simple get back to the chair and sat down on it before holding the guitar in my hands…I guess there is nothing wrong with trying to make a musical promo, right? So now I strummed my instrument and began to sing…hopefully my voice ain’t too bad.

TBS: Here is my warning to the eighty-five…

Okay, that start might not be very good but whatever…it might be fun to sing myself a tune. My voice was deep when I spoke out my starting verse, rhythm seething in my mouth.

TBS: Another mission the powers have called me away. Another time to bear my own colours again. My motivation, an oath I’ve sworn to defend…to win the honour of being a dad again. No explanation will matter after we begin this encounter of surviving and conquering. My true self will show and then, my unfortunate foes, you all will find a war you’re all unable to win…

Will I sang my words and strummed my guitar, I noticed that some people have stopped and began to watch my performance…why? Don’t any of them have anything better to do then glare at what I am doing? Not the end of the world, I guess, I’ll just continue my music.

TBS: On that one night, I will become…indestructible! My determination is imperishable, from all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are unavoidable. All my broken enemies shall know, that their opponent is that damn invincible. Take your last look around while you all breath because I am the indestructible…master of war!

Maybe having a drummer could of made my chorus sound better but, then again, I never said anything about being epic. So maybe my voice sucks at singing or I maybe can’t write a song to save my life, I don’t care…I’m enjoying myself and so does the people watching, it seems, their number doubling during my chorus. But there is no way these people are going to distract me from my music and my promo.

TBS: Another reason, another cause for me to fight within the battle of honour, dignity and pride. Is my promise to all of those I sworn to protect, so I carry out my carnage without regret. The declaration embedded deep inside my skin is a simple reminder of how it begun. There is no hesitation when I am called to strike, so you all should know that you’re in for the fight of all your lives…

Why won’t anyone go away? I am just singing, its not like this city lacks wannabe rock stars. Maybe they all have nothing better to do with life, whatever, if they want to watch then let them…I’m possibly getting more attention from playing my guitar then I ever had when I wrestled for my home company, otherwise known has World Elite Wrestling. Will faring well in this match finally give me answers that I seek? Maybe, but I’m not sure.

TBS: Then on that night, I will become…indestructible! My determination is imperishable! To all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are unavoidable. All my broken enemies shall know, that their opponent is that damn invincible. Take your last look around while you all breath because I am the indestructible…MASTER OF WAR!

Yes, I incorporated the screamo genre into the last three words of my chorus, while my starting lines for delivered more sharply than before, yet one thing that caught my attention the most…was that the younger members of the crowd joined in screaming “master of war.” Hopefully they don’t expect me to become a part time singer after this…but anyway, this was when I began my, what people call, guitar solo. Considering that this isn’t one of those electric guitars that bands like Korn and Iron Maiden use, I was kind of pleased and shocked at the same time when the crowd started to applaud in a rhythm that seem to be building up to something. What the hell, give them a little more, they chose to watch so it would be wrong to turn any of them down.

TBS: I’m indestructible! My determination is inextinguishable! To all your eyes I am unpredictable. All your annihilations are inexorable. All of your broken bodies will show, that this opponent is just so invincible. Take your last look around while you all can live because I am indestructible…indestructible…

I took this moment to point out to the crowd, seeing if I am really entertaining them or just the point of their interest. Surprisingly, instead of a cheer or silence, they chanted out “indestructible.” Those this main I have accidentally increased the amount of fans I have? I’m not against having fans I’m just surprised at this since the last time I’ve wrestled a televised match is almost two months ago. Maybe it is safe to put an ending to my own now…last thing I want to do is to gather police attention, since I think they’re against free musical performances.

TBS: My determination is the end of you all! At the other side of ring you all tremble, because your annihilation shall be delivered by me! All of your broken dreams will prove, that I am your invincible opponent. So take a look around while you’re alive…because I am The Indestructible Broken Saint! Beak me! I do not care.

It was with those words that my song ended and, rather surprisingly, the people applauded my song and some teenage members offered out a pen and something to write on. Before I did anything else, however, I put the guitar down and approached the camera before switching it off. Once that was done I began to greet these newly found “fans” and signed anything for the ones that offered me pens. It is quite weird, that I hardly get on television at all lately…yet I’ve gathered a decently sized fan base for someone who never wrestled a televised match in over a month. Well, after today, I’ll make my way to APW’s “Survive & Conquer.” Will I survive? Will I conquer? I don’t know, but I’m not going down without one hell of an extreme fight.

Wordcount - Without Count and codes: 3939

[sethblack]

Survive

Christmas Eve, 1991 - The day that changed the entire route of my life. The day a simple stroll to the corner store was the prelude to a fire that claimed the lives of not only my fiancé at the time, but my 10 month old baby girl. To this day I still get chills when I’m in New York City and hear a fire truck. These are the kinds of things people don’t pay enough attention to find out, but question me on why I feel like I have something to prove. I do have something to prove, to the only two people in this world who ever mattered a damn to me. And you know what, despite the pain and agony I face every day when I look at myself in the mirror? I survived…I fucking survived…

After eventually getting a hold on life, I turned things around for myself and got picked up by a promotion by the name of TFWF. Ian Trumps brought me in and gave me the world to run with, but a happy ending never comes this easy, and if it does you’d be a fool to not question its authenticity. After becoming the DWIWF North American Champion, and then the TFWF Hardcore Champion, the road was starting to look bright. Success was too attainable, to the point where my own DNA started to work against me. Sensing the inevitable rise to stardom, I found myself using drugs again to cope with the pressure. Needless to say, in a company like TFWF nothing goes unnoticed, and it was only a matter of time before they caught on and I was canned.

Being released from the TFWF for a second straight failure of their Wellness Policy, I found myself once again at the bottom of the barrel, drugs and alcohol were all that existed in the form of relief. Knowing that I let the only person in life that ever believed in me down was too much burden to bear, so I ran from reality. I blamed TFWF, as if their entire Wellness Policy should have been crafted around me and my vices. I blamed anyone who ever offered a true hand in helping. But you know what? I don’t regret a single move I’ve made in life. Because right now, all these years later? I can still hand here and say I fucking survived…

And it’s because of one person, one wild fuckin’ card of a person…Brandon Watkins. I guess looking back on it he knew the kind of garbage his company was putting out on a weekly basis. He saw the end in sight. So Brandon did what any over eccentric company president would do when they are in search of ratings, steal talent from the competition. Except I wasn’t under contract with the competition, Brandon didn’t care though. I saw the dollar signs in his eyes, and in my paychecks I was receiving with my original contract. For me? It was money, a way to sustain my over the top lifestyle. For Brandon? Well, unfortunately for him he didn’t last long enough to reap the benefits of my arrival.

Shortly after I arrived in the Phoenix Wrestling Revolution, some huge power moves were made that saw the Death of a Revolution, and the rebirth of Phoenix Wrestling. Brandon Watkins was out, Slaine Rodrick was in. The entire company landscape changed. It was only a matter of time before the talent that was in the company looking for a free ride on the Watkins Express finally departed. And I sat back, week by week waiting for my number to be called, waiting to be thrown to the gutter once again. But it didn’t happen. I watched the entire transition happen, and walked out unscathed. Yeah, you guessed it…I fuckin’ survived!

ENVY 2011 – Seth Black wins the PWR Armored Core Title in a one night tournament highlighting some of the best talent in the world. Not one match, not two. But THREE! Three matches in one night, and I still managed to defeat a legend of the sport like BAD ASS for the Armored Core title. And I didn’t stop there. I tore through every competitor they put in front of me from that point on. There was no one that could (or wanted to) compete with my level of violence. Until Masaru Inoue, better known in the industry as Maz, showed his face and stuck his nose in my business. He made it very apparent to me that not only did he want to be just a violent as me, but he wanted to take it a step further. So we did.

Global Domination 2 couldn’t approach soon enough for either of us. Yokohama, Japan. Japanese Gore House. Me and Maz beat the ever loving shit out of each other until the sun went down. Gashing in to each other’s skin with any kind of weapon imaginable, we battled for an amount of time that seemed endless. But finally, through it all, after taking everything Maz had to throw at me and more, I walked out of the Gore House to claim my prize. Once again, this time on the opposite side of the world, I was able to do what I had made a career on doing…Surviving. I had taken the best that this industry has to offer and managed to overcome the odds every time. I’m not a wrestler, I’m not a champion, I’m barely a man…

But regardless of all that…



I AM, a survivor…



Conquer

Global Domination 2 etched my name in stone as a pure bred survivor. Now, it was time to conquer. It was time to make 2011 my bitch, time to make her kneel to me and fulfill my every demand. Phoenix Wrestling needed a King, they needed The Degenerate King. The company landscape continued to change, the PWR Armored Core title that I had fought for and fought so hard to defend was rebranded as the PW Explosion Championship. The weekly show, Justice, was done away with in favor of two new television shows, both with long term television contracts due to the connections of Slaine Rodrick. Big things were happening, you were either impressed with the changes or you hated them, but the ones with good enough sense to stick with PW through the turmoil found out quickly that they had made the right decision. Soon after Slaine’s changes the Phoenix Wrestling television ratings shot through the roof. Being a brand champion I was getting plenty of airtime, my merchandise sales were doubling, sometimes tripling as the months went on. This was the PW golden era; we had finally broken free of the funk that Brandon Watkins almost destroyed the company with.

But nothing is ever as it seems. There was still poison in the water supply in the form of a talentless piece of trash named Robb McBride. ‘The Dangerous Side Effect’ if you will. Dangerous alright, if you put him anywhere near a camera, or give him anything that even resembles a microphone. And up to this point everyone was drinking from the fountain, taking in the poisoned water that was Robb McBride’s manipulation. If you’ve never seen someone’s eyes completely bulge out of their heads when they see a piece of gold, then you’ve certainly never had a conversation with the man. Certain men in this business have an uncanny ability to talk themselves into a match rather than earn it, and McBride was one of those people.

Robb McBride lost his fire the second he won the World Heavyweight Title, go figure. He proved to the world that just because you carry a leather strap with a gold plate, that doesn’t make you a champion. On a night that saw the in-ring return of William Bateman, McBride was absolutely pulverized, teeth beaten from his mouth at the hands of the Pretty Boy Assassin. It was a beautiful sight. I sat back watching that night and knew that this was the final piece of my puzzle. With a snake like McBride no longer injecting his venom into an otherwise legitimate product, we were off to the races.

Soon after William reclaimed his crown, old faces started popping up. People like Georgie Nickles, Exile, etc. TFWF goons, or the One Ring Circus as they like to call themselves, were coming to infiltrate Phoenix Wrestling and cripple it before it ever got the chance to build steam. And since no one had known that William was wrestling through a pretty serious injury, the One Ring Circus almost succeeded. Georgie Nickles defeated five other men to become the World Heavyweight Championship in a Pentagram match at Devil’s Playground. When I saw this I knew it was my time to step up, my time to conquer…

The history between Georgie Nickles and myself dates back way before Phoenix Wrestling. Back to TFWF, when her and her friends in ‘Civil Unrest’ were fighting the good fight against me and my group of misfits the Patriots of Wrestling. She was so cocky, cocky enough to truly believe she had my number. She honestly tricked herself into believing that her reign was safe defending against me. It was the last step, the last thing that needed to happen for me to finally step up and seize the night. Georgie walked into Revelations in December and she was confident that 2012 would be her year, the year of the Rebel. But on that night, history would come back to haunt her. By morning she would have nothing else to read except the headlines: Seth Black Defeats Georgie Nickles To Win The PW World Heavyweight Championship! And that was the single most defining moment in sports entertainment for 2011. Whether or not you admit to it, no other headline even came close to shaking the foundation of the wrestling world. I now had the attention of every single man and woman in this sport, and an EMPIRE in my corner ready to go to war within a moment’s notice. Our tactics may have been questionable; our ethics were probably skewed a bit. But at the end of the day one can rest assured knowing that. EMPIRE is the most successful group of talent under one roof anywhere in the industry. Say what you will, feel free to your personal opinions, but you can’t argue with the facts. And the fact of the matter is this, in 2011 The Degenerate King came, saw, and most importantly…


I conquered!



January 28th, 2012
Miami, FL

“Lets go, get your shit together. You think I wanna spend my entire day in front of this green screen? I thought you said you did this before?” Seth screams across the large room as a young technician scrambles to get the production flaws fixed. He is deeply focused on his laptop as he makes some final adjustments.

“Ok, I think we’re good to go!” he responds with excitement in his voice.

“Oh, now? I was good to go the second I walked into this sweltering building. It’s a beautiful day out, hundreds of thousands of gorgeous women flocking the streets…Do you guys really wanna be cramped up in this warehouse all day?” Seth questions. “Get the cameras ready to roll and send in Roxanne.”

Roxanne Reynolds, PW backstage personality, comes strutting across the warehouse and approaches a black leather couch that is sitting a couple of feet in front of the green screen backdrop. She takes a seat, followed by Seth. The camera crew takes their places as suddenly the bright background lights fire up, temporarily blinding Seth.

“Christ! Can you point those things the other way or at least warn me before you do that? I will need my vision tomorrow, you know?” He says in a reprimanding tone. “Rox, you all set on the topics I want to touch on?”

“Sure thing.” She quickly answers, not paying much attention to the actual question. Seth shakes his head as he gives the cameraman a thumbs up to start rolling. Everyone takes their positions and finally the cameraman gives the signal.

“Hello ladies and gentleman, I’m Roxanne Reynolds and today we’re recording a special episode of PW Insider. Today’s guest will be none other than our own World Heavyweight Champion, the 85th entrant to APW’s Survive and Conquer 2012, ‘The Degenerate King’ Seth Black. It’s a pleasure to have you here today Seth.”

“No, Rox. Whenever you dress like that, the pleasure is always mine.” He responds with a wink.

“Always a charmer. But as I’m sure you know, we brought you here today to give us some inside information as to your game plan for the 29th. How do you plan on approaching this event?” She asks politely, turning to face Seth more directly as he sits forward to speak.

“Well I was lucky enough to draw number 85, which for any morons out there watching this at home, 85 out of 86 ain’t all that bad. It means that I get to watch 84 men walk out to that ring before me, and even better yet, I get to sit back with my feet up as I watch who the most dangerous competitors in the match. I get to study them for however long it takes to get to number 85. To a tactician like myself, an advantage like that is literally crippling for the other competitors. They don’t even have a chance, Rox.” He answers, his tone growing increasingly cockier as he continues.

“This certainly wouldn’t be the first time you’ve taken advantage of a favorable situation. But you have everyone wondering, Seth…why? Why invade APW? Why stir up this beef with Johnny Rebel that has obviously escalated out of control. I guess we all want to know, what’s the endgame?” She looks authentically interested in the answer as she asks the question. Seth ponders for a moment before firing back with an answer.

“Well hell, why not? I mean, you can sit here and question the motivation and all that, but what’s done is done. Johnny Rebel took his beatings; he saw how devastating EMPIRE can be. APW’s finest learned the same lesson. It’s not about an endgame, ok? It’s about proving to everyone every week that we are the group in charge. We call the shots. And when people try to go behind our backs and get cute, this is what happens. You see Johnny Rebel knew that he didn’t have a chance to speak out against EMPIRE in PW, so he started running his mouth about us in APW. And all of the fans ate it right up. All Johnny rebel has to do was mention EMPIRE and look at where his career has skyrocketed to. You jumped in line, Rebel, and you did it with slander. You tried to hurt the EMPIRE brand, so we decided to hurt something dear to you. One of these days you’re just gonna have to live up to the fact that had it not been for your big mouth, Sarah would never have been involved in any of this. Juan’s goons might have pulled the trigger, but you put her in the crosshairs Johnny, you might as well have loaded the fucking guns.” Seth stops himself before going any further, realizing his rant was becoming emotional. He takes a breath and calms down before looking back up at Roxanne.

“Ok, so why the invasion of APW and why compete in Survive and Conquer?” She asks.

“We decided to invade APW solely on the basis that we could. When we sat back and analyzed the situation, there was nothing anyone could do about it. APW doesn’t have the manpower to stop us; we weren’t scheduled so we were taking these guys by surprise every time we showed up. And the whole invasion boils down to Johnny Rebel once again. You see, it was easy for him to run and hide, talking shit behind the closed doors of APW. But EMPIRE doesn’t believe in that, we wanted to deliver our havoc to Johnny Rebel’s front door, so we did. Like I said, it all came down to us knowing we could do whatever the hell we wanted to. As far as EMPIRE is concerned, this business belongs to us. We’ve worked harder than anyone else to put it all together, and we damn sure aren’t gonna let some over the hill scrub like Rebel try and run our name into the ground. But as for Survive and Conquer? Well Roxanne, I would have been competing in this event no matter what, because there are two things that no man can ever get enough of. Money and Respect.”

“Money and Respect?” She questions, looking puzzled.

“Damn straight baby, it’s no secret that the winner of this bad boy is takin’ home a cool half mill. And beyond that, there’s gonna be 85 other guys looking at the winner of this thing and just wishing they could stand in those boots for a few minutes. I plan on being the one they envy, Roxanne. And who knows, if you play your cards right I might even take you out for a night on the town. Remember, like old times? Never mind. Point is I’m already as high up the mountain as you can get. As it is I’m already looking down on most of these guys and literally wondering where the hell they came from. What corner did you cock roaches crawl out of to think you deserve ring time with The Degenerate King? These people all share a common goal, Rox, and that’s to be...made…famous.” He explains, using his hand gestures to drive home those last few words.

“By you? Just to be clear.”

“Who else? BAD ASS or Juan Ramirez, those are the only other two in this match with enough star power to carry these APW guys. And all I’ve been hearing on twitter is how there is gonna be this #allAPWFinal4, they must be spiking the water in that place if these derelicts think that’s even remotely true. How about #PhoenixFinal3? For when Seth Black, BAD ASS, and Juan Ramirez end the night standing triumphantly in the center of an APW ring, looking down on all of the pathetic scum who thought they had a chance to stop us. #PhoenixFinal3 sounds much better to me; it sounds like non-fiction…your hash tag sounds more like something out of the fantasy section.” Seth responds confidently.

“Well you certainly have all the confidence you need, that’s for sure. Before we wrap up here is there anything else you’d like to say? Any other competitors you’d like to address?”

“I do have some closing thoughts, so bear with me here. While most of this drama has come as a direct result of Johnny Rebel and his cowardly ways, I just want everyone to know that it was bound to happen regardless. EMPIRE is making big moves in the wrestling industry, and Phoenix Wrestling was simply becoming too small of a pond to conquer. We want more, and APW just so happened to find itself on the top of our list. Men like Cj Gates, Kurt Noble, Level One…they’ve managed to give APW an inflated sense of importance, and it was all through hype. I remember a couple of years ago when Level One was all the hype in APW. Level One was the best wrestler on the planet. Well, if that were true then Level One would have done a little bit more with himself when he stepped out of the comfort of APW. He would have gone to TFWF and flourished, he would still be a household name to this day had that truly been the case. But it wasn’t. It was hype, and the hype led to his downfall. Now look at him, left with nothing but a chance to defeat 85 other men to try and salvage some little piece of his career. That’s what happens when you let other people control your success. Speaking of people who let others dictate their moves, how about your very own Cj Gates? He was handed…HANDED…a shot at the CWC World Heavyweight Title just because that’s how bad Brian Hollywood and whoever the hell else is running that circus wanted to keep the belt away from me. Cj had no business in that match, but he managed to slither his way in, once again an APW wrestler trying to get famous off of my name. How did that work out for you, Cj? How was the payoff? I hope it was good enough to justify what I’ll do to you if you manage to last long enough at Survive and Conquer, so I hope you weren’t dumb enough to think our story had come to an end.” Seth starts to grow restless, changing his position on the couch to try and calm down.

“Is everything ok, Seth?” Roxanne asks.

“Yeah everything is fine. I guess I just get a little worked up thinking about some of these APW guys. They want to be recognized like top stars, but most of them are just too dumb to realize that they’re playing around in the minor leagues. Nobody is ever gonna know your name down there. It’s not until you step into the real spotlight and start making some waves that people learn your name. With the exception of Kurt Noble that is, people are gonna know Kurt’s name worldwide as soon as he is unfortunate enough to step in the ring with my man BAD ASS. I’ve sat back patiently watching Kurt Noble try his hardest to do something that resembles talking trash, only for BAD ASS to assure me that he has this under control. I trust him, and more importantly I know it’s been a long time coming between you two. But Kurt, you’re no different from CJ or Johnny Rebel. You’re the same type of poison. The same type of attention-hungry, low-level, gym bag carrying, curtain holdin’ son of a bitch. So to sum it all up, PW has invaded APW to give each and every one of you flunkies a taste of what you want so bad. Every last one of you begs and pleads on twitter to make it happen, so we’re gonna come to your house, and for one night only some real stars of the wrestling industry are gonna make the ratings spike through the roof. For one night you bottom feeders get a taste of stardom, but fair warning, by the end of the night it will all be gone. Once the dust settles every last one of you will realize that all the taunting and insults did nothing but continue to drive not Phoenix Wrestling, but EMPIRE, the bigger, badder cousin. Come morning, the only headline left to read will be: PW INVADES, PW SURVIVES, AND PW CONQUERS!!!” Seth finishes the statement with great energy, looking into the camera and smiling slightly as he stops speaking. He sits back on the couch and looks over at Roxanne who is looking anxious to wrap up.

“Alright well that’s all the time we have for today. Make sure to catch us next time on another brand new episode of PW Insider.”

“CUT! That’s a wrap!” Shouts someone from the camera crew.

“Perfect, I can’t stand to sit in this place for another minute. I take it the A/V team can handle their job from here? Or do I have to stick around and micro manage?” Seth asks, not really speaking to anyone in general. “Good, that’s what I thought.”

Seth gathers his belongings and stops to take one last look at the production progress before calling it a day. He approaches the exit to the warehouse where his trademark black Rolls Royce limousine is waiting. He hops in and after a few moments the limo speeds off out of sight.

[Adrien Specter]

(The following was posted on AdrienSpecter.com)

Have you ever had one of those moments where you look back at how you were when you first started this endeavor into Professional Wrestling? Have you ever decided to pop a video of some of your earlier work in and looking at how much you’ve vastly changed? I do from time to time. But I already know the vast chasm that lay between myself then, and myself now.

And all I would have to do is look within the mirror, and open my mouth.

There it lays before me. The stump of which serves as a reminder for what I had lost. The severed flesh of the tongue I had rid myself of in order to achieve victory…and what did it serve me in the end?

The rest of my days voiceless. A life of silence in a world where those of notice are usually the biggest talkers. I remember because I use to be one.

And as I sat within my hotel room, I began watching tapes of myself, thinking about what I had done with my life. Only months away from turning 40, and already my life had apparently peeked. Perhaps this was just some kind of mid-life crisis that had appeared a little early, or perhaps this was truly it for me. If I packed up my things tomorrow and just disappeared into the world, would I do it? Could I do it for that matter? All I’ve ever known in this world is the pain and suffering that I’ve grown to both accept and dish out…usually not in equal measures.

Truth was, I’d been thinking this way for a long time about where my career had taken me. Firstly, to New Edge Wrestling, where I had obtained all that was put before me. It had taken time, but finally I had everything. Tag titles, world titles, and everything in between. I had started at the bottom and worked my way up through every title, and every division I was placed in. I could work with a partner with ease, watching his back as he did mine. I could flow seamlessly through wrestling matches with the slickest of opponents, and still come out on top…

…but the Hardcore division is where I thrived…and my body was proof of that. Through the pure extend of abuse my body had grown accustomed to through the years of work I had pushed myself through, I now had a cadaver that represented the style of fighting of which I was adept. I had scars splayed across my flesh, each with their own tale. Do I remember all the stories? No. Do I remember what it felt like?

How the fuck could I forget…each little cut into my skin, every flame that caressed my body, every single wound that had been delivered unto me…I remember the pain of which everyone of them felt like… But the greatest of my wounds had been self inflicted. Cutting out my tongue in order to win an “I Quit” match…it’s easy to look back and point out how stupid the decision was. But when you’re in the heat of the moment, listening to someone talk openly about how you’re not good enough to last…You do things without foresight.

As I raised the glass of gin to my mouth, chugging the 5th that lay within it. One of my comforts was the fact that gin has a unique taste to it. Bitter, and quite frankly, loathed by many. But for a man who couldn’t taste anything, just the fragrant reminder of the alcohol was enough to set the memories in motion.

I could remember what it tasted like, and as soon as the harsh liquid hit my throat, all I had to do was think back. And for a single moment…I was human again. And perhaps as time went on, my consumption of the intoxicating drink continuing until the point of unconsciousness, I began to forget my troubles. I forgot who I was, and what I had done in my life, not only to myself, but to others around me as well…and when the handover came when I awoke, I was brought crashing down once again to the realization of who I was…and what I had put myself through.

Still, that was tomorrow...tonight, I was nothing more than a man watching a fool who looked suspiciously like him on a collection of DVDs that I had no reason of owning.

As I sat there, watching the man I use to be, I listened to his words carefully.

“My name is Adrien Specter…and at Ignite this week, I shall come out victorious.”

As he spoke, I immediately knew he was a liar. Watching myself back, I could tell the difference between myself and what I am now, and I’m not just talking about the aesthetic. When I looked into his eyes, I saw a man who was bright eyed, a man of whom wanted nothing more than to please those of whom had hired him. Wanting of nothing but to hear the crowds chant his name again and again and again.

What a moron I was. I was blinded by the lights attached to the glass ceiling I worked so hard to break through. But once I got past them, I realized that there was no glass to break. No barrier in my way stopping me from achieving greatness.

Past the light…there was only darkness. Once I had reached the peek and looked down the mountains I had climbed, I saw a variety of things.

The first thing that hit me was the long list of names that had achieved this peek before me. The countless number of people on the list I simply added my name onto the end of. When I reached the top…I realized that I was not the first, and I suppose that’s what hit me hardest. The fact that I could look at those who did it before me, and, quite frankly, become appalled by just how easy they had achieved it. Whereas I had struggled to walk, they ran past me at high speeds.

And as I looked down at the piece of paper before me, I could see one number written upon it.

11.

I wasn’t even going to be the first into the match of which I had signed myself up for. The APW Survive and Conquer Battle Royal. An open invitational battle royal where the winner would receive $500,000. Yes, the money was important. Yes, I was doing it for the cash…and yes. I had plans for it already.

Whereas some would promise it to charity, or for their own selfish deeds…I feared I would fall into the second category. Fact was after the amount I had achieved in my years, and nearing the typical age of retirement for wrestlers who were in the best shape of their lives, I knew my time was numbered. Now that’s not to say I was poor. Not by any means. I had spent little over the paychecks I had obtained in the years, putting the remainder in a savings account. Given my name, and the work rate I had become accredited to over the years, that was quite a bit of cash that I could live off.

So why did I want the money? Why would I work my ass off, practically cutting my life expectancy in half for half a million dollars? Is the answer not clear to those of an outside perspective?

The world of wrestling had taken my voice away from me. No longer would I be able to say hello to people in the street. No longer was I able to cook something and enjoy eating it…no longer could I tell someone I loved them…But with that money, that could all change.

Wrestling had taken my tongue…and with $500,000 I could get it back.

I had not told anyone of this plan. Not even my brother Richard was aware of this. And there was a reason for that too. The fact is my “accident with the hedge trimmers” had become infamous throughout the community. All through CWC, EFK, APW, PW, SCW, NEW, PCW…I was known as the man who would do anything to win. I was the man who would sever something that most consider vital to their everyday lives. And in one moment of madness I had removed it without a seconds thought or hesitation.

One quick snip…and I was a legend.

And now, with an opportunity before me, I was planning on removing that fasard. I was about to turn my back on the illusion that had brought me to the ring. The very thing that I was known for, the very thing that made people think twice before getting in the ring with me I was ready to cast it all aside…and for what reason?

Because if given the choice, would any of my opponents do the same. In exchange for immediate recognition, would you put up with a lifetime of suffering? To never speak again?

The correct answer is no…this I know from experience. Anyone that would be willing to rid of something so easily never deserved it to begin with. And once it’s gone, you’ll miss it for the rest of your life. If anyone would ask me if I would go back to that day, I would ask them if they knew how I could. I would stop myself from making a stupid decision like the one I did. And yes, I would just be one of those people who talked and talked and talked until the audience’s ears bleed. But at least I COULD be one of those people. Now…now I’m nothing more than a side act. Nothing more than the resident freakshow that gets put in front of a crowd with the title of “the self-mutilating man”, with each person asking the question as to what I was going to cut off next.

That’s the problem with fame…you don’t get to choose what you’re famous for. But soon that fame would be gone. I could get my money, then disappear into obscurity. I deserved that much.

However…there was always someone in your way. 85 other men stood between me and retirement. 85 men stood between me and my goal...and some of them I knew well.

Kurt Noble and Sally Talfourd. Two people of whom I knew well. Back in the Extreme Tournament, we sided together in the New Experts. Together we battled against the One Ring Circus…and somehow I doubt they would even remember me. In honesty I hadn’t seen them since the final card of the tournament…to them I was probably nothing more than the little crazy guy who got through undefeated for so long mostly due to the group he had been placed in. To them I doubted I was anything more than a man who skirted along behind their bigger names. However, now it was my time to prove myself. Back in the tournament I was arranged to face Noble, and even though that match didn’t happen, by thoughts began running wild again. Could I have surpassed him if given the opportunity? Could I ever surpass Sally?

This time…I had no option to do it. I was going to beat them both if I had any chance to obtain that money. Unfortunately, those two were not the only ones of whom I had a past with.

MDK…need I really say more? To be honest, I doubt I’ve met anyone who didn’t have a problem with him. I bet even his ORC brethren were constantly looking over their shoulder, wondering when he was going to plunge the knife into their backs. But in this match, it was every man for himself. He didn’t have his soldiers looking out for him. In this environment, it was true dog eat dog. And, in some ways it would be nice to be the one to eliminate him from the competition, much like he did in our rematch in the Extreme Tournament. With a swift moment, I would end him. And become one step closer to redemption against him.

Were there others? When isn’t there? Matt Matlock no doubt would be out to redeem himself after my victory over him in SCW. The man was stupid enough to try and see what it would be like to be me for a week, voiceless and unable to speak. My only hope is that little task taught him what it was like to piss me off, and perhaps more so that he would regret doing it again in future. Fact was he could never understand what it’s like to live a life without a voice. He couldn’t understand what it was like to be me…

…none of them could.

Another no wonder looking to face off against me would be Jason Andrews. I’ll make no gripes about beating him. I had sent him from New Edge with his tail between his legs. He turned on myself and The Court to get back at his half brother, and what happened? He got put against me, and I suitably dealt with him.

But the truth was, these name of which I’ve mentioned mean nothing in the long run. None of the people in this match look to stop me from achieving from what I needed to set out and do. I needed that money. I needed my voice back, so that when I stood atop that ladder, reaching up to collect my prize, I could finally call out to the world and say at the top of my lungs:

“My name is “The Ghost” Adrien Specter…Your Survive and Conquer 2012 Winner…”

[Jimmy Helmsley]

I wasn't sure what my next step was going to be. I have accomplished everything I have wanted too in my career. When I started wrestling twelve years ago, I didn't think the talk of retirement would come this soon. Everyone I have talked too in life has said that the best way to leave is to go out on top. In my year and a half in New Era Wrestling, I have won the world championship twice, something only Troy Turner and myself can say they've accomplished.

I have wrestled with some of the best this business has to offer and I have given everything I have to wrestling. The past two years of my life has been one bumpy ride. I have probably lost more than I have gained, but looking back, I believe it has helped me grow as a person. I don't have any regrets with my career choices. I have been at the top of the company, but at one time, I was the joke of the company. It comes with the territory.

It's much easier talking about a decision than actually making one. I'm torn because I don't think I could ever leave wrestling behind me, yet I don't want to be that guy who stayed in the business longer than he should have. My decision won't come easy though. Disturbed has become a pain in my side, taunting me the past few weeks after I beat him. I'm not going to leave a life changing decision to someone like Disturbed. I have a feeling when the time is right, then I'll know it. Until then, I guess I'll continue doing what I love.

January 23, 2012
Boston, MA

It was very late in the evening as I sat in the taxicab coming home from the airport. My flight had been delayed in Washington and I was forced to sit in the airport an extra few hours. It wasn't the most soothing situation, but it was something that I couldn't prevent. Nonetheless, it gave me extra time to think about what had happen on NewTV.

Despite not being shown on the program, I was backstage watching as a viewer. When Disturbed was wrestling, I had thought about going out there to confront him about his challenge from weeks prior, but as soon as he started talking about Rachel, I became frozen. It was the last words I expected to come from Disturbed. Shortly after, I left the building and headed home.

Taxi Driver: Hey bud, there seems to be some kind of accident ahead, so it's going to be a minute.

I looked at the scene that was causing the traffic jam. It looked to be like a nasty car accident. I looked at my watch, realizing it was already late enough. I wasn't in hurry or anything, but I knew that I would be here for a while. I reached into my wallet and handed him a twenty-dollar bill.

Jimmy Helmsley: I'm just going to walk the rest of the way. Keep the change.

I grabbed my bag and got out of the cab. As soon as I got out of the cab, I could hear the sirens coming closer. Walking closer to the accident, it seemed as if the cars took the brunt of the damage. People were outside their respective cars and talking to one another, most likely collecting insurance information. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my sister, Ashlie. After a few rings, she picked up and sounded very groggy.

Ashlie Helmsley: You know it's after one, right?

I couldn't help but laugh at the way she has changed lately. She went from being a party girl who stayed out all night to someone who went to bed before eleven.

Jimmy Helmsley: There was an accident on the corner of 2nd and 21st, so I'm going to be a little late getting back to the apartment.

Ashlie Helmsley: And you thought I would care, why?

Jimmy Helmsley:Well, I didn't want you freaking the fuck out when I came into the apartment late. You have a tendency to overreact to little things like that.

I was going to remind her, but when she was in college, she took a baseball bat to her roommates’ head when she came in late one night. Let's just say she was kindly asked to take the semester off.

Jimmy Helmsley: Go back to bed, I'll talk to you in the morning.

She had already hung up before I finished talking. I placed my phone back into my pocket as I continued walking down the sidewalk. It had taken a few minutes, but I was finally away from the sirens and commotion. I could finally hear myself think about the next few weeks of my life.

For the first time since signing up, I thought about Action Packed Wrestling's upcoming Survive and Conquer battle royal this Sunday. It was a showcase of some of the best talent that the wrestling business had to offer all under one roof. This was something different though. There weren’t any championships on the line. This contest had a cash prize as the reward for victory, something that wasn't done much in the business.

$500,000. That was the cash prize for winning this match, no doubt one of the biggest matches in wrestling history. I'm not going to lie and say that I wouldn't enjoy the cash prize for winning the match. I have plenty of money, but I don't think you will find many people that would turn away from a $500,000 cash prize.

A little bit of time had passed as I found myself outside one of my close friend's bar. It was still pretty early for the life of a bar owner, so I decided to go inside for a second before heading home. Besides, my sister doesn't care to see me come home anytime soon seeing as how I could possibly wake her up. I was a regular to my friend's bar, so a lot of the patrons knew me pretty well. I walked inside the bar and got no reaction.

Jimmy Helmsley: Come on guys! We went over this last time I was here. I walk in the door, you all shout my name. It's an easy task!

Nobody seemed to care about my idea. Growing up in Boston and watching Cheers every week, I always wanted to have the "Norm" greeting. It didn't seem like I would have my way. I proceeded to make my way to the bar. He already had my soda water ready for me.

Jimmy Helmsley: Thanks my friend. Is David around?

He pointed towards the back office. David was sitting behind his desk doing some boring paper work when I walked in the room.

Jimmy Helmsley: You need to get some more respectful patrons for this place.

David Mason: They won't say your name when you come in, will they?

Jimmy Helmsley: You would think after a night of training they would have it figured out by now.

All he did was laugh as I took a seat opposite of him.

David Mason: What are you doing out this late?

Jimmy Helmsley: Delayed flight in Washington. I saw the lights on and figured I stop in before heading home.

David Mason: Well, aren't you going to talk about it?

Jimmy Helmsley: Talk about what?

David Mason: I watched the show last night. I saw Disturbed talking about Rachel. Don't act like that doesn't bother you.

Jimmy Helmsley: It doesn't bother me. I'm over that kind of drama in this business. He's trying to mimic Bombtrack and the chaos he caused me last year. He thinks that if he talks about Rachel, then it'll make me reconsider his challenge for Evolution.

David Mason: I'm actually glad to hear you say that. If this had been last year, you'd be going ape shit right now. Bombtrack spoiled you with all the torture last year, now nothing bothers you.

Jimmy Helmsley: You know it.

In all reality, in the back of my mind, it was concerning me. I haven't seen or heard from Rachel in 7 months. Why would Disturbed be talking about her? It had to be his way of provoking me, right? My conscious is my biggest weakness and everyone knows it. It was so much easier when I didn't give a shit about anything or anyone.

David Mason: Are you sure your ok?

I nodded my head.

Jimmy Helmsley: Yeah, I'm fine. It's just thinking about her that's getting to me. After finding out what really happened with her, it just makes me wonder what she's been doing all these months.

David Mason: Have you spoken to Brooke any lately about it?

I didn't tell David the truth about what had happen with Brooke. I left out the part where she deliberately hid the good-bye video that Rachel had left for me. He just thinks I took my frustrations about finding the video on her, so of course, I'm the bad guy in his words.

Jimmy Helmsley: I don't want to talk about Brooke, ok?

David Mason: Just hear me out, she's really upset about all of it. She's actually taking it a lot harder than she should if you ask me. Whatever it's worth to you, just know she cares about your feelings.

"Not enough," I said to myself as I stood up.

Jimmy Helmsley: I'll let you finish your work up. I know Sarah's waiting on you to get home.

I started walking back through the bar heading for the exit when...

Patron: Jimmy!

Jimmy Helmsley: Not now you idiot!

With that, I exited the bar and started heading back home. After all, it was only a block a way and a flight of stairs. Five minutes later, I found myself outside of my apartment. I looked on the door and found a letter taped to it with my name written on it. I grabbed it and opened the door. I tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake Ashlie. I tossed the note on the kitchen counter and just headed to my room. It had been a long day and I was ready for some sleep.

January 26, 2012
Miami, Florida

Survive and Conquer 2012 was just two days away and the superstars of all companies were piling into Miami. I can’t tell you how many wrestlers had been on my flight. It was like a reunion of my independent days from twelve years ago. It was good catching up with some old friends before fighting it out for the $500,000 cash prize.

I was headed to a radio promotion for Survive and Conquer with 790AM SportsTalk. Besides some of the headliners from Action Packed Wrestling, one wrestler from each company was given time to promote the show from their companies’ perspective. Not surprisingly, I was chosen over James Stall and Christian York.

Once inside, there were several studios with each of the radio hosts conducting their interviews with other wrestlers. My studio was at the end of the hall on the left. Eric Reed, one of the well-known weekend hosts, was standing there waiting for me as I walked inside. We shook hands as he motioned for me to take a seat.

Eric Reed: Thanks for coming down today, Jimmy. We won’t be taking much of your time.

Jimmy Helmsley: No problem, I’m glad to be here. Just to be competing in a historic match like this is an honor.

Eric Reed: Just to give you a heads up, we aren’t going to be live. We have so many interviews we’re doing today that we are going to air them back to back starting about six tonight.

Jimmy Helmsley: Cool with me. I’m here to help promote, not be some egotistical prick that has to be live with his interviews.

Eric Reed: Already talking smack and we aren’t on the air yet. I like it.

We both laughed as he took a seat as we started putting on the recording gear. It took a couple of seconds, but we finally got everything set up.

Eric Reed: Alright, you ready to get started?

I nodded my head as he flipped on the recording switch and the red light flickered to signal we were recording.

Eric Reed: We are back ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with Jimmy Helmsley, one of the three New Era Wrestling superstars competing in the upcoming Survive and Conquer battle royal hosted by Action Packed Wrestling. How’s everything going Jimmy?

Jimmy Helmsley: Everything’s going great, Eric. I’m just glad to be chosen to represent New Era Wrestling for the promotion stage of this contest.

Eric Reed: I’m not going to beat around the bush or anything. What made you decide you wanted to take part in this battle royal? There are 86 superstars in this match. You know it’s a long shot for you to win, right?

Jimmy Helmsley: First off, it’s not about winning anymore. I’ve been in this business long enough to realize that winning isn’t everything. Sure, the cash money prize would a nice compensation, but I’m here to promote New Era Wrestling. Hurricane Jeff came to Travis Blaine and offered our company a chance to come and help us get to the next level. Blaine made an offer to each superstar, yet only three of us decided to take the challenge.

Eric Reed: That being you, James Stall, and Christian York, right?

Jimmy Helmsley: Exactly, but there’s a key difference between my decision to sign up and there decision. James Stall has made a name in this business being a hired gun. He goes where the money goes, so it wasn’t surprising when I saw that he had signed up for this event. He is in it for the money and always will be. He doesn’t care about getting the companies name out there.

The same thing goes for Christian York. You can look at that guy and tell he is about money. He is always dressed in a suit trying to impress someone. In all reality, he probably doesn’t even need the cash prize, but it would just be an ego boost to add to his already large ego. It’s quite sad that this business has become about money as much as it has been.

I remember when I started back wrestling twelve years ago when it was just an honor to get your name in the door. We were working for less than $500 an appearance. It wasn’t about the money to us though. Back in my independent days, it was about a group of guys who loved this business enough where money didn’t matter. It was about doing what you loved and giving the fans enough a show worth the money they spent to attend.

Eric Reed: I don’t mean to interrupt your Jimmy, but I remember a few years ago, you had your moment in the sun. You were in a couple of movies and left the wrestling business behind. Don’t you sound a little bit hypocritical when talking about your colleagues?

Though it wasn’t seen to the audience, I nodded my head at Reed’s response.

Jimmy Helmsley: You’re right, I did leave the business a few years ago. I was young and stupid. I let money get the best of me and it got me nowhere. After a couple of movies, my time in Hollywood was over. I had nothing left. I had let the fans down when I left and none of the superstars respected me anymore. Do you know what I did? I started over, from the very bottom of the totem pole.

I disrespected the business when I left. I disrespected the younger me when I left. Since that moment, wrestling has been my life. I’ve had my ups and downs over the past few years, but I have given everything to this business and the fans. I realized that the people that watch the show week in and week out are the people I can call my family. The superstars in the back are my brothers and sisters. And if I didn’t have Travis Blaine’s guts, I would even call him a father figure.

We both started laughing. I guess Reed knew the history from last year between the owner of New Era Wrestling and myself.

Eric Reed: Well, I’m glad to see you have your head in the game for the show this weekend. I must say its guys like you who are dedicated to the business are what draw people to their seats. Like you said, there are so many people in it for the paycheck.

Jimmy Helmsley: It’s a different world. The economy has forced people to live with money on their mind. Hopefully, in the coming years, we can fix this crisis so people can look at what really matters.

Eric Reed: Let’s talk a little about the match itself. You don’t have much history with many of the superstars in this match, do you?

Jimmy Helmsley: I have worked with some of them from way back in the day, but besides the superstars of NEW, I have only been in the ring with CJ Gates.

Eric Reed: CJ Gates? Really? He’s one of the best superstars that APW has to offer. What’s your history with him?

Jimmy Helmsley: CWC Ascension 2011. We had our first round match together, probably one of the best matches in that round. He got the best of me in that match, not surprised though, he’s a great superstar in the ring. I’m looking forward to getting back in the ring with him.

Reed looks over and grabs a sheet of paper and starts going over it.

Eric Reed: According to the list of entrants, CJ Gates is coming in at number 31 of 86 while you will enter at number 63. That means CJ Gates will have to outlast at least 32 guys before you come in the match. There’s a chance you might not even see him in the match.

Jimmy Helmsley: If it’s the same guy that faced me at Ascension last year, then I have no doubt that I’ll see him in the ring when I enter the match.

Eric Reed: Speaking of the entrance order, as we already stated, there are 86 superstars in this match. You were lucky enough to draw number 63. That will give you a great advantage over two-thirds of the superstars in the match. After you come in, only 26 more superstars will enter the match.

I’m not going to say that is great odds, but it’s certainly a lot better than most superstars in the match. For the New Era Stars, you have yourself at 63, Christian York got unlucky with slot 14 while James Stall is sitting pretty at 74. Not only that, James Stall has gone on record saying that if you’re still in the match when he enters, he will eliminate you.

Jimmy Helmsley: I’m sure someone paid him to say that. Stall can talk all the shit he wants to me. I believe I have heard him say before that I dodge all his challenges. If he gets in my face in this battle royal, then I will deal with him then. As I stated earlier, I’m in it to showcase the talent that New Era Wrestling has to offer. If I win the money, then I win the money. I’m looking out for the companies’ best issues.

Eric Reed: One last thing before you go, there’s rumors of your impending retirement. Anything you’d like to comment on?

I sat there for a second in silence. I knew this question was going to come up sooner or later. While I wasn’t completely decided on an answer, I had to give the people something.

Jimmy Helmsley: Let’s just say right now I’m focused on this battle royal and the upcoming CWC Ascension tournament. After all of that concludes, then I will be deciding the future of my career.

Eric Reed: Fair enough. Thank you for taking the time to be here with us today, Jimmy. Good luck in the match this Sunday.

I thanked Reed for having me on the show before exiting the studio. It was funny walking out of the studio, looking at all the other superstars conducting the same interview I just gone done doing. There were so many stars all in one match, the biggest match I have ever competed in my career.

For one of the first times in a long time, I was actually nervous going into a match. It wasn’t because of how many people were in the match, I think it was because I wanted to stand out and make my company look as good as they deserve to be. Some people don’t give New Era Wrestling the credit it deserves.

If they were to come watch some of the superstars we have every week, they would see we have the best talent that wrestling has to offer. What company can say they have Troy Turner, Outkast, Matt Starr, Nightmare all under one roof? Not only that, we have Kidd Love, Doc Holiday, Nikki Blaine in our company, some of the best new talent in this business. Pretty much, I’m saying that New Era Wrestling has everything to offer. I’m walking into the arena Sunday to prove that to every other superstar that steps in my way. I’m probably not going to win, but I’ll be damned if I don’t prove my point by the end of the night Sunday.

[Johnny Rebel]

OOC Note: This is the third and final piece in a series that has been building over the past few weeks.

To see part one, click HERE.
To see part two, click HERE.

----

“It’s not looking good…”

The air in the room went completely flat as the doctor gives an update on Sarah O’Brien’s health. “Simply Put” Johnny Rebel had been in the midst of a long-standing feud with members of Phoenix Wrestling… when during a match with PW Hall-of-Famer William Bateman, a group spearheaded by Juan Ramirez left Rebel’s personal secretary bloodied and broken in the women’s restroom. The whole ordeal had left Rebel in a dark place; rarely leaving his hotel room except for the oft-chance that he might catch a member of Empire or Ramirez in a precarious situation where he could have a chance to gain some retribution.

Johnny had purposely stayed away from the hospital knowing that he’d have a hard time keeping his composure. In all of the years that he’d put in the wrestling industry there were only a few people that he had put his trust in. There was a mutual trust that the two had built up and perhaps even undeveloped feelings that had been growing between the two of them. Rebel didn’t have any intentions of stopping by to check-in on her or her family until a recent visit by Sarah’s mother prodded him to suck up his feelings and show up.

The APW Overdrive Champion had limited discretionary time as preparation for Survive & Conquer were well underway but Rebel felt it necessary to make a stop before the event. The whole ordeal could go one of two ways: it could boost his moral heading in to one of the biggest matches of his life or it could lead him back in to a depression that held him captive over the past few weeks.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Sarah’s distraught mother begs the doctor for any type of insight.

“We’re still in a waiting pattern,” the doctor responds, “However, if she doesn’t show marked improvement within the next few days than we’re worried that we're going to be stuck with little else that we're able to do..."

How could a mother process that type of information regarding her daughter? It was nearly an impossible task! Rebel felt responsible and therefore bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. He couldn’t hide any longer and it was time to face the jury.

The doctor slipped out the door and as soon as he disappeared, Rebel replaced him in the doorway. He knocked quietly as the family briefly looked up amid their brokenness to merely acknowledge Rebel’s existence. “Simply Put” wasn’t exactly the most popular name among the O’Brien family but the breakthrough in Rebel’s attitude was almost a welcome site despite the bleak outlook of Sarah’s health.

“Hey…” wasn’t much of an introduction despite the circumstances surrounding the collision of Rebel and the O’Brien family, but it was all that Rebel could muster up.

“It’s nice to finally see you around these parts…” Sarah’s father, Richard, comments. “It’s about time.”

“It’s been a tough few weeks for all of us.” Rebel mumbles under his breath.

“A tough few weeks? Come on, Johnny! This has been a nightmare! While Sarah’s been fighting for her life and I’ve spent the past few days wrestling with the idea that my only daughter might never wake-up from this mess, you have been holed up in a hotel room with beer and pizza! Don’t try to tell me what kind of hell we’ve been living through. You don’t know! You haven’t been here!” Richard responds to Rebel’s comments.

“Trust me…” Rebel says as he musters up enough strength to get through his next statement, “I’ve wanted to be here but just couldn’t do it.”

“Here’s the thing—if you truly care about someone than you don’t get the opportunity to pick and choose when you’re going to be present in their life. It doesn’t matter how trapped that you think you feel, you can’t simply choose to ignore all of the things that are happening. Sarah needs you to be strong and you can’t sit around sulking about things that are out of our control.” Sarah’s father points out to Rebel.

Rebel takes a deep breath and acknowledges Richard’s comments: “That’s the thing that is eating me alive! I could have done something to prevent this and Sarah could have stayed home. I prodded her to come on the road with me and I saw all the warning signs before Empire struck before the whole thing happened. I’m having a hard time seeing it as anything other than my fault.”

“It’s not your fau…”

Rebel’s sticks his hand up in an effort to interrupt Sarah’s father’s comments. “It’s absolutely my fault! There is an endless supply of people that have signed up to destroy me. I can’t even begin to explain all of the difficulties and stress that it has added on to my life! C.J. Gates and Kurt Noble would stop at nothing from stomping a hole through my chest. Jack Benevolence has taken every chance that he’s been given to embarrass me to the point where I can’t show my face around the EFK. Paradox McSweeney has been itching at the chance to put a boot through my head. Juan Ramirez will never let me live down the fact that he’s taken my PW International Championship and takes every opportunity to put the strap against the back of my head. Seth Black and BAD ASS wants to wipe my name from the annuals of wrestling, period… and I’ve dragged Sarah right in to the thick of it all."

“We get that,” Wendy—Sarah’s mother—chimes in, “But the reality is that we’re here now and we have to figure out how to move forward in the situation we’re in while in this moment.”

“I don’t know how to handle this!” Rebel blurts out. “I’m sick of people telling me how I’m supposed to feel! How am I supposed to survive eighty-six other men when I can’t even deal with every day life?”

Rebel’s comments cause a few minutes of awkward silence as even Johnny realizes the weight of his statement. He stood there in front of an almost mourning family and the only thing that he could talk about was how he was going to survive. That was essentially the whole problem with Rebel and why he was stuck in the situation that he now found himself in. Ever since stepping foot in to the APW, Rebel had been completely focused on one person and one person alone: himself. The only way that “Simply Put” was going to get himself out of this one was to survive on his own without his right hand girl sitting beside him.

Completely out of character, Rebel pipes up: “Would it be alright if I had a few moments alone with Sarah?”

After several moments of non-verbal deliberation with eye contact between Sarah’s parents, they get up and excuse themselves from the room. Johnny moves closer to the side of the bed and grabs Sarah by the hand. He knew that deep down she would know that he was there and even though she wouldn’t respond physically, he felt a connection with her that he hadn’t felt since moments before the ruthless attack.

“I’d do anything for the slightest acknowledgement that you can hear me…” Rebel says while begging her to do anything that would prove that she’s still the same Sarah O’Brien. He takes a deep breath knowing that she wasn’t going to immediately come back to life but at least holding out hope that she’d at least show some signs of life.

“I’m not real good at this type of thing so you’ll have to forgive me…” Rebel laughs nervously thinking about how Sarah would respond had she’d been awake to hear him. “We’ve been through a lot together haven’t we? Where to begin? We’ve been sneaking through the offices to find blackmail material for an opponent… we’ve wrestled through video-game nerds at GameStop… we’ve traveled the world together. There hasn’t been anybody else that I’d rather have gone through with this than you and now I’m heading in to the fight of my life with nobody standing by my side.”

Rebel begins to tear up as he continued.

“Now it looks like we’re both fighting for survival… there are almost a hundred other men that want to conquer everything that we’ve built. I’m not going to let that happen, Sarah! We have worked hard to get where we are and they aren’t going to destroy it. Everything that we have accomplished leads up to Rasslemania and us against C.J Gates for the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship! In just a few short hours I’m going to make good on my end of the bargain and now I need you to wake-up! Promise me that everything is going to be okay!”

“Simply Put” pounds the bed a few times in anger and drops his head before the O’Brien family returns. Sarah’s mother, Wendy puts her hand on Rebel’s shoulder in an effort to try and comfort him.

“Thanks for stopping by, Johnny.” Sarah’s mother comments. “I hear that you have a big match this week?”

“You could say that… I believe my future is dependent on it. I’ve been carrying this APW Overdrive Championship for several months and the next logical step in my ascension in this business is making sure that I survive and outlast all that hold offenses against me!” Johnny Rebel says.

“So, the people that are responsible for doing this to my daughter are going to be in this match?” Richard asks.

“The thugs directly responsible? They wouldn’t dare show their face around me… however, the ones who ordered the attack will be and I’m going to make sure that they are crushed by the heel of my foot! The moment that they laid their hands on Sarah, this match became more than simply winning an opportunity at a championship! Believe me when I tell you that I won’t stop until all of them who are responsible pay a great price…” Rebel responds with a display of passion that had been lacking over the past few weeks.

He had finally reached the point of no return. He was all in and had promised Sarah’s family that he would do everything in his power to eradicate those who were responsible from existence.

“When the bell rings and the first man walks through the curtain on Sunday evening I’ll be on my own… perhaps every other entrant in the match will be gunning for me and will spare no expense to making sure that I’m not the last man standing.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to survive then…” Richard smirks while shaking the hand of Rebel.

Without missing a beat, Rebel adds: “…and conquer!”

-----

It’s funny how close our nightmares mimic reality, isn’t it?
There has been many times where I’ve fallen asleep for what seems like hours but when after waking up only a few minutes have passed on the clock. The past several weeks have felt like a bad dream… and the dark cloud that resides over my head will simply not go away.

Ever since winning the APW Overdrive Championship, I’ve made it my personal goal to build this place back up to a place of respect! It was once under the banner of great champions that were held in high esteem. When surveying the APW roster there was only one man that was deemed able to conquer the challenge and your looking at him! But I’m not a fool… I know there are people “behind the scenes” that would cringe at the sight of Johnny Rebel’s hand raised at the end of Survive and Conquer. The look on Jeff’s face would be priceless knowing that the champion that he’s begged for since launching the APW years ago. What distraught would come over him when Johnny Rebel is the man that finally dethrones him.

The APW has by personal stomping grounds since the day I stepped foot in President Jeff’s office. When we were approached about entering the CWC Supremacy tournament there was only one logical choice in leading the way: Johnny Rebel. Others had their chance to stake their dominance over this company and all who tried failed miserably… at my hands! Gates couldn’t keep up, Biggs has never been able to best Johnny Rebel and Kurt Noble already had one foot in the grave when stepping in the ring with me! Who was the one who bailed out the company than? Me! The same could be said when beginning to organize a team for EFK’s Rival Factions… what happened then? The so-called best that this place has ever seen in Level-One was practically begging me to throw my name in the hat! They all knew that without my name on the docket that the company didn’t stand a chance without me.

I’ve simply sat back and played the good-guy card long enough. I’ve done what I’ve been told to do and have followed through without so much as a peep! I have been surviving in this business my entire life with every challenge that had been thrown at me conquered without even as much as a struggle. People told me that I’d never beat Kurt Noble for my Overdrive Championship. There were those who believed I couldn’t hang with the likes of William Bateman or Seth Black. Look at me now!

The reality is that under any other circumstance I wouldn’t even be involved in a match like this! If it wasn’t for the personal attacks that have been aimed at me by those who are jealous of my success have spurred me to do something that otherwise I wouldn’t necessarily do. President Jeff should be thanking me that I would even stoop to a level to try and earn my worth! He knows what I’m capable of and he knows the amount of credibility that I’ve brought to the APW since I’ve arrived. He should be handing me championship matches like candy… and believe me when I tell you that it’s only because of the opportunity to get my hands on Juan Ramirez, BAD ASS and Seth Black all at one time that I’m even participating in Survive & Conquer!

If you needed proof that I’m the sole focus of nearly two-thirds of the entrants of this match than go back and read through the posted applications. They aren’t worried about winning the whole thing or surviving to the end… they have nothing else on their mind but eliminating Johnny Rebel from the match. They think that they intimidate me with their numbers alone but that isn’t anything that I haven’t faced before. I’ve spent the majority of my life dealing with those who want to see me gone from this business and guess what? I’ve outlasted them all! The shear definition of survival is the act of surviving, especially under adverse or unusual circumstances. It’s a person that endures… the persistence of a cultural trait or practice that continues on long after it has lost its original meaning or usefulness.

The one and only reason that this match has picked up any traction is because my name is in it! You could put me in a match against the likes of Kid Dynamo and I’d do something that even L1 couldn’t do: sell out the arena! There would be people waiting outside of the arena with baited breath to hear the great tale of how the great champion stomped out the pathetic rookie! When you hear the letters “APW” than often “Simply Put” Johnny Rebel follows them. I’ve had to listen to several people lay their claim to building this place from the ground up and that this business wouldn’t exist without them… but I’m the only one with proof! Before there was C.J. Gates, Azrael Goerhen and Seth black, there was me! I laid the foundation and without the sacrifices that I’ve made there would never be a CWC, Phoenix Wrestling or APW. There would have never been an opportunity for people like Sally Talfourd, BAD ASS and Jacob Wright to make a name for themselves. Whatever it is that they have been selling… nobody would have ever bought if it weren’t for the work that I’ve done.

The reason people hate me isn’t because I spend the majority of my time hurling insults. They hate me because I am what they all want to be! I don’t need to prance around the ring with a gimmick or running my mouth to invoke the deepest fears of each and every fan that sits ringside. This isn’t an act to sell a more t-shirts or posters that hang on the walls of children around the world. People see me for who I really am! They see the championships that I’ve won, they see the accomplishments that I’ve obtained and they hate me because of it! They want to be me and since they’ll never add up the only thing that they can do is try and keep me from taking whatever I want… and ultimately, they’ll fail at that as well. My name will forever be on their lips!

It’s time to face the facts, S&C participants: You can’t stand me!

If any of the eighty-six others who have signed up for this deal had any self-respect than you’d all simply walk away on Sunday evening and stay out of harms way! There was a group of people that thought they could simply stop the train from continuing through on the tracks by trying to eliminate all the things around me that I cared for and they have done the exact opposite! It has motivated me to accomplish the unthinkable. It has become the fuel that keeps me going! The thing about fire is that it usually remains under control until somebody doses it with gasoline! Then it becomes unmanageable and there isn’t anybody who can put it out. I have risen to a level where I’m completely unstoppable and unfortunately for the rest of you doofs, I’m going to continue to engulf anything that steps in my path… all eighty-six of you at S&C!

I’ve never seen such a useless gathering of “talent” in my life. The lot of you has taken everything that I’ve built in the wrestling business and spit on it… and everything that you have ever done can be summed up in one word: pathetic! The majority of you are best served standing on the outside and prodding one another with all of the insecurities that have been stored up within you. However, I have no doubt that you will all turn your back on my warnings and proceed on your own beaten path. I’ve tried my best to make sure that you are all fully aware of the awakening that the likes of Empire, Juan Ramirez, and Paradox McSweeney has caused within me! My eyes are fixed on the goal: winning my rightful position as number one contender at RassleMania and gaining revenge on those who have caused great harm to me. Trust me when I tell you that I’m two steps ahead of all of you and will leave you wading through my cloud of dust!

I’m going to do everything in my power to keep the rest of you from making a statement at Survive and Conquer. While everyone would try to make this something that it isn’t, I’m simply speaking fact. I’m telling you exactly how it is and where I stand! It comes down to preserving the prestige of Action Packed Wrestling… and from allowing people that believe they are going to waltz in and reign supreme for one-night only while the rest of us have been battling here for an endless amount of time. We have allowed too many people to run through the APW without fear of repercussion and somebody has to be the gatekeeper! And after reviewing all the facts, there is only one person capable of such a task! We have allowed outside forces to run roughshod in our once proud organization! Who else is there to depend on? C.J. Gates, the man who is supposed to be carrying the banner of APW, has ended the last several weeks on his back with the outsiders standing over him. It’s ridiculous and I’m going to be the one to rid them once and for all! They will be cockroaches that scurry in the presence of light.

The difference between me and every other hopeful with their name on this list is that everything I’ve promised is followed by facts! When I tell you that I’ve been all around the world and that I’ve faced the best this business has to offer… I’m not feeding you lip service. The world has seen it and it’s well documented over time. The scars that cover my forehead could tell the story of a man who has been through the gauntlet of life and has always survived! When the end has come and the list of biggest and brightest shines through… all of them will have a loss next to their name at the hands of Johnny Rebel! That’s why I’m giving you all the chance to save yourself and take a hike straight out of the APW and the wrestling world before I have no other choice but to put my boot to your rear-ends!

If you were to take Johnny Rebel out of APW and out of Survive and Conquer than you’d have nothing left. People would begin to flee without a second thought and begin begging for a refund. Let’s be honest… when Kurt Noble and Keaton Saint were outside the gates of the arena last week on Overdrive, the fans weren’t clamoring for their money back! They only cared about where Johnny Rebel was and if he was going to compete on the card. Once I’m done winning the entire match this Sunday evening the rest of these slobs who have been throwing their weight around the APW will leave and we will forget they even existed. However, I’ve chosen to prove to the world why I’m the living legend that I am and put this company on the map! I can’t wait to see Gates go crawling to el’ presidente Jeff and beg him to find a way to strip Rebel of his APW Undisputed Heavyweight Championship match. He’ll draw up a new contract that immediately sends him over to Asylum where there are kiddy rides and ponies; he’ll plead with Reginald to stay thousands of miles away from where Overdrive is.

So, listen carefully! Those of you who think you stand a chance at walking out of that ring as the victor and the sole survival than think again. I’m in the giving mood so I’ll provide you with two options concerning your career after S&C: You can continue to believe that you actually might have a chance at surviving or you can get out of dodge and accept the fact that as long as I’m around these parts, you’ll never be good enough! If you need a place to go I’m sure there are companies like Code Red Wrestling and Galveston Island Ticklefighting that would be ecstatic for your services. I’m sure that some sort of independent dive that would love nothing more for you to flip burgers and dip fries in a bat of grease. Either way, I’m looking to end the nonsense that has been happening around these parts… S&C isn’t going to be a match for the ages—or a match to even remember. You are walking in to a buzzsaw that has been building for the past few weeks… and unfortunately for all you, the safety mechanism is about to be released. This is the end for you!

#SURVIVE
and
#CONQUER?

I’m the epitome of both!

#SIMPLY
#F’N
#PUT!

[Smash INC]

Keaton Saint in
Choice

Choice of Scenario

"So what should I call this?"

Keaton Saint looked upon the scene with a mix of curiosity and bemusement. In front of him was a ring packed with ten up-and-coming wrestlers from the circuit. Some had taken to APW house shows looking to make their big break and others were part of the local Florida scene. To say that all of them were looking at Keaton hungrily would be an understatement, all of them were looking at him as if he was the main course of a banquet. All they had to do was carve themselves a slice and indulge in it fully.

"I haven't really got a name for it, just look at this as scenario training." John Gainsborough was sat to the side of Keaton on a stack of crash mats, his hands resting underneath his chain.

"Scenario what now?"

"Scenario training. By the time you get into the Survive and Conquer match, you'll be looking at a ring cleared of all the no-hopers."

"I wouldn't say that."

"How would you put it then?"

"I'd say that the ring will be full of those who still have a chance, one wrong step and anyone could be eliminated in this."

"Even you."

"Even me, I learnt that last year."

"The difference was that you'd been in the ring for something approaching an hour. This time you have the advantage of coming in late and blitzing the remaining lot out of the match."

"Doesn't change the fact that one wrong move could spell doom for me, I've seen it before."

"Seen what before?"

"I've seen someone come in full of guts and fire before leaving in the space of ten seconds, I can't let that happen to me."

"You're going to be a target though, that's what this is for."

"Scenario training."

"Scenario training indeed. Once you enter, one of the most likely scenarios is that the ring will be cleared down to something approaching this number."

"You're only saying that because you could only get ten people to agree to this."

"They're all getting paid... in sandwiches."

"Do they know that?"

"Yeah, as soon as I mentioned what this was for and once I said you were..." John paused. "Look I'll tell you later, we need to get started on this as soon as. You hardly have infinite time to prepare for this match."

"I don't think that would be enough anyhow, look at the people involved."

"You can tell it to their face at some other time, focus on what's in front of you." John pointed out to the ring.

Keaton stared at the ring and the residents of it for a few moments. "Tell me then."

"As I was saying, you're going to enter when a lot of the chaff will have been thrown out. What remains will be a mixture of big, small, technical, power and all sorts of wrestlers. The one thing they have in common is that you're going to be the fresh guy, the target for them. All of the late entries will be in that position, you just have to outlast it and use your energy to stay involved as long as you can."

"Right." Keaton responded quickly and succinctly.

"There are ten in there. The big guy is Havel Johnson, Raife next to him specialises in technical moves. The Knight triplets all do aerial stuff, Richard Fleisch is about as close to your size as I could find and then the last four are a mixture of women who cover all the power and technical sides of their division."

Keaton moved his eyes across the residents of the ring, he recognised some of them from the APW house show circuit but some of them were complete unknowns. This was a moment to adapt, scenario training or not this was a suitable precursor to Survive and Conquer. Keaton exchanged a nod with John before launching himself into a sprint towards the ring, he slid in under the bottom rope and was promptly met with an overwhelming amount of force from the residents of the ring. Keaton launched himself into a defensive move aiming to reach the corner but was swiftly lifted from his feet and thrown out of the ring with a distinct lack of care. One mistake was all it took and Keaton was eliminated in the practice run for Survive and Conquer.

Keaton's second attempt did not fare much better. Keaton took his entry down to the speed of a crawl but as he entered the ring he was once again faced with the same problem of the overwhelming force of the ring residents. Regardless of his previous training, trying to take on ten opponents was a near-impossible task that was going the way of the majority within seconds. Keaton was once more thrust off his feet and dumped outside the ring. Havel Johnson looked down on Keaton as he eliminated him, the mountain of a man merely taking pride in his work. Another mistake, another elimination.

The next five attempts followed the same pattern, Keaton would attempt his entry in various manners with varying degrees of success. As he slowed his entry process down, Keaton became more aware of his surroundings as he made his way to the ring. Each time he watched the ring residents change position, change their circumstance and change their outlook. Each time Keaton began to form an idea in his head, there was a pattern to the line-up of the ring residents and this was something he could use in the real thing. Each time Keaton entered he fought as if it was the real thing, but the numbers caught up on him fast and eventually he would face elimination again. Practice run or not, Keaton was facing a loss every time he entered.

"You want my opinion?" John remarked.

"Go on... then" Keaton took a look at John and inhaled deeply.

"You're being too chaotic, I know you're treating this as a legitimate thing but what you're missing out on is that you need to be methodical here."

"There is a method to madness y'know."

"Yeah, it gets you chucked out by Havel or Raife."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Take a look, examine your surroundings. Take it all in."

"I'll try."

Keaton took one look at the ring, examining the positions of everyone in the ring. He established his moment and picked it, taking his time to make an entrance to the ring. Survive and conquer would be different in many ways but this provided Keaton with a chance to experiment and he had an idea for something that would work. All it took was for him to make no mistakes. Keaton walked the ring stairs and made his way to the exterior of the ring, holding onto the ropes as he did so. Havel Johnson was first to make a move, the big man had been responsible for the majority of Keaton's eliminations and was a powerful foe. Havel made his move but this time, Keaton saw it coming.

Keaton dodged the grabbing arms of Havel and delivered a shoulder thrust to him through the middle ropes, Havel keeled over as Keaton allowed himself a moment of respite. In Havel's place, two others filled the void as they made their attack. Keaton made a split-second decision and leaped to the ropes, bouncing off and delivering a springboard lariat to the both of them. Now in the centre of the ring, Keaton was a target once more. He got up quickly and begun to work an offensive run on one of the Knight triplets, whipping him into the corner. One of the others followed behind but Keaton ducked the clothesline with an almost precognitive sense sending one third of the triplets crashing into another. Havel Johnson however caught Keaton unaware and was about to lift him when he used the lift to manoeuvre his legs onto the shoulders of Havel. Keaton then leant back with as much force as he could, sending Havel crashing over the ropes for an elimination.

This wasn't the first time that Keaton had eliminated Havel but the difference between this elimination and the last was that this came from a direct move and less from a lucky escape. Keaton examined the layout of the ring once again, noting the positions of the ring residents. The difficulty of the scenario had been wearing on Keaton's physical state but his mind was ticking faster than anything he had felt for a while, Keaton felt enlightened as he once again established his surroundings and got to work.

The choices he made in the previous attempts were coming back to remind him of the outcome. Saint had experience with some of the competitors in Survive and Conquer, some of which created moments for him to team with others to push further in a joint attack. Keaton knew his choices for partnerships this year would be limited for many reasons, but if anything came up he would know to use it.

Time became irrelevant as Keaton turned to eliminate whoever he could. Two of the Knight triplets were recovering in the corner whilst the third was hanging around near the opposing corner. The unnamed women took stock of the situation whilst Raife and Richard Fleisch circled Keaton looking for an opening. Keaton took the reins of the situation and began to launch his own assault, he clawed, defended, attacked and wrestled his way into keeping himself in the ring. Keaton knew he had to continue on, he had to survive...

"STOP!" John called out to the ring.

Everyone including Keaton went to a complete halt, deep breaths became a rhythm of exhaustion as everyone remaining in the ring took a knowing glance between each other. The toll of the scenario had taken a lot of effort from everyone involved but in this one attempt Keaton had done what he set out to do.

Keaton had survived the onslaught and conquered the scenario training. It was a moment of success but it surely wouldn't be so easy at the real thing, at the real Survive and Conquer.

==========

Excerpt from The Numbers Game of Survive and Conquer
Ted Hunsinger reporting for Rhino Rasslin' Roundup

This Sunday, we once again get the chance to witness one of the biggest and most intensive matches in all of wrestling. For the uninitiated I am of course talking about Survive and Conquer, hosted by action Packed Wrestling.

For the wrestlers involved, the chance to face off against some of the absolute best in the sport is reward enough, especially considering that some of them won't have the mass market appeal that others currently hold. The prize is once again half a million US Dollars and in these times of global recession (or post-recession) that is a massive sum of money for the competitors involved. In light of that being a massive number and to move away from the usual entrant preview schtick that the other wrestling publications are covering, I've decided to look at the mathematics of some of the previous entrants in an attempt to understand just what it takes to go the distance in a match such as this. The additional benefit of this is that we can potentially establish a predicted winner, and Lord knows I'd love to get a winner on this match considering the odds Vegas are offering on this.

...Keaton Saint was involved in Survive and Conquer last year and was one of the longest lasting entrants, making his arrival as entrant #7. I can't remember the official recorded time for his stint in the match but Saint was proof that stamina is a major factor in making it to the latter stages of the match. Sources from the match last year reported that Saint was exhausted on his exit and begun to focus on his stamina training as a result, his time in Survive and Conquer highlighting the fact that Saint had only wrestled in sub-30 minute matches prior to it. This is including the Merseyside Brawl he fought in for independent promotion Premier WC in 2008.

Saint has also stated recently that his entrance at such a late stage this year spells doom for the wrestlers of Galveston Island Wrestling. Recent events have transpired between Saint and two representatives of GIW in Aspen Chaud and Alexis Terry. Saint has responded with a carpet statement, making his feelings clear. GIW as a whole are his targets upon entry and this choice from him has more importance for him than his entry number of #84.

...The further I delve into this and the more insightful I try to be, the more obvious it becomes that the numbers game in Survive and Conquer is just that, a game. Some would call it a sideshow. The truth of the matter is that Survive and Conquer is like a lot of matches in that its not about when you enter the ring but about what you do whilst you're inside the squared circle. Stamina, power, speed, skill and experience along with that most loved and hated attribute, luck. When you look at what decides a winner in Survive and Conquer you only need to look at one factor.

Who CAN win it? Who has the power to eliminate others? Who has the stamina to wrestle and then scale a cage followed by a ladder? Who is fast enough to avoid being eliminated? Who has the skill to outwit the others? Finally, who has the experience to learn from all this and invoke all that knowledge into cold, hard cash? More than anything else, your winner shall be decided by the same factors that influence every other wrestling match, the cream will rise to the top regardless of being #1, #2 or #86. Regardless of who wins the match we can be assured of one thing, the fans are in for a treat.

Now if someone has a good idea on the final four of this, I know a place in Vegas that's offering CRAZY odds on a quadcast. Hit me up at...

==========

Our Version of Events

2012, if you believe the Mayans this is the year the world ends. If that were true, this would be my last chance to Survive and Conquer. No "promises" or anything, just honesty. I have every belief that I can achieve great things in this match, I have faith that I'm a bit more than just some 'ard Londoner and I know that I can and will give it everything I have to be the victor in this match. I would believe that whether I was first, second, last or eighty-fourth.

The thing about Survive and Conquer is that is that no matter what happens, it changes you.

I feel like I'm quoting someone else there but there is some truth to it. Survive and Conquer is more than a match, most people will tell you that. Whatever changes may occur because of it play second fiddle to one true fact, Survive and Conquer sets things in motion, it STARTS things, it is the beginning of our version of events.

We're not here for some glorified happy ending, Survive and Conquer is not the end of anything for me or anyone else. This isn't a silent night for us, this beginning is loud, brash and explosive. All roads lead to Survive and Conquer and so do all roads leading away. Survive and Conquer isn't the death of anything, its the birth of new ideas, new faces in wrestling and the chance for all of us to prove we belong in this sport.

Because that is what Survive and Conquer represents, one starting point for a multitude of journeys. More than just one set of events, we all go on our own version of them. Last year, I came into this match hoping to test myself and kickstart my career from the time I had been away. One year on and I'm looking back at on what I've done, competing in the matches I have, taking the opportunities I have and becoming a better wrestler in the process. It all started from Survive and Conquer, it gave the following events depth, colour, meaning and reason. I stand here as a CWC Hardcore champion because of Survive and Conquer, it forced me to become a better wrestler.

That is the wrestler who is entering this year. The experience I gained from last year gives me something I can use in this match. I'm not someone walking into this ring blinded to the possible outcomes. I know more about what this match offers now and whilst I wasn't able to reach the final four last year, I'm more adept than most in this situation. You might ever learn to deal with the hardcore environment, but I'm ready for it and I am prepared to take on the struggle. I'm no fool, I'm not a kid and I have it in me to go beyond the rest.

I didn't enter this match to face the rest however, I came into this to approach the best in the world and compete on an equal level with them. By being one of the very last entrants I am all but certain that those who do represent the best in wrestling will pack the ring and be ready to take me on. I want it to happen, I want to stand face-to-face with wrestlers like Azrael Goeren, the man who represents the pinnacle of CWC and then be the one who throws him out and stakes my own claim. Kurt had his chance and regardless of PETA or anyone else, he's not the only one involved in this who wants to get one over on everyone's favourite German.

I'm not going to discount Kurt Noble though for the same reasons I won't discount Gates, Rebel or anyone from APW. The victory I hold over Kurt is a hollow one, hollow because of the harpies from GIW. The match itself is something I can keep close to my heart for a long time to come, respect and intensity were centre-stage from bell to bell. That gave me more information about him than any victory ever could, we went for it and created a match that meant something real for the fans. I won't discount him for the same reason I won't discount anyone else from APW, with all the recent events I know that anyone representing APW will be fired up and raring to show that this match is all about APW.

Gates and Rebel have something going on that won't end at Survive and Conquer. I have to look at last year and how Gates and myself fared to draw an example. Last year we worked together for a long time, the joint cause we had allowed us to work together for a greater cause. This year, Gates has a chance to show his own worth in the match with no allies and no assistance. I think he'll do something amazing given the chance.

I'm in a similar position although my late entry changes things by a large amount. Even so, I have to face phantoms of the past to greet the new dawn of a brighter future. I do welcome the chance to face old foes and renew something that I thought wouldn't have a chance to happen again. Level-One makes his return shackled under the weight of the Syndicate and yet I know more than most how much he wants to ram my fist down my throat. Ever since my debut in 2008 I've never let up in my beliefs that I could surpass him, making Level tap out cemented that belief and here we are years later, both of us survivors but neither of us conquerors. Level may have won this match before, but he was once the True Expert. Things changed, and as far as I'm concerned I'm the one who has improved.

He's not the only one I have history with and he's certainly not the only one I want to settle the score with. You have to go back to 2008 for my dealings with Brad Jackson and Juan Ramirez. Ramirez and I made our mark in 2008, lighting up the UK wrestling scene with power, technique and spirit. Even so, the chance to have a proper match never came up and despite us both going on separate paths we now have a chance to determine who the better man is. As for Jackson, we had one match, I took one loss and have had no chance for retribution until now. Ancient history or recent, all roads lead to Survive and Conquer.

If there is any one person you can put money on to go the distance, it has to be Terry Marvin. There are others involved in this who I have great faith in but I think most would agree with me when I say that even though he's second in the match, you can't discount the runner-up from last year. I wish I could support him as well but coming back to rip on the fans was a slap in the face to everything I try to represent. The whole reason I've been able to be known as the Patron Saint of Wrestling for so long is because the fans accepted it, they believed in me because I believed in them. It isn't just a nickname anymore, its a mantra. Terry, go the distance and come to the latter stages of this whole thing because I'm the mountain you can't climb, I am the river you cannot cross and I am the Paragon of Wrestling. Survive all you want, I'm ready to show you why the fans are the most powerful driving force in our sport.

The two harpies from GIW brought it on themselves, their mistakes shall come back to haunt them and eliminate them. I've had enough of sitting back and being the brunt of their need to be watched. I respect the idea that for a few weeks APW offers a chance for anyone from anywhere to make a name for themselves but this, this is ridiculous. The proof of this is my own reaction, interrupting my match with Noble was one thing but to actively interfere with my match with Havok is something else entirely. That need to be viewed and seen by all will be your downfall, you're both targets for it now. The fact that GIW as a whole practically acted as an accomplice set this in stone, if any of you are still there I'm coming to take you down and eliminate you. Once I'm done with you, you'll be in the front and centre watched by all, embarrassed and reflective on your loss.

By the end of this I shall not be a Broken Saint, I will remain and continue to be Keaton Saint. The Paragon, the Patron Saint of Wrestling and the one man who will put EVERYTHING on the line for this. I've faced some of the greatest wrestlers of our time and survived, I debuted against one of the most ferocious and tremendous wrestlers of all time and I survived. I began this journey as a wrestler who was apprehensive of being successful. I have no such fear of that anymore, this Saint will march into survive and Conquer and give it the absolute best he can.

All roads lead to Survive and Conquer, all my effort, skill, experience and power culminates in this match. It isn't enough to be a part of it, I have to show the world what I can do, to prove to everyone in that ring who I am.

I've survived for far too long, it is time to conquer!

[lisa]

Prelude: “I do prefer to imagine how things are, or should be, or should have been, or were, than writing a reportage of what the real world is all about. Because, truth be told, real life is incessantly boring.”

I've never done anything to appease you. Remember that.

I’m just a story waiting to be told aren’t I? Memoir ready to be quoted. Never said it would be a good, detailed, logical, mimsical-ending tale. And I certainly never said I’d be the best at telling it. However, it is MY fable, MY words and MY creative nature that will waverly bring my name into contention during this legendary event.

Halfway during Flight 872, I remembered that I had packed my Mac book in my carry on, instead of my suitcase. Since this was a longer flight, I decided to spend some time plastering my violent and erratic thoughts online.

However, somewhere in between start-up and opening a word document, I got caught in the web of Hulu. Most recently uploaded was an episode of “Criminal Minds.” As much as I hated that fucking ridiculous show (mostly because of the nightmares it left me with), the 2-minute teaser caught my intention and led me to press play on the full episode icon. I was sucked in like a teenage girl to Twilight. With ear buds cushioned inside my lobes, I extended my seat as far back as it could go and nestled into my slender window seat.

---------------------------------------------
Paranoia
_{"Man usually avoids attributing cleverness to somebody else, unless it's an enemy." - Albert Einstein}

Location: Gunnars Bar and Grill
Date/Time: Jan. 26, 1:11 A.M. Central

Nestled along the opening to the thicket of the Gunflint Trail, locals classified those in Grand Marias as being “Up North” this time of year. And when you’re less than an hour from the US/Canadian border, there isn’t much more “North” you can go. This time of year, the state of Minnesota in general, was accustomed to 4-6 feet of snow already accumulated on the hollow ground. And being that it was located right off Lake Superior, Grand Marias was prone to more of the “lake effect” snow.

In the boonies, often times there really ain’t nothing better to do at this time of day than spit shot, drink and play cards. And if one were to choose the most populated gathering place it would without a doubt be Ol’ Gunnars place.

Inside the finest establishment of this Podunk town, several older gentlemen had gathered to smoke and talk… what else… sports. Two men, one with a long gray beard unevenly shaved and another with potent breath and an old-fashion wide-brimmed hat, sat atop the only genuine wooden bar stools in the bar. Sucking on a cigar, the blonde-haired jack-of-all-trades picked up a tarnished newspaper and pointed at a black and white photo detailing a grouping of half-naked men and scantily dressed women.

“Eighty-six wrestler!”

“... Eighty six eh?”

“Yah. And a few of dem is women douncha know?”

“You don’t say... women... now really?”

“Yah. One local Minnesota broad is entered too eh.”

“Oh yah? From where’s abowt?”

“The cities.”

“Ahhh... she don’t stand a chance against those boys now do she?”

“I dunno. I would be more worried aboot these other broads.”

“Dis local gal ave a name?”

“Yah. Leeme see ere. Leesaw somethin.”

A smoke ring circled from behind the two fellas as a prime young thang, rare and unseen in these parts of town at this time of night, swiveled around in her steel bar stool and barged her way into the discussion.

“Lyon.”

The two men looked up from newspaper and greeted eyes with a fresh red rib eye that they’d most certainly be fighting scraps for later on. Perched in front of them was a model-to-ensue, the pink streaks in her blonde hair adding to the effect. To someone more… say… metro… the baggy sweatshirt and ripped jeans were hiding too much uncertainly. However, these two gentlemen didn’t seem to mind as they were jumping at the bait to primatally lower their voice and puffin up their chest.

“Lyon?” they repeated simultaneously.

“Yah... Lisa Lyon. That’s the woman wrestler you’re referring too.”

“You’s know this Lisa Lyon eh?” The blonde-haired, taller gentleman took control of the conversation.

“You betcha.” (Yes that really happened. Sarah Palin in tow.)

“Well how ya do? I’m Fred. This ere is Ernie. Soo what be your name?”

With a pause, seemingly genuinely unsure of the answer, the woman’s eyes fixiated onto the oak wood floor paneling.

“Well yah musta ave a name now dear?”

The woman remained silent. Her eyes still glued to the floor as if there were a calculus equation inscribed on it.

“You don’t sound like ye’re from the area. Where’s abowt you from hun?”

Again, she stuttered. This question seemingly more difficult than the last. “I don’t remember.”

Ernie and Fred turn to glance at one another, without showing signs of distress by the young girl’s behavior. Fred tries once more. “You don’t remember eh? You ought to be from somewhere doll?”

Almost in tears, she steadily shakes her head from side to side. Instead of water trickling out of them, she finds an inner rage, which makes it appear as if she has lost control of her mind and body completely.

“She’s a monster!” she blurts out with resistance, prepared to take a swing at whoever’s next to get in her way.

The entire bar (I say entire meaning the owner, Ernie, Fred and three other gentleman) is now in notice of the erratic behavior of the starlet.

“Who’s a monster dear?” Ernie gently asks, placing a comforting hand upon her jean-jacket-covered shoulder. She’s quick to displace it, by doing a 180 spin in place. The candlelight of the bar sparkles off the diamond gems that are purposefully placed across the back of the jacket. Read as one entity, they spell out “Lacy.”

“Lacy. Is that yur name dear?”

The title is bestowed upon the young girl like a crown to a queen. Ernie’s voice squeals in excitement as he watches the wheels start to turn in her head. It all coming back to her like some ironically timed flashback.

“Why aren’t you listening to me!? Don’t you fucking get it?” She screeches like a psychotic ex widow while pounding a fist on the countertop. Leaning in to listen intently, the gentleman in the bar, in actuality, are scanning for an exit.

“This web is her sick ideal of a game! She reels in the least suspecting souls and files through every detail of their past, before plunging her anchor deep into their heart and infecting them with her toxic appeal. She romances, enchants and intrigues them, then hits them (literally) with the grim reality of becoming an unbreakable addiction. Your pulse races, gut sinks and face... palms... (that one’s for your Ryan Rukus) as she hands you the shovel and watches you dig your own personal grave.”

Now at an utter loss of all control of her own emotions, actions and behavior, she hurdles up to the top of the stool.

“Yes, No? I don’t fucking know! Your decisions are no longer your own. The answers aren’t where you stored them. She has taken them out and never returned them to their rightful spot after toying and manipulating them. You lose all sight of your own identity and thus lose all meaning and purpose for continuing to dwell on this trifling planet. Senses are worthless as material value becomes nonsensical and inhaling anything other than white powder appears a foreign substance. Loved ones surface around your enclosed bubble and disapprove, yet those who once had the strongest impact on your life, find it impossible to penetrate the astomatous sac you find yourself trapped in yet comfortably lulled by.”

Two men take a leap of faith by scattering out the back door. Meanwhile, the owner flips the “open” sign to “closed” and appears ready for the excitement of this charade to end.

“You find yourself searching endlessly for the definition of “You.” And ponder why words similar such as “I” “myself” “me” continue to comprise your terminology. Think Cowboys and Aliens (wait what?). Are you getting this!?”

Simultaneously the three remaining gents shake their head’s “no.”

“Really…” she signals in disgust, surprised at the stereotypical ignorant, yet overly nice and trusting nature ever-present in these northerners.

“Jake was left with alien scars via experimentation. I was left with this.”

At this point don’t we all have a “WTF” look on our faces? This is SyFy after all. Stick with me. In a rush (and for the sake of running over word count), the woman whips off her jean jacket and pulls up her plain white t-shirt to reveal three, four-inch L’s scarred across her abdomen. The men appear shocked (as shocked as they can be at this point).

“The only difference between me and Jake is… he had a strange metal band that could kill aliens shackled to his wrist.” The one purple-colored and other yellow-colored eye that originally came off as exotic now appeared just cryptic and frightening.

“And I… have this.” She demands one final boost of attention, while pulling out a Jericho 941 handgun and showing it off to those sparse still in attendance at the local bar. Their “Minnesota Nice” behavior ceases as it is swung around in the air.

“Fawk. Aur you alright lady?” Ernie cries out, with an insinuating tone.

“I don’t know.” She stutters again, having no clue of which direction to take.

“You’ll have to ask Lisa Lyon.”

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

Turbulence of the plane awakens Lisa. A nearby stewardess directs all passengers to sit up straight in their seats. Seated next to Lisa is a small girl (who hadn't been sitting there before). Couldn’t be over the age of 5, who’s idiotic immature parents must have accidently booked a single seat and left the little girl by herself for the moment. Lisa exhaled, hoping this tiny one was trained not to talk to strangers.

“I’m scared.”

Guess not.

Ignoring her, Lisa re-closed her eyes and tried to rest.

“I’m scared,” she repeated in a slightly louder tone.

“Of what?” Ticked off, Lisa decided her best bet was to just “deal” with this small child.

“Crashing and dying,” she began to sob.

“Relax kid. It’s going to be fine.”

That was about the extent of her mothering side.

Breathing heavily, Lisa readjusts herself and orders a rum and coke to calm her anxiety. Nah, Lisa had no moral obligations against drinking around children.

What are you surprised? She hated flying too. Plus pre-match jitters.

What?

It’s fucking… 85 other people. World Champions. Legends. Alumni. Newcomers. APW Originals. Bubble-cumshot bitches who have an irrational hate of me. Overly energized, pent-up Jaxrabbits who are more interested in repetitively getting their cock in and around everything and anything than winning the damn match. And come on, well shit! You know what happens once they get started…

They just keep going and going and goi….

What?

You think you could do it? Go ahead, by all means! Step into the ring with 85 other people, all with different intentions, goals and ideas in mind. Each with a devolved plan and analogy of how they’re going to ”SURVIVE”

[/size] and CONQUER![/size] So where’s my symbolic story that wraps this all together? Where’s my tale of how I was left on the streets to die or how I had to do a line off a fat Italian’s ass? Where’s my moral that depicts why I am bound to be the next Beyonce or Gloria Gaynor. Ready for some irony? Haha… here it is. Seriously.

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



How Original[/i]


The Vikings horn blows and we’re off…

♪ Oh Yeah Oh Yeh Oh Yeh Oh Ca Ah Oh Yo Yeah Ya Oh Oh Yea Oh Yah! ♫

img.photobucket.com/albums/v732/cbtennismonkey07/aspenchaud.png[/img]

Host: Hello and welcome everyone. I am your host Jeff Probst and THIS IS SURVIVOR! Miami Edition. These eight superstars have come from across the country to compete in the wilderness and dangers of South Florida. They will overcome challenges and one another while coping with their surroundings all for the coveted prize of being… SOLE SURVIVOR!

We cut into a scene where the eight cast members are standing along the sandy shores of Miami Beach.

Probst: Welcome ladies and gentleman to your first challenge! Before we get started I’d like to assign you to teams. On team Survive we have The Barbie, The Champ, Grandpa T and Happy! And on team Conquer we have LLL, Lester, Goldberg’s Daughter and Donkey Punch! Everybody ready?

Cast: YEAH!

Probst: For your first team challenge you will pick two team members to compete in a “First to Blink” contest. Where the losers will be immediately sent home. Let’s get started!

We fast forward to The Barbie and The Champ standing toe to toe with Lester and Donkey Punch.

Probst: And… BEGIN!

The Champ: “This isn’t my first coming out party.”

The line causes The Barbie (his OWN team mate) to giggle, thus sending her to the sidelines. Of which she doesn’t mind, the sand has gotten under her nails. Lester remains unmoved by anything being said or the naturally goofy look on his partner’s face. The Champ goes for Donkey Punches’ eyes, but he ducks instead and kicks The Champ in the groin area. The Champ falls to the ground and obviously is wincing in pain.

Donkey Punch: “SPOOOOORRRKKKKK!! That Really Hits the Spot! HEEHAW!”

His animalistic romping around causes his serious teammate Lester to rolls his eyes.

Lester: “Man what the fuck’s wrong with you? You could chair people for life doing that type of stupid shit! Like my brother man. My brother! Don’t forget about my brother!”

In disgust, Lester stomps back in line with his team. Awaiting his return is a chick with a huge gleaming smile.

Lester: “And… What the hell’s your problem?”

Happy: “…… (she giggles to herself) I’M HAPPY!”

LLL: “Wait? Happy as in gay?” Another female bombshell proclaims with intrigue.

Goldberg’s Daughter: “I’m NOT GAY! Why does everyone think I’m gay!? Why does being gay matter? So what? I lick pussy and I suck dick. What’s fucking wrong with that!? FUCKING DAMN IT."

Grandpa T: “Alrighty then. What’s next?” (Trying to change the subject nonchalantly).

Goldberg’s Daughter: (Giving him the stank eye) YOU’RE NEXT!


AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT[/size]

Elimiated: The Champ and The Barbie

Probst: It’s now time for Tribal Council. Because Team Survivor lost today, you must choose between Happy and Grandpa T.

-Voting takes place-

Probst: And the results are in! One the votes are read the decision is final. The person will be asked to leave tribal council immediately. I will now read the votes.

Happy and Grandpa T are on the edge of their seats.

Probst: First vote… Happy. Second vote… Happy. Third person voted out of Survivor: Miami… Un-Happy. Haha…

Jeff laughs at the joke he’s made as Happy rises up and brings him the torch.

Probst: I’m sorry Happy but… the Tribe has spoken.

Elimiated: Happy

Day 39

After a rough first night, Goldberg’s Daughter and LLL developed a close and intimate relationship, thus forming an alliance. Meanwhile, Lester got eaten by Jaws and was thus eliminated.

Elimiated: Lester

Probst: “So we’re down to four already. Today will be the final challenge where the winning pair of teammates will go on to compete against each other to find out who will become the SOLE SURVIVOR. In today’s challenge it will be LLL and Grandpa T vs. Goldberg’s Daugther and Donkey Punches. Whoever stands on these 10-foot polls the longest without falling into the shark-infested waters the longest (which Lester has already been victim too), while holding hands with their teammate, will move on to the final two. ARE YOU READY SURVIVORS?”

Cast: “YES!”

LLL and Goldberg’s Daughter don’t look happy (no pun intended) to be on opposite teams here. Things start off strong, for both sides. Grandpa T’s age and feebleness seems to be getting to LLL, almost knocking her off balance several times. Meanwhile, Goldberg’s Daughter sees this and panics. Her emotions overtake her as she punches Donkey Punches in the eye. He back flips into the water, causing the their team to lose.

Probst: “OH! No! It appears that Goldberg’s Daughter has sacrificed her stance in this competition to eliminate her teammate!”

Eliminated: Goldberg’s Daughter and Donkey Punches

Before leaving the competition, Goldberg’s Daughter approaches LLL and they embrace in an over-the-top, luscious make-out session, falling onto the sand and rolling in the beach. As cheesy romance music begins to play, we hear their final words to one another.

LLL: “I’ll win this for US. I promise.”

Goldberg’s Daughter: “I’ll never leave you lover!”

FINAL TRIBAL COUNCIL[/size]

Probst: “Welcome everyone to our Final Tribal Council, where those of you who were voted out will have the opportunity to turn the tables and vote for either Grandpa T or LLL to win Survivor and the $500,000 cash prize. Before the voting commences, you both will have a turn to say your spiel and why you deserve the money. Grandpa T you’re up first!”

Grandpa T: “I’ve been relatively quiet throughout this competition. Never running my mouth or saying I’m the best. I’ve gone relatively unnoticed and weaseled my way around. Well now… THAT ALL CHANGES! I am the best. I am above you. I am immortal. I’ll shout it. I’m better than YOU, YOU and YOU. AND IF MY CAPITAL LETTERS DON’T EMPHASIZE MY GREATNESS ENOUGH, THAN THIS WILL!”

Grandpa T stands up and rips off his muscle shirt, revealing droopy skin and biker tattoos. With one foot in the air he jumps and attempts to do a donkey punch thing into the air.

Grandpa T: ♫ “I lied, I cheated, I stealed from all of you to win this $500,000 prize and be crowned sole Survivor!” ♫

Probst: “LLL… do you have any comments?”

LLL’s mouth is drawn open from the stupidity her opponent has just shown the jury. None-the-less she gets up and collects herself before addressing them.

LLL: “I plead to the jury tonight to think a little bit about APW and this match. APW is full of two things. Snakes and Rats. And at the end we have me… the snake and Grandpa T… the rat. I think we owe it to the fans to let it be in the end how Mother Nature intended. For the snake to eat the rat.”

DUN! DUN! DUN!

Probst: “And now. It’s time to vote.”

-Voting commences-

Probst: “I will now read the votes. Remember the person with the most votes tonight will win the $500,000 and be crowned sole survivor. First vote: Grandpa T. Second vote: LLL. Third Vote: Grandpa T. Fourth Vote: LLL.

Winner of Survivor: Miami: GRANDPA T!

Grandpa T jumps up and down ecstatically and poses for the cheering fans.

Probst: Grandpa T you did it! What do you have to say to all of your loyal Survivor fans?

Grandpa T: “IT’S SHOWTIME! SHOWTIME! SHOWTIME!”

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

“NO! NO! NO!”

“MA’AM!”

Shaking her empty cup of ice, the stewardess became impatient by the slow response.

“I said would you like some more?”

Lisa blinks her eyes in a daze and shakes her head “no.” Then proceeds to re-open her Mac book. Hulu was still up on the screen. No, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

“Ooo! Dexter!”

She just couldn’t help herself and clicked on the link.

A Showtime logo popped up on the screen and the boisterous sound over accompanied it.

“Its Showtime!”

“…..”

Really?

Yes Really.

Before once again relaxing back into her seat, Lisa peered over at her seatmate. The little girl still appeared petrified, holding her teddy near her tummy. Lisa smiled, amused, and re-closed her eyes.

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

The airplane hit the runway with a few bumps and pulled to a stop at its rightful gate. Lisa collected her belongings and exited through the tunnel towards the terminal.

After grabbing a quick burger from the airports nearest fast food joint, Lisa popped back down on a seat near the giant pane-glass windows. She could feel her tummy rumble from either hunger, nerves or a mix of the two while taking her first bite of the meaty goodness.

From behind she feels the cold steel shaft of a Jericho 941 pressed into the back of her neck. Whispering from directly behind her right ear, a voice mocked her.

“You’re going to die.”

Unlike most who’s life would suddenly flash before their eyes or memories of happy times would convulse them into a false sense of security... Lisa remained steady and focused. If she were to die in the coming seconds, it would be a blank-slated mind that she would leave this world with. Fear was no longer an emotion engrained in her. Neither was sadness, happiness or care for that matter. Instead, Lisa’s eyes followed the planes landing and taking off from the runway laid out in front of her. Oh how she wished she wouldn’t have had this inconvenient layover in, ironically, Atlanta of all places.

“I love you Lisa. I’m sorry.” Damn… how long had she desperately waited to hear those words? Only to have them resonate with her for this limited amount of time.

“I love you too,” Lisa replied in a prompt and calm manner.

^BOOOOOOM!

The sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the airport terminal, disturbing visitors from all around the country. She certainly had made the impact she hoped for this weekend. However, it wasn’t quite the attention she was anticipating.

It hurt to say goodbye. For a multitude of reasons. Yet, in naked truth, the presence of a “goodbye” was the best “gift” Lisa had experience in her short-spanned life.

…so far anyways…


Flight 1859 to Miami, FL took off as scheduled at 4:10 p.m. Peering out the window we watch as it gets up to speed and is guided to lift off the runway and into the free air. It elevates higher and higher into the sky before becoming a tiny black dot in the massive blue sky.

We pan down to the ring of ambulances and images of blood pouring over the white airport floor. Laid out are strands of blonde hair and a red-drenched hoodie. The handgun last propped against Lisa’s neck is now rested to the side of the scene, being placed into a vacuumed-sealed bag by an officer. Another officer grasps for the zipper of a body bag and pulls it up, sealing off a young woman’s deceased corpse.

“Name” the head investigator on the scene (who ironically looks very similar to Dexter and has the same name), asks the officer going through her possessions.

“Nothing in the purse. Only thing on her was this.” He holds out whatever is present in his hands.

As Dexter looks over the silver-clasped bracelet with the name “Lisa Loriann Lyon” engraved on it, the officer explains it’s positioning.

“She was clasping it in her right hand.”

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

“Good afternoon passengers the time is now 7:15 p.m. We will be landing in Miami in the next 15 minutes. Please stay seated throughout that time and keep your personal belongings under your seat until the plane comes to a complete stop and we’ve reached our destination. Have a wonderful stay in Miami and as always, thank you for flying Delta.”

“Did we survive?” the tiny girl sitting in the seat next to Lisa asked, removing her hands from over her eye lids.

The plane began its descent towards the ground. Lisa peered out the window and out into the bright blue ocean. It had been years since she had seen it. The waves crashed into the shore, a rippling effect. She turned to answer the girl with a wink and smile.

“Yes. We survived.”



The End[/center]

Word Count: 3,999

[› SOPHIE OLIVEIRA ‹]

---

A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE?


Pretty much every federation around the world has heard of the Survive and Conquer Battle Royal that is being held by company APW. A lot of names have registered to take place in this eighty some person match, whether you know them or never heard them in a day of your life, you never really knew what to expect and even with the ones you were very familiar with, they can always shock you. Nonetheless, Sophie really wasn’t worried about a bunch of “great” talent, because in all honesty, she was that great talent taken place in that very ring. Yeah, that’s right, the WEW Champion, along with many others, had signed up to take part of this little match. Sophie wanted to make a bigger name for herself, she wanted to get out there and make sure that everyone in the planet knew just who Sophie Oliveira was. It was time to step it up and see what other people she could defeat on her way to more success. Back in WEW, she’s pretty much defeated every single person that stepped into the ring with her. If it wasn’t losing to the former Starlet’s Champion and now current Women’s Champion, Sayge Jemson in her first ever title match, she more than likely wouldn’t entered the Battle Royal at Cyberslam and coming out the winner, thus declaring her as the number one contender for the WEW Championship. It was crazy. and seemed so unbelievable, but when the time came at Shattered Dreams, Sophie became the first ever female WEW Champion, and the first to ever challenge for it. It was a dream come true, as she won her first Championship which happened to be the biggest and main title in the company, of the Animosity brand. Sophie was the top female.

It didn’t stop there though, because after she won the Championship, she announced on the official website of World Elite Wrestling that herself and her boyfriend, Chance Rugani, were going to have a hot sex celebration. For one, who wouldn’t to see two of the hottest people, and the 2011 Couple of the Year have a sexy celebration in the ring? It was well deserved and it would definitely boost up the ratings. Of course, in the end, right when it was about to get steamy, the two fooled the crowd as they weren’t about to have their fun in front of them. It might have given them a lot of heat, but that’s exactly what they went for. Sophie really didn’t care, because she wanted to be hated by those hundred of fans. It made who she was, and if anyone had a single problem, they knew where to find her because she certainly had no issue in giving tell a lesson or two.

Aside from that, she was officially known as one of the original Starlets when these so called “New Breed” stepped in. It was herself and five others, who were also originals, taking on six New Breeds, each team having three women and three men. The New Breed tried making their marks but didn’t succeed as the teams started falling apart. The men dropped like flies why the others back out and left it to the women. Sophie wasn’t sure why Giselle aka the shadow of Sayge was the team captain, because it should of been the WEW Champion, simple as that. It doesn’t matter who called out the challenged, either way it should of been Sophie. For those who are stupid to not pay attention to the greatest company alive, Originals took home the win.

Before that, however, Sophie took on the second women to ever challenge for the WEW Championship, Ariane Chevalier. The girl one a shot after winning the first ever revolver match. Sophie defended it successfully at her first pay-per-view, Halloween X. This only lead Sophie to better things as she was able to snap the 2011 Superstar of the Year, which happened to be the biggest award of the night, and along with that she won the Couple of the Year with her boyfriend, which was no surprise.

Currently, Sophie once again, successfully defended her Championship against someone who thought they actually stood a chance at beating her, Patrick Evans. Not to mention her sister, Priscilla Oliveira, got her job as the General Manager of Animosity back and Chance Rugani, her boyfriend, was the new President of WEW. So things were definitely looking bright in Sophie’s life not that she needed them to get ahead in her career, because she does that on her own. But you know how people like to think. Such silly little children. This all now leads back to the Survive and Conquer Battle Royal, where Sophie plans on coming more successful than she already is in the ring, and bringing home the big win for World Elite Wrestling.

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

PRISCILLA BRINGS TO YOU...A WEB SHOW!
(with no real name or purpose and maybe some confessionals..totally random.)

So now that everything was official and Sophie was indeed taking part of the Survive and Conquer Battle Royal, the Brazilian beauty needed to figure a way to get herself out there. After a few minutes of thinking, herself and her sister decided that they would give a web show a try. Sure she was well aware that not everyone was going to watch it, but it was worth a shot, right? Though people not wanting to watch such an amazing and beautiful Champion such as herself, was beyond her. Now more than likely, Sophie could come up with something better than a web show, but when you’re stuck in a hotel room with your sister, there’s really not much to do. Besides, it’d be fun to mess with people and poke fun. Another reason why they couldn’t do a whole lot, was because they pretty much had everything packed up, because as soon as this Battle Royal was over with, they were heading out to Japan, where they finally get to start off their 2012 World tour.

Priscilla grabs her laptop that she had from her bag and sets it up on the dresser, turning the web came on before taking a seat next to her sister on the foot of the bed. Honestly, neither of them knew where they were going with this, but they were going to be sure to have fun, and by the end of the “show”, everyone was going to know Sophie Oliveira. Sitting herself up, Priscilla tucks her blond hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and speaking up first.

PRISCILLA OLIVEIRA
“Hello Ladies and Gents, I am the baddest bitch to in World Elite management, Priscilla Oliveira. Just let it be known, if you ever cross the line with me, I hope you have a back up job because I will be sure to not only ruin your career, but make sure it’s over with by a snap of my fingers. Now I’m not much of an interview but I think it’s best that the whole entire world knows just who my sister is. So taking the time out of busy lives, we decided to sit down and give all of you pathetic a little show. And no, not that kind of show you pervs. Anyways, without and further ado, please welcome my guest, my baby sister, and the greatest Champion of all time, right with The Hellcats of course, Sophie Oliveira! Yaaay!!”

Priscilla begins clapping her hands and cheering, while Sophie places her hands on her chest and begins to freak out, as if it was such a big deal to be on such a show with her sister.

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
“Oh my, God! I can’t believe it. Thank you so much for having me, Prissy! It means the world.”

The two laugh at the total sarcasm that just came out of Sophie’s mouth. Priscilla positions herself to where she is sitting Indian style, as she puts her hands together and rests them in her lap, as she turns her eyes toward her sister.

PRISCILLA OLIVEIRA
“Well, it is such an honor to have you on my show. Now, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What’s it like to be an amazing Champion, and slaying each and every single one of your opponents?”

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
“Where do I begin? I truly enjoy breaking all these sad, little pathetic bitches who think it’s OK to run their mouths about me, but when the time comes for them to ‘shut me up’, they fail oh so horribly. I mean, holding the WEW Championship, I feel like I’m on top of the world. We all know I’m the best Champion there is, especially to hold this one. I’m the only one who decided not to be a cry baby bitch and leave because in all actuality, I suck. I am have more talent in my pinky than any of those so called past Champions. I’m the best.”

Sophie flips her hair behind her shoulder, before carelessly shrugging them. Seriously, has anyone been able to stop her as of late? Didn't think so. Everyone on the roster needed to realize that she is better than all of them.

PRISCILLA OLIVEIRA
"So, coming up in a few short days you have this APW Battle Royal. It has over eighty people in it from different federations, and of course, different talent. So my dear sister, what made you decide to sign up?"

[/color]

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
"After beating just about everyone who's been thrown at you, you get kind of bored. I've always wanted to make it big and this could be my chance to actually get my name out there. I've already won the WEW Championship, I've won Superstar of the Year, and I got noticed with the TOS awards. Could you imagine if I won this thing? Girl, we'd never hear the end of it. I want to be that bitch."[/color]

PRISCILLA OLIVEIRA
"And the people in it? Like to be honest, I have no clue who any of those losers are. I don't think I even cared to look."[/color]

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
"Um, I've never heard of anyone either. Well, except for the people that are from WEW. We've got Vantage, Slash, Angelica, myself, and Sayge. All that I can think of at the top of my head. And as much as I HATE saying this, we have one thing in common and that is the fact that we are all Champions. So if anyone from World Elite happened to win, other than me, they would be it. But I don't see that happening because I plan on winning, so sorry to bust their bubbles. Besides, I gotta make sure I throw little Sayge over that top rope. I have to get that pay back from Free Fall to Fury. No hard feelings though."[/color]

Smirking, Sophie crosses one leg over the other as she glances down at her manicure nails. Some people worry over it, and some it doesn't affect. Sophie was one of those who didn't affect and why would it? This Brazilian beauty was set for it.

PRISCILLA OLIVEIRA
"Soph, this is boring. We really had no purpose for this. So let's just end this already. Finally words to those who are watching."[/color]

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
"Final words? Just wait and see what I'm really about when you step into that ring with me. But before we go, can I be real for a moment? Like, since this is going to be uploading and I just have to get this off my chest."

PRISCILLA OLIVEIRA
"Um, sure. It's all you."

Priscilla got up from the bed, leaving the camera on Sophie as she stood by the window and prepared herself to listen to what her sister had to say.

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
"I really want everyone to listen to me good and I mean real good. I know for a fact that majority of the people I currently work with, think I got the WEW Championship handed to me because Priscilla was the General Manager. People like to jump to conclusions on how things are unfair but no, it's all fair. These people just can't handle the fact that they suck. So do us all a favor and shut your freakin' mouths. Because if you HONESTLY had a problem with it, you would of left by now. And even if so, like anyone would really give a crap. Stop the bitching, it's not going to get you anywhere in life. Oh, but who am I kidding though? I know it's not going to stop, why? Because they have nothing better to do with their lives. I know I'm going to get it since my sister and boyfriend are in charge, and anyone else who else has anything to do with any staff member. So they're going to sit there in their mom's basement cause they can't do any better and continue to run their mouths like they know everything. Well you don't."[/color]

Sophie paused for a moment, trying to catch her breath from all the talking she currently did. Like these kids really didn't know what they were getting themselves into. Some were ruining the whole fun and purpose of being a professional wrestler and someone needed to say something and possibly do something about it. Of course Sophie wasn't going to be shy about saying anything.

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
"James Kash complained cause he lost to a girl, and ran his fat little mouth about it. What happened to him? Gone. Umm..oh, Josh Redwood. Oh my LORD, he is such a big baby! Thankfully he did us all a favor and left. Not like he was getting far anyway! Then you have these two idiotic losers aka Midstream..I mean, Jetstream and Twin K. Trying to cause chaos on Twitter like anyone really pays them any attention. Sad, sad little kids. They really have high hopes for themselves, and it's stating to slowly crash down. I can't wait for it. OH OH! Don't let me forget Keira Fisher and Angela Fortin. The two biggest lesbians of all time. They finally realized they couldn't hack it with the Elite, so Keira officially called and quits and Angela claims she injured herself, refusing to really even come back. Not that it'll hurt our feelings if she doesn't. I don't see what any of these people's problem is. For the fact that we have the best management of all time, and this is coming from me. I don't give out much compliments. But you know what, it's all find and dandy. Go be a bitch somewhere else, you won't get far there either. So adios.. Sayonar. Au revior. Adeus. Hasta la vista. GOODBYE! You are all just a waste of breath anyway. I hope you all have a miserable future ahead of you."[/color]

Laughing a bit, Sophie shook her head and rolled her eyes.

SOPHIE OLIVEIRA
"Why am I even wasting my time? They won't ever learn. But I do hope you all happen to come across this APW Battle Royal. I want all of you to watch me win this bad boy like the top, bad bitch that I am."[/color]

With that being said, Sophie nodded her head signaling for Priscilla to shut of the cam and close the laptop. Sophie felt like she could of gotten more out of her chest, but figured she could save the rest for later on. Right now, she was starving and wanted to grab a bite to eat before getting her much needed beauty sleep. The two grabbed their things and headed out the door. The closing door only meant one thing, the scene had officially ended.

[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/center]

---

word count

[/b] 2589
status[/b] complete!
tag[/b] the bunches of people in this motha.
clothing[/b] eh casual wear
notes[/b] um, i apologize for my RP being random as eff. lol. got carried away and slacked off. just didn't want to no show! ^_^
credits[/b] .duchess. of caution 2.0? made this. steal it and i steal your spleen[/color][/font][/right][/size]

[T-Marv]

The roar of the crowd is deafening, even to the exhausted soul who just battled his ass off in the most grueling match of his career. The rungs of the steel ladder in front of him blur with the sweat dripping from his eyes.

Three Rungs

He reaches up, but his hands fall a few inches short. Those inches might as well be miles at this point. All the noise around him fades to nothing. The crowd all fades to the background. It is just Terry, The Briefcase, and a large hunk of steel in-between.

Four Rungs

The feel of the briefcase is cold but satisfying against his fingers as the tips graze the holy grail that represents his solidified role as the greatest of all time. His arms stretch out as far as they can reach. But to Terry’s dismay, they’re not quite close enough. A sigh of disappointment escapes his lips as he realizes he has to climb one more rung. Exhausted, he does so.

Fifth Rung

Finally, there is nothing stopping him. He reaches up, his hands ever closer to the top of the briefcase ready to unlatch it and claim his prize. As his hands reach out, the briefcase moves further away, as if in slow motion. He continues to reach, but the case moves further and further away. He then focuses his eyes on the crowd around him and came to realize that they were moving as well.

Terry looked down to see Ryan Ruckus shoving the Ladder that he was standing on. At this moment, all the hopes and dreams that Terry was holding on to, the glory he was striving for was RIPPED out of him like a witchdoctor yanking his still beating heart out of his chest. Fear overwhelmed him, fear of going on being irrelevant, of never achieving his goal of worldwide recognition.

Terry loses grip on the ladder and is staring at the rafters as they fade further and further away. Without that briefcase, without that which he’s busted his ass and done everything he could possibly do to achieve, his life isn’t worth living anyways.

His body convulses as he crashes through the table, splinters of wood flying in every direction. Blood pours from all over his body. It’s over, all his hopes and dreams…they’re all over. The loud sound of his own heart beating is all he can hear as his vision blurs from the pain shooting up his back, through his entire body. His breathing slows and becomes more and more shallow. “This is how it ends? After everything, my life ends in obscurity?”

The sound of his heart beat slows.

His breathing is almost non existent

His eyes roll back in his head and stare blankly ahead, lifeless.

One last loud thump of the heart sounds off, Then silence.

---

Terry’s eyes pop open and his body shakes with a start. There is a bright radient light all around him and an intense burning in his eyes and on his body which forces him to quickly close them again.

Just a Dream….One of many I’ve had the past year since Survive and Conquer 2011. It’s a haunting reminder of how damn close I was….within inches…of being the one who’s name went down in history books. I never got over that disappointment, never was able to deal with that anguish of having everything right there and then ripped away from me in a manner that was completely out of my control. Crashing through that table was the equivalent of being tossed out of heaven and plummeting down straight to the fiery pits of hell!

Terry reaches down to push himself up, but his hands don’t feel the soft cushion of his bed. Instead they sink down into a grainy texture, and keep sinking further and further. Terry rips his hands out quickly and opens his eyes, fighting through the pain and heat of the sun blaring down on him.

The Sun? Am I outside? Is this another dream?

His eyes focus finally and when they do, he leans up a bit and looks around seeing nothing but blue skies and horizon for miles and miles. When he turns his head, he sees the same thing in every direction. He looks down at the grainy material surrounding him and realizes that It’s a gritty sand mixed with dirt

Obviously this IS another dream…..right?

He slaps himself in the face and instantly whinces from the pain. His face turns into one of intense terror and realization when the fact hits him that this is no dream! He grasps at his throat realizing that it’s burning with an intense craving for cold refreshing liquid. He searches frantically all over his body, and finally his hands connect with an object. He smiles as he pulls out a canteen, and kisses the side of it before quickly unscrewing the cap and tipping the canteen all the way up. His desperation grows as not a single drop of water falls into his ever waiting mouth. In frustration and almost defeat, he throws the canteen down, determined to just lie here in the sand and wait for the ever looming death to find him.

”That’s right, just give up and quit. Isn’t that what you do when things don’t go your way? Isn’t that what you did to me, to APW, to all your fans? QUIT!”

Terry spins around to the sound of the voice and sees a blured vision of President Jeff standing there. Feeling that something was fishy, he reached out at the image and his hand passed right through.

”You’re not real.”

”Oh, I’m as real as you are. I’m a part of your brain dumbass. I’m telling you things you already know. ”

Terry shakes his head and the image evaporates into thin air. After all, it was right. Terry was a quitter, gave up on everything when it didn’t go his way. It happened with women, happened with his daughter, and happened with wrestling. When things got tough, he just gave up.

Determined not to repeat history, he picks himself up and dusts himself off. He turns around one more time, looking for any landmark or recognizable object to point him in the right direction. A couple hundred feet away he sees a wooden post with a plank nailed on it sticking. He approaches it cautiously, hoping that it’s not just another mirage.

“DESERT OF DESTINY: Mile 2 out of 86
Can you SURVIVE AND CONQUER?”

A loud sigh escapes his lips as he struggles to continue on. Thirsty, enflamed, and exhausted, Terry tries to mentally prepare himself for the journey. He walks, putting one foot in front of another and slowly keeping himself mobile. After just a couple hundred feet, another mirage joins him. The sight of this figure makes Terry’s heart sink further into his chest. He recognizes the drugged out freak as his own daughter.

”You know you’re going to fail right? You fail at everything. Your wrestling career is the only thing you were even halfway successful at, and when you try to step things up to the next level, you crashed and burned. You will never be a national success. When things get tough, when everything is on the line, you just can’t hack it. Look at me, your own daughter. Being a parent was all great and well when I was the perfect little innocent girl you always wanted me to be. But when I got in trouble, when my life got out of hand…you failed me and TOOK OFF!”

The image dissipates and Terry stops in his tracks,

Was she right? Did I let her fall into that whole? Was there something I could have done, something I could have said? All this time I just wrote her off as being a piece of shit person, but in reality, I had to have some sort of control over what kind of person she really became right? Should I just quit right now? I mean, we both know how this is going to end right? I’m going to fall short, going to get right to the end and give out, cause I can never finish.

Terry’s feet stick in the sand, his body no longer willing to push on. His arms sag in defeat. It seems like time to give up, but something in Terry’s brain snaps at that moment.

NO! If I give up now, if I prove her right, then I’m just letting my name go down in history as the man who came closest, the man who excelled until he just couldn’t finish! My little whore of a daughter will not be the voice that resigns me to my fate. I will make it through this time. I will make it to my DESTINY!

Terry keeps walking and walking and walking. He keeps moving even though his brain has blocked everything out, and it’s questionable how conscious he really is.

Mile Marker: 19

He stops as a sight just ahead brings a pleasing thought to his brain and causes his mouth to cry out even louder. He sees the bluest, clearest pool of water he’s ever seen in his life. This oasis in the middle of the desert may be his savior. He collapses in joy as he has to crawl on his hands and knees the last few feet toward this heavenly sight. He gets to the pool, says a silent thank you to God, and plunges his hand down into the water…

The deepest depression he’s ever felt in his life washes over him as his hand hits NOT cold refreshing water, but plummets into the oh so familiar feel of sand. The oasis disappears, proving to be yet another mirage. His head falls into the sand as he just lays there, finally giving into his fate. He’s done….. But shrill and unforgiving laughter can be heard. Terry looks up and sees yet another familiar face blurring out of the sand. It is the ghostly image of Sally Talfourd, smiling down on him.

”Aww, isn’t this precious? Poor little Terry Marvin has lost his way like so many have before him. Now he just waits for the welcome embrace of death to rescue you from this hell. Well, let me tell you something Terry, there is no rescue. You said, before our match a long year ago, that you wanted to make your mark on this world. Well you have, and it’s a BLACK shit stain of a mark…one of despair and a stench of failure. One that I helped create when I embarrassed your ass in the middle of that ring. Just stay down, just lie there, just lose….after all, that’s what you do best!”

”It’s funny, as those words really should make me want to curl up into a ball and sweat to death. But coming from you, all I really want to do is get up and slap the cocky taste out of your fucking mouth. You may be the most successful APW champion in history, but you really have no room to talk about quitting and walking away do you? You accomplished everything you wanted, then just dumped the APW and rode off to greener pastures. Well good on you, guess it’s more heroic to suck APW dry for a year before abandoning them than to come short of your dreams . You used APW like your own personal tampon then tossed them away when they stopped working for you. You’re the same as me Sally, with one difference being that my come back will actually MEAN something. You will be one and done, a little quickie at the end of the day. Unfortunately, the fans will NOT be treated to a happy ending.

Terry picks himself up and continues moving forward, ignoring the fading image of Sally, who disappears with a look of disdain on her face. Terry keeps walking, the background fading away and the goal becoming clearer and clearer in his mind. Miles fade away like nothing.

Mile Marker: 31

Out of the sand, a wind stirs up wrapping around him, blowing sand and dust into his eye causing him to shield himself with his arms. As the dust settles and Terry slowly lowers his arm, he sees the form of APW Undisputed Champion CJ Gates materialize in the dust.

”Well, Well, Well. Look what the cat drug in. Remember me Terry? A lot has changed in my life since you washed away into nothing! See this title! I am the KING of APW right now, and you, the self professed Real Show are staring up from the bottom of the barrel just wishing you could be me! In case you haven’t noticed, this is my world, my time. You’re just a sad memory. I was there with you in the final four last year. This year, you will NOT SURVIVE!”

Terry just laughs at this.

”Well whoop-dee-doo! You claimed the top prize after EVERYONE ELSE dropped off the face of the earth! I chose now, I chose here to come back because I knew that there would be the BEST OF THE BEST in my way! I don’t want to win on a technicality; I want to beat EVERYONE, including an undeserving champion such as you! When I get out of this desert, when I reach my destiny, I PRAY that your face is the one I see on the other side, cause it will give me no greater pleasure in the world to show everyone that CJ Gates is a Champion by Default, and the REAL SHOW is his better in every way possible!"

Terry walks right through the image of CJ Gates. He walks, faster, harder and with more focus than ever. The thirst nags at him; the exhaustion makes him want to just fall down and sleep. His body is giving out, but his mind, his soul; HIS HEART is driving him on and on and on! But out of nowhere, a familiar voice is heard.

”Where do you think you’re going?”

Terry turns around and sees the translucent image of Ryan Ruckus with the same shit eating smirk looking down on him as he had that fateful night last January!

”Good job! You’ve made it far, very far. You’re so close that you can almost taste it can’t ya? Remember what happened last year when you got that close? Do you remember me taking the advantage and THROWING your ass off a cage and through a table? You really think you can make it this year? There are twice as many people and way more talent! You’re doomed my old friend.”

”And you’re a coward! You and I beat the hell out of each other last year and I respected the hell out of you for it. But then what happened? You got handed, on a silver platter, a shot at the APW championship and you FUCKED UP! Then you ran away with your tail between your legs and you don’t even have the balls to come back and defend your massive victory! It’s really too bad you’re not here this year. I would love nothing more than to cut you down before reaching that pinnacle I’ve been striving for. Get the fuck out of here Ryan and enjoy your Metamucil and social security checks. Leave the bullshit and the trash talk to those with the resolve to keep coming back time and time again, to keep chasing their dreams.”

Terry ignores a pissed off Ruckus who continues to yell at him as he walks away! Terry smiles now, smelling the victory in front of him, smelling his destiny and imagining that sweet taste on his pallet More blurs fly by him, and it’s like he’s now walking on air, just zooming past everyone.

MILE MARKER 86

Those are the sweetest words he’s ever read. He lets out a deep sigh as off in the distance he sees a briefcase that seems to be floating in mid air. He takes the one of the last steps of his journey, only to be blocked as the sand rises out of the ground into a huge blockading wall. One particular column steps out of the massive obstruction. This form fades into that of Seth Black, the last entrant into this year’s Survive and Conquer. He’s joined by Scott Matthews, the #1 entrant. Behind them, the huge blockade takes on the blurry forms that appear to be members of GIW, then Pheonix Wrestling, then every other representative outside of APW stands there, seemingly blocking Terry’s path to his destiny. They all look like they’re ready for a fight!

” I was hoping to run into you guys. You invading pieces of shit talk a good game, interrupt operations on overdrive and Assylum, and spurt off at the mouth about how you’re going to PUT US DOWN in our own house, embarrass us! You forgot something very important…. This is AP FUCKING W! We don’t get embarrassed…. I DON’T GET EMBARRASSED. I don’t care WHAT kind of accolades you have in your shitty hole in the wall feds, this is the fucking big time. There is not a face in this crowd that could stand up for ONE SECOND to the best that APW has to offer. I will love beating Level One, Sally, CJ, Dynamo, Saint, Rebel…..BUT I WILL TAKE THE MOST PRIDE in outlasting each one of you. Fuck you outsiders…….I AM THE SOLE SURVIVOR!!!!!”

His last words are shouted at the top of his lungs shattering the mirage images into little grains of sand as they all fall to the floor clearing the way for Terry.

He approaches the briefcase, each step garnering more and more hope. As he gets there, he stops, reveling at the sight in front of him. He reaches out for it, but his hand goes right through. “ANOTHER MIRAGE” he thinks, but this time he doesn’t see just desert in front of him. The scene turns into The front steps of the American Airlines Arena in Miami Florida, the sight of Survive and Conquer 2012. He smiles and makes his way up the steps. He turns to face us now and smirks.

” SURVIVE AND CONQUER! The match could make a career, could push you into super stardom, could cement your name on the fucking map! However, this is the kind of match that could haunt you for years and years to come should everything go wrong. It’s the kind of match that you could relive over, and over, and over, just wondering what you could have done differently, what you could have done better. That has been the last year of my life, living in the hell of my memories and squandering my career with my regrets. Finishing second in a match like this is a hell of an achievement….BUT ITS NOT FUCKING ENOUGH! Not for me, not for GOD’s GIFT TO WRESTLING! I deserve more, my illustrious career deserves more! That’s why this year, as I step in as the number two participant in this probably 2 plus hour long match, nothing…. NOT A GOD DAMN THING will be good enough for me other than winning the whole damn thing.

I’m sure you sit there and think it’s impossible, for me to outlast 85 other wrestlers. But I’ve made a GOD damn career out of doing the impossible. Nobody thought it was possible for me to make the final four last year, nobody thought it was possible for me to defeat Level One….but all that was accomplished. The thing about all my achievements…you morons out there watching in TV land have YET to see me at my best. I’ve yet to LET you see me at my best. Hell none of you deserve it, nobody in the locker room deserves it. But there is one person in this world who has stood beside me, who has always had my back, and who has NEVER given up on me even when things looked the bleakest. Who is this person you ask? Who is it that has always been my cheering section?”

Terry looks around and smiles confidently at the camera as he sticks his thumbs up and points them right back at himself.

” That’s right… good old number one! After everything I’ve been through in my life, in my career, I owe it to myself to step into this hellacious match, and not stop until I either stop breathing, or have climbed to the very top of that ladder standing miles above that sacred ring of ours with that black briefcase in my hand and the announcer screaming ‘YOUR 2012 SURVIVE AND CONQUER WINNER…..THE REAL SHOW TERRY MARVIN!’ Walking into the match last year, I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into. I didn’t scout all the talent, didn’t care about who I went head to head with. I was an egotistical prick who thought that nobody on this earth could knock me down a peg or two. Well, this year, I’m still an egotistical prick, but I’m an egotistical prick who’s done his fucking homework and knows exactly who he’s stepping in that ring with. And I’m an egotistical prick who will stop at NOTHING to take home this glory! Cut my legs off, I’ll defeat you on stumps. Rip my arms off, I’ll kick your teeth in and walk on your grave. If you want to win S&C this year, I hope you’re listening close, you’ll have to END MY LIFE. Now I know there’s a lot of assholes in this match who would love to see me rotting 6 feet under, but there isn’t a single one of them with the gull to burry me. I’m the mother fucking king of survival…been doing it my whole career. This year, I solidify that claim by breaking the hearts and ripping out the dreams of 85 other sad souls who didn’t have the brains to realize that this is the YEAR OF THE REAL SHOW!

I don’t give a shit if you’re the Simcoe Fucktard champion of the world. I don’t care if you’re the GIW king of underachievers. I could give TWO FUCKS LESS if you’re the Pheonix ‘nobody gives a shit about me’ Champion of the universe. And if you’re the Top fucking dog of BUM FUCK WRESTLING…. GO FUCK YOURSELF, you’re less important to me than the microscopic piece of toilet paper sticking to the hairs on my ass! Hell, I have nothing but grudging respect for people like Johnny Rebel, the APW overdrive champion and CJ Gates the Undisputed APW champion, but I don’t see them as the top echelon of APW. I see them merely as another obstical for me to CUT through on my way to solidifying my name in the history books! I hope All 85 of you bring your ‘A’ game, come into the ring and go right after me, doing everything your pathetic excuse for a body and extending your very limited talent pool to try to eliminate the GREATEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO WRESTLING! Because if you hold back and I sneeze your asses over the top rope, I’m going to be very disappointed. I would much rather show the world that on my worst day, after exhausting myself through 85 walking Wastes of human space, that I’m still Superior in every single way to the rest of you clueless lowlifes who have just cowered to my radiance!

January 29th 2012, while the NFL All Stars are soaking up the sun in Hawaii, the only Wrestling All Star worth worrying about will be taking his considerable talents to south beach. Unlike Lebron, when EVERYTHING is on the line, there will be no choking from one TERRY MARVIN.

As for everyone else…..

I will SURVIVE …… You will be CONQUERED…..

I WILL CLAIM MY DESTINY!

It’s Showtime!!!”





-----------------------------
Word Count: 3999 according to word

[hightide]

A Little Pep Talk Never Hurt Anyone


“You can't seriously still be thinking about getting into the ring at Survive and Conquer! Seriously John look at your hand! Crazy Boy really took advantage of it getting tied up in the ropes! I mean you are back in the title hunt, you really need to be focusing on that!” spoke a young blonde girl. Physically attractive and carrying an attitude that could match even the meanest competitor's in the ring, Chelsea was everything John could have hoped for in a manager. The one downside however was that since the two had gotten together romantically, Chelsea had become a lot more protective of him.

“Arr ye kidding me? Me hand is fine. Didn't ye see me take it to Andy and that religious freak Usali right after? I nearly took their heads off with that double clothesline!” John “High Tide” Reese replied, flexing his biceps to back up his point. It was true, he had just lost his title at Trauma 106, but that was only because his hand had gotten caught in the ropes, leaving him at the mercy of Crazy Boy. Not that he was using it as an excuse, as he may well have lost anyways, but he would never know.

“If your hand was so fine, you'd have won your match, or am I wrong? Maybe you were just out-wrestled, did that ever cross your mind?” the quick witted Chelsea snapped, starting to lose her temper with him. Sometimes she didn't know why she had agreed to be his manager; no other manager had to deal with a drunken delusional pirate on a regular basis.

“Watch yerself. Me hand is fine now, but there's not much I can do if it gets caught up in something. I never said I could fight 'em with me hand behind me back. I know I'm not the best, but I be knowing damn well I can beat Crazy Boy in a match any day of the week. Unless thing's go horribly wrong, and you should know that too,” he responded quickly, and she shook her head dejectedly. There was no talking any sense into this man she knew that well.

“Besides, did ye hear? The loot on this thing is half o' million dollars! I could buy me own ship with that kind of money! All I have to do is come out on top, and the treasure is mine!” John laughed, and Chelsea could only wonder if it was the drugs or the alcohol that had messed him up so badly. Still, that was her man standing there and she needed to be behind him, whether she thought he was going to win or not.

“Alright well if you're going to go compete in this match, than I'm behind you. You are PCW's brightest up and coming star. You've held a title, in one of the most competitive divisions. Sure you don't have that title right now, but like you said, there's not much you can do when your hand get's caught up in the ropes. All you can do is just go out there, and do what you do best. Win. This is your big break Tide. This is the equivalent to being called to Broadway, if you were still in the acting business. This is your shot to win big. Treasure's beyond your wildest dreams, and then some. All you have to do is walk out of there on top, and it's all yours,” she spoke, seeming to entrance John with her soft words and promises of grandeur.

“Ye know I'm going in there giving it all I got. This match is me stage, and I'm going to put on a show like they've never seen before. I'll become a household name. Ye'll be seeing “High Tide Rum” circulated within the year. “High Tide Rum, when life gets ya low, High Tide's got your solution.” I can see it now, fame, fortune, and free rum for me entire life! I'm going ta go out there and kick some ass! I think I need me a few drinks though,” High Tide replied, rummaging underneath his bed where one of his many secret stashes of rum were kept. He ignored the look of disapproval from Chelsea and proceeded to down a quarter of the bottle, shivering as he did so.

“Do you really need to drink the night before your match?” Chelsea asked, growing impatient with the Rated “Aaargh!” Superstar. She didn't know a single other wrestler who drank as much as he did, and somehow still managed to perform exceptionally well in the ring.

High Tide's eyes opened to their full extent, an incredulous look on his face. “Let me see. Not only do I have me regular match at Trauma, but in case ye forgot, I'm in this little match. Ye know, APW's Survive and Conquer. More men in a match than ye could shake a stick at. If I manage ta make it to the end, I'll be one god damned tired swashbuckler. Only ta have to fight at Trauma if I have any hope of reclaiming me title in the future,” he replied, still not quite sure if she realized who she had asked the question.

“Aye, I think I'll be needing a few drinks.”

[ELIZA GRAY]

(ENOUGH GAMES. BACK ON MY OLD GRIND. UNIVERSAL CHAMPION LOOK OUT. WEW CHAMPION LOOK OUT. STARLET CHAMPION LOOK OUT.)

[glow=pink,2,300]Introduction-

World Elite Wrestling Federation sure was making a name for itself. Recently some stars and starlets of WEW made a huge impact in The Other Side with Catelyn Vaine taking home rookie of the year and other WEW greats bringing home good rankings like Sayge Jemson ranking fifth overall in her first appearance on the show. The Other Side had an awards show, or something for the women of professional wrestling. The Action Packed Wrestling battle royal was next on WEW's list. Big WEW names such as Sayge Jemson, Sophie Oliveira, SM Raye, Vantage, Angelica Monroe and last but not least, Eliza Gray, signed up for that battle royal. Elizabeth had her own reason for signing up. Most people want the championship shot that came along with a win or lasting long in the battle royal but Eliza wanted to let other Federations know that the Stars of WEW were not a joke and that they were there to WIN.

SCENE 1- Recipe for Victory

So Eliza Gray lost her starlets championship at World Elite Wrestling's Winter Warzone. For the first time in Elizabeth's Career she didn't care. She just didn't have that type of bitchy fire anymore. But the starlet championship wasn't important this week, Elizabeth had to prepare for the Action Packed Wrestling battle royal. This was going to be Eliza's first ever over the top rope type of deal. People kept forgetting that Elizabeth could be called a youngling or newbie to the wrestling business but due to her rapid championship victories it seemed like she was a seasoned veteran in the business. Well Elizabeth was tired of being called a fluke, she was done bitching at everything that moved, and she wanted to do good in the battle royal to prove that she had something. That she could do something good for the company that made her big.

Eliza felt mixed emotions going into the battle royal, she decided to cook something. Cooking always took Eliza's mind off things. Baking a chocolate cake would do the trick! The blonde stood in her kitchen doing this was going to make her forget about her Winter Warzone match and force her to look ahead to the future because doing well in the battle royal would put her right back into a championship picture. Looking up Eliza reached for the cake mix, while reaching up a bottle of salt fell out of her Ithaca home cabinet. That salt falling forced her to think of what her friends and co-workers would think if she got thrown out of the battle royal early. As a former two time champion she knew they expected big things from her. All of this ran through Eliza's head and her eyes became watery. It was alot of pressure for someone so young and new to the business. That was the beautiful thing about being home. No one was there to see you cry or call you soft. Eliza let a soft squeak out before wiping the tears away. Moving faster she grabbed hold of the cake mix box. The emotions. All of them coming down on Elizabeth at once, it felt as if someone took a knife and stabbed her square in the heart with it. Felicia Johnson ruined Eliza, made her an emotional wreck after losing her starlet championship. But the blonde worked very hard to put those emotions to the side but who could do that after losing a championship? Pulling the cake box down very slowly she took a look at it.



Baking made Eliza feel good, she didn't know why but something about baking was soothing. It made her feel better inside, and less like trash. Turning around Eliza walked up to her refrigerator to pull some ingredients out. Turning back she looked at her bowl she planned to use to mix everything in. Looking at the eggs she pulled two closer to her.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"Let us just call these eggs the foundation of my success. My soon to be success that is heehee. The APW battle royal. The eggs are the foundation, that foundation being my ability to survive in an over the top rope situation."

Saying these things, Eliza really wanted to think she could last long but her in ring skills were that of a new wrestler. She stole her first two titles, plain and simple. But that was all behind Eliza. New year, new Elizabeth. Cracking the eggs with her hands she let them plop inside of the bowl. Baking did calm Eliza down some but this was the life of a wrestler. Winter Warzone AND the APW battle royal were still on her mind. Getting back at Angelica Monroe and Felicia Johnson, STILL on her mind. But Eliza felt a sudden warmth while cooking. Like none of that mattered then. After taking a few deep breaths eliza went back to cooking trying to push Winter Warzone out of her head more. Lifting a gallon of milk up with both of her hands she poured three fourths of a cup inside of the bowl. The milk made her think of something else that connected with the APW Battle Royal.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"We'll call this milk my ability to eliminate people from the ring during the battle Royal. Of course most of you think i wouldn't be able to do that, right? I mean you do have every right to think I will be thrown out early but here is the sad part, It's not going to happen like that. I predict myself making it to the last ten, or even the last TWO people left standing inside of that ring. Let us take one more step. I predict myself WINNING the battle royal for World Elite Wrestling and getting a shot at the WEW Championship in the process. Oh? What if I obtain a shot at the WEW championship?"

Eliza was talking to pretend fans, thinking of what she would say in a Promo. The blond started to call herself crazy but it was all part of the business. While doing this fake promo Elizabeth felt very confident. Like she could actually do it, pick up the win for World Elite Wrestling. The blond could visualize the win now and the headlines she'd make for WEW and in other federations. It felt so good, It forced the blond to smile wide.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"If I, Eliza Gray, were to win the match or be one of the last ten and obtain a chance to wrestle for the WEW Championship....Then.....I'll.....Obtain IT."

After saying that Eliza felt a surge of doubt, how could she ever be World Championship material? She couldn't even retain her championship against Isis de la Cruz. How in the world did she plan on ever winning anything above a mid card or women's championship? That surge of doubt was too much to ignore, she began to sweat. Dropping her big spoon out of her left hand Eliza began to clutch her head with both of her hands and take more deep breaths.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"Why would you ever want to wrestle the woman who trained you Eliza? That's what some people would ask me. Me and Sophie were in a match ONE time and I was on the losing end THAT time. But recently I had to learn there are no friends in the wrestling business. And I had to learn that the hard way. So yes, IF I get a chance to wrestle for the WEW Championship.....I....I...."



An image of Sophie Oliveira's face popped into Eliza's head. Everytime Eliza saw her trainer she felt emotions like Fear, envy, and the desire to be like her. That image was enough to stop Eliza dead in her tracks. She wasn't some super wrestler who feared nothing. Eliza knew deep down that she'd be afraid to go up to Sophie face to face inside the ring again. But telling herself she could made her feel better.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"I'll take it from her. That's if she's still champion by the time I cash in my shot."

The blond already had it set in her head that she'd be walking out with a shot to a major championship. There was no doubt about it. She's seen some of the wrestlers that signed up for the APW battle royal and she wasn't impressed at all. Eliza's right hand slides over to her big cooking spoon again and lifts it up.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"Let us call the flour the ability for me, Eliza Gray, to keep it together inside of the ring in order to survive. I NEED to remember that Angelica Monroe is in that very match up. The woman who deprived me of my WEW Starlet Championship and I know for a FACT......... Felicia Johnson is going to accompany her to the ring. If I knew any better I'd say they'll try to cheat me out of success once again. Felicia has made it her PERSONAL mission to make my life what they call....a living hell. Feeding me false information about people I consider to be my friend in this business. Making me become that emotional and unstable wreck but no more....I....I just can't take that anymore and it will never happen again."

Yet another thing Elizabeth says but can't be so sure about. She wanted to think she could stop Felicia and Angelica but the past weeks have proven that Eliza is their toy. They messed with BOTH her championship reigns and made Eliza want to even kill herself at one point or hurt herself. Those two truely were a force to be reckoned with. If Elizabeth had her way they wouldn't even be in the APW battle royal but unfortunately they are. Reaching back over to her list she searches for the next part of her masterpiece chocolate cake. The blonde grabs some sugar and pours a single cup of sugar into her bowl. This was actually working. Somehow BAKING gave Eliza some confidence going into the APW battle royal, she wasn't sure how it was happening but she wasn't going to complain.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"Suger. Oh sweet suger, something i don't add to my meals. To be honest i bake cakes for comfort, not eat them. I might just throw this one away. But on to the point, suger represents the feeling I'll get if I'm able to get a shot at a title like the Universal title or the WEW title. Suger....sweet....mhmmm all after i either win or do great in that APW battle royal."

This one wasn't that bad, Eliza didn't have ALL the confidence she had when she won her first starlet championship because reality set in and she understood that she needed to get better in order to get far in the wrestling business. It was just a working progress to Eliza.

The blonde started to mix some of these up before stopping randomly and wandering off to her living room to plop on the couch and be lazy. The blonde lifts her Iphone and notices Lluvia tweeting her and asking her to travel. Eliza was happy to oblige. The blond saw this as another way to get away, Lluvia Luna spoke about having horses. Eliza has never been on a horse in her entire life so that was going to be something very new to her and it made her feel funny inside. Thoughts ran through her head, she wondered if the horse would back kick her or throw her off. All of her questions would have to wait until she got to Lluvia's place.

SCENE TWO- CITY GIRL GONE COUNTRY CRAZY

Laredo, Texas, it was an interesting place. NEW to Eliza Gray who was pretty much a city girl. Lluvia was one of Winter Warzone's crown winners, the other being Lexi Williams. Monday Lluvia and Lexi were going to clash to decide who was going to be named the undisputed Miss WEW and recieve a shot to a women's championship. Elizabeth already knew Lluvia was taking the crown home.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"It's really nice out here, the end result will be the sun killing me but it's beautiful. I'll die in a beautiful town."

“LAST MADONNA CHAMPION <3 LLUVIA LUNA”

"I know it is. Well i'll show you the horses now. Peaceful night rides are fun."

Eliza still wasn't so sure about riding a horse, it didn't sound too safe but then again. Was anything Eliza did safe? The blonde decided to give it a go anyway. Lluvia walked Eliza over to the horses and placed her hand on one of them. Showing Eliza the horse that she'd be riding.



“FUTURE MISS WEW CROWN WINNER <3 LLUVIA LUNA”

"This one is harmless, I'll set you up with him. If he gets hungry feed him the apples in your bag."

Eliza nods again and climbs on top of the horse. Lluvia walks inside of her house. Eliza knew she's been through some problems recently so she didn't want to bother her alot. Eliza could feel the horse breathing under her. It was amazing, she's never done anything like that in the city. It made Eliza smile. It was pretty dark outside and the ride is exactly what Lluvia said it would be, peaceful. In that very moment Eliza forgot about every thing else and just let go. The blond couldn't get rid of the smile on her face.

After the long ride Eliza got off in front of a store, she wanted a smoke. Patting the horse on his back Eliza reaches into her side bag and lifts an apple to the horse's mouth, he chews and Eliza walks into the store. Walking up to the counter Eliza sighs before the man instantly says

MAN "You're that Eliza Gray girl! The girl who got lucky winning the WEW starlet championship twice!!!!!! You have some luck with you. Let me have some?"

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"Oh my god. I had no idea fans were here too. Please fan, let us not do this. I......I just want to purchase a pack-"

MAN "No NO wait, how does it feel to know you're letting Sophie Oliveira down? If I were her I'd be pissed with you. I mean, look at Sayge Jemson and Catelyn Vaine and then look at yourself. Do you really think you make Sophie proud?"

Eliza instantly felt heart broken, so much for a peaceful trip to the store. That's what she gets for working for World Elite Wrestling. That thought crossed Eliza's mind multiple times, Catelyn hasn't lost a singles match yet and SHE was losing titles to people like Isis de la cruz and Angelica Monroe. Sophie had every right to be disappointed in Elizabeth. Compared to Catelyn Eliza was a failure. Tears just escaped Eliza's eyes, they flowed fast the store manager just watches.

MAN "I didn't know you'd cry like that, now I know what they mean when they say the truth hurts."

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"JUST GIVE ME MY PACK!!"

The man hands Eliza the pack of cigarettes and she pulls one out right in front of him. The blonde lights it and inhales before crying more. Every emotion came back, she WAS a failure and she DID disappoint Sophie Oliveira. Eliza didn't want Sophie to think she wasted her time training Eliza. The store manager opened his mouth to say something else but Eliza lifts her hand up and stops him.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"The truth is painful, I watch the green brand and see Catelyn rising to fame there. And I look at myself and see a failure. No more.....no more....."

Man "No more what? What are you saying? You hate Catelyn Vaine? But you two pretty much gained fame at the same-"

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"Shhhh, I do not hate Catelyn. NO LONGER will i be a failure. I'm NOT going to steal wins anymore, there will be NO reason for Sophie to be ashamed of me."

Eliza continues to cry, the store manager watches her like he's watching a movie. Eliza turns to the door glass and kicks the glass with everything she had. The man's eyes got wide, the glass breaks forming a hole in the glass door. Eliza fell to the ground clutching her foot still crying.

“Legit Starlet <3 Eliza Gray”

"I WILL win the APW battle royal and I WILL force you to be proud of me Sophie Oliveira. I'm DONE with people calling me a fluke I'M TIRED OF IT NO MORE!!! When the time comes for me to go to APW you'll see Eliza Gray's hand raised at the end of the day."

Eliza forces herself to get up, she throws a fifty dollar bill on the manager's desk thinking it'll cover the cost. Then she limps out to climb back on the horse and go back to Lluvia's texas home knowing she has some fire going into the battle royal.[/glow]

TAG- APW People!
WORDS- 3,147
CLOTHING- Wrestling tights+SHIRT
Notes: Hiii!!!!!!