SURVIVE AND CONQUER RP THREAD

[President Jeff]

ALL RP'S FOR THE SURVIVE AND CONQUER MATCH IS TO BE POSTED IN THIS THREAD ONLY. ANY OTHER POST WILL BE DELEATED

Deadline to RP for this match is on Friday January 25th at 9:00pm EST allowing over 3 weeks to RP for this match, Any RP's posted after the Deadline time will NOT COUNT. There will be a 1 RP MAX LIMIT and a 4000 WORD LIMIT for this match. Also NO EDITING OF RP'S. NO DELETING OF RP'SResults will be posted Sunday, January 27th. Good Luck to Everyone

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SURVIVE AND CONQUER MATCH
Featuring 100 Wrestlers

Sally Talfourd Vs Scorpio Vs Ruby Winters Vs Donovan Davenport Vs Johnny Knuckles Vs AC Smith Vs Keaton Saint Vs Terry Marvin Vs A.J. Fairchild Vs Slade Craven Vs AC Smith Vs Adam Stryker Vs James Stall Vs CJ Gates Vs Young Mannie Vs Stefan Raab Vs Anthony Bailey Vs Johnny Rebel Vs Lisa Lyon Vs Tyson Phoenix Vs Adrien Specter Vs Logan Alexander Vs Crow Corvus Vs Adrian Jobs Vs Shadow Vs Branden Harvey Vs Trevor Hyatt Vs Aurora Jansen Vs Rex Evans Vs JJ Johnson Vs Omen Vs Buckson Gooch Vs Doc Holiday Vs Legion Vs Michael Lively Vs Reya Serra Vs Cody Williams Vs Eric Donavan Vs Aubrey J. Parker Vs Misty Whitmore Vs Jodi Gray Vs Donald Deruty Vs Leon Stone Vs Ryan Kidd Vs Ken Davison Vs Gordon Fury Vs Lance Carter Vs Black Death Vs Biggs Vs Jeremiah Sloan Vs Vannah White Vs Xavier Jacobs Vs Sarah Twilight Vs Mark Mania Vs Jared James Vs Jerry McClean Vs John Spencer Vain Vs Dorling Vs Oi! Rooney Vs The Guv'nor Vs Jakob Hystaria Vs Chris Shields Vs Carlisle Cain Vs Kid Dynamo Vs Alone Vs Tony Edison Vs Malcolm Drake Vs Jay James Vs Jake Winchester Vs Scott Carr Vs Damage Vs Billy Mitchell Vs Mesterio Raine Vs Eric Steel Vs Spaz Vs Mac Bane Vs Jake Youngblood Vs Roy Speede Vs Rowyn Starr Vs Christian Kane Vs Alex Anders Vs Piter Svoboda Vs Jack Harmen Vs Jason Richardson Vs Eva De La Cruz Vs Trent Stone Vs Pat Gordon, Jr.Vs Lyn Dallins Vs Jair Hopkins Vs The Executioner Vs Juvi Juice Vs Domingo Cruz Vs Elias Dietrich Vs Nick Watson Vs Matt Slater Vs Reiha Laine Vs Sofia Monzón Vs Seifer Vs J.T Kash Vs Bryan Deas

[Xavier Jacobs]

Survive And Conquer, when people from many different federations come together just for one match, one shot of glory. This is the chance of the lifetime and this year it is bigger, better, and filled with more people. It is going to be the biggest Inter-Federation match in all of history. 100 Superstars, one match, 1 million dollars. Ascension Championship Wrestling Superstar Xavier Jacobs is one of the members in the match. Hoping to make his name known, he is looking to become a superstar amoung them all.

---

~ The scene slowly fades into the home of Xavier Jacobs, in downtown New York City. As Xavier is packing, his girlfriend Ashley is standing by his side. A king-side bed is where a suitcase is sitting, with a dresser opened and clothes threw everywhere as Xavier is picking his clothes out for the trip. Xavier has his bag packed as he looks over at Ashley's sweet brown eyes. ~

"Are you sure you want to go with me? I mean that is a long travel to London, England."

~ Ashley looks over at Xavier, a smile on her face as she kisses him softly. She looks up at him where she is shorter, she then kisses him once more. ~

Ashley Branson: "I want to be there with you for the very moment you enter that arena. Because Xavier, you know that I am here to support you, and I do not want to leave you by yourself, and you have to worry about me while you are competing."

~ Xavier then starts to pack Ashley's cloths. He packs he wrestling gear also. He glares at her with a smile ear to ear as he is happy to know that he found the girl he wants to spend his life with. Knowing that she would always be there for him, just makes it even more special. ~

"Your just the greatest. With that, I am glad you want to come. I mean Ashley, you know that 100 men and women is not going to be a easy challenge for anyone, I mean I do not even know what number I am going to be coming to the ring at, because the text that I got from President Jeff said we would pick up our numbers when we arrived at the arena."

~ Xavier then walks around the room as Ashley sits on the bed watching him. She looks around at him pacing the room. ~

Ashley Branson: "It does not matter what number you come in at boo. We know that you are representing the greatest company of them all, the ACW. Which there is more then just you from ACW in the match, but why don't you come over here and take a break and relax with me?"

~ Ashley smiles at Xavier as he looks over to her. Xavier walks over to her, gives her a kiss, closes the suitcase and then looks at his watch. ~

"Well, it is almost time to go. I have our flights booked for one o’clock, and well it will take us 30 minutes to get to the air port. And since our bags are packed, I think we are ready. Are you ready babygirl? I mean I done have our hotel booked and everything."

~ Ashley smiles as she stands up and hugs Xavier. The two begin to walk out of the bedroom and turn out the lights. They turn out all the lights to their house as they leave. Xavier then locks the door and proceed to head to his truck. Following behind Ashley he opens her door and puts the backs in the back seats of the truck. Xavier helps Ashley into the truck and then gets in and they begin to drive off. As they proceed to get to the air port the camera picks them up getting on a flight. The camera fades away with the two flying away in the plane. ~

---

~ The scene fades back in at the Four Seasons hotel in London, England. A hotel room can be seen with a fire place that is already lit and a bottle of champagne sitting on the table. Xavier and Ashley are walking around the room. Ashley is putting the clothes up and Xavier is looking out over the city through the window. A smile on his face as he never though that he would be in London, England when he was just starting out as a wrestler. Now he is in one of the biggest matches in all of wrestling history. He looks over his shoulder and sees his girlfriend standing behind him. He thinks to himself "It’s real, the girl I love is here, and I am in the biggest match in history." Xavier smiles as Ashley turns her head and sees Xavier looking at her. She smiles back at him. ~

Ashley Branson: "What babydawl?"

~ Xavier smiles as he takes a few steps closer to Ashley and then gets to her and kisses her softly. ~

"It just, when I was growing up, and training, I never though in a million years I would be here, in England wrestling. Never did I think I would be in the biggest inter-federation, and biggest match in all of wrestling history. And the fact that I am here with the girl that I love, well that just makes it all better, because with you here, I know that it is real, and I know that I have a fighting chance."

~ Ashley blushes at the sweet thing that Xavier just said. Not even knowing that Xavier was meaning what he said. Ashley kissed Xavier softly. ~

Ashley Branson: "Awe, boo, you are the greatest. That is why I love you, and you should believe it, I mean baby, you are in, you got into the match and I know that you have what it takes to out last them. But we need to get some sleep, we just got off a seven and a half hour flight."

~ Xavier smiles as he knows that he is just making Ashley happier by the second. ~

"Your right, lets put this dvd in, and we will lay down and go to bed."

~ Ashley goes and gets dressed for bed as Xavier gets to his boxers as that is what he wears to sleep in. He puts the dvd in of last years Survive and Conquer pay-per-view that Jeff sent out so people would know what to expect. Xavier walked over and laid in the bed and cuddled up to Ashley as he kissed her forehead softly and looked her in the eyes. ~

"I love you."

~ Ashley smiled ear to ear and blushed. ~

Ashley Branson: "I love you too."

~ The two lay in bed cuddling up to each other as the dvd plays. Ashley soon falls asleep and Xavier kisses her forehead again before he soon falls asleep as well. ~

---

~ The scene fades into the Survive And Conquer arena. Xavier got a text this morning saying to come on to the arena for pre-match interview, and to see your locker room. Ashley decided to stay at the hotel for now as Xavier went to the arena. Xavier was standing in his locker room still not knowning what his number was and then that is when a interviewer and camera crew came into Xavier’s locker room.Xavier then turns around looking at the interview, wearing a ACW shirt and a pair of blue jeans then interview walks up to Xavier. ~

Interview: "Mr. Jacobs, you are a rookie in this match, along side it being one of the biggest matches in all of wrestling history, and along side the 1 million dollars, is there anything else that brung you to sign up for the survive and conquer match?"




~ Xavier looks at the interviewer with a smile. He then looks to the ground and then to a picture of the Survive and Conquer poster. Xavier then smiles once again. ~

"The fact that I want to get my name known world wide, and make the biggest impact that I am able to. See, I signed up for ACW to work on their roster and I have found it to be a great place, so I am going to do my best to put up the fight for ACW, because I know at least one other person in the match doing the same for ACW."

~ The interview smiles as he pulls the microphone back over to him. ~

Interview: "Who might that be? And should we be looking for a alliance?"

~ Xavier chuckles. ~

"This is every man for himself, and if me and Matt Slater get in together, who knows, we might help each other, but once again, this is every man for themselves and I know that he would throw me over the top, and I hope he knows, and everyone out of the 100 men in the match knows, I do not care to throw any of them out and over the top."

~ The interview just has a few more questions for Xavier, as the interview stands tall and then looks over to Xavier. ~

Interview: "Is there anyone special that you have with you for luck?"

~ Xavier thinks to himself about his amazing girlfriend that is waiting at the hotel. ~

"Yeah, there is, I have my amazing girlfriend here to watch me and to cheer me on, because she is what is keeping me going as it is."

Interview: "Well, that is all that I had to ask you Xavier, as I wish you the best of luck in the match, and the APW can not wait to see what kind of talent you are and we cant wait to see all the members compete."

~ Xavier shakes the interviewers hand. As the interviewer leaves Xavier finishes putting his cloths and his wrestling attire in his locker. He puts a lock on it and locks it as he then turns and heads to the door. Xavier then exits and shuts the door behind him where the camera see's the name plate on the door to be "Xavier Jacobs Locker Room Room 201." Xavier then makes his way down the hallway to the doors that say exit as he then exits the arena and heads to his rent-a-car. Xavier then is seen pulling away and heading back to the hotel as the scene fades away. ~

---

~ The scene fades back in with Xavier walking into his hotel room. The smell of bacon and eggs roll throughout as Xavier opens the door. Xavier walks into the room. Xavier looks around and see's Ashley cooking. He smiles as he walks up and grabs Ashley from behind and kisses her. ~

"It smells amazing my love."

~ Ashley smiles as she fixes her and Xavier a plate. As they both sit at the table and eat Xavier looks to Ashley. ~

"How about when I go to the arena again, for my promo you come to the arena with me? I mean that way we can go ahead and you get your seat and everything."

~ Ashley looks up and smiles. Happy that Xavier is really wanting her to be at the show makes everything even better. ~

Ashley Branson: "I would love to. I am just so happy that you wanted me to come with you. I am so happy that I get to sit in the fans and cheer you on and just see you doing what you do best."

"Awwe, babygirl. You are the greatest. I am so lucky to have you here with me."

Ashley Branson: "When are we going to leave to go to the arena?"

"Well, the pay-per-view starts a little bit later, so I was thinking after we eat, we’ll both get a shower and then head down there."

Ashley Branson: "Sounds perfect to me."

~ Xavier smiles as he finishes his meal and Ashley finishes hers. Xavier goes and gets into the shower and then Ashley gets in after Xavier is out. Xavier then waiting for Ashley to get out smiles as she makes her way into the bedroom. ~

"Ashley, I love you."

~ Ashley blushes and smiles as she still gets butterfly's ever time she hears Xavier say them three words. ~

Ashley Branson: "I love you."

~ Ashley gets ready and the two head out of the hotel room. Making sure the door was locked as they went out. Xavier holds Ashley’s hand as they walk down the hallway. As they make it to the elevator Xavier kisses Ashley before they get onto it. ~

---

~ The scene fades into a sold out APW Survive and Conquer arena in London, England. The camera pans around the arena, as the ring apron reads "Survive And Conquer" and all around the arena fans are cheering and chanting. Over thousands in the fans and over millions watching at home. "Phenomenon" By Thousand Foot Krutch begins to play over the sound system of the sold out arena. Fans from different companies start to cheer as out to the top of the stage walks Xavier Jacobs. He makes his way down the long steel ramp as fans are having some mixed reactions as some do not know the rookie. ACW Fans are cheering as they know Xavier and that he is doing this match for ACW. Xavier makes his way down the ramp to the ringside area and is handed a microphone. He walks around the ring and see's Ashley in the front row. He kisses her and then makes his way in the ring wearing his brown "New York's Finniest" shirt as the camera zooms in on Xavier's face. ~



"APW, many watching around the world, tonight we make history, and tonight many dreams come true. A shot at glory, fame, and money is what is up tonight. 100 men climb into this ring, from many different companies and federations. As some are also just free agents looking to make a name. As for I am representing the ACW and I am trying to make the name of Xavier Jacobs known by not only the ACW Fans, but to the whole world."

~ The fans that know Xavier start to chant "Finniest, Jacobs, Finniest" as he paces though the ring knowing that tonight it will be filled with 100 men. ~

"As for the money goes, yeah, 1 million dollars, well that would be great, and that would be a lot of money to have, as for me, the spot in the match, and the chance to prove myself among some of the greatest superstars that have signed up for this match, and as some that are really going to work hard, such as myself."

~ Xavier is interrupted by the fans chants of some of the men and women that are going to be taking place in the match. ~



"I mean, I might not win this match, and I might not last two minutes, but I have faith in myself, and I know at least some of the fans at home and some of you here have faith in me. Even though, my name isn't as big as some, and I have less in-ring time as most, the Survive and Conquer match, will that is the match to put your name on the map, and that is the match, the match to make you a legend. And as for standing out here and doing a big rant on how I am going to win the Survive and Conquer match, I will say, if you have faith you will survive, and you will conquer, but as for winning that is in the hands that are not mine. But I am going to give it one hell of a time, and I am going to make sure the name Xavier Jacobs is known. So APW, Survive and Conquer, to all the other 99 men in the back waiting for this match, I say good luck to you all, as Xavier is going to be ready for everyone of you, no matter what number I come in at."

~ Xavier drops the microphone as "Phenomenon" By Thousand Foot Krutch start to play over the sound system again. Xavier can hear the chants of "New York's Finniest" throughout the arena. He steps out of the ring and walks over to Ashley and kisses her once more before heading up the entrance ramp. As Xavier makes it to the top of the entrance ramp the camera has followed him and the scene begins to fade away. ~

[Mac Bane]

J.R. Coker died.

Coach Coker took the job at Possomgrape in 1993 season. The abysmal results would’ve normally put a coach on the hot seat, but his guidance in working with these young men produced a graduation diploma for every senior on the team. They weren’t a talented bunch, but they moved on to give back to this community or the community that they moved to. Coach Coker’s team didn’t have much trouble scoring...it was defense that lacked.

That changed for Coach James Ray Coker, when Mac Bane and Buckson Gooch moved to town. The two could’ve been brothers, but they looked like golden gods to Coker. Bane settled in immediately as the middle linebacker. Coker got three years of All-State play out of him and two years of honorable All-American. Gooch anchored the defensive line. The accolades didn’t come, but Gooch didn’t care. His goal was to do his best. In every endeavor do your best. Teams tended to run the ball to the opposite side of Buck, Bane cleaned up the mess. It was our sophomore year, our first with Coker that we won’t the state championship.

Coker understood what was going on with us at home and took a special interest in helping us out. I couldn’t tell you how many times we ate at his house. We’d watch game film after the games in his living room as his sweet wife, Mrs. Lula would bring us sweet tea to drink.

By the time our senior year rolled around. Bane and I were watching film early in the mornings and filling out the scouting reports. Paying attention to details. This attribute, one of the many, has produced success in myself and Bane. Mac went on to the military and has become a big star in wrestling. He pays attention to the details. I did the same with my crops and animals. Others were going out of business, but attention to detail helped keep me on top. A close victory is still a victory. Even in wrestling, you get 100 men in a ring, the winner is the one who paid attention to details. The arrogant, the monsters, the blow hards...they will all go to the wayside. Paying attention to the little things is what takes your game to the next level, and Buckson Gooch is very detail oriented.

It was hard to think about the last time the three (Gooch, Coker, and Bane) were together for an extensive period of time. After years of friendship, raising families (or in Mac’s case, raising hell), joint vacations, special holidays, hunting trips, dinners, and telephone conversations, we were together again, the three amigos. We were going down to a plot of land outside of New Braunfels, Texas.

It was by a mirky pond in the early morning. New snow on the ground. This was a hunting trip just like any other. We had many times before, the three of us and our sons were hunting together. Like we never had before, that little band of us stood in a silent circle among the pines and junipers, our hands in our hands, our hearts in our throats. As the sun crested the hills, we watched Bane working feverishly- desperately – to pump life back into Coker’s body. But CPR couldn’t avail. Coker was already gone, struck down with a massive heart attack. Our friend died in our presence, still in his mid 40’s .

The grim reality felt like a dark nightmare. That couldn’t be. In Gooch’s mind, Coker would always be that 27-year-old coach being thrown in the shower after winning the state championship at War Memorial Stadium in 1994. Each year when Christmas approaches, visions of that night of elation of victory dance on Gooch’s mind. Not to glory in the old days and wish they were back, but to think about on something good. Hard work had paid off. Attention to detail had paid off. With the recent events, Gooch was sure to reflect on one of the greatest young high school football coaches to ever grace a field in Arkansas, with positive memories of victories, yet a sad thoughts for losing a friend.

The fraternity was testing its metal – albeit in an unexpected way – but the “knit” was taking on a new dimension. We had lost one of our own. How did such a priceless, life long bond begin? Simply enough. It wasn’t always so deep. But it grew. From a momentary encounter to a full-blown friendship, out of all proportion to its humble beginning. Yet in another sense, it began just like it ended, in a moment of need, pain and confusion.

I worked hard, but then again, that’s been a theme in my life and a trait in the company I keep. Looking back to my 17th year, I saw a beautiful car, a ’52 Ford with a flathead V-8. I eyed her for weeks, I’d saved my money for years for this very moment. I drove that classic eautiy off the lot with an empty wallet and a heart bursting with pride. What I couldn’t have known was that I’d just been set up by a crooked dealer. I hadn’t had the car for twenty-four hours before it blew a rod.

Moments after it happened, Buck had sat on the curb beside the road, head in hands, the picture of dejection. Gooch’s beloved Ford’s hood yawned wide and his spirits sagged into his shoes. The prospects looked bleak. I had no money, no real mechanical skills, and didn’t know anybody with the inclination – let alone the expertise – to help me out. I was humiliated, heartbroken, and angry, in only the way an adolescent boy can experiences those emotions.

A familiar voice rested over Gooch’s shoulder, “No problem, Buck,” said Coach. “We’ll just have to fix it ourselves.”

Coach had just rebuilt his own Ford and knew what to do. He even had an extra crankshaft and pistons sitting in the garage at home. We towed the wounded ’52 back to Coker’s driveway, and that very day we pulled the engine. Together. A friendship had begun that would last a lifetime. It was a friendship that would touch other lives, and eventually effect wives, children, communities, and generations. And where had it begun? At a time of lowered defenses. At a crossroads of need. At a moment when on young man clanked through his window, made a quick decision, signaled a turn, applied his brakes, and willingly entereted another youn man’s broken heart and world.

Buckson Gooch knew that losing a mentor and dear, dear friend was going to be difficult. But instead of sit and cry about what he lost, he was instead going to focus on what he gained.

The large Buckson Gooch, decked in his best approached the open casket. He approached, hesitated, turned, took three steps…and there in front of hundreds of people, this giant of a man could hold back no longer. A sob exploded from his chest. I twas not prolonged. Only a singled contorted gasp. But it spoke loud and clear. This was my friend. I will never be the same.

We were in business together for 30 years.

“Thick and thin.”

His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment. He was looking back on al ong, winding road. He was seeing against the ups and downs…the good times and bad times…the lean days and the gravy days. No one had handed these men anything. They’d built it all together. Then the eyes focused again and he said softly, “He ran the field. I ran the line.”

It was a mouthful Thirty years distilled into eight words. What was it like? We partnered, we maximized one another’s strenghtes, and we covered one another’s weaknesses. He did his part, I did mine, and we pulled that old wagon together.

The sight of two football coaches brought back a flood more of memories for Gooch. The two of them lit cigarettes. I listend. What do senior men, uncomfortable in sports jackets and ties talk about outside a funeral parlor? What do they remember when on of their own moves on? What do old men recall, sitting on the park bench in the morning sun, or out on the front porch at twilight? What memories dance in the embers when old-timers lean forward and stir the fire? What stands out?

The things I heard, were the things that were occurring with Gooch.

Ask an old man what he rembers about a life gone by. What will he tell you? Catch him just right- in a strong moment of reality – and he’ll tell you of someone who stepped into his life in an hour of deep trial and pain. He’ll tell you about the time the moving van rolled up to the door, and only one man with a bad back and a wide, familiar grin showed up to help. And then he’ll tell you about that man. He’ll tell you about the day his Dad had a heart attack, and a friend at work wrapped an arm around his shoulder and said, “You get outa here. Jump in your car and go. I’ll write your reports.” He’ll tell about not finding work and being too ashamed to ask for help, and the friend who came along and said, “here’s a stake to see you through. Pay me when you get situatied.” In his more candid moments, he might tell you about the time he’d failed so miserably he feld like no one could ever like him again – let alone love him- and one friend who did both.

What makes old men smile as they sift through yellowed snapshots of days gon by?

The crazy things they did together. When two men tried to haul a bull elk out of a deep canyon. When a dad and son rode their Harleys through a driving thundershower, laughing in the rain. When two buddies hopped a freight train and got booted off at two in the morning on the backside of nowhere. When two golf partners shot the absolute worst round of their lives – on the same day- and could still laugh about it in the club house.

Men who make it to old age with a battered carpet bag stuff with memories are the fortunate ones. Some say, “Only the good die young.” Pity the souls who shuffle into the twilight with no store of shared laughter, divided burdens, mutual dangers, and two-handled dreams.

It’s friendship that plays the music, pours the coffee, and opens the windows on the bus ride through life. Sure, you could live without it but…why should you?

Men learn to be men by standing close to men, by watching men, by enjoying brotherly espirit…by locking arms. Someone has said, “Passing the torch of manhood is a fragile task.” I believe that task is best accomplished in the mysterious, sometimes awkward, but always soul-shaping throes of great friendships.

Possomgrape had just had a slew of losing years.

I’d sit in the coaches office. I drank coffee and asked questions. And then just listened. Questions about men. About values. About judgment. As winter gave way to spring, he shared his stories and I worked hard to earn his respect. Coach had worked for a large school district as an assistant coach, had an affair. It almost ruined his marriage. They worked through the issues. The job at Possomgrape opened up and there were a slew of resumes that came in. Young guys wanting to cut their teeth. Older guys wanting to stay relevant. His genuine nature gave him the job and a new lease on life.

One morning as we finished our coffee, he got quiet, lit his pipe and just looked at me for a moment. “I’ve told my family I may not make it through this next surgery,” he said. “And if I don’t , I’ve told them I want you to do my funeral. You’re an honorable young man and I’m proud to know you.” Coach survived. And because of our friendship, I think some reconciliation took place in his family. I believe there is a great value in listening to an older man tell his tale without hastening judgment on his life.

How can a man learn to be a man, a husband, a father, a provider and protector- a full-orbed King, Warrior, Mentor, and Friend? By walking with other men who are doing it. You learn to play ball by playing ball. And masculinity is a team sport. You and I, as men living in a tragically disoriented culture.




Funeral

The scene fades into a musty old basketball gymnasium. The building wreaks of old, yet has the appearance of new. It seems instead of fixing the problems, the small Possomgrape School Board opts to just paint over everything. No one thinks about that as they walk into the gym. It smells like it always does. Athletes smelled that smell in victory and defeat. Fans smelled that smell in times of great city pride and held close their heroes in times of tragedy. This was one of those tragedies.

Coker’s obituary and the funeral sermon had already been preached out on the practice field, per his requests. This portion of the funeral was to take place in the gymnasium. That was where the viewing was going to be as well as an address by Buckson Gooch.

The stands were filled with what seemed like the whole town and members of Coker’s teams.

Buckson Gooch: Those out there who have heard me speak, mostly the young people, know that when I speak, I usually hang on to something. Today I chose this little lawn tractor, cause when I look at that, it makes me think of Coach Coker and smile. And I know that when I'm done people will look at each other and ask "What did he say?" "I don't know, but he had a little lawn tractor."
And maybe you'll smile and think about Coker, too.

Polite laughter went through the crowd like a wave. The moment of brevity broke up the meloncholy, which was appreciated, even if it was momentarily.

...The tractor in the field. Coach Coker took meticulous care of the practice field. I can't talk about him and not mention that. Many of us, me included, razzed Coker about how tedious he was with that place. Now that he's gone, I can see the metaphor in it for how he lived. I don't know how many blades of grass out there. I suppose we have some former students, mathematicians who could figure that out for me. Millions upon millions of blades of grass. And he treated that field like he treated all of us. Every single blade of grass needs love and encouragement on a daily basis. He had not wasted motion and no laziness in him. There are many of us in this community of Possomgrape who have endured hard times. Those of us who took the life lessons that we learned from Coker and applied them to our lives, we are the better for it. We learned to focus on the details. We learned to encourage and love those around us. We learned to not waste our lives, to not waste motion.

Buck clears his throat and it echos through the gymnasium

Buckson Gooch: When some grass leaves, you replace it with more and thicker grass. You make the roots deep, so it can withstand all the pressure that young men in football practice would exert on it. When bad things appear, such as weeds, or fungus, or all these things he used to talk me about that I have no idea about. His focus on the details was therapeutic to him. Every morning when I’d go up to see him in that old Coaches’ office...he’d look out the window, knees still green from crawling and fixing -- "Doesn't it look green?" Yes Coker, it looks very green.

The humor resonated with the Possomgrape faithful and those in attendance that knew Coach Coker.

Buckson Gooch: When those bad things appear, such as weeds and fungus, we need to eliminate them as soon as possibly by physically pulling them or applying three times the amount of chemicals recommended by the EPA.

The same snickers went through the crowd. Buckson had them eating out of the palm of his hand. Not because of him being special, but because he learned from the best. J.R. Coker could bring out the best in people. He’d make you feel you were the only one he was talking to, and Gooch’s speech was hitting on all cylanders.

Buckson Gooch: The example of Ed's life to all of us, especially the people he touched, all the people he called his fellows and his gals, is to just look at how he lived. Do what the Bible says each day of your life, serve others, serve others with enthusiasm and energy. Look for the best in others and give the best that you have. In the end, this week, I don't think of the games won, or the countless awards or praise or recognition -- and he deserved every bit of it. All I know, from being around him for 30 years is that he made the people around him wish to become better than we are by looking at how he lived.
He prepared every moment of his life for entering that final end zone.
He showed us all how to win life's greatest victory. We all know where he is now, at peace. Ed did so much for all of us, so we find ourselves needing to do something for him in return, for those closest to him left behind for now.
And knowing Ed, I think that he would tell us that these are the things he wants from us: be physically, mentally, spiritually prepared. Don't wait till Friday; it's too late. Play every down as if it's your last one. Leave it on the field, cause we never know when it could be our last play. And in the end, in a tribute to Ed, and I'd invite anyone to join me, I'm going to raise my hand with four fingers. Everyone knows what that means. He would be pleased to know a part of him lives on in all those he touched. Thanks for being an inspiration. We will move on, but we'll never forget.


Buckson Gooch: As many of you know, I just started a career in professional wrestling. Coker was excited for me and Bane. He would always text after the matches he saw...and I know he was proud of us. Before he passed, he and I were talking about Survive and Conquer. I was telling him there would be some of the best wrestlers in the world there. I wasn’t feeling confident in my abilities. Coker looked me in the eyes...

Buck’s voice begins to crack and he looks down at his notes. A tear splashes down from his cheek and lands on the paper, smearing the ink. Buck wipes the tears from his eyes.

Buckson Gooch: He reminded me of what kept my farm going, what kept food on the table, and what has been engrained in my being...Try my hardest. Pay attention to details. Make the most of opportunities. The intensity he brought to the conversation reminded me of how I felt as a 16 year old kid and hearing it for the first time. It is these principles that I will bring to the Survive and Conquer match...and I’ll be dedicating my match to the memory of Coach Coker.

Gooch takes the time to wipe his forehead with his dingy white handkerchief.

I am a man who has always needed heros. It started when I was a boy and I never outgrew it. It has, I'm sure, something to do with how I decided to make my living. A decade and a half ago the sports reporter for the Siftings Herald asked Coker the question, who is your hero? His answer was simple. His answer was simple, his players. He pushed them hard on the field and in the classroom. One year at he mandated studyhall during the spring semester, the only group that had a higher grade point average than the football team was the chess club. Burned into every player's brain was his mantra: He said, "If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always got". Coker was a devoted coach who never let any of his players down.

Conventional wisdom dictates that I would phrase it a different way. It would say in 11 of those 12 years he never let me down and those years outweighed this last year, but nobody ever accused me of wisdom of any kind, let alone conventional. In the year in question it turns out he gave full disclosure to his superiors, information moved up the chain to head of campus police and president of the school. The matter was in the hands of a world class university and by a president with an outstanding national reputation. Whatever the details of the investigation are, this much is clear to me. (If) there was a villain in this tragedy it lies in that investigation, not in joe paterno's response to it.

[ long applause ]

And yet, for his actions, he was ex-coreated by the media and fired over the telephone by his university. Yet in all his subsequent appearances, in the press, on TV, interacting with students, conversing with hospital personnel, giving interviews to Sally Jenkins, he never complained, he never lashed out. Every word, every bit of body language conveyed a single message: We are Penn State.

[ applause ]

So I do not follow conventional wisdom. Joe is my hero. Every day for 12 of the last 12 years. But it does lead me to this question. Who is the real trustee at penn state university?

In periods of stress and grief, not only does your mind do funny things, you say things that surprise you. When I came back from mass on Sunday, Penny said, 'Heather called. Joe has passed.' The first words out of my mouth, way out of sequence and typically self-centered, through the tears I asked, who is going to be my hero now? It's a question everyone in this arena should ask and I do not have an answer for you, but i can tell you this much, that old hero, he set a standard that will live forever.

[kiddynamo]

In



The Phoenix

[/font][/center]

- Nest of Myrrh

The last time APW fans saw Kid Dynamo was at an Asylum event last February. The "Tapout Challenge" was underway and he scored an upset win over Chaz Dillinger to cement himself as a contender to win the round robin tournament and earn the lofty prize of a title match at Rasslemania.

He went backstage to process his first meaningful win in APW and, after sitting down on the bench in the midcarders' locker room, he checked his phone, unsurprisingly eager to tweet about his victory. When he picked up his phone, he saw an alert that he had a text message, from his wife, Rebecca.


Come home now or don't come home at all.

I'm done.

He knew her well. He could tell the depth and magnitude of her anger. He instinctively began imagining the argument they'd be having if he wasn't in Texas competing.

She would refer to Kid Dynamo as his affair. He would try to diffuse the situation by telling her how ridiculous that sounded. He was not a smart man. The reward for his efforts would be a long, LONG diatribe on the metaphor she had presented. She would accuse him of loving Dynamo more than her. She would accuse him of not caring about their children. And he would take it all without very much counterpoint, because anything is better than admitting that she was telling the truth.

And so "anything" was what he did. He packed up his wrestling gear and left the arena that night...

..And never came back.

Not a word to his friends or a comment on his Twitter page. A look-alike was hastily brought in to job two weeks later, but Kid Dynamo as APW had known him simply evanesced into the Texas sky.

That's a day he still thinks about. Not as much as the day he was informed by police that his family had died in a plane crash, but still often. Not as much as the day he had to eulogize his seven-year-old daughter and five-year-old son, but still often. Not as much as he thought about how his family was on that plane to get away from him, and therefore their blood was on his hands, but still often.

A lot of people would consider suicide at this point, but very few follow through.

In a way, though, he did succeed.

Brad Christopher, the insecure, guilt-ridden alter ego of Kid Dynamo, did kill himself after that crash. The humanity inside Kid Dynamo that simultaneously inspired and repelled all of his success ceased to exist. The thing that was Kid Dynamo was now a shell hollowed out.

This was how Jeff found him.

- Spark of Ra[/size]

Jeff had been invited backstage to the OWF Holiday Bash event, a thank-you from owner Scott Kidd for allowing OWF wrestlers to participate in the upcoming Survive & Conquer match. Jeff surveyed the scene of the resurgent competition to his ratings, and he couldn't help but be entertained by the Christmas Tree match that started the show, a demonstration of grotesque brutality in which 11 wrestlers battled each other for the right to climb a 25-foot Christmas tree to obtain the star on top. But even before the match took place, the show itself was introduced by a man Jeff recognized.

A song from that Jay-Z and Linkin Park collaboration hit the PA system, and the OWF crowd went nuts. And there he was on the entrance ramp. Kid Dynamo had come back from the dead. Not just a resurrection, he had returned home. He had known Scott Kidd since the very beginning of his wrestling career, and his entire early life he had spent idolizing the place in which he now competed. All that elation gushed from every word he spoke introducing the show, hyping the match, and allowing the crowd to eat from the palm of his hand. In APW, he had been nothing more than a promising rookie. Here, however, he was both the past...and the future. After his impassioned speech, ten other wrestlers came out and failed to defeat him in that brutal match. As he celebrated, Jeff went back to the locker room...

...and waited.

Dynamo would eventually make his way backstage, clearly worse for wear with a year or two taken off of his life. He pushed open the door to his own personal locker room...and not since that fateful February night was he as surprised as he was now by what he found in the locker room.

"Hey there."

Dynamo looked like he had seen a ghost...or a rival mob boss. "What are you doing here?"

Jeff laughed a little. "You didn't think I would notice when you came back to wrestling?"

Dynamo suddenly became very uneasy, the guilt of his disappearance flooding back to him and crashing against his fragile emotional levee, splashed with the fear of the repercussions realized of his walkout.

"Look I can explain..."

"I'm not here for that, Brad. Shit happens, and that's just the way it is. People come, people go, people wonder where they went, and then someone new shows up."

"It's just that..."

"Like I said I'm not here for that. What happened happened."

Dynamo's fear subsides, but the guilt remained. "You know, I would've come back."

Jeff reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Yeah well, that's why I'm here. You still can."

Jeff stood up and handed him the envelope. "For one night, at least."

Dynamo opened the envelope, and inside was a tri-folded stack of three sheets of paper.

It was a contract...

...a "dates as needed" contract that obligated the contractee to appear as desired by APW in order to promote and compete in the Survive and Conquer event and match.

Dynamo remembered once thinking that it was about that time of year, but he had been so focused on his resurgence in OWF that he didn't even bother to investigate. He would've missed the event left to his own devices, so it meant a lot to him to get an actual invitation to compete again after his transgressions against APW. It meant even more to him for Jeff to deliver this olive branch, this hatchet-burying statement of forgiveness for a potentially substantial breach of contract charge.

"I...thanks. I don't know what to say."

Jeff patted him once on the shoulder, earning a wince from Dynamo due to the soreness of the epic match he'd almost forgotten he'd just won. "Say you'll sign that and fax it back to my office before that spot gets claimed."

Dynamo looked back down at the contract as Jeff began to walk out of the locker room. "I gotta get going, but it was good to see you still alive. I look forward to seeing you back in an APW ring."

Jeff walked out of the room. At the doorway something seems to cross his mind, so he turns back to Dynamo. "Not sure I can say the same for the rest of the guys though."

Jeff smiled and walked away.

Meanwhile, Dynamo's heart sank.

He thought of all the people he'd probably pissed off with his abrupt disappearance.

He thought about Sally Talfourd, Level One, and Johnny Rebel, icons whose ire he had earned through a series of petulant, poorly-thought-out tweets. He'd created a long line of megastars that desired nothing more than to run Dynamo right out the door. It would take volunteering to endure a nearly-half-hour-long match against Level One himself to change their minds about his worthiness to step foot in APW, and, to this day, the handshake Lester gave him after that match was the biggest accolade he ever earned during his forgettably brief run with APW.

He thought about Kurt Noble, CJ Gates, and Jason Kash, good-guy megastars that immediately saw potential in him and were able to dismiss his Twitter rampages as genuine enthusiasm at being a part of one of the top promotions in the world. Dynamo grimaced as he thought about how he took their support and spit it back in their face. He could recall word-for-word his venomous promo for last year's event: Dynamo kickstarted his "end 0f the w0rld" gimmick by putting the entire APW on blast, accusing heel and face alike of mediocre performance in the ring and greedy apathy towards the declining product, declaring to the fans that all their heroes cared about was a paycheck, not putting on a great show. He remembered being particularly aggressive towards CJ Gates, then the APW Undisputed Champion; Dynamo vilified Overdrive's biggest draw for "ducking the competition", protecting his championship by eschewing a title defense to compete in Survive & Conquer. He knew that his claim was as inaccurate as it was egregious, that Gates simply wanted to try and win an event of which he had fallen just short in previous years, but the truth wasn't nearly as salacious, so Dynamo opted for the shameful but exciting falsehood.

He thought about Dan Quinn and Anthony Bailey, men who'd joined up with APW around the same time as Dynamo and were considered part of the same rookie class. The three of them became friends behind-the-scenes quickly, and Dynamo and Quinn worked together to engage in a feud that completely stole the show at the House Show events they were slotted in, propelling them onto TV faster than most rookies are able. Bailey, on the other hand, was instrumental in helping Dynamo taper back his Twitter ravings, helping him carve the "end 0f the w0rld" niche without a forced-hand, full-fledged heel turn. Bailey talked about becoming a tag partner down the road, but first, the three of them all signed up for the Tapout Challenge round-robin tournament...the same tournament Dynamo bailed out on, throwing the event into chaos. There was originally set a gauntlet match for those who lost the challenge to get the next title shot, but his departure upended that match, stealing Quinn of an opportunity, and, while Bailey seemed to do alright for himself, Bailey was also the only one who seemed to care that he was gone, and Dynamo could only imagine what it felt like for friendship to go so overtly unrequited.

So many people with legitimate beef with him...and every single one of them probably got the same invitation.

Dynamo gulped, beginning to wonder if Jeff had handed him an olive branch or led him to the slaughter.

- Burned to Ash[/size]

There was never a question of if he would accept.

There was, however, a question of if he would be medically cleared. Five days after that night, he once again opened the OWF event. However, now he was apologizing to the crowd for receiving a hairline skull fracture during the Christmas Tree match and the indefinite time it would take to heal.

He wasn't sure whether or not Jeff watched Addiction. He'd never really know if the documentation requiring a medical signature determining him fit to compete was a formality or evidence that his damaged skull was public record. What he did know was that medical signatures were difficult to come by. He tried his best. He contacted sports physicists from both OWF and APW, even contacting neurologists he referred wrestlers to while running CPW, but they all said roughly the same thing.

"At this point, it is too early to confirm that you will be fully healed in time for the event."

Four doctors, three flights, two days, one patient, zero signatures.

He had given up hope of competing. After coming home from "operation: signature" empty-handed, he drowned his sorrows in Full Throttle - don't judge him - and watching the first Addiction since his return in which he didn't appear. He did, however, earn a reference. Redemption had a statement opening soliloquy of his own, focusing his ire on the "blasts from the past" that come in, steal a World title shot, then disappear, and, though Dynamo had earned his World title shot - the prize from winning the Christmas Tree match - he wasn't spared from Redemption's shotgun blast to the legends of the company.

Normally, nothing rolls off his back faster than idle trash talk from a non-opponent. However, coupled with the failure of a week he had just endured, along with having to watch Addiction from home instead of backstage...it all just became too much to take. Enraged, he crushed the can he'd just finished and threw it as hard as he could off to the side.

...then destiny intervened, the same destiny that always brought Dynamo back to life despite his incessant attempts to bury him, most recently the destiny that manifested itself in his most prized trinket - a replica of the MVW World Title that he held for only 4 days - and convinced him that the lives of 152 people, 3 of which were his family, were martyred so that Kid Dynamo could live again. That same destiny that brought him back to OWF just in time to earn a World Title shot and just in time to enter Survive and Conquer a second time.

Tonight, the avatar of destiny was a cardboard box.

After calming down, his years of attempted domestication shone through and he went to retrieve his trash, and it had landed in one of the opened but unpacked moving boxes scattered throughout the house. Since his move to Colorado coincided with his reactivation into the pro wrestling fold, he hid behind his busy schedule as an excuse not to unpack anything non-essential. This was such a box. It contained...

...Rebecca's work supplies.

Rebecca was a doctor who he had met during one of his many trips to the emergency room after a particularly strenuous wrestling match. At the time, he was a wrestler in and owner of CPW, a regional company in Virginia. Later, when the promotion crumbled and he was hired at APW, he convinced her to support him by getting her practice a contract as sports physicians for the company...

...a 2-year contract...

...that remained in place even after he left...

...that is still active since there are other doctors at the practice, so APW never would've investigated and discovered she had died...

...that came with an embosser to authenticate documentation...

...documentation such as a physical to determine capacity to compete.

It didn't take him long to consider the pros and cons. On the one hand, he could face criminal charges for forging a document -plus if it's worse that said forgery involves the deceased - but, if there was anything Scott Kidd was good at, it was breaking his employees out of jail. Furthermore, he could end his career if his skull was indeed still partially fractured and he took the wrong hit amidst the hundred-man mayhem. He thought about considering that his life, too, was in jeopardy, but, at this point, the life of that man paled in worth to the continued career of Kid Dynamo.

After the plane crash - and subsequent self-declaration that those deaths were a sacrifice to resurrect him - he never spoke the name "Brad Christopher". The only person who knew him as Brad, not Dynamo, was his therapist whom he saw for nightmares, and even then, he still wouldn't speak of himself as a man playing the role of a wrestler. No, he was Kid Dynamo playing the role of a man when the lights went out at the arena.

His daydreams subsiding, he stared back down at the embosser he had pulled out of Rebecca's box while lost in thought. He battled the decision while turning it in his hands, as if he was waiting for it to give him the answer. It wouldn't be the first time. It was looking at the one World Title he ever won that convinced him that Dynamo needed to return, so staring at the embosser didn't seem altogether strange.

It came down to the foundational principle he had upheld for years: he acted in the best interest of the audience. They chose wrestling over MMA or boxing because they wanted showmanship to accompany their gladiatorial entertainment. This principle hasn't always been good to him - signed, his three neck surgeries, not to mention repeatedly picking fights with people he had no chance of defeating, like Level One - but, yet, despite 13 years of mediocrity in which he only fought nine main event matches (and only won three of them), he was still one of APW's most promising recruits of 2011 and one of OWF's biggest returns since reopening in 2012. Win or lose, Dynamo had earned a loyalty from the crowd that was undeniable and irrefutable. Even though all those wrestlers backstage would hate him, the fans would remember the showman, the Cruiserweight who wanted nothing more than the best show ever, every single night.

So what would the fans say? Would they respect him choosing the responsible and integrity-laden decision to abide by the law of bureaucrats and abstain from Survive and Conquer, living to fight another day? Or would they call for their last champion to kneel before the hundred-man altar and martyr himself for their entertainment?

Put in that perspective, the answer was clear. If Kid Dynamo was to die, there would be no greater day than within the quantitatively greatest match in wrestling history.

- Resurrection and Flight[/size]

Breathe.

Just...breathe.

The cameras have begun rolling, but, currently, the thought-provoking interview expected to be filmed has been momentarily replaced by awkward silence as Kid Dynamo stands before the audience with his eyes closed and without speaking, collecting himself.

Ten Percent Luck, Twenty Percent Skill
Fifteen Percent Concentrated Power of Will...[/color]

Dynamo runs the chorus of Fort Minor's "Remember the Name" a time or two in his mind, pumping himself up for his one chance to impose his will on 99 confident contenders before he would have to face them in the ring.

He opens his eyes, reaches off camera for a Full Throttle energy drink, chugs about half of it, and sets it back down. You can see a difference in his demeanor.

He's ready.

...One Hundred Percent reason to remember the name.[/i]

It's not quite a Donkey Punch, but Full Throttle seems to hit the spot just fine for me.

Hello again, APW. It’s been about a year, but it’s been that way for quite a few people here. Now, I won’t sugarcoat the truth: this is a one-time revisit to the house that Jeff built. So, as much as I’m sure a few people would like to think about that long list of APW megastars that might want a piece of me, but tonight’s focus is on the reason for my return: the Survive and Conquer match. 100 competitors. I mean, just think about that for a second, everybody. When you start watching this match, you should just think about how, when you are NINETY MINUTES – an hour and a half – into the contest, you STILL won’t have seen nine of the competitors in this match.

I’ll tell you though. It’s a blur to be there. Ten of the fastest minutes of my life were the last time I competed in this match. I can’t imagine how completely exhausted Terry Marvin had to be to last pretty much the whole match last year, but, if I get an unlucky early number, then I guess I’ll just have to try my best to not only duplicate his performance, but surpass it by actually making it to the very end.

But, hey, isn’t that what everyone wants? Isn’t that what EVERYONE is going to tell you that they are going to accomplish on the 27th? Many of them have an advantage over me: it’s their first time. Experience in this case is a double-edged sword, because I can say that I have entered the fray, tried my best and…well, I failed. Anyone who is new to the event has no insurmountable proof that they have no real chance of winning.

So that’s the question I have to answer, to not only you but also myself: What’s different this year? What is it about Dynamo in 2013 that can eclipse Dynamo in 2012?

Dynamo stops himself from continuing. He seems to be fighting with himself in his head, and you start to recognize the look he has: that’s the face of a man who has decided to go off-script.

You know what? What really is different? What can I really say that screams “THIS IS IT”?

Nothing.

But I’m the only one in this match who will admit it. Brace yourselves, people. Ninety-nine arrogant pompous fools are going to try and sell you a bill of goods about how they are the chosen one and this is their time and they are the best of the best and they will walk home with that trophy. But, do you wanna know a secret? They’re not trying to convince you; they’re trying to convince themselves. The daunting task ahead of us is wasted on nobody, but nobody else is going to be willing to show weakness. Nobody else will be able to take a good long look at themselves and try to discern all the different ways they could fail. Accentuate the positive, right?

Kid Dynamo points at the camera to emphasize.

WRONG.

Dynamo reaches over to his Full Throttle and appears to finish it off.

No one wants to think about how helpless they are in this match. No one wants to think about the cold, bitter truth that there is nothing we can do to prepare for this match. You see, I’ve been there. I spent a month living and breathing Survive and Conquer last year. I could tell you everything about my 85 opponents, and I thought I was ready…

…then, ten minutes after I walk into the ring, Johnny Rebel blindsides me and the guy I’m fighting, and we both go over the top rope.

Dynamo snaps his fingers once.

Just like that, it was over. Better luck next time. Here’s your participant ribbon. Enjoy twelve months of wondering what you could’ve done differently.

See, maybe this would be different if this was some kind of rookie show where the cream could rise to the top with some kind of certainty. But, no. Jeff hasn’t simply assembled one hundred professional wrestlers. He has assembled the one hundred best. There’s a reason that that participation ribbon DOES in fact mean something. None of the people in this match would be here if they were among the best.

So no, there is no weak link of which to take advantage, no “soft schedule” as they might say in other sports. Entrant number one will be a badass, and so will number two, and three, and four, and so on. There’s no supreme being to try and avoid or double-team because EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US is a juggernaut in their own way.

What’s the strategy, Dynamo? What is the super special game plan that leads to the ultimate victory?

I’ll tell you.

Dynamo motions for the camera to get closer, and it slowly zooms in, all the way to Dynamo’s face.

THERE IS NONE!

The camera quickly zooms back to its original spot.

THERE IS NO SUPER SECRET GAMEPLAN! There is no long term strategy! There is NOTHING!

So how do you win the match?

Kid Dynamo loses his focus long enough to laugh at himself for a moment.

How should I know? I only know how to come in 16th!

Satisfied with his diatribe, Dynamo turns off the camera. No catchphrase ending. Nothing. The time for being cute is over.[/font]

The enD

[/size]

[/center]

[themisfitspaz]

Jan.1st, 1998 – Jan.2nd, 2013[/i]
The Birth of Spaz Blud

The BTW event is sold out and it is the one night where I am scared to do the one thing that has been discouraging me for some time. I was approached by Wolf who saw me entering the building with my brother and offered me a spot in his stable, ”I’m a manager,” I say to myself trying to convince myself that being in the ring and fighting is no place for me. My job is to be at ringside cheering on Casper, he needs me to protect him. [ii”I can do this, I need to do this.”[/i] The self-assurance that I try to give myself makes the final decision easy, ”Casper will understand” I slowly begin to pace back and forth trying to find a way to turn down Wolf and tell him that The Blud Brothers are a combo deal. I don’t hear his footsteps approaching and my thoughts cloud my mind.

”So are you in or out Blair?” Wolf asks blocking the path where I have been pacing for nearly twenty five minutes.

I stop walking and raise my head look at Wolf for a moment. I light a smoke and smile at Wolf that lets him know that a decision has yet to be made and in Casper’s match I will give him the answer that he craves. I walk past him to the main entrance leaving Wolf to question whether or not he was right to ask me to join Hells Fire. I walk past Massi who pays zero attention to me and goes on being a complete jackass. Once I reach the curtain Casper is already standing their looking forward to a big match with one of the biggest names that BTW has to offer.

Casper takes one look at me and he knows I am deep in thought. I still have no idea on whether or not to join the group and the fact that I am keeping my little brother in the dark makes the choice more difficult, “Are you okay Spaz?”

”Perfectly fine Cas… you ready for this?” I ask him as his music begins to play and the announcer calls his name. Casper just nods his head and slaps himself in the face to get his adrenaline going.

”First the challenger… being accompanied to the ring by his brother Spaz… CASPER BLUD” The announcer yells out Casper’s name and he and I walk to the ring. I make a deal with myself that sets my mind at ease. If Casper wins I will turn down Wolf. If Casper loses, I will join Hells Fire and stab my own brother in the back and begin my professional wrestling career under the wing of Wolf.

Casper Blud losses the match

I slide into the ring as Casper moves to the ropes, I try to play it off as if I am concerned for his health. I place a hand on his shoulder and help him to his feet and look him in the eyes, I give him a smile and a wink and drop my own brother on his head. The DDT heard around the world. I sold my soul. Wolf runs down the ramp as I sit and look at my brother who lies motionless on the ground, he slides into the ring and hands me a sweater and helps me to my feet.

”Ladies and gentlemen I give you the newest member of Hells Fire… Spaz.” He shakes my hand and part of me wants to drop this fucker on his head as well. I just smile and put on the sweater that puts me in Hells Fire… Signed, sealed and delivered.

Two weeks later

I look at the curtain as I prepare myself mentally for this Hardcore Championship Match with Nate Fury. I try and put the pieces in my head and figure out what weapon I will use to inflict the most damage on the champion. ”Don’t lose focus, you can win this.” I mutter to myself as Anton comes over to wish me luck, I just shake his hand and smile and nod. If I actually show any signs of weakness going into this match I know I will lose. I just have to keep my eye on the prize, The BTW Hardcore Championship.

Spaz defeats Nate Fury

The match ends and as the ref hands me the title I know it was all worth it. It was worth every ounce of sweat and every pint of blood, I slowly get to my feet and raise the title in the air to show the world what I won. The sacrifice of me turning on Casper and having him locked away in an institution was the best thing for him and I have already accomplished more in two weeks than my brother did in two months of being under contract with BTW. I exit the ring slowly and head up the ramp and disappear through the curtain where Wolf is already standing there to greet and congratulate me on a hard fought victory.

”Congrats Blair. Knew you would win man. One problem though.” Wolf says with a little bit of skepticism in his voice. I know what’s coming but I have all the adrenaline coursing through my veins and I pay no attention to his final words, ”BTW is finished.” There goes my moment of glory. He tells me of another federation to join and I join UWFX the following week.

UWFX closed its doors after 2 months. Spaz failed to win any titles and inks a new deal with ASW. It is here in ASW that Spaz becomes “The Misfit”

I convince Wolf to bring in HF and what does he do? Brings in Plague. Tells me, “Hells Fire needs a guy of his caliber.” Fucking bullshit. HF is done and I can accomplish more on my own than I could ever accomplish with Wolf, Anton, Plague and Birrdy watching my back. I need to do something to show the world I am not just some goon in HF, I need to show the world that I am not as predictable as this stable has become. It is time for me to stand up and do the one thing that nobody has ever expected me to do. It’s time for me to get out of Hells Fire and fight solo, no HF. Just me.

I walk down the ramp as Wolf gets to his feet. The crowd looks on as I jump up to the apron and enter the ring, I extend my hand to Wolf who just smiles at me and I do the same thing to him that he had me do to Casper just a year and a half ago. I give him a DDT and look down at the man that made me into a Misfit. I have done everything according to the Hells Fire code and now it is time for me to stand up and do this on my own. I know Anton is going to want to get his hands on me after I took out one of our own. But the fact that I did the one thing that nobody ever expected sets my uneasy mind at ease. I slide out of the ring and here commentators calling me “The Misfit of ASW”. All I can do is smile and walk up the ramp, I turn around and see Wolf sitting up and grabbing his head. The look of utter anger in his eyes makes me smile. I smile to myself as I head to the back and quickly leave the arena. Anton and I will go to war and I plan on burying The Stoned Hick.

Spaz ended up winning the ASW US Title from EG and went on to lose it back to him several weeks later. The Misfit tried to get back into HF and even helped capture the ASW Stable Titles and then feuded with Anton over the Canadian Title. Spaz was wound up being buried alive in the classic Buried Alive match in Balmoral, MB, Canada. Casper whom escaped from the Asylum he was in spent the evening digging his brother out of the grave. The next month it was Angel, Plague and Spaz who went to OWF to start Hells Fire. In his personal life Blair began seeing the one person that would change everything about his career, he began seeing his ex-wife and mother to his daughter.

I lay motionless on the ground staring up at the ceiling and seeing the lights flash. I try to turn my head and all I see are feet standing around me. It was at that point that it hits me; I got stabbed in the back. ”This is how it feels.” I think to myself as it was me who just five months ago stabbed my mentor in the back. It was me who stabbed my own brother in the back and shipped him off to some god forsaken place, I was warned about Angel and Plague doing this to me by Lindsay. I didn’t listen I never do. I hear the voice of Chris Green over the PA saying something about Imperium and how stupid I was to trust two guys that hated me so much.

Plague and Angel exit the ring and I slowly sit myself up. I shake my head to get the cob webs out but it still lingers in the back of my mind at how much I hate Rob and Matt. The crowd is still in shock and the fact that I should have seen this coming pisses me off more and more each time I think about it. All the warnings that I was given by James Caine and EG should have made it clear. Caine tells me of this idea to get back at them and creating Scarred seems like a legitimate choice. I tell them that I will think about it and give them my answer after the PPV. I challenged Duality to a match of my choice and it will be the first ever Broken Limb Match. Lindsay is sure to kill me if I lose. I look at the card a little closely and see that my name is also in the PDA Battle Royal match. Two matches in the same night, one with my career hanging in the balance and the other with a worthless piece of shit title.

Spaz went into the PPV and defeated Duality in a brutal match. He did compete in the Battle Royal and wound up winning that match as well, after the second match he took the PDA Title and dropped in the center of the ring and then spit on it. The following Addiction Spaz gave EG and James Caine his answer with a solid yes. Scarred got their asses kicked each and every single week and it was obvious at how little the team had each other’s back, Spaz wound up leaving the group. After leaving Scarred The Misfit was given his first World Title shot at Draco.

It happens in an instant as the manic roar of the crowd deafens the building, I didn’t see Rob run down to the ring and kick Draco’s teeth right down his throat. Going with the motions and seeing my opponent lying on the ground made it obvious to climb the top rope and take flight. I hit the Spazim and get the three count and win the OWF title. This one moment with everyone in the back sitting in shock. As it is painfully obvious that Plague screwed over Draco to show how big of a joke I would be as champion. I don’t care as the OWF World Title is handed to me. I hold it in my hands and stare down at is the crowd begins to chant my name. I slowly rise to my feet and look at the ramp where Plague is now standing and clapping his hands slowly.

Spaz wound up losing the World Title the following Addiction. He fought in several matches with Trent Steel before entering in his final match of his OWF career. It was a triple Cell match and in this match Spaz was inches away from winning. Plague out of know where super kicked him off the top cage down to the first cell, after that match Spaz went on to retire from in ring action. James Caine offered him a job in Anarchy Wrestling as the president of the fed. Spaz not being used to the politics of helping run a fed was forced to leave his position and showed up in McW where he met his greatest rival in Mesterio Raine. After McW, Spaz went into retirement. He got a divorce from his wife and became the primary care giver of his 3 year old daughter Lydia, when out of the blue he receives a call from Caine asking him to come back to Anarchy Wrestling as a superstar.

I hang up the phone and look at Lydia for a moment. Should I go back to doing the only thing that I am actually good at? Should I get out of retirement and grace the squared circle one more time before I call it quits for good? As I mull the questions over in my head I stop paying attention to Lydia for one second and all I can here is a crash, which is followed by hysterical laughter. When I enter the dining room I see a huge mess of pizza splattered all over the dining room, maybe I should of shut the fan off. I quickly text Caine and give my answer, “The Misfit” will return to Anarchy Wrestling one last time. After I hit send on the phone I text Lindsay and tell her what I am doing and that she will need to watch our daughter while I am on the road. She agrees and tells me she will be in Seattle in two days.

Spaz returned to AW and wound up going to war with Mesterio Raine. Going into the Riot PPV Mesterio kidnapped Lydia and Lindsay and set to torture them, Casper returned to manage Spaz and lead them to the home of Mesterio and his girlfriend Lilth. When the two brothers went to confront Raine his sister showed up and forced her brother to release Spaz’s daughter and ex-wife. The four took off to a park where Lindsay made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want her daughter and herself to even be near a ring. Lindsay left and that was the last time Spaz saw her. At Riot Spaz and Raine went through hell and back but in the end Spaz was too much for Raine and The Misfit was crowned the new AW World Champion. Two months he went undefeated and the AW ceased to exist. After the divorce was finalized Spaz began seeing Mesterio’s sister Bathory. They were married after four months of being together. Spaz went from one fed to the next winning one other World Title along the way. Now he has wound up back in OWF, where he along with his best friend are the Tag Team Champions.

”Survive… the main instinct that all guys have to go through just to win a match. To me being in this sport for fifteen long and painful years has made me realize what it takes to survive this match, 100 men over the top Royal Rumble. I looked at the entrants and saw a lot of names I recognize and some that I don’t. Kid Dynamo is in this match and so is one of the greatest fighters that I ever fought with, Mesterio Raine… I have been through hell and know exactly what it takes to survive. I have been through broken limb matches, Cell matches, barbed wire matches, you name it I’ve done it. I did it all on instinct and just plain survival.” I light a smoke and look deep into the camera, I try to choose my words carefully. Dragging my hand over my face I look at the camera calmly smiling.

”When I first started into the sport back in 98, I was nothing more than a manager. I gave my body to this sport and have lost friends and family do to me being in this sport. I am the master of survival, whenever the odds weren’t on my side I fought tooth and nail. I scratched and clawed my way to where I am today not because I ran and hid from challenges. I welcomed the challenge, what is in this sport if it isn’t for actually challenging someone in a match. There are 99 other superstars that have signed up for this match and they all want one thing, they want to have the right to say ‘I survived and I have made my mark.’ Going into this event I have a lot riding on it and the fact that I came in as a nobody and after 15 years I am going to do the one thing that I have figured out along the way. I plan to Survive this contest and there isn’t one damn thing anyone can do about it. I spent my ENTIRE career surviving and making examples of people in the ring. I am not being cocky and I am far from arrogant, but when I look down the list and see Johnny Rebel’s name, it makes me laugh at the fact that this guy who has nothing to gain from this match… because he is that terrible in the ring. He actually thinks that he has this match won, he thinks he can survive.”

I begin to bite my lower lip when I think of the word conquer. Everything that I have done in my career leads me to this one night where I can hold my head up and say I did the one thing that everyone in OWF thinks that I couldn’t do. ”Conquer… heh… I guess in order to survive you need to conquer. You need to toss all your fears and everything you want in life to live for the one moment that you can say you are better than the rest. To live that one moment and have it etched in the back of your mind. I am not making claims, to me this is a match and I plan on not treating it as any different. APW will witness The Misfit, 99 other people will go to battle and a war will arise. I am not going to say it will be any easy fight and a simple task because this is the one type of match I have never been in. I don’t intend to sit back and relax. I will kick ass and take names and do whatever it takes to win this match. I will Conquer and I will show the world why I say I am one of the highest paid people under contract at OWF.”

”APW is in for a real treat when I make my way to this event. Not only do I plan on going down to that ring and inflicting a crap load of pain on everyone. I also plan on Surviving till at least the final 5…” The door opens and I am surprised to see my daughter entering the room. She doesn’t know it yet but she has been the main reason why I am still in the sport today, I came out of retirement because I grew sick of the whole stay at home dad thing and actually wanted to provide for my daughter.<i> “Who’s ready for Mexico?” [/i] I ask her as she smiles at me sheepishly as I get to my feet and walk over to her. I scoop her up and put her on my shoulders and as she begins to laugh.

”Survive and Conquer… Sounds Fun” I turn away from the camera and slide Lydia down into my arms as the camera fades to black and the Hells Fire logo appears.

[jjjohnson]

*So I’m sat here, and to be honest my mind is buzzing with a thousand different thoughts, desperately trying to think of what I can say when they start this interview call. I mean what on earth are you supposed to say in order to convince the world that you can outlast 99 other guys in arguably the most brutal and body-destroying match the industry has ever seen?. Damn I’ve done a lot in my career, I’ve achieved my goals and never doubted my ability until this moment right now. Because now I’m wondering, was I always just a big fish in a small pond?...maybe I’m nothing compared to what the rest of the world has to offer, maybe I’m just another name in the circuit of forgotten no-marks, could this all have just been a pipedream?

I can hear them, in the next room, discussing the potential candidates for this match and hyping up the “primetime players” and not once have I heard my name uttered, not even the slightest acknowledgement. And I know the audience that tunes into the event will probably say “Who?” when they announce my name, and to be honest, I have no idea how I am supposed to deal with that.

I’ve come from a land where 20,000+ chanted my name night after night, where the fans followed my every move, where I was an icon, a bonafide legend and after three world championship reigns, my legacy was forever cemented in the flames of history. But the name “JJ Johnson” hasn’t had one ounce of impact since my registration into the “Survive and Conquer” tournament, they ain’t even batted an eyelid to my involvement, and in just a few minutes I need to sell my pitch to the listening fans, I need to make everyone sit up and take notice.

But damn I don’t think they really interested in me, they already got their favourites and they already got they winners lined up, you hang around the business this long and you know when you getting played like a fool, you know when you be fighting a losing battle, no matter how much effort you put in, no matter just how good you really are.

I mean, I figure I have got five minutes, five minutes for the world to hear my voice, listen to my views and in that time they gone want to make they mind up….they even gone like what they hear, or dismiss me as an afterthought, I ain’t never felt this kind of pressure, I ain’t never been backed into a corner quite like this befo.

See I was a born winner, every time I compete, I play to win and “Survive and Conquer” will be no different, but for the first time in a long time, I am doubting my ability, questioning just how good I really am…..I guess no matter what happens in the next few weeks, no matter what goes down on that fateful night….i’m gone have my answers either way, once and for all I will know the truth.

And when this interview starts, I ain’t gone talk like that, ain’t gone admit that I have experienced doubts, that I have considered my position in this match time and time again. Heck I’m gone trailblaze this like only I can, hold my head up high and make sure I get my point across…..because I may not belong to an “expert fed” and I may not have the IWC cooing at my name, but I damn sure have the ability and cojones to talk the talk, walk the walk and ensure that these fools never, ever, forget the name….JJ Johnson!

(The scene opens to show an African-American male, dressed in a pair of jeans and an unzipped white hoody sat in a waiting room lobby. A door to the right has a light above it with the words “ON AIR” flashing above it and voices can be heard from inside. Suddenly a jingle begins to play, followed by the voice of the presenter”.)

(Presenter):Welcome back to WWRA (World Wrestling Radio Alliance) and this is your host, James Marshall along with my guest, and former king of the ring, King Cyrus. So we have been talking all morning about the up coming “Survive and Conquer” tournament and throwing out some names for the potential winners, as well as discussing potential scenarios. But up now we have kindly been joined by one of the competitors in that match, someone that seems to have flown under the radar really, he is representing a company called “6WF” and is a former three time world champion, so welcome to JJ Johnson!

(Mock applause is played over the airwaves as a young woman opens the door and beckons the African American man inside. He walks through and faces Marshall and King Cyrus, who promptly shake his hand and offer him a headset.)

(JJ):What’s happening guys?

(Marshall): It’s good to have you with us JJ, thanks for taking some time out of your schedule.

(JJ):Ain’t no problem my man, people need to hear what I got to say heading into “Survive and Conquer” and I heard this was the best place to get my voice heard.

(Marshall): You hear correctly JJ, the world is listening, so make it good. Here is what we are going to do…I’ve got a few questions I want to ask you, I think Cyrus does too…

(Cyrus nods at JJ with a smile)

(Marshall):Then we are going to take a couple of calls from our listeners, read a few e-mails and stuff, that sound cool?

(JJ): Sho’ thing playa, you continue as you need…

*So I’m sitting here and now I’m thinking that maybe I be playing this way too casual, like maybe I need to step my ass up off my shoulders and be mo’ serious, show these fools that I ain’t playing. But then I remember what brought me to the dance in the first place, the fact that I always looking fo’ the light in a dark situation. It’s what made me a star, why go back on my roots now?

(Marshall):So, JJ, first thing is first….and maybe the most obvious of all my questions……and without sounding rude, but for the benefit of some of our listeners, who exactly is, JJ Johnson?

(JJ): Starting me off easy fo’ the one thousand dollar question huh?

(Marshall): This is more like fifty bucks…

(Canned laughter)

(JJ): JJ Johnson is me, born and raised in Compton, Los Angeles. Without going too deep and missing the point, I rode out a tough upbringing, lost my mother and father, raised by the streets, and forced to grow up real fast. I was in and out o’ trouble but professional wrestling dragged me out o’ the gutter. I found my home in a federation known as 6WF, run out o’ Birmingham, England, a fed made by the people fo’ the people….and until this day, I always called that place home.

(Cyrus): I never heard of 6WF, hardly speaks for your credentials against some of the other guys in the tournament…

(JJ): That’s yo opinion, and heck you welcome to it….but just cos 6WF ain’t on yo radar, ain’t on the radar o’ the masses don’t make it a slight on my credentials whatsoever. 6WF got some o’ the finest talent this world done ever seen, and maybe we aint’ got some “expert” tag but you check out my homies back in Birmingham and you gone see that there some so-called “top feds” that don’t hold a candle to what they doing back there…we undiscovered, and we damn sure deserve some respect fo’ what we been achieving.

*Damn, this son o’ a bitch has riled me up, shouldn’t have let him touch a nerve. It was just a question JJ, don’t let it rattle you. He trying to pull you out yo comfort zone, reign it in and make 6WF proud.

(King Cyrus is smiling at JJ, who glares back)

(Marshall): I’ve read up on 6WF, and I’ll admit, you guys can definitely make waves with the right direction. During your time in that federation, you won three world heavyweight championships, JJ, and no doubt you have been involved in some history-making nights, but what has happened in your career that makes you believe you are ready to mix it with the “best in the world”?

(JJ): I know some people gone see my name on this list and they gone scoff, maybe they just gone overlook me, write me off befo I even get started and they entitled to do that. But after five years of busting my a55 in 6WF, competing in every match imaginable, fighting fo’ my life and proving the critics wrong night after night, I felt that maybe I need a new challenge….maybe I need to stand up and see whether I can step into the limelight of the pro-wrestling circuit and bask in eternal glory, I need to see whether I can not only survive….not only conquer……I need to see if I can dominate!

(Marshall): You say you have competed in every match imaginable, but this is a 100 man battle royale….surely you have never seen anything of the likes?...how do you even begin to prepare for something like this?

*Just tell the truth here JJ, don’t dress it up and don’t make jokes……..tell the world how you really feel.

(JJ): You can’t…

(Cyrus raises his eyebrows at JJ, almost as if his interest has finally been peaked)

(JJ): No point in me pulling punches on this situation, absolutely nothing gained by me by lying my way through the process. I could train fo’ a lifetime in preparation fo’ this match be no more prepared then I would be if I trained for five hours. No match in this industry could prepare you for one hundred men in a battle royale environment. I’ve been in there with 30, 40 other guys but never,ever even imagined a matchup of this kind of magnitude, it defies belief and logic and therefore anyone who comes up in here and says they got this all figured out…is plain full of (beep)!

Because winning this match ain’t gone come down to who is the best wrestler, or the best technician or any of those sorts of traits. Sure you got to have skills and you got to have smarts, goes without saying, but let’s be realistic here guys, you gotta be the luckiest son of a bitch walking God’s green earth to walk out o’ this match with yo hand raised in victory, no two ways about it.

We talking about outlasting 99 other men, over the top environment, a steel cage environment, street fights, hell in a cell with a ladder twist….you gotta have heart, spirit, the determination and the drive to push yoself above and beyond anything you could have ever imagined in your life before. Because you’re gonna shed blood, sweat and tears….put your body on the line and shorten yo career beyond a shadow of a doubt…and you can talk this through, consult a book,do your research and talk yoself up as much as you damn well please…..but when the lights on bright, when its game time and the pressure is on…spotlight shining down on you, yo ass turns around and all you got is yourself…..ain’t nobody else got yo back but you and that’s the reality in the cold light of day…

So am I prepared?....hell no……am I ready?....not in this lifetime or the next…..but is that going to stop me?....fools better ask another question because JJ Johnson never walked away from a fight in his life…..I’m here to win and I’m here to make sure that every cat got my name on they lips when this all said and done….you not gone forget me in a hurry, of that you can be damn sure…

I’m giving my all…..110% and then some…you are going to get the absolute best of JJ Johnson come fight night and we gone find out whether I just be another loud mouth contender, or whether this playa got as much game as he spits….whether I’m representing championship style…

(Marshall): I like the honesty….but JJ, look at this list……these are some of the biggest and best names in the industry…

(JJ looks at the piece of paper on the desk and shrugs his shoulders)

(JJ): This means nothing to me, and if you telling the truth then you’ll admit it means nothing to you either. I don’t know those names on that list, I don’t know those guys, just like they don’t know me.All they be is statistics and it is as clear as that…because when the dust settles, 99 of these names on this list are gonna mean jack(beep)….only one gone have any real meaning, only one guy got get the plaudits the recognition and the accolades that come with this magnificent achievement, all I gotta be focused on is making sure that name is my own.

I ain’t gone study these guys, I’m not gone look them up and spend day after day honing a plan that will never come into fruition. I’ll call the shots when we go live, when I’m stood toe to toe with one, two, maybe twenty five other men…that’s when my brain in motion, that’s when your gone see JJ Johnson making some judgment calls, until then we ain’t gone speak another word.

Because you can’t predict this, you can’t tell that just cos these guys big shots that that gone make them a candidate in this match, all it means is they just another victim, they just another casualty of they own success….the brighter yo name shines, the more than likely that these guys gone be gunning for you, mo’ than likely you got a bullseye dead centre on yo back and yo time already elapsed….i’m mo’ than content being an unknown quantity….gives me an element of surprise…..relieves the pressure upon my shoulders…

*I don’t know who I am trying to kid. My head has been throbbing for days, my stomach bulks at the mere thought of the impending matchup. I have never felt pressure like this in my life. Because for years I have coasted off the impression that I am some sort of big shot, but now it’s time to stand up and be counted, now I need to deliver on the grand stage and I’m wondering whether or not I have actually got the bollocks to back up my words….is JJ Johnson a champion?...or am I just some chump pretender off the streets?.

(Cyrus): I’ve got a question…

(Marshall): Go ahead Cyrus, then we will take a few calls and read a few e-mails.

*This punk gone try and throw me off my guard again, take your best shot bitch.

(Cyrus): You seem to talk a good game, I’ll grant you that. But what makes you believe you have something that 99 other guys don’t have, what makes you believe that when “Survive and Conquer” is over, the whole world is going to know your name?

*Give me five minutes and I’ll show yo ass

(JJ): It isn’t that I have something that everyone else don’t, it is that I got all of the fundamental ingredients that go into making somebody determined to prove themselves. I can talk, maybe not aswell as some but I got my tone developed. I can fight, once again I may not be the best, but I can sure as hell hold my own when we throw down. When the heat is on, when my back is up against the wall I have the ability to thrive, I can maintain my flow through the most intensest of pressures and I will come out of this situation with my head held high, win or lose I am doing this fo’ pride…I am doing this to prove a point.

*I want to win

(JJ): I’m not gone sit here and give you some bull(beep) backstory, heck buy my autobiography if you that interested, because my private life and my family life got nothing to do with this match, I see no benefit on exposing that side of my persona when all you guys wanna do is see me fight.

I ain’t gone trash talk someone cos I don’t know these guys, and this ain’t personal, it’s all about business….and JJ Johnson all about taking care o’ business when the time calls, don’t need to get hung up on who said what, and what they claim is going to happen.

This all hypothetical, this all just crystal gazing and not one of us has one iota how this whole thing gone go down…there is no method, no plans or procedures…..this all just coming down to fate, destiny and a (beep) load o’ luck….lets not dress it up…don’t get it twisted…..we talking $1 million dollars….the adulation of the masses…..pro-wrestling immortality and it all boils down to who got Lady Luck looking down upon them with a twinkle in her eye…..you gone have to bust a damn but or two to reach the final stages…but nothing about my game, or anybody elses is gone decide the outcome of this match….

So to answer yo question, King Cyrus….what I got that everybody else doesn’t?...not a damn thing that I’m aware of…but I guess time gone tell and yo fat ass just gone have to keep watching like the rest of us…

(Cyrus snarls at JJ, who merely looks back at him with a look of disdain)

(Marshall): Alright then, we are going to take a call JJ from one of our listeners. Hello there, is that Carl, from San Francisco?

(There is crackling and then a loud voice echoes over the speakers)

(Carl):WOOOOOO,on air baby!

(JJ smirks)

(Marshall):Good to have you with us Carl, it is my understanding that you have a question for JJ Johnson?

(Carl): I do indeed. Wassup JJ…

(JJ):What’s happening playa?

(Carl):Man they just did the Survive and Conquer draw yo, they drew you out at number 64. How confident are you feeling now?

(JJ): I appreciate you throwing that out there Carl, damn didn’t know they were doing the drawing right now, so big props my man. As for being drawn out at #64……not really gone make much of a difference once the adrenaline kicks in. See for this match you gone have to be ready to go 90 minutes + no matter what if you wanna have any chance of winning….so whether I’m in number 1, number 100 or somewhere in the middle….I still got the same task, still got the same goals and the same obstacles to overcome. 64 gives me a good chance to whet my appetite but at the same time I’m gone need to be on my toes, because there is gone be bodies flying left, right and centre….gone need my wits about me, no doubts on that playa.

(Marshall): Just quickly Carl, before we go onto our next caller….whose your pick for the winner?

(Carl):I’d like to say JJ, he seems a cool guy….but my money is on Rex Evans, that guy has got crazy skills guys….he’s the one to watch.

(Marshall): Appreciate you ringing in Carl, take it easy.

(JJ):Catch you later homie!

(Marshall):Next up we have Scarlett, from Liverpool….hello Scarlett!

(Scarlett): Hi guys. Hey JJ…

(JJ): What’s happening chica?

(Scarlett): I’m good…..I just wanted to say, as a man from a relatively unknown fed, are you worried that you will be lost in the mix in this match?....Do you believe you will be overlooked?

(JJ): I sure as hell hope not chica….I mean I wouldn’t be in this match if I didn’t believe in myself and my fans didn’t have confidence in me. Everyone was on my case, telling me to get involved, to give this a go and see just how far I can take this…..I mean I got to be doing something right to get that sort o’ praise and that sort o’ push…….for me this is about making myself known to the world, making sure that no matter what happens, I leave my all in that ring and see where the future may take me.

(Marshall): Just quickly Scarlett…..

(Cyrus): I’d just like to cut in and ask Scarlett if she has ever heard of 6WF?

(Scarlett): I’ve heard bits and pieces, but I never saw a show or watched any of their footage.To be honest,until I turned on this show, I never heard of JJ Johnson before…sorry, JJ

(Cyrus leans back in his chair, a content smile on his face)

(JJ): Ain’t nothing to be sorry fo’ baby girl…..I feel what you saying…but you got my word, when this all over….you gone know me and you know all about 6WF….we making waves…

(Marshall): I’m going to have to cut you off there Scarlett because we are pushed for time right now. Just got time to read out this e-mail JJ, and get your thoughts on it. Brad from Wyoming wants to ask you….what is your key motivation for the “Survive and Conquer” match, and what are you hoping to gain from this experience?

(JJ):Damn that is a good question…

(Marshall):Going to need to hurry you unfortunately JJ, time is a commodity I am afraid and we are almost out of it.

(JJ): Main motivation is making my friends and family proud. I wanna give them something to shout about and be able to show them that all their support over the years ain’t been for nothing. That their belief in me can fuel my abilities, that their support can push me beyond the barrier of greatness….I am looking for a career-defining night and there will never be a bigger opportunity than this.

As for what I am hoping to gain…..$1 million wouldn’t go amiss…

(JJ and Marshall laugh)

(JJ): But in all seriousness, this is the chance of a lifetime, and I’m just hoping to do myself proud, to prove a point to myself that I can hang tough with the best of them….because this is go hard or go home, and I ain’t ready to backtrack on my steps now…I’ve come too far, this is all or nothing as far as I am concerned.

(Marshall): Let me be the first to wish you all the luck in the “Survive and Conquer” tournament JJ, you have been a fantastic guest and I sure hope this isn’t the last we have heard from you….

(JJ): I appreciate the time playa, it’s been a real pleasure….and I’ll see y’all real soon at the event…..we gone make history!

(JJ high fives Marshall as the theme tune jingle of the radio show plays over the airwaves and then Johnson gets up out of his seat and says his goodbyes to the presenter and King Cyrus, who is very cold with his handshake. JJ exits the room and stands in the waiting room for a moment before letting out a deep sigh and wiping a bead of sweat from his brow)

*You said your piece JJ, you did all you capable of doing and nobody ever gone ask any more of you than that. Now it is time for the preparation to begin, because these things don’t take care of themselves. You are a former three time world champion, and only you know how much this means to you. Only you have the ability to push yourself beyond the pale for this contest. JJ Johnson, it is time to find out whether you really have what it takes, to Survive and Conquer!

(JJ zips up his hoody and smiles at the secretary before heading towards the exit of the building, a glow of focus in his eyes).

[alone]

To: Dr. Steve Williams ([e-mail])

Subject: RE: Patient #23645

I have reviewed the video of your initial sessions with the patient along with the journal entry she presented to you.

She appears to be a lost cause. The amount and differentiation of agnosia present in her mind makes her not only uncurable, but frankly untreatable. She is simply another blip on the funding request to the state.

Felix Stanley, M.D.
Director, Lighthouse Treatment Facility

>To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])
>
>Subject: Patient #23645
>
>Dr. Stanley:
>
>I have conducted my initial analysis on the new patient. It appears as
>though there is some kind of neurological deficiency preventing her
>from being able to communicate. I have seperately submitted to your
>assistant the videotape from that encounter so that you can offer
>your opinion on her diagnosis.
>
>Also for your review: I gave her the opportunity to write when it
>appeared that verbal communication wasn’t possible. I scanned her
>writing and attached it to this e-mail.
>
>Please advise me on how to proceed with this patient.
>
>Steve Williams, M.D.
>Treatment Physician, Lighthouse Treatment Facililty
>
>Attachment:
>

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

To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])

Subject: Removal of State Funding

Dr. Stanley:

We regret to inform you that as of the end of the curret fiscal year, the Lighthouse Treatment Facility will be removed from its “public” status as a mental health facility and will no longer receive funding from the state.

This is not a notice to shut down operations; however, you will require private funding such that we can not provide to do so.

Your facility is a valued asset to the medical community of this state, and we sincerely regret that our current fiscal crisis prohibits our ability to ensure the operation of your facility, and it is our hope that you are able to still maintain operation of your fine facility.

Katherine Mandu
Clerk, State Legislature

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

To: Dr. Steve Williams ([e-mail])

Subject: Re: Patient #23645

Please continue looking into the matter. The patient will need to be place in protective solitary confinement until we further understand the events that have transpired.

I’ll also look into our procedures for hiring staff members. It’s simply not safe for the faculty at this facility for one patient to be able to fight off seven grown adults.

Felix Stanley, M.D.
Director, Lighthouse Treatment Facility

>To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])
>
>Subject: Patient #23645
>
>Please review the video footage from our most recent session with
>the patient. I have no idea what happened or why, but rest assured
>that I will be pouring over medical journals to ascertain the answer.
>
>Sorry. Let me start from the beginning.
>
>I was just as unnerved by her writing as you were, so I started
>observing her more closely. She never speaks to anyone, so it
>appears that her agnosia is legitimate. I also find it odd that she will
>respond to loud noises such as a medical cart being knocked over or
>another patient screaming. However, when someone tries to speak
>to her, she makes no visible reaction. I’d think she was faking it, but
>I’ve tested her, and there’s no way she could produce, as a course of
>effort, so nonexistent a reaction to conversation.
>
>Furthermore, as I was observing her behavior outside of our sessions,
>I noticed a clumsiness or lack of general balance, and it hit me! She is
>suffering from Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome! We just didn’t think to
>investigate that condition since she didn’t have alcohol in her blood
>during the initial tests. It certainly didn’t explain her agnosia
>symptoms, but I thought treating one possible condition may be the
>catalyst of genuine change in her symptoms.
>
>That’s where things took such an unexpected and violent turn. For
>the most recent session, we began by giving her a thiamine shot, the
>standard treatment to attempt to reverse WKS. Then, well, I can’t
>explain it better than just to show you the journal entry she wrote
>after being given the treatment:
>
>Attachment:
>
>
>After that, she couldn’t write anymore, and starting clutching her
>ears like she was trying to block some noise only she could hear.
>Then, well, you can see the video. She lashed out and took out seven
>staff workers at the same time. She probably would’ve taken out
>more if one of the security detail didn’t have tranquilizer guns.
>
>Please advise on how to proceed from here. I am as invested as I can
>recall ever being trying to help this poor girl, but…there’s nothing I
>can do if she’s capable of going up against our entire security staff
>and win.
>
>Steve Williams, M.D.
>Treatment Physician, Lighthouse Treatment Facililty

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

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It felt like a grand epiphany, but also like turning from Senator Palpatine into the Galactic Emperor.

I was bordering on hopeless as I conceived to concoct possible solutions to our unexpected abyss of government funding. Lobbying for reinstitution of said funding proved unsuccessful as it appeared politicians felt support for "room and board for nutcases", as one legislator called it, would be deemed as socially unpopular in future electoral cycles. Private funding proved equally ineffective as a source for monetary rejuvenation. The wealthy in this state proved sincerely apathetic to the plight of persons not capable of providing a reciprocal value to their "investment". Likewise, the vast majority of our patients are committed to our facility through either the correctional system or equally neglectful family members, so finding personally invested people beyond our staff was impossible.

And then, in the unlikeliest of places, a possible solution presented itself. I feel guilty even breathing life into this solution by writing it into this journal that someone may someday read with disgust, but my priority is to do whatever is necessary to maintain this facility. Too many jobs and too many patients would be lost if a certain level of martyrdom isn't accomplished.

I was invited to speak at a seminar on the public impact of the numerous closures of mental health facilities in this state as well as the nation as a whole. It was taking place at a sports arena in a nearby small town that doubles as its convention center. As the penultimate speaker, I had quite a bit of time to pace backstage preparing for my lecture. All of a sudden, some young, muscular kid without his shirt on came up to me. He asked if I was one of the managers. I looked at him quite confused, and he told me he was here for the professional wrestling event later tonight. I explained that I was here for the seminar, and he apologized, saying he was way early because he was so excited. It turned out this was his "final tune-up before the big show." My curiosity overtook me and I inquired as to what "the big show" was.

He told me that at the end of January, a professional wrestling company called Action Packed Wrestling hosts a wrestling match open to any willing participant that applied, and that the winner of this event would receive $1,000,000. It was time for me to go out on stage and conduct my presentation, and I was fortunate to have it written down, for my mind was elsewhere. Opportunities to obtain a million dollars are few and far between, even for a medical facility. With the impending fiscal doom on the horizon for Lighthouse, coupled with dearth of alternative plans I could concoct, I set out to determine how I could possibly take advantage of this situation. Maybe we could work out an arrangement with the eventual winner. Hell, I even considered letting the winner launder their money through Lighthouse and its non-profit tax-exempt status!

But, during that presentation, there was a moment. I was relieved to remember that this presentation on which I had no focus featured a video presentation of some of our patients, patients whose condition would sadden people to their plight. The presentation was meant to show a personal impact to all these closures.

And, then the girl was there. That girl who can’t talk and can’t seem to respond to communication…the girl who calls herself “alone” because she has no memory of her name or life and no one can seem to get through to tell her in a meaningful way she can grasp. But it wasn’t these symptoms I thought about when I saw her shrouded countenance.

It was that video her doctor showed me. It was her tearing through seven members of the facility’s security detail without stopping. It was her getting the upper hand on an eighth even though she had already been shot with a dart. It was the four officers of the next wave of security that were backing off, terrified of this silent girl turned vicious animal. It was then that it hit me, and, though Lord knows I hate myself for it, I realized what I had to do.

I had to put “alone” in that Action Packed Wrestling match. If I could get her into the match, she could probably win. No, no probably. If I put her in that match, she would win.

The best part? Well, probably the worst part, but either way: the best part was that, even though this was probably a well-known event in some circles, and that the girl would be awarded this million dollars at a televised event, no one would come after us for it. “alone” has no family of which we have been made aware. She was found by police and brought here when they couldn’t communicate with her. She has no memory of herself or anything so she has been completely forgotten by the world. Since she is trapped inside her own head, I would wager that she wouldn’t even realize she won, much less comprehend that money was exchanging hands. There’s probably not even a court battle. Just a few pieces of “anonymous charitable donation” paperwork – and definitely a few extra Wednesday night trips to church to bring my karma back to center – and that million dollars could go a very long way towards keeping our staff employed and our patients cared for.

That’s what I have to remember as I move forward with this plan. It is for everybody else that walks the walls of Lighthouse that I send this one soul out. She can save the entire facility.

Yet, she has no idea.

FS

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

To: French Fejuria ([e-mail][/u])

Subject: RE: Congratulations!

That’s fantastic news! No, I won’t be an on-stage manager. I mainly keep control of her affairs outside of the ring, and such.

Say, this may seem like an odd question, but humor me: this “Survive The Conquest” match…how long of a duration should I expect the match to take? It’s pretty important to her “conditioning” that we be acutely aware of how long she will need to be ready to wrestle.

Thank you,
Felix Stanley
Manager, “alone”

>To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])
>
>Subject: Congratulations!
>
>Alone has been accepted into the 2013 APW Survive & Conquer
>Match! Are you her in-ring manager? >Because that will require a
>second application for our records.
>
>
>French Fejuria
>Booker, Action Packed Wrestling

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

To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])

Subject: RE: Patient #23645

I fail to see the purpose in conducting these tests. We should be trying to improve her condition, and I personally don't think we can make any significant progress on her while she's in solitary confinement, which is the only safe place for her if you intend to continue to have her aggression incited.

I understand the boss-employee relationship here so rest assures that your tests will be conducted. I just feel my conscience screaming that all we are doing is playing lab rat with a patient you don't think can be saved, and if that's the case, then we are both very much in the wrong: you for requisitioning this protocol, and I for conducting it.

Steve Williams, M.D.
Treatment Physician, Lighthouse Treatment Facility

>To: Dr. Steve Williams ([e-mail][/u])
>
>Subject: Patient #23645
>
>The correlation between thiamine and the patient's "outburst" is
>unsettling but is moreover completely flabbergasting. Has there ever
>been noted in medical journals a similar case of thiamine injections
>causing aggressive, animalistic aggression?
>
>It is paramount we investigate this matter further. Over the next
>week, conduct daily tests injecting the patient with varying levels of
>thiamine. Maybe we can find the right amount to help her.
>
>Also, after the injections, place her in her room with one of our
>standing training dummies. Don't
>tranquilize her; record how long it takes her to become "angry" as
>well as how long she remains in that state.
>
>We may really be onto something here.
>
>Felix Stanley, M.D.
>Director
>Lighthouse Treatment Facility

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

To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])

Subj: Patient #23645’s response to our abuse

As requested, I have attached the patient’s writings after recovering from our most recent thiamine injection. I don’t agree with what you are doing to her, but you appear to be right that she is completely oblivious to what we are putting her through.

I suppose this is a good thing since that means she has no reason to feel remorse about the seven people she hospitalized the first time she “got angry”.

I still feel like we are completely failing in our efforts to actually diagnose her symptoms. Are you even interested in curing her, or would it ruin your plans if these symptoms started to go away?

Steve Williams, M.D.
Treatment Physician, Lighthouse Treatment Facility

Attachment:


>To: Dr. Steve Williams ([e-mail][/u])
>
>Subject: Patient #23645
>
>My protocol is to try and determine the precise depth of her
>suffering. My protocol is to try and decipher what has admittedly
>become a very intriguing puzzle. When you are someday in my
>position, you will understand that there are a lot of people at stake
>when a mysterious condition emerges.
>
>I expect this patient’s personal care to be more important to you, as
>it is not your job nor my expectation of you to think about the forest.
>That said, the next step in my desired protocol is an opportunity to
>evaluate this patient’s personal suffering. There are two different
>people here: the closed-off, head-down, detached patient who can’t
>communicate with anyone but herself, and this…monster of a person
>that could legitimately fend off 99 other men if given the opportunity.
>Let’s conduct a test to see if these antithetical mindsets ever coincide.
>Inject her with thiamine – the smallest amount you’ve recorded that
>incited a “response”. This is not about charting her response to the
>B1 injection, it’s about afterwards. Offer her writing materials as
>soon as she appears to be docile. If it appears that she is aware of
>her adverse reaction, then perhaps we can consider alternatives in
>our study and treatment. However, if she is not aware that she
>becomes violent, you have to ask yourself what grounds you have to
>even hypothesize that anything we are doing qualifies as inhumane.
>
>Felix Stanley, M.D.
>Director, Lighthouse Treatment Facility

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

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Dr. Williams is becoming a significant problem.

I have been exceedingly patient with him, and in his defense, if he understood the reality of what I was doing, then maybe he’d be more forgiving of my experimentations. It’s a calculated risk to keep him in the dark since the last thing I would need would be him becoming even more defiant at the idea of me turning that girl into a monster then unleashing her upon the unsuspecting meatheads in that wrestling company.

Of course, he’s also in the dark about the fact that if she doesn’t go to that wrestling match and win, then this treatment facility is likely to be shut down by the end of the year.

One is a mental patient with no memory or record of her own existence at all; one is a physician with a medical degree and years of experience. Both of them have no idea that they are the only hope this facility has of surviving. Then again, who should I feel more guilty about: the two members of my facility that I am trying to manipulate, or the ninety-nine professional wrestlers who have no idea that a legitimate monster will be uncaged and set loose upon them with no sense of mercy or remorse?

I can’t think about those people. At a time like this, I have to focus on the opportunity that has been presented to me as well as the amount of people that I can positively influence once my plan comes to fruition. And, I have to be honest with myself: this girl has no future. Hell, she has no past or present either. She’s a goldfish, and it would be a medical miracle to pull any humanity out of her. When we tried, what we got was more demon than person. I shudder to think of what other monstrosities may emerge from this little girl. Steve may protest to my logic, but I can’t ascertain how using a patient that is more hopeless animal than human being to save a facility full of workers and other patients is any different than slaughtering a cow to provide meat to feed those people.

Well, I suppose the difference is that there’s no way I can think of to make a million dollars from a cow.

FS

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

To: Dr. Steve Williams ([e-mail][/u])

Subject: RE: A final plea to reconsider

I appreciate your willingness to stand up for this patient, but I feel your passion is wasted on this patient, and thus I will be reassigning you to some of our other patients that have recently joined the community. I will personally oversee this patient’s continued treatment, and trust me, I will make sure that what needs to be done is done.

Felix Stanley, M.D.
Director, Lighthouse Treatment Facility

>To: Dr. Felix Stanley ([e-mail][/u])
>
>Subject: A final plea to reconsider
>
>Dr. Stanley,
>
>I get that there’s potential for the study of this patient to unlock
>some mysteries that could help others in our care, but I have to say
>enough is enough. Her life has been nothing but being turned into a
>horror-movie villian by day and then locked up at night. Maybe it’s
>because you have the entire facility to run whereas I spend more
>time with this girl, but when I see her writing, I see the humanity
>inside of her, and I just worry that you aren’t able to see that with
>the brief evaluations you have seen.
>
>This is her most recent writing. If you can honestly read this and
>study it, and you don’t see a poor, innocent girl who is stuck in this
>predicament through no fault of her own. So, I present this as a final
>plea to treat her like a girl, and not a monster. Please.
>
>Steve Williams, M.D.
>Treatment Physician, Lighthouse Treatment Facility
>
>Attachment:[/font]
>

[heartlessbitch]

Scene opens with a woman dressed in a black,Italian, silken strapless dress with a slit on the left side. She is sat in front of a computer screen just starring at it for a moment or two. Seeing the cameras on her she smiles a sexy evil smile adjusting her gold see-thru mask a bit as she addresses the camera.

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz," Hello, APWites and welcome to my humble abode. I know it's not much but it's better then most of you can afford. Oh, where are my manors? **Light Laughter** I bet you all are dying to know exactly who is this exquisite creature is before you and the answer is Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz. "

Eva pauses allowing the cameratodrink herin as she stands up. The camera pans up and down allowing everyone to see her very sexy curves. Eva then sits back down, placing her arms on either side of the chair as she nods at the camera.

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz," I bet you also wanna know what I am up to, right? Of course you do;after all everyone wants to know about Eva De La Cruz. I am what each and everyone of you strives to be but sorry to say you'll never achieve even one iota of what I am about to achieve, but I am getting ahead of myself as right now I am beginning to write my very own Autobiography. It's just a rough draft but I'll allow you a sneak peak, even tho I know you are ALL gonna go out there and buy it when it comes out. Why? Because it's me!"

Eva laughs lightly again as she turns to the screen and begins typing as the camera zooms in on the screen allowing everyone to see exactly what is being typed.

\\And God Created Me//

My life began on Saturday August nineteenth nineteen eighty-nine at two thirty-three in the morning. Inside Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center where i was born and weighed in at six pounds and seven ounce with a length of twenty and three quarter inches. It was an intense forty-two hour labor but my Father Mother Roberta Anna De La Cruz knew I was worth all that pain and the smile upon her face when they handed me to her in a pink blanket was priceless. My Father Alberto Armando Fuentes De La Cruz took one look at me and knew I was gonna be something special in life. They both looked at each other when the Doctor asked them ;[/color]"What's her name?" My Mother immediately said. " Eva Dominga De La Cruz." My Father smiled as my middle name is his
Mother's name and my first name is my Mother's Mom's name. After about a day of being in the hospital myself and my Mother were allowed to finally go home. That was the first step in my greatness. In that moment everyone in the world knew God had created a special gift for them.

I had everything handed to me and at the age of two my Father bought a mansion in Beverly Hills where I was taught by a private tutor. I started learning to play the piano at this age and I even started learning some martial arts. By the age of five I was winning competitions and was a brown belt. Learning the craft very quickly. I also watched a lot of wrestling and loved to imitate what they were doing and this was easy as my Father had a personal gym with a ring in it due to the fact he was a well known wrestler. This is also another reason why I fell in love with the sport. My Father was happy that I wasn't a girlie girl type.

Yes, I did like the finer things in life and was well refined but I wasn't afraid to get dirty and hurt. He decided it was a good idea to teach me the craft so he started training me and even brought some of his friends from the business to teach me a few things. Whether it was a move or just advice. By the age of fifteen I had started my own backyard wrestling company and was wrestling regularly every week. I also was in a private school called Page and had gotten into a few fights due to me believing I was better then everyone and I certainly could back it up. After a few suspensions my Father decided a private tutor was best yet again. I didn't like this and argued with both my parents over this decision.

After about a year they tried another private school but once again I got kicked out for fighting and by this time I was a third degree black belt in Brazilian ju jit su. I loved making everyone tap out and my company was doing great but I wanted more. That Summer we went to Japan and I asked my parents if I could wrestle and they gave me permission. I did well in my first outing not winning but I did learn a lot. Back stage after the loss I was upset and was about to punch a wall when I saw another girl around my age standing there. I was wondering who she was and approached her. The girl said her name was Misty Haze and that her Father was a manger here. She smiled and offered to be my manager which I liked the idea and it got me noticed more as I won the next few matches. At the end of the Summer I wanted to stay but my parents weren't keen on it till Misty's Father talked with my Father and he agreed to let me stay only if I would train and not wrestle much. I agreed but the calling was too much for me. I wanted to wrestle but the company didn't let me.

The only thing good for me at the time was I got to see a lot of wrestling events and was learning from many major guys and girls as they taught me moves by sparring with me and gave me advice. I even listened to the managers. I kept absorbing everything they told me and practicing for hours on end till I perfected everything. Myself and Misty became best friends along the way and in time we were inseparable; almost as if joined at the hip. By the age of seventeen I had a match as someone in the company had gotten sick and there was an open spot and no one else could step up. So I faced Lu Sin the W.A.R. Women's champion and beat her with a submission move I called Shattered (Le Bell Lock). The crowd went crazy in the Egg dome as it was a major event and upset. I didn't think anything of it as to me this was supposed to happen. I was perfect and made for wrestling and to make everyone drool over me.

Misty was the first to congratulate me but upper management wasn't to thrilled as their major star just got beat by a child in their eyes. I ignored them being upset and just kept my cool as I kept coming to live events and doing my thing. Lu Sin however liked that I beat her as it made her try that much harder and she even decided to take me under her wing allowing me to escort her to the ring. I learned a lot in the next two years and finally was told I would be wrestling regularly for W.A.R. As they offered me a contract I just couldn't refuse but I signed on one condition and that was that Misty Haze was my manager. After about six months I was put into a tournament to determine the new Women's Champion as Lu Sin retired but remained my mentor. I went thru the tournament and in the finals I faced off against Sue Lao whom I beat and became the new W.A.R. Women's Champion.

I wrestled there for the next two years not losing my title ever but I did lose a few matches just when it came to the title I never lost. Upper management wasn't pleased about this as there was another girl they wanted to push but I refused to put this girl over as I was advised by Misty and Lu Sin not to do it as the girl wasn't good enough for W.A.R. I had a huge falling out with upper management and left for America and this is where I was reached by someone and told about OWF. My first match was a Six Person Elimination match for the new OWF Cruiserweight title and I won it. Was pretty intense even if I took it lightly. Since then I've been feuding with Raymond Louden and hopefully it ends soon so I can move on to bigger and better things.

After that last key stroke Eva turns to the camera with a huge smile exposing her beautiful pearly whites. Licking her full luscious lips, she parts them slowly as she speaks to the APWites.

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz," Well, that's just a little glimpse of my biography. I certainly know you all enjoyed it after all it's all about me. Anyways, moving on. In a little bit or a few days I'll be addressing a few things and I may even address a few people that signed up for Survive And Conquer. You know frauds that just aren't what they seem. Especially those WWG guys. What a bunch of losers. Well, until we meet again the pleasure was all yours and you're welcome! "

Eva raises her right hand to her face and blows a kiss at the camera as the scene fades out.

\\Survive And Conquer//

[/color]

The "banging" sound of something being thrown over and over. The cameras quickly get focused showing Eva "Heratless Bitch" De La Cruz standing in a ring wearing a gold bra-styled top and some matching boy shorts and her infamous see-thru gold mask covering her face. She had just slammed a sparring partner to the mat with a basic body slam followed by a leg drop. After which she got up and waited for her opponent to get to his knees and then delivered a roundhouse kick to his temple knocking him to the mat and then locking in her Shattered move. The referrer that was there quickly motioned Eva the match was over but Eva held the move a bit longer until she felt his shoulder separating and even heard the bones crack a bit. This of course brought a smile to her face and made her happy causing pain to someone. As she gets up out of the corner of her eye she sees the APW cameras filming her and leans upon the ropes giving the camera a great cleavage shot. As her arms are draped over the top rope as she begins to speak into the camera a bit.

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz," So, you guys just couldn't stay away from me huh? I can't blame you as I am the empitome of a true woman that knows exactly what she wants and she's worth and baby I am worth more then all the blow dolls that call themselves women. Anyways, I know why you're here and it's not just to see me but to get my take on this Survive and Conquer match and I'll let you know my feelings in a moment but first I need to take this idiot out in a Street fight match we have lined up."

Eva turns around and her opponent comes at her and they both go over the top rope hitting the floor hard. Eva gets up and sees a trash can and picks it up slamming it against her opponent and then when he's woozy she grabs a nearby steel chair and tosses it at him and as he catches it she delivers a super kick knocking him to the ground and pinning him for the three count. Getting up breathing slightly heavy she nods at the camera as she motions them to come over. The cameraman quickly comes over as Eva addresses the camera one more time.

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz,"I just had a Street fight to prove a point and that point is I am ready for whatever comes my way. I heard the podcast and was really happy with my number. I know being number eighty-seven may not be good for some as they want all the screen time they can get as they feel that'll make them look better. In reality the later number you get the better chance you have of winning so all those losers wanting low numbers need to realize this isn't last years Survive and Conquer or the year before. This is the biggest match of all freaking time. That means the odds are against you and your chance of winning got slimmer now that I am in this. I also heard someone say they are undefeated in Hell in a Cells. Good for you but this is not. Palace where you pay people to landowners for you, so who the f[bleep]k cares if you're undefeated against midgets. You son entered the big leagues so undefeated crap don't mean a damn thing in this match. You have to have not just wrestling skills but intelligence and I am the most intelligent woman to ever lace up a pair of boots; not only that but the toughest so just for that reason alone is hope you and I end up in that Cell so is can break your arm and make you my bitch! Oh, I am just getting started boys and girls. Just a sec."

Eva smiles as she slowly raises her mask up a bit revealing her full luscious lips as Mist Haze comes over to her wearing a red tube top and some matching pants holding a bottled water. Which she quickly hands to Eva whom grabs it and squeezes a bit into her mouth and then hands the bottle back to Misty. Turning her attention back to the camera.

Eva "Heartless Bitch"'"Oh, for everyone's information this is my best friend and manager Misty Haze. Isn't she a doll? God, I love her. Oh, yeah back on track. It's been a long time Comming for me as I haven't been in a major cross-brand match like this ever but there's a first time for everything huh? That's right I'll admit it's my first major match but I am not afraid to say I am gonna win it all. See, I've seen a few promos cut and they are good just not as good as mine are. I mean in the ring in front of a crowd? Then some weren't even about the match so to me those are the ones that just are taking up space for true talent like myself. If I strike a nerve so be it. I am just speaking the truth and the truth of the matter is I don't like anyone in this match and I especially despise those gutless whores that come from WGG. They are all frauds and afraid to face real talent especially Scott Carr whom has lost and could never beat a good friend of mine SynnStarr Saint. I just wish he had the balls to face me in a level playing field .God, I feel dirty now speaking on that price of trash I need to go wash my mouth out now. Excuse me."

Eva leaves the room quickly heading thru a door and then after about five minutes comes out drying her mouth as she just washed it out. She pulls the mask down covering her mouth and smiles as she sees that none other then Asylum's backstage interviewer Jack Spade is finally here ready to interviewer her. He is wearing a black blazer and some matching slacks holding a special gold rose microphone that Eva requested he use to speak with her. The camera stays focused on Eva whom saunters over to Jack swaying her sexy hips and stopping just two-feet from him. Jack adjust his blazer as she addresses the APWites. He dips his left hand into his blazer and pulls out some index card Eva had sent him to read.

Jack Spade," Good evening APWites and I have the privilege and honor of interviewing OWF's current Cruiserweight Champion Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz. Now, Miss De La Cruz people want to know why you wear a see-thru mask?"

Eva adjusts her mask a bit and scratches her head a bit as if thinking hard and then answers in a cool calm sultry manor.

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz," Well, I wear a mask not for the traditional reasons but to protect my beautiful flawless face. Can you imagine if I didn't protect it? People would try and scar me out of jealousy and who can blame them but that's the reason a wear it and to be honest you people aren't worthy to see my face. Next questions please."

Jack just nods as he can tell that Eva is just one of those wrestlers that thinks to highly of herself. He asks the next question Eva has for him to ask. Eva places both hands upon her sexy hips as Misty comes with her OWF Cruiserweight title and wraps it around Eva's sexy waist. As Jack continues the interview.

Jack Spade," Eva, many want to know why you wear your title around your waist instead of over your shoulder like most and also what makes you think you'll win Survive and Conquer?"

Eva narrows her eyes a bit and shakes her head as that last question was not supposed to be asked just yet. Taking a deep breath she answers both question as calmly as possible."

Eva "Heartless Bitch" De La Cruz,"Well to answer your first question. I wear MY title around my waist because I am an old school wrestler in the belief that you should alway respect the title you have and wearing it proudly around my waist shows that respect. Anyone can make a title and sling it over their shoulder like a cheap trinket but it takes a special kind of wrestler to wear it with pride a dignity like I do. As for your second question? You wanna know what makes me think I'll win Survive and Conquer? Jack do me a favor and just hold the mic as I am about to say why I am your two thousand thirteen Survive and Conquer winner. I am more prepared then anyone else will ever be even those that have been in it before as they are not ready to step up like I am. True I am not doing any veer the top promos about the future or past using some time machine. No, I am just using my mouth and telling you and everyone listening that I am not in this to just look sexy as hell but to win it. Because it's all or nothing for me. This is the match that will make anyone that wins it and those that enter will not even be mentioned and I'll be damned if it m gonna be an after thought. I am Eva Dominga De La Cruz the future of this business and there is no doubt in my mind that I will take this match to the next level and people will be talking about it ten years from now and when I am dead people will still be talking about this Survive and Conquer as it will be one you will never forget. Trust me I am not all talk and yes, I am ready for Eva single one of you. As to me it don't matter if your seven foot or two inches tall I will not let you steal moment. I was born and breed for this very moment. This is my time to shine and I won't be denied my time at the top. You all talk about all these people that are in Survive and Conquer again as if they are something special. Hell, the podcast talked as of APW is the only company in this. They talked as if only APW has a chance but the fact is I am the only one that has a chance because I am ready to kill for this moment. I don't need to have anyone help me or back me up. I am not doing this for anyone but me and that may sound selfish, but it's the truth and something all these people will be afraid to say. The will all say I am doing it for my company Andes anyone from my company is in with me I am gonna help them. Me, I'll throw anyone over the top rope so that I can make it to the finals and win it all. See, let me make this crystal clear for those that lack a brain. I'd kill my own mother just to win this match. I Amy come off girlie and look weak but I am the toughest bitch you'll ever step foot in the ring with. I'll say this...I am not down playing anyone at all because I know everyone will gun for me if they are given the chance I am just the one with the guts to tell you toy our face I am gonna kill you if I need to. I am one that will never back away from a fight and this is what I am in, but it's not just a fight. No, this is the fight of my life! I win I survive and conquer. I lose and I am buried and forgotten like yesterday's trash. No, one ever remembers the one who came in second or in this case made the top ten. Great you made the top ten and what did you get? Oh, wait people will talk about you for about a week and then forget you. Yeah, I said this because I am emphasizing that winning this is all that matters no matter how you roll the dice seven beats snake eyes. I know I am talking a lot but you're still listening right? Because deep down inside each and everyone of you knows that I am right and you all want to say these exact words. You wanna say you'll win it or be a failure because anyone that don't win won't be able to look in the mirror the very next day and that includes me. What I am saying is I am all in. This is it for me and there is nothing anyone can say or do to change my mind. This isn't just any match. This is a war zone we are about to enter and only the strong will Survive and Conquer and bitches I plan to be the strongest of them all. Each one of us is a warrior but what kinda of warrior are you all? Are you the kind that will be happy just to make it to the finals? Are you gonna be the type that's just happy to be in this? Me, I am the warrior that will use your bones as jewelry and your heads as trophies as I win it all! As I will Survive and Conquer!"

The camera fades out as Eva blows a kiss to it.

[SalTal]

Our shot if off a trio of adorable children - two boys and a girl - each looking studious in their bookwork, though the girl of the group seems vaguely interested in what’s going on. They are Sally Talfourd’s kids, this is Sally Talfourd’s story, and here comes Sally Talfourd!

[Sally] Kids, I know I told you about the first two times I took part in Survive and Conquer...

2011

Marvin pulls her off! He then pulls Sally up, giving her a hard knee to the Midsection before giving her another Whiplash right onto the steel chair! Marvin pulls her up and gives her another Whiplash for good measure, and goes for the cover, 1...2...3! DING! DING! DING!

Eliminated: Sally Talfourd

Harvey: What a darn shame that Sally Talfourd, the APW Heavyweight Champion has been eliminated! She finishes third in her first showing.

2012

... but it was the third one that was, well, the most memorable. You see, the third one - the one in 2013 - that was the most important of them all. It was where I was able to show off just what sort of person I was. Show off what all my hard work and just what I can do where the whole wrestling world is watching. After all, Survive and Conquer had become the biggest event in the world by then. But not as big as it was this year.(<--Link) But 2013...I was determined to make it a good year.

We cut to a scene of a regular bar, pretty crowded, but give that it’s later in the night that’s to be expected. Moving around we see the faces of a heap of APW megastars - Bailey, AJP, Watson and even Gates - all wandering around. But it’s the group sitting at one of the booths that capture our interest. Sally Talfourd, TJ, and Keaton Saint.

[Sally] You all set for tomorrow Keaton? The number draw?

[Saint] Yes miss! I’ve got my alarm set and...

[Sally] Just the one alarm? Saint nods with a quizzical look. I’ve got two alarms set and a wake-up call. I don’t want to miss this!

[TJ] What’s so important? You can’t change anything about it just by being there.

[Sally] But I want to know straight away, not leaving it to some APW lackey being paid $10 for the hour to call me. Besides, I have to do some publicity...interview...photo shoot thing for the pay per view. But, I don’t know. I just want to be there to get swept up in it all. Survive and Conquer...it’s the one event the year that gets me excited. From the moment it’s announced to the bell ringing, I just love it. I think it’s the best chance to show off our skills and our talent and...

[TJ] And win a heap of money?

[Sally] No! No, the money doesn’t mean anything. It’s all about pride here, TJ. Pride in winning. Pride in beating out the best in the industry. You just have to look at the names of people who are here and know that the best in wrestling have turned out. Imagine being able to say that you beat them all...that you outlasted people like Slater and Holiday, Marvin and Mania, Davenport and Cain...there’s real pride in that, you know? It’s recognition that what you do, you do well. That’s all I want. You can have the money if I win, TJ. I just want the respect. That’s all.

[Saint] Can I have the money?

Sally lets out a short laugh before finishing off the beer she’s been nursing this whole time. With a big, relieving sigh, she plants the pint glass back on the table and pushes herself up.

[Sally] I tell you what, you can split the winnings. Or I’ll make you wrestle each other for it. It doesn’t bother me. But for now, gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. It’s time this lady got her beauty sleep!

Sally puts her hand, mid air, over the table. TJ and Saint look around, then at Sally, who nods her head to her hand. Begrudgingly they lay their hands over hers.

[Sally] Good. Now: 1-2-3: Pillars!

[Saint] Pillars!

[TJ] With your powers combined...

Everyone lets out a laugh, Sally ruffles TJ’s hair as she walks off, away from the table, back to the hotel room.

[Sally] At the time, I was in a group called The Pillars. It was me, your Uncle TJ and Uncle Keaton. We hung out together, looked out for each other, trained with each other. I guess you could say we were friends then too. Uncle TJ wasn’t going to be in the Survive and Conquer match, he was defending his title. But your Uncle Keaton and I were in the match together, and that was a real bonus. In a big match like that, you need an ally. You want someone who is going to have your back. All I was hoping was that your Uncle Keaton was going to be there when I got in.

[Daughter] Why were you worried? Why wouldn’t he be there?

[Sally] Well...

We come back to the same bar, to the same spot, just less people (it’s much earlier in the night). Sally comes bounding up to the table.

[Sally] Guys! Number 80! Number 80!!!

Sally slides into the booth, across from Saint, beside TJ. TJ raises his eyebrows as he polishes off the beer he was drinking down. Saint is slouched over the table, head down. She looks far more excited than the man she’s across from.

[Saint] Who does’t even look up. 34.

[Sally] Oh...that’s horrible... Sally sees that Saint might burst into tears at any moment. Horrible...ey...awesome! 34!? Imagine how many you could eliminate!? Man, I’d totally swap Saint...

[Saint] Really!? Let’s do it then!

[Sally] Oh...hmmm...actually, it’s against the rules. Sally is all shifty eyes at the moment. But, you know, I’d totally do it if I could! I mean, 80 is a sweet, sweet number to have...

[Sally] Now 80 was a great number. Not only because there was 100...yes, 100...people in this match. 80 was great because it was a big improvement on my last two years. I’d had 19, the first two times. And, as I said, things didn’t go as well as I’d liked.

[/COLOR]

AD BREAK: HAVE YOU CONSIDERED LIFE INSURANCE?

[Sally] Kids, getting 80 this year really bosted my chances at winning and I was happy to celebrate that fact. Uncle TJ and Keaton and I all sat around for some drinks until the bar was about to close. But, before it did...

[Matt Slater] Well well, this is where APW’s best and brightest come?

[Sally]...Matt Slater came in. This was before he became the world famous author that he is now.(<--Link)

[Slater] Did y’all all get your numbers?

[Sally] Yep. 80!

[Slater] Swap? 32 here.

[TJ] Hey Saint! Someone got a worse number than you!

Saint groans, then falls back into his seat, his head rolling back to stare at the roof. Slater, confused, turns his attention back to the more vocal two.

[Slater] Anyway, just here to grab some last minute drinks. All the NEW entrants are celebrating at the Queen’s Gates Apartments. Management spared no expense for us.

[Sally] Some good numbers for NEW?

[Slater] Holiday got 84, he’s the highest.

[Sally] Doc Holliday? Hopefully I’m still around when he comes in. He’s a good guy, good skills.

[Slater] Yeah, he’s not bad. Awkward silence, made worse by the thin crowd. Anyway, I’m gonna run with these drinks. There’s folks waiting and all.

The Pillars and Slater fare each other well, before contemplating bigger things on the menu.

[TJ] Jeez, it’ll be hard to get past all those NEW talents.

[Sally] NEW...and the other 22 companies that have someone in there. APW, we have our own...FGA has some serious talent in it...SCW the same...OWF...PW...IWF...I mean, I could go on! There is so much talent here. There’s not a weak person coming in from another company. And don’t get me started on the free agents!

[TJ] That makes it tough.

[Sally] Yeah, it does. But...that’s exactly how it should be. It shouldn’t be easy. The recognition that you get from winning a 100-person event? You should have to go through the pits of Hades itself just to have that title. Survive and Conquer winner, 2013. You would wear a badge saying that every day that you drew breath because you would want everyone to know just how good you are. If the tournament was full of half-rates and second-rates...what sense of accomplishment would you feel after winning?

Yes, it’s tough. And it should be tough. I wouldn’t be in it if it wasn’t going to test me...push me...make me work as hard as I ever have just to get into the second stage of the match. And what makes it even tougher is just how much people want this win. I know how much I want it. I know how hot the fire is burning inside me. And if even 50 other people are feeling it like me...this match is going to be a lot tougher than just getting the best of two-dozen companies and putting them against each other. Sally sees that Saint is still comatose still. And I bet that Saint feels the exact same...right Saint?

[Saint]...34...

[Sally] Kids, while the number was important, it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. If the past years had taught me anything it was one of the smallest concerns. So I might have been excited, but it wouldn’t take long for me to settle back down and start planning out my match. I was always good at sorting out the unimportant from the important.

[Son] So what was important?

[Sally] Well, first of all...

[TJ]...can you last long?

Sally sits up, shocked. She looks around, then leans in closer to TJ.

[Sally] What? Do you mean...

[TJ] In the match, can you last long? Even with 80, getting through the remainders from the last 79 and the next 20 is nothing easy.

Sally looks relieved. She lets out a giggle, then rests back.

[Sally] Probably. Maybe. There’s so many variables, isn’t there? How many people will be left? And out of those remaining 20, how many are good enough to not get heaved over the rope with the same momentum that gets them in the ring? Can I last long? Yeah, I can. But what can I do to make sure I don’t get eliminated. Hopefully our friend over here can stick around long enough so that we can work together. Sally and TJ look at Saint who has managed to secure himself another drink. He look a lot more alive now. That way, I’ll have someone to work with. But, if you look back over the years, I’ve always been able to live in the moment, adapt to the circumstances, and last for a long time. I’ll be able to find someone who is on the same page as me, at least for a little while.

[TJ] That’s the key to success? Find someone to work with?

[Saint] Among other things.

[Sally] Saint’s right. It’s about adapting, TJ. Knowing how to get the most of of a situation. I mean, I’m a good girl and all, but if it came down to it: I’d throw the person I was working with out if it meant getting ahead. Just go back to 2011 and you’ll see that: I took an opportunity that CJ gave up and he got eliminated. With that, I got to the final three. It’s about knowing the when and the where. Alertness. In-ring smarts. I want to win this year, the fans want to see me win this year, and I’ve got enough experience now to give myself the best chance yet.

[Saint] Hey... Saint leans into the conversation now, eyeing off Sally with an oh-so curious look. You just said you’d throw out anyone you were working with...

[Sally] Woah! Sally sits up, look at her wrist, which clearly has no watch on it. Would you look at the time! We’ve got to get going! I’m sure the hotel is closing up early.

[TJ] But we’re in the hotel...this is the hotel’s bar...

[Saint] Sally? Would you throw me...

[Sally] Right! Let’s go!

[Son] Did you throw Saint out, mom?

[Sally] I’m not up to that part yet. The match was in a week’s time. But, at the time, I was sure I would. I really wanted that win, kids. I wanted it more than anything. 2012 had been a real rollercoaster of a year for me and...and...and I just didn’t know if I had it. I had had a big win over Level-One at Rasslemania, and before that fifth at Survive and Conquer. But after all that, while I did win the World Heavyweight Championship on Asylum, I had had a lackluster year at pay per views. Losing to Michael Callahen - yes, our 48th president was a wrestler once - and to Anthony Bailey and then to Phil Atken. They were all really great talents, but after losing to them all, I just wondered if I had overstayed my visit.

So I needed to win Survive and Conquer to remind myself that I could be as good as I once was. That I actually deserved the reputation I had, that I hadn’t become a running joke. I needed toe confidence boost, kids. I’m not afraid to admit it. We all have high points and we all have low points, and I was going in at the bottom of my low point. But, as they say. The only way is up! I could only get higher than the place I found myself: Former champion, former main eventer, former name on everyone’s lips. I wanted to get back there, and this was the way I was going to get back there. It was an all-or-nothing gamble, but I was going to do my best to win.

AD BREAK: HAVE YOU CONSIDERED HOME INSURANCE?

[Sally] Kids, after we left the bar to go back for some quiet discussions about the big match, the talent, and our training schedules. Somewhere in it all, I was delivered a package...

[Sally] Oh my gosh! It’s finally here!

Sally races into the room, TJ sipping his drink, lounging out over the couch, Saint more interesting in peering out the window, taking in the view (though his interest is captured by the commotion that is Sally).

[Sally] Remember last year? When I said...

Survive and Conquer. What else is there to say about it that won’t be said 99 other times? Next year we should come out with ‘Survive and Conquer Bingo’.

...well, it was delivered today. Marvel!...at the glory that is: Survive and Conquer Bingo!(<--Link)

Sally carefully pulls out a few piece of cardboard from the envelope, brushes off the table, and then carefully and delicately lays the bingo card down for all to marvel at. TJ goes to touch it; Sally slaps the hand away.

[Sally] Who wants to play? There’s a special on the Food Network tonight: Part one of the series showing all the promos being cut for the match. Who wants to play Bingooo!? It would be a good way to scout out the competition. And to make all their ramblings interesting. I can’t think of any other way I’ll be able to get through them all. I pity anyone who has to...

[Sally] So, we all settled in for the rest of the night, ordered up some pizzas and we started to play. The only problem was...

FOUR PROMOS LATER

[Sally] BINGO!

[Saint] Well that sucks.

[Sally] ...the game was over after four of the promos were done. Given that it was still early in the night, each of us went out separate ways to get ourselves ready for our matches.

[Sally] I’m going to the gym. I haven’t done nearly enough cardio this week. I might be number 80, but I have a feeling I’ll still need to last an hour, maybe more. Anyone want to come?

[TJ] I’m staying. I have only two more squares until bingo!

[Saint] I work better in the morning. I’m hitting the hay so I can get up early.

[Sally] Fine. I’ll go all by myself.

[Sally] So I went down to the gym, but I wasn’t alone in that idea...

[Sally] ... my number! Call me maybe! Sally bursts into the gym, thinking she’s alone (otherwise, why else would she be singing that song), only to find that she isn’t. Oh! Sorry!

[Vannah White] No, it’s fine. Vannah, running laps on the treadmill, looks over to Sally and then away with a wry grin, her first break in focus. You like that song?

[Sally] No, not really. It’s just...catchy. Anyway... Sally sets herself up on the machine right next to Vannah. Maybe it’s for the competition, maybe it’s to show off. Whatever it is, there’s a purpose. She punches away on the buttons and soon the track is rolling and her legs are pumping. Vannah White, yeah?

[Vannah] Yep. And Sally Talfourd?

[Sally] The one and only! I didn’t know you were in the same hotel. I thought it was just APW?

[Vannah] Free agents have to find themselves a play to sleep. Seemed like the best place, especially if the organiser of the whole thing is putting up his company here.

[Sally] Been down here for long?

[Vannah] An hour? Maybe two. I don’t know. I’m not one to watch the clock.

[Sally] That’s smart, especially for the match. You watch the clock, you worry about what number is coming in and...bang! You’re tossed out. Of course, if you can last long enough until there’s no more people coming out...makes it easier to keep track. But we’re smart enough to know our focus should be elsewhere. That we need to focus on each opponent at a time. 99 other people we have to contend with - and they are all going to have their own plan.

[Vannah] A real survival of the fittest scenario.

[Sally] You’re not wrong there. Vannah’s speed on the treadmill has steadily increased while Sally has been there. Sally starts to speed herself up now. You can’t rely on anyone for any longer than they are helpful. You have to dig deep into yourself. Sally speeds up, Vannah too. Find that reserve. Faster again for the two women. Push yourself as hard as you possibly can. You’ve got to throw yourself into the melee and fight smarter and harder than absolutely every single person that you’re going up against.

Both women push themselves harder and harder and faster. It gets crazy fast! They exchange quick looks at each other, cursory smiles. Faster and faster until...both machines start to smoke. They smoke, the fizz, they die. Both women step aside, a bit shocked and a bit disappointed.

[Sally] Hmmm. That didn’t end well. Well...

[Vannah] I’m going to get going. There’s...things to do...and stuff...

[Sally] Uh, yeah. Me too. Anyway, good luck.

[Sally] I don’t know why I wished her luck. I don’t believe in it, I don’t put faith in it. I’d always worked on the idea that you make the opportunities that you get and you either take them or waste them. I had fought hard to get recognised in a business where people like me shouldn’t get recognised. I didn’t fit the mould - not when I started, and not when I finished. But time and again, I managed to break the moulds, break the stereotypes, and break the expectation rules that govern so much. And, in those few days before the 2013 Survive and Conquer match, I was setting out to do it again. I wanted to be the first woman wrestler to win. I wanted to be the first Asylum megastar to win. I wanted to be the first #80 to win. I wanted to be so many firsts this year.

AD BREAK: HAVE YOU CONSIDERED INSURANCE INSURANCE?

[Sally] Kids, the next day, after doing some early morning training, I had some time to myself. Your two uncles were late to wake up, so I went out for a walk to take in the sites and the sounds and the smells of London. But before I could do that, I had to call in to a radio interview.

We find Sally sitting on the end of her bed, cell phone pressed to her ear.

[Sally] Thanks for having me...yep, that’s right: Survive and Conquer. It’ll be my third year and I’m more than ready for this. I’ve been training hard all week, sometimes in a bar haha! Sally stops, no doubt listening to the question that is coming through the phone. OH! Gosh, who knows. I mean, there’s so much talent in the match that it’s nearly impossible to even predict the last ten, even the last twenty. But, I mean, if you wanted to be safe, you’d just pull a name out of a hat hahaha! Again, a wait. That’s exactly right: Your reputation isn’t going to get you anywhere. My first time at this, I was a hot favourite to at least be in the final two and I came up third. The second time, I was favoured again and I only finished fifth. This year, I feel more ready than I’ve ever been, but I bet you most people have counted me out. I recently lost a title, I’ve not been performing at pay per views of late, and I’m getting on in years. All that combined would suggest that I won’t figure in...but I’ve got a feeling I’m going to surprise a few people. Sally pauses, waits, and smiles. Well, I don’t know if you’ll have a better time speaking to him instead of me, but it was a pleasure to speak to you.

Done with the call, Sally hangs up and buries the phone in her pocket, followed by her hands. It’s a thick overcoat given that it’s Winter. She peers around the room, sees everything in place, then heads out. The shot fades back to where we started: Three kids, two of the kids buried in their books, the other actually paying attention.

[Sally] Before I went into that match, kids, I would like to say I was confident. I’d like to say that I expected to win. But the truth? I didn’t know how good I’d go. I didn’t know if I’d even last until number 81 came out. And maybe...maybe that had something to do with what happened in the match. But, in these days before - and right up to the moment there was the ten second countdown until I got in - I was full of questions. But I knew one thing: I knew I wanted to win. I knew that I would throw my all at it. I knew that I’d give myself the best chance to redeem the year, redeem myself, and collect one of the highest honours I’d ever get in this business. I’d trained, I’d worked, I’d practiced. All year, I was pushing myself. Pushing myself further each time. A lot of times I’d come up short, but I had learned. I’d learned my mistakes, I’d learned my weaknesses, and I’d learned my strengths. I walked out of 2012 low, yeah. But I’d also walked into 2013 with more knowledge and a in a better mindset than any year before.

[Daughter] Mom?

[Sally] Yes dear?

[Daughter] We need to get some homework done. So, could you maybe tell us how this all ends? You know? Where did you finish in the match?

[Sally] Homework? You’d rather do...ok, fine. So the match, it started with Nick Watson and AJ Fairchild. They were the first two in, you see...

[Reaver]

ATTENTION GRABBER!!

[/color]













Not so long ago....

In the mysterious land.....

Of London England.....

Johnny Knuckles was dating......




Nobody.......

From the dawn of its' existence, Survive and Conquer has grown to be a very influential commodity. It has become almost a being in itself. A tender kind woman who rewards those who are willing to fight to the death for it. Hundreds have tried, only less than a handful have succeeded. With each passing year, her hunger grows for more attention and with it; a new man in her life. This year marks her anniversary and she seeks to find a new man, or woman, who can satisfy her needs. Will she find herself with an old flame or will a new champion be crowned? With his appetite, his lust for her tenure, I give to you all......

JOHNNY KNUCKLES
vs
THE WORLD!!!

[/size][/color]





The scene opens on a distant view overlooking Wembley Stadium. It circles downward in a spiral; around and around until it reaches the front door. The area is literally COVERED in posters and signs for the upcoming event as they blow everywhere in a tornado like fashion. The cold crisp winter's air stiffens them enough to be jagged edges. One man stands alone, glaring at what he feels is his future....his destiny.

Johnny Knuckles just reaches up and snatches one out of the air as if it was meant to be. He holds it tight to his chest with his head down. A lover's embrace as it's called, he seems as if to never want to let go. Mike, his camera man, walks up behind him and places a hand on his shoulder. Consoling him, or perhaps feeding his ego. Knuckles raises his head and drops the poster as they both walk off into the distance. The poster drops to the ground, smeared from his bloody hand print.

The scene cuts over to the hotel room where Knuckles is currently staying. He washes his hands, then wipes his face, glaring at himself in the mirror. A knock at the door disrupts his concentration, only for it to be Mike interrupting his mantra.

Knuckles: What?

Mike: Just checking in to see if you're alright.

The stern look on his face gave Mike the hint. He slowly backed his way out of the room as Knuckles slams the door in his face. The past year hasn't been easy for Knuckles, not to mention the rest of his APW career over the past three years for that matter. His showing in last years performance was not only amazing, it was downright shocking and remarkable. Then his quick dispatch of last years winner shocked people even further.

All Knuckles wanted to do was prepare for hell. He manages to open a nearby bottle and takes two blue pills to help him get to sleep faster and plops himself in the bed provided. Another luxury Knuckles hasn't had as of recent months.

Suddenly, a strange light wakes him up. Peering into his soul and knocking him back. He finds himself in a desert with dust flying everywhere. He grabs his head in despair and drops to his knees.

Knuckles: Oh god......so alone. WHY DO YOU TORTURE ME!?

As weird as it seemed, a woman with almost no face and pink colored hair; skates past him. (Who the hell skates anymore? You know what they say, people who can't skateboard roller blade.)

Voice: You're not alone.

Knuckles: Huh? What?

Voice: You're just having some idiotic dream.

Knuckles: Does that mean we can make out?

The woman skates off as dust fly’s everywhere. Knuckles wakes up; breath heavy and mind disoriented. It was her, he recognized her from the poster.....the woman of his dreams. She's been taunting him for three years now; ever since he made his debut back in 2011, begging Knuckles to take the challenge and walk away with her heart. This was the year that Knuckles will sacrifice everything he could to try to make it happen. An email comes across his cell almost immediately.

Dear Mr. Knuckles (or to whom it may concern)

It has come to my attention that we will be fighting soon. My name is “Hictor Vades” and blah blah blah blah blah. Fair warning.........mano-e-mano.........Several evil blah blah blah.....This is.......a duel...This is.....to the...This is........death.This is booooring. *click* delete.

Knuckles hangs up his phone and heads out of his room only to find Mike close by. After arguing for a few moments, they decide to see a show in a nearby bar and maybe some take out just to keep it simple. They make their way to “The Speakeasy” to indulge their boredom and gullet for the evening, surrounded by people who all seem to be wearing white t-shirts conveniently labeled, “Entrant #1, #2, and so on and so forth. Besides, they both loved the name and thought it would be a good idea. After shoving a couple of pints down their throats and stuffing their faces with (insert terrible English food here), they decided to listen to a local band scheduled to play on stage.

Suddenly, a crash through the ceiling as a man wearing leather and a black, slipknot-like replica, mask comes down and the patrons, labeled entrants # such and such, are stunned and debris fly's all over the place.

Man: MIS-TER. KNUC-KLES'! IT IS I!! “HICTOR VADES”!!! Consider our fight.....BEGUN!

Knuckles: Huh? What did I do?

Hictor leaps into the air at an unsuspecting Knuckles who is flabbergasted at what is transpiring. The crowd watches on in suspense while Mike sits there picking his nose. (gross) Out of sheer reaction, Knuckles grabs his pint glass and smashes it over his face sending him back. He lands on the ground in a VERY flamboyant manner.

Mike: Hey, watch out! It's that one guy.....

Knuckles: Gee, thanks for the fucking heads up.

Vades charges Knuckles with fists flying but Knuckles leaps at him like Super Mario, Smash Bros. Brawl style and makes coins come out of his face before hitting the floor, glaring at each other.

Johnny Knuckles vs Hictor Vades

”Vades”: Heh heh heh heh, Well well well. You're quite the brawler, Knuc-kles.

His grin and taunting demeanor just seems to piss Knuckles off even more. Especially since that everything he does has a flamboyant and Ginyu Force-like facade. (gotta' love a good DBZ reference)

Knuckles: Who the hell are you anyways?

“Vades”: I am Hictor Vades. And I am the FIRST EVER evil Survive and Conquer winner. I won the heart of her once, and it will be mine once more.

Knuckles: The what!? Wait, we're fighting over Survive and Conquer?

“Vades”: Didn't you get my email explaining the situation?

Knuckles: I, um, skimmed it.

“Vades”: You will pay for your insolence!

He charges at Knuckles again with lefts and rights, kick after kick as Knuckles blocks most of them but eats a few before being knocked back. His lip begins to bleed as Vades continues to prance around like a fairy; taunting him.

Mike: HEY! What's up with his outfit? Is he a pirate?

Knuckles: Are you a pirate? A butt pirate?

“Vades”: Pirate's are IN this year.....

They continue trading blows (no homo) but Vades kicks Knuckles in the gut and attempts the EED or the “Echo of Eternal Darkness” only to get spun around and with his battle cry of HEE HAW!! gets clocked in the back of the head with a rabid Donkey Punch from Knuckles that blows him away (again, no homo) and shatters him into a bunch of coins.

KO!!

Knuckles: COINS! SWEET!! AWE MAN! It's only 1.49 British Pound Sterling.....it's not even enough for the bus.

Mike: Who cares, we drove.

Both men start heading towards the rental car when they see flashing lights in the distance. Out of curiosity, they make their way towards it to find out that they are filming a local movie. “What Dreams May Come” starring Ester Lonly. They make their way to the set and watch with the rest of the large crowd, conveniently wearing shirts labeled entrant # blah blah blah, as Ester makes his way out of his trailer to start filming.

Knuckles and Mike watch on in awe as they get to see a real life “movie star” (if that's what you wanna' call it) make a real movie. Knuckles shakes his head in disbelief at the sight of Lonly. He could have sworn he seen him just last year selling hot dogs, jerky and Donkey Punch as a vendor with a cart on a street corner. I suppose he's come a long way from needing a helmet to watch porn on the internet. (HA, ya didn't think id leave that out did you?)

**Shameless plug**

Knuckles: Oh my god.....

Director: Action!!

“Lonly”: HEY!! The only thing keeping me and her apart are the two minutes it's going to take me to kick your ass.....

Mike: I wanna' have his adopted babies....

Knuckles: Wait, what!? DUDE!!

“Lonly”: HEY! I'm talking to you Johnny Knuckles!

Knuckles: What? Wow, He's famous and he knows my name...

“Lonly”: The only thing keeping me and her apart are the two minutes it's going to take me to kick your ass.

Knuckles: Can I have your.....

Lonly punches Knuckles in the face.

Knuckles:......autograph? Can I have your autograph please?

Lonly proceeds to punch Knuckles over and over until he drops. Lonly then picks Knuckles up and hurls him like a frisbee into a nearby wall. The director yells, “CUT!” as Lonly walks angrily towards a downed Knuckles who is slow to get back up.

Mike: Knuckles, evil S&C winner.....

Knuckles: YOU THINK!?

Knuckles frustration is quickly put to rest as Lonly picks him back up.

”Lonly”: Did you really think you stood a chance against an “A-lister” bro? Some competition you are.

He punches Knuckles who stumbles back a few feet and to the ground. He proceeds to walk away as Knuckles gets up to face him but is ignored. Story of his life right? He continues to try and get his attention but remains ignored. He grabs him by the collar and turns him around to see that it really isn't him. Instead it's nothing more than a stunt double who looks back and grins. He looks over as Lonly laughs at his deception.

”Lonly”: OOOHHH!! HA, looks like you're seeing double bro. He's good right? Sometimes I let him do my wide shots when I feel like getting blazed in my home....I mean my winnie'.

He pats his stunt double on the back and walks off. Suddenly, there's a half dozen and they're all ready to kick Knuckles ass. I guess he really isn't much of anything without his stunt team. (inside the ring OR out)

Johnny Knuckles vs “Ester Lonly”

They each attack Knuckles and take turns smashing his face in. They get the drop on him and proceed to stomp him into the ground as Lonly walks over while texting or tweeting on his cell phone and ask the group if any of them want any coffee. He walks off as the grunts of battle continue on in the back round, (no homo) and he pays more attention to his phone than anything.

Knuckles: MR. LONLY!! You're needed back on set!

Lonly looks over and sees Knuckles standing on a pile of beat down stunt doubles. Lonly throws his coffee down as both men rush each other. Lonly comes in and kicks Knuckles in the face, sending him through a piece of the movie set. He stands tall over Knuckles trying to bask in his seconds of glory. (look familiar?)

”Lonly”: Prepare to feel the wrath of the league of evil S&C winners.

Knuckles: League of evil S&C winners?

“Lonly”: You really don't know about the league?

Knuckles: Um......

“Lonly”: The several evil S&C winners? Coming to kill you? Controlling the future of Survive and Conquer?

Knuckles: Uh, nooooo.

“Lonly”: Oh! Well hey; listen man. Don't worry about it.

Knuckles: Really?

“Lonly”: Yea, let's go get a beer.

Knuckles: That's great!

He extends his arms out to help Knuckles up only to throw a punch at his face for good measure, sending him back down. (what a douche) He laughs at his dick move and is happy with himself. (like usual)

Knuckles: You're a pretty good actor.

“Lonly”: I'm going for the Oscar this year.

Knuckles: But are you a good wrestler?

“Lonly”: I'm more than good bro. I have my own brand.

Knuckles: Think you can wrestle your way out of a wet paper bag?

“Lonly”: Are you serious? It's a bag. It's a piece of garbage.

Knuckles: Hey, if it's too “Hardcore” for you......

“Lonly”: You really think you can goad me into doing something as stupid as that?

Knuckles: There are girls watching.....

“Lonly”: …....

Lonly kicks Knuckles in the gut and puts him up into “The Level Advance” but Knuckles squirms his way out of it and manages to pick up a nearby paper bag and slap it over his face. (how convenient) Lonly falls to the ground and rolls around in the cold snow making the paper wet. After a few moments, he slows down then suddenly stops before finally exploding into a bunch of British Pound Sterling due to suffocation.

KO!!

Knuckles: AHH damnit! I didn't get his autograph.

Mike walks up from behind him as the scene temporarily fades.

Knuckles: I want to take a brief moment to really emphasize who I am, the lightning rod of APW. The guy who nobody expects good things to happen to but always seems to take all the bullshit and stay grounded. It started three years ago when I made my debut at Survive and Conquer. Three years later, here I am and still going strong. Every single year I enter this, I inch my way closer and closer but do I even dare?

I have one simple job. Hurt as many people as I can before it ends. 100 individuals who all want the same thing and YOU are going to be the pick of the litter?

GET REAL!

Would I win? I don't know. Anything is possible as I have proven that same fact over my three year career here in APW. I came up out of the shadows and shocked the world with achievements that nobody gave me a chance in. The one thing I have always done since I started was push the envelope. How many people could honestly say that? When people counted me out, I surpassed their expectations. When people looked the other way, I shined light through the darkness. I could care less what people say or think of me and it's because of them overlooking who I am and what I can do that pushes me to succeed.

I have excelled in times of desperation and there's nobody more desperate than me. I'm flat broke. Legal fees are kicking my ass and the urgency to finally become a champion is overwhelming. Desperation is a hell of a drug isn't it? I have been snubbed at any chance to earn my shot, I have been drug through the dirt and left to die, I have been tortured and belittled by anybody who has stepped foot in front of me. So I will do the one thing they couldn't.....take the hit, as any lightning rod should.

The scene opens back up as Knuckles and Mike find themselves at Wembley Park where a concert is taking place called, “The CLASH at Wembley Park” featuring the band “Con-tourage” and hordes people, who all conveniently have shirts that say, “entrant # whatever”. They had just finished up their set as a man approaches Knuckles and Mike.

Man: Bloody hell, you guys? I was instructed to escort you blokes backstage to see the band.

Knuckles: Huh?

Mike: ENGLISH MOTHER FUCKER, SPEAK IT!!

Knuckles: I AM BLOODY ENGLISH YOU WANKAH'

Mike: Oh, yea.....

Knuckles: What exactly do you mean by escort? I'm not into dudes.

The man rolls his eyes as he “escorts them” backstage to see the band. Knuckles immediately recognizes the band leader, Bryan Bruckus who looks at him and grins. His lights a cigarette and blows a puff of smoke in their direction. (what? I couldn't reverse the two “R's” in the name sue me)

”Bruckus”: What the bruck mate. Would either of you blokes like to bum a fag?

Knuckles: What's with all the gay jokes?

Mike: I don't know?

“Bruckus”: I don't literally mean.....never mind. I understand that you're trying to win her heart.

Knuckles: Maybe, what's it to you?

“Bruckus”: Join me and my band and I will guarantee her heart to be yours.

Knuckles: If I don't?

“Bruckus”: I will lead a revolt against you and the rest of APW.

Mike: Why would anybody listen yo you?

“Bruckus”: Cuz' mate. Unlike other winners, I could do it with a British accent.....

Knuckles: YOU COCKY COCK! You will pay for your crimes.

Johnny Knuckles vs “Bryan Bruckus”

Knuckles lunges at Bruckus but is held back and thrown through a wall with some sort of psychic powers. Brucks picks Knuckles up and knocks him high into the air. As he screams into the night sky, he falls down hard on top of a pile of garbage where a homeless guy is sitting, begging for loose change. Mike runs over to check on Knuckles who is in extreme pain.

Mike: Wow, evil S&C....

Knuckles: Ya', I know I know. OWE!

Mike: You ok?

Knuckles: No. If I pissed my pants, would you just pretend I just got wet from the rain?

Mike: It's not raining.....

Knuckles: Oh.

Bruckus's energy seemed to force the garbage aside with his brucking power.

Knuckles: I don't remember you being this strong.

“Bruckus”: After I left APW, I became a vegan.

Mike: How does being a vegan give you special powers?

“Bruckus”: You know how you only use 10% of your brain? The rest if filled with curds and whey.

Mike: Ahh.

Knuckles needed power and fast so he pulled out a can of his patented DONKEY PUNCH but before he could crack it open, Bruckus snatches it out of his hand and drinks it for himself.

”Bruckus”: HA! You think you could be on MY level? Now your precious drink won't give you any powers.

Knuckles: But it takes yours......

Just as Knuckles finishes his words, flashing lights can be seen and two men come out of nowhere wearing badges. ITS THE VEGAN POLICE!

Cop 1: FREEZE! You are in violation of vegan code 8297. Digestion of animal products.

“Bruckus”: What? How?

Cop 2: The Donky Punch you just drank. It contains a special ingredient......LARD!

“Bruckus”: WHAT!? NO!!

Cop 1: No vegan diet, NO VEGAN POWERS!

“Bruckus”: Don't I get three strikes or something?

Cop 2: PFFT! No!

The cops shoot some sort of green shit on Bruckus who suddenly loses all psychic powers. They walk off high-fiving each other as Bruckus falls to his knees. Knuckles charges Bruckus and hits him with a huge headbutt that shatters him into a bunch of British Pound Sterling....

KO!!

Exhausted, Knuckles and Mike head out of the alley to see the same homeless man begging for loose change. He looked familiar to Knuckles. As if they had met before. After a long glare, he recognized him as Slioth Arre, another evil S&C winner. Before he could say a word, Knuckles just runs up and kicks him in the face......(like Knuckles doesn't have anything better to do than to kick the homeless in the face.......or maybe not.)

KO!!

Slioth Arre shatters into....nothing. A single coin is seen spinning around, clinking to the ground. Knuckles and Mike ignore it before moving out of the alleyway, where he swears he can hear two people talking about a rag of ether and payment for a Happy Ending, but they ignore it and move on. Sore from his tribulations, he rests on the curb. Mike there to lend moral support but really hasn't done much of anything. A shadow walks out from behind Knuckles.

This weird looking shadow steps forward into the light. His eyes glowed but his skin was....blue?

Johnny Knuckles vs “NEGA-Knuckles”

Knuckles jaw drops in shock. He recognizes himself from last year.

Shadow: It is I, THE PRICK!!

Knuckles: Wassup' NEGA!!

His comment made “NEGA-Knuckles” shake his head as Knuckles stood up. Both men stood fast and ready to fight as the street lights began to shatter one by one. A loud scream could be heard as Knuckles wakes up back in his hotel room. Sweat beading off his forehead, gasping for air. He sits up and grabs his head. There was a knock at his door as Mike was screaming from the outside. “Cmon', I know this pub downtown we can go eat and have a few pints....” Knuckles slowly looked at the locked door, then back at the camera with a look of confusion as the scene fades.

Knuckles: Gotta' love how 99 other people can walk into an event they know almost nothing about and spit out the same garbage. Are you serious? And who the hell am I? I'm the rat fuck who has seen it all when it comes to Survive and Conquer. The guy who has taken this match over the past few years and certainly made it his own. I am the one person who refuses to fall into the trap of winning and then never being seen again. A little something I call, “The Curse of S&C”. What is it you may ask? During the five years this match has taken place, APW has never had a winner. But the winners have all come to APW after.

FACT!

Every person who has walked away from Survive and Conquer, not only left richer, but with an APW contract only to never be seen again.

Victor Hades – S&C winner 2009, first ever, given APW contract......retired.

Level One (aka Lester Only) – S&C winner 2010, given APW contract, retired, came back, retired, came back, retired to the sounds “Forever Young”, came back and thinks he's the next Paris Hilton but with a smaller dick.

Ryan Ruckus – S&C winner 2011, given APW contract, started a group, gave away his prize money, did some hookers and blow, retired.

Alioth Starre – S&C winner 2012, given APW contract, got the shit beat out of him by me twice in a row, retired like a bitch. (some threat)

All men who are never to be seen again. What about Level One? NEVER SEEN AGAIN!! I will personally guarantee APW will win this year, but it won't be me. If I have to go for it just to prove myself right then whatever but it's not only my job, by my duty to ensure that APW leaves Survive and Conquer with the top spot. I refuse to join the retirement home with the rest of the past winners. I refuse to be the guy who fades away without another after thought. What about Level One? FADES AWAY WITHOUT ANOTHER AFTER THOUGHT!!

I hurt people for a living. I enjoy what I do and I'm certainly good at it. I will use every trick in the book to make sure that every other letter of the alphabet in this match sees the quality of talent in our organization, even if it's me at the top of that ladder. It won't be me to win....

It will be APW who conquers this year......

And now to end things on a high note.......

Kate Upton!

Johnny Knuckles for S&C 2013

Word Count: 3968

[juvijuice]

Juvi·Juice [who-vee joos]
noun

• 1. an alcoholic beverage, considered to be the worst edible liquid in mexico. "all i have to drink is juvi juice. i wish i had some water!"
  
• 2. the substance secreted by one "Jesse Williams" when he sweats. "i tried to grab a hold of Williams, but he was covered in juvi juice."
  
• 3. ...

You're going to have to wait for the third, folks.

Hola, Juvi Juice here! Hope you all enjoyed your first lesson at school, because I'm about to teach you a lot of material in a short amount of time. I won't even start this off by saying you know me, because the truth is that not a single person in this match does. I represent the OWF, the Outsider Wrestling Federation, but feel free to ask them who I am as well. Chances are they'll guess wrong. Just like you all guessed wrong that my next order of business, after introducing myself, would be to tell you why I'm here. That's of no matter to you right now. I mean really, who cares why I am here? Isn't it the same as a ton of other guys? That's the way I feel about my identity. Who cares who I am? Aren't there a HUNDRED guys in this match? Impressive. I'm just another masked face in the crowd of nobodies, wannabe's and never will be's. Don't worry I won't be naming names because in the spirit of competition, all I care about is the number of opponents- and not their names. I expect the same in return, guys.

So who here started out wrestling over a decade ago? Show of hands? A lot of you. And when you started out, I bet you all weren't as great as you are today right? Took a lot of time to develop your character, and figure out exactly who you were in the world of professional wrestling. Good, glad some of you are with me here cause I used to be horrible, and completely unoriginal. Anybody start off with a character you based off someone famous? Well if you did or you didn't, that's the way I made my name in this sport. An irish-italian put a mask on and paraded around as a Mexican, doing flips and calling himself a luchador. How absurd, right?

It's not that crazy when you were bred to be a wrestler, and your family saw you as a failure. Hardly maniacal when you know the passion that was held under that Juvi mask. I fought with all of my heart and soul to make my name in this business, but I was always a joke as Juvi. Second lesson for today, the history of the man who will enter Survive and Conquer at the 93rd position.
____________________
_{August 1st, 1998
Little Rock, Arkansas}

A young Jesse Williams walks through the doors of the original Outsider Wrestling Federation headquarters..

Oh look at me. Only eighteen years old and so naive, ready for my first meeting with OWF officials. And the beginning of two years of torment.

The camera stands still on the door and a second later Williams walks out, obviously on a time lapse, with a blue mask in hand that he stares into.
____________________

The gimmick I needed to take to get a job. The gimmick that kept me as a joke and cannon fodder for the years I was sculpting who I was as a person. The gimmick I was hired to do, and that I did for as long as I physically could.

Some people are ashamed of the person they used to be. I'm sure there are some of you out there right now thinking "Hey, why is he talking about me?" but don't worry, again, didn't sign up for Survive and Conquer to go down a list of names. I am not one of these people, though. I don't try to hide my past like it's something to be ashamed of. Although I was humiliated enough, basically being told I needed to wear a mask to become a star, I was still hungry. I showed up for work every day- first in the door, and the last one turning the lights out. Put effort into events I wasn't even booked for, so I could step in for the inevitable no-show. New guy comes into the promotion and needs to be tested, I was the guy who volunteered to be thrown to the wolves. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. And for what? Well I hoped that my passion for the business, my love for the promotion that signed me, and my complete and utter respect for the roster we had would make me indispensable. Even more than that, I'd be seen as the true asset I knew I was destined to become. Sad thing is, the perception I had of who I was under the mask never became the outlook the people in power had- or even my peers. They'd look at me standing in front of them, wearing my mask weighing one-hundred and seventy pounds if I carried cinderblocks in my pockets. And they wouldn't laugh- but they didn't have to. A pat on the back, a word of slight encouragement and I'd be back to facing wrestlers whose only description of their character was "well I'm a bad guy, but the fans cheer me like a good guy.", and their theme song was usually something by KoRn or Limp Bizkit. I spent enough nights staring at the rafters counting the lighting fixtures, there were twenty-six in most of the arenas the OWF ran in 1998, listing to "Got The Life" or "Nookie" blaring over the PA system in a losing effort to know that this wasn't what I dreamed of doing as a kid. But I sucked it up, mostly because I was naive and felt one day my break would come. So I bit my lip and tried to make whatever waves I could, taking my limited chicken-shit opportunities and turning them into chicken salad. Want to hear my most prized possession prior to the turn of the century? The Cruiserweight Title. And when I raised sour grapes about not being afforded opportunities that others were, I was expected to apologize for disrespecting the championship I held. Still, I held out hope for the future. My time was near, and I was going to make it happen.

And finally six months into my OWF career, I got the break of a lifetime. A moment I'll never forget as long as I live. A nice six month break, thanks to one of the smartest and most manipulative men in this business- the owner of the OWF, Diamond Kid. A break that broke a lot more than the bones in my body.

See he needed a new star, considering the trump cards of the OWF were a rotating set faces and names on the big board. He came to me with an idea for one of his incredible brainchildren, the Christmas Tree Match. Long story short there is a christmas tree in the ring, and you climb it to reach the top and retrieve a prize. The prize in 1998 was the OWF World Title, and when I was presented with the Championship on a silver platter. I didn't think twice about it and jumped for it, then was told how it would go down. I'd go from wearing a mask, pretending to be from Mexico- to wearing a mask, pretending to be from Mexico while dressed as Santa Claus. The cherry on top? I'd be in the rafters for the duration of the match and I'd rappel down to swoop in, and steal the belt. I didn't care how, or why.. I didn't ask a single question.. I put the suit on, went to the top of the arena and waited for my cue.
____________________
_{December 27th, 1998
Los Angeles, California}

For three hours I sat in the thick wool suit, sweating until the thought of passing out actually became a great alternative to this consciousness. The main event came and I waited for my cue, knowing that DK had me winning this match. I could've swooped down as soon as the bell rung but this was my first opportunity at winning a World Title, and I wasn't about to botch it up as my boss watched. I was told to wait until Jaypac, one of DK's trump cards, got near the belt and I'd drop down- pulling the title out of his reach. It came about thirty minutes into the match and I dropped down- until my harness snagged, flipping me upside down.

Laughter ensued as I looked like a complete fool in front of the whole OWF. The staff, the roster and the fans all saw me as the joke I feared I had become. The blood rushed to my head and I held my breath hoping to pass out and wake up later on when I was out of the sight of the public. Then I heard a horrifying sound.

-SNIP-

And then the sensation of falling- because I actually was. Conveniently, Jaypac was supplied with a pair of wire cutters he had in his pocket the whole time. Just in case, I guess, he decided he wanted to do some trim work on the tree while he climbed.
____________________

Remember, DK needed a new star. And that was the night I realized it would never be "Juvi". Well not that night because after that fall I don't remember much of anything. I remembered feeling betrayed that I wouldn't be booked on the first Clash of Champions PPV. Now we're fifteeen years into that event, and looking back the first was the day the OWF became something. Me? I sat in a hospital and I waited for my chance to return. But Juvi died that night at Holiday Bash when he fell from that tree dressed like Santa. I put the mask on for the OWF twice more, out of contractual obligation and when DK closed up shop I left everything as Juvi behind. And no matter the success I have achieved as the man under the mask, born of flesh and bones, I can never abandon the mask that gave me a job in the first place.

That brings me to our third lesson here on the syllabus. It's the part where I connect all the dots and tell you exactly why Juvi Juice signed his name on the dotted line for Survive and Conquer.

Ever worked on something for a few years, maybe a job or a project, and abandoned it right when you felt like you were accomplishing something for one reason or another? Maybe one of those metal shelving units from Ikea? Or maybe you were laid off from your job in the middle of redesigning an orphanage into a strip mall. Regardless, whether it mentally or physically sits in limbo, it's something you know you'll either get to complete in the future- or just never finish due to whatever circumstances. Time goes by and life changes, but you can never forget that one thing you never did. That one chance you had to show something for all your hard work during that time period, no matter the success you found following it. Some of you may relate, others may be tired of me speaking for them and that's a valid feeling as well.

Speaking for myself, being so close to having my name etched into the record books within six months of my debut... it would have been the perfect climax to the storybook ascent I had envisioned in my mind. Being so close to feeling validated for sticking around in the OWF no matter the beatings I took, and the humiliation I suffered, then having it ripped away right in front of my face was crushing. Not just in the weeks after that match, but long after. I would be left wondering how my life would have been different if I had won the big one. I went on to do a lot of great things in the OWF, and elsewhere as well, but I always wondered if I'd be in a different place today if I had remained as Juvi. What success could I have had? Would it have been possible to take the laughing stock of the wrestling world, and turn it into the most respected and appreciated- if only for one night? If so, what would it take? These thoughts and more plagued me as I became more in wrestling than even I imagined when I started out. Just like a piece of me was missing, a piece I left in 1998. An empty void that couldn't be filled by achieving great things under a different name. Fast forward to 2012. I suffered injuries during an attack at a wrestling event promoted by the OWF, and I have been out of action that day in November. My plan for that is of no interest to anybody in the Survive and Conquer match, and I'll spare you all that. What I will say is that I am an avid wrestling fan, and casually browsing the web one day I stumbled upon a match that intrigued me to no end. This exact match was what I needed to mentally get myself back to one-hundred percent, and leave everything from my past exactly where it lies. January 20th in the OWF, I gain revenge on the person who wronged me in November. But that's nothing compared to what I plan to bring here. I'm looking to compete with a completely different crew of wrestlers, and really measure myself up in the wrestling world. I don't know a single thing about most of the other entrants and I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't intend to do research, nor do I expect them to see my name and treat me with anything more than a grain of salt. I know the stigma my name carries around and I'm walking into a fresh place just like I did in August of 1998, and hoping that I get judged by the ridiculousness I bring. I know I carry no respect walking into the match, but I intend to walk out with my head held high and letting the fans and the members of the locker room judge if I belonged or not. I didn't enter to come in on a comedy run, and just get dumped after waiting the entire match to get into the ring. I entered to win.

Not for the money, I've earned enough of that in my time. Not for the trophy, as my case is full as it is. Bragging rights I couldn't care less about, because your words only hold as much weight as how your are perceived by your peers. I came here to prove to myself that under the same circumstances I suffered long ago, I can thrive at my current level of talent. I'll be honest, wanting to win includes getting to the final four where the stakes are amped up ten-fold. A steel cage, followed by a street fight, leading to a hell in a cell ladder match- if I can even make it into the final four. But I've been put through the ringer enough times to know how to handle these kinds of situations, and while my body may not be in the best shape I can thank my entry number for giving me a head start on ninety three percent of the competitors in Survive and Conquer. No matter what happens at the end of the night, let it be known that I intend to do my best no matter the outcome. If I get tossed, or eliminated in the final four, or three... I'll still consider it a success. I may not be happy with a loss, but at the very least this is a learning experience for me. And at the age of thirty two, it's getting harder and harder to teach this old dog new tricks.

All in all, I wish everyone luck and good health in this match. I am looking forward to whatever comes from it, and I'd also like to thank those running the show for having me. I will not disappoint you, or myself. That I promise.
____________________
Juvi Juice: ¡HOLA AMIGOS!

A loud voice rushes through the airwaves, slapping you in the face with their amplitude just as the scene is set. A masked man standing in front of a graphically imposed image of the mexican flag... terribly green screened as a majority of what "Juvi Juice" wears is the exactly color the computer will make transparent. The masked figure who stands shirtless, covered in fake tanner and looking as if he doused himself in canola oil, is seen staring off screen where he notices the glitches that are being recorded.

Juvi Juice: I... uh, ¡Yo soy Juvi! Yo... ¡Yo bebo "Juvi Juice"! ... ¿Tu bebas "Juvi Juice"?

He glances again off camera as the boom microphone travels down into the shot, just above Juvi Juice's head. From the left a hand is seen reaching into frame as well, handing him a bottle of lime green liquid. Zooming in quickly the camera gets out of focus as seconds pass, trying to catch the logo on the bottle. Once the camera shot becomes completely clear the liquid inside the bottle becomes transparent, due to matching the color of the screen behind the scene. The campiness of this segment is absolutely brutal, and even the subject of it knows it. Through his mask his eyes show him being completely lost as he fumbles with the top of the bottle, trying to twist it off. When he pops it off he takes a big swig from the bottle, swallows the substance and smiles at the camera waiting for the director of the promo to call cut. As time passes the substance starts to bubble up in Juvi Juice's insides, while he tries to keep the logo of the drink in the frame for as long as possible.

Without warning he projectile vomits, which is blurred out actually pretty well considering the talents of the graphic department, as he bends out of frame. An audible groan is heard from the people working on this commercial. "Ah god, shut it down!" a voice yells out of the shot, and the movement of people off screen can be heard. Juvi Juice picks himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his right forearm, and looks past the camera.

Juvi Juice: Jesus christ, can we try that again?

A voice is heard off screen, yelling "No, we have to shut the gate. Pronto." and as if on cue the lights cut out.

Juvi Juice: No come on....one more take, I swear...

In the darkness there are a few emergency lights that shine down, illuminating enough of the area to see the crew packing up their equipment rather hastily and making a break for the exit.

Juvi Juice: Um, I'm going to need a ride home...

Once all the noise subsides the shadow of Juvi Juice is all that is left, silhouetting on the green screen he hasn't parted from.

Juvi Juice: Hello?

There's no answer from anyone.

Juvi Juice: Well this plan is going to turn out EXACTLY how I expected. So much for having fun. At the LEAST I hope they show that last graphic I had planned for this thing...

Silence.

Juvi Juice: Aaand, I'm talking to myself while I wear a mask. I'm totally in a frame of mind to beat ninety nine other superstars.
____________________
Juvi·Juice [who-vee joos]
noun

• 1. an alcoholic beverage, considered to be the worst edible liquid in mexico. "all i have to drink is juvi juice. i wish i had some water!"
  
• 2. the substance secreted by one "Jesse Williams" when he sweats. "i tried to grab a hold of Williams, but he was covered in juvi juice."
  
• 3. winner of the 2013 Survive and Conquer Match. "i smell what the juvi juice is cookin'!"

[Matt Slater]

"It's been a long time..."

Kneeling atop the frosted, brittle grass of the astonishingly quaint cemetery, Matt Slater swept away the decayed leaves that had congregated upon his father's burial plot, making room for a small ceramic vase of waxed flowers. Most of his deceased relatives were in this registered location in Manchester; every grave had been expertly spaced apart and organized for ease of access, creating a family memoriam that Slater could effortlessly locate without asking for directions.

Due to his prioritised schedules over the past few months, Slater had not been allocated the time to visit Manchester and consequently inspect these tribunals. It would have been a disgrace to continue his life in blissful ignorance. These were the people that had whole-heartedly developed Slater's life with careful nurture and influential offerings, and he had adhered to their forms of education ... for the most part.

Even now their memorized voices serenaded him, causing him to listen and fathom their individual messages.

There were no tears forming in Slater's brown eyes. He had grown accustomed to his loneliness, having moved on from the despairing ramifications of their individual tragedies. There was no sorrow or guilt left to mournfully evoke; his suppressed emotions had all been unleashed at various instances in his life when he was either intoxicated or depressed, and now he was empty of being morosely grievant, preventing him from dwelling on his past mistakes and irreparable calamities.

At this current time, Slater felt at peace, as if his meticulously-orchestrated quest for atonement had wholesomely relieved him of his emotional pain. Certainly there would be times when their memories would debilitate him temporarily, but Slater hoped he would look upon them with compassion and love rather than frustration and loathing.

Finishing his concentrative actions, Slater's tailored shoes crunched against the grass as he adjusted his posture into a standing position, once again reading the engraved text that biographically-summarised his father's simplistic yet meaningful life.

And there he stood silently, digesting every conceivable detail with comforting satisfaction.

"... I'm fuckin' freezin'..."

Of course, there had to be something irritable and inconsiderate that would disturb these naturally-administered pleasantries.

"I told you before that you didn't have to come..." Slater sternly said, justifiably disgruntled with Falcon's released vulgarity and weakened willpower. He was grotesquely flamboyant and stupendously boisterous at times, but he did contain an essence of compassion in his heart. Unfortunately, only a fragment of Falcon's positive qualities had been detected and exhibited since he had started to accompany Slater around the globe. He was insufferable, but he was starting to grow on Slater as a companion. He comparatively resembled a child trapped in an adult's body, and that was probably correct given his awkward personality.

"I didn't want you to be alone..." Falcon confessed, visibly shivering as he struggled to combat the startling decline in Fahrenheit that had predictably smothered the city. Even with the protective layer of a thick suede jacket, he wasn't faring well in savouring his warmth. Slater was feeling the effects too, but he demonstrated stronger self-restraint.

"I still appreciate the act of companionship, but as I told you back at the hotel, you could have stayed behind and kept yourself busy."

"With what?" Falcon questioned, fishing into his pocket for his cigarettes. He hoped the inhalation of smoke would elevate his bodily temperature; at least for the time-being.

"I don't know, a variety of activities," Slater said, attempting to contemplate a reasonable choice that would entice Falcon rather than dismay him. "They had an Xbox 360 in your room..."

"Oh no, mate! I'm not going to spend my night arguing with a bunch of pricks over the computer because I kept being spawn-killed by camping bastards ... again!"

"... So that's what those outrageous outbursts were..." Slater whispered unto himself as Falcon dealt with his stubborn lighter. It took a few tries before the flame registered and lit his cigarette, clamped between his lips to stop it blowing away. "Well, you could have stayed behind and read something?"

"There's nothin' worth readin' in that damn place! Oh yeah, I'll just settle down, put my feet up and read the latest magazine of Closer! If they had Zoo or Nuts, I wouldn't be complainin'!"

"I meant an actual book, not a glossy magazine that exaggerates its garnered stories to attract our public interest with falsified information and articles on why Nikki Minaj is a considerate role model for the prepubescent teenagers that have no idea what music should be about..."

"You're gettin' on a tangent again, mate..." Falcon interrupted, noting Slater's tendency to divert from the subject and ramble on, albeit coherently. "But I ain't gonna read a book ... unless it was a graphic novel, like the Watchmen. Rorschach was bad-ass!"

"I've tried to settle down and write a book before," Slater admitted. A bitter breeze swept across the terrain at that moment, causing both of them to understandably flinch. "It used to be one of my youthful ambitions."

"You? An author?"

Slater studied Falcon, patiently waiting for a sarcastic remark to surface. Instead, Falcon analysed Slater's intellectual capacities and shrugged, indicating his approval.

"Actually, I can see you doin' that sort of thing ... if you weren't wrestlin' that is..."

"I devoted my time to wrestling more than writing," Slater confirmed, averting his gaze from his mother's headstone in order to visualize the weathered stone material of his grandfather's. He had been a part-time wrestler during the transitional period of the 60's, and he had unintentionally inspired Slater to pursue his obsessively-manifested dream of following in his footsteps, despite the warnings he had repeatedly informed Slater about regarding the harsh tenures and insidious politics of the business.

He should have realized the futility of his protective words, but soon he reluctantly accepted Slater's eagerness. If he was willing to suffer the consequences and imminently pay his dues, then that was his sworn prerogative. However, a hint of anticipation would flourish whenever Slater communicated with him about his excessive training and tutored knowledge, waiting for the day when Slater would have his first official wrestling match.

He never lived long enough to witness it in person.

"Maybe someday I'll write a book..." Slater said optimistically. "It's just that an original concept has eluded me."

"I know what you can write a book about!" Falcon piped up enthusiastically. Slater subsequently rolled his eyes, picturing what Falcon had in mind already.

"I'm not going to write a book about sleazy women with enlarged breasts trying to win a trampoline contest."

"That's not what I..." Falcon began to say until he was entranced by the imaginations of that very fantasy, staring blankly as their mental movements prohibited his own.

"Well now it is..." Slater observantly stated, pushing Falcon to eradicate his sensual distractions.

"Huh ... wha ... I mean ... oh God damn it!"

"It's starting to get extremely cold. I think we'll cut the festivities short and head back to the hotel."

"But there was something I legitimately had in mind, mate! It was bloody brilliant!"

"I'm sure you'll remember it..." Slater bluntly replied, trailing across the cobbled path towards the sanctioned car park. Falcon followed his footsteps ... until Slater stopped.

"What's up, mate? Forgot something?"

Turning towards his family's graves again, Slater savoured the moment once more before he consulted his silver sword necklace, an accessory that perfectly symbolized his current agenda. With a nod of grateful appreciation, Slater returned to his original plan, walking towards the car park slowly.

"What was that about?" Falcon politely enquired, not wanting to disrespect or desecrate Slater's actions.

"I was just confirming something personal," Slater answered confidently, abundant determination starting to resonate from his body as Falcon blinked in bewilderment. That was when Falcon smirked knowledgeably.

"You want to make them proud, right?"

Coincidentally, Slater smirked out of genuine surprise.

"You caught onto that one quickly."

"Well you're gettin' easier to read!" Falcon commented, exposing Slater's festering predictability. "If your opponents at Survive & Conquer were to look at you for a split second they'd know what you were going to do! You'd be on your back outside the ring faster than..."

"I understand perfectly..." Slater interrupted. That was the very reason why he was currently in England. He had recently journeyed to his homeland for the live order drawing in London, being hosted by the managerial officials of Action Packed Wrestling.

"Listen, you're comin' in at number 32, mate. If you expect to win that one million dollars, then don't act like you're a book that's been read one million times!"

As Slater frowned, it was clear to Falcon that he had overstepped his boundaries. Either that or he was mistaken as to what Slater's true purpose was.

"All you can think about is the fortunate victory, just like everyone else..." Slater said dryly, beckoning Falcon to carefully listen. "It's not going to be about the victory, the trophy or the one million dollars for me."

"... Could you repeat that? It sounded like you said you didn't care about the one million dollars."

Slater forwarded an angered expression. Falcon should have known what Slater cared about by now.

"... Seriously? It's one million dollars! Just think what you could do with one million...!"

"As I said..." Slater sternly stated, wanting to clarify what he had in mind. "The money isn't a concern to me, and neither are the bragging rights that come with it. Now let's go back to the hotel."

"Well you could at least ex..." Falcon argued until he abruptly sighed, continuing to smoke his cigarette as he shrugged and walked towards the car park.

Lingering amongst the cemetery in thought as Falcon walked ahead, being surrounded by towering structures and religious iconography, Slater instantly contemplated his strategies for the colossal competition, thinking that he might have to modify his skills if he was going to last long. He wanted to make it far for one distinct reason that didn't include the prize money or the bragging rights of being known as the solitary victor.

It was much more personal than that.

Looking over his shoulder at his family's distant headstones, Slater focused on their collective entities, being encompassed by a newly-formulated ambition that increased his spirituality.

"You all had dreams that never materialized. I've never forgotten them. But as impossible as it will be to live them out for you, there is something that I can do. I'll make you all proud by my successes ... because it was your determination and persistence that inspired me to continue and reawaken the dreams I harvested. Because of all of you ... I've been liberated from the burdens I've carried due to my faults and misdemeanours, and I've been given a new lease in life. You all deserve to be thanked in a way that combines our devoted strengths and relentless passions."

That was his wish. It was his selfless intention. Despite being agnostic, he hoped they were somewhere now, supporting his endeavours and providing continuous encouragement which would push him beyond his limitations.

As another breeze struck Slater's layered body, making him exhale a contented breath, Slater smiled again before he whispered aloud; releasing a belated sentence that no one but him could hear.

"And he says he frowns upon reading books..."

---

"Everyone aspires to be the best in their respective field, mastering their accumulated techniques for perfect efficiency and careful execution. Everyone wants to avoid the detrimental consequences of ineptitude and mediocrity, not wanting to carry the burdens of their failures whilst being reminded of their incompetent mistakes on a frequent basis."

Residing on the edge of his bed inside his accommodated hotel suite, Slater focused on the camera that he had brought out to record his thoughts that had grown rampant during these nocturnal hours. Darkness blackened the outside world beyond the cream curtains. The majority of Manchester's residents were deeply-comatose, fascinated by the psychological manifestations of their dreams. The benefits of sleep had not riddled Slater yet. He was too alert to rest underneath the quilted material of his duvet, too energetic to relax until natural slumber took him to another world that resided in his own mind.

This is what he had chosen to do, not just because he was bored, but because he wanted to specifically detail a subject that would ostensibly attract the public and possibly make them contemplate his words; especially his opponents.

"But what does truly propel a person forward into being regarded and eternally distinguished as the greatest? Is it the overall estimation of what they've gratifyingly achieved? Is it their longevity and experience? Or is it their undying passion and unwavering spirit to succeed that helped them attain those tremendous milestones in the first place?"

"Only two of those factors can be measured retrospectively. The accuracies of the other two factors remain impossible to detect with any kind of scientific aid ... and they always will be."

"Perhaps this philosophy perfectly summarizes the unpredictable nature of human progression. An isolated, verbally abused individual can rise to stardom in the blink of an eye, proving that they had the capabilities necessary to finalize their intended ambitions. A misunderstood delinquent could redeem their shattered qualities and amend their actions with persistent concentration, establishing the fact that anyone can turn over a new leaf and reach their apex with determination and loyal guidance. Everyone and anyone, even the ones that are being bullied and given the cold shoulder at this very moment, is able to reach their full potential with hard work and persistence."

"But are these hypothetical examples simply fantasies generated by what most people would envision as an ideal world, where no one is held down from fulfilling their dreams and where everyone has a chance to succeed and prosper fruitfully ... or are they everyday occurrences that are never given much thought or acknowledgment?"

Leaning towards a nearby foldable table, Slater collected his steaming mug of tea and took a drink, quenching his thirst temporarily.

"Maybe the participants in this year's Survive & Conquer Match can answer that question ... because they've all been there before at some point in time."

"I can visualize them all now, training diligently with abundant determination, being driven by confidence and optimism. Every single one of them will occupy the halls of Wembley Stadium conducting their own pre-match rituals, preparing for what will most likely be the biggest match of their lives. They'll fraternize with their friends and allies and discuss their strategies, conversing with each other about what it'll take to victimize their opposition, what it will take to test the waters before they inevitably tread into the deep end. Nobody will be allowed to linger in the shallow depths. They'll have to completely submerge themselves into the depths of the unknown. They'll need to immerse themselves into this war of attrition that will immortalize their names. They'll need to go the absolute distance in order to reach those sacred heights, residing atop the ladder that will metaphorically define their mountainous journey from the war-torn ground to the enlightening heavens."

"But as different as everyone will undoubtedly be, there is one solitary thing we'll all have in common. It'll stick with us as we tour the constructed premises of London. It'll supersede every thought we'll make as we'll digest the rich heritage of England's prominent capital. It'll cause us to lose beneficial sleep – as you can already tell - it'll cause us to hardly eat and consume the nutritional supplements we'll desperately need, and it'll torment us for the next several days because it's all we'll generally think about and magnify."

"We'll all believe that we will survive and conquer."

"I've succumbed unto it already, because I believe that I've survived and conquered the demons that have attempted to destroy me from within, rectifying the callous attributes I've fought so hard to dilute and eradicate in order to resurrect my noble qualities. Everyone has conquered their own obstacles and they have all made names for themselves in various organizations around the world, and they'll be fighting with every ounce of strength they have to eponymously survive and conquer. I saw that determination in Sally Talfourd's eyes following the live draw in London. I've so far heard the comments of Johnny Knuckles, Eva De La Cruz, Xavier Jacobs and Kid Dynamo, and they all exhibited that same kind of intensity."

Slater looked down at the brewed liquid briefly, generating a critical concern that would momentarily surface.

"Unfortunately, there are some people in this match that believe they are better than everyone else, simply because they've held a championship for a certain amount of time, or have won a certain award, or have a bank account that features multiple zeros which take up the entire screen."

"I'm sure it's an act of confidence, and I can't fault anyone for distributing that kind of energy. If you don't believe that you can win, then you probably won't. If you believe that you'll fall victim to someone else at the last hurdle, then you probably will. But I would like everyone in the match who thinks this way to consider something personal."

"Back when I started wrestling, I never considered myself the ultimate competitor or the unsurpassable athlete. I listened to the veterans of the sport that punished themselves for the entertainment of our fans. I listened to my grandfather, who was a part-time local wrestler here in Manchester. Did he care about pursuing championships or being a rich man? No he didn't. Did he care about being considered the greatest competitor to ever lace up a pair of boots? No he didn't. All he cared about was wrestling as a whole, and he was thankful for the opportunity he had been given to actively fulfil something he had adventurously pondered throughout his adolescent life."

"I've always respected this business for what it was and what it still can be. Nobody deserves to be treated disrespectfully in this sport. Unless you've berated and antagonized someone long enough to warrant a justifiable backlash, you'll be granted the freedom and privilege to wrestle to your heart's content. That's why the majority of us got into this business in the first place."

"Sadly, there are those who got into this industry just so they could decorate their shelves with championship belts and awards, not caring about the legendary figures that paved the way for them to still be a business. So let me speak from the heart for a moment and bring you people back to reality."

"Do you think I honestly care how many championships you've acquired, either cleanly or through some kind of controversial tactic? No I don't. Do you think I care how much money you have, how many cars you have, how many wrestlers you've defeated and how many canvases you've left stained with the blood of your adversaries? Yet again, I don't care. I don't care if you sleep with your accolades, I don't care if you shower money over your head like confetti as some kind of celebration, and I don't care what your win-loss record says. When each of you enters this match, you won't be a self-proclaimed "God" or an "Undisputed Champion", or a person that could someday be the greatest wrestler in history. You'll just be a man or a woman. Nothing more and nothing less. You'll still have the fans responding to your presence. You'll still have your mastered talent, but name recognition and previous accomplishments won't get you anywhere."

"If you truly think you can win because you've accumulated numerous championships over the years ... get a new game plan. If you think you can win because you're a millionaire, or because you're a reigning World Champion, or because you've won several awards recently, then don't even bother showing up. That's not the mentality you'll need in order to win."

"If you firmly believe those sanctimonious factors will guide you to victory alone ... then you can't win."

"I'm not a Twitter enthusiast, and I'm certainly not obsessed with Facebook. I'm not what you'd call a trend-setter of the modern era, a pioneer with a brand new vision to augment, or a revolutionary that will break the glass ceiling and fully expose the dawning sun rising from the depths of complacency. I've never been a millionaire that can afford their own luxurious mansion. I'm not a multiple-time World Heavyweight Champion. I've never been the Wrestler of the Year. I've never properly embraced the golden torch or the brass ring that many wrestlers have protectively clutched and held dear to their hearts over the years, but what I can tell you is that I am what you see."

"I'm a professional wrestler that passionately adores what he does."

"The money never mattered to me. The prestigious accolades and awards never truly mattered to me. Being considered the greatest wrestler in the world was something I could have humbly accepted, but I would have never advertised it, because it all ... did not matter ... to me."

"I currently possess the New Era Wrestling No Limit Championship. I'm the first holder of this belt, and I've held it since November. I'm proud to represent that unique division, and I've worked extremely hard to keep this championship around my waist, but the truth of the matter is, it pales in comparison to what truly matters to me. And that is simply being a professional wrestler. My entire existence revolves around being between those ropes, competing against the very best that this sport has to offer today."

"That is the very reason why I entered this year's Survive & Conquer. Last year in Miami, I visualized the brutality and the carnage that those competitors went through. I wasn't enticed by their athleticism or charismatic influences. I wasn't attracted to the viciousness of the Hell in a Cell that concluded the elimination series. I didn't establish the verification that I would compete at this gala event next year because of what Alioth Starre earned when he thwarted Azrael Goeren's favourable chances of outlasting everyone else. I chose to compete because it was their passion that lured me in. It was their courageousness and willingness to continue that enthralled me. And after looking at the names that will be featured this year, I know I'm going to receive a difficult challenge."

"So at Survive & Conquer in London, I won't be competing just for the one million dollar cash prize and the subsequent fame that will follow my illustrious triumph. I won't be striving for the victory just so I can have my name etched onto a specially-designed trophy which will be positioned inside a cabinet somewhere, evidently solidifying my supreme ascendancy. I'm not even going to wrestle with everything I have just so I can earn the grateful privilege of being called the absolute best."

"I'm going out there to show the world ... that my devotion to this sport has not depleted, and that my fundamental values have not been tainted by the temptations of fortune and arrogance. No matter if I win or lose my spirit will not be deterred. I will continue to adhere to my promised vows that I will forever support and generously contribute to the maintenance of our beloved industry. I'm going to live on as the traditional protector of this sport. I'm going to stand proud as the self-proclaimed Silver Knight. Nothing is going to change those significant ambitions, and everyone will witness what the true personification of loyalty and respect really is."

"Because in the end ... it's not about being the best. It's not about being the glorious victor that overcame the odds and prevailed above ninety-nine other hungry, ravenous wrestlers."

"It's about demonstrating what we all share amongst us ... the passion and dedication to succeed."

"The passion and dedication to always survive and conquer."

[Carr]

OOC Handler Note: From WWG and I, thank you very much - President Jeff and Action Packed Wrestling for hosting this event. I am excited to see everyone’s role-play work, I am really impressed with what I've seen already - and I’m very pleased to get to be involved.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><


Blood thirsty Behemoth.

[/b][/i][/u][/move]

It stands alone atop a steep hill, faced down with a haggard cobbled laneway, the gaunt and creaky relic of Victoriana stoic in its dingy grey decay. The paint has long since began flaking off and it remains neglected. Moving up the lane it becomes clear that the windowpanes are lusterless; smeared thoroughly with age and dirt. The building’s brickwork is crumbling away. Adorned as it was with all manner of gargoyles and carvings, these Gothic touches held a sinister threat of evildoings within. The path to the door becomes clearer nearing the top of the long lane, it has become overgrown with bushes and brambles whose thorns reached out to capture the unwary. You suddenly see that while you've been observing the surroundings, the curtains from an upstairs window seem to return to their original position... almost as if someone… or something... had been watching you the whole time.

"I have been in this business a long time… Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. Much may be done in those little shreds and patches of time which every day produces, and which most men throw away. Yet the future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of 60 minutes an hour, whatever he does and whoever he is."

A cool shudder trickles down the spine as we move in closer – reaching out for the doorknob. An unsettlingly slow wailing creak hastens the door’s opening. On the main floor affixed between dual staircases. Cob webs in the ceilings hang down precariously low. There is a round huge living room with where we can see another stone hearth is located. The place has hardened with time and has mold in the velvet drapes. All of a sudden the feel of a cold breeze upon your shoulder – and the eerie calm voice continues…

" Excellence is not a skill. It is an attitude. Man learns through experience, and the spiritual path is full of different kinds of experiences. He will encounter many difficulties and obstacles, and they are the very experiences he needs to encourage and complete the cleansing process. I’ve tried to cleanse myself of my darker desires – but it’s futile at best. I am a Monster… I had lost all my mercy – there is none left to give any of these other combatants."

The whole entire house is dim and mephitic. All the windows are full of cracks - which appear filled with flourishing mold as well. The roof was once beautiful and ornate but now it’s deteriorating – failing at the seams. Inside the house there is Victorian furniture that is covered in a thick gray blanket of dust, it all looks to be bound to the floor with an abundance of webs. Walking around, even carefully every board underfoot creeks.

"I’ve got Ninety Nine problems, but this match isn’t one. Neither is anyone else in it. I am nearly two decades into my career, countless accolades to my credit… and yes, this stands to be one of the biggest matches I’ve ever been part of – it’s an incredible feat to even make it through to the second stage of this match, much less the third – or the last to be crowned winner. I am a predator by nature… I don’t see these other competitors as threats. With all due respect to everyone involved in this thing… I can’t help but see them as prey. There is no differing from the path life has led me. I cannot make myself a “Better, Kinder” man… I don’t care if it costs me my own career – and handfuls of others along the way – I Plan to Win! Each and every one of you should have the same constitution and clear cut mission. Anything less than having your eyes on the finish line here are going to prove precarious and devastating. I have respect for my opponents, like any good hunter has respect for his prey. I know, what I take from them is going to sustain the World Wrestling Generation federation and I. I have never been so dimwitted as to refer to myself as being “The Best in the World” – or any variation of that. I am a practitioner, a consummate professional… all wrapped up in seven feet, four hundred plus pounds of sadistic psychotic."

“I am not some mindless beast… I am not a lumbering behemoth. I devour ambitions and defecate on the dreams of the hopeful. I have spent my life preparing for an all out war like this. I fought through this industry’s hard-core era… it was then that I learned my passion for both success, and inflicting pain. For years even I mistook that for rage… but it isn’t rage, rage is irrational. I am certainly not that. I am calculating and I AM talented, I’ve put effort into this. Wrestling isn’t a passé thing to me – it’s not about gimmicks and limelight… I starve the competition from feeding upon the successes I desire.“

Glancing around nervously, somber portraits staring at you from behind layers of dust, penetrating your very being. Cold, hesitant light streams through a cracked window, casting eerie shadows on the walls. As you walk forward, you can't help but feel that someone is following you. Whirling around, you see nothing but the empty hallway and the faces in the portraits staring at you. 'Turn back' they seem to say, but you swallow a nervous whimper and continue into the dark bowels of the house.


"I am not interested in your athletic prowess – I don’t care how many trophies and title’s you’ve won. I pay no mind to your Name, nor do I give any heed to your reputation. I don’t mean any disrespect – if I am nothing else, I am respectful – what can I say? Momma did the best she could with the boy God gave her. I could pretend I am ever so dreadfully proud of you all. I’m certain some of you deserve gold star stickers or high fives, or something… alas… Survive and Conquer is not about what any single one of us has done in their career. No… no… it is about one thing and one thing alone – and that thing is not the facts and accolades of your career… it is a very simple question. One you must all ask yourselves before stepping into that ring – How far are you willing to go? What is it each and every single one of you are willing to leave behind to get the victory here… I for one am all too willing to end careers, even if it must include my own."

“I know what it takes to Survive! I have been doing it longer than most of the other so-called “competitors” in this match up – and I am barely any older than the average age of the participants. So unlike some of you – I do not go into this with a false sense of certainty… for I rarely feel any uncertainty at all. I have spent a lifetime preparing for an event just like this… that’s why – one on one, so many talented individuals have fallen short of meeting the bars I set, left in my wake as I’ve moved through this business. I have spent that very same career viciously, voraciously clawing my way further up the pile of bodies, heaping adversity in my path! I do not feel fear for I decimate any sad, sorry soul who is put before me… I fast upon the ambitions of the hopeful, I breed barbarity and I breath absolute, pure aggression!”

“I come from a federation where all your accomplishments are treated as milestones… not flagship propaganda to hype an otherwise ill fated career. Milestones that, as soon as youyou’re your hands on it – you get over it… since someone Just like Me… is always right on your heels – waiting for any mistake, even a fractional misstep or the slightest scent of insecurity. If you want a pat on the back… go find your grandpa, or a masseur… I am in the business of breaking bones. I am an expert in shattering dreams and I am an expert in making everything you’ve accomplished – seem trivial at its very best. “

You enter a dark room in the center of the house. Shadows seem to swirl around your feet, sucking you in. In a burst of panic, you fumble for a light switch. You flip it up and down frantically, but the room remains immersed in darkness. Fear settles in and deep down you know you're not alone in the dark. Something brushes your back. You turn, but there is nothing. Nothing you can see, that is. Outside you can hear the autumn wind howling, and it almost sounds like laughter to your panicked mind. A low chuckle breaks your thought process, directly in front of you. You scream, but hear nothing in the overwhelming blackness. You're being drawn in, drowned in slumbering evil, there is no escape as we fade to pitch.




We pan back from the black screen and see that we are, in a setting much different than the promotional video showed. The room is full of fans and professional wrestling media members. President Jeff stands upon a stage where a big screen surrounded by Survive and Conquer banners. Many of the participants are unfamiliar with each other, and this monster of a man who is about to step up onto this stage set for the Action Packed Wrestling: Survive and Conquer event. President Jeff stands up in front of the crowd while from the tables secluded to the side of the stage each of these major competitors have chance to get their height and weight officially taken for the event – as well as being able to talk directly to all the professional wrestling media groups who are covering this massive event. An intern steps out from behind a curtain and whispers something to Jeff, who smiles and nods before he addresses the clamoring crowd of reporters.

President Jeff: It is my great honor to introduce a man who – not only competed, successfully for some of our top ranked affiliates, but was once an E-fed Knights premiere performer. It was thought that he’d stepped out of the scene to compete in the obscurities of smaller federations. A place most wrestlers take their careers to die – but instead his steadfast determination and amazing talents have helped elevate a federation that was teetering on the brink of death, into being one to keep an eye on! This man is a multiple time world champion in countless federations. He was a Hardcore icon in the days before Hardcore Icons! He is an absolute monster of a man who, quite frankly can turn his hand to square off against any competitor from any discipline. This man is a frightening being to stand across the ring from, and his career has been riddled with brutality the likes of which – SURVIVE AND CONQUER IS DESIGNED AROUND! On loan to Action Packed Wrestling federation from the World Wrestling Generation, federation… he is the WWG “New Era Icon”! He is known world-wide as “The Roughest man in the Industry”! He built a career on being… “Harder than Hardcore”! He Stands an official Weight of 420 pounds! He measures in at a Height 7 feet 2 inches tall! He comes to APW by way of WWG – Hailing from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada! “The Body Bagging, Toe Tagging, Goal Getting, Bar Setting, Title Taking, No hit Faking – Fatal Phenomenon!”… SCOTT CARR!



Scott Carr steps out from behind the curtain where his official stats were just taken by APW’s medical staff. Carr throws his massive, tattooed arms into the air as he first steps into sight. Scott walks up to President Jeff and shakes his hand – Carr says something quietly, but clearly respectful to President Jeff who nods and smiles as this behemoth pats him on the shoulder.

President Jeff: We are going to open the floor to you media representatives and leave things off with a message from Scott himself… With no further adieu - We’ll start things off with… You sir.

PWI Reporter: Mark Jakobs, Pro Wrestling Insider – Scott, what convinced you to get involved in APW’s event after so long being away from the interpromotional event scene?

Carr: On one hand… I did it because I believe in the company I perform for. WWG is an under rated federation… I have found loyalty in an a-moral industry there. I myself am not the moral barometer upon which to build a lifestyle… but it’s worked for me in this game. I stepped away from the interpromotional scene for reasons I think most wrestling buffs familiar with the situation that proceeded my venture away from the hierarchy of elitists – into trying to prove to myself and this industry as a whole… that a federation’s worth is greater than it’s name, its worth is more vast than the roster. I believe that with heart and determination… even the obscure can rise up to the heights I attained in years of bending and shaping myself to the conformity of what people who have long since lost their lust for this – deemed I should do. WWG has allowed me years of being able to be exactly what I am… they have not censored me, they have not edited me out of shows for me clearly detesting the system – so… since I know the way… I’ve decided to show this federation the way. I am not alone in it either – some of WWG’s brightest stars are coming into this event by my side. Men I respect and can proudly declare are in fact the wave of the future in Inter-promotional events!

On the other hand… I am just a real sick son of a bitch… and I like to hurt people. This event is massive… and I am going to hurt AS MANY of my opponents as I possibly can! Because… I want to win this that much more… I am hungrier for it than anyone else. Where others might think this event is something to hype themselves… I enter this with the passion of Millions of WWG fans at my back! I come in to this knowing that no matter if they Love, Hate or Ignore me… every member of WWG absolutely wants to know what I am able to do with my sixty-first place entry.

Ok… you

PWE Reporter:Jack Taylor, Professional Wrestling Experience – Do you hope for your inclusion in this event to help you, or WWG?

Carr: I hope it’s good for Action Packed Wrestling, World Wrestling Generation and basically everyone along the way who doesn’t wind up between Winning and I! Action Packed Wrestling has opened the forum to allow wrestlers from every level of competition to come into their proving grounds and fight for a very rich prize – and some nigh insurmountable bragging rights. And everybody in WWG who knows me… Knows they’ll be hearing about it – if I bare my teeth and show coarseness beyond the grit of the throbbing horde of talent that’s culminated in this Match… I can win. I Will Win.

I don’t mean any disrespect, I’m not here to blow smoke up anyone’s ass either… I just know I am a competitor who is a breed apart… I know I have it in me to take this opportunity to go the distance. I certainly don’t mean to sound as if no one else does… I mean we’re fairly early in the entrants and I’ve already witnessed the talent coming into this mega-event! I just know myself… I know what I am capable of… and I know I want this win in a terrible, undeniably vicious kind of way! Thankfully for us all, President Jeff has unlocked the doors to his APW ring… and I plan to spell out the proper kind of Thank You letter to him, with a lot of people’s blood!

NEXT!

FS Reporter: Bill Apter, Fighting Spirit… I would like to start off by saying it’s a pleasure to see you entered into another event like this after so long. I am very familiar with your past and I am going to watch Survive and Conquer intently. I hope your performance here is something like those seen in your past involvement and performances in invitational, interpromotional and federation ranking events… let me just say – I believe a lot of people are in for a big shock when they see the impact you and WWG can make!

Carr: Thank you very much for saying so… what’s your question, bud?

FS Reporter: With such a long career, have you become familiar with any of the other ninety-plus competitors who are involved in this match – besides, of course those coming in from WWG?

Carr: I am… I know the Forty-Ninth and Eighty-eighth competitors… they are both members of the TFWF - Scorpio and Black Death. Scorpio is a serious competitor and so is Black Death, but I know above all else, Black Death has had a career filled with events like this one. He’s a man I have faced off with before – and he’s a man who has time and again earned my respect for what he brings to a match. I just hope every involved knows, whether they wish me well or ill, that I shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, and oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of WWG! As Sir Winston Churchill once said “Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival!” – I am a natural born survivor. I am a bred to perfection Predator! I am blood thirsty, voracious and focused on the immense task-at-hand.

Yes sir, you sir.

PS Reporter: John Findlay, Power Slam… I was actually at, and reporting on the event where your right knee was badly damaged in the attack you suffered at the hands of The Big League stable who singled you out so early in your career, additionally you spent over a decade in the Hardcore scene, your body has been through a lot. Considering your time away from the inter-federation scene… what makes you think you’re even ready to launch back into such an outstanding match as Survive and Conquer?

Carr: Really? Do I look like some busted old man standing up here, bud? HELL NO! I am fit, feral and ferocious! I am going to rip into this match – with Sixty wrestlers leading the way and only thirty nine on my heels… I’d say that’s pretty good odds! Simple math… Sixty percent of the competitors will have milled their way through the match, thirty nine percent are remaining after I plough into the talent pool. I intend on bringing my own brand of brutality to this thing – and I believe in the reasons I have for coming back up into the interpromotional spotlight once again… I refuse to go down quietly… I refuse to falter and fall short. I have a caliber of determination that anyone in this event should… but tragically, or advantageously – most don’t. I’m not mincing down the aisle having a “Nifty night”. I’m going to Unleash Hell in that ring! I WANT to spill people’s blood! I intend to create a masterpiece in as many shades of red as possible.

I don’t question if I have what it takes… I know in my heart that I do. I only question – who will be standing against me in the dying moments of the match? Who has the fortitude to overcome the mountainous achievement even making it into the subsequent chapters of the match? I, as of yet – do not know… but I assure you that on the night – I will not care! APW may or may not be aware of who and what they’ve let loose on their event… I haven’t found President Jeff to be much for playing the part of a fool and keeping himself in the dark about the participants. I mean really… entry in this event was reliant on an application – one I filled out like everybody else… one President Jeff passed through which got me my Sixty-First place entry number.

Let’s keep this rolling… You.

WCM Reporter: Theo Morse, Wrestling Confidential… With WWG’s own Alex Anders coming in Thirty-eight spots ahead of you, a known foe – Jason Richardson, coming in just two spots ahead of you and your friend, Jakob Hystaria coming in five spots after you… the chances that a WWG showdown could come about are high. What’s your stance on having to face down one of your own?

Carr: Richardson had better know well enough to keep out of my way… this is not the place to settle our beef. Alex Anders, love the guys talent – but if he even makes it to when I enter the ring, he’s a very smart wrestler and in no way is he so naïve to try and tangle with me at that point in his match. When it comes down to Jakob Hystaria… he’s got a five seat leap on me… but he is my friend and he knows what this means to me. I won’t count anyone out if they make it through the initial leg of this matchup – furthermore I know these men and I know if they make it beyond the rumble, any good or bad blood we bring with us from home – won’t translate to this match. We are ALL here to compete on behalf of WWG, and we want to bring the utmost in entertainment to the APW! This company deserves nothing at all less than the very greatest performance and because President Jeff and Action Packed Wrestling has allowed members of the World Wrestling Generation in this thing… we’re going to Redefine the idea of this match being Action Packed!
Moving right along, what’s your question?

RM Reporter: Don Smith, Rumble Magazine…Hypothetically… IF you were to win… what then? What will you do next?

Carr: WHEN… I win – I’ll have gone through Ninety-Nine of the Best and Brightest! In what could easily be the Most Epic events this entire industry has ever seen! Once you do that… What else is there!? You know what there is? More interpromotional work. Who knows… I mean being a Survive and Conquer winner certainly stands to be quite the prize for me… but it also opens a lot of doors. Where I succeed I bring my federation and I’m sure President Jeff would welcome the winner of such a massive event… no matter what federation he represents. President Jeff is a visionary – he has gone above and beyond the limits of imagination and he is going to house an all out World War in Wrestling! To tell you what I’ll do when I’m done – I don’t know. I’m focused on the match.

President Hurricane Jeff… thank you very much for hosting this match. I am looking forward to helping to make this event something spectacular… or at least something memorably brutal. Everybody else… Tune in… Sunday, January Twenty Seventh. I AM BUILT TO SURVIVE, I AM DRIVEN TO CONQUER! I am going into this match… COLLECTING HEADS!

Carr grabs one of the steel folding chairs from beneath the backside of Dick Harris sending him to the floor as Scott steps up onto the tabletop and roars out at the crowd as he holds the folded chair high above, hyped and excited for the event to come!

President Jeff: President Jeff: Thank you ladies and gentlemen… No more questions - that is all for today!

The scene fades to black with President Jeff smiling at the possibilities this monster brings to the Survive and Conquer Match success.[/center]

[lyndallins]

[OFF-CAMERA]

“You guys wanna hear a story?” It was another day in the All-Star Wrestling Gym for the “King of Submissions” Lyn Dallins. Silo had tried to go past his usual set and much to the chagrin of everyone, nearly throttled himself with the bar. Arlene had completely improved by leaps and bounds with hurricanranas... At the cost of sometimes no longer looking where she was going in mid-jump and sometimes accidentally straddling the ring ropes. Still there was progress and it was just enough progress that Lyn gave his students a much needed break. Well, just barely. As they gathered on the bleachers and Lyndon took his seat, he put his feet up at the desk and cleared his throat.

“This is an old story, from my days of WOE... It’s kinda sad. I warn you, it’s a bit of a tearjerker but it gives you an idea about the type of things you’re going to see as a professional wrestler... Things you’re going to have to get used to if you wanna make it in this industry unfortunately. So just sit back, take a listen and maybe... Maybe you’ll come out a little wiser.”

- - -
10 years ago...
London, England
Two hours after: WOE Presents: Anxiety Attack!

Lyn Dallins hobbled himself through the pub’s door, hugging his shoulder and muttering grievously to himself. Dr. Moran. The Wrestling On Extreme Television Championship. The patented ‘Cranial Rectosis’. It was a strange submissions maneuver that started with a shoulder claw and finished in a weird leg sleeper. Lyn’s third defense of the lovely belt with its bright blue strap. That defense would also be his last unfortunately. He was in his third year of being a professional wrestler now, still making a name for himself... Trying very hard, one would imagine. Life wasn’t great, but much improved from being a rookie. As Dallins made his way in the English bar, passing some of the production team and meandering his way past two agents embroiled in a drinking content, he slumped on a stool and stared at the bartender.

“Boilermaker.”

The bartender put a glass of pale ale and a shot of murky Bourbon in front of the young wrestler as his face broke for a moment of in satisfaction. The pain was already ebbing out of him just by eyeing the alcohol in front of him. He sighed pleasantly and reached his hand over to take a grasp of the beer.

“You gonna order another one, ain’tcha?”

Lyn’s brows rose as he turned his head left to the person speaking to him. Dr. Moran. Again, The young wrestler looked at the new Television champion wordlessly before nodding curtly. He really didn’t want to get into it with the guy. Lyn didn’t want to hear the bragging and the goings-on of his night. More to the point, he didn’t want to hear this guy giving him the riot act about drinking. Dallins eyed over his former opponent with a mounting dislike. ‘Look at him’, Lyn grumbled in his mind. Not even holding the championship or carrying it with him. Moran gave a haggard smile, and the scars across his nose and lip from matches long past seemed to stretch farther. He put a hand on his balding head and outstretched a worn hand.

“Don’t worry son. Don’t worry at all. Not here to chase your brain or anything.” Moran lowered his hand after tossing a motion to the drinks in front of the young wrestler, realizing that at no point was Lyn going to shake it. “How long you been wrestling, eh?” The sounds of the pub nearly drowned him out and the wrestler known in these days as “The American Hustler” had to lean in closer to listen. What was with the third degree here? What did he care if the young man in question was gonna get himself a drink? With a shrug, Lyn turned himself back to the shot on the hardwood table and slew it down his throat before shuddering. Still wasn’t used to that aftertaste and the hard punch it gave before Lyn chased it with his ale.

“Three years.” He said in between gulps.

“Mind if I talk your ear off for a moment, Lyndon?”

“Uh... Sure.”

“Thanks, son.” Moran whispered as he asked the bartender for a stout before the dark drink in front of him. As the cool beads of perspiration fell from the glass, the older wrestler nestled his fingers around it but didn’t seem to bring himself to drink. Lyn continued to anticipate the shit-talking. He’d been around for three years. He knew what it was when a wrestler who just took a championship off of you came around you after the event. They came to shit-talk. They came to start something. They came to tell you that they were better than you. Yet... Moran said nothing. He just continued to stare dismally at his beer as though the foam was telling him its woes of the world.

“Twenty-three years I’ve been in this business, son. You know I used to be a World Champion in this company. Now I’m facing young punks like you... No offense meant.” Lyn stared at him blankly before offering a shrug and going back to his beer. He didn’t have the energy to stop the older wrestler from talking his ear off. All he wanted to do was drink and forget the sharp, jagged pain in his shoulder. This guy was kind of killing his buzz.

I mean did you really need to get a lecture from a forty-something year old man who just beat you for your championship then bemoan about how he used to be more important in the company.

“...When I was in this business I thought I had the world in front of me, Lyndon. I had a beautiful wife, with the most infectious laughter you’d ever heard. She never smiled much... You could even say her personality was taciturn but when she laughed. Oh my God when she laughed it was... It was a blessing. I had two sons with her, both of which want nothing to do with me now that they’re grown up and in college. Wife divorced me before either boy turned teen. Got tired of the long hours.... The days, weeks, and months I was away from home.”

Moran snorted.

“I couldn’t make love to my wife. After a certain point, you take painkillers and then well... The fella downstairs don’t work anymore. Imagine yer shame when you want to give it good to the misses and you can’t even get it up anymore. Side effect of the painkillers... The times in between when you’ve got this in front of you. This little glass of suds starts meaning the world to you. Ain’t it sad, son? You don’t mind me calling you son, do you?”

Lyn ordered another round of the Boilermaker and took the shot. He jerked his head to the side and motioned for the barman to put Moran’s drink on his tab. The speech was giving the young American Hustler a distinct and saddening change of heart as he continued to listen to the story of the nearly broken wrestler. He watched Moran’s animations and took every note of him as though watching a harsh reality of what his future could be.

“Y’see son, you’ll meet a lot of folks in your time in this business... Unless you wise up unlike the rest of us and escape but hey let’s be honest. You’re not going to wise up. You know it. I know it. This business... This industry? This horrible mistress you keep on the side who takes your time from your parents, from your siblings, your lover? You’ll love her all the more for it. Maybe you were even grandfathered in. Maybe your father or your grandfather did this and you’re just following in their footsteps... Are you?”

“I-I...” Lyn started, swallowing. “I’m a third-generation wrestler.”

Moran smiled slowly, as he took a longing sip of his stout and closed his eyes. Lyn would never forget that the wrestler in front of him looked more content and peaceful drinking a beer than when he had held the championship belt over his head. “Yeah... Then your grandfather passed the mistress onto your father and he passed the mistress onto you. You got someone in your life?” Lyn looked at the empty shot glass in front of him and his eyes narrowed gently. “She’s not someone I thought I could settle down with. One night we hate each other... The next night we’re on each other like jackrabbits. She cheats on me, time and time again. I take her back. We make love. She cheats. There’s never an end to it all. Just the same thing. Over and over again. Yet when we have sex I just... Feel everything leave me. Good and bad. I’m empty.

...Just for a moment. Her name’s Mai.” Lyn whispered.

The older wrestler chuckled. “The Asian bird who escorts you to the ring? I’d say she was a ring rat, but she’s scored you more quality matches than most agents.” Moran seemed to stop himself from continuing. Perhaps he was going to tell the young wrestler that he’d seen Mai go into a higher-up-the-card grappler’s dressing room that night. Perhaps he was going to warn him that he didn’t want to hold onto her forever. Instead he just continued on, after drinking down the stout, he sighed.

“Don’t let this industry break you, Lyndon. Don’t give this industry everything you have. Don’t leave things unsaid to your loved ones. Make sure you have some backup plans. Open a business. Get a wrestling school. Make sure what happens to the next generation of wrestlers isn’t like what happens to me.” He stood up shakily and looked at Lyn fully with both eyes. Moran had been crying the entire time.

“The Television Championship is in my hotel. Same hotel that the fed put everyone else in. Room 107. Remember that, Lyndon. Room 107.” Moran pat Lyn on the shoulder once and gave him a sad, broken smile. He looked so close to the edge that it hurt to look at him. As he left, Lyndon watched and... Couldn’t help but feel his eyes start to ache... Burn with the tease that tears would fall. He shook his head of the matter and ordered another round.
- - -
Back in the present...

“He killed himself.” Lyn finished slowly, his eyes closed. “I’m sure some of you expected me to end the story on that note, but what he said was the reality. Don’t get me wrong kids. You can love this business to death. You can give wrestling your all.... But don’t give it everything. I know you want to all be the best and the brightest ever. Future champions, the lot of you...”

The King of Submissions’ eyes opened, bloodshot.

“...But what good is giving something everything, if there isn’t anything left of you to enjoy it?

[ON-CAMERA]

”Who better than a king to know how to survive and conquer?” Sitting on a makeshift throne, under a bright white spotlight is the one and only King Of Submissions, Lyndon Dallins. Dressed in a fine-cut suit and vest combo with a fedora hat hanging off his head and a long purple scarf off his shoulders, Lyn puts a bent up cigarette between his lips and lights it. The brim of the fedora blocks his eyes from the view of the camera as he speaks with a cool sneer.“You and I my friends have been doing this for years, or maybe you’re young and this is your first venture into professional wrestling. Maybe you’re like my young student Misty Whitmore... Wet behind the ears and gaining all the knowledge and experience you can to be a true and undeniable treat. Perhaps, you’re like the devilish and yet talented Jodie Gray... Quite the artist on both con and the ring. Or perhaps... You are like the Devil-That-Calls-Itself-Canadian Christian Kane. Maybe you are the walking, unrelenting sin of all that is professional wrestling and you just do this for kicks. Maybe you love this business, you’re the antichrist, you hate it, you do it for the money, the power, the fame, or the fortune... It really doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re doing it, am I right?”

Lyn takes the cigarette between two fingers, having been speaking with it between his lips so long that he finally can afford to take a breath and a drag, unleashing a drape of smoke from his nostrils.

“I’ve been doing this a long time as you can tell. Seen the best of men fall, seen the worst of men redeemed. I have watched my brothers and sisters fall to pain pills, to addiction, to the love of a good woman or man, to success, to failure... I’ve seen it all but as you can bet I haven’t won it all. Now for all of us... This event means something. Maybe it’s your proving ground. Maybe it’s where you will make your name... But you want to know what means for me? Well tough shit cause I’ll be telling you anyway.”

He chuckles, wisps of white smoke leaving his nostrils as he shakes his head and dissipates any signs of the cigarette’s whispers away. He sighs and pushes the brim of his hat up with a thumb, his eyes finally meeting the camera. For just a moment. Just a single moment one can see the eyes of a long-standing and yet bitterly tired man... With miles to go, and gas left in the tank.

“This is where I can have some fun. This... Something like this is where for just a damn long couple of minutes, I can meet you... My brothers and my sisters of the ring and I can let loose. Where we can all come together and congregate, regardless of who works for what company and who has issues with who, and what’s been going on while whoever fucks someone’s skank or douchebag or so on and so on. No... To me that goes all out of the window and we can just get back to basics and wrestling can mean something for just a minute. Fuck the Twitter. Fuck the Facebook. Fuck the drama and the illogical pissant bullshit about championship screw overs and meaningless cock-and-bull stories about who cheated who that goes long into the night. Forget it all for just a moment and think back to when you first started this.”

Lyn holds his hand up and motions, as if begging, as if pleading for those who are watching to literally forget their careers, to forget the accolades and accomplishments and actually follow him on the wild journey ahead that he attempts to take them on.

“You came out there during your first match. I don’t know if it was win or lose, I don’t know if they cheered or booed you but you loved it, didn’t you? You felt that passion, didn’t you? It was a beautiful rush that can never... Can never be topped. It was better than skydiving, and as much as I know you hate to think about it... It was better than sex, if not equaling out. There was no better feeling in the world than your first night at the curtain call, standing in the gorilla position before your music hit and it was game on. Tell me if I’m lying! ...Well I offer you this... We have another chance to enjoy that. That’s what Survive And Conquer will be for me. One night to go back to where I all started. One night to do it all over again with the industry’s best and brightest, with it’s most cunning and diabolical. One night to experience and feel a way that I haven’t felt since I was a wet-behind-the-ears rookie trying to make a name for myself.

I want that. I miss that. Don’t get me wrong now... Nothing I don’t love about the career I have now. Nothing I don’t mind about going out with a bang even if it was at Survive and Conquer... But a night like this? A night where most of you might even be going, ‘who the fuck is Lyn Dallins and why in almighty should I care?’... That’s... That’s something I can dig. When your past doesn’t matter in the slightest... When all that matters is going forward. It’s...

I gotta tell you brothers and sisters. It’s beautiful because...”

Lyndon leans back in his chair and takes a long drag of his cigarette with a sad, sad smile. His eyes still hidden as he ground the cigarette into the arm of his makeshift, cheap looking throne of wood and metal bent in together.

“...Just for a few minutes... We can throw down as equals... We can put it down as the best of ‘em and maybe...

...Just maybe...

Learn something from each other and remind ourselves of just why the fuck we all did this....

My name is The King of Submissions, Lyndon Dallins. As always...

The battle’s on.”

With that we fade to black, after a highlight of APW’s insignia, followed by SVW’s.

[jtcash]

Location: Las Vegas Nevada. Setting: The condominium of SCW superstar J.T. Cash.
His girlfriend Alexis Steele,

upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/f/fc/David_Gangrel_Heath.jpg/220px-David_Gangrel_Heath.jpg[/IMG] his best friend and manager of his nightclub Club Sin City, all sit on his patio enjoying a lunch of homemade sushi rolls and cocktails.

“Hey Alexis this is awesome! I Didn’t know she was such a great cook J.T.”

“Neither did I, but she has some mean skills.”

“Yes I do.” (Alexis does the eyebrow waggle making both J.T. and Drakos laugh)

“Hey guys there is something I want to tell you both.” (Both Alexis and Drakos look at J.T. with a quizzical look) “I have decided to enter the Survive and Conquer tourney over in APW.”

“That’s awesome! Although I am not surprised. Hell you did very well in it a few years ago.”

“I did, but this year I want to make the final four.”

“You’re going to settle just on being in the final four? Doesn’t sound like you.”

“I didn’t say that at all. Two years ago I made it to the top ten. This year I want to be in the final four. From there anything can happen. All I have to do is escape the cage to be on the final three. Then it is a street fight, survive that and I am back in the cage. Getting to the final four is a victory all in its own.”

“Well if anyone can go the distance it is you. No one keeps themselves in as good physical shape as you.”

“Not to mention his cardio training would kill most anyone.”

“I appreciate your support. Of course Alexis I expect you to accompany me to the ring.”

“No place i’d rather be.”

“They still have a lot of people in this?"

“They had one hundred sign up.”

“One hundred? Holy shit!”

“Damn. You better hope you don’t draw number one.”

(J.T. gives Drakos a stern look) “You don’t think that if I get number one that I can’t go the distance?”

“No. That’s not what I meant, what i meant was...”

(J.T. cuts him off) “Doesn’t matter what you meant. I know where you are coming from. Look I don’t care if i get one or one hundred. You both know me and you know that the very second I get in that ring all I plan on doing is surviving. If anyone else says they plan on going in there and dominating and tossing everyone out one by one is fucking kidding themselves. In any one moment me or anyone else could have five, ten, hell even twenty people all over them.”

“Well it is called Survive and Conquer for a reason.”

“And survive and conquer is what I do best.”

“Well you know we are behind you all the way.”

“I know you are, and you both know that I will do my absolute best.”

“Your best won’t cut it. As your manager I say you will win.”

(Drakos raises his glass) “Well I toast you and your impending success in the Survive and Conquer tourney.”

The three of them clink their glasses and drink to the toast.

“Hey not to cut this short, but I have to go cut a promo over at the studio for the tourney.” (He gives Alexis a kiss) “I’ll be back later.”

“There won’t be any sushi left I can tell you that right now!”

J.T. exits the condo laughing as Drakos and Alexis continue to enjoy the sushi as the scene fades to black



We see a black screen with a blue SCW logo on it. There is no sound. Suddenly there is a crackle and pop and the screen changes to a studio setting where we see SCW superstar J.T. Cash sitting on a stool in front of another SCW Logo. Someone off camera gives him a sign they are rolling:



Hello everyone. My name is J.T. Cash and I am coming to you from Las Vegas Nevada, home to Sin City Wrestling. A place I have called home for nearly eight years now. Since the first day I walked in the doors at EWW, which is what SCW was called previously, all I have done is survive and conquer my entire career. I have never been the guy who was considered the “promised one”, or the “future” of this industry. I was never the one with the “It” factor attached to his name. No one handed me anything on a silver platter. Every year I have seen guys and gals come thru that locker room door and immediately be given that moniker. They had that certain look and swagger that everyone assumed meant they were destined for ultimate greatness. They were the next great thing who was going to dominate the company like no one ever has. Future world champion. Well ninety-eight percent of those guys and gals are no longer wrestling. I’m still here. After seven plus years of not many people even giving me any kind of chance to become anything. From day one, I knew that I was going to have to scratch, claw, and do everything the hard way to become successful. That is exactly what I have done my entire career. Nothing has come easily for me. I haven’t been handed title shots on a silver platter like some others, or been heralded as a saint or god like others. Every single time I won a title in the SCW, eighteen and counting mind you, there were some who considered them flukes, or I was just a placeholder for the next great one to come along. Even after winning the career grand slam, and being put into the SCW hall of fame, I still find myself not taken seriously. I still remember winning my first title, the EWW Intercontinental championship. I remember hearing in the locker room, that I got lucky. I was in the right place at the right time. Then a month or so later I won a three way all champions match to unify three titles. Again I heard, luck. Even after finally winning the SCW Global title I heard things like, he won’t win his first defense, and he’ll drop it quickly. A normal man would be bitter, pissed, or even outraged at the lack of respect. But not me. I take all the negativity, the doubts and use them to my advantage. I use them as a form of motivation. I have survived nearly eight years of not being considered good enough. I’ve survived all of the doubters. I’ve survived all of the ones who were the “future” of this business. I’ve stood tall and i’ve conquered a lot of competitors who never thought I could beat them. Survive and conquer is what I do every damn day.

Two years ago I entered the Survive and Conquer tourney and finished in the top ten. An extremely huge accomplishment. Not that I didn’t think I could make it that far, because I had confidence in myself. Hell, I was coming off the best year of my professional career. I finally won the SCW global title, completing the grand slam. I won numerous year end awards. Finishing as well as I did in this tourney was the catalyst to that great year. Things were looking up for me in 2011. I finished well in this tourney, but I didn’t quite have the year I had in 2010. So I looked to 2012 as my return to greatness. I hoped another good showing in this tourney would kick start my year, but as fate would have it I suffered a severe neck injury at the hands of David Cyclone that put me out for thirteen months. I came back in March of last year, and well, things did not go very well for me. I failed to win a title in three chances. I lost a few other chances to get into title matches. I really didn’t do anything significant. I had a so-so year at best in my standards. At one point I even considered hanging up the boots. But my manager, and now girlfriend, Alexis Steele made me realize that I was going thru this tough time for a reason. To become stronger. It was a test for me to see if I could, once again, survive and conquer the demons that were trying to bring me down. By the end of the year I had pinned Doug E Fresh in a match, and found myself in another title match. Things were looking up and I have a very good outlook for what 2013 will bring for me. Ending the year that way definitely gave the confidence to enter this tourney.

I considered a long time before deciding to enter the Survive & Conquer tourney. Not because I don’t think I couldn’t be competitive, hell everyone in this thing thinks they can win. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready after the year i had. This match takes a hell of a lot out of you mentally and physically. I remember how utterly exhausted I was after the match in 2011 and there was only 60 of us or so in that match. Now this year we have one hundred men and women, competing to win this tourney. One hundred! It is going to be a long and brutal match. But it also one that I have been thru before. There is where I believe my advantage lies. I know that a lot of the guys and gals will downplay the fact it is there first time. They will use bravado and cockiness to hide the fact they have absolutely no clue what they are in for. Even if they manage to survive to the final four, it only gets harder from there. Now I didn’t make it to the final four, but I personally know the winner from two years ago, Ryan Ruckus, and he said it was one of the hardest matches he has ever competed in. After climbing out of the cage, he then had to have a street fight with the other three competitors. Then it is back in the cage for the hell in the cell finish! I have been in some pretty brutal matches in my career, cage of endurance, falls count anywhere that went out of the building into the streets, parking lot brawls, scaffold match, hardcore hell, but I can only imagine the toll your body takes once you get to the final four. But I also know that my body is physically ready. I train like no other. Not only am I in top physical shape, but my cardio is superior to most. I run on the treadmill, workout on the ring with my recruits, and meditate several times weekly. I know without a doubt that I can last to the very end. So the question is, is any of the other ninety nine competitors aware of what they are about to go thru? Do they realize the physical demands this is going to take? Sure I know that most, if not all of the competitors will say they have been thru it all and the worst, but this match is like no other. This is not just another battle royal. This match will beat you down and not think twice about it. I know I am ready mentally and physically because of my training and the fact I have been thru this already. I am ready to survive and conquer once again.

I was looking over the entrants and some names popped out. (J.T. holds up some papers) You see that is what I do best, scout my opponents. So yes I know who I am up against.



I see that Sally Talfourd signed up. She is one of APW’s all time greats and has been in this just about every year. Damn near won it a few times too. She is definitely one to watch out for in this match.


The Big Apple Asskisser? How can anyone take you seriously with a name like that? Whatever.


The APW champion himself, Terry Marvin has entered. This is his playground, his house, can he defend it? He’s going to have a lot of others in this match gunning for him because of what he has become over in APW.


The reflection of perfection Cody Williams. Um Cody, this here is what you call perfection. (J.T. stands and runs his hands up and down his torso) You just wish you were close to real perfection. Moving on. (J.T. crumples the paper and tosses it over his shoulder as he sits back down.)


Black Death James Wallace. Three time true experts champion. Definitely someone worth keeping an eye on.

Vannah White the Queen of Sin winner in the SCW. You came out of left field to win that if you ask me. Can you shock the world once again?


CJ Gates. I remember you from a few years back. We have a similar background you and I. Rich fathers, but we wanted to wrestle. Our background is where the similarity ends tho. I have done it all and you? Not so much.


APW hall of famer Michael Lively. Dude I sympathize with you on making your comeback after your injury. But is this really the place to do that?


Rex Evans. A convict in this match? That’s a bit ridiculous if you ask me. A bit dangerous too. If something goes wrong, well lets just hope Hurricane Jeff has this under control.


Legion. A name synonymous with winning. However ninety nine others will try and prevent you from winning this tourney.


Johnny Knuckles. Love that name. Tough guy attitude. But not really tough enough to win this if you ask me.


Scott Carr. At 7’4” and 400 plus pounds, I would say you are one of the biggest guys in this tourney. But that leaves a huge bullseye on you. I hope you are prepared to have about 20 guys and gals converge on you and try to eliminate you as soon as you get in the ring.


Notorious Jason Richardson. Says he is a trained assassin and is smarter than everybody else. Think you can outsmart all of us? Doubt it. You can’t be smarter than twenty others at the same time.


Domingo Cruz. You aligned yourself with Ornery Hillman? Small World. What did that get you? Not much apparently. Me? Got me the SCW Global Championship.


The sensational one Nick Watson, a Mainer just like myself. Even though you left at three, still counts, But I fail to see what makes you so sensational.

If I failed to mention your name it’s simply because reading your bio did nothing for me. Nothing stood out and said, Hey i’m the guy or gal who is going to win this thing. Some of you are making a return just for this tourney. I say good luck with that. You really think that coming back for a one time appearance is all you need to win? You guys are not in shape, have lost your competitive edge and have absolutely no chance in hell of winning this thing. Why even bother? In fact it irritates the hell out of me that some of you would do that. This is a very prestigious event that only the elite should be in. I just look at it as you guys just trying to hang on to whatever dream you have for one last shot at glory. Gloryhound is an apropo name. Someone who just comes back to try and steal the spotlight once a year. Well yours truly busts his ass here ion SCW week in and week out. And I have done that for the last eight years. Now I realize that two years ago Ryan Ruckus won this and he hadn’t wrestled in over a year. But Ryan is a special breed. A man who before entering, had done it all and helped turn around the very company for which I wrestle. It wasn’t a surprise at all that he won.

Of course we have the rest of the SCW entrants. Omen, who I had a pretty brutal and bloody hardcore match with earlier this year. Omen you are a great hardcore wrestler, but this isn’t a hardcore match. I kind of feel you are out of your element here.

Adrian Specter, the ghost. You are making a lot of waves here in SCW. With what you and Insomnia are doing now and your upcoming electrified steel cage with him, I have to wonder if you will be one hundred focused for this.

Slade, the executioner. So far no one has been able to beat you. Your biggest asset is how you intimidate everyone. Well you won’t do that on this tourney. No one cares about you or your mask removal trick. Be very prepared for a huge reality check.

Lastly our fearless leader Dorling. One of those guys who doesn’t wrestle anymore but decided for one last shot at glory. Dorling, while I respect you as our leader, you aren’t the same guy you once were. You may do well and last a while, but reality says you you won’t win this. If there is anyone from SCW who deserves to win this it is me, and i’m going to....”

(J.T. gets interrupted by a incoming text message. He takes out his cell and presses a button on the screen to bring up the message. cell He scans it and a brief smile comes across his face. He presses another button and places the cell back in his pocket.)

That was a text from the leader of APW, Hurricane Jeff. Seems that I have been given the number 96 spot of entrants. Now I know what most of you are thinking, 96? That’s awesome! You are all but guaranteed to one of the last in the ring. Your chances of winning the whole thing just went up exponentially! No it doesn’t mean that at all. It really means nothing. Don’t get me wrong, 96 is cool, but what does it mean if I go in there and get tossed right back out? What does it mean if I go in there at 96, and by the time Adrian Specter at 97 makes his way to the ring, i’m already gone? It means absolutely nothing if I don’t at least get to the final four. But whoever is left of the first 95 will be doing everything they possibly can to make sure I don’t get there. The other 95 in front of me, especially the ones who drew the really low numbers, are going to so focused to beat everyone who comes in there after them. Some of the will feel like they are disrespected because they think they should be where I am. That’s why I am preparing for this battle like I am number one. When i step thru those ropes there could be twenty to thirty guys and gals in that ring. Some of them could have been in there from the very start. That’s why it is called Survive and Conquer. They will have to survive over and over as each new person comes down that ramp to the ring. They will have to conquer thru all of the competitors who try to eliminate them. That is what I plan on doing no matter how many are in that ring when I get there. Whether it be one, ten, or forty. I will do whatever I have to do to Survive, and do whatever I need to conquer.

I could sit here and tell you all about my hall of fame career, How I have won a lot of titles and my career grand slam. But no will care. And they really shouldn’t. Just like I don’t care about what any of you have done in your companies. It all means nothing really. Every single person in this could have won multiple world titles, be in your own hall of fame, but none of that will get you anywhere in this tourney. The only thing that will help you win this thing is you and you alone. Not your background. Not the success you have had. Not even your buddies, if you have any in this match. Hell the guys from SCW will toss my ass over the top rope in a heartbeat and they know I will do the same damn thing to them. In this thing you have no friends, only ninety nine enemies. Ninety nine other wrestlers who want the same thing as you and me. To win the whole thing. Which is why it doesn’t matter what number you drew, because anyone of the guys and gals who have entered can win this thing. If you are smart enough to keep yourself out of trouble, pick your spots, and conserve your energy, you have a chance to last til the end. This match could last one even two hours with the number of competitors we have in it. If you go out there great guns, trying to toss everyone out, trying to make yourself the man or woman to beat, you will be toast, and you will be gone in no time.

I know I have the physical strength, and the cardiovascular training to go the distance. But the one thing that I believe sets me apart from all the rest of the competition is the fact that I have the intellectual ability to go the distance. When I step in that ring, I not only use my strength to win matches, I use my brain as well. By being the smartest one in the ring, i will be the one who will survive and the one who will conquer. J.T. Cash is coming to London England to win the Survive and Conquer tourney for the best company on the planet, SCW. And everyone can Bank on that!

The screen goes black with the blue SCW logo being shown until it fades out.

[Aurora Jansen]

01/20/13
Sheffield England
Hype Dance Academy

"Baby take off your coat ... real slow."[/i][/color]

The music playing over the speakers was of course Joe Cocker's version of 'You Can Leave Your Hat On', a song covered by the legendary Tom Jones for The Full Monty. Aurora Jansen and her adopted sister Cynthia Cross were watching the dance instructor with intensity before mirroring the motions. Aurora sighed a little, Cynthia was a better dancer than she was, but her natural grace, flexibility and pacing allowed her to give a decent showing.

Aurora: “Remind me why we're doing this again, Cyn?”

Cynthia: “Hype video sis. And you better be in top form for that. This is embarrassing.”

Cynthia Cross had a grin on her face and the sisters stuck tongues out at the same time, which escalated to a middle finger exchange and mock “ooooh” reactions. They knew each other well, former tag partners on top of being family, and struck similar poses with hands on hips. Aurora was wearing a pair of low slung yoga pants with a layered set of tank tops in black and soft purple, an unbuttoned shirt casually tossed on over that to cut the chill of the studio. Despite the central heat everyone in the building was shivering and for once Aurora fit right in. Cynthia was dressed in sweats that were rolled up to the calf, and the drawstring pulled tight, they were way too big for the leggy Creole beauty and likely belonged to her man Shane Brooks; a baby-doll cropped long-sleeved light grey sweater over that was keeping most of her warm as they worked on the dance. Aurora snickered and waved a hand with its black-tinted nails at Cynthia.

Aurora: “It's the music Cyn, its throwing me off. It's like seductive … I guess … but its just not my style. Or at least not something I'd dance to in front of a camera!”

Cynthia shook her head and then paced over to the sound system after talking a bit with the instructor. The older woman rolled her eyes and gestured toward the box of CDs next to the player before swanning off out of the room with the air of an offended Budgie. Cynthia sat down on the bench and dug through the box intently as she examined what was available but nothing really was what she was looking for … then the bright idea hit her and she got her iPod Shuffle out of her purse along with a tiny little dock that served as a charger and a set of tiny portable speakers. With a thumb she passed over songs that while fun didn't have the beat she wanted, that seductive flair … Pussycat Dolls? No, Aurora was too classy for that. 'Milkshake' by Kelis? No, a thousand times no. Then she put it on random and decided to pick whatever came up. 'Disturbia' by Rihanna. Well, in a pinch it would do. Aurora laughed as she heard the music pick up and then with a determined expression she set to dancing that seductive little number she'd been learning to the faster tempo of the song. Toward the end it was clear she finally had it and then because they had the studio to themselves Aurora slipped out of that unbuttoned overshirt, then the layered tank tops laughing at her sister's expression as she finished the dance in yoga pants and a lace number that Victoria's Secret may have had a hand in.

Neither woman had noticed the stealthy form of Rachel Ellsworth as she lifted Aurora's Samsung phone out of her bag and fiddled with it a moment before she pressed record ... and after a minute or two? Send. Then the phone was innocently dropped back in Aurora's bag as Rachel's voice cheerily cut through the music.

Rachel: “Here I am Rori!”

Aurora was grateful for the break and smiled over at her friend as she retrieved a fresh top out of Cynthia's bag with a mock shake of her fist at her sister.

Aurora: “Perfect timing Ray, we're almost done here and if you like we can get some actual training in.”

Rachel gave her a thumbs up and Aurora smiled. There, that was something she was far more willing to do. Her gymnastics drills had kept her flexibility at its peak of course, and this dancing had its place as well. But anyone that knew the woman that called herself the Mistress of the DDT knew that she would rather be in the ring than almost anywhere else. The question at this juncture though was not whether or not Aurora would be ready to face ninety-nine others in Survive and Conquer. The question was just whom had Rachel sent that little clip of video to? (Cue ominous or cheeky music ...)

==

01/20/13
Sheffield England
Starbucks Coffee Co (UK) Ltd

Would anyone really, really be surprised that Aurora Jansen had found a coffee shop? Maybe at the Starbucks part, but considering what she'd been drinking as of late it would do. One of the hazards of being on tour out of the United States was the lack of predictably decent coffee. Most people would bemoan jet lag, or sleeping in an unfamiliar bed and she could understand that well enough. But having been away from it for so long it was like everything was new again for her. That fresh new feeling of getting to pack up and just go, face people she'd never faced before in a wrestling ring in ways she'd not been allowed to before. After all the only time she'd gotten to face a man in the ring in the past had been as a part of a mixed tag team and despite her winning match after match she was left to languish in the Women's Division and God forbid a woman was allowed to Main Event no matter how good she was. Some of the people she was facing would know exactly what she'd endured because they had too, and others had never labored under that sort of throw back out of whack mentality from a front office. The fact they were stuck in the Dark Ages had escaped them, so it was no surprise she supposed that the company tanked the way it had.

But that was the past and she had a more than bright future to look forward to once more, free of contracts and things that did nothing but hold her back. No more lies, no more condescending pats on the head when she was sure she could do more than allotted to her. Phoenix Wrestling had more than lived up to its name for her, and been a true rebirth to her career. Because of that, Aurora Jansen would do whatever it took to give back to the company that had given her back herself. Whether she held a title like she did now or not, it didn't matter because she had that second chance that so many wanted and so few ever got to taste. It was worth everything to her, and what had motivated her to sign up almost as soon as the event was opened here in APW. Aurora was relaxing at her table while Cynthia was off doing a bit of sightseeing, for what sights there were that is and they'd meet up later to do some more training and sparring. A battle royal was of course unpredictable at best, and if she managed to make it long enough for the match to change, that would be a whole different animal to deal with. She wanted of course to go all the way, to make it to that final rarefied number for the triple threat and then on to the Hell in a Cell Ladder match. Aurora had the skill and ability to do it, no matter how long she'd been gone. Even if she didn't though, she would welcome whatever happened because it was all new for her and she knew she belonged there in that ring and doing what she did best.

Aurora looked as relaxed as she felt there at the little table set up in the Starbuck's coffee shop, a cup of their strongest brew in front of her with a curl of steam gently coming up from the liquid as she mixed in some chocolate cream. She could have had them do it for her, but much like her style in the ring she preferred a hands-on approach. After all why else would someone that could do the flexible moves it took to be a high flyer sort use DDTs of all sorts as her signature of merit?

She was wearing clothing far more suited to her style now, her low-rider jeans slung perfectly at her hips, a scoop necked long-sleeved black shirt with pale purple lace at the cuffs and her favorite Harley boots on her feet. She'd taken enough time to line her eyes in almost Egyptian-style with kohl, lashes darkened too, and her lips were brushed with a shiny coat of her favorite black cherry lip gloss. Black-tinted nails flashed as she stirred her coffee then replaced the lid, her clever fingers cradling the warmth of the cup as she looked up at the camera she had summoned to speak her peace to. That voice came after a few moments, the breathy whisper that made people sit up and listen so they wouldn't miss a word. No harshness to her tone, nor hysterical shouting to make the point for this singular woman.

Aurora: “I am as usual deluged with the strange expectations of me that others have. One internet wrestling dirt-sheet vilifies me for having ever left while the next does the same for daring to return. Another predicts that despite my record that because I won't pose for Playboy that I will never be the 'top Diva' in professional wrestling. How nice for me then, that I'm not a Diva but a professional wrestler. Pound for pound there are very few out there that can say they can do what I can do. I'd name drop a few that can verify this information first hand but you know what? They know. They understand what they're getting in the ring with and the rest of you are going to find out first hand and that's the best way after all. Listen to the buzz that started the moment my name appeared on a contract in Phoenix Wrestling and you'll know why I have the reputation I do. The facts are what they are, if I've been in a ring with you, I've beaten you with one exception - and she isn't in this match or even employed anymore. What's exciting to me is, that there's no way I'll be able to say that after this match! Do you have any idea of the novelty that brings to me? I'll have a whole list of people to get fresh new challenges from in the future. That's why Survive and Conquer is a freaking gift for me.

I'm not doing this to prove a point. See, I already did that when I became the PW Television champion and beat a man who had up until then been unbeatable for that belt. A man that defended that belt with honor and pride and who was smart enough not to overlook or underestimate me just because I have an amazing rack and a frankly perfect ass for a pale chick. He saw me for what I am in that ring, a credible threat and yet for all his skill and technique in the end he fell to my Ghostly Kiss DDT. Because I'm good and I'm damn fast. I've been the fastest wrestler to step in that ring nearly all of my career. Looking over the competition I only see a couple that might ... and I stress might give me a run for my money there. Some people might feel threatened at that, but then they aren't me are they.

Resolve, Aggression, Rapture, Excellence.

That used to be my catchphrase when I also had a nickname I'll never use again. I don't need it anymore and I don't need those words anymore to define me or my career. I make my own way now, just as I should have all along. Live and learn, whatever cliche you want to try and spin it to sound better but the truth was, I was naive, young and stupid in a way that makes me cringe now. There's only one word I need to keep in mind as I approach this match, this challenge.

Believe.

The first time I said that it was to a man I had grown close enough to, to have it mean something real. I gave him strength with that and it turned into a true iconic moment. I should never have forgotten it myself, but again ... fear is a powerful tool for those that know how to wield it. I'm not perfect. I'm not here to beg for forgiveness for what I did, for walking away from what I love so much. But I am here as a part of my path to redemption, and I have my goal firmly set in my sights. Are there those I hope to meet in the match, go head to head with? Yes. There are some big names in this little party, not just the people I used to work with. A match like this, it isn't like anything else. A battle royal alone is a unique beast. But its a beast I think I'm uniquely suited to ride and I'll do my best to keep from getting bucked off."

Aurora finally took a sip of her coffee, exhaling softly when she was done and contemplating her words before she continued.

Aurora: “I really have no choice, when you look at it on the surface but if all you do is look at the surface of things, there is so much that you miss. I have every choice in the world now when it comes to me and my career in this business and being here was a decision that I made gladly, one that I wouldn't change for the world. I've made bad choices in the past, decisions that seemed right at the time but turned out to be mistakes. I'd like to believe that I've learned from that and what I do know is that no matter how this turns out for me in the end that this choice, to represent Phoenix Wrestling here at Survive and Conquer is one that I will never look back on with regrets. I've had enough of those to last a lifetime, after all. I've had more than enough of that, and I know the differences now between no choice and the right choice.”

She sighed a little as she rose, but her mouth curved to a small smile as she gathered up her things from the table and slung her little backpack into its usual place at the small of her back. Aurora looked at the camera with those amazing green eyes, as if she were seeking something before she spoke again.

Aurora: “There is now and always has been only one person that I am afraid to disappoint, and she is the same person who has the absolute highest expectations of me in that ring … she is the one who made me believe that I was right, and that I needed to return. If you think about it long enough, I'm sure you'll understand just who she really is. That one person I am afraid to disappoint ...”

A flick of her tongue against her full lower lip, tasting that gloss that made it gleam.

Aurora: “... is myself.”

She took her trusty Samsung phone out of her jeans pocket as she left the Starbucks and checked a few things as she moved out of sight of the camera, coffee in one hand and phone in the other.

==

01/20/13
Sheffield England
Hotel Novotel Sheffield Centre

The hotel Novotel was located in downtown Sheffield, within walking distance if Aurora wanted to both the Crucible and Lyceum theatres, as well as Sheffield Arena though that wasn't the venue for PW's Redemption 43 that was coming up. She had a title defense there to prepare for against “Bad” Billy Mitchell and that weighed on her mind of course, since she hardly had the desire to lose her Television title on its first defense. Though a part of her found a touch of humor there as well, because even if she didn't manage to make it out of that match with her first title reign since her return intact, the Television champion would still be representing Phoenix Wrestling at Survive and Conquer. It had been Rowyn Star, was herself, could be Billy Mitchell. There was a certain perverse part of her that supposed it was right and fitting no matter how things turned out that this would be so.

Her training with Cynthia and Rachel had gone well, she was pleased with that. It had been a long day but a good one, and now she was going to take some time just for herself. She had mundane things to think about, like whether she wanted to renew her lease on the little apartment in Ohio in the gated community that she knew gave her a false sense of security at best. She had a court date ahead of her to testify to what she had seen in Boston about the death of Rosalyn Mease, and the fact that Legacy for all those that might speak against him for his life and what he'd done was innocent of the deed. The man responsible was out walking free and that disturbed Aurora down deep, as she knew on a deep level that the man that had killed his own grandmother was also responsible for the disappearance of her long missing cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth that had been her mother's joy and the polar opposite of Aurora but she had also been family and as good to Aurora as a slightly older cousin could be under the circumstances.

Elizabeth had never looked at Aurora like she was a freak, even if she didn't believe the things that their grandmother told them about their Romany Gypsy heritage. It had meant a lot to Aurora at the time and she felt she owed her cousin every effort to uncover the truth about what had happened to her in her final moments. Just because she felt she knew that Mark Mease had had a hand in it didn't mean that she could prove it … yet. In her hands she had unfolded that piece of paper, that map that she'd made with all the movements of his she'd been able to discover and track over the years. Not even Cynthia knew what she was doing and she would likely have stopped her if she did. Mease was a madman, albeit a charming one and people that interfered with him ended up dead.

Aurora should know, after all she'd spoken with quite a few of them.

She had so quietly over the years as she traveled with her job amassed information on him, though never before had she been a personal witness to the depths of depravity that this man was capable of. That changed the night in Boston where she witnessed him attempt to frame the Monster from Chicago, the man that called himself The White Haired Freak, Legacy. It had been brutal and bloody, and she knew that he'd fully expected Legacy to be arrested for the murder of Roslyn and either spend the rest of his life in prison or since Massachusetts didn't currently have a death penalty hoped that another inmate would stab the imposing seven foot tall albino.

He hadn't counted on one thing though, and that one thing had been Aurora Jansen there to expose the fact that Legacy was innocent of the deed and would be brave enough not only to have proof but to step forward and give it to the police. She closed her eyes and remembered the way Legacy had looked standing there by the police car, the expression on his features after he'd been drugged and how he'd been covered in blood. But there was no way she couldn't step forward, she'd put aside her own plans of discovery and vengeance and let them know they had the wrong man.

She was tired, a yawn parting those full lips as her hands raised to put her palms to her now makeup free green eyes, rubbing that tired feeling in it seemed. Her hands fell back to her lap as she watched an episode of the still popular TV series Doctor Who, and slowly her breathing deepened and she fell asleep as if she had not a care in the world. Tomorrow it would all begin again, more training and more personal appearances to hype not only Survive and Conquer but Redemption as well.

But for now, Aurora Jansen slept the sleep of the just, the ends of her hair moving slightly as if stroked by an unseen hand.

[Jules]

Cruising at 35,000 feet on flight BA2731 Malaga Airport to London Gatwick I take a sip of the whiskey the stewardess has just poured, recline back in my seat and try to relax. The world outside is like a child’s vision of heaven: pure blue skies, invigorating yellow light, and those great big puffy clouds, like giants balls of cotton wool, or huge pillows stuffed with luxurious feathers.

But here I am, making my way back to London at a rate of knots (well, you get the idea), a road of uncertainty ahead of me as I head back into a environment, the world of wrestling, that cast me out like a hated son many years ago. I’ve got to try and stay positive, I’ve got to see this as some wonderful opportunity; the kind me and Cher always talked about. Yeah, the high life; got to keep that picture in mind. Forget about the fact that I’m not just flirting with the grim reaper, I’m giving him a full-on cock tease. Forget and fuck all that, right?

So much for Heaven, huh? All I’ve got is the Devil at my back, a bunch of uncertainties enveloping me, and a meeting with 100 ‘ard-cases, all in the name of some moose-hugging Canadian who calls himself ‘The President’.

How did I find myself in said predicament? Well, as usual, the answer is a pretty straightforward one....I fucked up.

*

Where did this all begin?

That’s right, all of this began in London. Bloody fucking London.

It was one of those typical London days; I’m sure anyone who has resided in the bosom of that corrupt maiden can picture it exactly, that special shade of grey and murkiness that can only be synthesised by that glorious city. Fog rolled in off the Thames, smothering every nook and cranny, the perfect cover for the criminal element to stalk like a tiger in the jungle. On top of all of that, the rain fell. Now it’s hard to put a definite description on the rain that falls in London, such is its uniqueness. It doesn’t fall in sheets, rather it shimmers down in an endless procession, as if the rain itself long ago resigned itself to falling on London.

On this not unusual murky day I was inside the slaughterhouse. There was some work to be done, and if my dear old ma taught me one thing it was never to leave undone work that needs doing. Work done, I went to make a brew, sensing something foreign, and I didn’t like foreign. In an instant the cleaver in my hand was launched in the direction of the presence I felt. The dull thud of the cleaver lodging itself into a wooden pillar was followed by a cry in an Irish accent:

“Jesus-fooking-Christ!”

I turned and saw Kevin Cheshire, PA to Frank Friday, my boss, staring at the blade of the cleaver that had found a place in the wood just an inch or so from his face. I walked across and tugged out the cleaver, trying desperately to maintain a menacing look in my eyes.

Lenny, are you fooking nuts, or what?” He stomped off, I could see he was trying to force the shock out of his system, but I caught that flash in his eye. It was fear. I postured with the cleaver still there; I wanted this Mick worm to know he should tread carefully.

“You’ll do yourself a mischief creeping up like that on men carrying meat cleavers,” I told him, trying to maintain the bravado. However, the reality was that my heart immediately sank upon the sight of him. A visit from ‘Chesh’ in these circumstances was never a good thing.

“Look at the state of you, Lenny,” his tone was impertinent.

I looked down at the apron, plastered with fresh blood, still moist in places.

“You should see the other guy,” I told him without a trace of humour.

“You need to put a stop to all these little messes you create. It’s not acceptable.”

“What do you want?”

“Mr. Friday sent me.”

Inside my heart pounded and I fought the urge to gulp.

“And?”

“He wants to talk to you.”

Chesh pulled out a mobile phone, I momentarily flinched expecting something else, and dialled a number. It was Frank Friday himself.

“We need to get you out for a while, Lenny.”

I knew from this that my bags were already packed. I tried to protest.

“Listen, son, this is a toilet even I can’t clean.”

I knew that meant the old bill were involved.

“I’ve got a chartered flight arranged. We’re giving you and that pretty girl of yours a holiday – no expense spared; I hope you like sangria.”

One hour and forty-five minutes later Cher & I were on Frank Friday’s private jet, destination Malaga. I would have been as happy as a chubby kid in a tuck shop if I wasn’t privy to the fact that often geezers didn’t make it back from Frank Friday’s generous hospitality. Of course, I didn’t tell Cher this.

*

For the time of year I suppose you could say the weather was absolutely bloody marvellous, especially considering this cold snap choking London. After a few days lying by the pool in the soothing January heat I was taken by sudden attack of anxiety. Suddenly nothing seemed kosher anymore, and every unfamiliar face I was certain was some assassin sent by Frank to blow my brains all the way to the African coast. I took solace in drink. I didn’t see Cher very much, but then she was happy doing whatever it is women with an open cheque book like to do. For my part I did my best at drinking any bar I could find dry, snorting up my nostrils whatever filth the local dealers had to offer, and taking in the very best (and worst) trouser action the local talent had to offer. If I was going down in this tacky tourist village I was certain it was going to be while fully tooled, high as an Arab kite, and with my John Thomas freshly shined.

One sultry afternoon, mid-session, I stumbled out of the hole in the ground they called the toilet. Oggling the backside of that senorita who’d just moments ago squeezed out of me more than just the €30 in her back pocket, I didn’t fail to recognise the suit sat in the corner, so conspicuous in a dive like this, his eyes fixed on me. At the bar my glass was full.

“Just leave the bottle,” I told him, knocking back a shot of the noxious substance.

In spite of the intoxication I sensed the suit at my shoulder, spinning around I glared.

“Mr. Lansbury, I presume,” the suit enquired in response.

So this is how it was going to happen. No point trying to diffuse the situation, got to face this with a little dignity I reminded myself

“Listen pal, you can buy me a drink, but let it be known I won’t be sucking your cock,” I told the suit, unable to suppress a cackle.

“When you have sobered up, Mr. Lansbury, I have a business proposition for you.”

Building a rapport, gaining my trust; I never knew Frank Friday would be so cold.

“My client, Touchstone, see great potential in you. I’ll leave my business card. I’m staying at the Kempinski.”

With that the suit was gone. Fucking Touchstone or whatever; I was savvy to these tricks. I was sure as soon as I stepped out and turned the corner I’d find staring at me the barrel of some cheap Chinese handgun. Hence, I was destined to have one last moment of pleasure. Looking at the slapper I had engaged earlier I ordered.

“Senorita, me espresso muchas gracias, get your working arse in gear, love,” as I headed for the toilets. Inside my wallet I had €200 – I was going to make this one count.

*

I had no idea who or what Touchstone was, and to be honest I couldn’t have a wipe of my arse for them, except this Mr. Black, that was the suit’s name, so he said, was proposing to brush my troubles away; inviting me for a one-on-one meeting.

I arrived at the hotel, a right swanky establishment, better than the four-star help yourself breakfast buffet place Frank Friday had us holed up in. Mr. Black was where he said he would be. A right proper dressed geezer who fancied himself as a sophisticated type, but I knew a ropey geezer when I saw one. He offered me a drink and some lunch, but I wasn’t here to enjoy the gastronomy.

“What’s this about you giving me a million,” I got straight to the point.

He smiled in a way that he probably would have called enigmatic; I just thought he was being a smug twat.

“Mr. Lansbury, and I didn’t say we would give you a million,” he replied. “I said we are prepared to offer you an opportunity to earn a million.”

“What’s the difference? You wouldn’t have invited me here if you believed me incapable of completing whatever job it is you have in mind for me.”

“Quite, Mr. Lansbury. But it’s not quite as straightforward as you might think.”

I gave him a raise of my eyebrows. “Then it’s not exactly kosher,” I asked.

“Oh it’s perfectly legitimate, Mr. Lansbury; it’s just that you will be required to beat 100 others to gain your prize.”

“100? What is this some kind of audition, for like a movie? I’ve only ever been good at two things in my life, Mr. Black, and one ‘em isn’t dressing up.”

“We’re asking you go back inside the wrestling ring, Mr. Lansbury, and compete with 100 other wrestlers from around the world.”

Wrestling. This guy knew his history, and he’d done his homework. I smiled at him.

“Where?”

“The event is in London.”

If I was warming to the idea a few seconds before, suddenly my countenance was as cold as a seasoned assassin. Cool as ice I became on the idea.

“I’m not exactly flavour of the month back in Blighty. Trust me, you don’t want me to show my face in the old town again and be the ones backing me.”

“Touchstone are fully aware of the situation. My client knows there are a lot of bad people baying for your blood, but you have their absolute assurance that the circumstances are not such that they cannot be overcome.”

This kind of brashness at least required a listening ear.

“Okay, let’s just say you can swing things in my favour. If you know anything about my wrestling career, you know no company in the UK is going to give me a license. Let’s just say I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with those promotions and their rules.”

“My client knows the full extent of your previous career, Mr. Lansbury. It is for that reason they have sent me to bring “The Guv’nor” out of retirement.”

I couldn’t help but smile; it had been a long time since anyone had mentioned my wrestling alias.

“Besides, this event isn’t being held by a UK promotion,” Mr. Black continued, “they are Canadians, and believe me, they will take your registration.”

I could feel my buzzing inside, that old frenzy working itself to the surface. But I had to tread carefully here, not let my emotions get the best of me. Think this one out, make sure I got all the angles covered.

“Alright, so you’re saying you can hold back the hordes of criminals, thugs and professional murderers that are going to be coming for me as soon as they hear I’m back on a flight home. Let’s also assume this Touchstone has enough influence to get the authorities to turn the other cheek, and you can get me into this match. What if I don’t win? I mean, if I win, I got a million big ones burning a hole in my pocket, and I could just about pay to keep people quiet. But what if I lose? How can I be sure you lot aren’t going to leave me high and dry?”

He took another sip, then said in a tone so matter of fact that I knew there would be no discussion.

“Half, Mr. Lansbury.”

“Half, what?”

“You’ll have half a million if you win. Those are Touchstone’s terms. Fifty percent, take it or leave it.”

The crafty fuckers. I knew the offer was too good to be true.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Mr. Black.”

“Think of Survive & Conquer as an audition,” he said with a grin. “My clients are very generous when they find something worth investing in.”

Well I could hardly refuse. Sure, this Touchstone was probably as bent as David Mack and the LAPD, but did I have a choice? I could turn down their offer, sit in this sunshine and wait for the bullet with my name on; or I could take my chances with this mysterious force. I knew the only thing that stood between me and certain death were the sinister fuckers behind this condescending prick Mr. Black. He knew, and he knew I knew, they had me by the bollocks. It was either them or Frank Friday. In this case it was better the devil you didn’t know; it was less frightening.

So I got Cher to pack our stuff, and we got on a flight back to London. Of course, Cher wasn’t happy, but I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth; not yet at least. The holiday’s been cut short, love; yeah, Frank wants me to wrestle against some yanks. Piece of piss I told her. In truth I was bricking it. I couldn’t be sure Frank Friday wouldn’t have a gunman in the crowd (or even in the match itself!), but if I could dodge that bullet and get away with a square million, well then who’d be laughing then? I simply had to try. Who dares wins, my son; who fucking dares!

*

The scene flickers into life as the handheld camera is turned. What do we see? It looks like a ring canvas.

“You got it on yet, babe?”

An upwards motion to the tune of 45 degrees reveals the face of our protagonist, Lenny Lansbury, aka “The Guv’nor”. By the looks of things he is stood inside the APW ring inside WEMBLEY STADIUM itself.

“Yeah, it’s working, at least that red light is flashing. What do you want me to do?”

“Just stand there and point it at me, you can manage that?”

“I’m not thick Lenny.”

“Just stand there quietly and keep it pointed on me. Get it?”

The camera nods up and down. The Guv’nor begins.

“So here it is, Wembley-Fucking-Stadium. I used to dream about this place, picture myself alongside Gazza bangin’ ‘em in at both ends. Every red-blooded Englishman’s dream is to play here, to be roared on by 90,000 and the whole nation. Wembley Stadium – I can’t believe it!”

“As a boy I used to dream of shedding blood for the love of my country in this stadium, instead I’m being thrown back into the lion’s den that spat me out like a bad taste; faced with the prospect of my blood being spilled just so I can keep my head out of those shark-infested waters. Some glory, some honour.”

“But that’s what every fighter in this match is going to tell you, ‘I’m doing this for the honour, Guv, honest’. To be the toughest and the most durable among a clusterfuck of ‘ard nuts – that’s the aim, right? These fighters can shine that turd up all they want, but let’s be quite frank, this is all about the moneymoneymoney. You want to turn your nose up at that cool million? Fine, I’ll take it, there are one or two things I know I could do with that kind of bees.”

“Yeah, I fancy I’d look pretty fucking dandy with a million bucks on my arm.”

“The truth of it, I feel like I’m Charlie just walking into Willy Wonka’s house of tricks. I’m the pauper in all of this, and I see all these established fighters who are in it for the prestige of the thing, like it’s some social occasion ‘one must certainly be photographed at’. Me? Survive & Conquer is my golden ticket out of the same poverty and squalor dear little Charlie was born into. Except where his was material, mine is of the soul. Oh and the small matter of that contract on my head.

“I don’t keep up with the affairs of Yankee wrestlers, but I know the scene, I am sure there are one or two who fancy themselves as a bit tasty. They’ll be looking at their numbers, looking at those around them, thinking, planning, scheming, trying to figure out all the angles about how they are going to survive, how long they will need to hang in there. But let’s be honest – all of that is hopeless. Unless you’re some kind of Keanu Reeves you’re not simply going to bend this match to suit your needs. Reason has no jurisdiction in this match, so sit down and say yourself ‘what do I need to do?’ is to miss the point entirely. This is a crazy match constructed by a crazy mind, whose lunacy is diminished only by the sheer insanity of 100 fighters who think they can figure this thing out. Trust me the man or woman standing at the end is a certifiable who didn’t give a moment’s thought to what they were going to do; Mr. Strategy over there is the first one to find himself over that top rope and plonked on his derriere.”

“To save all you intellectuals the trouble I spell out the only rule in this match: HIT HARDER!”

“I suppose the selling point of this whole match is that it is a great equalizer, right? Where else could a petty street thug like yours truly get to rub shoulders against some pampered professional athlete for a shot at a million bucks? Champions, legends, men, women, three-legged orang-utans – we all have a chance in this match. Why? Because we’re all reduced to common rabble before ‘the luck of the draw’. Let’s be honest, if you’re pulling #1 the odds of you pulling off a two hour shift against the meanest lunatics the wrestling world could find are not worth backing; #100? Well, my son, you may want to start speaking to a few Swiss bank managers.

“Speaking of which,” he says to the camera, “do you still have that envelope?”

We hear a shuffling sound, then a hand appears from behind the camera and hands The Guv’nor an envelope. He tears it open and pulls out a small card, a smile raised on his face.

“Number 99 – somebody up there likes me. I wonder if I float this number out there on ebay whether I may raise a bid exceeding one million bucks?”

“I can’t deny this doesn’t give me a little lift. Here I was thinking I was on some shot to nothing, now suddenly that golden ticket has increased in its lustre. But what does this all mean? The bookies flooded with bets backing my name? Do I have a 98 times better chance of winning than #1? In short, it gives me a reason to hope, but you won’t find me taking out any large mortgages over this. Think about it, how many battle royal winners come from the back end of the draw? I’m willing to bet fewer than those that haven’t.”

“While it may seem sensible, logical even, to think those coming in towards the end have a better chance because they have more reserves, the truth is fights aren’t won by energy alone. When I started out with my London firm I was just a nipper really, but I was keen as mustard. I would plough into some aggro without ever thinking about it, more energy than a flock of headless chickens, but even less brains. The net result was I got myself jumped too often. Those first few times they really hurt, but when you’ve taken a few punches and you realise you’re not made of glass you get used to it. Fighting experience is everything, how to flow in a fight, having all those senses acutely tuned to everyone and everything around you. Think about it the last time you had a scrap? It’s only when you’ve been in the mix for a while that you know you’re throwing punches that land and hurt, it’s only when you’ve had a few blows that every cell in your body is arranged for survival, to duck, weave and dodge the bullets your enemy writes your name on.”

“#99 is a great number because it means I can come in and hit hard on a few softened up souls, but it also means that I’m fresh as newly sprung daisy and unequipped for the morning frost. In these situations, the advantage is always with the experienced, wily head; those who have seen, felt and smelt the war, they are the most dogged of soldiers, no matter how exhausted they may be, not some fresh out of the barracks recruit. At bottom, if weariness hinders #1, then as #99 I have to be aware that my principal enemy in all of this is complacency.”

“All of that aside, the question lingers ‘what cance does a down and out ruffian from the East End have against the world’s best collection of professional fighters?’ Whether I come in #1 or #99, the outcome will be the same.”

“True, I don’t have the look, I don’t have an expensively assembled entourage ensuring every minute detail is covered in my preparation, I don’t have a bunch of titles, or a reputation to psychologically burden others; I haven’t even been inside a wrestling ring in years. But all of this incidental to a degree. When you’re in the fight for your life what really matters?”

“I’ve heard some say it is having nothing to lose, not fearing the fate that awaits you if it all goes tits up. I think that’s a load of bollocks all the same. If you’ve nothing to lose, nothing to fear, why not just be done with it and slice open your own throat? What matters is desperation: an absolute desperate clinging to the life you are living. I don’t have all the comforts these professional wrestlers have: There is no warm, safe bed for me to sleep in; I don’t go into this match knowing when I wake up the next day, whatever happens, I’ve still got a job; I don’t even know if there will be a Monday morning for me to wake up to.”

“Yet in spite of all that, I am desperate not to go down in this manner. I’m not going to be some unknown man to history, some street thug who look a bullet in some dirty abandoned warehouse in Hackney Borough. This isn’t about some five minutes of fame, the honour of bearing a title, all of that can come later for me; this about finding a foothold on the rock face. It’s a chance to walk out with a million in my pocket, enough to buy myself a clean slate and a second chance; it’s the chance to prove the industry was wrong to cast me out, the chance to show the world that Lenny Lansbury was a fighter – even if for just ten minutes – but most of all it’s my one and only chance to show all those who wish they could have my blood on their hands that, when push comes to shove, you DON’T FUCK WITH THE GUV’NOR!”

End.

[A.C. Smith]

BIG APPLE ASSKICKER PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS:
A SALUTE TO CINEMA: MORTAL KOMBAT

We open on a very dark scene, and all we can see is one figure moving down a rickety ladder before hopping onto more solid ground. It appears to be a curvy blonde woman, and we see she's carrying a nine-millimeter handgun while moving briskly down a narrow hallway.

The figure gets into a more well-lit room, though the light is blue as opposed to carrying it's usual yellowish tint. It's now that we see that the person in question isn't a woman, but Bobby the Bavarian Man-Bitch in drag and a blonde wig, which sits underneath a black hat. As we see that, another figure comes into the picture, an Asian man with long black hair and a smile on his face.

Man: “It's an honor to finally meet you, Sonya. Shang Tsung, at your service.”

Non-affected by the man's demeanor, Bobby holds the gun in front of him.

Bobby: “I'm looking for a murderer. He boarded this ship.”

Shang Tsung: “I'm impressed. But it is my boat. And if you'd like a tour...I'd love to give it to you myself.”

As Shang Tsung finishes delivering his line, two men join Bobby at his sides. To Bobby's right is Stevie the Slovakian Slobberknocker, clad in an expensive suit and $500 sunglasses as martial artist and actor Johnny Cage. To his left, and closest to the camera, is the Big Apple Asskicker himself, A.C. Smith, wearing a long, black wig and portraying “the chosen one,” Liu Kang.

Stevie: “Hey. Be nice to the lady. She's just doing her job.”

Bobby: (annoyed) “When I want back-up, I'll radio for it.”

Subtly, Shang Tsung signals something with his right hand. A door at the end of the hall opens, and out walk two men dressed head-to-toe in ninja regalia. The lone difference between the two men on first sight is that one is clad in black and faded gold, and the other is wearing a black outfit with an ice blue mask and trim.

Stevie: “Got that radio handy?”

Shang Tsung: “Scorpion and Sub-Zero. The deadliest of enemies...but slaves under my power.”

Both get into fighting positions.

Bobby: (with gun pointed) “Move aside.”

Sub-Zero casually reaches out, touching the gun. Within seconds, the barrel turns to ice and snaps off, breaking the gun in half.

Meanwhile, Scorpion's right hand opens, revealing a slit in his palm. Out of it comes a snake-like figure, which starts chirping.

Suddenly, two beams of what appears to be electricity fly into the room from the ladder Bobby climbed down earlier in the scene. They hit Scorpion and Sub-Zero, pinning them against the back wall of the room as they shriek in pain. After a few seconds, the electricity stops, and as Scorpion and Sub-Zero drop to the floor, a man uses the beams of the electricity to form behind Bobby, Stevie, and Smith. He's still forming as he yells his first line.

“ENOUGH!!!”

We see now that this is Smith playing another character. This time, he's clad in a white robe with a pointed straw hat, and he does NOT look pleased.

Shang Tsung: “Lord Raiden. How good of you to grace us with your...presence.”

A.C.: “Your sideshow freaks attacked my fighters. That is expressly forbidden before the tournament, as your Emperor well knows.”

Shang Tsung: “My sincere apologies. Won't happen again, I promise.”

A.C.: “Heh. I shall see to that.”

Shang Tsung: “Of course...until we reach the island, where you have no dominion.”

A.C.: “My dominions are well-known to me, Sorcerer! Thank you.”

Bobby: “What tournament?!”

Shang Tsung smiles.

Shang Tsung: “You've been chosen, Sonya. Much to my...delight.”

Still smirking, the sorcerer exits into the darkness from which he came.

A.C. (as Liu): “You really ARE Raiden.”

A.C. (as Raiden): “Come with me.”

Raiden teleports out of the room, leaving the other three heroes in a state of shock and confusion. We cut to the deck of the boat, and it's clear they're all still rattled as they try to walk around and process what they've just seen.

Stevie: “We got a guy with things coming out of his hand. We got another guy who freezes stuff. And then there's a man, who as far as I can tell, is made out of electricity. I mean, how did he disappear like that? What is going ON HERE?! Who IS this guy?!”

Bobby: “Let's just think this through. There IS a rational explanation for all this.”

A.C.: “He's Raiden. God of lightning and protector of the realm of Earth.”

Stevie: “Oh, THERE'S your rational explanation.”

Suddenly, Raiden reappears, sitting on a bench.

A.C.: “Listen. What you're about to face is vastly more important than your ego, your enemy, or your quest for revenge. You have embarked on a sacred mission. You have been chosen to defend the realm of Earth in a tournament called Survive and Conquer.”

Bobby: “Defend it from who?”

A.C.'s Raiden gets up, rising to his full 6'8” height.

A.C.: “Your world is but one of many realms. One of them is a forsaken land called Outworld, ruled by an immortal who had crowned himself Emperor. Now, he sees a new world to conquer and enslave.”

Stevie: “Wait a second. If this guy's so powerful, why doesn't he just invade us?”

A.C.: “To enter the realm of Earth, the Emperor's team, Sorcerer Shang Tsung and his warriors, have to win 10 straight victories in Survive and Conquer. They have won nine. This will be the 10th tournament.”

Bobby: “A handful of people on a leaky boat are gonna save the world.”

A.C. (smiling): “Exactly. The essence of Survive and Conquer is not about death, but life. Mortal men and women defending your own world.”

Bobby: “Why are you telling us this? What about the others?”

A.C.: “They are all great fighters. But I have looked into their souls...and yours. One of you three will decide the outcome of the tournament.”

A dramatic pause ensues as we look on the faces of the characters of Sonya Blade, Johnny Cage, and Liu Kang. For the first time, we see the dramatic difference between A.C. as Liu Kang, the former Shaolin monk, and Raiden, the god of lightning. Their faces hadn't before been seen in the same shot.

A.C. (as Raiden, continuing): “The fate of billions will depend upon you...hahahaha.”

Smith smiles briefly, but seems to put himself in his fighters' shoes for a moment and regains his composure.

A.C.: “Sorry.”

A.C. (as Liu Kang): “What about Shang Tsung?”

Raiden had started to walk away, but stops in his tracks. He knows Liu Kang is in the tournament in large part because the sorcerer killed his brother.

A.C. (as Raiden): “You are still concerned only with vengeance? If you challenge Shang Tsung now, you will lose your life AND your soul.”

A.C. (as Liu): “He IS going to pay for my brother's death.”

A.C. (as Raiden, after a scoff): “You're not ready.”

Raiden notices something in the sky.

A.C.: “Look. It has begun.”

In the sky, we see a cloud disturbance, followed by a hologram of the Emperor, watching over the ship. The scene fades to black.

Time has passed, and the tournament is well underway. We open still on a black screen, with only a male's voice masquerading as a female's high-pitched screams giving away where we are in the film.

Bobby: “NO!!!!! NO!!!!! LET ME GO!!!!!”

We fade back up, and we see Shang Tsung dragging Bobby away. In the movie, this came just after Johnny Cage pulled off an upset, killing the four-armed monster Goro. As such, the rest of our heroes are late in arriving.

A.C. (as Raiden, running into the frame): “Stop!”

Shang Tsung: “I hereby exercise my right to challenge! I challenge...HER!!!”

A.C.: “You are a coward, Sorcerer! Stand and fight!”

A.C.'s Liu Kang character runs back in, as does an exhausted Stevie reprising his role as Johnny Cage. Sensitive camera work is required for this sequence, as Smith can't play two characters in the same shot. As such, the camera shot switches around plenty of times.

Shang Tsung: “We had a deal, remember? Survive and Conquer continues! I'm simply changing the place.”

Suddenly, a portal opens, and Shang Tsung steps into it with Bobby in tow. They slip away as our heroes stand in shock.

Stevie: “Where's he taking her?”

A.C. (Raiden): “To the Emperor's castle, in the wastelands of Outworld where I cannot follow.”

A.C.: (Liu): “We can.”

Stevie: “Raiden, can Sonya beat Shang Tsung?”

A.C. (Raiden): “No. I'm sorry.”

Stevie: “You're SORRY?!”

A.C. (Raiden): “There is one last rule. He neglected to mention it.”

A.C. (Liu): “...she has to accept the challenge! Or there can be no final combat!”

A.C. (Raiden): “I have nothing further to teach you, Liu Kang. You possess the knowledge. All that is lacking now is the will.”

Stevie: “You sure you don't want to go with us?”

A.C. (Raiden): “In Outworld, if you look hard enough, you will find another guide.”

Stevie and A.C. nod at each other, and both proceed towards the portal.

A.C. (Raiden): “Good luck.”

The pair nod back at the protector of Earth before disappearing into the distance.

A.C. (Raiden, under his breath) “They'll need it.”

We fade to black, and a familiar red text appears over the black screen.

DIRECTOR'S CUT

We fade up, and Smith, still clad in his Raiden robe, is sitting on the now well-lit boat. He has the trademark hat in his hands, and he uses his big fingers to flip it around before flinging it off the set like a Frisbee.

We hear some sort of crew party going on off-screen, but Smith is alone on the set, with his trademark intensity radiating from a focused glare he has on his face. His brown eyes haven't left the camera since we faded up from black, and after pausing for a few more seconds, he opens his mouth to speak.

A.C.: “Anyone who was a kid in the early-1990's and didn't spend a metric ton of quarters playing 'Mortal Kombat' in an arcade was probably the outcast of their neighborhood. I know I did, and when the 'Mortal Kombat' movie came out in 1995, I saw it a bunch of times in theaters before wearing out at least one VCR with the VHS tape once it came out.

It's a guilty pleasure of mine, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Plus, it fits the upcoming Survive and Conquer battle royal to an absolute 'T.' 100 of us will go into that ring at Wembley Stadium and do battle, with only one of us walking out with a million dollars and the title of the best of the best.

We all have our own motives for being here, and every last one of us thinks it's our destiny to come out on top when all is said and done. But if you refer back to the scene we re-enacted, I played both the all-knowing Raiden, protector of the realm of Earth, and Liu Kang, who would eventually defeat Shang Tsung, free the thousand souls he had captured, and save the world. And that...that wasn't done because we couldn't afford an Asian actor.”

Smith allows a momentary smile to come across his lips before shaking his head briefly.

A.C.: “We all want to win Survive and Conquer. A bunch of us have the skills to do it. A few of us actually know how to win in this type of an environment. But only one of us has the total package, the sense of where to be at the right time and what to do once you get there.

All of us are great wrestlers, great fighters, legends of our chosen profession. And I'd be lying to you if I said I wanted into this match, one of the greatest matches in all of professional wrestling, because I thought it would be easy. Anyone who enters and does that would be doing the same thing, and anyone who HAS done that deserves to be mocked by the other 99 participants.

I came to Action Packed Wrestling for matches and opportunities I'd never had before, and Survive and Conquer is one of them. I'm not in this match for the million dollar prize. Material stuff has never been why I've chosen this career path. I don't need the money, or the fame that comes with winning, or rather surviving, this kind of a match. I've already got that...yet again, if you're watching this right now, chances are you already know who I am and what I stand for.”

A sense of pride comes to the way Smith is carrying himself, and he sits up just a little bit straighter.

A.C.: “Unlike an untold number of wrestlers in Survive and Conquer, I know better than to make a rookie mistake in front of the wrestling world on one of the biggest stages possible. I'm a known quantity, and in being one, I know that they're few and far between.

And when a wild card shows up, one capable of making a terrible mistake, I spot them on sight. It sounds creepy, but it's almost as if I can see into their souls. I wait for them to make a mistake, and then?”

Smith snaps his fingers.

A.C.: “They're done for. In this environment, I don't mince words or actions. I do what very few in this business are capable of doing: Dig down deep, do what needs to be done, and come through with an effort my fans, and all the wrestling fans watching every week looking for someone to be proud of, can be proud of.

It's why I've been so successful here in APW. I'm the current Xtreme Champion, pinned a Grand Slam champion last week, and have no intentions of losing a title that almost had its integrity drained out of it by guys like Evan Harrison. I qualified for Test for the Best, beat Biggs and CJ Gates, and I did it for the same reason I'm going to be successful at Survive and Conquer: Because I'm mentally ready for the challenge, one that's bigger than dozen of entrants, but not me.”

Smith stands up, brushing some dust off of the long white robe he's wearing before refocusing on the camera.

A.C.: “I'm not just the guy who knows more than just about anybody else. I'm the guy that's beaten a laundry list of legends, a guy that's overcome so much more than anything anyone would ever have to face. I endured when my then-love interest was allegedly gunned down before my very eyes. I prevailed when she came back, tried to run me down in a parking lot, then hired Tyler Harrison to try to finish the job she couldn't complete.

Before that...well, you know the story. I worked my ass off in the NYPD, doing jobs that no other cop wanted to show I wanted to make a difference. For the first couple of months, I got my ass kicked, but once I got that sixth sense of what was happening around me, NOBODY became better at getting their man than yours truly. It didn't matter how many I was going up against, or what kind of weapons they were holding, or how dangerous they were. When something needed to be done, or someone needed to get brought in, they called on me, and I delivered.

No nonsense, no bullshit, no excuses, no nothing. When I went somewhere on a mission, the job got done. That's the mantra I've lived my life by every single day. When I left the force, and got done grieving Tracy's apparent death, I put that focus back into something else: Professional wrestling. And in doing so, I went from a green kid people thought they could manipulate and push around into a rock, the most dependable man in the industry.”

Smith is getting pretty worked up at this point, so he takes a second and regroups. He pulls a bottle of water out from under his robe, in a pocket unseen from our normal view. He takes a gulp or two from the bottle before closing it back up and putting it down next to him.

A.C.: “For almost 11 years now, I've been the exact same man. Never once have I been manipulated or pushed around, and that's never, EVER going to change. What I bring to the table is the same thing I've been bringing night after night for over a decade, and anyone trying to poke holes in that, plainly and simply, is dead wrong.

In that timespan, I've won six world championships, headlined cards all over the world, and earned the best fanbase any rational human being could ever ask for. It hasn't been without its challenges, but unlike a lot of people in Survive and Conquer, I have never ONCE run from one. I take on whatever comes my way head-on. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I don't. But I always learn from what happens, making me that much more dangerous as time's gone on.

One of the characters I portrayed, Liu Kang, had his own problems. He didn't believe that his destiny was to save the world at the tournament, so he left the Order of Light, the temple where he was raised. In his absence, Shang Tsung, the main villain in 'Mortal Kombat,' killed his brother, and as such Liu started blaming himself for it.

You all saw the kind of place I grew up in last week. I could have become one of the homeless people you all saw. I could have run away from fights as a police officer. I could have quit professional wrestling so many times. But I'm stronger than that. I've ALWAYS been stronger than that.”

Smith's glare is so strong it may as well be breaking the camera into pieces.

A.C.: “Liu Kang overcame everything that was thrown his way to save the world. I can't exactly do THAT, but what I CAN do is give wrestling fans someone they can rally behind heading into Survive and Conquer. In a world where it seems like everyone is only in this for their own best interests, I go deeper than that.

Nobody is approaching this match like I am. Hell, nobody approaches this BUSINESS like I do. I came to terms with that years ago, and hey, if everyone else is happy with how they see the world, then it's none of my business. But what they don't want to admit is that it gives them very little chance for success at Survive and Conquer, an event where there's already so little room for error.

I'm in a very unique position. Yes, Survive and Conquer is a tall order, especially with me entering 15th out of 100 participants. As one of the champions of the host organization, I'm fully aware of the bullseye I have on my back. But I've never run from a challenge before, and I'm damn sure not about to start this weekend at Wembley Stadium.

I don't know how many people expect me to make a huge impact at Survive and Conquer. But I couldn't care less about those thoughts. All I can do is worry about what I can control, and nobody's ever been better at that than the Big Apple Asskicker.

This weekend, at Survive and Conquer, 100 participants will do battle for some of the heaviest bragging rights in our business. But only one, ONE, is in the right state of mind to win them. And if anyone thinks that person is them...well, Raiden must have been spraying lightning bolts around.”

Smith smiles, and starts walking to join the party off-screen as the scene fades to black.

[jakobhystaria]

Jakob Hystaria: The man and the wrestler

Day 1:

Scene opens in the airport, Jakob is grabbing his bags as a limo driver awaits nearby. The two exit the airport. The limo driver opens the door and Jakob enters with his bags. The driver enters and begins to drive off. Jakob adjusts his suit and sits a bit uneasy. The driver looks up in the rear view mirror and notices Jakob’s physical anxiety.

Driver: Is everything alright? You seem a bit... uneasy.

Jakob Hystaria:I’m fine, just thinking about this Survive and Conquer match.

Driver: Want to talk about it? We have a little while until we reach the hotel.

Jakob Hystaria:As I said I’m fine, just trying to formulate a plan. To which is a bit more difficult than anticipated.

Driver: How so?

Jakob Hystaria: In a match like this, there are endless amount of variables, 100 of the top men and women will be competing, add in the random entry, there is no way anyone could get a leg up on anyone else, despite the accolades anyone has achieved in their perspective federations, one slip and its all over, not to mention the numbers game.

Driver: The numbers game?

Jakob Hystaria: Every federation wants to be the winner, alliances will be formed that normally wouldn’t happen, all in the name of pride and glory for the federation.

Driver: You’re not the only one coming in from the World Wrestling Generation, you could easily join up with any of the other members joining.

Jakob Hystaria: This is true, but if I find myself in the ring with just Jason Richardson, I am still all alone, the best I can hope for is Scott Carr being in the ring with me, we work together well.

Driver: It almost sounds as if you expect to lose this tournament. No disrespect I hope.

Jakob Hystaria: No, I understand what you’re saying. A part of me doesn’t expect to win, with so many people involved, several of them are greats in the business, legends of their perspective federations, this is definitely a challenge, and is for everyone involved. But then I look at the situation as a whole, taking a step back, and realized that it doesn’t matter if you win or lose, some of the giants of this business has lost big matches, wins don’t always define the value of a wrestler, it is how your present yourself in the match. Giving the fans what they want to see, and showing that you deserve to be there as much as the next guy.

Driver: You should still have a positive outlook on this match, you should walk in expecting to win.

Jakob Hystaria: Ah yes, the ‘expecting to win’ tactic. I used to think that way before every match I had. Sometimes it worked, but I found out the hard way, that walking into a match, regardless if its a major or a simple weekly show, that I would make mistakes. I would expect to win, and if things went south, I would begin to lose focus, and get frustrated. Both things that should never happen because it is a down ward spiral after that and usually would end up on your back. If I walk into a match, thinking anything can happen, that there is a high probability that I can lose, I tend to want the win more. I fight harder for the victory, put on a better show for the fans because I push myself that much more, and when I do win, it means that much more. Besides winning and losing are just numbers a superficial number that goes as far as the federation and yourself. What really matters to me is the fight itself, in context of this match, is all that matters. This will be the biggest fight of my career and the shear numbers excites me.

Driver: I will say that is an interesting way to look at things in your field of work, but it must work for you with everyone you’ve done.

Jakob Hystaria: Yeah well, it took almost the entire 14 years I have been doing this to figure that out. I too once focused just on the things that I have done in the past, but if I can’t do those same things today, then they are nothing more than a memory. Thats why I focus on the fight, because that is now, and if you become good enough at the fight, everything else falls in suit, titles, awards, all those glorifications that so many believe to be the true purpose of wrestling.

Driver: If you don’t do it for the titles and glory, then why do it at all? I’ve seen some of your matches, you put your body through a whole lot just for fun.

Jakob Hystaria: If you truly have followed my career any, you would know, I don’t “need” to wrestle, I started wrestling to focus my aggression, to give my life a purpose, back when I needed the money. But now days, I do it for the love of it. I come out to give the people a good show, and look at every match as a test, to see if I can still go the distance, and the day that I no longer can, is the day I retire and lick my wounds.

Driver: Here we are. Will you need me the rest of the day?

Jakob Hystaria: Not tonight, nor tomorrow, the WWG is holding their press conference for the event so I wont need anyone to pick me up. Just return the night of the event.

Driver: Then I will see you then, it has been a pleasure talking with you.

Jakob exits the limo with his bags and stands in front of the massive hotel. The limo drives off and he walk into the building

END DAY 1

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

Day 2:

Announcer: Please welcome, from the World Wrestling Generation, Triple Crowned Champion, and currently one half of the WWG Tag Team Champions, Jakob Hystaria!

Jakob walks out from the back and onto the stage and to the podium.

Jakob Hystaria: Thank you, it is a great morning to be here to talk about the cross federation royal rumble that is being hosted by Action Packed Wrestling. I would like to make a quick request before we start, I have a little speech to make about the match, addressing my other opponents as well as a few comments on the match itself, and I would like if everyone holds their questions until the end. From what I understand we have a time schedule and the others involved in the match from the WWG have a few things to say, I’m sure.

Reporter 1: Jakob! Jakob!

Jakob Hystaria: Did you not hear what I just requested? Are you mentally ill? Deaf maybe? What a useless reporter you must be if those are the case, like a no armed drummer, just banging your head on what every makes noise. Please, wait until I’m done, and you will save yourself a lot of embarrassment. Action Packed Wrestling has been daring enough to open their doors to anyone, which resulted in this hundred man royal rumble from almost 30 federations from around the world. With superstars big, small, quick, slow, clams and penises, all around. When I was first presented with this opportunity to represent the WWG in a tournament this big, none stop, go until the last man stands, I honestly didn’t want to do it. Not that I was scared, or didn’t think I had a shot, but I am a busy man. After rolling it over in my head for a while I realized, this is the kind of match that I have always dreamed of being in. Something that you can’t predict the outcome based on the talent involved, or how you can manipulate the match itself to pull a win out of my own. This match has way too many people involved to honestly prepare for. It doesn’t matter how talented you are, how many titles and awards you’ve won in the past, or currently hold. It really doesn’t even matter how big or small you are, although those things can help. I say this because with so many people, all fighting for the prize, they will do anything, they will gang up on you and you could easily find yourself looking up at the ring on the outside with a ref yelling at you to leave the ring area. If that wasn’t exciting enough, there are three more parts to the match after that. Last four are trapped in a cage, then the last three go into a street fight, then return to the ring for a Hell in the Cell ladder match. For most people this would scare them, me, I live for the fight. Sure the trophy and the money would be nice, and I wont lie the bragging rights could be useful as well. In the end I have no delusions about being the winner. Lets face it, I lose as much as I win, but that is how I built my career, its not about the numbers, its about the actions that lead up to the bell. That is where I shine. I used to be like the same dry, boring, ‘look at me’ kind of talent, that I would bet the equal of the prize money, you will see in this match. You know the types, ‘I have these titles, and I won these awards, and I sucked his pud’. I know what I have achieved, I know the titles I have won, the awards I have been given, and the only thing I will say is, my triple crown says it all. That doesn’t mean I think I will be the last man standing. No, for one very important reason. Wrestling, just like any other physical fighting sport, is physical and skill, but also mental and ethics. I used to brag and be full of myself, saying I will win every match I had. That left me with a gap in my strategy. I would only see myself winning in the end, but had no clue how I would get there. I made mistakes, I missed vital things that I ended up with a big fat L, and not lesbians. I go in for the fight, I know I said that earlier, but I say that because in the end, what else really matters? If you can’t take out your opponent in the ring, what good are you to the fans and your perspective federation? If you focus on the fight, the abilities you need to pull off a win, instead of focusing on the win, everything else comes with it. There is 99 other men and divas in this match, 96 of them I have never faced. I have heard of a few, and their reputation stands for itself. There are several people I may face that can easily put me out. Hell, lets face it, I could easily be tossed out as soon as I jump in the ring. Hopefully there will be at least ONE person who is tossed out first. I found out my entry number this morning before heading downstairs to meet all of you. My number will be 66, so I figure there will be at least one loss by then, face it, if no one where to be thrown out by then, I would have to wait a while before entering the ring, may be a little crowded. Before I start taking questions, I want to enforce, that I am not here to say “the World Wrestling Generation will dominate all”, because I don’t know that, and if you do the math, there are four of us and ninety six others, four percent of the entries. Not good odds, but I will say, we will come here to show the other federations, wrestlers, and the world, that we are here, and we are here to fuck shit up!

The reporters clap as a few attempt to get his attention.

Reporter 1: Jakob! Jakob!

Jakob Hystaria: Not you Opie, next.

Reporter 2: Do you feel confident that your tag team partner, Scott Carr, will be in the match with you?

Jakob Hystaria: Scott is a heavy hitter, and there is a small bit of ease knowing he will be entering shortly before myself. It is always nice to know someone will have your back in a match like this. In the end though, both Scott and I, had talked about the possibility of both of us facing off with each other. It could happen. We agreed, if at all possible, we will have each others back, then hold nothing back if it comes down to the two of us to win. As I stated previously, it is a long shot, but it is a nice thought.

Reporter 3: What are your thoughts with Jason Richardson being in this match.

Jakob Hystaria: Let’s just say, if he lasts until I enter, I will be gunning for him first. It would be nice to see him on his back and out of the match. Although I have no delusions of him coming after me as well, but then again, everyone will be after everyone. So, it is what it is.

The announcer steps up to the podium

Announcer: Sadly that is all the time we have for Jakob Hystaria, I would like to thank him and wish him good luck in his match. Up next...

END DAY 2

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

DAY 3

The sun begins to peek from behind the massive hotel. Jakob is looking out at the city, observing the people walking by, hardly anyone paying him any mind as they go to their morning lives. The limo pulls up and Jakob takes a few more moments to take in the city before entering. He places his gym back on seat across from him and the limo drives off. Jakob remains silent as they drive down the road. They stop at a coffee shop and the driver rolls down the separation window.

Driver: The usual sir?

Jakob continues to stare out the window. The driver exits the limo. After a few minutes he returns with two coffees and places one in the back for Jakob.

Driver: You’re quite than usual, is everything alright?

Jakob Hystaria: Tonight is the big night, I just wanted to enjoy the morning. Just incase I find myself on the injured list.

Driver: Injured list? Do you expect to not walk away?

Jakob Hystaria: Not really, I like to think I have survived much worse. Inflicted much worse than anticipated to happen to myself in this match. I just wanted enjoy the quite, the calm, before the arena blows up and everyone shows up.

Driver: Is that why you are showing up so early?

Jakob Hystaria: Exactly. I want to take it all in before actually having to enter the match. I enjoy hearing the slow roar as people show up to the arena. I need to take as much time as I can to work out and warm up. Tonight I don’t expect to give anything but my all. Even if that means I walk away right after I enter, I will know I would have put everything into the match. I am a guest of the APW, and I know what they expect, and I aim to give them what they want, and more. This isn’t just about me, but the WWG as well, if I embarrassed myself, that reflects on the federation as a whole.

Driver: What about the others?

Jakob Hystaria: They know the same goes for them, and we all will be going for the win, but in the end, there is only one winner. As a federation, we all want to survive the longest, for in house bragging rights. No one wants to be the first to go out, spend the shortest time in the ring, that sort of stuff.

Driver: What if you win? Do you have plans for the money?

Jakob Hystaria: The money is irrelevant. I have money, money comes and goes. Like many others on this world, I want to leave a legacy. You only live as long as you are remembered. Hitler will always be remembered, even if the things he did was evil, as long as there is history, he will live. I want the same thing, not in the same context though. This massive match can very well be the start of that. In the end we all want to be remembered, and me, I want my seat next to the greats who will stand the test of time. But if I do win, I will more and likely give it to charity. If I don’t need it, I am sure there are several reportable charities that could use a couple hundred grand to keep doing the great things they are doing.

Driver: Charities? Why don’t you give it to me? I could be the perfect charity case, and I think a million dollars is the exact amount I would need to change.

Jakob Hystaria: I have always given my pay to charities, even when I played a heel. My inherited business ventures cover my lifestyle. I have no children to speak of to leave a fortune too, so I give to those who weren’t so lucky as I.

Driver: So you give to feel the satisfaction of being recognized to help others? I can understand that.

Jakob Hystaria: Most of my donations are anonymous, just have one in my name.

A few moments of silence as the driver feels foolish and uncomfortable with his miss judgment of Jakob.

Driver: Here we are sir.

Jakob Hystaria: Thank you, it has been a pleasure having you drive me around.

Driver: One more thing, why do you misspell your name?

Jakob Hystaria: That one is a long story, but I assure you, I am well aware that it is misspelled, and was purposely done that way. Best of luck.

Jakob exits the car and enters the arena.

1 HOUR BEFORE THE MATCH

Jakob stands back stage of Survive and Conquer with Shane West. Jakob stands in place stretching while waiting for the Que. to start the interview.

Shane West: In 3...2...I’m backstage of Action Pro Wrestlings Survive and Conquer with one of the entries, Jakob Hystaria. So Jakob, what are your thoughts about the match tonight?

Jakob Hystaria: It’s a hell of a challenge, something people dream about doing. I’ve been on edge ever since I arrived here a few days ago. To say the least, I am excited for the fight.

Shane West: How do you feel about your chances in the match tonight being you are relatively unknown?

Jakob Hystaria: One correction, I fell out of the spot light, still known in some circles, and I have just as good of a chance as anyone else here tonight. I’m here representing the World Wrestling Federation, and I don’t plan to let them down. I plan on going out there and do what needs to be done, ruining some peoples day, and overall, just fucking shit up.

Shane West: Do you have anything for the other competitors in the match tonight?

Jakob Hystaria: This is the night, the night to put up or don’t bother to show up. I’m not here to impress anyone in the match, I’m not here to make friends. I have enough friends. Just because you’ve never heard of me, or may not remember who I am, doesn’t mean I am just going to roll over and let you do what you feel needs to happen. 99 other men and woman are going to be standing across from me, and I have lost no sleep over the idea of those odds. Not too partial on fighting females but once you enter that ring, you take on the responsibly of being injured. I wont pull any punches for anyone, not even my tag partner. At the end of the night it will be about bragging rights, and I have no problem taking on the fight for that 15 minutes of fame.

Everything becomes muffled for Jakob backstage. He walks down the hallway and grabs his bag. He puts on his headphones and begins to focus. He sits in an opening near the entrance and zones out, immersing himself in the music. For the next hour and a half, people come and go, almost as if stuck in fast forward, but Jakob pays little attention. He remains focused, with the occasional stretching. A voice slowly makes its way through the music and concentration. “J-Word...J-WORD!” Jakob slowly looks up and see’s the giant Scott Carr standing over him with smile on his face. Jakob removes his ear buds and stops the music.

Jakob Hystaria: Whats up man?

Scott Carr: I was going to ask you the same thing.

Jakob Hystaria: Just running things over in my head. This is a big match for us.

Scott Carr: True, but don’t psych yourself out, it’s just a match.

Jakob Hystaria: Not too worried, just getting everything out now, you know me, as soon as I step out onto the ramp, it is all about the match.

Scott Carr: What are you worried about?

Jakob Hystaria: Nothing too serious, I just keep thinking about all the time I took off in the past, the time I spent in Japan and traveling asia. A much different style compared to the WWG and this match in APW.

Scott Carr: You will be fine. This past year alone proves that. 2012 was your year in the WWG. This is just another night.

Jakob Hystaria: Easy for you to say, you’ve been going strong for 14 years, meanwhile in the 14 years I’ve been doing this, I had a collective 5 years otherwise elsewhere.

A stage hand runs up to the two men.

Stage Hand: Mr. Carr, your up next.

Scott Carr: Thanks kid, be right there. Yo J-word, don’t worry about things. We got this, we will do what we came to do. Just prepare yourself, because I have a feeling the two of us may have to lock up.

Jakob Hystaria: I think you need to be ready, because all you are is a tree waiting to be chopped.

Scott Carr: Funny guy, see you out there man.

Scott Carr walks off and enters the match. Jakob puts his gear away and begins to get ready once again. The stage hand walks up has him get ready to exit. Jakob returns to his focused state of mind. The buzzer sounds and Jakob exits to the ramp and the crowd erupts with the entrance of another competitor.

END

[Buckson Gooch]

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
-Theodore Roosevelt

There is a time to stand strong and a time to fight for what you believe in. This strength is not how strong you are at the peak, it’s how strong you are in the valley. We’ve heard plenty of competitors talk about their superior skill and how great they are and that it is by their ability that they will win Survive and Conquer. This is false. The winner of this match will do so because of their intestinal fortitude and drive to succeed...to not give up. To look inwardly, as the man in the Arena. The one doing the fighting. He will do what it takes during the difficult times to ensure victory.

Survive and Conquer is different from any beast that we have in the brotherhood of wrestling. 99 of the world’s finest grapplers come together in once place...and then there is me.

You know, I find the psychology of man very interesting; I really do. You stare into the eyes of one person and you think you've figured out all of the gears that keep mankind running, but then walks up another, and you wonder how everything could be so different...yet, we are all so alike as well. The only thing driving us at Survive and Conquer is the desire to win. As seen by the litany of promos already done, there are many different reasons that people want to win. Basically, the way to enter this belly of the beast is to declare a jihad on its participants, and fight for your life.

As I’ve often stated, my Daddy was a good man. We had big projects and we had small projects that needed to be taken care of to keep the farm running and operational. There were times as a high school student that I would look at the project and think there was no way I could do it, even with the help of my father. But Daddy would always look at me and say, “Son, how do you eat an elephant? You eat it one bite at a time.”

That phrase has gotten me through many a trial, and it will be the same at Survive and Conquer.

I know that I won’t be entering the ring against 100 competitors at once. It will only be a few at a time. I’ve been given the starting number of 13. I’ll be the 13th entrant in the Surive and Conquer match this year. Even if there are 12 men in the ring when I walk down the aisle...

there won’t be for long...

This is the type of match for a man like me, ‘ol Buckson Gooch. I’ve thrown things around all my life. I’ve had to throw hay bales my entire life. Between 130-200 lbs. depending on the compacting of the hay, two twine or three. You have to keep up with the truck as you throw those in. I’ve been doing that since I was about 13 and living with the Banes.

Being a farmer, picking things up and throwing them is second nature. I hit hard. I lift hard. I throw hard. I WORK hard. This match isn’t going to be fun. This match isn’t going to be enjoyable. The result will be the reward. I’m not going to say I’m going to win...but I’m going to compete. I’m going to give my best, and if my best is better than everyone else, the win will be mine...but I know there will be a few who will taste my wrath, who don’t have my work ethic, who don’t have the character that I have. These men and women haven’t had to claw their way up from the bottom. That’s not their fault, but many things play into a match like this. I think ‘ol Buckson Gooch is going to surprise the world with how well he does...and I’ll do it with Southern Hospitality.

A match of this magnitude takes a never give up attitude, and I have that attitude. I was raised with that attitude. I live that attitude. I breath that attitude. The easy times can come after the match, along with the healing process, the difficult, character building time will be in that ring, facing men and women who claim to want to win as badly as you do.

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

Bright pink sprays through the dark orange sky as the sun peeks over climactic Ozark Mountains. The colors surge as if volcanoes erupting from their place in the sun, sending light crashing down the valley and covering Gooch farm. The strands of light hit the barn, finding their way through the nooks and crannies of the old building. City folk would call the building an abomination or an eye sore, Buckson Gooch calls it a home for his precious animals.

Buckson Gooch smiles as he sees the sunlight run across his land, brush in hand, he is brushing the hair of his favorite horse, Simmons. His large hands make the brush look tiny. His dingy white shirt already sweat filled as daylight is just now breaking. His overalls are in need of cleaning, but not in need of repair. He's a hard worker, he's proud of his work, but he doesn't do it for show. He does it because it needs to get done.

The solitary of doing chores around the farm, Buck digs that. He has to rely on himself to succeed. There could be 99 different trials that he has to endure in a day, but the only place that he can control is himself.

The trials of life can go unnumbered, but the end result is they will be solved because of the character of Buckson Gooch.

The old screen door slams shut and Buck looks up from his work. He see’s J-Mac coming towards him. At 6’1” and sixteen years old, those two attributes alone would make you think that there was another generation of monster sized men in the Gooch family...but J-Mac weights in at a whopping 145 lbs. He sure hasn’t fill out yet, but he is doing well in the classroom. Buck had filled out at an early age and was doing the work of a man at the tender age of 12...though he’s proud of the work he’s doing, perhaps this differentiation between he and J-Mac will result in J-Mac having a “safer” future...

While Buck is in deep thought about the future of his eldest, J-Mac has made his way over to the stable.

J-Mac Gooch: Lily woke Mama up early this morning.

Buckson Gooch: Then what has you up this early in the morning?

J-Mac laughs and makes a baby noise. Buck nods his head.

J-Mac Gooch: Did I cry like that when I was a baby?

Buckson Gooch: You sure did, son. That’s all babies can do is cry. They can’t talk or let you know what their feelings are through any other way but crying. It becomes a guessing game.

J-Mac smiles and starts messing with some of the tools on the large shelf covered in old, but effective tools. Buckson continues to stroke Simmons’ mane. He thinks about what he’s just told J-Mac. There have been quite a few guys who are making noise about Survive and Conquer...but that’s all they are doing. Buck can’t make heads or tails out of what they are getting at. Some make more sense than others, but some just sound like a baby crying for attention. Those are the ones that will be easy pickings. Buckson Gooch is a man who takes note of things, even if it’s not audible. He’s found the weak links, they can cry after the match about the world not being fair...but fair in a carnival that comes around once a year.

Buckson knows some of the competitors are going to be tougher than others...but he knows something they all have in common...and that is...

J-Mac Gooch: Are you going to Uncle Coker’s grave today?

Buck’s line of thinking is disturbed, but he is a tad shocked. J-Mac barely went to the funeral. Now he wants to visit the graveside? Buck understands he could spook J-Mac pretty easily so he stays calm.

Buckson Gooch: Sure thing, son. Let me finish here. Go get the keys to Fungus.

Gooch knew he had bought himself some time...he had the keys to his ‘74 Dodge pick-up in his pocket. Annabelle hates that truck. It truly is ugly, but she’s reliable. Buck named her “Fungus” because she grows on you after a while.

Buck feeds Simmons and apple and leaves the barn and heads toward the truck. He leans his giant forearm over the back of the truck. He thinks about the trials he’s endured lately. Josie trying to press charges. Coach Coker dying. Annabelle having a difficult pregnancy. Annabelle’s accident. The list goes on and on. He took everything with character. Those things made him hurt, but he overcame. He has character and is a rock for those around him.

Gooch opens the passenger door and sits on the seat that still has some spring left in it. He pulls the door to him with a slam. He takes a whiff of the cold, musty air in the truck. So familiar...but there was going to be something different this morning...and it was painted on J-Mac’s face.

With his hands pushed outward, a shrug of the shoulders, and a furrowing of his eyebrows, confused at why his father is sitting in the passenger seat, Buck nods his head over. A smile erupts over J-Mac’s face as he fumbles to get the keys from his pocket. He drops them on the ground and tries to pick them up, his excitement is contagious as Buck smiles.

J-Mac pushes hard on the button below the handle and pulls, the door opens and he bounds into the seat. His eyes wild with excitement, he is ready to put the key in the ignition. Buck reaches over and grabs his arm.

Buckson Gooch: Don’t go crazy, you’ll flood it.

Gently, J-Mac starts the old truck. He pushes the gas to give it some juice and she purrs awake. Buck leans his head back and rests it on the glass. It’s cold and forms a steamlike halo over his head. Buckson thinks about what he just told J-Mac. He knows there are going to be some people who are going to expel all of their energy when they get in the ring, that’s a foolish mindset.

Buckson Gooch: Son, if you were going to be in this Survive and Conquer match, what would you do?

J-Mac Gooch: I’d pack a gun.

Buck snorts and J-Mac laughes.

Buckson Gooch: No, really. What would you do?

J-Mac Gooch: Well, you got stuck with an early number. Statistically your chance of winning is lowered just because of that...I’m not saying you won’t win, but it’s going to be a lot harder. I don’t know the interval that combatants go in at, but for you to come in at #13 with guys already in the ring, and then endure 87 fresh combatants is going to be difficult...but when you calculate your size, your strength, your endurance...I imagine if you move wisely, like you normally do, you’ll place in the top ten.

Buckson Gooch: Would you look at that, my own kid doesn’t even think I’ll win...Pull the truck over!

Buck laughs realizing that J-Mac is telling the truth. Buckson knows he isn’t going to win. He will have already had a hellacious match with Mark Mania and regardless of outcome, will have to enter into the match early.

J-Mac Gooch: The best bet for you, Pops, would be to make a goal. If you reach it great, if you supercede it, that’s fantastic. But you need to set a goal.

Buck ponders J-Mac’s question for a minute. Realistically, where would Buck stand? What goal should he shoot for?

Buckson Gooch: I’d like to be in the top 20. I’d love to make the top 10. If I win it, that’s just icing on the cake.

Buck looks out the window as they go down the old gravel road. The stuffy interior gets to be too much and Buck rolls his window down. The cool air sends an immediate shiver down his spine as his sweaty hair whips in the wind.

Buckson Gooch: Regardless of the goal, I’ll do my best.

J-Mac nodded, acknowledging that he’s heard his father, but he continues to keep his eyes on the road. Buck looks out at the fields, not worry about J-Mac’s driving. He’s had driver’s ed. He is more than capable, but this is the first time he’s let him drive Fungus. That ‘ol 74 Dodge has a soft spot in the heart of Buckson Gooch. Could be the time he spent tinkering on it with Coach Coker.

Buckson Gooch: I still can’t believe he’s gone.

J-Mac knew exactly what his father was thinking and he also knew better than to pry information out of his Dad. Buckson Gooch tends to be a very private person. He opens up to a choice few, Coach Coker was one of them. It feels as if part of him died the day that Coker fell over with a heart attack...He knew it tore J-Mac up, too. They both just stood there powerless.

J-Mac Gooch: I miss him, too, Pops. But I didn’t see if you wanted to go for me...I think this is important for you...

J-Mac grips the steering wheel harder, Buck realizes how blessed he is to have a thoughtful son. He pats his son on the shoulder...it’s going to be an emotional day. As they passed the old high school, Gooch saw the practice field. He could almost hear the whistles blowing, he could practically feel Coker’s hot breath seeping through his facemask yelling at him to play with passion. “Fight to the end” and “Be better than the man across from you” were two of the slogans that were yelled often during team drills. It was instilled in those young men that you were to beat the man across from you EVERY time or complete your assignments EVERY time. It would be impossible to think that one man could beat the other 11. You had to do your job and do your job well. There was no room for error. To win, you had to do your job. To be successful you had to try your best EVERY play.

Buck remembers missing an assignment and giving up, the quarterback ended up not making the throw and Gooch missed out on a sack. The quarterback scrambled for a touchdown because of Buck’s mistake. Upon return to the sidelines, Coach Coker grabbed Gooch’s facemask and the verbal tirade, that he could still quote from memory, ensured that Gooch never again took a play off. J-Mac snapped his father back to 2013.

J-Mac Gooch: Uncle Mac called this morning.

Buckson Gooch: When?

J-Mac Gooch: About 5:30, you were already out in the field.

Buckson Gooch: What did he want?

J-Mac Gooch: He wanted to check on you, make sure you were doing okay after the funeral. He said you really did a good job and showed great strength.

Buck nodded. Mac gave his notice to APW that S&C would be his final match. Buck hates to see his friend leave, but understands that Mac has plenty of projects to work on. Mac vowed to help get Buck on his feet, and he’s done that with APW.

The truck bumps over the cattle guard and into the cemetery. Most of the time a cattle guard is used to keep cattle in, but in this case, it’s to keep the cattle out. No one wants Blue Bell to eat Uncle Tommy’s flowers or take a dump on Aunt Mae’s headstone. So this figured to be the best way to keep the cemetery clear of livestock. Buck opened his truck door.

Buckson Gooch: Stay here for a minute, J-Mac.

J-Mac had already made his intentions for this trip clear, but just wanted to reassure his son he wanted some time alone. J-Mac nodded and let the truck continue to idle. Buck walked over to the fresh grave of one James Ray Coker. There is no headstone, only a place keeper with his name. People in Possomgrape thought a man like James Coker would live forever.

Buck crouched down by the grave and grabbed some of the dirt he rubbed his hands with it and sniffed. He stood back up and pulled a blue Powerade out of his overalls, he opened it and poured half of it on top of the grave, and then sat next to the mound of dirt and sipped on the rest.

Buckson Gooch: Coker, this is a big week for me. I’m sure you know that. I just never had the chance to thank you for the things you instilled in me. The work ethic. The drive. The desire to be the best. The living smart.

Tears start to run down Buck’s face, he wipes them away.

Buckson Gooch: You always knew that I wasn’t the smartest or most gifted man to live, but you treated me with respect and taught me how to use the things I did have to my benefit. You believed in me when it would’ve been easy to focus on others. You helped me when times were rough, and you were a friend to me during the good times.

The catch in Gooch’s voice is followed by more wiping away of tears.

Buckson Gooch: This week, I’m going to go into Survive and Conquer to do just that. To Survive and to Conquer. I’ll make the most of what you taught me...which oddly enough will all tie together in this match. I have a long road to tow in this match, but I’m going to dig deep. I’m going to attack the man in front of me. I’ll keep my head on a swivel...and I want to do you proud...I’m dedicating this match to you.

Most people would think this was cliche, but if Buckson Gooch is anything, he’s genuine. He gets up and looks down at the ground, as if it’s still a shock that his friend is dead. He puts the powerade bottle back in his overalls and heads back to his truck, Fungus. He opens the door and sinks into the chair. His emotions are charged and he’s ready for battle.

J-Mac Gooch: Good talk, Pops?

Buckson Gooch: Absolutely. A lifetime’s worth of advice has got me ready for this week. I’ll do my thing...with a flair of Southern Hospitality.

J-Mac: That’s the way we Gooches do.

Buckson Gooch: Let’s get home, son. I bet Mama’s got breakfast cooking.

J-Mac wheels the large truck around and rumbles over the cattle guard. Buck watches the grave as long as he can until his vision is obstructed. This week will be a defining one for him in his career in APW. He will have to rely on the life lessons he’s learned and apply them in a way that will be the measure of who he is as a man. He faces Mark Mania for the Overdrive championship and then...will Survive and Conquer.

[James Stall]

The light comes up as Stall opens his eyes only to blink again. He is lying flat on a coarse sheet of paper atop an examination table inside New York Presbyterian hospital. Dressed only in his gray cotton boxers, James’ naked legs hang off the end of the examination table despite the cold metal extension. His head lists to the side, and he stares at the white wall across from him. There are no decorations, no mirror. There isn’t even any wall paper, just plain white paint on drywall. Stall blinks again, and slowly his mind drifts to thoughts of Survive and Conquer. Of the hundred wrestlers in the match, he would enter at number twenty-four. Technically speaking there are plenty of worse numbers to have, but of the seventy-two men entering after him, few will envy his position.

James is brought back to the moment at hand by the cold sting of the alcohol soaked cotton swab on his chest, and his nose crinkles at the antiseptic smell which stings his nostrils. He looks up at the plump Hispanic nurse as her head passes in front of the harsh white light that glares down at him. He involuntarily blinks again under the light end then shivers when the nurse coats his chest with conductive gel before attaching a series of electrodes. She manages to fit them between the scars that cut across his pectoral muscles. When her delicate fingers touch James’ black and blue ribs, he winces.

Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.

James listens intently to the sound of the EKG machine as his left foot taps the air in front of him. He breathes slowly and steadily as his mind drifts off once again to Survive and Conquer which, at one hundred people will literally be the biggest match of his career. To win from number twenty-four may be near impossible. Just outlasting the battle royal will be tough let alone escaping a steel cage, surviving a street fight, and winning a Hell in the Cell Ladder match. Stall’s stomach flips in a mix of nerves and anticipation as the scratching of the EKG machine speeds up.

Within a few minutes, James’ is unhooked from the machine. His blood pressure is taken, and all that is left for the nurse to do is draw some of James’ blood. James sits up and swings his legs despite the aching of his knees as the nurse flips over his left arm, wraps an elastic band around it and searches for a vein. Her fingers glide over the scars that crisscross James’ arm as she desperately searches for a vein that hasn’t been obscured by extra flesh. She looks up at him ready to say “Maybe the other arm”, but his cold stare convinces her to move on in silence. She searches his right arm for two minutes before finally finding a vein.

The nurse than wipes his arm with rubbing alcohol and pulls out a long needle. As she approaches his arm with it, James Stall, a man who has seen razor-wire deathmatches, turns his head, shuts his eyes, and grits his teeth as the needle is stabbed into his arm. His hand claws at the table, and he doesn’t open his eyes until the nurse pats him on the shoulder and lets him know that she’s done. After that, the nurse leaves the room, and James is left to change into a flimsy white hospital gown and wait for the doctor to enter.

A few minutes later, Dr. William Stevens walks in. Without so much of a good morning to James, he pulls out a few X-rays of James’ ribs which had been taken earlier in the day, and slaps them onto the X-ray view box. He pulls out a pen from his labcoat pocket and makes a few notes on James’ chart. James taps his fingers against the examination table.

“Well?”

Dr. Stevens turns toward Stall and taps the back of his pen against his pursed lips.

“Mr. Stall, are you sure you want to compete in Survive and Conquer?”

James rolls his eyes.

“That’s a real stupid question.”

Dr, Stevens reaches of and touches James’ ribs causing the Ayatollah of Aggression to recoil. Dr. Stevens nods his head.

“I’m just not sure it’s a good idea.”

James scoffs.

“Of course it’s not a good idea. But I’ve gotta do it anyway.”

The good doctor turns back to the X-rays and taps his finger against them.

“Well, right now I’m looking at the x-rays we did on your ribs. It seems they were broken some time ago.”

James knows the day they were first broken quite well.

“A hundred and fifty-five days ago.”

Dr. Stevens turns his head, caught off guard for a moment, but he soon turns his head

“Right. And it would appear though they’ve tried to heal themselves, they’ve been broken numerous times since then.”

“Well that’s a shame, but it comes with the business.”

“I can clearly see some pretty bad bruising. You must be in quite a bit of pain.”

James touches his hand to his ribs and grits his teeth.

“I manage it.”

“With what? I see no record of pain killer use in your records.”

Stall taps his temple with his index finger.

“It’s all up here, Doc. The pain keeps me on my toes, keeps me focused, keeps me angry. Reminds me that I’m human.”

Dr. Stevens shrugs his shoulders.

“Let me check your breathing.”

The Doctor presses his cold stethoscope on James bare back and instructs James to breathe in deeply. Stall does so and listens intently to the sound of his own breathing. James fills his lungs with air and puffs out his chest as far as he can, but a sudden stab of pain from his ribs causes him to exhale. James soon recovers and gets himself back into a comfortable rhythm. Dr. Stevens shakes his head and wordlessly moves on to checking Stall’s reflexes. He strikes James’ knees with a mallet, and although they ache, James’ reflexes are fine. Dr. Steven’s jots a few more notes down on James’ chart.

“I’m looking back at your past hospitalizations. It’s a laundry list of injuries including burns and a multitude of lacerations for which you’ve received two blood transfusions and an unfathomable amount of stitches.”

James shrugs.

“My red keeps the suture industry in the black.”

A particular note causes Dr. Stevens to raise an eyebrow.

“And electrocution. Mr. Stall, how did you manage that?”

“That’s a fun story.”

Dr. Stevens waits, but no story is forth coming as James simply stares at the wall in front of him.

“And it’s true that last month you competed in not one but two Hell in a Cell matches?”

James smiles to himself and nods.

“One was an elimination match with five other people. I placed a chair over my last opponent’s head and smashed it with a sledgehammer. Put him in a coma for a few days.”

James’ calmness shocks Dr. Stevens and causes him to stagger backward.

“And you feel no guilt about that?”

James looks down at his hands and cracks his knuckles.

“Guilt is not something I can afford.”

Dr. Steven’s face blanches as he scratches the top of his balding head.

“I… I don’t even…”

James throws up his arms and sighs.

“What do you want from me, Doc?”

Dr. Stevens rapidly taps his pen against James’ records.

“I’d like you to stop treating your body like it’s Batman.”

“No can do, Doc. Survive and Conquer is calling my name.”

James gets a response, but not from Doctor Stevens. Instead a voice calls to him from the doorway.

“Not until I hear a clearance from this man.”

James looks up and sees a smiling white haired man in a gray suit. It is his long time agent and potential CRW General Manager, Bruce Kent. James sighs.

“Hello, Bruce.”

Bruce pats his client on the back and clasps his shoulders.

“How’s my favorite client doing?”

James answers gruffly.

“Fine.”

“How is he really, Doctor?”

James holds up his hand to stop the doctor.

“Doesn’t doctor patient confidentiality still exist?”

Bruce jams James’ chest with his finger.

“Not when you’re my client and I’m privy to all of your medical examinations as per our contract.”

Dr. Stevens scans James’ chart.

“All his old injuries have healed. The rib injury should heal enough by the show. After the blood tests medically, he’ll be cleared, but I strongly advise against it.”

“Mr. Stall, you’re young, and that’s a gift. You heal real fast, but all these injuries are already starting to pile up, and I can’t even begin to predict the long term affects this will have on your body. A match this extreme is not the best thing for you to compete in right now.”

Bruce sits down next to James on the examination table.

“I know it’s a big purse, kid, and with the endorsements that come it’s a lot of money, but you know, for me, the health and well-being of my clients comes first.”

“If you think I do this for my money, you’re a fool.”

Dr. Stevens squints.

“Then why?”

James jumps off the bed and points his finger toward the door.

“Last year nobody knew who the hell I was. This year I’ve made a name for myself. I won my first World title. But I still need to win the big one, something everyone will recognize. I came close in Ascension. I didn’t win the Extreme Tournament, but people who haven’t even heard of those will be coming for Survive and Conquer. There will be companies I didn’t know existed represented there. And I can show them all that I’m the best.”

Bruce shakes his head. Now it’s his turn to raise his voice.

“Bullshit. If this was about getting your name out there, there are plenty of safer ways to get your name out there.”

James mumbles to himself.

“None as big as this.”

Bruce grabs his client by the shoulders and turns him around. With a look of true caring and concern on his face, Bruce looks into James’ eyes.

“What’s the real reason?”

James facial muscles go slack and his jaw hangs loose. He manages to move his lips, but the words are slow to escape as her stares at his loyal agent and friend.

“Who am I, Bruce?”

James turns around and runs both hands through his hair.

“Christ, everything’s so topsy turvy in my head even the meaning of the question’s changed. It used to be a question of whether I was just Joe Stall’s grandson and William Jones’ nephew or if I was my own person. But I settled that long ago. When I was a finalist in Ascension, when I won my NEW World Heavyweight Championship, I proved that I am more than just my family. I am James Stall. But who is that?”

He stares at the white wall looking for an answer that isn’t there.

“Am I the one they cheer in Vegas and South America, or am I the one they boo everywhere else? Am I the man they praise in the CWC and SCW or the one they decry in New Era? Hero or villain? Which is it, Bruce? The man who had everyone shouting Acreditmos, who had the crowd at his back, or the monster who shut everyone out including the one man who truly cared? That man won the World Heavyweight Championship, but lost the chance at having a true mentor when the one he refused to listen to lost his life. Was it worth it?”

Bruce furrows his brow. Try as he might he can’t come up with any words that will comfort James. And James continues.

“I feel like I live two lives, constantly changing, playing both sides of the same coin. And it feels like a ruse, a bad joke I play on myself. Sometimes I feel so fake, so forced, and I can’t let that go on any longer, Bruce. I can’t let myself feel like a farce. That’s why I need this match.”

Dr. Stevens looks at the two men and silently excuses himself.

James walks up to Bruce and places his hands on Bruce’s shoulders.

“You come in at number twenty-four, and fight your way through almost a hundred men, and you’re bound to learn something about yourself. Will I resort to sneaky tactics to eliminate opponents, or will I rise above adversity? In the steel cage will I scurry over the wall as fast as I can and leave my opponents to pick themselves apart, or will I join them in the fray? When I make it to the triple threat will I do everything in my power to win or just avoid being eliminated? And when it comes down to the hell in the cell ladder match, will I do everything in my power to win, or will I seek to hurt my opponent as well?”

Stall reaches down and clenches at his abdominal muscles.

“If I dig down deep inside, will I find the strength to do the near impossible, to win Survive and Conquer, or is there nothing but hatred and anger that drives me? I’ll only know that if I push myself to a point I’ve never been to before. To get to that place I need to not just compete in this match, but win it, and then in the end I will know if the crowd will boo me or cheer me, respect me or fear me.”

James throws his hands to his head and staggers backward. The weight of his situation causes him to fall backward into the embrace of a nearby chair. Slowly, James lifts his head from his hands and whispers.

“This is the match that defines me.”

He knows this is true, and, with a new found confidence, James rises from his seat.

“It doesn’t just define my career, or my legacy. It defines who I am as a person. Everyone else can do it for the money, the fame, the respect of others, but I need this match so I can finally answer the question: Who is James Stall?”

James nods to himself and picks his jeans up off the floor. As James begins to dress himself, Bruce mulls over what has just been said.

“And after you compete in Survive and Conquer? What then? What if you lose? Hell, what if you win, but you hurt yourself? What will it get you? What’s next for James Stall?”

James pops on both of his already tied sneakers, looks over at Bruce, and shrugs.

“Well, I guess that’s the next question.”

Forgoing the shirt, James simply throws his leather jacket on over the hospital gown.

“But I have to get there first.”

And with a smile and a wink, James walks out of the doctor’s office, and heads off to prepare for Survive and Conquer.


Later, a camera opens up on James Stall standing alone in a dark room.

A single white light illuminates James from behind. The tight beam focuses only on James, leaving the rest of the room encased in blackness. James is barefoot and dressed in a long burnt orange robe. The only thing that can been in the room beside him is a large oval mirror that looks like it once played at being grand, but now its rusted bronze frame is covered in too much varnish, and greases ooze from its side, staining the glass already marred by an infinite amount of scratches and fingerprints. A large crack runs down the middle, and the glass bows outward slightly so that as James stares at the mirror, two images glare back at him. The left side of the mirror is covered in streaks from someone trying to wipe away the grime with a towel while the right side remains cloudy and covered in film. A smile slowly appears on the lips of all three James Stalls.

“Hello, my friends.”

Stall stalks closer to the mirror. He leans forward and presses his forehead against the crack. The light shimmers off the glass as his reflections stretch and distort themselves. James speaks slowly.

“I thought long and hard about how I would spend this time. I could rattle off the names of every other competitor and try to give them each their due diligence and praise, after all the fact that they have the balls to compete in this match is noteworthy in and of itself. I thought about focusing on all the APW talent in this match. I could name drop Sally Talfourd and Jason Kash, CJ Gates, and Keaton Saint among the other talented wrestlers who fight for this company. Maybe I could have chosen to focus on the fact that Terry Marvin and I have a standing bet over who will outlast whom, especially when he’s a favorite to win it all. After all, the APW wrestlers are probably the hungriest ones in the bunch, eager for a home win and to cement their own individual standing and legacies within the company. “

James turns around and presses his back against the decayed mirror as he thinks about those he left behind to compete here and all those who have followed him into this match.

“I could talk about the numerous New Era wrestlers competing at Survive and Conquer, all eager to oust their World Champion. Among the many talented individuals competing against me are Tombstone, who I’ve put in a coma, and Eric Donavan, who is the number one contender to my title. Both men would love to not just beat me but hurt me.”

James paces in front of the mirror with his bare feet kicking up the dust that covers the frozen concrete floor.

“And I could talk about all of the other companies I’ve worked for like SCW, the ones I’ve heard nothing but good things about like CRW, or the ones I’ve come to begrudgingly respect like WARPED.”

James crosses over to the right side of the mirror, and his reflection completely disapears from the left side of the crack leaving only the grime covered Stall remaining. James taps on the glass with his index finger.

“But I’m going to focus on you, because I need you.”

James looks at his worn down and tired face complete dark rings around his eyes as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“They tell me, you’re my biggest enemy, that you’ll fail me when I need you most. They say it’s only a matter of time before you breakdown and cost me everything. One bad bump, and it’s over. A hundred man match? Might as well commit suicide.”

He taps his reflection on the chest and his upper lip curls at the corner.

“But you and I know the truth don’t we?”

James rocks back on his blackened heels as his knees groan. A year of sacrificing his body for championship glory has taken its toll, and he grabs one of his heavy shoulders. He rotates the shoulder and feels the soreness extend through his entire upper body.

“I know last year was rough, and I put you through more than I had the right to. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I can’t because I know what it’s gotten us. I’ve pushed you to your limit time and time again, and you’ve come through with the World Heavyweight Championship. Together we’ve built a name that people speak of with respect.”

He crosses so his reflection reappears in the cleaner side of the mirror. He looks deeply into his own eyes, eyes that burn brightly with a hunger that has grown even more since he broke into New Era a year and a half ago.

“Remember when we were young? It was only two years ago, and we were nineteen. Now…”

James undoes the belt of his robe and lets it flow down from his shoulders. He raises his arms and as the robe falls to the floor the burnt orange silk shimmers, and James, clad only in his black and orange wrestling shorts, resembles a broad sword being pulled from the forge. A plume of dust rises like smoke, and James' scar covered back is revealed. It is like a piece of stone carved by steel, glass, and flame.

James leans toward the mirror to inspect his face. His hand runs along his previously fractured jaw line before touching the nose that has been broken on multiple occasions and then pressing against a still evident burn scar above his left eyebrow. He chuckles.

“We never got in this business to stay pretty. And each of these scars tell the stories of hard fought victories and titles held and defended.”

James looks down his torn up up hands. The scars cross the back of his hands like gnarled tree roots. In a few years they might cause him trouble, but, for now, he can still make a tight fist, and that’s all that matters.

“My friends. How many bones have given way under your touch? So many men destroyed and women pleasured. When the barbed-wire tore your flesh as we won the NEW North American Championship from Doc Holiday, you know it was worth it. You cannot lie to me.”

James’ hands glide down to his knees, and he gives them squeeze as he frowns at the thought of the future they have in front of them.

“And my knees. You are the bane of all big men. I can already feel the ache every morning, and after each match you need a little more ice. I see the way my grandfather, a true mountain of a man hobbles around, and I know one day, if I’m lucky, that will be me. But our race is not yet run, and if I need a wheelchair in my golden years, I know you will get me over the finish line under your own power.”

James uses his fists to deliver an axe handle smash to his own bruised ribs causing a stabbing pain to shoot throughout his entire body. Tears well up in his eyes as he punches himself again.

“And you know why you can’t heal. You keep me grounded, keep me hungry. And until Romeo Stylez is defeated, I need you to remind me of how much I hate him.”

James hits his ribs again and the pain causes his toes to curl. He bites his lower lip so hard blood squirts out like juice from a lemon and smacks against the mirror. James looks up from his hunched over position and stares at the glass. His face is red and covered in sweat. His breathing is heavy, and his reflection gives the illusion that blood is dripping from his forehead. James wipes his bloodied lower lip with the back of his hand.

“Twenty-four is a hell of a number to enter at. Seventy six men will be in front of me plus whoever is still in the ring when I get there. But you will help me overcome the odds one more time, one more moment of glory. We will show the world why they should respect us. Together we will find our self.”

James turns around and practices his walk with his knees locked tight and his chest puffed out. There isn’t a sign of a hobble or a hint of pain on his stony face.

“Then I wish I could tell you we’ll be able to take a rest.”

He turns around, grabs his ribs, and gives his reflections a wink.

“But we all know better.”

James reaches forward and presses a palm on each side of the mirror, and his twin reflections reach out and touch him. The three are locked in a twisted triangle as they whisper together.

“We have work to do.”

And the light goes down.

[Your JESUS]

~I Now Believe In Love~

For too long I have been consumed with Michael Lively. Wrapped up in self indulgence, and ego feeding to even ponder the thought of love. A selfish mans only love is that of himself, and his own needs. It was always been MY career, MY interest, MY well being. Some where along this dusty road of solitude, in the desert of single mindedness I was bitten. Love had entered my consciousness. I summed it up like being struck by the nasty fangs of a snake. At first it isn't so bad, but the more time that passes, it becomes painfully clear that the poison has started surging through your veins. It begins polluting your blood stream, and corrupting your tissue. Before you know it, you are consumed, overtaken and a helpless victim to the poison known as love.

Very concerned with my first love, my selfishness, I tried to find an antidote for this deadly dilemma. I struggled to counteract this venom that has stricken me. By pushing back against love, fighting off it's advances, and turning my back on it, that seemed to be my only hope for cure. Slowly I began to feel poison free. Back to my old healthy ways, self serving, arrogantly swelled, Michael Lively was in no fear of loosing his life...so I thought.

What I assumed was curable, seems to be terminal. No matter how hard I try, despite any type of treatment, here I sit fully over run by love. It showed signs of slowly seeping to the surface in the early months. The time spent separated from the focus of my heart, has given me perspective. I found time to hold up a mirror if you will, and reflect. It was hard to see that image of myself with out my love by my side. So I embraced my diagnosis, I swallowed my pride and while looking in the mirror I vowed to rejoin with the one who captured my heart. The only one who could chisel through the stone wall built inside my chest. The only one who had the skills needed to sneak past every defense I set up to guard my heart. She slide up to the vault where my heart rests, and without missing a beat spun the dial opening it up as if I gave her the combination myself. She is the one for me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt I was made for her.

So here I am humbly looking to win her back. I have basically had a renovation of my heart, and realize what I need to survive. This thing called love I looked at once as a poison is now the thing I rely on like oxygen. This time apart has felt like I am drowning at sea, swept under by the heavy waves. The cold water surrounding me as my lungs ache for air. She is my saving breath, she is what I need to keep my pulse pounding.

Every part of her intrigues me, it aids me, inspires me, comforts me. I could go as far and use the cliche she completes me. All things are so easy when It comes to her. The words I need to express, my inner thoughts, they all just flow like a fountain that has no definition to it's depth! I can just keep reaching deep down into it forever, never touching the bottom. From an unknown source it just keeps flowing and replenishing fresh water every day, endless...like my love for her!!

I was once a doubter, once a non believer. A man who looked upon IT as some story book fairy tale, yet as the venom surges through my blood I can tell you I NOW believe in love. The pain is gone, the flu like symptoms and sweat have passed. I have come to grips with my circumstances, opened my eyes to the reality that I am forever to known as ill, consumed with love for her.

Naturally questions arise, doubts spark to life, will she still look at me the same, does her heart still carry a flame for me? That is a risk I am willing to take, a gamble worth losing it all. I know that we are meant for one another, I can feel the connection so strong. My soul longs for her, like a magnetic attraction, I constantly feel the pull. Never satisfied until I am once again in her presence. She is MY girl, No one can do for her like I can. I am what's right for her! Many have come to sweep this beauty off her feet in my absence, but her prince is back. On a white stallion I ride, ready to reclaim my love, to have her by my side forever more. Action Packed Wrestling...Michael Lively loves you forever, and I will stop at nothing to prove myself to you!!!


~Holy Atomic Pile Batman~

In a hotel room, still engulfed in the depths of misery known as England, I sit at a desk lost in thought. The door to my room propped open with the security latch soon swings toward the wall as in walks my rather large personal body guard. A former APW world champion, and one hell of a hand to have in your corner, Sabur strolls in with concern plastered about his massively steroid engulfed face. The big guy takes a seat at the couch across from me. He leans back trying to swallow what ever it is that troubles him.

He needn't speak a word, for too much time has drifted on between us in this business, I could almost bet my next PPV buy rate bonus check that I know what has this blood thirsty, human wrecking machine boggled. Concern...easily this man has concern for my decision to partake in the Survive and Conquer match. A hundred person battle royal, where only the last four men standing get the pleasure to endure more blissful pain. Endurance is an understatement of what a man would need to walk out of this match a winner. From my perspective, one would need to hire Tom Cruise, have him show up in character as Brian Flannigan. That paid actor would get in the zone, take his position behind the bar and have to mix up one hell of a Cocktail if you catch my drift. One part skill, a shot of confidence with another of awareness. Follow that up with a heaping dose of pure luck. Mix that concoction up, drink it down and I would say you still only have a fifty percent chance of standing tall over ninety nine other individuals.

With that in mind I click the link on APW.com brining up the Survive and Conquer selection radio show. This right here is that huge helping of luck I referred to. Where your entry into the match is revealed to the world. You have to be fucking kidding me moment would come if I hear my name anywhere in the first ten. Thank you Heavenly Father type of response would be shouted out if the words Michael Lively were uttered along in the final moments of this program. This is the beginning of reality. You can try to understand the match, mentally ponder everything about Survive and Conquer, but knowing your spot is what makes the ideal jump off the page if you will.

So I patiently wait and stomach the obnoxious voice of Vincent Simon. His mind about wrestling is for the most part on point, but honestly listening to his garbled voice that sounds like mayonnaise is coating his throat, is hard to bare. The first vision I receive to my frontal lobe when he begins to chatter is that of a porky bastard, held up in his mothers basement. I imagine him with shelves of Wrestling figures intermixed among other childish toys on display like treasured gems. I can also picture this vocal radio host making up imaginary characters, or even partaking in things such as roleplaying online. That's right a modern day man of America, sure to capture a chance to be the next star of ABC's The Bachelor. Every woman's dream come true. Since none of that matters in my realm of consciousness I focus on what does, the order of entry. My heart speeds up it's pace as the first name is drawn. Simon tries to build the anticipation briefly by mentioning it is Action Packed Wrestler. His stammering voice announces that it is Nick Watson. Puzzled I try to place a face with that name. Never since the name Pence Weatherlight have I been so dulled by the mentioning of an APW roster member.

The shows pushes on as I sit listening to name after name rattled off. Sabur patiently sits here keeping me company as I wait to hear my name spit out of this generic Jim Rome's mouth. My position of entry needs to be announced so my mind can start to contemplate some sort of strategy. I am not even sure that is a possibility in a match like this, but I need this info to even begin to experiment with the idea of one. Names rattle on till we get to about number forty. My confidence in luck starts build and delusions of high eighties fill my mindset. I slowly shift and begin to ponder the possibility of entering the rumble in the mid nineties as a smile starts to emerge on my face.

"SPEAKING OF BIG NAMES, NUMBER FORTY TWO, HALL OF FAMER FROM ACTION PACKED WRESTLING....MICHAEL LIVELY"

Those words pierce my false cloud of ecstasy and I free fall to reality, crashing firmly into to comfort of the middle of the pack. It took about fifty one minutes to get to my name, and my curiosity keeps me tuned in for about five more minutes. Then my ear drums begin to bleed from the horrid sounds of this low budget production and I click off the link. I had all I can take, and without Simon saying so, I free myself from the punishment of hearing him painfully try to fill the airwaves.

Now on with the plotting, game planning, and strategizing. With a few clicks of the mouse I pull up the list of a hundred names, ninety nine of which I can consider MY stiffest competition to date. Sabur stands up and takes a stance glancing over my shoulder to see what my eyes peer upon.

Sabur: Ninety Nine people...

He begins to rub the top of his head trying to fathom the thought.

Sabur: How do you plan on studying that many opponents, how could you even prepare for that many people?

A devious grin builds upon on my face as I answer this roid raged beasts question.

Lively: You can't possibly study every person in this match. If you did, the variables would cast aside any silly game plan you could devise for these men. No my friend you don't prepare for the opponents, you prepare for the match itself.

Sabur nods with my logical explanation. Bewilderment overcomes him once more.

Sabur: Good lord man how can you possibly shoot a promo on that many people, it would be the length of a motion picture covering all the people on that list.

Once more I am delighted to enlighten the mind of my muscle bound brute. I lean back as my eyes glare toward the computer.

Lively: Have you seen the names on this list? I swear I am sitting in the war room at Marvel studios right next to Stan Lee. Another failed round of pitched comics...Spaz, Omen, Damage, Legion, Scorpio, Kid Dynamo, Jake Youngblood, Black Death, and The Gov'nor. You can almost hear Stan Lee violently slamming his fist on the desk with frustration at this laughable cast of rejected low budget comic cast.

Sabur smiles as my eyes keep scanning this massive list of competition. Reality hopefully would tell you that I am NOT judging peoples skills by their names. That would be an act of foolishness, but outside my mind I project that of a careless arrogant prick, so on I go.

Lively: The other half of this list seems like characters ripped from pages in fantasy novels, love stories, or Soap Opera scripts. I couldn't sit here for hours spitting hot venom toward ninety nine others. How pointless would it be? I can't possibly get in any of these peoples heads, the enormity of the match itself does all of that. No, Sabur we stand on equal footing as competitors in this match, separated only by the random luck of the draw.

Sabur looks like I have dropped serious knowledge upon his dome piece. That's right Professor Lively holding class.

Sabur: Sweet, so what is your promo going to be about then?

I shake my head as I lean forward shutting my laptop. My elbows rest on my thighs as I stare at the lid of the computer. My reflection shoots back up to me from the shiny case of this computing equiptment.

Lively: I guess I could spout off about my greatness. Speak of my massive accolades in this company and sport. What good what that do me? I don't care what these other people think of me, nor do I care what they have done. You think it matters to me that some Chowder Cunt is the face of Duck Butter Wrestling? It doesn't and nor should my accomplishments either. I know what I bring to the table, and I am sure that all these others have equally as impressive résumés. If not, then the pack will thin quickly and the cream will rise as they say.

My monster of a friend smiles as I keep rambling on.

Lively: I could into descriptive escapades and recite various matches that I participated in, build my legend to all who choose to witness what I offer up as research for their benefit. I could even take one member of the APW rosters approach by hiring a couple of models with squishy silicone parts. Have those said air heads bounce their breasts trying to distract people from the fact that I have zero chance in hell at winning gold in APW, let alone this match. Lucky for me I am talented enough to win gold, not named Johnny. I also know that if you wrap a pretty bow on a dog turd, stick in a fancy box, you still have nothing more then a pile of shit!!! That may pass as "fine chocolate" in some circles, but not in the community that I reside.

Sabur chuckles at my jab toward APW's resident Donkey Puncher. I grab my cell phone and stand up to stretch my legs. I walk over toward the window.

Lively: Nah Sabur, I have no intention of cutting a promo. On this occasion I think my skill set should do all the talking. I plan on leaving my reputation in the locker room. Beside it will be my arrogance and ego. I plan on exiting that curtain at forty two minutes, enter that match with an overwhelming appetite. This is by far the most competitive match in the world simply put, the most coveted prize for wrestlers everywhere. You can take your Experts tournaments, your various interfed crowns, any other so called title and they don't quite measure up. Survive and Conquer is the pinnacle of prizes, it sits high above in the clouds like Mount Rushmore. I would love to guarantee to you, my friend that my face will be chiseled into that mountain side. Right now it's all hopes and dreams. This appetite can only be satisfied by competition like I have never had before. I know that night I will leave that ring completely stuffed with all of that I could ever ask for!!

I take a deep breath with anticipation and excitement. This match is already building itself in my competitive heart as my proudest moment. I am APW through and through. This match put forth, and made famous by APW. I have yet to partake in it along my illustrious career here in Action Packed Wrestling. I am long overdue, all that is left is preparation. I hold up my phone, and begin using my resources by making some calls.



~Prepared to Survive and Conquer?~


In a run down small town outside of London is a rustic old warehouse. This ragged, beat down building that once flourished with life, and economic development now remains dormant, that was until the wheels in my head went round and round. The air stuffy as hell, and the sounds of war echo off the walls. Ninety three men covered in sweat stand around catching their breath. Most of the men look toward the ring I had set up in the middle of this facility. What better way to prepare for hell then to jump into fire.

I made some calls, and had ninety nine wrestlers from all over show up to this undisclosed location. With a scribble in the old check book I have a ring, I have a cell hanging above, everything needed to pull off a make shift Survive and Conquer match. Here I stand in the corner of the ring, and we are down to seven. After two other failed attempts at this match throughout the day, this is as far as I have made it.

The six other men are engaged in battle as I look around for a moment to seize opportunity. Some slap dick eats a DDT and the man who offered up that move rolls to his feet. I swiftly slide across the ring like a Lion stalking a Gazelle. I rapidly plant a violent super kick on his chin. It lets loose a thunderous crack as the crowd outside the ring hollers in response to the severity of its impact. Mutten Pie McGhee or whatever his name is, falls backwards like a man shot in the head. The Slap Dick staggers to his feet and I chose to snatch him by his hair. I drive a couple of forearm shivers to his back, before running him across the ring. I heave him over the top rope. This fucker grabbed the colored steel cable lining the ring and hits the apron saving himself from elimination. I arrogantly turn my back on him, just as he stands, I back flip nailing him with the Pele Kick I call the Lions bite. It shocks him briefly and sends him to the floor. I smile as I stand looking down at my handy work. Pride flowing as I have made it to six. Two more and I hit final four...

I blink my eyes and topple over the ropes hitting the floor. Sabur blows the whistle to stop the action. I take a deep breath momentarily and slam my hands on the ground in frustration. I seriously thought this was the time I nailed it down. Just like that, one simple moment of distraction and here I am out of luck. One display of arrogance and now I am looking up at the ring with other people standing where I should be. I rise to my feet as Sabur walks over trying to console me.

Sabur: That was good, the farthest you have gone.

Lively: Don't give me that sympathetic bullshit. Good is making it to the final four. Great is getting to be one of the last two, Superior is having your name announced as the winner. Anything but that last one is considered failure!!!

Sabur: Listen, let's just take a break. These guys are beat, you are beat. I think this is doing more harm then good.

I shoot this man one hell of a stare. I didn't spend this money, take all this time just to have a break. Warriors never submit to weakness, never give into fatigue, or let something like shortness of breath and tiredness keep them from achieving their goals. No we will push on. We battle to bitter fucking end.

Lively: Do you know why I am doing this?

Sabur: Uhhh, I would say the million dollars.

Disgust quickly overcomes my facial expression.

Lively: That is laughable, that is the last thing I'm doing this for. I'm sure the pundits think I'm in it for my own selfish reasons, my own bragging rights. Honestly those reasons are part of why I put my name in the hat. It would feel great to be able to dangle that accolade over everyone's head like a hairy nut sack. Swiping it across their cheeks with an arrogant smugness. That is fine, it's fulfilling, but it's only a small sliver. I would say seventy five percent of my motivation comes from APW.

I lean against the ring apron wiping sweat from my forehead as Sabur listens on intently.

Lively: You have no clue what it would mean to me to bring this win home for APW. To be able to give back to a company that I love with everything that I am. It may sound sappy but APW is what makes me who I am. I don't think I would still be wrestling if it weren't for Action Packed Wrestling...fuck that I know that I wouldn't. I wouldn't have rehabbed myself into shape to risk it all for some shit hole organization. Your Sedition Wrestling Dumps, Your AC what the fuck Wrestling's, or the Phoenix Shithole Federations. Just Action Packed Wrestling, that's the only place worthy enough for me to lace up my boots. A place worthy enough for all sorts of wanna be Megastars to waddle on down to the main event. A match brought about by the best, worthy of the worlds so called top ratted talent to jockey for the bragging rights. I say say fuck them, fuck em all. It's a god damn shame if an APW Megastar doesn't walk out with this win. I will leave everything I have in that ring come Survive and Conquer. If I have to die trying, I will expend every ounce of God Given talent I have to bring that win home to the greatest wrestling organization ever. No one is hungrier then me, no one is more determined then me!

I point to everyone in the ring.

Lively: Clear the fuck out, get out of that ring now!! We are going again.

The wrestlers slide out of the squared circle as Sabur shakes his head at my silly determination. I am not sure if it's the smartest thing to do, but it's what's going down. We keep going. Sabur blows the whistle, and the first two men enter then ring and start to tangle. My personal body guard looks at his watch waiting for a minute to pass by so he can signal for the next man to enter the war. My competitive mind starts to spin as I look toward the ring waiting for the forty second whistle to blow so I can give it another go. Come hell or high water the JESUS will part the Red Sea. Only one man is history Survived death to rise again. Only one man in history, descended to hell and Conquered all to venture toward the right hand of God. You can bet the house that this second coming of Christ known as Michael Lively not only has what it takes, but is fully prepared to Survive and Conquer. This match is my cross to bare, and I proudly will hoist the burden upon my broad shoulders, ready for any sacrifice. As time ticks by and I bounce on my heels itching to have the proverbial crown of thorns placed upon my head, hoping to be baptized in blood, the forty second whistle blows and I slide into the ring, ready to wash away any sins. For APW deserves everything I am and everything I have.

[Gordon Fury]

"I've Got 99 Problems..."

The scene opens with... ummm, Gordon, what is going on?

What is the problem?

I don't know if you have realised this, but this isn't IWF. And last time a checked, you only do promos for IWF.

Well if you just hurry up and say your bit, I'll explain.

Fine, whatever. The scene opens with Gordon Fury sitting in a plane, dressed in sky diving gear. Parachute backpack, goggles, the whole nine yards. The noise of the plane's engines are heard as plain as day, and the camera goes a little out of focus, before adjusting itself. Sitting across from him is a good friend of his, and former tag team partner from Gordon's backyard wrestling days, Chris Cryptic. He is also wearing sky diving gear. A quick pan shows no one else in the back of the plane. Chris is holding a poster is his hands, studying it intently, while Gordon patiently waits. Chris looks over the top of the poster at Gordon. He has to speak a little louder than usual to be heard over the engines, but not so that he has to shout.

Chris Cryptic: So this Survive and Conquer match is run by APW, but anyone from any fed can enter?

Gordon Fury: Yup

Chris Cryptic: So that means you are going into a completely new fed to wrestle 99 other people from feds all over the country.

Gordon Fury: Correct.

Chris Cryptic: So that means the match has 100 people fighting at once?

Gordon Fury: uh huh.

Chris Cryptic: ONE HUNDRED people?

Gordon Fury: Yup

Chris Cryptic: That's a LOT of people.

Gordon Fury: Indeed. It's going to be chaotic match man, so much shit going on at once. I am really looking forward to it.

Ohhhhh. That makes sense.

Told ya.[/color]

Chris Cryptic: Wait, what about your IWF commitments? You can't just not show, you are the High Impact Champion after all.

Chris folds up the poster and puts it in his pants pocket.

Gordon Fury: Well if there is one thing you can say about my boss Corey Casey, it is that he will do anything to prove his dominance, and when he heard there was a chance to show how much better IWF was than every other fed there is, he kind of just threw the offer out there to the whole roster. And I, of course, accepted it in a heart beat.

Chris Cryptic: Of course.

I can tell Chris is somewhat concerned. He would never say it, but he has that “I'll support you so I don't seem like a dick, but I think this is a bad idea” look on his face. To be honest I don't even know MYSELF whether or not this is a good idea, but I never back down from a challenge. This opportunity was thrust upon me, so to speak, and I'll be damned if I let it slip through my fingers.

Gordon Fury: Listen Chris, I know you think this is a bad idea...

Chris Chrypic: I never said that.

Gordon Fury: ...but I can't pass this match up. World-wide exposure to fans of EVERY federation, entering a match where nothing is assumed of you, and yet everything is on the line. I am used to being underestimated Chris, I am used to people taking me lightly and just assuming I'll fail when the going gets tough. Being completely unknown in this match gives me the advantage, and I am going into this match with every intention to leave as Survive and Conquer champion...

Chris Cryptic: And its a fuck ton of money.

Gordon Fury: ...And its a fuck ton of money.

Both of us look at each other and laugh. We have known each other for so long, its almost as if he can predict what I am going to say next. And considering I am the kind of person that prides myself on being unpredictable, that says a lot. We stop laughing and Chris's face suddenly goes serious.

Chris Cryptic: To be honest, it's your determination that I am sort of afraid of Gordo. I mean you take enough risks as it is for your own federation, this match could potentially be career threatening.

I can't help but let out a chuckle. I know he is just looking out for me, but he doesn't understand. To be honest, I think that is why he gave up wrestling, decided not to go pro. He wasn't willing to take the real risks, to do whatever it took to succeed in this business, inside the ring, and out of it.

Gordon Fury: I know that Chris, but what will I achieve not only in this business, but in life, if I shy away from a huge opportunity just because it COULD back fire? I mean you remember the night I won the High Impact title? I got second degree burns on my face and chest from a flaming table that I set up. And yet, I left as the champion, when everyone thought I couldn't do it. Whether you like it or not Chris, it is how I do things, and it works.

I am about to continue until a noise comes from the intercom, and the pilot tells us we have reached the appropriate altitude. I look at the exit door and see that the light is still red, but both of us move over to it and get into position. I kind of zone out for a second until Chris brings me back.

Chris Cryptic: Ok I understand that, that style may work for you in normal matches Gordon, but this isn't a normal match. This is unlike anything anyone has been in before. You can't guarantee your style will work. How are you supposed to prepare for a match like this?

Gordon Fury: Honestly Chris? You can't. I'm not the first person to say this, but it doesn't make it any less true. A match like this, with so many people, any tactics you come up with go out the window once the match starts. The only thing you can do is constantly have eyes in the back of your head, be always aware of where you are in the ring, and be ready to do what ever is takes to survive...and conquer.

Chris just groans and shakes his head at my terrible half pun. Suddenly the light in front of us goes green, and I lean forward and slide the door open. The noise of the wind is deafening as it attempts to pull us both out of the plane. I have to shout over the wind to be heard.

Gordon Fury: And besides Chris, sometimes all you need to succeed is a leap of faith!

At that Gordon leaps out of the plane, and Chris follows closely behind him, the camera staying in the plane. The side door closes as the scene fades to black.

“When it Rains, it Pours.”

The scene opens up in a city street. The sky is completely black, rain pouring down, the dull illumination of the street lights the only thing bringing light to the darkness. The street is completely abandoned except for Gordon Fury, who is sprinting through the middle of the street, the hood of the jacket he is wearing pulled up over his face. He is getting absolutely pelted by the rain, and he is obviously soaked. Not gonna lie, he looks miserable.

Stupid fucking England and its stupid fucking rain. From the minute I got off the plane, it has been raining non stop. It should be illegal for it to rain so much. I suppose it is my fault for wanting to walk around, but still. I continue sprinting through the streets, before I turn a corner and see my motel. I manage to get under the entrance arch, finally getting a break from the rain. I take off my soaked hoodie and drop it on the ground. I keel over a little as I try to catch my breath, as an employee walks out through the automatic front doors.[/color]

Employee: Excuse me sir, may I help you?

Is this guy serious? I look like a drowned rat and this guy wants to know if he can help? Well no shit sherlock.

Gordon Fury: That would be swell. Thanks.

Employee: How may I be of assistance?

This guy is totally serious. I hate people.

Gordon Fury: Well I would REALLY like a towel. Lets start with that ay?

The man turns around and walks back inside, and I can't help but roll my eyes. I turn around and stare out into the dark, wet abyss. It actually has quite a surprising calming effect about it. That, or my body is shutting down due to hypothermia, one of the two. I hear the automatic doors open behind me, and I curiously turn around.

Gordon Fury: Wow that was fast.

Except the person who is standing in the doorway isn't the motel employee. It is someone much, much worse.

Gordon Fury: You have got to be kidding me.

I had to blink to make sure I wasn't seeing things. There, in a white dress, her red hair hanging over her shoulders, was Tracey Smith. Now for all of who who don't follow IWF, Tracey Smith was the girlfriend of my diseased brother Kurt. Recently she has decided that she has feelings for me, and wants us to be together. I don't. At all. I even told her as much. Even discounting her history with my brother, she irritates me beyond belief. I did my best to put on a fake smile as she approached.

Gordon Fury: Tracey, what a surprise. What are you doing here? I feel so under dressed.

She gives me a warm smile for my terrible attempt at humour

Tracey Smith: Well when I heard you were involved in this Survive and Conquer match, straight away I booked flights to England to cheer you on. Give you a bit of moral support in a foreign land.

Gordon Fury: You didn't have to do that.

You really, really, REALLY didn't have to do that.

Tracey Smith: Listen Gordon, things didn't end well between us the last time we spoke, and it is eating me. I did come here to support you in your match, but now that we are both calm, I need to know where we stand.

For once, I think the truthful, heartfelt approach might be the better option than my usual methods, so here goes.

Gordon Fury: Tracey, you are a good person, and your heart is in the right place, but you don't have feelings for me. It is my connection to Kurt and the hope that you can still be with him through me that you are attracted to. I don't blame you for it, you can't help how you feel, but its the truth.

There is a brief silence as Tracey seems to take it all in. Finally, I think I have made her understand.

Tracey Smith: I knew you would think like that at first Gordon, but I know that Kurt is gone. I want to look forward to my future now, and I want it to be with you.

God damn it.

Gordon Fury: Tracey listen...

Tracey Smith: Just think it over ok? I am willing to give you as much time as you need. Until then, you will always have my support.

Greeeeaaaaat. With that she puts a hand on my cheek, and looks me dead in the eyes, before turning and walking back through the automatic door. That could have gone a lot better, but no time to focus on that now. I shrug to myself.

Gordon Fury: At least things can't get any worse.

The automatic door opens again and the employee returns.

Employee: I am sorry sir, but it seems we have run out of towels.

At this point I was about ready to laugh or cry, so I did the former, and just burst out laughing right in this man's face. Sometimes its all you can do to stop yourself from going crazy.

Gordon continues laughing in the man's face like a drenched crazy person as the scene fades to black.

“Warzone”

The scene opens to sounds of gunfire and mortars exploding. The only thing you can see for miles is mud and barbed wire, and the outline of soldiers in the distance. Running through the mud in the foreground, clad in an army camo infantry outfit, is Gordon Fury. A mortar explodes to his left as he leaps over a low wall of barbed wire, not even flinching. As soon as he lands he is on the move again. The camera turns to show what is in front of Gordon, and the whole shot is taken up by a tank's primary cannon, and the camera cuts back to Gordon as the cannon fires, and Gordon dives into the mud, the tank shell exploding behind him, raining mud all over him. Gordon pulls his face out of the mud and sees a dug out a few meters ahead. Crawling as low as he can, Gordon gets to the dug out, and hauls himself into the ditch, taking the time to draw in deep breaths, trying to recover. You can now see the emblem of a flaming phoenix stitched to his shoulder.

Gordon Fury: Just in case anyone was wondering, war is hell. This war is no different. I am trapped behind enemy lines in a strange land, fighting to claim a prize that this nation holds dear. However I am not the only one fighting for this prize. Nations from all over the world have sent their best soldiers to invade these lands as well. Hell even my nation, IWF, has sent other soldiers besides me to these lands. But this prize can only belong to one person. Only the bravest, strongest, smartest, most resourceful soldier will be able to claim the prize not only for themselves, but for the nation they call home.

Gordon turns around and tries to peek over the edge of the dug out, and as he does the sound of machine gun fire is heard as Gordon quickly ducks back down into the trench.

Gordon Fury: But it is not just the invading soldiers I have to worry about. There are also soldiers of this land who will stop at nothing to claim their own nation's prize for themselves. 100 soldiers in total, all fighting in this war, for a prize beyond measure, to prove to everyone that not only that they are the greatest soldier in the world, but to prove the dominance of the nation they represent.

A small “thunk” sound is heard as Gordon turns towards the noise, instantly spotting a live grenade that has landed next to him.

Gordon Fury: GRENADE!

Gordon dives away from the grenade as it explodes, a loud bang being heard before everything goes completely white, the sound of the explosion replaced by a sound almost like ringing in your ears. Slowly the ringing subsides as colour starts returning to the scene, and an actual image appears again. This time however, the warzone is gone. Instead it looks like the inside of an arena, and in the middle of this arena is a wrestling ring. And in this ring, dressed in casual clothes, looking no worse for wear, is Gordon Fury.

Gordon Fury: That however, is not where our fight will take place.

Gordon motions to the ring he is standing in.

Gordon Fury: This ring will be our battlefield, our war confined to a square circle. In less than a week, Wembley Arena will be our warzone, where 100 people will fight to see who will survive... and conquer.

Gordon laughs at his own joke. Again. Fucking moron.

Gordon Fury: Never gets old. People of the world, I am Gordon Fury. Now I don't expect many of you to know who I am, nor do I really care. I'm here to do my thing, and win the match, as I always do. One thing I CAN guarantee though, is that if you don't know who I am now, at the end of this match, you will. Cause I'm fucking awesome like that.

Gordon walks over to the ropes, pulling back on them. He then walks over to a corner and pulls on one of the turnbuckle coverings, testing its strength.

Gordon Fury: Now a lot of people have had there bits to say about this match. Preparation, their odds, all kinds of shit. Now it is true there is no way to prepare for this match. None. Knowing what the match involves is where preparation for this match ends. I can guarantee that no one in this match knows all 99 other people, and with unknown brings uncertainty. And it is a very bad idea to think you have prepared for this match with such uncertainty in place. It is a sure fire way to get yourself thrown out early. No, see the only preparation I can do is to prepare myself FOR the unknown. To make sure I am in top physical form, to make sure that I have what it takes to look this uncertainty in the eyes and slap it in the face. I have the utmost confidence in my abilities, but I am not kidding myself. This is in no way going to be easy. But for me, it never is. See even in my own federation I am doubted at every turn. I take risks, I go for things that many other people with more experience and skill than me have failed to achieve. But I am not like other people. Every single time people doubt me, I am driven to prove them wrong. And up to this point, I have managed to do so every step of the way. I am a fighter, it's what I do. The number that I drew is kind of fitting for me in that regard.

Gordon pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it to the camera. The whole screen is taken up by the number “56”.

Gordon Fury: 56, just over half way. I am going to enter when things really start to pick up. Where over half the match is done and people start realising that this is their chance for greatness. This is when the fighting will be the thickest and the fastest, and that suits me fine. See I am the first to admit I am not the best technical wrestler, nor am I the best high flyer. What I am however, Is determined to win, no matter what it takes. I have been on the backfoot before, trapped in a corner, almost all hope gone. And yet, I always find a way. Whether it takes being creative, digging deeper within myself, or even bending rules. If I am determined to do something, it will take a supernatural force to stop me.

Gordon leaps over the ropes, landing on the outside floor. He then begins walking up the entrance ramp, a ramp that 100+ people will be walking up and down come Survive and Conquer. Gordon walks over to a barricade and puts his hand on it, turning back to the camera.

Gordon Fury: Ever since I signed up for this event, I have had endless amount of people, whether fans or reporters, or whoever, ask me if I thought I had what it takes to win. And I thought about the whole cliché “I don't think I'm gonna win. I know it” bullshit speech, but I make it a habit to tell people exactly how it is. I am a man who will tell you exactly what I think to your face, no matter what the consequences. When I fight with words, the truth is my greatest weapon, because not even the biggest douche bag can spew enough shit to drown the truth. So the fact of the matter is, I don't think I can win. Nor do I know I can win. Because when my number comes up and I get into that ring, it isn't going to make a flying fuck of a difference what I think or know, because you don't fight this type of match with your head. It doesn't matter what I think. After all, just because I think it, doesn't make it true. What does matter is the faith I have in my abilities in that ring. That no matter what happens, I can count of myself to bail me out of whatever I get into.

Gordon continues to walk up the entrance ramp onto the stage.

Gordon Fury: I mean at the end of the day, none of this will matter. 100 promos, 100 people talking about the match, and none of it will have any effect once that bell rings. Talk is cheap, it is now time for action.

Gordon points to the Survive and Conquer sign up in the rafters on the other side of the arena.

Gordon Fury: Everyone is in for a match unlike any other. The war is about to begin, and you had better believe I am gunning for the prize. I will settle for nothing less than having my hand raised as the victor, standing on the 99 corpses who got in my way. Ladies and gents, it is time to face the fury...

Mates.

Gordon turns around and walks through the entrance curtain, leaving the shot. The scene fades to black.

[omen]

PROLOGUE
Leaving Sin City

McCarran International Airport
Las Vegas

ANNOUNCEMENT: “WE REGRET TO INFORM PASSENGERS FOR AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT SIX ONE EIGHT ONE TO LONDON HEATHROW THAT THERE IS A DELAY DUE...”

They'd been here since six even though the flight wasn't scheduled to leave till eight twenty just to make sure they arrived in time and were not worrying about getting through customs et cetera. Then once on board Omen would finally be leaving Las Vegas.

Finally Omen is leaving this crummy city he despises (for a couple of days at least) but more importantly, leaving Sin City Wrestling after a run that has seen him lose three of his last four matches; but for him it will be anything but a vacation, the SCW Hardcore Champion will potentially take on up to ninety plus, other wrestlers in one of APW's signature matches, 'Survive And Conquer' not just the name of the show, but the name of one of the biggest pro-wrestling matches today, two competitors start the match, then every two minutes a new competitor enters the match, elimination from the match is by being tossed like an empty McDonald’s wrapper over the top rope, or at least that is the brief synopsis of the match he'd been given, then when four are left they battle it out, he wasn't looking that far ahead though, not yet anyways.

This was big, Omen was in a sense there representing SCW, but that wasn't his purpose, he didn't give a good fuck about SCW, why should he after SCW General Manager Dorling had been screwing with him the past few months, no for this one he was looking at the bigger picture, and a whole different reason for wanting to be part of this event. With so many wrestlers representing so many promotions this would be a fine opportunity for him to showcase his talents, to network and maybe even put himself on the market for a lucrative contract elsewhere.

The only problem of course would be making sure he made an impact... and then the fun would begin, being at number 12 may not have been the number he was looking for but it was a start, at least there would be some other guys before him, just not that many... his mind continued to wander until he was dragged back to reality by the tannoy announcement.

ANNOUNCEMENT: “WE REGRET TO INFORM PASSENGERS FOR AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT SIX ONE EIGHT ONE TO LONDON HEATHROW THAT THERE IS A DELAY DUE...”

The message repeated, those were the last words he was in the mood to hear right now. He'd not drank partially because it was frowned upon to be tanked up getting on an trans-atlantic aeroplane but mainly because Sarah his wife was sat next to him which helped to keep him (at least in theory) to remain a little calmer.

Omen: “Fuck my life... you know this happens every god dam time without fail, no matter what airport it is, no matter what company I fly with, I get delayed up the ass for some bulls...”

Sarah: “Just calm down, the plane will arrive when it arrives, you have to concentrate on your match, you DID read the rules didn't you?”

Omen: “Yeah, I downloaded all the relevant information seems like you're standard over the top battle royal just with potentially over three times the competitors taking part, should be fun.”

Sarah: “Fun's not the word I'd have used to describe this match, you know a few other guys from SCW are going to be involved don't you?”

Omen: “Yeah I overheard someone mentioning Adrien Specter, I respect the guy but there's going to be no buddies act just because we're both employed by the same cretin, who just happens to want to step into the ring once again and be part of this match, I really want to kick that clueless putz's ass.”

Sarah: “You need to lose that attitude.”

Omen: “What?”

Sarah: “Look what's going on in SCW is between you and anyone from that promotion involved, it is irrelevant to APW or the rest of the people in this match, they couldn't care what problems you're having in you're home promotion they are there to have fun, do the best they can and win the biggest match this year and that's what you have to do, you have to focus on the match, on winning it or at least surviving long enough to peak the interests of the different promotions represented.”

Omen: “And if no one does.”

ANNOUNCEMENT: “NOW BOARDING AT GATE SEVEN, AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT SIX ONE EIGHT ONE TO LONDON HEATHROW, WE REQUEST THAT ALL PASSENGERS...”

Omen: “Never mind, they're playing our tune, I think we should discuss this when we get on board the plane.”

Sarah: “OK, and don't bitch and moan if the in-flight movie is Airport '77 again”

Part 1:
Arrival

London, England

The taxi cab moved through the busy late evening traffic heading towards the pre-arranged hotel they'd booked ahead of traveling out to England. Getting through the heavy traffic the cab peels off onto Park Lane, and turns right onto North Row, coming to a stop outside the London Marriott Hotel. The driver turns and around to inform the passengers how much the far is, and Omen reaches into his wallet, pulling out the British Currency he'd exchanged before leaving the United States. Carefully he counts it out adding on a small tip before he and Sarah leave the cab taking with them their luggage. They walk through the revolving doors to the reception and where they wait patiently at the reception desk to be seen to.

Receptionist: “Good Afternoon, welcome to the Marriott, how may I be of assistance?”

Sarah: “We have a hotel room suite booked, Mr & Mrs McCreary from Sin City Wrestling, we booked the room online.”

The receptionist turns her attention from the reception desk to the computer, quickly checking the details against their records and finding the room books as Sarah had described. She signals for a porter to come take their baggage up to their room while She and Sarah go through the paperwork, passports and other documents they will be needing. Omen looks out through the doors, bored already.

Receptionist: “Room two hundred and seven, the porter will take you're bags up to the room, if you just want to follow him up. Here are you're keys, hope you enjoy you're stay.”

They follow the porter to the lift, and he jabs a finger at the button for the second floor, Omen is unsurprised yet again to hear “The Girl From Ipanema” being used as the musical accompanyment as the lift ascends upwards, he struggles to contain his urge to scream his loathing for that 'god damn fucking tune'. Eventually much to his relief the lift reaches the second floor and the doors open, they follow the porter to their room and they open the door allowing him to deposit the luggage in the room, they tip him and he leaves closing the door behind them.

Omen: “Jesus Christ the money will be gone just on tips at this rate, glad you booked this, makes a change from me booking my own accommodation.”

Sarah: “So, here we are, not bad is it?"

Omen: “I don't know, I stayed in a few Marriott’s in the States and they seemed more spacious, then again they were single rooms and I wasn't sharing.”

Sarah: “Well I've been looking forward to this trip, I'll be in Harrods most of tomorrow spending the money SCW doesn't pay you to hold their Hardcore Title, you should have seen the look on your face when I said that, I'll probably have a wander around London see the sites actually while you're slaving away down the gym preparing for you're match.”

Omen: “Being the twelfth entrant is a much lower than I'd have liked, that's a hell of a lot of people to contend with and a hell of a time from when I enter the ring until the match finishes, the odds aren't great but if I can stay in there a while I should get myself noticed by some of the important people that'll be in attendance.”

Omen throws the suitcase onto the bed, and Sarah opens it taking out a few items she'll be needing before closing it, she pushes it further towards the middle of the bed and sits down on the end of the double bed.

Sarah: “You just need to concentrate on staying small, sit in the corner, roll under the bottom rope and catch a break, make sure you help eliminate others but then stay out of trouble long enough to let a few more people get thrown over the top rope, being as elusive as possible is the key. You have to figure as entrant twelve there's going to be maybe four to six other guys in the ring still.”

Omen: “Someone's been thinking this through.”

Sarah: “Well one of us has to, there is a lot riding on this match, you know people have different reasons for being here, for some it's going to be to defend the honor of their employers, some want to face off against the best in the industry today, while for others to have the opportunity to just be a part of one of the biggest shows in APW's calendar, and for you.”

Omen: “For me it is all about being noticed, I'm going there to try making a name for myself outside of Sin City Wrestling, to make the entire watching world aware of just what I can do in that ring and to try networking so that I can maybe work for other, promotions., earn more money Of course there is the fact that I see a few names I recognize and, who's asses I want to throw over that top rope but that is beside the point I suppose.”

Sarah: “Well if you're going to do that you'd better introduce yourself to the other ninety odd other wrestlers not including those from SCW that are going to be in the match, I guess the best way to do that quickly would be a one-off interview, stand in front of the camera and say hi to the nice folks here at APW.”

Omen: “Oh don't worry, I fully intend to make sure people in Action Packed Wrestling know who I am.”

Part 2:
Survive, Conquer, & J.T Douchebag

Omen's stood in front of the APW Camera's, the big 'Survive & conquer 'marquee forming the backdrop, despite the event being days away he can feel the excitement already just being here. Patiently he waits his turn, watching as everything is being set up, not for the first time he checks his watch wishing they'd hurry up. The equipment looks expensive, his mind starts to wander again and he zones out not hearing the cue for him to begin talking. Eventually a shrill whistle snaps him out of it, he stares angrily at the general direction he thinks it came from, before turning to the camera, and then he begins talking.

Omen: “Flying in from the United States there was only thing on my mind as the plane landed, and that was Action Packed Wrestling's big 'Survive and conquer' pay per view event. This isn't just a big event for me but one of the biggest inter promotional events I have ever had the fortune to be a part of so I'm glad to be here, glad to be able to show what I can do in that ring but let me get something straight from the start, I am not doing this to represent Sin City Wrestling, and I sure as hell am not doing this for the fans, for all those watching that will pay for their tickets just to come wave their stupid little banners for their favorite wrestlers. I left a city full of those type of ass licking sycophants when I left Las Vegas, and I never traveled across the pond just to have to wrestle in front of a whole new set of the same insignificant little fans I left behind in SCW. No I am here for me, for Omen, to prove to myself, to my doubters whether it be the management of SCW or the fans in the Luxor, the fans that will pack Wembley stadium, or the millions watching live on pay per view across the globe, that I am the wrestler that I never get the credit for being, that I am the guy that given the chance will shock the World, that I am here to upset the odds and throw people's ass over that top rope by the dozen."

“I've been looking forward to this match since I first signed up to take part, it is not often in you're career that you can get to take part in two major shows in the space of a month. There is the Buck Dempsey show in February, but first comes the APW's Survive And Conquer match and pay per view of the same name which as I say has been highlighted on my calendar with the days religiously marked off till the event date. Now I know for a fact of the other ninety nine competitors in this match at least ninety will not have heard of me before and that is fine with me, other than my home promotion I must be honest and say I watch very little other wrestling so know few of the names I'll be competing against. So in case my opening introduction didn't give you a clue to the type of man I am, or you are just too stupid to realize the threat I am let me formally introduce myself”

“I am Omen, from the Motor City... Detroit, Michigan, I am 6 foot 3 inches tall, I weigh 250lbs and I am the current, reigning, three time Sin City Wrestling Hardcore Champion. I defeated the former SCW Global Champion, and both of the previous number one contenders for that top title over at SCW, and I hate Dorling and will not rest until I or the Sinistry have made sure that waste of DNA is removed from his position at the head of SCW. And if you think I am hostile now, wait till the count down ends and number 13 enters the match and you will see the true meaning of one hostile mother fucker.”

“Because as the twelfth entrant in this match I guess to many it would look like I have an impossible task to make it into the final four, and maybe that Is true but that doesn't mean I am simply going to walk myself down to the ring, get into the ring and then wait for someone to throw me over the top rope, I've not flown all the way over here to Merry Olde England just to be cannon fodder for the wrestlers that will enter after me, not on what will no doubt be one of the biggest shows anywhere this year, no instead I intend to do what no one expects, I intend on arriving in the ring, and making sure I stay out of trouble while throwing as many other people over the top rope as I can, and if any of you want to turn this into a brawl into the centre of the ring, be my guest, I'd be more than happy to drop the wrestling and just kick somebody's ass.”

“Now saying I just have to pick my spots may seem like I am stating the obvious, and maybe I am but the only thing that is important is to make sure I do as the title on the marquee advises, Survive & Conquer. By my reckoning and I am no expert but I figure I'm going to have to survive in this match for around two hours if I want to end up in the final four, that means defeating the likes of the TFWF Intercontinental Champion Scorpio, the current SCW Queen Of Sin Vannah White, Spencer Vain one half of the PWX Tag-Tean Champions, or any of the other top competitors that have entered this match to make a name for themselves by trying to win the Survive & Conquer match.”

“So highlight January 27th 2013, if you're coming to the show bring you're camera's and you're cell phones, or wait a few days and catch me on You Tube, because at 'Survive and Conquer' I intend on making sure at the end of the night, you will remember my name, and you will remember my deeds, I can hark on about this being a Bad Omen for AWP and for the other competitors in the Survive And Conquer match but words are cheap and I am done talking, I'm going to let my actions in the ring this Sunday Night at Wembley Arena do all the talking I need.”

He is about to walk away when he turns back to the camera.

Omen: “Oh and before I go, I suppose you thought I hadn't heard, that I forgot to mention you, to mention hearing what you had to say and responding, this is for J.T. Douchbag, which is the new name I am giving to you gratis, J.T. Cash, see you want to question my ability to function outside the confines of a Hardcore match, you seem happy to perpetuate the myth that I can't wrestle without a weapon in my hand, without getting medieval on someone's ass, may be I could point out that you have never beaten me without the aid of a tag-team partner, that in the matches we have faced each other in both of which have been tag matches I wasn't pinned on either occasion.”

“Cash you're mouth is writing cheques your ass can't cash, if you want to start shit with me I'll be happy to come back to APW for the next inter promotional event and kick you're ass all over London again or whatever City the event is at, but for now you better get the best god damn protection money can buy because I guarantee, whether it be here, or back in Las Vegas, you're living on borrowed time, and I will catch up with you, and if need be I will bide my time.”

Omen steps from in front of the camera and is met by an irate looking Sarah, his wife obviously not impressed with some of the comments he has just made.

Sarah: “What the hell was that about?”

Omen: “That fool pissed me off honey, anyway don't worry about it, that is for a later day anyway like I said in front of the camera I'm concentrating solely on the matter at hand, and the 'Survive And Conquer' match, trust me Sarah, I've been around longer than most I'm fine I just want to give that jerk something else to think about, maybe throw his game plan off if he's watching his back all the time, one down, ninety eight to go.”

Sarah: “You're crazy,”

Omen: “You've only just noticed?”

They laugh heading out through the double doors onto the small side street heading towards the main road and anonymity once again.

[Chaos Stryke]

January 2, 2013…

The scene opens inside the small, built-in venue at the A.M.D.T.C. owned by current APW North American champion Logan Alexander. We find the champion sitting just inside the ring along one side of it. His legs under the bottom rope and dangling over the edge of the ring, his upper body on the other side of the ropes, leaning against them, his arms rest on the middle rope, one on top of the other, and his chin resting on top of them. He looks like he’s deep in contemplation as the camera approaches. He lets out a sigh before speaking.

One hundred competitors. Ninety-nine opponents. Either way, that’s a crazy number, and I’ve actually gathered the nerve to step forward and request to be one of the hundred. I’ve never been in a match even remotely like this. Until I’d joined APW I never even knew a match like this existed. Survive and Conquer. Sums it up fairly well I’d say. You want to survive everything that comes your way so that you can conquer everyone else and be the person standing tall at the end of the match. No problem, right?

He snorts softly and glances at the camera.

I get the feeling there are going to be a lot of people talking about how they are going to walk all over their competition at the end of the month. That, regardless of position that they enter at, they’ll last through whatever remains of ninety-six eliminations, then escape a cage, avoid being pinned or submitting, and then be able to escape from a cell, climb to the top, climb a ladder and grab a briefcase. They’ll talk about how they deserve to win, have trained to win, everything they’ve done in the past, the people they’ve beaten, and so on.

I look at this match… and when I honestly think about what is involved here… I am scared witless.

He lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping afterwards.

Thinking about this match, I cannot fathom anything I have ever done in my entire life that stacks up beside the challenge that this match represents. In my professional career, every single match I have ever competed in pales in comparison to what will be demanded of me at the end of January.

I have never had more than nine opponents in one match. I’ve never been in the ring with more than eleven other people at once. How do I cope with a seemingly endless parade of competitors arriving one minute after the next, any one of which could toss me to the floor and end my night, regardless of their skills, experience, or reputation? It doesn’t take much for someone fresh to toss out someone tired.

I have experience in battle royals, cage matches, street fights, ladder matches, and Hell in a cell. You know how much those experiences benefit me out there? Not one damn bit! How can these little bits and pieces of experience truly help you endure an amalgamation of these frightening proportions? Unless you’ve been there, you have no idea what it’s like. Guess, assume, theorize… but you’ll never have certainty. Not until you step between the ropes…

He lifts his head and leans back, running one hand through his hair. He then puts his arm back down on the middle rope and he stares off into the distance.

I like to think I’ve got endurance and stamina. I’ve done several thirty minute matches in my professional career. I routinely try to push hour long mat sessions at my school. This match laughs at those benchmarks. You want to win this match… you’ve got to be ready to go for a minimum of sixty minutes and be prepared for the possibility of doing double that or even more without stopping. The thought of that actually makes me want to cry. Thinking of drawing number one or two, then having to survive ninety-eight minutes of battle royal action just to get everyone involved, then possibly another twenty minutes to bring the field down to four, fifteen minutes in a cage, another fifteen in a street fight, then another twenty to finish the last fall… just makes me think that I’m in about one hundred stories over my head.

He shakes his head in disbelief.

After all of that, you might ask why I’m even doing this. I know I’ve been asked that several times already and I myself have asked quite a few times too. All I can say is that because I want to.

Logan looks at the camera again.

I’ll never find another match quite like this and I may never get another chance, so I want to jump right into the biggest challenge that I will possibly ever find and just go for it. I want to test my limits and this match is so far beyond what I should be able to handle that I will have no choice but to push myself as hard as I can and find absolutely everything I have inside off me to give. This is a match that requires your one hundred percent and it will drag it out of you one way or another.

I’ve only been back in the ring since September. That gives me five months to have figured out where I stand, but I haven’t had matches that have really pushed me to my breaking point. I’ve had some good fights, but I’ve never been at the point that I was struggling to continue. So, while I’d love to say that I won the whole thing this year, realistically, I’m going to be dumped from the ring long before the field gets whittled down to the elites, but I’m going to dig my feet in and fight against the tides arrayed before me for as long as I can to see how far I can go.

He smiles slightly.

You never know. In a match like this, it’s easy to be lost in the shuffle of big names, but that doesn’t mean that someone like me won’t leave a lasting impression or make a strong run through the field of competitors. Surprises can occur and sometimes the impossible happens… you just have to give your all and maybe things work out. Regardless of how things end, in victory or defeat, the first step is always the same you have to try.

When all of this is over… I’ll at least be able to look back and say that is exactly what I did. I tried. How the story goes after that… I’ll have to wait and see.

He nods to the camera and the scene fades out.


January 9, 2013…

We find ourselves in the Alexander home, as the camera is being carried down a hallway. It stops and turns to an open doorway. Inside the room is Logan’s study and him as well. He’s sitting at a desk, looking over some paperwork and writing some notes on a notepad. The person carrying the camera steps inside. He glances over his shoulder at her.

What’s up?

I heard the entry order drawing for the Survive and Conquer match was conducted a couple of days ago.

His mouth twitches slightly.

Yes. It was.

The response is cool. He looks away.

You don’t sound happy with your position. I thought you would, all things considered.

It’s not where I wanted to be. I got the ninety-eighth entry spot in the match.

Two from the end is a prime entry time.

He sighs softly as he looks down at the papers he’d been going through.

That’s what most people assume. They’d love to have a late entry so they have an advantage over the rest of the field. I wasn’t looking for that. I wanted to test my limits by being in there earlier. Instead I now have the expectation on me of lasting till the end of the match.

He taps the pen he’s holding against the notepad. He glances towards the camera.

It’s the curse of being one of the last fifth of the entry order. Those people are expected to comprise the majority of those who make it to the end. One of them is expected to win. If you’re a great competitor in that portion of the field, you’re one of the favourites. If there’s no one later in the entry order that can match your reputation, you’re THE favourite.

I wasn’t expecting to win this match. Now I have to deal with the possibility that I might have to… not want to, HAVE to. How big of a black mark is it to have one of the best spots in this match and fail, even if there are twenty people in that exact situation? It’s expected you’ll fall short from an early or midfield position.

He reaches up and rubs the bridge of his nose.

All I wanted was to end this match at a position later than when I came in. I wouldn’t have to beat everyone to do that so it was a reasonable goal… but I’m the third last person now. I need to be in the final two for that. It’s not reasonable anymore. Instead either I win or it’s all for naught.

Then go for it. Try to win.

He lowers his hand slowly, his gaze is on the floor. Several moments of silence pass like this. He speaks again quietly.

I don’t know if I’m good enough to do that on my own.

He falls silent again. Several more moments pass. He speaks again, his voice about its normal tone again.

If Aubrey makes it that far, she’ll have been there for almost an hour. There’s no one else I trust there, and she’ll have her own issues to deal with.

He lets out a breath audibly.

I believed I had the ability to outlast all the marginal competitors in this match, be able to battle the established competitors and hold my own, and still mix it up with some top contenders in this match and possibly outlast some of them from an early entry. I figured finishing in the top thirty would’ve been a stretch though. There’re so many people I don’t know anything about and there’re already fifteen or twenty that I know could beat me.

There’re plenty of current and former World champions, and main event competitors here. And let’s be honest… while I’m a force on Meltdown, this isn’t a typical match and the talent is a league higher, at best. The rules aren’t to my benefit unless I’m in the final four. Over the top rope elimination doesn’t suit someone of my physical stature, and if I’m going to last until the end, I’ll have to be tossing a fair number of bodies. That’s more strain than I’ve put on my back since I was injured two years ago. I don’t know if I can handle it.

You’re only now getting worried about this? You’ve pretty much committed to this match. If you are that worried, you could drop out.

There’s surprise in the response that he gets. He looks up at the person holding the camera when he hears their suggestion. He shakes his head briefly.

I couldn’t forgive myself for that… I need to do this.

Before the drawing I expected to be one of the early entries. I expected this to be an endurance challenge to outlast as many competitors as I could. Instead, I’m in the ‘win-or-else’ segment of the entry order. The strategy needed there doesn’t play to my strengths. You’ve got to be more proactive and be tossing people out when you’re fresh at the end, otherwise you give the people that are worn down a chance to team up and dump you out instead. But you can’t be so reckless dumping people that you leave yourself vulnerable to elimination. Lots of competitors go out that way so people are watching for it.

You don’t think you can succeed?

He has no immediate answer, again looking away.

I don’t know… I can train for it, but I’ll never be sure until I’m in the ring for real at Survive and Conquer.

He lets out a resigned sigh.

I’m not sure what I’ll do…

The scene fades out.


January 18, 2013…

We shift back inside Logan’s school, with the camera before three people, familiar to viewers who’ve watched Logan in the past, two men flanking a woman. She’s light skinned with shoulder length red hair and an athletic build. One man is dark skinned with very short black hair and slightly built, the other is well built, has lighter skin, dirty blonde hair, and a trimmed moustache. Names appear under each of them. Her name’s Casey Anderson. The dark skinned man is Justin Maxwell and the other man is Phil Jackson. All three are labelled below as independent wrestlers, and they each have A.M.D.T.C. logos on their shirts.

Maybe you three could talk with him. See if you can find out what’s bothering him. He’ll train with you, so maybe you’ll get him to open up there.

Casey looks surprised.

He won’t talk to you?

He doesn’t want to tell me about it.

Phil smirks.

There are some things you just don’t talk to your wife about.

Justin snorts softly and glances at Phil.

Like you’d know…

Phil looks over at him to reply. Casey holds a hand up before each of them.

All right boys, not now.

She looks to them and back to the camera.

We’ll do what we can.


Shifting to the school’s built in arena, we find Logan with Casey, Phil, and Justin at ringside. He’s looking over the three of them smiling slightly

What can I do for you?

Casey smiles back.

We heard you’re training for a big match.

We figured we’d help so you wouldn’t go through the student population.

Logan laughs.

They’ll appreciate that. Sure you want to go through it instead?

It’s been a while. Show us what you’ve got.

Logan nods to them.


The video shifts ahead. Logan and Casey are in the ring, judging by sweat, they’ve been there a while. We see him hit a backbreaker, followed with a suplex, but the sound is replaced by their voices from a conversation, presumably from later.

So why are you going through this?

I’m looking for a challenge.

He picks her up from the mat and sends her into the corner. He charges in.

No, you aren’t.

She brings both feet up into his face.

You’ve said that you won’t get a challenge because you’re a late entry.

She hops onto the turnbuckles and when he turns, she connects with a dropkick, sending him across the ring.

I never said I couldn’t. Just that I’m in a position where I have to win.

You never had to. You still don’t have to. You could just go out there and fight for the sake of fighting.

She rises and stalks him.

That’s what I plan to do.

He rises to his feet.

Then why are you worried about winning?

She goes for a roundhouse kick.

I’m not.

He ducks under it and grabs hold of her head, looking for the Stryke Force.

Liar.

She shoves him off. He hits the ropes and turns.

What?

She catches him with a superkick that knocks him partially over the top rope. She moves in and dumps him over before he rights himself.

You’ve focused on winning since the drawing took place.

He looks up at her from the mats once he regains his senses.


Logan’s now in the ring with Justin. Their voices overlay the action. Justin whips him from corner to corner then levels him with a lariat. He pulls Logan up.

You’ll get a challenge trying to last against the number of competitors that’ll still be in the match when you get there. You’ll have a lot to watch out for and many of the less qualified competitors will be gone. You’ll be facing the best all at once.

He sets Logan for a running powerslam.

Yeah…

He runs forward, but Logan slips off behind him and shoves him into the turnbuckles.

Isn’t that what you wanted?

It is.

Justin stumbles back, Logan lifts him for an inverted Death Valley driver.

So then what’s the problem?

I don’t know…

Justin rolls off landing on his feet.

Liar.

He kicks Logan in the midsection, then grabs him and powerbombs him. He picks him up and puts him over the top rope and onto the ring apron. He headbutts him twice, then lets him drop to the floor.

You know exactly what the problem is, but you want to carry it like a burden.

Logan is left lying on the mats staring up towards the ceiling.


Back in the ring, now with Phil, Logan’s pretty tired out. They lock up and Phil whips him to the ropes.

You’re letting it stew and it’s bothering you more as you get closer to the match.

I can handle it.

Phil catches him with a big boot.

If it’s still on your mind you aren’t handling it.

It’s really not that big of a deal and it’s not going to affect me.

Logan crawls to the ropes and pulls himself up.

Liar.

Phil grabs him by the throat, lifts him up and chokeslams him.

You’re not as sharp as usual. You want to prep for this match, but your mind is elsewhere.

He pulls Logan up by the shirt and gorilla presses him. He moves to the ropes, and could easily dump Logan, but lowers him down, and drops him down to Justin’s waiting grasp.


The camera has shifted into the stands where the four of them sit together. They all look tired, but Logan most of all. He’s hunched forward as he glances at the others.

The three of you keep prodding me about this.

If it wasn’t a problem, it wouldn’t be an issue, would it?

Casey regards Logan quietly.

Why don’t you us? Maybe we can help you. We’re your friends and are always there for you.

Logan sighs. He doesn’t continue, while the other three watch him patiently. After an extended silence, Logan finally speaks again.

I guess… I guess I’m wondering what the point of doing this is. If it’s for the challenge or to win or what…

Why’s that?

If I want to prove something to myself, it doesn’t have to be here. I could find other venues. It doesn’t have to be against ninety-nine people for a million dollars.

Well… yeah.

It’s just that with everything I’ve done so far, being North American champion for two months, being part of one of the most successful current tag teams in APW, and having victories against the best talent on Meltdown… I feel like I’m always being overlooked for other competitors here, some who haven’t been able to remain at this level, some who I’ve beaten, and all of which haven’t accomplished what I have in my time here.

When you hear people talking about APW representatives in Survive and Conquer though, those people are touted as being able to make the big push and win. I’m coming in third from the end, am the last APW representative… but I not good enough apparently.

Logan lifts his head and glances around at them.

I thought I was coming into this match as an underdog, but it feels more like I’m not even there at all to most people.

What did you expect?

Casey stares back at Logan, clearly disappointed.

You think the world would embrace you? Face facts, you’re not a liked person there. You do things your own way and antagonize your boss and other competitors with your actions which are self-centered. They don’t want to promote you as a star and other wrestlers think you’re full of yourself or not on their level.

You should deal with this the way you did with fans, let them do what they want, while you do the same. You’re not going to win over everybody… you may not win over anybody, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t one of the best anyway.

She shakes her head

I shouldn’t even need to point this out to you. But before you do anything else, figure out why you’re competing at all. Is it for you to make yourself better? Or is it for your ego because you want more recognition? You want some sort or bragging rights? After the money?

She stands up and starts to walk away.

Answer that question and then you can might be ready to compete.

Justin and Phil stand up and start to walk off.

We’ll see you later Logan.

Take care.

Logan watches as they walk off and the scene fades out.


January 23, 2013…

It’s a really simple question. What do I want? I thought I had a simple answer. I thought I could just say what I wanted and that would be it.

If I want a challenge, I’m going to be in the ring with the cream of the crop. I will be in the ring with the winner of Survive and Conquer. The only question is how few people will be in there with us… or will I find a way to be the winner? If I want to make an impact in this match, I’m going to have to go on the attack and try to take down as many competitors as I can. To get noticed, I’ll have to outlast or eliminate some the favourites.

I’ll have to push myself and be at my best to keep from getting ousted in this one. I’m still unsure if I have what it takes to last to the end of this match. I could be stepping into a ring with anywhere from twenty to forty people there at once. Easy to go unnoticed by many, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get put out.

I know I’m not expected to be a person that’ll make an impact in this match. I’ve spent most of my time in APW as the underdog. I wasn’t supposed to become North American champion or hold onto the title this long or become a Tag Team champion. I’ve been defying the odds since I returned to competition. I rank low in opinion polls of experts, so competitors may not take me as a serious threat. That might be my only advantage here. I could be a late match wild card with experience, ability, and coming in mostly unnoticed.

I’d love to make that kind of showing this weekend. Being able to look back and say I was involved in this match is a privilege. If I could make it close to the end, it would be an honour. Winning it all? That would be incredible… like a dream come true. Career wise… I don’t think it’ll have a long term impact though. How many prior Survive and Conquer winner get recognition for those wins other then around this time of year? I’d still like to be able to say I did that though and prove to others that the impossible can still happen in the ring.

But there’re no shortcuts to success in this match. In order to win, it’ll take an incredible effort and probably require some luck. I don’t know if I’ll have both of those in my favour, but I’ll damn well give it everything I’ve got. I’m always out there to give my best, work my hardest and do what I can to win, even when it seems unlikely. I look at this match and I can’t say I’ve ever faced longer odds, but I’ll still do what I can to make it through this. I’d say my odds are not even one in a hundred but sometimes… that’ll be enough to win. See you all Sunday.

[Sarah Twilight]

When you open the pages to the book of one's life, rarely are they filled with fantastical tales of adventure and good fortune. In fact, for most, the pages would fill merely a chapter or two of basic, uninteresting information. You see most people's lives are defined by nothing more than photographs. Simple pictures taken of times in their lives that are important to them, but not necessarily to anyone else. How do most people do it? Just ride along the main path of life, never choosing to take a detour to see what is possible. What kind of a mark can you leave on this world if you've never bothered to stray from the mundane existence that surrounds you?

Perhaps that is why fairy tales exist? Outrageous stories of impossible feats. Heroes meeting certain peril, and somehow they manage to triumph in the end. Somehow, evil is vanquished and a happy ending is seen by all. I suppose these tales are meant to provide hope for those who have no meaning in life. Fabricated stories that serve no purpose other than to deceive the masses into a belief that in the end, the righteous will reap the rewards. That a happy ending awaits those who have done good for the benefit of humanity by simply lining in droves to become sheep. Yes sheep, willing to sacrifice their own opportunity to leave a significant mark upon this world, because that is what a practical society tells them.

It's really quite hilarious when you put it all into perspective. When you talk to a mother, grief stricken over the loss of a young child, taken from her early by disease, or by some other misfortune. Why not ask her what happened to her happy ending? Or when you speak to an elderly man, just a few months from retirement, who has just learned his entire life savings, stored away for years along with his pension, is gone. Stolen from him by the greed of another. Ask that man where he may find his happy ending.

It is this deceit, the empty promise of reward for valiance that has been the downfall of man for ages. Fairy tales are just that....tales. Happiness does not exist for those whom wait for it. Heroes are not always victorious, and evil is never always vanquished. For the only people who gather the spoils, are the ones who will take for themselves. Victory is achieved through want and not valor. Wealth is amassed through greed. And a hero is only a hero, if he is able to convince the masses of his deeds.

It is those who choose to do for themselves who shall be remembered. They are the ones who remain immortalized in the hearts and the minds of the world. Ironic, is it not? The masses of the insignificant flock to those that have taken what they've wanted from life. The unimportant always do. They long to be in the presence of someone who has achieved everything this world has to offer. Perhaps in the hope that it would somehow make their own life more meaningful, just to have been around someone who's name indicates significance. Make what you will of this life, for I shall choose to write my own book. [/i]

First impressions are the hardest. No one really knows what to expect from you. Will they be impressed? Or rather disappointed? It's amazing how many times this happens each and every day. You are almost always making an impression, in nearly everything you do. After all, it is how you begin something that determines the road you've paved ahead. This would hold true for Sarah Twilight in the coming days preparing for Survive and Conquer.



Some voices are heard amidst a blank screen. Finally, light is seen as an unsteady camera bobbles around as it is lifted up onto it's handler's shoulder. As it finally comes into focus we can clearly see that we are in an unusually elegant business district. Palm trees sway in the warm, gentle breeze, lining the facade of a recently renovated facility. The new sign above the main entrance reads "Logan Hawkins' School of Professional Wrestling." It is clear that we are in the suburbs of Los Angeles, California. But why would Sarah be here instead of London? At this, a school she graduated from a number of years ago. Gordon Parlow of Pro Wrestling Insider was planning to find out. He leads a camera crew with him into the building.

Gordon: Come on Greg, we have to hurry. There's not much time. Can't you move any faster with that camera?[/i]

Greg: I'm coming! [/i]

Gordon was here to catch his very first interview with Sarah Twilight. A woman who could very well be the next victor of APW's Survive and Conquer. He walks inside with his small, one man camera crew behind, they immediately see whom they were looking for. But nothing could have prepared them for what they were about to witness. The cameras are rolling, unbeknown-st to Sarah.

Sarah stands inside of the ring across from a very large man. The two are speaking about something. Sarah is holding a thick broomstick that has been separated from the bristles.

Sarah: Just do it.[/i]

Wrestler: I dunno, Logan hasn't....[/i]

Sarah: Either you are going to hit me with this fucking broomstick, or I am going to break it over your face! Your choice![/i]

The man takes the broomstick and holds it firmly in his hands. Sarah places her hands behind her head and interlocks her fingers. She doesn't tense up. She just exhales heavily, waiting for what was to come. The man is still quite hesitant to swing the broomstick at Sarah and he holds his stance for an extended time. Sarah becomes frustrated.

Sarah: I said hit me![/i]

Whack!

He swings the wooden rod at Sarah, hitting her in the midsection. She takes the shot, grunting a bit, her eyes staring at him with what can only be described as a burning intensity. She nods her head to him and reinforces her stance.

Sarah: Again! Harder![/i]

Whack!

Again the wood meets her flesh, this time much harder than before. The force causes her to stumble back. She growls slightly as the pain is sent echoing through her body. Though defiantly, she again steps forward. Once more her fingers are interlocked behind her head.

Sarah: AGAIN!![/i]

The man hesitates again. He looks down at her midsection, now having a deeply reddened imprint of the stick tracing across. He shakes his head, not willing to hit Sarah any longer. This seems to infuriate her. She loses her stance and she walks up to the much larger man, getting nose to chin with him. Her eyes narrow, and she speaks at him with a scowl.

Sarah: You are going to take that stick, and you are going to fucking hit me until either you break my will...or you break that stick...whichever comes first![/i]

With her final statement, she slaps the man as hard as she can across the face, further humiliation and belittlement. Finally, this angers the man enough that he swings the wooden stick at Sarah repeatedly with every ounce of his strength.

Whack! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

She is hit with blows to the midsection, chest, thighs, and arms over and over. Each shot stinging a bit more than the last, but she continues to take them. One shot forces her to her knees and another lands squarely across her back, making a very sickening Crack when it meets her spine. One final blow....

WHHHHACCCKKK!

The broomstick splinters and breaks in half as the final contact blasts her over the back of the head. She falls face first into the canvas and the man looks on in horror at what he's just done. Sarah begins crawling towards the ropes. She slowly and defiantly begins to pull herself up. Blood trickles from her lip. Bruises and welts begin to form on much of her body, but she's smiling, laughing almost as if this were meant to be enjoyable. Using the ropes as an anchor, she pulls herself to her feet. She stumbles back to the center of the ring, and on shaky legs she waves her hands at the man.

Sarah: Hit me....again.....mother....fucker.[/i]

She says slowly, in between breaths. The wrestler cannot believe it. Not only did she manage to get back up, albeit she moreso pulled herself up...but she's wanting this abuse to continue?

Wrestler: The broomstick...it's broken.[/i]

Sarah: So get another![/i]

She demands. However, before anything of the sort can take place, another man quickly rushes into the ring. This is her former mentor, Logan Hawkins. He places himself between Sarah and the man she'd just had beat her with a broomstick.

Logan: Enough! What are you doing, Sarah?[/i]

Sarah: I'm training...now either help me out, or get out of the way.[/i]

She waves him off.

Sarah: Somebody get me another stick![/i]

Logan: Sarah, I don't think that is necessary. Now if you want my help, I'll be happy to assist you. But I cannot allow this kind of violence.[/i]

Sarah stumbles back towards the ropes now, and manages to get herself out of the ring. She obviously wasn't happy to hear that, but...a few moments to figure something else out wouldn't hurt. Of course they wouldn't. What the hell could hurt more than getting beaten by a stick? It is when Sarah exits the ring that she notices Gordon and his cameraman.

Sarah: Who the hell are you?[/i]

She asks with a very sharp tongue. Obviously not enthralled about having this intrusion. This was her personal time to train and prepare herself for the match. They had no business being here.

Gordon: I'm Gordon Parlow...from Pro Wrestling Insider.[/i]

Sarah: I don't have time for you, or any fucking questions. I will say what I have to when I damn well feel like it. I'm busy now, so get the hell out of here![/i]

Gordon: I...well I understand that you plan to take the time to shoot something for the air. But I did have a few questions for you..I mean, this IS the biggest event of your career.[/i]

Poor Gordon. I guess he doesn't know any better? Perhaps he doesn't conduct these interviews often enough to realize that when someone tells you they are busy, that means leave them alone.

Sarah: What are you deaf? I said I am busy! That means you, get the fuck out of my face and go pester someone else.[/i]

Gordon hushes up, but he doesn't leave. She gets back into the ring, ready to continue her training. Logan heads over to her, trying to find out what it is she is trying to accomplish.

Logan: Look at you, you're a mess! What are you doing to yourself?[/i]

Sarah: I am going to win that match, Logan. Ninety-nine other people will be looking to do the same, and I plan on outlasting them all.[/i]

Logan: By having yourself beaten senseless?[/i]

Sarah: No, Logan. By having the will to go on. By being able to last longer than anyone else. You know I know how to dish out the punishment in the ring. I can take a fair amount of it as well. But my goal is to be able to take far more punishment than what even I can deal out. I am going to make sure that nothing anyone can throw at me will stop me. I am prepared to hand out beatings. I am prepared to hurt people. But, the only way to prepare for the beatings I will also have to endure, is to take one.[/i]

Logan: That makes sense....sort of. So what do you need from me?[/i]

Sarah: Give me your five best. No tags, just all of them, against me.[/i]

Logan: Sarah, I don't think that...[/i]

Sarah: Just get them. I am not going to fight, I am not going to defend myself. Just get them in here to hit me with all they've got.[/i]

Logan: That is insane![/i]

Sarah: Look, I know I am going to have my ass handed to me. That's not the point. I just want you to count my shoulders and watch any submissions for one hour, alright? Either an hour is going to go by, or they either pin me or make me give in, and we're through.[/i]

Logan: Alright.[/i]

Logan gathers up his five best men and the rules are explained. Sarah cannot deliver any offense, she will only be trying to outlast whatever it is that they can deal out.

Logan calls for the match to begin. Sarah is lifted and slammed to the mat in countless maneuvers. Her body is subjected to tremendous amounts of pain as she is hoisted up, thrown, driven and bounced off the mat in various positions. She is double, triple and even quadruple teamed at times, but she never calls it off. Logan makes numerous counts on her shoulders, and each time, she manages to get her shoulder off of the mat before three. Perhaps out of determination. Perhaps out of stubbornness?

As the time goes on, Sarah's body is contorted in ways it was never meant to bend as submission holds are locked in. Logan asks her, but she refuses to give in. She wails in agony during some of the holds, but nonetheless, refuses to give in. Broken, battered and exhausted, she continues to get up each time that she is planted down. The clock ticks away. Less than a minute left. Again she finds herself on the canvas. Her hair soaking wet with sweat. Welts and bruises swollen. She continues to take it all. The final seconds of the match and she is bent in half with a spear from one of the larger men. She crashes again to the mat, and he covers.

1


2


3!

Logan counts her shoulders. She lifts herself off of the mat, just after the count of three, but it is too late. Her shoulders have finally remained pinned long enough for that three count. The men now help her to her feet, each of them having a great deal of respect for what she had managed to accomplish. Though she doesn't look pleased with herself at all. Logan offers some comforting words.

Logan: One hour and one second. The three count didn't finish until after the one hour mark. That is very impressive Sarah. This is why you always did so well here. Because you're so damn stubborn.[/i]

He laughs, but Sarah does not. She kicks the mat below her and rolls herself out of the ring. She looks terrible, and it was obvious she'd been through hell. Once out of the ring, she looks up at Logan, that same determined spirit in her emerald eyes.

Sarah: That's just not good enough.[/i]

They always say you are your own worst critic. And in Sarah's case, this was very true. She was going to be the best, the very best. Despite being constantly beaten on for an hour before finally being pinned, this was just not enough for her. In the Survive and Conquer match, she could be constantly fighting the entire time. Even with a high number, there was no telling how many would be left by the time of her entry. This progress, no matter how good, was just not good enough for her.

Sarah: Twenty minutes, Logan. That's how long they can rest. After that, we're doing this again. Two hours this time.[/i]



Logan looks to be in awe here. He doesn't even know if he should allow such a thing. But he never gets the chance to weigh in with an opinion on the conversation as Sarah turns to walk away from the ring. She now notices that Gordon and the cameras are still there.

Sarah: You're ..still.. fucking here?![/i]

His persistence is somewhat admirable. Nonetheless, he does feel his insistent nature will pay off. And on this day, it does. Perhaps it is the fact that Sarah was so very drained, that she didn't have the desire to argue? Or perhaps she had nothing else planned to do for these next twenty minutes until it would all begin again.

Gordon: Thank you, Miss Twilight. [/i]

Sarah: Just ask your damn questions. [/i]

Gordon: Uh, yes...absolutely. The Survive and Conquer....[/i]

Her facial expression now changes a bit as she cuts him off.

Sarah: This.... match. One hundred people all competing for the same thing. An opportunity to make it to the very top of the ladder in this business and be recognized. To stand at the top of the mountain and declare yourself the very best that this industry has to offer. It doesn't matter if I walk out at number ninety-two and face eight people, or if every last one of them is still out there. It's all the same. Some people may know one another, some may be partners. But in Survive and Conquer, teams don't mean shit.[/i]

Exactly. When it is all said and done, only one man or woman will stand in victory.

Sarah: In reality, it is me, against every last damn one of them. It is everyone for themselves and that is just the way I like it! The fact is, I don't CARE about any of them. I don't care what they want, and I don't care about their dreams. I am here to take what I want! I don't need anyone's permission. This is my life, this is my moment, and this is my opportunity![/i]

She takes a deep breath, undeniably focused.

Sarah: I am going to stand in the ring with ninety-nine others and they are going to do everything they can to make that victory theirs, and I am going to do everything I can to make it mine. If that means going until I can't stand anymore, until the last ounce of my strength is drawn from my body, until we are ALL reduced to battling on instinct alone just to find out who wants it more, then that is what I will do.[/i]

Seriousness has replaced arrogance in her tone.

Sarah: That is what it boils down to. WHO wants it more? It's not about the talking when we know the cameras are rolling and we are prepared to swiftly answer any question at a whim. It's not about berating each other. EVERYONE who has ever challenged anyone in ANY match has done that, and in the end that doesn't really matter. If you are expecting to hear me talk about how badly I am going to beat the shit out of everyone and anyone, you aren't going to get it. I've done that already countless times throughout my career. Talking is over. This is about MY life, and you know what, in my life I AM the only one who matters. Nobody in that match matters, the fans don't matter, no one matters except me. Because I am the only person who can get what I want. I am the only person who can make this happen. No amount of cheers or boos are going to carry me to victory. My own talent, and my own aspirations are what will achieve my goals.[/i]

To the determined spirit, nothing is out of reach. There are few in this world with such a passion. When you see it, it is unmistakable.

Sarah: I don't just want it, I NEED it. It's like a rush that you cannot ignore. I have not stopped, I have done nothing but think. nothing but train, and nothing but strive for the one thing I hold more dear to me than anything in my life....being at the TOP of this business and at the TOP of my career. Talking to you doesn't achieve that for me, trying to run down or besmirch the others in the match isn't going to do anything for me....focusing on any ONE of them will not get me what I want. And the thing here is, I GET what I want. That is the entire reason why I am here. Right now I am focusing on WINNING Survive and Conquer, and that STARTED the moment I entered my name into the mix. I'm not focusing on how evil or bad-ass I am appearing right now, I am not focusing on what you people expect to hear from me, I am focusing on ME. This isn't about who the fans like, who management likes, how I present myself. When those cameras shut off and I head home every night, and I sit there in MY home, and I lay in MY bed, the only thing I think about is ME winning Survive and Conquer. I don't care what happened last week, or last night, I don't give a DAMN about any person in that match. I may face a few of them, maybe all of them and it doesn't matter because all I care about is WINNING. And making sure that you know, the locker room knows, the fans know what I ALREADY KNOW! And that is that I AM the very BEST!! THAT is what I care about. I don't care who likes me and who doesn't, that does not determine whether or not I win. I determine if I win.[/i]

How very true. No one else held the power of deciding whether or not she would leave next week with the victory. Sarah alone held that power. For it is her own fortitude and perseverance that would decide whether or not she would succumb to defeat.

Sarah: It's called DESIRE, something that I have MORE of than anyone else. I need this more than anything. It is the only reason that I bother stepping into a ring. I don't have to know that I can win this match, I don't even have to think it. What I do know, is that I will not rest, I will NOT allow myself to lay down and give in until I know that I have given every last thing I have into being the ONE left out of one hundred. Until I have put every single person who will stand in that match through the single most grueling night of their lives. When we all stand face to face in the center of that ring and the bell is rung, They will look into my eyes and KNOW that I am willing to do EVERYTHING to win. They will know that they are in for the fight of their lives, because I want it just a little bit more than they do. I NEED it more than they do, and I am willing to go further than anyone before me has been willing to go. So you take this precious interview or promo or whatever you want to call it and you go ahead and air it to hype the match or whatever the hell it is you are going to do with it. This interview is over![/i]

Sarah grabs hold of a bottled water, taking a small gulp before making her way back toward the ring. Back for another grueling session of training. As our cameras fade to black, we reminisce the final words of a woman who defines the word; DESIRE!

[Donald Deruty]

The scene opens with the birds eye view of a dark night sky. Stars surround the exterior of the night as they sparkle in the distance. It is clearly night by the time of day and the unpresent sight of the sun's bright rays. All of a sudden a beam of light shoots out from the bottom of the view, the beam is a straight neon yellow beam of light that continues to expand the farther it goes. Slowly the sight of the strip of Las Vegas appears upon the presence. All the bright lights and numerous amounts of neon signs start to shine and brighten the streets below them. A current of individuals can be seen walking hand in hand from one destination to the next. Like a school of fish the citizens of the gambling capital walk step by step on the brightened sidewalk of the night.

The casualties are wearing casual clothing, some more expensive than others. The sea continues to flow where the current takes them, no one seems to be fighting the current just moving a long the same direction. The bright lights reflect off of the individuals that form a ring of light off not only their jewelry but their faces as well. A single individual seems to stand out above the rest of the civilian walking the streets of Las Vegas. This man is other known as Donald Deruty, the Action Packed Wrestling superstar. A formally dressed Donald sporting a white suit and dress shoes to match. Although he stands out from above, no one within the crowd of individuals seem to pay a bit of attention to him. After a few moments of movement and walking, Donald decides to eject from the sea of civilians and to his right. He takes a few steps towards a glass door that is the entrance to a tall building.

Upon the tall building is a large neon sign that reads the words “Guilliano Casino and Hotel” in bright lights. The doors sling open to show the sight of an amazing view of a high class front lobby. Red carpet is spread out all around the welcoming casino, along with pictures of famous paintings as they fill the walls. Tables filled with individuals and covered with multi-colored poker chips and playing cards fill the top of the table. Dealers sit upon the front of the tables, dealing cards and collecting chips. Continuing to walk through the casino, passing multiple casino tables such as Roulette, Texas Holdem, and multiple slot machines.

Donald continues to walk past the tables and slot machines, with every step he takes, the size of the crowd diminishes slowly. Hundreds of individuals and customers slowly turn into tens, and then even single digit amounts of people fill the room. Although will all that is going on, Donald seems to just ignore all of them, focusing on something in his mind.

Donald Deruty: So far in my career here in Action Packed Wrestling, I have had an acceptable amount of wins against huge stars such as Nick Watson, Evan Envi, and Delikado. I was also just one of the three Meltdown roster members that competed at Christmas Chaos. I have competed within multiple championship matches such as the North American Championship and the Tag Team Championships, yet I have only been in Action Packed Wrestling within almost three months. My resume here in Action Packed Wrestling has been packed with achievements, yet unfortunately there has been no accolades added to my list. It is time for me to add some accolades to my resume, and I will first start with Survive and Conquer.

Upon the night of the twenty seventh of January, of twenty thirteen, will be the night that I will be the eighty sixth individual to enter the same ring upon the night of unexpected events. One hundred competitors, within multiple different federations within the company of professional wrestling will enter that ring, but only one will exit the ring with his or her hand raised high. My professional wrestling career has been filled with impressive achievements and accolades, yet none of yet in Action Packed Wrestling. Well upon the night of the twenty seventh it is time for me to prove history and become one of the few wrestlers within Action Packed Wrestling to ever win the hosted even.

Everything that surrounds me allows chance to be involved to be able to make a profit and come out on top. That is exactly what everyone entering that ring should be worried about, as well as being on the top of their mind. Although many of my competitors are worried about the individuals that will be entering the ring after them. Well unfortunately for the other ninety nine competitors, that is what will be the main focus of this match of epic proportions. Although upon my mind will be the chances for myself to win this match by any actions that will be take place within the confides of the four sided circle and the four turnbuckles that surround the battlegrounds in which this match will take place. Will it be right for me to eliminate a competitor, allowing myself to be distracted long enough to be able to be flipped over the top of the rope, or eliminated myself? No one remembers the ones that have eliminated so many competitors, at the end of the night the only man that will be remembered is the man that has his hand raised towards the ceiling by the Action Packed Wrestling official.

Different aspects and challenges go into winning such a match such as its quality and quantity. Will you be able to turn on a fellow competitor that you see week in and week out? Will you be able to create alliances and betray those same allies just as fast? These are all the right questions that the competitors should be asking themselves, but unfortunately, not a single individual that has become an entrant, has made a single word about what they are willing to do, and what will simply cross the line. A match of this caliber can only be won by an individual that is willing to lay everything out on the line to be crowned the 2013 Survive and Conquer winner. Unfortunately for my competitors not only in Action Packed Wrestling but in neighboring federations, I am that kind of person that will do anything to make sure my feet will be firmly placed under me at the sounding of the bell. No matter if I have to endure hours of pain and agony, I will ultimately out smarten my opponents allowing myself the best chance of becoming the 2013 Survive and Conquer winner.

Donald continues to walk down the casino halls and lobby towards a stair case. The stair case towers in front of him, red carpet is lined all above the stair case as well as velvet ropes leading to the top. Donald then proceeds to ascend up the steps and towards his destination. After taking multiple steps, he reaches a wooden door, sitting directly in front of his feet awaiting for an individual to open unleash the items that lye behind it. Donald reaches for the door knob and immediately turns the handle with a flick of his wrist. The grip on his hand turns the door knob, allowing entry, opening the door and then closing it within a similar motion and movement.

Upon entering the room, is a table and six chairs stationed, two at the middle, and two and each ends of the wooden oak table. Donald walks up to the table, and pulls out the nearest black leather chair that is adjacent to him. He then proceeds to sit down in the chair, placing all of his weight upon the cushion and suspension of the leather. Also sitting upon the table is a deck of cards, a mobile roulette table, and a slot machine nicely and perfectly placed upon the wooden table.

Donald Deruty: Laying upon this table is items that are great example of the art of gambling. A simple deck of cards, a roulette table, and a slot machine, three of the most famous items used for gambling not only today but in history. Many people associate these items with the activity of gambling, but they not only symbolize a dark, yet profitable practice upon the world. Although gambling is seen as a bad activity, it can be quite profitable for the individuals that know how to use it properly, just like I will upon the night of the twenty seventh.

The key word is simply, gambling. Now the definition of gambling is such as this “An act or undertaking of uncertain outcome; a risk.” Now these words are exactly what I said any competitor that wants to have a chance at Survive and Conquer must do in order to win one of the greatest titles in professional wrestling, the winner of the 2013 Survive and Conquer match. Risks, is what individuals will have to take in order to even give themselves the slightest and hintest amount of chance to come out on top and call themselves better than ninety nine other competitors.

Donald reaches forwards and grabs the pack of playing cards, he opens the seal and opens the top of the pack. He then reveals all of the cards that were included within that very simple sealed pack. As he strolls through the cards, the different types of cards can be seen within the stack of fifty two cards. Every one of the cards that he shuffles through is a different combination of a suit, either hearts, clubs, spades, or diamonds. A smirk falls upon the face of Donald as he sees the continents of the deck of playing cards that seemed normal, but now that statement is false.

Donald Deruty: Upon my hands is a simple deck of playing cards, some may say that this deck has nothing to do with what is going to be taking place upon the night of the twenty seventh, well I say that they are wrong. This deck is exactly what the Survive and Conquer match is, a deck full of aces, some hidden and some revealed. Although to the naked eye this simple deck of cards looks to have nothing in common with this match of epic proportions, well I say that this match is oh too similar to the match upon the twenty seventh. Lets first count the numbers of cards, well any individual within a right mind knows that there are fifty two cards within a single deck of playing cards, yet lets separate the numbers fifty and two. Now allow me to do simple elementary school math, and multiply those two numbers. What a coincidence, that totals to be the number of competitors within the Survive and Conquer match, some may say that was just a coincidence, but I have more.

You see this deck is indeed filled with numerous amounts of values and numbers from the single digit two, all the way to the cream of the crop, the ace. These different card values also, label the kind of competitors that will enter that four sided circle upon the night of the twenty seventh. Some men and women will enter that right with nothing to lose, their goal is to simply try their hardest not to be eliminated first, and those individuals that have no drive to compete is as useless as a single two of any suit. Those individuals are the weakest link of the competition and they will not go far, and they will be one of the first eliminated from the table.

Then you have the individuals that think they will win, they believe that they can make it to the finals of the match, and possibly become the single wrestler, to have his hand raised at the chime of the ring bell. Lets label these individuals as lets say a nine of any suit. You will win against any card lower than the respected, but unfortunately there are many others above you that will be the ones within the final ten of the competition. They may have the heart and determination to win, but in reality, having their hand raised within that four sided circle, on the night of the twenty seventh, is merely just a dream.

Finally you have the individuals that get what it will take to win a match of such caliber and aggression. These are the individuals that will be still standing in the ring with the final ten competitors of the match. They are the ones that are considered the highest cards in the deck, the face cards. They are royalty compared to the other individuals within the match. People will be looking up to them as they exit the ring and from the backstage area. These individuals are the ones that people come to see, they are the ones that they expect to draw a crowd. They are the ones that will have everyone on the edge of their seats, not only in the arena but at home, watching from their respect furniture, looking upon their hundred dollar televisions.

Although I am a different competitor entirely. People speak of why they are better than different individuals, well I am here to tell you why I am better than all the other competitors within the competition. I think outside the box, people dont understand the variables and events that could occur and allow themselves to be laying on the floor, eliminated from the competition. So many individuals will walk through those ropes and looking for a certain target to eliminate, then when the finally eliminated that certain person they wont know what to do. This match isn't about holding grudges, this is a match of survival, who can out smart their opponents and last the longest until they are the last one standing. Within every deck of cards there is a top card, one suit is clarified the highest, and that simple card is the ace of spades. You see, I am the ace of spades in this deck of one hundred cards. I am the one that has the single edge. I look at this match like it should be, a game of give and take, a competition where you will need to make alliances and break them when necessary. So tell me will you be a simple two of clubs? Or an ace? Everyone will be as simple as a face card, but few are considered the aces, but there is only one ace of spades, and his name is Donald Deruty.

Donald then moves the cards aside before reaching farther and pulling the roulette table towards him. He takes the small ball and places it in the ring before spinning it, awaiting the number and color to be landed on. As the ball is spinning Donald leans back in the black leather chair, relaxed watching the ball spin, going in and out of each of the separate slots.

Donald Deruty: Roulette, the ultimate game of chance. A game that has been played in many ways, some more lethal than just losing a couple of bucks. Ultimately a game of chance, played by thousands if not millions of individuals a year. These individuals put their own money up for grabs just because of that slight chance of them being able to win by that ball stopping in their respected number and color. Like wise, this match is completely full with chances that the competitors will have to take to be able to take home that grand price of being called the 2013 Survive and Conquer winner.

Will you take the chance to eliminate a competitor, knowing that it will leave you vulnerable to be eliminated yourself? Will you take the chance to make an alliance with someone that you simply, just can't trust? Will you take the chance to betray an alliance, hoping that individual wont seek revenge? These are all things that we will have to face within this match of epic proportions, although, unfortunately, I haven't heard anyone speak of these key traits. All of these important aspects seem to be just variables within the eyes of my competitors, they are looking to answer these when that challenge is put in front of them. Although, by the time they make up their mind, it may already be too late to act. During that time of thought, you may be blind sided, attacked from behind and immediately eliminated from the competition.

Unlike my competitors, I look at all of the aspects of a match of such quality. I know the answers to those question as I side here within this leather chair, speaking what my opponents should really be ranting on and on about. All of those simple questions are answered by one word and one syllable, yes. I am willing to take the chances to win this match, I understand what may become of me if I don't take those chances of winning. In order to make money, an individual must spend money in order for that to happen, and I am willing to take that chance. Some of those chances may prove to be duds, where I am end up losing half of my earnings, but that other chance may just be the jackpot.

As soon as a competitor steps through those ropes, the ball has begun to spin. Within their time in that ring, the ball has already stopped and started again, awaiting for that last bet, ultimately ending with their elimination. Unfortunately for my competitors, they wont be losing just a couple of bucks, they will be losing much more, they will be losing the title of being the 2013 Survive and Conquer winner. A title that cannot be forgotten. Your name will be engraved in history. The final questions here is, will you take the chance to have your name engraved in Action Packed Wrestling history? Or will you lay back and lose all your money with a pace? Are you going to be the high roller, or the low roller? Are you willing to give up something, in order to get just a bit closer to gaining something of a higher magnitude? Some of my opponents have spoke, and I do not hear a single word of whether or not they are willing to make one of the biggest decisions of their life, in one of the biggest matches of their entire wrestling career. I am willing to take those chances, and my opponents will end up paying dearly for it.

Donald then moves the roulette table to the floor besides him. He gets up from the table and heads towards the third and final thing laying on the table in front of him. The slot machine shines as it is freshly waxed ready to be displayed on the casino floor. Donald stands in front of the slot machine, and grips the handle before pulling it. Releasing the three slots as they start spinning, as Donald stands awaiting what they will land on.

Donald Deruty: We reach the final aspect of this match, luck. This match is not only filled with how an individual goes into the match or whether is is ready to take chances, there is another quality to a match of this quality, and that is luck. A quality that only a few of us hold within our power. Much like this slot machine, this match is filled with luck. Will your opponents make mistakes? Will any of your opponents notice your mistakes? Will you take advantage? Will they take advantage? All questions that each competitor should ask themselves before entering that four sided circle. Although, unfortunately, I once again haven't heard of any of the competition speak of how they are willing to take advantage of mistakes. Well I am here to tell you that I will make my own luck.

I am not going to rely upon my opponents to make the mistakes, I will force them to make their own mistakes. I will organically make my own luck so to speak. I will capitalize on any and everything that I can. I will go through any competitor or competitors that stand in my way of winning this match of one hundred individuals. Much like the different icons placed upon the slots, some competitors are simply worth more than others. Some maybe worth the same as three lemons, three watermelons, or three cherries, but I am worth much more than any of that. I am the jackpot of this match, and I will be leaving with my prize of being crowned the 2013 Survive and Conquer winner.

You see I am not like the other competitors here in this years Survive and Conquer match, I am one in a hundred. I am a man that looks at all the aspects and variables of a match, I don't allow my ego to get in my way of thinking clearly. Unlike my opponents, they speak of past winners and the great competition that awaits them, which without saying is grand, but they are not focusing on the right aspects. No matter the man or woman in that ring, something could go wrong, that is the greatness of this match. An individual, like myself could come out and shock the world, not matter how well known I am to the wrestling community and company. I am one in a hundred, and I will prove that on the night of the twenty seventh.

Donald proceeds through the room towards another door where a man is seen. He has black slicked back hair, wearing a newly tailored black suit. The two men shake hands before greeting each other.

Donald Deruty: Thank you for allowing me to use your private table I appreciate it.

Allen Guiliano: No problem, anytime for an old friend. Stop by any time you like.

Donald Deruty: Thank you for the offer, but I must get going.

The two shake hands once again before Donald turns and exits out the door. Walking back into the room with the cards, roulette table, and slot machine. He reaches down and picks up the deck of playing cards, then proceeds to walk out of the room.

Donald Deruty: I wish the best of luck to my competitors at the Survive and Conquer match. I hope that you all take my advice and words to heart and re-think your so called “strategy”. There is only one individual that you should be scared of this year, no his name isn't Johnny Knuckles, Michael Lively, Anthony Bailey, or Nate Watson. That individual's name is Donald Deruty. I can see my opponents making jokes, comparing myself to the famous character of Donald Duck, and I expect no less for my opponents. Underestimating me, and my abilities. Joke all that you want, because on the night of the twenty seventh of January, two thousand and thirteen, my name will be written in history as the first Action Packed Wrestling representative to win Survive and Conquer in years. Everyone keep note of that date, because that night is going to be the night that Donald Deruty begins a career of Hall of Fame potential. My first Action Packed Wrestling accolade will be none other than the biggest achievement in professional wrestling. Everyone else is just simple face cards within my game of poker, they all think that they are aces within the bunch, yet there can only be one ace of spades, and on the twenty seventh of January, we will find out who the ace of spades is!

Donald takes the deck of cards and throws all fifty two cards in the air. By the time they all settle to the ground there is one card above all of the rest of the fifty one cards, and that card is the ace of spades.

[domingotfwf]

Photo shoots suck.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that my life is a living hell because people want to take pictures of me every once in a while. Considering the issues I’ve had in my past, I’m pretty damn lucky to not be sitting here in a wheelchair knocking down painkillers like they’re Skittles. I know how good it is to actually have a job in this business, instead of sitting at home watching episodes of it on television. I’ve travelled all over the world in my profession, and have done things I once felt would be impossible. I’ve made enough money to live comfortably, making sure not to stretch myself too thin even though I have a bad habit of collecting cars…a rather expensive habit actually. Still, it is nice to have a job that I want to do each and every day just to see what will happen next.

Still, like with any other job, being a professional wrestler isn’t all smooth sailing. There are things out there that you have to do because it comes with the territory, and while it is not that hard to sit behind a table and sign a couple hundred autographs for kids and kids at heart…standing in front of a bunch of heat lamps for hours on end while someone takes ten or twelve different shots of the same pose is not something I look forward to. I’d much rather paint a smile on my face, tell kids to stay in school, and shake out the cramps in my fingers from gripping a Sharpie for an hour straight than do a photo shoot…now those are a pain in the ass.

---

Maybe I should go back to how this actually started. A couple of weeks ago, I got home and found a message from Ultimate Wrestling Action magazine waiting for me on my machine. They wanted to know if I was interested in not only doing an interview, but potentially having me on the cover considering how well my return to the ring was going after being released from the TFWF almost two years ago. The cover wasn’t a guarantee, because they mentioned a few other people that they were interested in as well. Still, considering I was trying to rebuild my reputation and my image…it made sense.

I call the number the guy left on my machine and ask for someone named Mark Kulver like the message told me to. I get him on the phone and let him know that it sounded like a good idea and for him to just let me know the time and place and we’d take care of it if I wasn’t scheduled for anything else. I didn’t think all that much about it until I got a letter from them in the mail a few days later. They give me the date. Quick check of the calendar and, yeah, I’m free that day. The place happens to be a branch of a gym called Planet Fitness that I’m rather familiar with. I frequented the place when I was out of work, since their rates were low and the equipment was just as good as you’d find in one of the ‘big’ name gyms. It wasn’t until I came to the portion of the letter that told me what time this was scheduled for that I shook my head, knowing full well that if I was going to make it to the gym by six I would have to wake up before five.

I realize why they scheduled it so early. It’s not like they wanted to have a gym full of people crowded around trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and they couldn’t ask the owner of the gym to take a hit and close the place down later in the day. Still, I can’t say I was happy to be waking up at the butt crack of dawn to start my day.

I didn’t want to wake my girlfriend up, so I set the alarm on my phone and tucked it under my pillow. Just because I had to drag my ass out of bed at five in the morning didn’t mean I had to bother her. I shut off the alarm as quick as I could and made my way to the bathroom as quickly and as quietly as I could. I try my best to be quiet as I took a quick shower to wake myself up, trying to make sure I don’t forget anything I need to take care of before I head out the door. I pulled my clothes out last night and hung them up in the restroom before I went to be, making sure to put the rest of my things by the front door in order to keep from waking up Rebecca or her son, Nathaniel on my way out.

Of course, nothing ever works out the way I intend it to, and the second I open the bathroom door, I see Becca sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the palm of her hands. I instantly feel like a complete tool for waking her up. She still hadn’t fully recovered from her miscarriage a few months ago, so she could really use every bit of rest she could get.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, honey.”

She gave me a weak smile and I felt as though my heart was about ready to explode from how bad I felt. “You’re about as quiet as an elephant stepping on bubble wrap,” she said with a strained laugh that caused her to wince slightly. “But at least you try.”

She looked beautiful. She was sitting there barely awake; hair looking like a rat’s nest, and nothing on but an old Spurs t-shirt that barely covered her panties. Seriously, if I didn’t have somewhere I had to be…damn.

“You should go back to sleep,” I told her. “You still have a few hours before you need to wake Nate up for basketball practice.”

She still stood up and walked over to me, giving me a little kiss on the cheek.

“Are you gonna be out late?”

“I should be back before lunch, but you never know. I’ll have my phone on if you need me though, and I left the details on the kitchen counter.”

She nodded. “You don’t mind if we stop by?”

“Of course not.” I replied. “I’m actually hoping I don’t have to be there all day, but the shoot should last a few hours, and the main reason is to get an interview with me so that may run long depending on what they want to talk about.”

She gives me another kiss on the cheek then slowly walks back to bed. “Alright, I’ll see you later then. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I whispered back, though I’d scream it from the rooftops if given the chance. Finding out she was pregnant had brought us closer together, but when she lost the baby five months into the pregnancy I realized just how much I cared for her. A friend of mine told me that I was just feeling guilty about what happened, but seeing just how strong she was after what she was going through…I knew at that moment I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

---

The drive to the gym didn’t take too long, considering how early it was I didn’t expect to run into much traffic. I arrived a few minutes before six, and the people from the magazine were actually surprised I didn’t straggle in a half hour late like most of the ‘divas’ they worked with. I understood the jab being taken at the primadonna’s of my sport, but working with women like Georgie Nickles, Hannah Rickman, and even Ash Wilson back in the day tended to blur the lines about the use of the word; though I doubted even they would consider themselves divas.

The crew setting everything up are the typical guys you’d expect to see, but the guy in the suit--that I’m guessing is going to be doing my interview--actually looks like he works out. Though it could just be the way the jacket of his suit is cut from this distance. He walked over and shook my hand, introducing himself as the man I spoke to on the phone; Mark Kulver. He lets me know that he’s going to ask me a few questions while we’re making our way around the gym taking photos of me working out on a few different machines, then we’ll do a proper sit down interview to go over a few things about my past.

I was a bit taken aback about the last part, because I wasn’t sure what about my past he was interested in talking about. I never denied that I had taken the painkillers that had been brought up and used as grounds for termination from the TFWF almost two years prior, but it wasn’t something that I went out of my way to talk about as it wasn’t something I was proud of. Still, it was a part of my past I knew would follow me wherever I went, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.

It took another fifteen minutes before they had everything set up for me over by the preacher curl bench. Mark and I had a normal conversation, getting to know each other a little. It was less of an interview at that time and more like a couple of guys having a chat over a couple of beers. I never forgot that he was going to interview me officially, but it made it easier to talk to him.

---

It was around nine when we started wrapping up the actual photo shoot, having taken pictures in front of the squat rack and taking a few of me doing bench presses. We focused on the last batch of me doing a set of leg presses when I hear a familiar voice that brings a smile to my face.

“Wow, Domingo, you’re really strong.”

“Hey, kid,” I called out as I pushed through the last rep, my face beet red as I exhaled with a slight grunt. I could feel the burn in my thighs as I stepped off the machine. “How was practice, NRG?”

“It was good,” Nate replied. “I made a basket from the free throw line today.”

“I told you you could do it.” I said proudly. “Sounds like someone earned an Oreo cookie Blizzard.”

“Did you just call him, energy?” Mark asked as he walked over.

“Sort of,” I answered with a smile. “The initials of his name are N, R, and G.”

“G?” Mark looked a bit confused.

“For Garcia,” Nate said with a wide grin, not realizing that Kulver was under the assumption that he was my son.

“Nate, here, is my girlfriend’s son.” I placed my other hand on his shoulder as well. “And possibly better at Madden than John Madden himself.”

“No,” he looked up at me with an even wider grin than before. “You’re just not good at it.”

Mark smiled and offered his hand to Nate who shook it. “Nice to meet you, Nate…I’m Mark. How old are you, Nate?”

“I’m going to be six next month,” Nate answered, lifting his hands to show on his fingers and thumbs in case Mark didn’t understand.

“You’re pretty big for a five year old, Nate.”

Nate pouts slightly. “I’m almost six though.”

“Even then,” Mark nods. “Maybe we’ll see you running the ropes one day if you keep growing like this.”

“Right now, he needs to practice on his dribbling.” Becca walks over and places her hand on his shoulder, smiling as she turned to me. “Can I talk to you real quick?”

“Yeah, we were just finishing up here.” I turn to Mark. “I’ll be right back.”

Mark just nodded as he continued to chat with Nate, talking to him about various things as I had a quick conversation with Becca about an incident at practice. Nate had shoved a kid down on purpose and refused to apologize. I wasn’t his father, but I was a bigger part of his life than that jerk had ever been so I told her I’d talk to him about it. After that it was just a quick back and forth about what to eat for lunch, since I’d be finishing up here in about an hour or so.

---

By the time I had said my goodbyes to Becca and Nate, Mark was already sitting at a table over by the snack bar sipping on what I guessed to be a protein shake.

“Great kid you got there, Domingo.” He said before taking another sip of his drink. “Ain’t many men that would raise some other guys kids…I admire that.”

“Yeah, well it isn’t his fault his dad’s a jerk, you know.”

“Yeah,” Mark nodded in agreement. “Well, let’s get this started shall we.”

“Let’s do it.” I motioned for him to go ahead, as he pressed the record button on a digital recorder.

“Alright,” he glanced down at his notes quickly. “I figured we’d start with your return to the TFWF…how does it feel to be back?”

“Feels good,” I smiled. “I mean, there is nothing like stepping into a ring and hearing the cheer of a crowd that really motivates you to do your best. It’s not something I ever thought I’d hear, and I had taught myself to accept that and use the love they had for my opponents to drive me in my matches. All I had was myself, and I was fine with that. Now though, with Marvin’s help, I’ve been able to leave that attitude behind and I can see myself becoming a better man.”

“By Marvin you mean, Marvin McClusky, am I right?” He already knew the answer to that, since I had mentioned him earlier in the day, but I guess he just wanted to clarify for the interview.

I nodded, then realized the recorder wouldn’t notice that. “Yes, he’s been a pretty good friend to me since my return. I guess you could call him my mentor.”

“I understand the two of you were in a battle royal at the last pay per view, Ice Storm, how did that turn out?”

“Not so great for Marvin, but I ended up winning the match.”

“Congratulations,” he said as he stared down at his notes. “I’ve heard that you’re planning to join another battle royal for a company named Action Packed Wrestling…how did that come about?”

“A few guys from TFWF are planning to do the event, so I figured I’d throw my name into the hat. I could use something like that to really get me back into the swing of things, not to mention it would be a nice feather in my hat if I could pull out a win considering some of the people from other organizations that will also be involved.”

“A hundred men,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds like a mighty big challenge. You think you can actually pull out a win?”

“Honestly,” I rubbed my chin with a smirk. “I’ll be happy if I can keep from tripping over my own feet and eliminating myself. I mean, going into the ring with eight other men is completely different from what I’m going to be doing there, and I had doubts I would win that match. Is it possible for me to win…yeah, I have just as much of a chance as anyone else entered into Survive and Conquer. I’m going into the match as the 62nd entrant, so to say I know who I’m going to be facing or how many people are even going to still be in the match would be impossible. I’d be lying if I said I even knew how to prepare, though the match at Ice Storm would be the closest to preparation as I could get right now.”

“What would you say surprises people the most about you?”

“Where should I start?” I chuckled softly, though I believe it was still loud enough to be faintly heard on the recorder. “I don’t know, it could be the fact that I can actually wrestle with some of the best technical wrestlers in the business, and still have the ability and agility to fly through the air if the opportunity presents itself. Maybe it’s when I come out from the back and they don’t see the typical extra from a Latino gang movie set in a California prison. People expect to see some stereotypical gangster with his pants sagging down and his boxers exposed for all to see when they hear my name, but I am more than that and by the time my opponents realize that…the countdown has already begun and it’s too late.”

“The countdown?” he apparently had never heard one of my in ring promos.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “The countdown is something that I started to talk about when I first started wrestling. You see, in San Antonio we have the numbers two, one, zero as our area code, so we started calling it the Countdown City as a way of referencing it to people. Well, most people talk about how the match will be over and they will be declared the winner after the ref counts that one, two, three, so I flipped it into a countdown instead to show my pride for my hometown.”

“I see, and do you intend to hear that countdown at Survive and Conquer?”

“Only when it’s time for me to enter the match,” I said with a grin. “Considering I need to throw someone over the top rope in order to win the match.”

“You’ll need to throw a few people over, actually.” He looked at me with a knowing glance, but unfortunately I had to knock him down a notch.

“No, I can go into that match and only toss out one person and still win the match,” I flashed a grin when I saw the expression leave his face when he realized I was right. “He just needs to be the last person in there with me when I do.”

“Yeah, well I guess I see your point.” I doubted that bit was going to make it into the printed portion of the interview. “Surely you don’t believe that you’ll be able to be one of the last two people in the ring without eliminating a few others, though.”

“Right now, all I know is that I’m going to go to the ring and try my damnedest not to get thrown out.” I shrug my shoulders. “If I can manage to do that until the end I should be golden.”

“Do you think wrestling in that match the night before you face Lee Archer on Mayhem will hurt your chances in the King of the Deathmatch tournament?”

“I don’t see it being an issue.” I shook my head. “My plans are to catch a plane back to the states around midnight, and sleep the whole way back. I should be able to get enough rest before my match at Mayhem.”

“I was talking about the strain on your body,” I didn’t like the way he was smiling, something about it was off. “But I guess popping a few painkillers should help with that.”

“I was wondering when you’d bring that up.” I shook my head, realizing this had all been leading up to that question.

“It’s nothing personal,” he said that and it made me believe it even less. “The fans do have a right to know how you’re dealing with the demons of the past though. Is it something you’re struggling to control?”

“No,” I roll my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but here right now. It isn’t going to happen though, and avoiding the question would just make things worse. “I’ve put all of that behind me, and it is something that I wish had never happened. Unfortunately it did, and it is something that I’m going to have hanging over my head for the rest of my career. It sucks, really, but I guess I need to deal with the consequences of my actions. This is something else that Marvin’s been helping me deal with, and another reason I signed up for Survive and Conquer.”

“How so?” That comment grabbed his attention.

“Well, being in that ring is something that I’ve become addicted to. My time away from the sport, accompanied by the injury that brought attention to my addiction to painkillers, really took control of me in a way that I’m afraid to admit. When it cost me my job, even though management was aware of the issue, it truly dawned on me that it wasn’t something I needed to get control of.”

I paused briefly, realizing my eyes had begun to water slightly.

“Sorry,” I wiped my eyes before tears streaked down my cheek. “I was wrestling hurt after landing wrong during a moonsault , so I started taking Oxycontin. After losing my job, I started looking for other avenues to keep from actually putting extra strain on myself so I wouldn’t get hurt as easily. Being in that match against who knows how many people is going to keep me active…it’s going to make me work harder than I ever have before, and I need that right now. I need something that is going to push me to the edge, so I can prove to myself that I don’t need to take anything to make me feel better. Wrestling means so much to me, but it took losing it to help me realize just how much it did. So when that timer hits zero and I get the signal to make my way to the ring, you better believe that I’m not going out there to just say I was in the match. No, I fully intend to do my best to win.”

“I thought you doubted you could win.”

“I do doubt it,” I replied. “There are so many things, in that match that I cannot account for. But the one thing I can is me, and while the odds are against me…If the opportunity is there, you better believe I’m not going to give it up without a fight. Like I said, I only need to throw one person over that rope to win…I just need to get there to do it.”

“Awesome,” he said as he stopped recording. “That really turned out great. I hope you understand that I was just doing my job when I asked that question.”

“We all have a job to do, I guess.” I was still pissed about it, though. “Maybe next time you give me a heads up.”

“The way you're going, I doubt anyone will ever ask again.”

“Let’s hope not.” I said as we shook hands and said goodbye. Now it's time for lunch with my family. It feels good to say that.

[Rowyn Starr]

January 26th, 2013
London, England UK
Wembley Stadium

The interior of Wembley Stadium was a hive of activity on the eve of one of Action Packed Wrestling's greatest yearly shows. In one office area backstage, members of the stadium's security team were holding a meeting to discuss and plan for situations ranging from removing disorderly hooligans to evacuation drills in the event of a disaster or terrorist threat. Cleaning crews were hard at work, making sure the bathrooms, hallways, locker room areas, offices and skyboxes were ready for the influx of wrestling fans, executives and the celebrity VIP's that would be in attendence for this record setting event.

Down on the floor, the APW ring crew had been dilligently at work, getting the ring set up in the center of the stadium and one of the south corners was occupied by the steel and wire mesh structure of the cell that would be used in the final portion of the Survive and Conquer match. Tomorrow morning, the cell would be hoisted into position over the ring, ready to be lowered to the ground when only two men remained to face each other for the prestegious Survive and Conquer Cup and the million dollar prize and noteriety that would come for the one man able to reach out and secure a place in wrestling history.

At the moment, a portion of the ring crew stood in various places a short distance from the ring itself, one man talking into a headset. Another steel structure was slowly being lowered down to the ring by an assortment of wires and cables, all under the guiding hands of an unseen technician at the winch controls. The man wearing the headset would stop giving instruction to the winch operator long enough to look up as the cage was moved into position, then key his headset to relay more instruction and information, helping to guide the cage in place to be lowered.

As people milled about, Rowyn Starr stepped out of the southwest stadium tunnel, taking just a moment take in the sheer size of the venue itself. The vast, cavernous interior would be filled with tens of thousands of die-hard, fire-eating wrestling fans, eager to see nothing short of one marquee match after another as titles would be defended, a grudge settled, and a rumble of epic proportions involving a list of men and women that was nothing short of a 'Who's Who' list involving stars in the wrestling industry. Taking it in, Rowyn couldn't help feeling the mix of emotions of excited and anticipations and butterflies. Tomorrow night, he would be a part of that list of men and women taking part in a wrestling exercise that reduced in-ring competition to the lowest demoninator possible: survival.

After a few moments of staring, Rowyn remembered the business that had brought him here. He unzipped his brown MacGregor overcoat, revealing a black cotton button shirt underneath, along with an APW wrestler's access pass strung around his neck by a white ribbon that seemed to contrast darkly with both the shirt and the black pair of jeans that he wore. He raised the badge up with his right hand, flashing it toward a man wearing an orange security vest, who nodded and let Rowyn pass by unhindered. As he slowly walked toward the ring, Rowyn glanced around, noticing the occasional person sporting the same type of badge, but none of the people he saw were ones that he knew, either from direct competition or by reputation.

As he reached the ring, Rowyn reached into his coat pocket and took out a cellphone. The cage had just been lowered into position onto the ring apron, and the ring crew director had just given the word both on the headset and to the rest of his charges to take five, and then work would begin on positioning the cell over the ring. With only a couple of people milling about, Rowyn sat down on a floor chair already set up with the APW Survive & Conquer logo on the backrest and seat that would be occupied by the next night by a lucky fan with a ringside seat ticket. Going to his contact list, Rowyn pulled up Slaine Rodrick's name. Hitting the 'SEND' button on his phone, Rowyn made the call to his boss, the president of Phoenix Wrestling

"Hello," Rowyn heard Slaine's voice say on the other end.

"Hey, boss. I got to Wembley a short time ago. Just got through getting checked in, registered, and signed the contract for my appearance tomorrow night," Rowyn answered.

"Ok. Are you there at the ring now?" Slaine asked him.

"I'm looking right at it," Rowyn replied. "It's set up and the crew here just finished setting up moving and lowering the steel cage onto the apron."

"Ok. Take that tape out of your pocket that I gave you. I want you to measure the length and the width of the ring you'll be competing in tomorrow night," Slaine instructed.

"Sure thing," Rowyn said, shaking his head, a smile on his face that mixed with both humor and exasperation. He knew what Slaine was trying to do. Setting the phone down for a moment, Rowyn reached into the left pocket of his overcoat and brought out a yellow Craftsman tape measure. With the phone in one hand and the tape measure in the other, Rowyn walked over to one side of the ring where another security member with light brown hair stood nearby, dressed in a similar orange vest and wearing a black T-shirt and black Dockers pants.

"Excuse me, sir. Can I borrow you for a couple of minutes? I need to take some measurements, and I'll need a little help to do that," Rowyn asked, moving to where the man could see his wrestler's pass around his neck.

"Sure, mate," the man answered, noticing the pass and coming forward.

"Boss, I'll have to set the phone down. Just hang on the line for a couple of minutes while I do this," Rowyn spoke into the phone before setting it down on the apron. Handing the metal floating tang to the security member, Rowyn stretched the tape out along one side of the ring. The security guard placed the tang down, and Rowyn placed the tape flat along the canvas surface, noting the length was eighteen feet. Both men repeated the process with the tape once more on the next side of the ring. The measurement for that side was marked as eighteen feet as well. With the measurements in his head, Rowyn picked up his phone.

"Ok, boss? The ring is eighteen feet by eighteen feet," Rowyn said, giving Slaine the information.

"Excellent. If you'll remember, it's the same dimensions as a PW ring. It's actually the standard size for most wrestling rings," Slaine said. "Now, take the tape and measure how far it is from the ground to the top of the apron."

Rowyn complied with the request, biting his tongue good-naturedly. This time, Rowyn didn't need the help of the security man standing close by. The distance on that measurement was five feet.

"Five feet," Rowyn answered.

"Ok. If you're able to, get one more measurement. Find out the distance from the top of the steel cage down to the ring canvas," Slaine instructed.

"Boss, were they showing Hoosiers last night on the Sky Sports channel?"[/color][/i] Rowyn asked, finally unable to hold in that he knew what Slaine was doing. "It's ok. I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate that. I know it's going to be a really tough match. It's as intimidating as it was the night I wrestled in my debut at the Colosseum in Rome. But I rose to the challenge in that dark match and I'm ready to rise to the challenge of outlasting ninety-nine other competitors.

"No," Slaine answered. "Go on and do what I asked you."

Rowyn rolled into the ring, motioning for the security guard to follow. Climbing up one of the ringposts, he held the tape measure up to the top of the cage while the security guard placed the tang against the flat of the canvas.

"Ten feet, boss," Rowyn asked when he'd climbed down and retrived his phone. "I'm surprised you're not asking me to get measurements on the cell while you're at it. It's not been set up over the ring yet."

"No, Rowyn, no measurements there. I do want you get up close and take a good look at the cell, though," Slaine replied.

Putting the tape measure back in his pocket, Rowyn walked over to the far side of the ring where the cell sat on the floor. It looked very stout, strong, and ugly. It was the type of torture chamber that chewed up competitors and spit them back out, leaving them phsyically and emotionally broken. Good men or bad men, this monstrocity didn't care as it sat silently waiting for its role in tomorrow's finale.

"It's got a life of its own," Rowyn said, after a minute or two of taking it all in.

"You're probably wondering why I asked you to do this," Slaine said, having little trouble at reading the burning question on Rowyn's mind from a great distance away. "I asked you to get the measurements because I wanted you to know that you're going to be on the same level playing field as every other person that's in the Survive & Conquer match. But I wanted you to look at the cell for an entirely different reason. If you're one of two men left, you have to figure out how to get to the top and then climb even higher to reach victory. Think very hard about that."

Rowyn stood there for another moment, appraising the cell while letting Slaine's words walk through the hallways of his mind, looking for the right door to open. Suddenly, that door was found. Standing there, the young rookie from PW had a moment of clarity.

"The Pentagram," he breathed.

"That's right. It's different in how it's done, but the concept is the same. Reach the second level. Climb for the highest level," Slaine said.

Rowyn was thunderstruck. It was something he'd wanted to be a part of since October of last year, and he'd been doing everything he could to physically and mentally prepare for, seeking challenges that would help him toward that goal. However, he'd not told anyone of his burning ambition to reach that mark. Slaine's words came as an endorsement: the Phoenix Wrestling president wanted to see Rowyn reach that goal, too.

"You still there?" Slaine asked.

"Yeah, boss, I was doing a little more woolgathering," Rowyn replied.

"I've got some business I need to take care of, so I'll wish you good night and good luck tomorrow night. You're going to do great, and I'm very proud that you, Aurora Jansen, Billy Mitchell, and Trent Stone are representing us in this event," Slaine concluded. "Now go get some rest. You're going to need every bit of energy you have for tomorrow night. Good luck."

"Thanks, boss. Good night."

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

I had no idea where the fog had come from. I only knew that it had rolled in sometime after I'd walked into Wembley Stadium to get checked in and to take the measurements that Slaine had asked me to make. But when I'd stepped out through a side door next to one of the loading bays, I stepped into a white, muffled world. The sounds of traffic seemed very far away and distant, even though the stadium itself was surrounded by roads. Walking west, I headed toward the Ibis London Hotel.

The air smelled of the Thames River, somewhere to the south. The fog itself, gave the streetlights a haloed appearance, distorting the murmuring shadows of the nearby bushes and trees. Their branches seemed to reach out like fingers, probing the fog as it gently rolled on, seeking out whatever hidden nooks and crannies their might be along the buildings lining my side of the street, layering over the upper stories of the stone and wooden structures like a shrouded veil.

I stopped for a moment, looking around, hearing the drip-drip of water pattering to the ground from storm drains. A tiny thin membrane seemed to reach out and envelop me in a chilling caress. It was soft, insubstantial stuff, yet it seem very foreboding and frightening, almost implaceable. It seemed like the world had been slowly erased away by the white eraser of the silky substance and repainted into another world, one that seemed magical, mysterious and maddening. And then my nostrils caught the scent of an all-too familiar smell, a smell that sent shivers up my spine.

Orange blossom perfume.

Impossible, I wanted scream out. She can't be here! Not in London!

I spun around. What I saw behind me was no murmuring shadow. The white coils seemed to flow around the shadow-shaped figure standing behind me, wrapping around it, cloaking it an white hazy jacket. I stepped backwards, away from this ghostly apparition, and when I did, the heel of my boot caught in a crack on the sidewalk. I didn't have time to flail my arms as I went sprawling to the sidewalk, landing on my side in a half-twist. A stab of pain when up my arm where I'd landed on it.

She's found me!

Pittsburgh. St. Louis. Alcatraz Island. Time after time, that smell would invade my senses and bring sheer terror to my soul. As I stumbled to my feet and started to job, my mind had only one coherent thought: escape.

I jogged quickly down the sidewalk, not looking back. The thought of running face first into a lamppost was the only thing that kept me from increasing my speed to a flat-out run. Thoughts of Jack the Ripper and the prostitutes he'd murdered and mutilated post-mortem ran through my thoughts like a frightened herd of stampeding cattle. In an ironic sort of way, I understood what it was like to be stalked by a malevolent entity, the same as the ladies of the evening whom had been hunted, caught, and slain.

Suddenly, the automatic doors to the hotel were in front of me, opening to give me sanctuary. I rushed in to the lobby, breathing hard. The night clerk, a young woman with strawberry blonde hair and glasses, looked up quickly. I probably sounded like a rampaging bull busting into the lobby the way I had. Spinning around, I turned back toward the automatic doors, placing one of my hands on a leather chair, trying to catch my breath. I looked out past the doors and into the white curtain of the velvetly fog, waiting to see if anyone...or anything...followed me in.

One minute. Two minutes. No one showed.

My shoulder ached from where I'd landed on it in the fall. I looked down, taking a self-inventory. My overcoat was dirty. My jeans were worse. I'd scrapped a small hole in the right knee when I'd near face-planted on the sidewalk.

You couldn't save her, Rowyn. And I'm going to be hear each and every day to remind you that couldn't save her. And that you 'wouldn't' save her.

"Are you all right, love? You look like you could use a spot o' tea or a stiff pint," the young lady behind the desk said.

"No, no, I'll be all right," I lied. "Thanks for the suggestion, though," I said as I nodded in farewell, making my way to the elevators. I wouldn't be all right. As long as this continued, I would never know peace, save that which death would ultimately bring. Even then, I wasn't so sure if peace would await me in the great beyond.

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

"Ninety-nine wrestlers inside the ring. Ninety-nine wrestlers I'll face. One will pout as they get thrown out. Ninety-eight wrestlers inside the ring."

I actually wrestle much, much, better than I sing.

But I'm not here to talk about my chances of winning any talent based reality show. My odds are overwhelmingly better at winning the Survive & Conquer match. One-in-one hundred times better.

For those of you in this match who are here representing Phoenix Wrestling, I need no introduction. To competitors such as Reya Serra, Omen, and Anthony Bailey, I need no introduction as well. As for the rest of you, allow me to introduce myself.

My name...is Rowyn Starr. And I'm a full blooded Cherokee Indian, formely of the Eastern Band Tribe. Before any half-wit out there decides they want to crack jokes pertaining to the combination of Indians and alcohol or spirit visions reached through the stimulants that only peyote can provide, I will warn you that you will make the gravest mistake in underestimating who I am or by trying to box me into a stereotype. I was born a Cherokee, but I grew up on a reservation with the same upbringing and values of any American family while keeping the honor and traditions of my heritage sacred and within my heart. I was acculturalized, you might say, but I still managed to hang on to who I am, something that gives me strength each and every day.

I come to Survive & Conquer as a representative of PW, but I also come as a representative of the fighting spirit of my ancestors. I compete to honor them, and I compete to honor those who have helped to reach this milestone in my career. I fight for the same fans who have stood beside me and behind me each and every week since I became a part of the PW roster.

Now I get the chance to represent my people and my ancestors when I compete in an event that is filled with some of the biggest stars and rising stars to ever grace the squared circle has ever seen. People like Keaton Saint, J.T. Cash, Dorling, Vannah White, Misty Whitmore, Aubrey Parker, Adrien Specter, James Stall, C.J. Gates, and Terry Marvin just to name a few. It is, indeed, a great honor just to be able to face just one of those individuals in the ring, let alone facing them together.

And it's an even greater honor to face these individiuals along with every other competitor who have cast their lot into this match at Wembley Stadium in London, England. This is a place where, like Survive & Conquer, people from all walks of life and nationalities have come together in a blending and growth of world culture, just like the blend and growth of competitors that have come to take part in this match of epic proportions. London is a city that knows how to draw athletes from all over the world to display their athletic abilities, just like the Olympic athletes of last year's summer games. Most importantly, London and its citizens know how to make outsiders feel at home and like royalty, just like they did with Pocahontas when she first set foot on British soil.

I didn't enter this match, however, to just say I felt honored to share the same ring with every other competitor that has cast their name toward being a part of it. I entered this match because of the challenge that it presents.

Placing an obstacle in front of me and telling me that I can't overcome it only serves to motivate me and to drive me. In my first televised match, I had to wrestle around someone sitting in the middle of the ring. Not only did I manage to wrestler around this person, but I took the victory over my opponent in convincing fashion. I defeated three opponents in a row, two of them on the same night when I became the PW Television Champion. At one PW Pay-Per-Event event, I competed in not once, not twice, but three times, a milestone for a guy only three months into his first year as a competitor. For four months, I held the PW Televsion Title, a belt I defended almost each and every week, facing each challenge placed in front of me. To say that I thrive on the aspect of challenge would be an understatement.

I'm also realistic. I'd love for the final four to be a PW sweep of myself, Billy Mitchell, Trent Stone, and Aurora Jansen, the woman who earned the right to carry and represent the PW Television Title for our organization at Survive & Conquer, but there can only be one person who can take it all, and I will do everything I can to make sure that I am that person. However, to stand beside each of those individuals and climb the mountain together in solidarity of our brand is something that I will be willing to do as for as long as I possibly can. Reya Serra is another person I would be honored to fight side by side with against the many foes in the course of this match as well.

There is one person, though, that I will do my extreme best to make sure goes nowhere but over that top rope in a hurry. And that person is the former so-called 'Face of PW'. Chris Shields, you turned tail and ran two weeks ago, quitting the company I represent and defying me of my retribution. Before you left, I only wanted to punish you inside that ring. But since you have no idea of what being a man really is, then I have no problem taking my pound of flesh out of you at Survive & Conquer, regardless if your inside that ring or not. My only other goal, aside from the obvious is to make sure you DON'T win this match and that I will get my retribution from you when you get the cumuppence you so rightfully deserve.

At Survive & Conquer, I face not only one obstacle, but ninety-nine obstacles. The odds say I have a one percent chance of winning it all. I say that on any given day, that I can beat anyone that will be inside that ring in one-on-one competition. At Survive & Conquer, I say that I can overcome all odds on that particular day. For me, it's not about the bragging rights. It's not about the trophy hanging above a steel cell, waiting for me to climb to it, reach out, and take it into my hands. It's not even about the prize money, something that would help to ease my sense of financial security.

It's about the challenge. Challenge is something that I yearn for. Challenge is something that I need. Challenge is what guides me into getting better and better each and every time I give my all in the ring. Ninety-nine challenges I will overcome. Ninety-nine challenges I must overcome. Ninety-nine challenges that I will ultimately, outlast.

At Survive & Conquer, one hundred stars will be shining in the night sky. One by one, each star slowly flicker and wink out, their light extinguished until only one star is left. That star will stand triumphant, holding the Survive & Conquer cup burning with a brilliance that will light up Wembley Stadium, London, and the English countryside with a solar flare to rival the ages.

For those of you who don't know who I am, that star will be me. Rowyn Starr.

The Darkest Star.

Alasdi gvdodi atsilvquodi!

FIGHT WITH HONOR!

[Level-Two]

She works hard for the money...

[/b][/font]



She's a teapot without a handle, meant to burn with no doubt. She has a world full of potential, spent on the wars that she's dealt. A doctor, a lawyer, a scientist - she would be, if the rest of them weren't singing the devils symphony...[/center]

''Are you freaking kidding me Vannah!? You've been here for one week - ONE WEEK and you've already spilled drinks on four people and one was an elderly couple!''

The manager of a local downtown Los Angles restaurant roared before he threw his sweat drenched towel on the meat cutting table creating a rather disturbing environment before him.

''I'm sorry mate, this is all new to me! I promise I'll get the hang of it, just give me a few more days!'' Vannah pleaded. ''Please?''

The manager was captivated by her beauty and thus it was hard to get too mad at her but as pretty as she was, he wouldn't relent.

''I'm sorry, Vannah but this is it. You're fired.'' The managers words came both swiftly and harshly. He signaled for the work apron and ripped off her name tag upon receiving it and that was end of this chapter.

You know, things weren't supposed to be like this. Flashback to the year 2007; where the sad case of Vannah White began.

Bishopsgate Police Station, London England.

''His name is Tyrese Evans. He has quite the record. Several accounts of assault and battery, charged with two counts of armed robbery and suspect in a murder of two men outside a local pub. If that isn't enough, he's known to run girls in the biggest prostitution ring in London. We have one of the girls in custody.''

The officer at her computer explained. The detective lowered his head because he feared the answer that would come out of his next question.

''How old is she?'' He asked reluctantly.

''Fifteen.''

The detectives heart skipped a beat - perhaps even two. He had daughter that age. If anyone knew this story as well as Vannah it was this detective. To this day, he could still recall how bits and pieces of conversation he had with the girl afterwards.

It went a little something like this...

''I always wanted to be a singer or an actress, god forbid I had enough talent for both. I used to have dreams about skipping across the Hollywood boulevard with a pound worth of pearls on my person and a star with my name beneath my feet - but now sir, I don't dream anymore.''

''Vannah, he's not going to hurt you anymore.'' The detective promised. ''It's not too late to turn your life around.''

The detective looked into her eyes and saw that her innocence was long gone - he found himself staring straight into the abyss of abuse.

''Is that so?'' Vannah replied with a defensive smile. ''Next you'll tell me that everything he's ever said about me was a lie.''

''Vannah, you're a beautiful young lady. You're smart and you have a family who cares about you dearly.''

The detective delivered what Vannah White believed to be the standard line - if there ever was one.

''You can do anything you set your mind too, Miss White.''

''No, I'm a slut - a whore. I'm too smart for my own good and I know well my family hates me. Though, at least I'm not you.'' Vannah said with a pause before her focus shifted shyly. ''At least I'm not a liar.''

''Vannah...''

''Listen mate not a damn thing is going to change, alright?!'' The young lady cried. ''Tyrese maybe dead now but he's taught me everything I need to know about this fucked up world.''

''Tyrese..." The detective said as his eyes narrowed. ''I never said he was dead - how do you know he's dead?''

''Well, daddy once said there's only two options for a man in his line of work and that's prison or death.''

Vannah White then leaned towards the detective and whispered into his ear.

''And well, he's already been to prison.''

The story was far more intricate than this but Vannah was done with reminiscing about the old times when a man no older than thirty approached her. Odd, considering he was dressed like a hippie right out of the 60s.

''What's that mate?'' Vannah asked.

The man had been handing out fliers and she took one from him. He smiled flashing a peace sign and then walked off, he wasn't much of a supporting role. On the front cover was a politician she was certain she had seen naked before but it was an ad on the back that caught her eye.

APW Presents
Survive and conquer... one hundred will enter, only one will win.
1, 000, 000 grand prize

She thought about entering before giggling to herself, it's the defense mechanism again. She knew she couldn't possibly win. While on paper her odds of beating 99 other men and women were far more likely than winning the lottery, in reality - winning the lottery solely relied on luck not talent and thus hitting the jackpot was far more likely in her mind and even then she was convinced scratch tickets were nothing short of a fraud.

There was one thing she always wanted to do though and it was well in reach. She wanted to skip across the Hollywood boulevard and that she did.

Skip, skip, skip...

Until she fell. Her hands hit the ground which covered up the name of one special star. Maliciously, she slid her hands off of the star and revealed to us all, a name.

Lester Only

Her venture from London, UK to Los Angles, CA was nothing short of a failure. The trip was initially inspired by her desire to pursue a career in professional wrestling. It wasn't a profession she had always dreamed of being involved in since she was a little girl but through her relationship with the world renowned Mega Star Lester Only under the pseudonym ''Level-One'' it provided her with an alternative to stripping or turning tricks on street corners.

So please excuse a girl trying to do the right thing for a change, wrestling elitists.

Although, she had previously won the ''Queen of Sin'' battle royal and although she had also beaten a women's wrestling legend in Sabra Nikolayev one on one during her trip to California; there were no sponsorship offers nor any contract offers and it became apparent to her that none of it ever mattered.

If she wanted a way into this business she couldn't politely knock nor kick down the front door. In fact, she would have to first plan her point of entry and then execute. It wouldn't be easy and would certainly not pretty.

For she would have to bulldoze the fourth wall.

An inside Job...
ACT II

Vannah White arrived at Hethrow Airport and met her best friend DeMonica outside of the establishment for a ride to their flat.

''Girl, I'm so happy you're back!'' DeMonica yelled as she nearly tackled Vannah White. ''I missed you girl!''

''Aw, I missed you too!'' Vannah yelped. ''I never thought I'd be back in England so soon, I didn't believe it until I was on the plane!''

''No offense...'' DeMonica said putting her hands out in front of her. ''I take it that things in Los Angles didn't work out as planned?''

''No, not quite...'' Vannah admitted. ''Though, I came back to England to wrestle! Action Packed Wrestling is hosting their annual survive and conquer match right here in London! Can you believe it?''

''Isn't that where Lester wrestles?'' DeMonica asked well aware of the relationship between the two. ''How the hell do you think he's going to feel about this?''

''That's the thing, Dee...'' Vannah White lowered her tone. ''He's the one that called me about it - he booked the flight out to England he's why I am here. I still don't know exactly why he's done what he's done but I'm thankful to him eternally.''

''What!?'' DeMonica snapped. ''Girl, you've done lost your mind! You're out here on his dime? I don't trust him, Vannah. I don't trust him one bit. He's up to something and it ain't nothing good and I'd tell that motherfucker that straight to his face!''

''Trust me, I'm as suspicious about the entire ordeal as you are but at the very least he's lived up to his word thus far...'' Vannah said before glancing at her watch. ''I'm actually supposed to meet with him tonight.''

DeMonica tilted her head side to side - the coast was clear. She slipped her hand into her purse and retrieved a pistol.

''Here, take this with you.'' DeMonica urged putting the pistol in Vannah's hand. ''Just in case the fucker get's brave.''

''I don't want it, Dee...'' Vannah declined as she tried to shove the pistol back into DeMonica's hand. ''C'mon, Dee... stop messing around take the darn pistol back!''

''You need it, Vannah!''

''No, I don't!''

''Yes, you do!''

BANG!

The gun misfired sending a bullet into the pavement. The recoil from the pistol sent the gun out of both women's grasp and down onto the concrete. The sound of the gunshot had nearby passerby's screaming, running and ducking for cover.

''Jesus Christ!'' Vannah howled. ''What the heck is Piers Morgan going to think about this one!?''

''Fuck Piers Morgan!'' DeMonica said as she picked the gun up off the ground and tossed it into a near by garbage can. ''Girl, I'm black. I'm going to be in so much more trouble...''

''Run!''

Vannah cried out loud before she grabbed her friends hand and ran as fast as they could towards their getaway car with which they made their great escape.

Later that night, she met Lester Only at a local English pub. The APW was touring the United Kingdom for several weeks leading up to the event in London which made him easily accessible. Although he didn't drink he was probably hoping he could get Vannah White drunk enough to accept the terms of any proposition he had to offer her. Location, location, location...

''So, you want a drink?''

Vannah rolled her eyes and took a seat across from him. She wondered at this point if he could be anymore transparent.

''Mate, I'm good thanks.'' Vannah quickly carried on. ''Let's cut the small talk, yeah? What's the deal with you flying me back to England?''

''You don't waste anytime, do you?'' Lester asked with half a grin breaking through his rough exterior.

''I'm serious, Lester.''

His face turned to stone as he realized the relationship between the two had died a long time ago and would never be the same.

''Survive and conquer is a couple weeks away and I won't have the pleasure of competing in it this year. It's no decision of my own but a request made by the Sindicate in which I have no choice but to honor.'' Lester explained with a great deal of calculation.

''And that has something to do with me, how?'' Vannah said, clearly on edge.

''I want you to be my wildcard, Vannah. If I can flip you successfully? I'll change the game, forever. There's come a time where a man has to call it quits but I can't retire until my throne as the greatest wrestler alive is secure for years to come and as of now, there is only one man who threatens my stature.''

''So, in so many words... I'm your hedge against Terry Marvin?'' Vannah sought clarification as she was severely confused by the entire proposition.

Lester Only leaned back in his chair casually putting his hands up behind his head, as if to say his cards had already been laid out.

''You said it - not me.''

After her conversation with Level-One, Vannah White arrived at her friends flat at midnight. It was late but she was felt more awake than she ever had and felt air of electricity flowing through her body, euphoric in it's own right. She threw her belongings on the floor and took a seat on the edge of the bed pulling out an old school audio recorder to document her first day back in London.

''Today's date is January 9th, 2013!''

''Oh my god, you won't believe this but I have just been given a new lease on life! Tonight, I talked with Level-One and apparently he's not too happy about the Sindicate putting all their eggs into Terry Marvin's basket so he flew me out to London as his secret weapons of sort! It's all kinds of crazy, I feel like I'm a secret MI6 agent on an undercover mission with my life literally on the line...''

''I don't know how this is all going to work - details are far from a few but from what I understand the rest of the Sindicate has already caught wind of my entry into the match and they are pushing Level-One into protesting against it. He urged me to watch Thursday Night Overdrive tomorrow but it's very possible that he'll crack under the pressure and this won't go through.''

''To be honest, I still don't get what Level-One and the Sindicate see in me that I can't see in myself. I may have thwarted the experts brackets in 2011, won the Queen of Sin battle royal in 0'12 but I've never had to prepare for a one hundred person battle royal before - but then again?''

''... none of us have...''

Almost two weeks later the two would meet again under strenuous conditions. This time it was ten minutes before a live show in Birmingham, England. A week before in Liverpool, Level-One demanded that Vannah White relinquish her spot in the Survive and Conquer match and tonight was that special night.

''Why have you ignored me for the past two weeks!? You've ignored my phone calls, my texts my emails, yeah? So please tell me - what the heck is going on here!?''

Level-One quickly maneuvered behind her and covered her mouth dragging her out of sight taking refuge behind a nearby wall in the parking lot before letting her go.

''There is an echo in this garage!'' Lester Only whispered sharply. ''Are you trying to fuck this plan of ours up or what!?''

''Plan of ours!?'' Vannah whispered back at him as loud as she could. ''I don't even know what the hell is going on, Lester! You don't fancy to tell me anything and the last time I heard from you, you were on television demanding that I'm removed from the survive and conquer match which is in clear breach of our agreement!''

''Look, I need this to look as authentic as possible and I knew you would show up tonight.''

''Yeah, and hows that mate?''

''If there is one thing we have in common is that we are consummate professionals and we always show up.'' He explained putting his hands on her shoulders. ''I need you to trust me here, alright. Tonight, you're going to go out there and you're going to give up your spot in the survive and conquer match.''

''Lester, if you screw me I will...''

''Trust me.'' Lester said holding her lips together with his thumb and index finger. ''At this point, we're in far too deep and we're fresh out of options.''

After withdrawing from the survive and conquer match, Vannah White sat outside alone outside the arena in Birmingham with her back up against a brick wall - it was a place where she had always felt most comfortable. Although she had been crying evidenced by her smeared make up, she still found it in herself to grab her handy voice recorder from her jacket.

''Today's date is January, 17th, 2012!''

''Tonight, I just withdrew from the Survive and Conquer match but to be honest that was the easy part. I heard after the show that Sally Talfourd has apparently launched her own campaign to get me back into the match I never actually withdrew from. Well, that's assuming I can trust Level-One knowing full well, I probably shouldn't.''

''Upon hearing the news that's when it all hit me and the tears began to rain. Sally wasn't the only one bothered by the news but all my fans were hurt by my resignation from the match, too. The worst part about it is that none of it's real - its all big lie, an elaborate hoax. I know my actions have been less then commendable and I feel horrible about it. I've been torn on whether or not I should even go through with the final phase, three days from now at APW's Asylum...''

''To Sally, my fans and everyone else supporting me - I'm sorry for making a mockery of this sport. The critics for many years have accused us wrestlers of being fakes. They've claimed our stories are elaborate works, ploys, and that everything we do on a week to week basis is planned and set up in some way and although in virtually every situation they're wrong, in this situation, they'd be completely right. This is fake. This is a work. It is a conspiracy.''

''At this juncture I almost wished this was nothing more than a cruel joke being played on me by the evil puppeteer, Level-One...''

''Gee, could you imagine how embarrassing that would be? I would never be able to live that one down. I'd be forever known as the girl who thought she actually had a spot in the survive and conquer match! I know it isn't as sensational as that Manti teo chap who thought he had a girlfriend that never actually existed but...

It's still pretty close though, right?''

Three days later on Sunday Night Asylum, Vannah would go through with the plan. In the end though she found herself a victim to a rather vicious darkness shine. The maneuver from the 270 plus pound man put her in the hospital for over night observations but the minor injuries she would suffer were nothing like the internal.

''How could you do that to me?''

These were the first words out of her mouth as Level-One stood in the doorway to her hospital room with a single flower in hand. He took a seat beside her and handed her the rose.

''So what - this entire thing was just one big practical joke!?'' Vannah cried in anger. ''Ha, fucking, ha! That's quite the knee slapper! Get the hell out of my face because I never want to see you again!''

She threw the rose to the floor. All this only made Level-One smile.

''You girls are far too emotional!'' Lester laughed. ''No, it wasn't a joke - don't you get it? Our plan is complete. I didn't quite anticipate the entire female gang ordeal but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. As for you, are you aware that you almost blew this entire thing?''

''Well, I couldn't let them hurt you out there knowing what I knew. I guess I couldn't help myself.'' Vannah confessed with a smile.

''Look, Vannah. I never tried to hurt you out there. I was saving our plan from going to shit. So, I hit you with the darkness shine to ensure that the Sindicate suspected nothing.''

''You know, Lester... you can't have the best of both worlds forever. You'll have to pick a side one day.'' Vannah warned him.

He nodded his head along. ''So, I guess it's time to let you know what number you'll be entering in at?''

''Please, humor me.'' Vannah said dully.

''You're Ms. 76!'' Lester announced. ''That's not too shabby by any means, eh?''

''Well, it could be worse.'' Vannah said with a shrug of the shoulders. ''I could be entering at number one hundred.''

Lester raised an eyebrow. ''How is that bad again?''

''Well, if turns out that your elaborate ploy to get me into the match wasn't worth the effort - at least it means I crash out at a number where expectations were never at it's highest.'' Vannah explained.

''I guess that's one way of looking at it?'' Lester said, almost as if he was asking himself. ''At the end of the day, it's just a number.''

''I'm just a number.''

She thought to herself.

''Hey, Lester...'' Vannah started. ''Can you do me a favor?''

''I guess.'' Lester murmured as he scratched his head. ''I suppose I owe you one after tonight...''

Vannah smiled as she reached over and handed Lester Only a ticket to survive and conquer - he looked at it with confusion.

''I want you to go to the Police Station and request the ticket be given to a detective named Mr. Bishop.'' Vannah White requested. ''Six years ago he told me that I could do anything I put my mind too and I called him a liar.''

Vannah stopped talking long enough to reflect for a split second.

''I want to know if he was telling the truth.''

If I had a million dollars...
Act III

Dear, S&C competitors

''I'm only in it for the money.''

''Please, allow me the time to elaborate before you jump to an ill informed conclusion about my moral compass.''

''It pains me to admit it but it's the truth. I beat Sabra Nikolayev as clean as the kitchen sink solidifying myself as the new queen of sin. And while I'm not one to brag, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that's a pretty big deal - yet, judging by the dead silence of virtually every major wrestling promotion in the world, clearly I am not worthy.''

''Legacy, is that what you want?''

''Past winners of this match include Victor Hades, Ryan Ruckas and Alioth Starre... now inform me on one that is still relevant today.''

''Legacy, is that what you call it?''

''Victor Hades, Ryan Ruckas and Alioth Starre... most of you probably didn't even realize the name Level-One was missing the first time.''

''Legacy, what is it worth?''

''I don't know but it sure isn't worth anymore than a million dollars is. My career has been specifically made on the underground, inter-federation scene and let me tell you - not a damn thing has ever come out of any of it other than some extra name recognition which means a lot of nothing when you don't have a brand or a tee shirt with your name on it to sell.''

''Greed isn't something that fuels nor consumes me, I just have the will to survive and money is what fuels our survival in the world we live in.''

''Those who do not care about the million dollar prize are those who already have it!''

''I don't need all the money, just a small portion of it. This business is filled with greedy bastards who take, take, take but will never give back! I want to do something special! Maybe, I'll hire an agent to represent me and pursue a wrestling career. Perhaps, I may go big and start my own wrestling promotion opening the door to female competitors world wide. I'll take my money and I will use it to uplift women in my community, women who are at risk of falling pray to the predators like I did when I was fifteen.''

''This is real. This isn't your typical run in the mill trash talk men can't seem to let go of. I know that as great as my plans sound the likely hood of it all is slim to none. I am not arrogant enough to believe my story is the only one that matters. I am not naive enough to believe there is absolutely nobody in this match that wants it more than me. Lastly, I know that I don't have the talent that the majority of these men and women posses to solely win this match off of brute force and I'm going to need luck on my side.''

''Luckily, in a match like this? Luck is quite the tag team partner.''

''In closing, I don't believe I owe it to any of you to explain in detail how I plan to win this match. My preparation for this match - or lack thereof - is also an irrelevant entity to this rather grand occasion.''

''All you need to know is that my battle to survive and conquer doesn't begin on January, 27th and it won't end anytime soon after, either.''

''So, you can conquer if you wish.''

''All I know is survival.''[/size][/i][/color][/font]