Group 2 RP's

[President Jeff]

If your name is below, post your RP for Survive and Conquer here

1 RP, 4000 Word limit


Amber Torres Vs Frankie Emerson Vs Legion Vs Eddie Vega Vs Silver Kazama Vs Elizabeth Devereaux Vs Tony Miranda Vs El Lobo Grande Vs Gabriel Asar Vs Victor Creep Vs Takasu Kaoru Vs Xavier Jacobs Vs Tony Edison Vs Alex Zion Vs Savannah Vs Gordon Fury Vs Sadisto Vs Dom Harter Vs Kerry Windsor Vs Sierra Dailey

[Mr. Creep]

Warning

 The following program is not recommended for those with weak wills or hearts. 
It is highly suggested that children are put to bed and well-meaning grandparents
be asked to leave. There is a possibility that viewers of this program may find 

themselves with scruples corrupted and unsavory ideas implanted.

Proceed at your own risk…

(The upbeat catchy riff of Ghoul’s ‘What a Wonderful World’ begins playing and as the auditory sense is assailed we also find a blitzkrieg upon the visual. We see multiple quick snippets of scenes from various classic horror movies. While they alternate between black and white and color; all exude certain low budget stylized independence.) 

I see towers of flame and corpses too;

I see the doom of me and you;

(The screen displays a fierce battle between Rhino-Saurus and Apezilla, The mer-auders from Aquatrocity flop their way onto land with tridents, and was that a wig strangling someone?)

And I think to myself… what a wonderful world.

(An inquisitor marches through decaying ruins while holding a crucifix, the climactic struggle against the Simian Slavers from Savage Island ensues.)

I see skies obscured, I see no light;

Dark creeping days, dark sleepless nights;

(The one-liner dropping ghost-hunting sheriff from Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Banshees chomps on a cigar and fires a blast from his double barrel shotgun.)

And I think to myself… what a wonderful world.

(The game winning play from A Mummy in the End-zone accompanies fading music and our scene changes.)

“Ah welcome one and all to a spectacular, fabulous, fantastical edition of The Mister Creep Show!”

(We see our host; the venerable Mr. Creep dressed resplendently in a fashionable vintage suit. He sports a black double-breasted waistcoat with black slacks and an ebony top hat with a maroon colored band which matches his dress shirt. He holds a fancy cane topped by a golden orb being embraced by an ivory claw.)

“Why is this episode so special you ask? Yours truly has been invited to Survive and Conquer! Now those aren't just things I normally do, it’s the name of Action Packed Wrestling’s most prestigious pandemonium filled night of mayhem and madness! In honor of the event, tonight’s episode will be airing a dual movie-mania matinee. Incredible, isn't it?”

Victor grins, exposing his sharpened buck teeth; his pallid visage is friendly yet unsettling.

“Now I’m just leaving Munich International Airport after a long flight. It’s been quite the trip, not just the planning but the packing and transport as well. Why, keeping track of all of one’s belongings during international travel can be a daunting task.”

Another voice chimes in “But Mister Creep, most of this luggage isn't ours.”

(The camera pans to a hideous hunchback with a misshapen head who seems bogged down with an excessive amount of baggage as he lumbers along with a distinctive gait. He is clad in a ratty blue sweater that is liberally interspersed with rips and stains.)

“Don’t you know anything, Igor? It’s international luggage law, anything without a tag or label is free to claim.” Replies Victor as he tucks a small pair of scissors into his back pocket. 

“Why, with the state of the world the way it is, we could be doing the fine people of Germany a favor. We might even be helping fight terrorism by taking these items with us to be properly screened.”

Igor stops to scratch his head. 

“But Mister Creep I thought you said we were going to rifle through them and plunder all th-” He’s stopped mid-sentence by a quick bop to the head from Victor’s cane.

“I said no such thing you silly lout, not on camera at least. Now let’s just make our way to the hotel, we still have many preparations to make.”

As Victor hails a cab, screaming is heard somewhere in the distance off camera.

“Uh-oh.”

Victor turns to the direction of the airport as the shouting approaches. His face betrays something between surprise and annoyance simultaneously.

“Oh not this guy again, everybody be cool. Hurry up and load our things so we can get out of here.”

Victor motions to the camera. “Come on, get in.”

As the items are being thrown into the trunk, Victor scrambles into the vehicle. A man with a bowl cut and thick glasses runs up to the window. He pants heavily while adjusting his disheveled collared shirt. He at once begins berating Mr. Creep and company. “You tried to ditch me!”

Victor scoffs “Sir, you must have me confused with someone else.”

The man throws his hands up in frustration.

“Oh come on, don’t do this. We were supposed to work together, co-hosting our programs; you said you would do it for plane tickets. What happened to the cross-over between ‘The Mister Creep Show’ and ‘Around the World with Peter Merld’?”

Victor shrugs “My good fellow, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about.”

Victor urges the cab driver to pull away just as Peter sticks his head into the vehicle’s window.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You've got my cameraman with you.”

He leans in and points into the lens.

“Come on Eric, don’t be like this. Why are you running off with these hooligans?”

Victor rolls up the window as the cab starts to accelerate. Peter jogs alongside the vehicle, shouting as he runs.

“Fine, I’ll just alert the authorities. You’ll be sorry!”

Victor leaves the window open just a sliver to reply.

“And how will you do that without being able to speak German?”

The cab speeds up - Peter runs at a full sprint to keep up.

“Oh don’t worry I've got my pocket German-to-English dictionary right here in my-”

Peter checks his breast pocket, his eyes go wide when he realizes the item is missing. The window is rolled up as the cab speeds away from the terminal, leaving the pursuer behind. Victor opens a pocket German-to-English dictionary. He glances into the camera momentarily.

“What? It fell out when he stuck his head in here, I swear. Let’s enjoy some of these messages from our sponsors.”

(Cue commercials:

Fisti’s Cufflinks – Fisti-Cuffs knock the competition out.

Mulligan’s Death Faking Service - because we could all use a second chance.

AquaFeca – Filtered gourmet Parisian toilet water)

“We’re back!”

Victor is inside a hotel room now, digging through a beat up old Duffel bag and an open briefcase with the initials ‘L.V.’ on it.

“Well, I’m just going through some of our completely owned personal property here. Making sure everything is in order and whatnot.”

Victor looks off screen momentarily and gestures.

“No Igor, pile up the electronics on the right, clothing on the left, just toss all the personal effects.”

Victor peeks into the duffel bag. He appears horrified as he reaches in and slowly lifts a garment out.

"My word... What kind of a yokel wears overalls in this day and age?"

Victor leans in and turns his head as he squints.

“Buckson. Gooch. Strangely that seems perfectly fitting. I’m surprised he possesses the literary skills necessary to stitch his name into this hideous… thing.”

Victor tosses the overalls off-screen. “Igor, dispose of those.”

Igor grabs the item excitedly.

“Oh wow, these look a lot like mine! Can I have them Mr. Creep?”

Victor shudders.

“No Igor, they’re most likely rife with parasites of some sort. Take them out back and burn them.”

Victor reaches into the briefcase; he inspects a pair of pinstriped slacks with moderate interest.

“Hmm… Now these possess at least a very basic semblance of style; not quite as exquisite as my apparel mind you, they’re a little snug too…”

Victor ponders for a moment.

“Well, let’s check out this fine segment. I still have a bit of… unpacking to do.”

(Our scene switches to Victor Creep dressed in khaki safari attire. Binoculars hang from his neck and he holds a butterfly net.)

“Welcome to Creep’s Creature Feature! While I normally explore the majesty of the animal kingdom, given the upcoming spectacle I thought a special edition focusing on the most cunning and deadly species of all would be most fitting. I’m talking of course about humans. We’ll be looking at a specific type of human, wrestlers. Wrestlers come in all shapes and sizes, from the fearsome and imposing to the exotic and rare. Should you ever encounter them in their natural habitat, knowledge of their various characteristics is an important element in assisting with their demise. So take a journey with me, the Creepodile hunter, as I take you now to the wonderful world of wrestlers, grapplers, luchadors, and losers.”

(The scene shifts to Creep still in his safari gear, peeking out through a tiny grate from some kind of enclosed structure. Outside a sunny beach full of scantily clad people is visible. The camera follows our host’s gaze as he peers through binoculars. The focus comes to a small beach-side workout facility as a series of muscle-bound men flex their ripped muscles and practice heavy weight training.)

“Ah there we have it - A pack of Musculus Meat-Headius; body building strong men who often lay claim to king of the ring. Look at them, oiled up and fancy free. It’s a good thing they won’t notice us camouflaged from this observation post. Tough as they may come off, the amount of sheer testosterone clouds their judgment; they often become confused at the slightest problems such as simple math, or fitting through a doorway. Yes there’ll be plenty of opportunity to get the upper hand should you encounter one of these Neanderthals. Try asking them to spell a word with more than one syllable, or to explain the periodic table of elements to you; by the time they even muster the brain cells necessary to comprehend the request you’ll have poked them in the eye, kicked them in the shin, and made off with their wallet.”

We hear a small splash.

“Oops.”

The camera turns to see Igor staring downward. As the camera pans to follow what he is looking at it is revealed that Mr. Creep and the camera man are standing on a toilet. Igor bends down to reach into the bowl.

“No Igor, that piece of rock candy is gone. We’ll get more later.”

Igor looks crestfallen. “But Mister Creep I’m hungry.”

Suddenly flushing is heard. Someone begins to pound on the door to the stall.

“Hey vhat ist happening in deah!”

The camera looks to our host “Cut the camera off, let’s get out of here.”

(The screen goes black and our scene changes to a gymnasium of some sort. A group of athletes in leotards practice intricate routines; Victor Creep is in the bleachers seated next to Igor.)

“Here we see a type of opponent similar to me but lacking a certain special trait that sets me far above them. Acrobatia Cowardium. The main difference of course, is that I’m not a weenie. While I have training in the distinguished Lucha Libre style, most of these so called ‘high-flyers’ are primarily versed in running away. Who really grasps the subtle difference between leaping about like some sort of fearful rodent, and strategically picking your enemy apart with hit and run tactics like a masterful predator? Why, me of course. Make no mistake; though Survive and Conquer will feature a variety of impostors, there is only one Mister Creep. I use agility and guile to systematically disassemble my adversaries while the knock-offs prance about displaying imitation ballet. It’s pathetic really.”

Igor, who seems preoccupied with smelling a shoe he somehow acquired suddenly springs to life upon catching Victor’s last words. He joins in and cups his hands while yelling at the aspiring Olympians.

“YEAH IT’S PATHETIC, BOO!”

The athletes gaze back in disgust; a coach of some kind begins yelling out angrily in German while advancing towards the trio.

Victor motions to the camera. “Ok, off. Let’s go.”

Before the camera has a chance to shut off it turns sideways and a less than polite verbal exchange is heard, the last thing seen before going black is a pair of arms shoving Igor over.

(Our scene changes to the Creepodile Hunter standing before a protest of some sort. Upon closer inspection one can see a similarity between most members of the crowd. The gender symbol for women is visible on many of the picket signs. Victor leans in close to whisper while in the background some sort of diatribe is being announced via megaphone.)

“Here we have a rare event - a large accumulation of Feministus Fascistii; the strong women types that permeate the wrestling world. While often choosing to still employ their womanly wiles, they stand as reminders to the dangers of estrogen depletion in the fairer sex. Not content to just exist, they have taken the courageous step of civil disobedience in the name of their cause. We join them here in a rally for some sort of vindication.”

Victor takes a casual stroll towards the outskirts of the group. He nods to one of the women present.

“Hello there, have you come to support women’s equality?” She raises her left fist in solidarity.

Victor returns the action as he replies. “Why, certainly. I am all for equal rights. I even advocate a little female domination on occasion if you get my drift.”

The protester seems uncertain about the domination statement but continues anyway.

“We’re protesting this new strip club they opened up on Odeonsplatz. Women are not meant to be objectified as sex objects. We demand respect, we’re people too. We’re just as strong as any man!”

A chorus of women in the group begins to chant agreement. Victor nods.

“Now that’s absolutely true my dear. Why whenever a lady steps into the ring with me and I beat her, I find they are just as capable as any male counterpart.”

The jovial mood turns to a sea of frowns as the woman addresses Victor’s statement.

“Wait, you beat women?”

Victor stammers as he gestures denial with both hands. “Well, I mean it’s mutual competition so um, I do beat them but it’s uh,-”

The woman turns to her nearby comrades and points to Victor while shouting angrily.

“HEY WE GOT A WOMAN BEATER HERE!”

Creep’s eyes go wide as he motions for his entourage to get moving. It’s just then when Igor decides to fan the flames.

“But Mister Creep, you respect women, you even hire them to work in your call-a-companion service.”

The crowd erupts in booing and hissing as stones begin to rain down. Victor and the cameraman make a beeline for the nearest shelter while Igor thanks the crowd and picks up items to add to his collection.

(The screen goes black for a scene change. Victor is panting heavily, he holds Igor by the collar. The lackey seems oblivious to what just occurred. The host rests against a set of double doors. As the camera pans to the rest of the chamber, we see a sign reading ‘Chestern Europe Gentleman’s Club.’ The group has sought refuge inside the protested club. Victor gains his composure and straightens out the creases in his attire.)

“Ah, now here we have a more welcoming environment. Luckily I happen to have a few business cards with me. I may do some recruiting for new employees while we meet the next type of wrestler on our list Simpletonazoa Seducterus - The sensually alluring sirens that make it their goal to be worshiped as vixens. While it may be puzzling to try and figure out why they would bother competing in a form of combat where bruises, scars, and black eyes are common sights on a competitor’s body, one cannot deny a certain aesthetic value to their presence, yes? Most of these ladies are your common dime-store divas, washed up models clinging to any publicity they can get, failed actresses hoping that someone of moderate note pays them attention. They do this until they get offered their latest gig as an extra in a b-movie which will most likely end up on my show. However, there is a certain muffled frustration at their dreams failing that lends them a special type of aggression not present in other competitors. However, the formula for taking them down is often very simple.”

Victor makes his way into the main room where a provocative dance is already underway. A woman in skimpy attire approaches him. She reels slightly at the sight of Igor who is taste-testing his new rocks.

“Hi there, my name’s Candi Barr.”

Creep chuckles as he reaches into his pocket and produces a business card.

“Well hello there, Miss Barr.”

She points to the camera. “Um, outside filming isn't permitted.”

Victor winks to the camera and nods. “Oh dear I guess I've been naughty.“

“I guess you’ll have to make it up to me…”

The screen goes black just as Victor wraps his arm around her hips and they walk off-screen.

(We join Mister Creep the next day, clad in a fox hunter’s red coat, white pants and black riding boots standing outside a classroom full of small children. He speaks softly as the class is in the middle of a lecture.)

“We’re standing outside the live habitat of the next type of opponent on our list, Well-Intenionata Snoreboreus. This is the goody-two shoes type. He’s doing what he loves best, inflating his ego by pretending that the work he does makes a difference. There’s nothing quite as aggravating as naïve bright-eyed idealism. Watch however as a simple act completely foils his confidence and smashes his image.”

Victor slinks his way into the class room while holding something with both hands. We see and hear a moderately fit man in a patriotic flag t-shirt point to a black board.

“So kids, as you can see, staying in school and staying off the drugs really will help you reach your highest potential.”

Victor raises the object in his hands; it’s a large framed picture.

“Hey kids take a look; Tad All-American was really a dork when he was in school. Look at this yearbook picture, talk about a being a tubby brace-face, eh? What a nerd.”

As Victor shows the picture to the kids they start to giggle, some take to pointing and laughing. Tad All-American’s eyes begin to well up with tears and the crowd turns on him. Victor marches out looking satisfied at his handiwork as the kids begin chanting ‘brace-face’ over and over.

“All these white knight types are just masking insecurities. Gotta hit’em where it hurts.”

(As Victor strolls away dusting off his hands our scene changes one more time. Victor is still in his fox hunting uniform as he enters ‘Happy Nature Reference Retirement Community.’ He nods to the front desk clerk as he walks by and comes to a group of old sweaty men, who if studied very closely, still have the semblance of a defined physique.)

“And here at last we come to the holy grail of our quest. Legendum Geriatra - The old veterans who are touted as being the best ever, mostly by themselves. They feel that they should be handed everything on name alone. That a new generation should capitulate to them on outdated reputation alone, even though they’re past their prime and drowning in irrelevancy. Isn't that right, sir? Weren't you a wrestler?”

Victor leans in to a shriveled man who stares into space, his aging mind eventually processes the question.

“Oh yer darn right I was, you whippersnapper. Back during the great depression I beat Sarsaparilla Sam and Molasses Jones in a Breadline Scramble match to win the Dustbowl Championship Belt! ‘Course back then it was just an onion on a piece’a twine so I would get a washboard and-“

Victor looks miffed at the man’s endless rambling.

“Oh dear, look what I started. This archaic fossil actually thinks he holds a candle to V. Creepus Superioris, The true pinnacle of wrestling’s evolution. Creep away!”

(Cue commercials:

Homey’s Landscaping - It’s turf in the streets.

Penny-Pincher’s retail clothing outlet – Less sweat, more shop

Burn There, Done That – Arson Investigation Service)

“Ok Igor, so seeing as how the advanced secret agent I sent ahead of time should have made preparations by now, Survive and Conquer will go thusly.”

(We return back to the hotel room. Victor is seated across from Igor as he points to various symbols on what appear to be blueprints.)

“The first group will be wiped out by the swinging pendulum axe we have installed at the gorilla position; it will cut most of them into ribbons. When the second wave comes out, that’s my group, I’ll have to make sure no one notices the sneezing powder bomb and gas mask I have tucked into my tights. Once it’s deployed I’ll merely put on my mask and casually throw whomever I deem fit over the rope - which is everyone of course. Now when the third group arrives we’ll turn on the fire sprinkler system and I’ll cut the electrical wires above, raining shock water onto everybody thus disabling them from contending with me. Now the fourth wave is trickiest, we’ll have to make sure we activate the Punji traps, located here, here, and here at exactly the right time to make sure we get everybody. By the time the casualties are counted there’ll only be me left to claim the million dollars and the championship!”

Igor seems to go over the map for a moment then pauses and makes an inquiry.

“Mister Creep, when do I get to have all the Bratworms I want?”

“It’s not Bratworms, Igor. It’s Bratwurst.”

“But I don’t want the worst, I want the best.”

Victor reels his hand back to bash Igor on the skull when a rapping on the door is heard. Victor opens it. A scraggly transient-looking man enters. Victor seems uncharacteristically pleased to see him.

“Why, if it isn't my head of intelligence: Dirty Larry. So I take it everything is in order?”

The bum smiles foolishly and then shakes his head.

“Oh, not even close. Sorry Mister Creep. Did you know the arena has security? It’s also illegal to kill people in Germany too. Yeah, our plan was total kaput from the get-go.”

Victor seems none too pleased “Well what about the diplomatic immunity you were supposed to get me?”

“Oh that fell through too, apparently they saw through the forgery - said no official documents are ever written on napkins.”

“It wasn't a napkin, it was a paper towel. Oh never mind. Guess I’ll have to think up a new plan now.”

Victor reflects for a moment before snapping his fingers in revelation.

“Yes, brilliant! Hmm, I’ll need to do some work during the tournament…”

“Anyway, let’s get to tonight’s movies! Tonight as promised we have a daring double feature of fright! First we have a German classic, from nineteen sixty-two. It answers the question what’s scarier than a vampire? Why, a vampire that’s also a dragon of course. I’m talking about the cult hit, Drag-cula!”

Igor taps Victor on the shoulder. The two begin to speak clandestinely. The camera picks up part of the conversation.

“Well what do you mean it’s not the sixty-two? It’s the one from Thailand? From eighty-three? You mean the one where dresses like a woma- Oh dear.”

Victor turns back to the screen.

“I apologize, I guess we won’t have our exact scheduled Drag-cula but this one also shocked audiences, though not in a good way. Anyway, normally a blunder like this would be catastrophic however we have a second movie tonight which is sure to instill a terrifying chill in the deepest recesses of your bones. Another German epic, this harrowing tale looks at the possibility of terror in the form of deep space exploration and first contact with an alien species. You guessed it, ‘Albino Doppelgangers from Planet Z’. Let’s watch!”

(Cue movies)

[eddievega]

[OOC Note: Posting from my phone as I don't have internet at my house and I'm not going to my apartment until Monday.]




The sound of people stomping in a rhythm starts being heard on the distance. The empty space seems to be prepared for some kind of meeting, still there are no real lights on the place, it’s only assumed it’s a large enough place as the sound of the stomps echoes across the room. The stomping gets stronger and stronger as the time passes by. The lights suddenly go on in this empty space and the vast space is suddenly recognizable. A lot of chairs have been placed there, but as the camera turns around the faces of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, Fidel Castro, José de San Martín, Simón Bolivar, Emiliano Zapata, Pancho Villa, George Washington, Ghandi and others, appear in the form of banners hanging from the ceiling. There’s a podium placed right in the middle of a small stage.

The stomps become louder and louder and the screech of doors opening prompt the camera to turn around. As it does it picks up a large group of people who are walking wearing military vests, pants and black boots. Their faces covered with a white mask that hides the identity of each and every one of this people. The only way to differentiate the persons is their height and sex, because of obvious body parts. The people continue pouring in and the empty space continues to fill itself of these masked people. Then all of them stand straight as one man starts walking down to the stage and gets there.

This man is wearing a different kind of military attire, maybe to differentiate himself from the rest. His is pure green, no camouflage or anything else, just green. Over his head is a black beret and on his feet black military boots. His mask is also different as he’s not wearing a white one, the same expression is shown on his mask as the rest, but his is black. This man takes center stage on the podium and a spotlight goes down on him. The microphone on said podium goes on as this man takes a deep breath that can be heard across the whole room. Even when filled, the silence is so great that the echo lets the camera pick up even the smallest of sounds. This man puts both of his hands on the podium, takes a look at the full room, he then looks down and when he gets his head back to the masked audience he starts talking.

“Tonight, we gather in front of these men, in front of those who fought for what they believed in. We gather to honor them, starting precisely what they were most known for. Each on their own way, each with their own believes, their own faith… but they all shared a vein that had warm blood running, a warm blood unlike that of most men and women in this world… a blood that now runs on our veins. Tonight, we gather because those men, like we will… wanted something and they went all in for that. They were willing to sacrifice their own lives if it was for the greater good… they were willing to leave it all on the line for one shot at change.”

The man then looks down to the podium once more, he extends himself backward creating an arch with his body and the podium acting like a pillar. He then rises his head and continues talking to the silenced audience.

Brothers and sisters, we all want what those men wanted. We all want to claim for ourselves what those men claimed as theirs. The difference is that when they took action there was nothing stopping them… but us… we are all restrained. Contained within an invisible wall created by those with “higher ranking”… WE aren’t allowed to run freely, we all need to be content with our own spot in society… because they are the ones who “rule” this world. They are the ones we shouldn’t challenge, they are the ones who are revered, they are the ones that maintain the status quo that we must eat each and every day without ever complaining. Yes, they are our Batista, our Spaniards, our British… they are the ones that want to possess all the power this world has to offer and where do we stand?

Right under their feet…”

He turns his head around to watch directly to the faces of the men behind him in the form of banners. He stares at each of them and takes a deep breath before turning his head around to face the audience and the podium. Then with the same slow way of talking he has maintained he continues.

“Brothers and sisters… I won’t tolerate being under their feet any longer. I won’t sit there waiting for them to take whatever they want without a fight. I won’t be indifferent at the restrain of power and spotlight those men and women have. It’s time for us to be like the ones behind me. Is time for us to take matters into our own hands… it’s time for us… to deliver this world a new dawn, a new shine… a new star.

People… it’s finally time for us to revolt against the status quo. Is time for us to claim our share of the spotlight and like those men behind me… and those who inspired them… we shall prevail. Because, they could take the life of one, they could stop one in its tracks… they could punch one of us to death… but our ideals will continue to eternity and if only one gives us the attention we deserve… then the idea won’t die. In fact… that idea will SURVIVE… that idea someday will CONQUER.

It’s time for us to revolt against the empire these “lords” have created. It’s time for us to blow up their star… it’s time for us to deliver to the promise we all made. Because, if we do that, if we rise to the occasion… then… we will… deliver a new age.”

The man then walks a bit back and takes off his beret and places it on the podium as he then lowers his head as he starts taking off his mask. Once he does, the man grabs the beret back and puts it back on his head. The same arch as before is formed with this man’s body and the podium and when he rises his head back to face the crowd, the man smirks and the familiar face of Eddie Vega is visible to the masked audience in front of him. There’s one definite difference this time around on Eddie, he has grown a beard, something similar to the one “Che” has on the banner. It’s clear that Vega is trying to imitate him in some way. But before any other conclusion might be drawn, Eddie resumes talking.

“The world of wrestling has been under the spell of the same group of people for far too long. It has been under the spell of those who make the world believe there isn’t anyone else who can step up and take it away from them. They have created this sphere in which nothing else but them can rule. True, they might be the best around, but being the best is not about professing it to the four winds, being the best is not about strangling to the spotlight and stomping on anyone that tries to get to it.

They might have the ability, they might have the knowledge, they might have everything under their power. They might be the experts, former survivors, champions of champions… but they all have an expiration date. They all need to be shown the circle of life. One can be on top for so long, but then someone comes along the way and shatters all what you thought was the only truth.

Tonight, my friends… I intend of being one of these men behind me. I intend on becoming the next face on the banners behind. I want to give wrestling a new revolution. I want to be one of the flag bearers of the new era of wrestling. Respect goes for all of those who came before me, but there’s always a moment in time in which they need to step aside and let the new crop grow and become the standard. But there are those who won’t ever step aside and that’s when WE come in. That’s when the new crop grows and eats them, because they were too full of pride to accept that there were new faces deserving of a bright spot.

Brothers, sisters… tonight it all begins. Our revolt against those prideful, against those who hang on to their “power”, against those who won’t let us grow.”

Eddie looks straight up towards the ceiling. As he stares up he takes a deep breath and extends his arms wide open. Another deep breath and his head goes back to the podium where he speaks once again.

“Just like José de San Martín I started my road to revolution in Argentina, like he met Bolívar, I met people who shared my ideals along the way and tonight we stand together with the same goal. Tonight we stand here looking for what those men looked on the Andes… freedom.

Freedom in the form of conquering, freedom in the form of stapling our names together with the names of those who seem to never let go of the spotlight… freedom… freedom for others to know who we are and get the heck out of obscurity. My friends, tonight marks the start of that new era everyone promises when a new year starts or when a new path of a career is beginning. Tonight, I let loose the revolutionary that lives in me… because as I said in every venue I’ve been up to this point. I will survive…

And I will survive with my ideals, I will survive with my ways, I will survive in manners that nobody would ever expected, because I’m prepared for this moment. I’ve never ran away from a challenge and thus I stand in front of all of you, leading the new pack of wolves… leading the ones that never wanted to be lead in a war against the establishment. Yes, ladies and gentlemen… nameless faces… WE stand together to fight against the things that were established… we face great challenges… we face the unexpected.”

Vega taps on the podium as he takes a deep breath. The military vest he’s wearing moves with every single move he makes and he moves back and forward creating and closing the arch of his body and the podium. At one point he lowers his head a bit before giving a sigh and rising his head once more to speak.

“Men and women… you all know my name… you all know what I’m capable off. But I assure you… that no one ever expects what’s coming. I assure you that no one ever expects the kind of war that I plan for that night in Germany. That night, in front of the whole world… against some of the best this world has to offer… in one of the most grueling battlefields ever conceived… I will lead by example, I will lead by action… I won’t be the same guy that everyone has seen so far.

Respect and honor, has always been there within my soul… but in this kind of battle, everything is allowed… everything is plausible. This is our D-Day, this is our moment… if we don’t storm in to take our rightful place… no one will. If we don’t take it upon ourselves to show the world what we are capable off… no one will believe our words. This is the night in which everything that we have said… must come to fruition.

Brothers and sisters, let’s show the world that we don’t need to be cartoonish to appeal to the masses. Let’s show the world that we don’t need to be covered under a veil of mystery and have a cult following to inspire fear. Let us show them that we don’t need hashtags to be noticed… as I said. This is our D-Day and we need to work like what it is.”

Eddie walks back from the podium and looks around the filled place. All the emotionless faces looking straight towards him and he seems to be feeding of them as he looks back and smirks. Then he walks back to the podium and speaks.

“People, I stand here as a common man with a vision, a vision that requires me to step up in big time situations. I assume most of you know that my record in this kind of matches is, lackluster, to say the least… but those of you that know about it… don’t know that it has all been part of a plan, one that has taken me to this point in time in which we all stand.

Some will clap, others may laugh… but just look at my track record and tell me which one of those names that I’ve faced before, doesn’t inspire fear in the lives of those who feel their mortality? Tell me how can my path have not been in preparation for this moment? I have honed my skills with some of the best Sin City has to offer, I have been in lows and I have been in highs… I know how it feels to be close but not quite… I know what is needed to survive.

I’ve faced those who hit harder, those who care less, those who control minds and I even faced death… and here I stand. I know what revolution means, I know what is needed to take my place, but I march by the sound of my own drum and that drum is starting to make an ever faster sound. The time is coming for me to claim what I wanted from the start.

I always wanted to be recognized, I always wanted to take a place among those who are viewed as the “crème de la crème” in this world I choose to live. So, now is my time to conquer… people have given me all what they have, they have shown me everything they got… because I’ve pushed them to that point… and I’m still standing. This is my platform and from there I will cement myself among the greats.”

Vega looks to his left and faces a familiar look, that of the emotionless men and women hearing his message, and he smirks and gives a small laugh before resuming speaking.

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t be the same guy I’ve always been. In revolution there is also time for recreation and fun…. If you don’t have fun doing what you do and creating a revolt, then you’re missing the point. Some are born for it, and those born for it… embrace it and have fun doing it. Do you think “Ché” or Fidel never laughed during the Cuban revolution… do you think Washington never had a laugh or had fun at times during the Independence War… do you think Ghandi was always a serious man and never had the time to laugh…

People don’t be foolish, because having fun is always the key for improvisation and improvisation is key in this kind of battles. A set strategy doesn’t mean anything, because one never knows what kind of ground one will face… with that being said… I’m not even considered a black horse… and that’s good, because that means I can surprise. I can become THAT guy that went from being a side show to main show in just an instance… for just a bet.

I’m part of a group that means nothing to most of the so called “experts”… but that’s precisely what I wanted. To lead a revolution, you need to open the eyes of many, and opening eyes is perfect within the confines of a group of misfits. Once more, do you think Washington would’ve been as famous as he is today… if he was surrounded by a well-oiled machine of an army like the British had? I don’t think so… and the same could happen in Germany, because… I can become that rodent that simply burst the bubbles of many and does what he wanted.”

A deep breath emanates from Eddie’s lungs as he takes a look at the podium and then to the crowd as he resumes speaking one more time.

“APW… Survive and Conquer… just like Maradona, just like San Martín, just like Messi… I just need one moment to shine and make believers out of doubters. So I stand here in hopes of creating a wave of revolution that will dethrone THEM and create an opening for a new breed… from this podium… to that platform… from a rebel to a well-known name in the world of wrestling… from Argentina to the world… all in one night.

I’m the voice… they are the limbs and together we create action….”

With a smile Eddie stands behind the podium before uttering his last words.

“No llores por mí Argentina… stand up and create a revolution.”

Vega steps back from the podium as he grabs the mask, takes the beret off his head and puts back the mask on his face. He then stands and salutes those nameless faces that were there all along and begins walking to the back. As he does row by row the men and women wearing masks start taking them off and walking behind him out of the building. The sound of them marching is enough to create an echo and small vibrations are felt and shown on camera as it shakes a bit.

Small group by small group walk away from the room until it is completely empty, when the doors close and the lights go out, the banners start glowing with the words.

“Survive and Conquer…… Stand and Revolt!”

The scene fades to black.

[windsor]

You know, it's funny how life changes.

To see where I am now in life, I can't help but to be proud of all that I have done; all I've overcome and all that I have achieved on this road to get where I am. It wasn't easy, but fuck it, life never is. I've had to scratch, to claw, to fight for everything that I have, and that's not to say that anyone else hasn't; this isn't about them. This is about me and at this juncture I can only talk about what I've done. What I've endured. What I've survived.

You see, many look at Kerry Windsor and they say that I'm the embodiment of success. I live the life that most people dream of, but that's only because I was strong enough to endure the never-ending nightmare that my life seemed to be. Most people would kill to have the money, the fame, and even the notoriety that I have. But all of these spoils that they see? They came at a great cost. They're all products of a journey I would never even wish for my worst enemy to embark on.

That's why all of this appeals to me.

Survive and Conquer? It's more than just a name. It's an ideology, a way of life, a mind frame that I've adapted from as early as I can remember. It's something that I've literally done my entire life. Survival is about adaptation and making the necessary changes to endure any circumstance. I like to believe that I’m a master at it.

I thrive at it.

The fact that I’m even here to iterate that is a testament to just how well I can do it. People often say preparation is key to most things. I won’t dispute that. Preparation is a quintessential component to success, but there are some things in life that you simply cannot prepare for. Sustenance and longevity are but a measure of just how well we handle these things.

I look forward to this competition.

I’ve been in the gym pushing my body to its limit because I know in this match; I will have to push it even beyond that. And even still, with all the hours in the gym, I understand that I will never truly be prepared for Survive and Conquer, because it isn’t really something that we can prepare for, is it?

There are far too many variables that are beyond our control, and that’s what makes this fun. This is a personal challenge. That’s the reason why I am here. I’m not here for bragging rights. I’ve already earned them. I don’t need this to prove that I am better than any of you, that goes without saying. Unlike many of you, I’m not here to prove a thing.

I’m simply here for the challenge.

Can't you tell? More than a year away from the ring and THIS is how I decide to make my return. Most would say I'm out my damn mind, I just say I finally found something worth my time.

Life has been nothing but an obstacle course for me, and I’ve always found my way through. This is nothing different. This is just a bonus stage.

Some would say that the chances of winning this are slim to none. I’m alright with that. I may be egotistical at times, hell, maybe even most, but I am not so jaded by my own self-appreciation that I am out of touch with reality. But I will say this. The chances have been slim for me my entire life, but I always made the most of them. So, a slim chance? That’s fine. I’ll adapt. I’ll survive.

I’ll show the world yet again, that a chance is all I need.


- - - - -


Everyone remembers their darkest days.

No matter how painful or stinging the memories tied to them may be; they are something that most people never forget. Whether or not the person wants to admit it, chances are, the greatest revelation of self was had during these days.

It is in these times that people tend to find out the most about themselves.

They come to know their proverbial rock bottoms, but more than that, they come to know their limits. They learn their breaking points because undoubtedly at some point during that time in their life it was reached, and they also come to know their strengths in a time when their weaknesses are more than amplified.

They also learn either of their ability or inability to endure the darkness and pull themselves from life's abyss.

Kerry Windsor remembered his darkest days far too well. As far removed as he seemed to be from them, thoughts of them lingered heavily. This was something that he both hated yet was thankful for.

On one hand, he would damn near give anything to make the haunting thoughts vanish for good. He desperately wanted to erase all traces of the man that he used to be during that time and eliminate anything that would remind him of the darkness that plagued him. He longed to forget, yet he was deathly afraid of what could happen if he did not remember.

It was those same painful memories that drove him everyday to be the man that he needed to be. Not only for himself, but for his family. The two beautiful children and the loving woman that had stood by his side through every trial and tribulation he'd come to face since he was 13 years old.

His family.

Truth be told, it was still a strange concept to him. He'd never really had one. The son of a drunk who died when he was still young, and a mother who didn't want him; willingly giving him away to the Iowa Foster Care system, Kerry Windsor had no true definition of family growing up. Moving from foster home to foster home, the relationships he'd built were few and far between, with hardly any being substantial or worthwhile upon reflection.

And now he had three people that depended on him.

They were his light and the very things that kept him determined from ever slipping back into that abyss. For the first time in his life, Kerry Windsor had something beside himself to think about. The fact that he now could, only served as proof of the changes he'd made over the years.

Changes that started in this very place.

The Chadwick-Moss Rehabilitation Facility, located in Port St. Lucie Florida, was a privately run substance abuse rehabilitation center. Nowhere near as renown as places like the Betty Ford Clinic or the Promises Treatment Center, Chadwick-Moss still offered high quality treatment and had an amazing track record with its clientele. Ironically, he’d have never known about it had it not been for Sheree.

After stints in much more known facilities and never seeing them through; Kerry was all but ready to toss in the white towel. In his mind he was too far gone and far too broken to ever be repaired but Sheree refused to believe that. Chadwick-Moss was a last ditch effort but it ended up being a Godsend.

It had been years since he'd laid eyes on the place and just being there was a break in a vow that he'd made to himself to never return. Everyone looks for a light at the end of the tunnel or a silver lining on a cloud, and that was exactly what this place was for Kerry Windsor years ago.

When the jaws of addiction clamped down on him and sent him spiraling to depths he'd never known existed, this place and the people in it were the only things that kept him from becoming fully submerged and lost. They provided a light when all he saw was darkness.

This place had possibly saved his life. But that didn't settle the uneasiness that he felt in the pit of his stomach. As grateful as he may have been, the fact remained that this place was still tied to his darkest of days, and for that reason alone he wanted it to be nothing but a distant memory. No one really wants to look back into the tunnel from which they emerged. They just want to get as far away as possible.

Kerry Windsor was no different in this aspect. But today was not about him.

Inhaling sharply, he swung open the glass doors and stepped inside, the familiar chime signaling his entrance. He remembered how it felt the last time around. The anxiety, the butterflies; the shame he felt as Sheree led him inside. He felt so weak back then, so helpless.

This was different. He was different.

Pushing on with all the confidence that he was devoid of the last time now in his step, he swiveled his head around, quickly taking in his surroundings. Everything was just as he remembered it. It hadn't changed a bit.
The reception area was still immaculate. The freshly vacuumed carpet, perfectly arranged chairs, and neatly stacked magazines lying on the tables and in the racks along the wall provided a perfect visualization and representation of just how well kept and maintained the facility was.

The organization and neatness of the room was also a stark contrast to the disarray that most of the addicts and residents there had come to know. It was a subtle and underlying change, and something to introduce the concept of change and betterment from the very first step inside the facility.

Shifting his gaze towards the main desk, Kerry saw a familiar face. The secretary, Catherine... what was her last name again? McDougal? McDonald? He knew for sure it was something along those lines, but he couldn't quite remember. It never really mattered though, because despite what her nametag read, there in Chadwick-Moss, she was endearingly referred to as Kitty.

She'd added on a few pounds over the years, but even if he hadn't recognized her right away, the signature platinum blonde locks were a dead giveaway. Adjusting his pair of Ray Bans and sliding them up the brim of his nose, a wry small crossed his face as he stepped over towards her.

"Just one second, I'll be right with ya." She greeted in the chipper voice that he remembered. Her eyes never met his, instead focusing on the computer screen in front of her as her fingers danced effortlessly along the keyboard.

"It's alright, take your time Kitty. I'm in no rush." Kerry responded coolly, leaning forward and propping his elbows onto the desk.

The familiarity in his tone and hearing her nickname escape his lips instead of the name written on her nametag, prompted her to break her gaze from the screen and set it on him. There was a fleeting moment of unfamiliarity in her eyes before it all clicked. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Oh my God, Kerry Windsor! Look at you! It's been years hasn't it?" The words rushed from her with warm excitement.

He let out a small laugh and scratched behind his ear. "Yes, it has."

"Well the time has certainly been good to you." She said, a hint of flirtation in her voice as she sized him up. "It's good to see you doing well--". Suddenly her eyes went wide. "--wait, you are doing well aren't you?" She asked, wondering why he'd ended back up in front of her desk.

"Better than I've ever been." he replied with a calming genuineness that put her right at ease.

The smile returned to her face, as did the excitement to her voice. "Oh well, that's good! I'm sure Dr. Chadwick will be ecstatic to hear that. Is she expecting you?"

Kerry cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, she isn't." He offered a smile as he shifted his body, putting more weight on his elbows. "Just figured I'd drop in to surprise her." He added casually, his lips curling into a smile as he removed the shades from his eyes and glanced down at the Audemars Piguet on his wrist.

"If I know Dr. Chadwick as well as I think I do, then according to my watch, she should be in between sessions." he confidently uttered, tapping the face of the expensive timepiece.

The impressed smirk on Kitty's face was all the assurance Kerry needed to know he was correct.

"Very sharp memory, Mr. Windsor."

Some people just never changed their routines. He didn't verbalize the thought however, simply accepting the compliment with a bow of the head. "You think it's possible I could get a word with her?"

"Well I don't see why not." She gleefully retorted as she picked up the telephone on the desk and punched in an extension. "I'm going to let you surprise her." She whispered as she cupped the mouth of the receiver. She gave Kerry a wink and waited a few seconds for her call to be answered. "Yes, Dr. Chadwick? I have someone here that I think you'd definitely want to see--" Kitty raved as she swiveled from side to side in her chair. "--let's just say he's a familiar face.." She let out a little chuckle as she listened to the doctor's response. "Ok, bye."

She set the receiver down and focused her attention back on Kerry. "She'll be out in a minute."

Kerry tapped the desk in acknowledgement and gave Kitty a salute. "Thanks doll." he uttered as he pushed away from the desk and took a seat in one of the lounge chairs. He made sure to find one off to the side so that Dr. Chadwick wouldn't see him when she first walked out. A few minutes went by before the door leading deeper into the facility swung open. Out of it stepped a tall and slender woman, looking to be in her mid forties.

Dressed casually in a pair of black slacks and a grey blouse, her curly shoulder-length brown hair bounced as she gracefully strode across the room and towards the desk. Her entrance caused Kerry to rise from his seat as he watched her. A few words were exchanged between the woman and Kitty before she turned into his direction.

As their eyes met, he could see hints of pride in the glow of hers upon recognition. He felt his body take on a life of its own, seemingly coerced forward by the pull of her smile. No words were exchanged, just a simple hug packed with emotion; The warmth of the reception was surprising, yet touching. Finally they broke from their embrace and she took in the sight of him as he gave an acknowledging nod.

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise." She thought aloud as she beamed up at him. Before he could offer any semblance of a reply, she turned on her heels and motioned him forward. "Come, let us talk in my office."

He whispered his concurrence as he padded along behind her, entering the familiar corridor that led to the true meat and potatoes of the facility. A myriad of memories rushed him as he walked past the rooms. Some of the most intense and emotionally draining moments of his life occurred right within these walls. But it was also in this same space that he first saw the flicker of light in the dark.

As they rounded the last corner and entered her office, Kerry immediately froze in his tracks. Before him, hanging on the far wall was a poster of himself the night he became the first ever REVIVAL World Heavyweight Champion. That moment was where he'd officially reclaimed his life and was probably thee most significant moment of his wrestling career, not just because of the prize, but because of what it symbolized.

The true Revival of Kerry Windsor.

There were so many doubters at that point. They didn't believe that Kerry could ever truly be the competitor that he once was. They'd believed that addiction had truly gotten the best of him. That moment was his last laugh. That was his final push to be better than his demons, and that was his announcement to the world that not only was he back, but better than he ever was.

"You’ve helped me more than you know over these past few years." Dr. Chadwick chimed in from her place behind her desk. Kerry's head quickly snapped into her direction, his face a display of confusion. She offered a smile as she made her way around the desk to stand alongside him.

"You've followed my career?" Kerry asked unable to hide the shock. She'd never been much of a wrestling fan from what he could remember.

"Something like that." she replied with a cackle. "It was hard not to keep up with you seeing as how you were everywhere I turned." She glanced at him with a look that prompted a laugh. His return to the industry despite his personal problems and his eventual successes spurned him into a media darling. He was the feel good story that everyone loved, and although he wasn't the typical hero that everyone expected in their stories, his struggles were relatable to the everyday person.

For a second they stood there and admired the poster before Dr. Chadwick spoke.

"You're an inspiration to many people Kerry, including myself."

The comment caught him off guard. He looked at her curiously and studied her.

"I'm an inspiration to you?" he asked incredulously. The woman standing before him had literally helped him through the toughest times of his life, and somehow she was finding reason to label him an inspiration.

"You know, this is a hard job to do." She admitted with a sigh. "Everyday I meet people with different struggles, different stories, and I hear some of the saddest things that you could imagine.” She paused for a second and glanced down towards the ground. “And you want to save them all, you know? You want them all to have a chance at a better life, to somehow bounce back. But not everyone can.”

There was a twinge of sadness as she spoke of the grim realities of her job.

“It takes a toll after a while.”

Kerry nodded in understanding. He’d never really thought of it from her perspective and he realized how much of a burden she had to bear. He remembered some of the stories he'd heard in his group sessions and they were simply heartbreaking. Someone like Dr. Chadwick wanted to help everyone, but how often were they successful. Suicides, relapses, and death were probably things that occurred more often that stories like his. People like Dr. Chadwick were usually left with that weight on their conscience.

“But then someone like you comes along--” she continued with a warm smile. “--And you just refuse to stay down, no matter how low of a valley you find yourself in. You pull yourself out. And you remind people like me why we do this. We can’t save everyone, Kerry, but helping save one makes all the difference.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder giving a light squeeze before retreating back to her desk. He stood in place for a while longer, taking in her words before turning to face her. She motioned for him to take a seat.

“Sit down. Tell me, what’s going on with you?”

Kerry took a seat in a very familiar position across from Dr. Chadwick.

“Feels like old times.” He jested with a chuckle. “Well, I’ve just been focused on being a good father and husband.”
Chadwick’s eyes lit up. “Married with children?” she asked, interestedly.

“The modern day Al Bundy.” Kerry quipped. “I have two kids. Kalani, she just turned one, and Kj. He’s turning nine months in about a week.” He smiled sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair. “And I ended up marrying Sher.”

Chadwick’s eyes bulged even bigger after hearing this tidbit of information.

“You two ended up married? Aww, she was such a sweetheart!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, it’s going to be a year in March.” He stopped for a second. “Damn, time is really flying.”

“Wow, it is. Now you say your kids are one, and… nine months?”

Without a doubt she’d noticed the minor differences in age.

“Yeah.” Kerry lowered his head. “Sher isn’t the mother of Kj. Chelsea is.”

Chadwick ran the name through her memory bank.

“Chelsea, hmm.” The moment of realization was punctuated with a gasp. “Isn’t she--

Kerry quickly affirmed her suspicions with a nod of his head. “Her.” He gave a shrug and shook his head. “It’s a long story doc, believe me it is. I would run it by you, but I know you have another session soon and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Dr. Chadwick cocked her head to the side. “Oh? What’s on your mind Kerry?”

There was a slight moment of hesitation.

“I hear this place isn’t doing so well.”

It was finally out in the open; His reason for being there. A sad smile crossed Dr. Chadwick’s face as she folded her hands on the desk.

“You’ve heard correct.” she reluctantly admitted. It almost seemed as if the wind had been taken right out of her sails. She leaned back in her chair and studied the man across from her. Countless times she'd lent an ear when he was in need of one, and now here they were with the roles seemingly reversed.

"We're going to close the facility in a few months time, Kerry."

"You can't." He stated abruptly, a bit surprised at the authoritativeness in his tone. News of the closing wasn't a surprise to him at all. It was the very thing that had prompted him to break his vow. "You do amazing things here Doc.”

His praise brought forth a weary smile from the good doctor. "That---" her voice trailed off as she tried to find the words. "--It means a lot." she conceded with a nod. "But, we just can't do it anymore. This being a privately owned facility, we've been taking a big hit financially. We've considered the possibilities, really we have, but--"

"Not all of them." He replied, cutting her off. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. He leaned forward, a new seriousness in his eyes. "When I first came here, you saw the condition I was in. I cared about nothing, no one. I was a broken man with no faith that he'd ever be fixed or whole again. But you doc--" he said as he pointed a finger towards her. "--you believed in me. You never gave up on me, when almost everyone else did. I can't forget that. I'll never forget that."

He paused momentarily, getting his emotions in check.

"The last time I walked out those doors, I had no intention of ever showing my face here again. I wanted to cut all ties to that sham of a man that I was when I walked in." He shifted in his seat, shaking his head. "But you know something? The man that I am today would not exist had you not met him." his voice quivered with conviction as he gazed at her with softened eyes. "I owe you."

Moments of humility like this were rare for him, but he could not deny the role that the woman before him played in helping make him who he was. Her patience and compassion had changed his life.

"So please, just tell me what I have to, doc." he pleaded. "I want to help."

And this would be his way of saying thank you.

[lobo]

I've always wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself.

That was the initial allure of professional wrestling. The glitz, the glamor, the millions of people watching at home and in person. It's life on a grand stage, drama to the umpteenth degree. And the best part is, friend or foe, everyone is working together to build something magnificent.

It's like what you see on television and in movies. Groups of people working together, belonging with one another. Brotherhoods and fraternities striving to create something to forever remember. Mafias, friends, actors guilds, all cut from the same cloth as one another, and all putting in everything they have to get the job done. That was what drew me to professional wrestling. That idea that I could be apart of something memorable.

My father wasn't really receptive to the idea. He would always go on about how it would be a huge waste of time for me to pursue. It was something that he never wanted to see.

"No son of mine is going to dance around in colorful tights," he would say shaking his head. "Running around grabbing men like some kind of Nancy boy." And that's the kind of man El Lobo Senior was. If something didn't fit into his ideal, if it didn't mesh with his world, he didn't want anything to do with it and didn't want his family to have anything to do with it.

To him, I was the black sheep. I didn't want to be an electrician like him and I didn't want to work on a pipeline like my uncle, I wanted to wrestle, and that was something that he couldn't handle.

Luckily I had the support of my mom to keep my dreams afloat. She wouldn't say anything in front of my father, mainly because she didn't want to get slapped around, but one on one she would tell me to achieve my dreams. To reach for what I wanted our of life and not what my tyrant father wanted for me.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered to me one day right before my father came downstairs for dinner. "I'm so proud of you for never giving up on your dreams." And knowing just how proud she was of me, well, I couldn't just give up because my father wanted me to.

That would be too easy. It would give him all the power in the house and would make living with him more unbearable then it was.

So we lied to him; it was the easiest way. The less he knew, the better, which is part of the reason why I adopted a mask, so that my identity would never be known by him. So that he would never be known that his son was on the road to becoming a professional wrestler.

"What do you think your father would say if he could see us now?" my cousin and fellow wrestler Loup Fantastique asks.

I pause before I answer him and look down at my fathers grave. Admittedly my family never put much thought into his headstone. I think it was known family wide that he was a miserable man. I chuckle as I read his name carved into the stone.

"He'd hate everything about it. He would spend each and every day hating everything about it and about us, secretly resenting me and waiting for a moment when he could say 'I told you so'."

"You think he ever knew?" Loup Fantastique asks after some silence. "You know, that it was you under a mask?"

"I doubt it. If he knew, he would have blown a gasket something fierce."

"Well, at least you got to do something you loved, right?" Loup Fantastique says. "Fuck your father, and all that, right?"

I laugh. My cousin has a way to break the tension and makes things a bit easier to handle. Not that I was worried about anything, but it's always good to know that I have someone on my side, someone who won't judge me for the choices I make with my career.

Though if I really think about it, there is one thing I can thank my father for. See, he never let me become satisfied with what he called 'good enough'. If my team finished second in a soccer tournament, he would ask me why I didn't finish first, why I was playing with a bunch of losers. If I didn't get an A on my math test, he would ask me where the rest of those marks went and why I didn't do better. Because of that, shall we say, motivation, when I'm in the ring, I am always making sure that I don't come second place. If I have to walk over some people and take an advantage here and there, then I will do just that.

The world is filled with opportunities, we just have the take them and run with them.

"Are you ready?"

Am I ready. This is one of the biggest events I have been a part of in my career, and I am going to have to be every bit as ready as ever if I want to have some form of success. I might not want to come second, but that thought won't go anywhere if I don't back it up with the in ring performance I know I'm capable of. With my father being the tyrant that he was, it allows me to channel all of my hate towards him, all of the disappointment he had in me from over the years into this match. Who knows? It might be that little extra edge I need to allow me to succeed in this match.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So what's this, then?" my agent Lance Goldman asks as he reads over a piece of paper. "Some kind of gag?"

"It's Survive and Conquer."

"Never heard of it," Lance says. "And if Lance has never heard of it, then it must not be a big deal, because Lance is a pretty big deal." Did I forget to mention that Lance talks in the third person?

"It's a chance to really prove myself out there." Which wasn't wrong. How I do in this event will go a long way to showing people what I am capable of inside of the ring in general.

"Wasn't that what the VWF Royal Rumble was all about?"

"Yes." And I made good on it. Going in as a nobody and a champion that people didn't see much staying power in, I managed to out last many people, many legends of the VWF ring to stand tall with one of the best that I've stood up against, Scott Dibiase.

"Then why this? Why now?"

"This event is legendary. This is something that everyone knows, everyone watches. This is an event that could do a lot to give me a step forward when finding my next home. You know the saying, when one door closes, another door opens. This could be that next door opening."

"It just seems unnecessary," Lance says shaking his head. "A twenty person rumble, and then if you happen to make it to the next stage, you get the pleasure of fighting in a cage match, then possible a street fight and then a hell in a cell match?" Lance shakes his head one more time. "It's a big risk, kid."

"I know that." It's like he doesn't think I'm capable of thinking on my own. He's always got to be there to hound me on everything. Sure the match isn't safe and it isn't covered in bubble wrap, but the risk is something that makes it that much more monumental.

"What will you do if you don't win?" Lance continues and I guess it's a valid question. "What happens if you get injured and can never wrestle again?" That one not so much.

Will a loss here shatter me? No, definitely not. Will I be able to overcome it? Of course. Will I quit wrestling altogether and go back to the woods that I cam out of? Definitely not.

I won't be falling into obscurity or running away if I happen to be unsuccessful in this match. Win or lose, this match will give me exposure and it will allow me to take one more step forward. It will be an opportunity for me to begin to make a name for myself as a professional wrestler.

Of course there's the chance I will end up injured, but that could happen without all the bells and whistles that come along with the match. That chance comes with every match because at any moment you could make a wrong turn and something horrible could happen. Luckily for me I have taken great pride in making sure I am ready physically for the potential toll this could take on my body. I've seen some of the past matches, I've seen the brutality that can occur during the main event, if one manages to get to that point.


"Lance just doesn't see the point."

"Lance doesn't have to," I respond. "If I want to do it, I can do it. Not like I've got anything else going on right now."

Lance scoffs. "Well it looks like you'll have it easier then some."

He wasn't wrong. When I first looked over the line up for this show, the names that jumped out at me were in all of the other groups. Doug E. Fresh, a name that has always been thrown around as one of the best, was in group four. Jack Benevolence, a man who has been described to me in passing as a manipulative son of a bitch, was in group one. Aubrey J. Parker, one of the most feared and talented women in this sport, is in group three. And the list goes on. Rex "The Wrestling Convict" Evans, Johnny "I Like to Wear Masks" Knuckles, "Mr. Initials" M.D.K, Adrien "Have You Seen My Tongue" Specter, "CRW's villain" Diego de la Vega, the disappointingly impressive James Stall. These are just a few of the big names that are synonymous with this sport, big names that I don't find in my group.

I guess that works out better for me. Let these truly talented men and woman battle it out and then, if I make it to the final four, I only have to deal with three others. It makes the road for me a little less bumpy, but damnit, it seems like it would mean more if I was able to go for glory, run the gauntlet. Do it all. I read last year that to win this thing, you had to be the sole survivor of one hundred people. You had to take on ninety nine others. That is the sign of a true winner and a true victory.

This time, we only have to beat twenty two people to get that honour. We have to take out nineteen other people in our group, and then three more in the finals to be known as the Survive and Conquer winner.

"Maybe, but I don't know if I can say that for sure. Some of these people I've never heard of." Some of them I might never truly hear of. There's no telling whether or not I'll understand the truth about some of these people, or if they will just be another name passing in the wind. The Amber Torres', the Frankie Emerson's, the Kerry Windor's. It's probably easier to list the names of people I have heard of in my specific group then the ones I haven't just because there are so many unknown factors at play in this match.

"The excitement of the unknown. Lance loves it!"

I guess there is a bit of excitement built into the fear of the unknown. That thrill of never knowing what to expect around every corner. The excitement of not knowing who is going to come out next, the uncertainty of who will be in the match when I enter. I wouldn't even mind being the first entrant and running the gauntlet so that I can truly earn the honour. The more I think about it the more I realize that everything about this match is laced with excitement and the closer I get to this match, the more excited I get.

"I'm really starting to look forward to what this match has in store."

It would be awesome if I could come out with the win. It would be the cap on a great year, a flurry of a year. So many achievements, so many items crossed off my bucket list. Titles nobody thought I could win, a Hall of Fame induction within months of my debut.

Maybe that's just the VWF, though. Maybe people don't take it as seriously, and don't think of me as anything more then a schlub. It's possible, though you can't truly discredit a federation that has been around for well over a decade. And I earned all of the accolades I achieved there so no one can take those from me. This is just the next step, the progression. Who knows what life has in store for me beyond this point.

For this moment though, I'm an unknown in a sea of, for the most part, unknowns. We aren't the ones that people know of, we aren't the names that jump to the tip of peoples tongues. You could almost say we're the cast offs.

We didn't Jack Benevolence our way through the Experts, dominating everyone at every turn.

We didn't A.C. Smith our way to a long APW title reign to show how terrorizing we can be.

We haven't Reya Serra'd our way into the hearts of the people.

We didn't Paradox McSweeney our way into the media to win over the people.

We weren't able to Doug E. Fresh our way to interfed glory, mostly because we have never been given the chance.

I could go on and on but the point is, a lot of us in this group have not had the success that others have. We don't have names that are both feared and revered. Not yet.

I plan to change all of that. With no father to hold me back and nothing else to keep me from achieving the goals I set out for myself, I could very well survive and conquer.

No.

I will survive and conquer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've taken a long, hard look at the names of the people I'll be facing in my group, and none of them jump out at me. None of them scream success or challenge. None of them scare me and none of them intimidate me in the slightest. I'm sure the same thing can be said by each and every one of those nineteen names I just don't understand.

I think the only name that I truly have knowledge of is Legion, though the Legion I keep hearing about is the Legion of yore, the man that was one a force. The man that was once a challenger to win everything he entered. That is the Legion I remember but the more that I hear and the more that people tell me, well, I come to find out that the current Legion is a shell of his former self. That he is a broken man just trying to scrape by.

Great! More chance of me making it to the end then, is what I said when I heard about that. And it's true. If he isn't as dominating as he used to be, then there's a better chance that he's just a pussycat, a man who is pretending to be a man. A man throwing his hat into the ring for nostalgia's sake, a sideshow to the main event. I couldn't have scripted it better, really, because it's people like the current Legion that give me a chance, that give me the opportunity to grab success by the horns and run with it.

But really, the list of names I'm familiar with stop there. Maybe I should be familiar with Gordon Fury, but outside of his performance in last years event - a performance and event I have watched to prepare myself for what is to come - I just don't see anything to be worried about. It seems more like he skated by and got to the point that he's at. It seems like he simply lucked into making it to the final four, which is why he got bounced out after that.

Though, really, do these names matter? Do the people I am fighting matter?

No.

As much as that will pain my opponents in this group stage, they need to understand that as good as they are, I am better. That as much as they can and may have done to get to where they are in the match, the moment I enter, the entire thing will be turned on it's head. I'm not just some freak wearing a mask. I'm not just some imbecile running around like some degenerate, streaking across baseball fields to the cheers of the crowd. I'm much, much more than that.

I am El Lobo Grande.

A name that is meaningless to everyone, just like their names are meaningless to me. But there is nothing meaningless in the way I do business inside of the ring. There is nothing disappointing about the matches I wrestle in. After all, this is my life. I'm not doing this to make money, to gain fans or to make people happy. I'm doing this for myself. I eat, sleep and breathe wrestling, which is why I am destined to win this match.

Don't believe me?

How many of my opponents can claim to being inducted into a hall of fame mere months after debuting in a federation? And not some two-bit federation, I'm talking about a stand out in VWF. How many people can? Probably none, but I accomplished it. At the final show VWF will put on, I am being inducted into their hall of fame because of all the hard work, because of all the sweat and effort I've put in to making sure I succeed in those ranks. But it doesn't stop there.

How many of my opponents can claim that through their entire career they have yet to be pinned? Can anyone? Of course, this is a topic that most people will point at as nonsensical, but it holds merit. No one has been able to take me to task enough to pin me. No one has been capable of putting me down for the count because whenever they try, I come at them with something they've never seen before. I lash out and make them regret ever trying to put me down like some dog. The only loss on my record is a battle royal match where I was tossed over by Scott Dibiase, but even that wasn't a one and done event. He had to work for it. One of the best to ever lace up a pair of wrestling boots had to work for it.

Maybe that will give some of my opponents hope. They don't have to pin me, and my only loss was when I was thrown over the top, so that should add up to success for them. Wrong. Any hope that any of them has gained is false hope because I have learned a lot from that rumble. I'd even go far enough to say that none of these people are better then Scott Dibiase, so it's going to take miracles for me to get ousted. But back to my points.

How many of my opponents can lay claim to two title victories in three months? Probably a lot more then people give credit for, but that's because some places give them out like candy. Not VWF. In the VWF you have to earn them. You have to push yourself until you can't push yourself anymore just to gain the chance to fight for the title. And I did that. Twice. And if luck is on my side, that twice might rise to thrice.

How many of my opponents can say that they have my dedication to wrestling? I'm sure a lot of them will say that they are dedicated to the nines, but the probably is, a lot of them will only talk. Not many of them can walk the walk that they talk of, but that is where I come in. I've done nothing but bust my ass, and I've done nothing but see success because of it. As far as I know, a lot of these people are just pretenders. People who claim to be good but once they step into that ring, they fall flat on their face. Kerry Windsor? She could fall into that category. Frankie Emerson? He too. People who talk themselves up, but fall short on just about everything.

That's not my style. That's not what I do. I'm a success, plain and simple. I win at every possible stage that I've been in since I stepped out of the woods in Winnipeg.

Have your laughs, but while a lot of you were treading water, I was winning my first contest. And then my second. Soon enough I made the leap to a bigger level and I've continued that stretch. Everything that I have done leads me to believe that I have nothing but success once we all start coming down the ramp for the battle royal.

Is Gabriel Asar going to stop me? Not if I can help it.

Will Tony Miranda put an end to me? There's not a chance in hell of that happening.

What about Tony Edison? Will he invent a new way to toss me on my ass? Nope.

Maybe Victor Creep will scare me into submission? Definitely not. I've seen some pretty wild things in my day that make that psycho look tame.

Perhaps Eddie Vega will put all of his SCW charm to work in this match? Possible. Or maybe he will fall flat on his face, ending up as a sad disappointing footnote to this years Survive and Conquer event.

Even the arrogance of Alex Zion won't be able to hold him above the rest of the field. After all, arrogance can only get you so far before you have to start looking at your actual talent. And I don't know if he has any.

Silver Kazama, Elizabeth Devereaux, Dom Harter, Xavier Jacobs. I could go on and on about each and every one of you, but nothing will change from one name to the next. Maybe there will be a new joke or a new witty phrase, but it doesn't change to overall message about none of you being better then me. About none of you being capable of throwing me out of this match.

No matter how many 'n's you put in your name, no matter the flashy moniker, nothing will stop the inevitable from happening. It's happened everywhere I've gone, from Winnipeg, Manitoba to the VWF. From singles matches to tag matches, normal matches to ladder matches, title matches to non-title matches. Every match I was a part of, I succeeding in. Even that VWF rumble, I was having great success up until the very end.

This time I take it one step farther.

This time I don't come up short.

This time I win.

El Lobo style.

[sadisto]

"Ring around the rosie...Pocket full of posey...Ashes to ashes...They ALL FALL DOWN!"

A young boy, no older than six or seven years old, sat in the solitary confinement of his own bedroom. Spaceships and stars along with the obligatory sports athletes plastered the royal blue painted walls. He danced around with both hands holding a stuffed clown doll while humming the classic nursery rhyme, ring around the Rosie. He looked as joyful as any child of that age should.

BANG!

The child turned his head to the white bedroom door which separated him from the loud bang which disturbed his playful sanctuary. His eyes welled up with tears as a loud, hoarse voice shouted from another room in the house. "Where the fuck is he", the male voice shouted. The young boy shivered with fear as soon as that male voice broke.

A softer, calm, feminine voice tried to reason with fired up male. "He's in his room...please, I beg you, just let him be."

He responded to her plea with, "Don't tell me my business bitch!"

SMACK!

The clapping sound of flesh on flesh echoed to the child's bedroom. You could hear the woman hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. She cried as the hard rubber souls of the mans work boots created a thud against the oak floors which grew louder with every step. The boy couldn't move, he was paralyzed by the fear of inebriated monster which was marching his way. The brass door knob jiggled but the door didn't budge.

"What did you do with the key!" The knob continued to jiggle around but never turned as if a guardian angel was on his side of the door, holding the knob still.

CRACK!

The door flew open as the male used his size thirteen boot to force his way in. Small shards of wood soared through the air, forcing the child to cover his face from the splinters. He removed his hands in time to see a grown mans fist zoning in and connecting, knocking the child out cold while clutching to his stuffed clown.
_________________________________

"Traumatic for sure. No child should ever have to go through anything like that. Bryce you need to realize that your father was sick. Alcoholism is a disease that can make the nicest of people turn into monsters."

The child who seemed a bit older now sat in a wide open cafeteria. His arms were folded over one another and placed on the solid wood table, allowing for some shred of comfort as he rested his head. Across from him was a middle aged man wearing a plaid brown blazer with a pale yellow dress shirt underneath. The top button was left undone and his salt and pepper hair was parted to the right. He stared at the boy through a thin pair of wire frames prescription glasses who was unresponsive as his eyes were affixed to a black tape recorder that was placed between the two.

"Bryce", he tried again...getting nothing. "Okay. You've done splendid. You've shared more than enough today."

"Why do you tape our talks", the child's muffled voice questioned while never taking an eye off of the tape recorder.

The adult smirked while trying to think of a way to make this dissociated teenager continue to feel comfortable talking to him. He was on the verge of walking away for the day before the boy dangled that question in front of him like a shiny lure on the end of a fishing line. "Well when we're done with our talks I go back to my office and re-listen to them, trying to find out how I can better help you", he explained.

"Help me?" The boy lifted his head from his arms and turned towards his psychologist. "Am I sick...like my father?"

He wanted so badly to tell the boy yes. Yes you are a psychopath who murdered another young boy and stood there carelessly as he gurgled on his own blood and took his last breath. That would be highly unprofessional of him, no matter how strong the urge. "Well that's exactly what I'm trying disprove."

The boy snarled at him, not believing the line of crap the psychologist had tried to feed him. "Fuck You!"

"Bryce!" He was taken back by how brash the typically reserved teenager was coming off as. "Listen, I know this has to be hard for you, being locked up with no outside contact but myself. I'm sure your family will come around to the idea of visiting eventually. But until then I'm your only friend, and that's not how friends communicate with one another."

"I don't need any friends...And I don't need you", he growled while scowling at his psychologist.

"You need me more than you know Bryce. You see without me, there's no chance of you ever getting out here."

The smug look on the psychologists face was enough to set Bryce off into a fit of rage. He pushed up off the table and took a swing at the doctor of psychology, knocking the glasses that rested on the tip of his nose to the floor. By the time he took a second swing security had ambushed him, restraining his undeveloped arms rather easily. He tried to kick and flail his way free but with no avail.

"Ease up on him guys." The psychologist stood up and bent over, picking up his glasses from the floor. He gave them a look over for any scratches, before placing them back on his head. He strolled over to Bryce who's being restrained by the facilities security. "Thank you Bryce..."

The boy didn't hesitate to spit in his face while trying to pull free from the guards.

"We learned a lot today Bryce. Your anger stems from this feeling of abandonment. You felt abandoned while living at home. You felt abandoned when no one would do anything for a child being bullied. Now you feel abandoned because no one wants to even pay you a visit. You so desperately want to feel apart of something. One day you will Bryce. One day you will find that connection with someone. Hopefully me, so that I can help you...That's all I want, can't you see that?" The doctor sighed, realizing that nothing he was saying was breaking through the child's pent up aggression.

There was no connecting with him as he continued to moan and roar like some kind of animal! Finally the security crew had seen enough and dragged him out of the cafeteria by his hands and feet.
_________________________________

"That was so wrong of them to treat you like an animal. Everything is okay now Bryce, you're with me..." The woman's voice seemed almost angelic as it soothed the now fully grown male. She stroked his stringy brown hair and whispered ever so softly into his ear. "Embrace it Bryce. All that anger and frustration, it makes you powerful. It makes you impervious to any pain they think they can inflict on you. There's nothing in this world more devastating than being alone for all those years, locked up from society and tossed aside as a problem to be dealt with later on in life."

Bryce was sitting down at a dinning room table. His steel fork and knife screeched as it went through the rare steak that was placed in front of him. The blood red juice from the meat leaked out onto the porcelain white plate with every cut. The middle aged woman slid her hand from the top of Bryce's head down to the back of his neck and gently clawed at his flesh as she sat down beside him. She stared at him with an infatuation equivalent to a school girl oohing over the varsity quarterback of her high school football team.

"Did it come out alright", she asked before taking a sip of water from a glass that sat on the large oak table. She sat on the edge of her seat with her one leg tucked underneath her waiting on his response.

He chewed through the tough red meat, shredding the beef apart with his yellowish stained teeth. Particles of food flew out of his mouth every time it opened. "It's delicious", he mumbled with the mouthful of london broil.

She twirled the ends of her jet black hair with her fingertips as he mowed down bite after bite. "I've found a way for you to torture society for wronging you", she blurted out with exuberance. She sounded so proud of herself and drew the attention of the monster who so badly wanted make the world suffer. "Professional wrestling..."

Those two words drew the attention of Bryce away from the hot plate of food before him. He was all ears as Desiree mapped out her grand scheme. His eyes sift through the strands of hair which cover his face like vertical blinds, never revealing a clear view of his face.

"You see as Bryce Harper you're rather powerless. No matter what you do you'll be judged by people who don't understand you. They'll see your past and think here's just another psychopath. Let's lock him away and forget about the problem." She placed her hand over his. This one time professional relationship had the sexual tension of a teenager on prom night. "As a professional wrestler you can be so much more. It's an avenue that will allow you to inflict pain and punish those who have wronged you all of those ears without penalty. You can be more than Bryce Moore...you can be whatever you want and release that inner anger that you struggle with everyday! You can make the world suffer without consequence!"

"Enticing", he grunted while pulling his hand away from hers. She looked as if her world crumbled around her with that slight tug of flesh from her grasp. "How do I even get involved in something like that?"

"Have you ever heard of Survive and Conquer", she suggested. The blank expression was enough of an answer to conjure up an explanation. "Action Packed Wrestling is an organization on it's last leg. Officially, they're closed for business. They have two large shows left that they want to use to showcase why they were one of the best wrestling promotions in the world. Luckily for us, one involves an open invitation match which anyone can participate in."

Bryce chuckled to himself as pondered the possibilities. "Seems too good to be true."

"It is Bryce. It is…" Desiree reached down to the floor drawing the curiosity of Bryce. Down between her legs was a large black purse. After shuffling passed her wallet, lip gloss, and compact mirror, she pulled out a stack of papers that lined the bottom of the bag. "I managed to get a contract for you. A few simple signatures and we'll be in it. Your stage for the massacre you've desperately been seeking will be secured. There's nothing to lose. To those people in the arena you're a nobody. But for you, there's finally going to be some relief…"

"There's never going to be relief. No matter how much pain and anguish I inflict, I'll never be relieved…I'll never be satisfied!" Bryce reached out and grabbed a pen from the hands of Desiree. He pushed it down to the papers and signed each individual line that she pointed out to him. After the last signature he dropped the pen to the table and looked over at Desiree. "January, the wrestling world will be introduced to Sadisto…And I promise to maim and destroy every single person they put in front of me…"
_________________________________

Bryce stood with his large frame to the camera. The concrete walls that surrounded him fed a dingy dungeon basement feel. He stood in front of a large wooden table that had a small flexible desk lamp on it, creating the only source of light in the room. With a slide of his hand his dark brown hair is slicked back and he is seen wrapping his head with what looks like bandage gauze. He turns to the camera for the first time without his hair covering his face. The gauze covers his whole face, with red stains scattered around the cotton bandages. The only gaps were for his eyes, mouth, and a red rubber clown nose.

"When God created mankind it was believed that we were shaped from his own image. We were created with the responsibility to rule the world over all of his other creations. I believe god is a bit of an anarchist. Mankind is nothing but a cancer to this planet. We find a way destroy everything that god found beautiful, including one another. Because of us, this planet will eventually run empty of natural resources and will become an inhabitable wasteland. Once an oasis, our planet will be destroyed because of a self destructive cancer. All while you people continue along your merry ways."

"Someone out there needs to make people pay. Someone needs to wake up society and show them that this world is on the verge of collapsing."

"For too long people have gone by, preying on the weak, bettering themselves at the expense of others. I was once one of the weak. I let my family, friends, and anyone else who sought the opportunity, walk all over me. As a child I was a fucking doormat and then I something snapped in my head. Why let these people bully me around? People thought I lost it, they locked me away in a mental hospital to just shoo away the problem. Now the problem is back and in your face. Action Packed Wrestling has provided a platform for me to continue punishing those who step over others to better themselves. I know have an audience to share my tormented soul with!"

"All I want to do is watch the world burn..."

"…And it's all going to start when I incinerate these last dying moments APW has to offer it's faithful fans. The final image will be an unknown disrupting the world of professional wrestling by winning the Survive and Conquer match, crowning the true best in the world. A man who's not entertained by championships or win streaks, only by inflicting pain onto others. Sending people to the hospital after every fight would be my win streak, ending a career is my championship…"

"The only satisfaction I'll get is from the fans crying as their heroes are stripped down to the same rotting flesh as everyone else. There's no one in this world that's invincible. The human life is rather fragile. Most people walk around every day taking life for granted. I want to help re-establish that aching desire to live life to the fullest extent. I want to open the worlds eyes to just how quickly a mans world can be turned upside-down!"

"Survive and Conquer is my stage and it's opening night…"

"I'm not walking out without leaving my lasting impression on the wrestling world!"

FADE.TO.BLACK.

[domharter]

“It’s a cliché,” I start musing “but life is just a series of choices. What you do, what you say. And the consequences of these. The results. You reap what you sow.”

I’m sat on a table in one of the locker rooms at the Palumbo Center in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; it’s hours after the show I just appeared on and the medics have done their best to stitch up the cut on my forehead – for the second time in two weeks. The cut is the result of some stiff punches my – well not opponent, I was attacking him after his match – my foe hit me with, busting open the stitches I got as a result of a being hit with a whiskey bottle on the previous show.

The cameraman is positioned behind me; fortunately, in front of the table is a mirror, in which my reflection is visible. The dried blood still covering most of my face as I sit, slouched forward with my hands on my lap.

“Strap yourselves in, you’re about to get a history lesson. You see, three years ago when I broke into this industry I didn’t know my place. I was the cocky, undeserving, egotistical little bastard we all hate.” I say, sullenly. “The wrestlers in Simcoe County were always willing to put me in my place though. Until, one day, a couple of them offered me a chance. A lifeline of sorts.”

“I remember it well…” I say with a sigh. “…being taken to a room where the SCCW tag champs, Jace Parker Davidson and Tara Michaels, were sitting. The thoughts that were running through my head at that moment, they elude me now. The words they used are long forgotten, but they offered me a choice. Join them or suffer their wrath…” I say with a wry chuckle. “…although that’s not much of a choice, is it.”

“That was the night I became a member of Ascended Supremacy.” I state, proudly. “When I joined forces with Jace and Tara and Constance Monroe: when I became their pawn.”

A smirk appears on my face as I run both hands through my hair, interlacing my fingers behind the back of my head. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty. But, back then, I didn’t know their history. Back then I didn’t know they were using me to replace a former member, Griffin Hawkins. And when Constance started flirting with me…” I chuckle again, remembering eighteen year old me’s constant staring at her stacked bosom, “…goddamn, I didn’t realise she was also using me to replace to him. But those choices I made – to become a member of Ascended Supremacy, to start dating Constance Monroe – they set me on the path to battle Hawkins.”

I take a sharp breath in through gritted teeth, lowering my hands so that they’re placed either side of me along the edge of the table. “And I did as I was told. I fought him for near six months, taunting him that I was the new and improved version of him, that his former friends preferred me, that his ex-girlfriend was better off with me.”

“Am I proud of myself for that?” I ask, looking up towards the mirror. “Yeah.”

“Through every match, every chair shot, every broken table. With each thumb tack that was pulled out of my back, with each staple that was removed from my head and body…” I say, defiantly “…I knew that I had brought it upon myself. But with each passing day I was doing what I wanted; I was making a name for myself. So when I went to Madison Squared Garden to face other competitors from within the NWA, they all knew my name, my reputation. And that night – Wrestle Classic – I proved my worth. And I walked away with the victory that eluded seven other competitors; the pride and the cash prize – they were mine!”

The crooked grin that has appeared on my face fades almost instantly, however, finding itself replaced with a scowl as I look to one side. “I live with the rest of the consequences of my actions too. The negatives that got me stripped of the Barbaric title, the events that got me fired from SCCW. Every day I remember…” namely a drunken assault on Griffin’s non-wrestler brother “…and I wouldn’t change what I did. Not even for a moment, no. You see, when I got released and moved away from Ontario, back to Massachusetts, I feel I was given a second chance.”

“Call it a do-over, a clean slate, a fresh start…” I say before pushing my tongue against the inside of my cheek. “…whatever it was, I got a chance to re-evaluate myself and my choices. And I realised that what everybody had told me ten or twelve months before was true. I was cocky for no reason. I had an ego unbefitting of a wrestler in position. Worse of all, I was…” I pause, scoffing before the word escapes my lips, “…lucky. Lucky that they had chosen me, lucky that I was given a chance, lucky to have the limited success I enjoyed and lucky to come away from Wrestle Classic as the winner that night.”

I shake my head, sighing heavily. “So when I got that second chance, I pushed myself harder than I ever had before.” I state, matter-of-factly. My gaze returns to the camera. “My free time was spent down the gym, getting stronger and faster than I ever was. And bless the trainers at Saints Haven for putting up with me, for helping me…” I pause again, this time only for dramatic effect, “…for helping me find Malcolm Drake.”

“I make no attempt to hide the fact that I chose to follow Malcolm Drake.” I say, defiantly. “You people can call me a lap-dog, a bitch, a follower. You can imply – or outright claim – I perform fellatio on him. I really don’t care…” I say with a chuckle, “…because it is that closed mindedness, that attitude that has helped shape me into the man I am today.” Another pause as I look down at my either shoulder, flexing both biceps in turn. And that crooked grin returns to my face. “It’s that perspective that allowed me to debut in FRONTIER Grappling Arts in December twenty-twelve as a mere afterthought. It was that train of thought that made it so nobody paid attention to me as I racked up win after win. Cami Magna, Tigre Oro, Chris Bond, Bob Pooler, Jon Collins, Jimmy Page, Chris Q, The Mid Atlantic Wrecking Crew, The UK Dragons, Pat Gordon Jr., Kevin Hardaway, Ryan Kidd ... And you sheep, you all bleated the same lines over and over…”

“He’s nothing without Drake.” I say in a mocking tone.

“He can’t do it on his own.” I say, sarcastically.

“What can you do without The Murder in your corner?” I ask with a shake of my head.

“And when I won the Gold Rush Rumble, people put it down to the luck of the draw. When I went on to win the FGA Championship, they say I needed help to win it. When Malcolm and I went on to become the first ever FGA Mid-Atlantic Tag Team Champions, they claim he carried me.”

Another pause as I rub my wrists, trying desperately to restrain the laughter that’s building up inside of me. “So I tested the theory, to see if actually had any merit. I took a chance and chose to go the UWL and team with a man I’d never met before that night. And, you know what, we became the UWL World Tag Team Champions. And we went on to defend those titles twice before the UWL folded.”

“I tested the theory that I’m nothing without Drake by venturing out to Platinum Dynasty Wrestling. By myself. Without The Murder in my corner. And can you guess what happened?” I ask, rhetorically. A chuckle escaping my lips before I answer. “Parker Wayde, Riley Lynn, Zack Lifer, Harley Havoc, Marcus Enderton, Zero McHannon, Romeo Price, Cordelia Stevenson – do you people recognise any of those names? – because I beat them all.” I exclaim, loudly, pointing at my chest as I do so.

The grin has all but faded from off my face as I look at the mirror with an upturned lip and lowered eyebrows, glaring intently at the mirror from behind my crimson mask. “And I tested the theory that I can’t do this by myself; I joined Sin City Wrestling to compete against the likes of Adrien Specter, Terry Marvin, Brad Jackson, Drake Mosa and so on. I wanted to test my mettle, my fortitude against the best wrestlers around.”

“One by one they came,” I say, proudly, “Alyssa Renoh, Valerie Lamb, Eddie Vega, Extream, Decker Watts, Andrew Kincaid…” I list the names of my opponents slowly, “…I’ve pinned them all. Legends, champions, former champions, hall of famers; they fell at my feet just like those in PDW did, just like those in FGA continue to do so.”

“And yet…” I say in disbelief, “…people still see me as nothing.”

I run my left hand up through my faux hawk as I gnash my teeth. “Still…” I exclaim, stressing the word, “…you people doubt me. You write me off. You ignore me and treat me like I’m not a threat, like I’m not capable of winning this. You people, from all corners of the industry – Fuerza Pro, Insurgency, PDW, World Elite Wrestling, Phoenix Wrestling, EHWF, VWF, Dirty Money, Underground X–” I gesticulate with my left hand, punching the air with each promotion name: “you’ve come together to tell me that I can’t win this. That you’re the people who are going to take this group by the horns and go through to the final four, right?”

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes?” I ask, dryly.

“You see, last year I didn’t enter Survive and Conquer because last year I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t have the confidence and self belief that Malcolm has instilled in me since then; last year I was just getting myself back on track. But I sat back and watched the likes of Gordon Fury and Rex Evans defy everybody’s expectations. I watched as Adrien Specter fought his way into the final ten. I watched as Terry Marvin went on to win the whole thing.” I say, a hint of admiration in my voice. “And you people, you’re probably thanking your lucky stars you got into group two this year. Because it’ll be easy; we haven’t got the likes of Adrien Specter, Aurora Jansen, Arkia Fisk, Jack Benevolence, Rex Evans, Diego De La Vega or A.C. Smith in our group. We haven’t got to immediately contend with the likes of Brytain Rollins or The Nameless, we haven’t got to face the likes of Chris Shields or Paradox McSweeney in the early goings.”

“You’ve only got to compete with the likes of Gordon Fury, Eddie Vega, Kerry Windsor and – pfft – Dom Harter.” My voice is heavy with sarcasm.

“I’d take the chance of being in the ring with each of those names I mentioned if I could.” I state, matter-of-factly. “But I’ll play the hand I’ve been dealt. I’ll take the path laid before me; the path somebody chose for me and I’ll go out to that ring and do what I always do. I’ll go to Munich, Germany as ‘The Tenacious Little Bastard’ Dom Harter – long shot, underdog, sleeper, dark horse – and I’ll fight with every fiber of my being.” I state, defiantly. Once again, I glare into the mirror, my eyebrows lowered, my lips pressed tightly together. “I mean, I take my knocks, I wear my scars with pride. Because each one is a reminder of what I have fought for in the past. And this will be no different; like every time I have stepped into that ring I will give it my all. Like I do with every opponent I face – every opponent I have left beaten and broken, each one who I have humbled. And I will toss each and every one of you over that top rope myself if I have to, because I won’t let any of you stand in my way on that night.”

“I won’t let any of you rob me of the chance to reach the final four.” I state, defiantly. “To deny me the chance to stand toe-to-toe with some of the greatest wrestlers around today. You don’t get to stop me from going into that steel cage, that street fight, that hell in the cell ladder match…” if I can conquer my fear of climbing ladders; a fear that stems from a match early in my career in which I broke my arm “…to stop me from claiming that million dollars, that trophy and those bragging rights.” My expression lightens as I raise my chin a little, my brow relaxing as I grip the edge of the table with both hands.

“This year I chose to enter Survive and Conquer.” I say, calmly. “I chose to go up against seventy-nine other wrestlers from around the globe because I know – deep down – that I have what it takes to win. And with each and every person who denies that claim, who refutes me and my ability, who mocks me and claims to not even recognise my name…” I chuckle softly, quietly, “…you only make me more determined to prove you wrong. You’re pouring petrol on the fire and when I when I arrive in Munich and I set that ring ablaze with my tenacity, my fighting spirit. When I show you all exactly who ‘The Tenacious Little Bastard’ is and what he is capable of. When I bleed and sweat and fight until I grab that prize hanging above the cage.”

“When I’m done and the dust has settled, you will all know my name.” I state. “You will all know what I have been working for since I stepped back into the ring this time last year, since I fought tooth and nail for everything I have earned since. The titles, the accolades, the achievements. They all come to this moment; all the choices I have made throughout my life – from SCCW to FGA to PDW to SCW – they have brought me to this; the brink of fame and fortune, just shy of becoming one of the biggest names in this industry. To stand alongside the likes of Terry Marvin, Ryan Ruckus, Alioth Starr and Victor Hades as a winner of Survive and Conquer.”

“Right now, I stand on the precipice of achieving everything I have ever wanted from this industry, of everything I have shed blood, sweat and tears for over the years. And I’ll be damned if any of you will stand in my way…” I say, defiantly, “…friend or foe, it doesn’t matter to me in the end; not on this night, not in this match. You will fall at my feet like everybody else, but, afterwards, at least you can say you lost to the best in the business, ‘The Tenacious Little Bastard’ Dom Harter, winner of the twenty-fourteen Survive and Conquer.” I say as a wry smile appears on my face and the scene comes to an end with a traditional fade to black.

[Legion]

Fuerza Origins: Faith

* * *

Since its inception, Survive and Conquer has been a match that many have tried to--if you'll excuse the pun--survive and conquer in this business. I am one of many that tried their hand at it in past years, and failed miserably. This year, it all begins anew; plenty of new faces to join the fray, new rules and stipulations to deal with, and generally a new attitude hanging over all of us. This year, all the nutjobs that got into this match start out in groups, looking to advance to the final. Now, I'm not here to bore you with all the details, nor am I going to run down a list of everyone and say "I'm better than X wrestler, Y wrestler, and Z wrestler, and here's why." No, because that's the normal way and anyone who knows me can tell you I don't do things the normal way.

Instead, let me do what I set out to accomplish by stepping out of the shadows for a minute. I've been under the radar for months now, after finding myself humiliated out of APW. Did I sit around and complain about the "good ol' days" being gone? No, I began something that has been on my heart for years; after trying to convince myself and others that I know what I'm the best in the business, I've come to realize that I'm really only as good as what I do with my knowledge. So, after some convincing and a LOT of preparation, I got together with some of my closest allies in professional wrestling and together we started something special. We came up with the idea of sharing our knowledge with up and coming wrestlers, and to help them prepare for the trials and tribulations of the business. That's right, ladies and gentlemen; we started a wrestling school.

Six months later, our school is ready to showcase the talent of these young individuals. Soon, we will present our brand of wrestling to the world. Now, you're probably sat there wondering, "What does this have to do with Survive and Conquer?" Think about it, for a second: here we are, trying to make a name for ourselves. We are, for all intents and purposes, looking to survive and conquer the business. It's what we all want as wrestlers, isn't it? This is just one way that a few of us are looking to make our names known, but not our names as individuals. For the most part, we've already accomplished about all we can in this business. No, the name we're making for ourselves now is a word that means "strength" but also one that means hope for something new. Ladies and gentlemen, soon we will be presenting what we call Fuerza Pro to you, the wrestling fans, and at Survive and Conquer I will show everyone what I mean by strength. I will survive. I will conquer. I will be the shining light in the darkness of this business.

* * *

April 2013 - Long Beach, CA

"So, what do you think?"

As the scene opens, we find Legion sitting across from his brother, Bobby, on a particularly warm spring day outside the local coffee shop. Twenty minutes have passed since Legion gave Bobby the details on a proposal for a new wrestling school, and judging by the look on his brother's face it seems he might need twenty more.

"I think...I think you've finally gone off your rocker, Alex. After all these years, all the things we've both been through, do you have any idea what you're actually suggesting? For one thing, this is you we're talking about. The guy that buddied up with a crazy preacher, the guy that tried to destroy The Experts. Not only have you done some super crazy things over the years, but your track record with said craziness has been less than stellar. We all saw what happened to James Onlee, and we all know how things panned out with The Collective."

Legion lets out a heavy sigh as Bobby just shakes his head.

"Hey, you wanted my opinion, so I'm giving it to you. Who do you think will trust you enough to put together something like this? How many friends have you lost over the years, because of questionable decisions? Black Death won't talk to you anymore, you burnt that bridge a LONG time ago. All your One Ring Circus friends abandoned you, and they're not around anyway! About all you're left with is your family, and frankly you're lucky we're even HAVING this discussion. I'm not even gonna remind you what you've done to ME over the years."

Both men go quiet for a moment, the tension thick as ever before Legion finally speaks again.

"Look, I know I've made some mistakes..."

Bobby scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"That's an understatement."

"...but I know what I'm doing for once, alright? My eyes are finally open for the first time since I started wrestling, my head is clear for once in my life! There's something special with this, and I think it's time to stop the nonsense that's been going on in pro wrestling. You've seen what happens when we have to deal with backstage politics. You're a guy that could've done so much more than you were allowed, Bobby. Isn't it time you were able to reach your full potential?"

Bobby laughs, shaking his head.

"Now you're starting to sound like a salesman."

"Well maybe I have to, Bobby. Look, all I'm asking is for a little faith. Or have you forgotten what it's like to have faith in something?"

Bobby shoots Legion a cold glare, rising up from his chair.

"Don't you DARE question my faith, Alex. You know better. You want me to be a part of this? You'd better come up with a little bit more than just a dream. Dreams are great, but they mean nothing if they're not followed up with action. You know as well as anyone that God provides when two or more are gathered with a single purpose. If you can find some like-minded people that will join in this journey, then it'll be clear what you're meant to do. At that point, I will gladly run with you."

He pushes his chair in, having one last thing to say before he leaves.

"I think you're gonna need some faith yourself, if you really want to see this thing through."

With that Bobby leaves, as Legion sits there to ponder what his next step will be. Suddenly, a proverbial light bulb goes off in his mind, and he pulls out his phone. As the scene fades to black, we hear Legion asking an interesting question on the phone.

"James Raven, my homeboy! What have you been up to, lately?"

[Elizabeth Devereaux]

++Nature Of The Beast++

++This wasn't my first tournament, it won't be my last and while others come into the fight telling themselves the mantra that they will be the uncontested winner, for me, this is about an art. Rumbles themselves are an art. You have zero control over them. There are too many variables. You just never know what will happen and for me, knowing that fact gives me an edge. I think quick on my feet. I'm used to the unpredicted. I'm used to the come from behind, side swiping, nitty gritty of it all. Truth is, over a decade in this business has led me to see it all. And while my name is no longer synonymous with the top tier, I still know a thing or two. There are so many personalities involved with these matches, so much emotion involved, that you never quite know what's going to happen. You know why I like tournaments like this? It either brings the best, or the worst out in everyone. You get to see what type of person they truly are when it's all on the line. I enjoy watching people blow their covers. I enjoy watching my fellow competitors either destroy or vehemently damage their reputations. Greed is a beautiful thing, as is egoism. I may not win this thing, but I am going to enjoy testing peoples limits. There's a point in every single one of these tournaments when desperation sets in. That's when I go on the attack. That's when people either overcome, or get low down and dirty. Truth, I haven't won a tournament in over seven years, but I keep coming to the plate to bat just the same. For the woman who has done everything in the business, it's not about the win, I have enough of those, for me it's about causing trouble. You get what you see with me++

“I used to be on top of the world, but the old addage is that when you stand for nothing you fall for anything, and the minute I started standing for something, no matter how diluted it was, I had to go because I no longer fell for anything. At some point in your life, in your career, you need to put a line in the sand between who matters and who doesn't. A barbed wire fence between you and those whom no longer serve a purpose. I thought I could use anyone. I was the master manipulator and I could make anyone dance for me. Turns out, I was wrong, there are some people, some instances, that just aren't worth your time and effort. There are some causes, no matter how lucrative, you lose either way. I went from being on top of the world, to curtain jerking for masters of puppets. While I'm no has been, I'm not Americas Sweetheart anymore. The good news is that my very name still incites discussion and excitement in those who have heard of me, or know of me. That's worth it all.”

++The New York City skyline hung just beyond me. I sat on the very top of the fire escape of the building that housed my best friends fashion house. With a digital video recorder in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I was going to tell my tale and put my bid in for Survive and Conquer. I never needed a camera crew. What I had to say, I could say on my own terms, in the comfort of anywhere. That's why we had websites, YouTube and social media. I took a drag of my cigarette and casually blew the smoke into the cold evening air++

“Truth is, I know maybe a handful of people that are involved with this thing, and most of them I don't like. Shut out to Jonathan Mills though, I'd give a years salary to see your ass in the finals. Fact is I've made a lot of enemies along the way. Can you blame me? It always surprised me that I made my reputation well known and people still ended up surprised when I buried them. Hope springs eternal I guess. The hope that I won't get bored of certain people, the hope that I can be completely bought, that single hope that I will value some allegiance of quote a vow of loyalty to someone. It never happens. I care about me. I care about what I want. Unless you are family, a friend who has proven themselves, or my daughter, you are expendable in my life. I have used some of the best and brightest to get where I am. I have walked on better people then the majority of you and I have so shame in saying that. So what brings me to Survive and Conquer?”

“Simple. A personal mission. I'm not ignorant to the fact that my time is running out. The shelf life of a woman in this business is short and I'm beginning to inch closer and closer to the final descent. I'm not saying I want to go out on top, but I damn well want to go out as famous as possible. It quit being about the title belts and the wins a long time ago. I surpassed everyones expectations. I'm international. Do I play to win, but I also know you can't win them all. Do I think I have a pretty good chance given the group that I'm in? I sure as hell do. I wouldb't be me if I wasn't arrogant, but I'm also realistic. I enjoy my fame and my notoriety. I enjoy my bad reputation and all the perks that go along with it. I made up my mind that this year, I was going to start palaying the game again. It's been awhile since I really played hard, since I really put work into it and I think now is just as good a time as ever to remind people that I'm still around. While my name still means nothing, this new breed coming in don't know who I am. They think I'm old school, a has been, that I can easily be put on my back and while, depending on who you talk to, that's still true I want to leave a lasting reminder.”

“This is about becoming a legend. Not the kind of legend that doesn't know when it's time to go invest your money and step out of the spotlight no, there's too many of those hacks in this business. No I want to secure my spot as one of the top females in this business. I started at the bottom, I clawed, screwed, and tricked my way to where I am and I will not be appeased at being so easily replaced. I said I was going to build myself a Dynasty and that is exactly what I meant.”

++I fought to get where I was. I sacrificed, my family sacrificed. I've buried one kid, one ex husband and ruin the lives of countless people to get what I wanted, to get to where I am, I wasn't about to let that hard work go to waste. I thrived on the fame and the notoriety and the rumors. The hate I received, the slander that went around, it made me famous because some of the best people have tried to bring me down and they just made me more famous. Not a dead child, nor any scandalous relationships, could marr my self image. I thought I was the greatest in the world, and I still do++

“It's about building your brand. This business has become more then just gigs. It is about creating a lifestyle and people flocking for it. We have gone far beyond dirt sheets and smarks. We've started to cross over into Television, Movies, Lifestyle, we're not segregated anymore and I play that simple fact to my benefit. I'm a fame whore, I admit it and most of my reasons for doing this tournament was the name it held and the levels of people it was going to be exposed too. I don't sign my name onto just anything now a days, I don't have too. I have earned the right to pick and choose who gets my services and who doesn't and when I heard that this may possibly be the last go of Survive & Conquer, well you bet your ass I made a bid. How could I not? How could I not want to be a part of something this big? It would be a crime.”

“I love watching mild mannered competitors become blood thirsty savages, all in the name of glory. See most of you, you need this, I don't. I made my name with every screw job, rumor, and accusation that's ever gone public. I don't need to get desperate to get where I wanna go, because anyone who knows me, already knows, anything goes. When I tell you that none of your careers, or your goals or your dreams mean anything to me I mean exactly just that. When I say that I do not value any of your lives or livelihood, I absolutely mean that. I will tell you right to your precious little faces exactly how I feel and what I mean and it stays true to that. I don't respect any of you, because I don't have too. Look what I did to Chris Shields. He burned me one time, upset my daughter by walking out of her life, and I made it a personal mission to make his life miserable. He may have won the match, sure, but he went through hell to get there and in the end, all I really wanted I got. I don't have to win to prove my superiority in some stances and in others, like this tournament? It is less about what you know, or how talented you are, and it's more about natural selection.”

“If you play your cards right in a tournament, the lesser will be taken care of before you have to lift a finger, and then the egoism and the pride gets involved and the next thing you know, you're barely winded and the last few in the ring are too far gone. Strategy. I like strategy. I treat all my interpersonal relationships with a certain strategy. Life is a game of Risk and Chance. You have to make all the right moves, or you lose. This business is no different and there is nothing I have done, will do, or have been accused of that I regret. Regret is for the weak. Apologies are for the weak. Concern is for the weak and that is why I am continued to be labeled a sociopath, I can live with that. There isn't one of you that I wouldn't throw under the bus. Hell, Mills knows that if we were in the same group, we'd try and throw each other under the bus. I show the same mercies I am granted and by most people, in the past, that's been very little.”

++I finished my cigarette and tossed it into a coffee can that sat on the roof. I then stood up, turn the camera off myself, and started recording the New York Skyline, the lights were just coming on++

“Millions of people out there. They're all fighting for their dreams and they all want to make it. New York is a tough town. It's merciless. It will eat you alive. Ninety five percent of New York would sell themselves out if it someone offered them a chance to make it big. I'm not talking just the stage and screen, I'm talking everyone. From hot dog vendors to hig priced lawyers. Everybody has a dream, and a price. I didn't grow up believing in good intentions and that there was good in the world. I knew from a very early age that money, sex, drugs, and power ran this world. They call me bitter and a bitch because I believe what I do, I act as I do. I call myself a realist. Fact is that I don't care where you came from, what you think of yourself, what you hope to achieve for yourself, because none of it matters to me. You're nobodies to me. You are all rats in the sewer that would throw their own kids under the bus if it meant making it big. There is a dark side to everybody. Arrogance, lust, greed, violence. Everyone has a vice and part of what makes me so good at what I do is that I can seek out those vices. Those sins and secrets.”

“I have spent enough time in this business, in this world, to tell you who is a closet peodphile and who is capable of date raping someone. I can tell you who likes the coke or the heroin. I can tell you who likes scat films and who likes Facebook pages like “sweet young girls” on the internet. My business is to know everybody elses business. I'm not above black mail, I'm also not above casting suspicion. I can tell you that at least five percent of you are on now or have been on in the past, steroids. We all play a part in this world, people like me and the rest of you jokers, we get paid to play the part. We make a living at living a lie, only I don't live a lie, I'm unabashedly honest. What I'm here to find out is two things, how much is this tournament worth to you people, and how far are you willing to go? Everybody has rage caged up inside them. Jealousy. Desperate determination. I can fight as well as anybody, better then most. But like I said, a situation like this is unpredictable. You just don't know who's going to go off the deep end. One thing this tournament is free of, is politics. EVERYBODY has a fair shot, that means while you may be champion of the world where you come from? Here it doesn't mean anything. The push you might get somewhere else, isn't going to happen here. This is a situation where you may come in with alliances but there's no gaurentee. Everyone, including me, would screw you over, just to be the last man standing.”

++I zoomed in on the lights and chuckled to myself. People die every day in this city for their dreams. From drug dealers, to suicides, to overdoses and murder wrought by jealous. Fame, power, and talent comes with a heavy price++

“This career comes with it's downfalls. Half of you will never make it. You want it, you can taste it, but you don't have what it takes. You can't play the game as well as I can, or as others do. And if you believe in equality well, your career will be very short. Hard work does not get you reconition. Money does. Money you have, money you make the company, money that people offer on your behalf. Money. Some of you will end up being trainers for upstarts in the end. Some of you will be alcoholic nobodies, working a loading dock. A few of you will die. By your own hand, or somebody elses. This business we chose is full of tragedy and irony. Depending on who you talk to, I should have overdosed by now. Others say I should have offed myself. None of it really matters I will die according to my own destiny."

"In the end what all this comes down to is that none of you are the absolute best. You may be the best in your division or your general neighborhood, but you aren't THE best. The top tier is reserved for those discerning few who overcome all the obsticles and objections. It's very hard to get past that glass ceiling. Am I one of the biggest women in this business? You bet your ass. I'm not the best yet though, not yet. The road to my dynasty is paved in the blood of those who oppose me. Even here and now. I'd wish you all good luck but, survival of the fittest. That's the nature of the beast, isn't it?"

[Gordon Fury]

“A New Experience” (Off Camera)

Gordon Fury and his best mate Chris Cryptic stand in line at a movie cinema, probably to, you know, watch a movie.

That was the intention, yeh.

What are you guys seeing? Something manly?

Yeh…

You are watching The Book Thief aren’t you?

Hey fuck you. Its a heartfelt story and Geoffrey Rush is a fucking boss.

Hey, Im not judging you. If you and your life partner want to go see a movie together, then you have every right.

I hate you.

They slowly move up in the line as people get served. Chris and Gordon aren’t exactly classy gentlemen, both wearing T-shirts, Gordon wearing black, Chris wearing yellow. I don’t need to explain anymore, its a t-shirt. Yeh, uh huh, you know what it is. Anyway, add a faded pair of jeans and sneakers and the “almost give a fuck” look is complete. Oh Chris is big built and bald, in case anyone cared.

Chris Cryptic: So I heard Survive and Conquer is on again, for what is probably the last time. You going in it?

Gordon Fury: Does the Pope shit in the woods? Of course I am. You think after what I did last year, and that this year might be the last one EVER, that there was even a possibility of me not doing it? Come on now Christicles.

Chris laughs as they continue to trudge their way forward.

Chris Cryptic: Yeh man I thought as much. To go from complete unknown to 4th place out of 100? It was huge man.

Gordon Fury: Preaching to the choir Christicles. I knew how much it meant to people close to me, but I didn’t expect to make much of an impact outside of that. I mean you know me Chris. I may as well have underdog stamped on my fucking forehead, because 99% of matches I walk into I am completely written off. I mean last year at this event no one even knew who the fuck I was.

Chris Cryptic: But now they do Gordo. And whether you like it or not, you aren’t going to be able to submarine it this year. Your group is filled with hungry unknowns, just like you were last year, and YOU are going to be the one with the target on your back. You are going to be the guy everyone focusses on.

Gordon Fury: I am well aware of this. I am the favourite to win my group, and that has dangers in and of itself. Don’t worry, i’ll be ready.

Meanwhile, during their super stimulating conversation, two teenage kids have been whispering and pointing at Gordon from behind him in the line. They look like the typical “skater kids” you see around the place. Nervously they leave the line and walk up to Gordon.

Kid 1: …Excuse me…

Gordon looks at this kid in confusion, raising his eyebrow slighty.

Gordon Fury: Hmm?

Kid 2 then takes the stage.

Kid 2: Are you… Are you Gordon Fury? The Wrestler?

Gordon looks at them somewhat suspiciously.

Gordon Fury: ...yeh…

The way these kids reacted, its as if they had just met the second coming of Christ. If you believe in that sort of thing i mean.

Kid 1: Dude I TOLD you it was him!

Kid 2 then takes his white fitted cap off and pulled a black Sharpie out of his pocket, holding them out to Gordon.

Kid 2: Could you sign my hat? Please?

At this point Gordon looks more confused than a straight guy getting a boner watching Brokeback Mountain. He looks over at Chris for help, but he is too busy chuckling his arse off as he shrugs. Gordon looks back at the kids.

Gordon Fury: Sure…

As he take the hat and Sharpie and signs his name, everyone in the lines starts to come forward and crowd him, all talking at once holding out things to sign. Gordon is completely flabergasted as he tries to process what is going on.

I’m honestly not sure whether to be happy and grateful, or to start knocking people out, starting with that annoying as fuck baby that won’t shut the fuck up. I might go the former though, less police involvement. I look over at Chris.

Gordon Fury: Dude… what the fuck? I’m not used to this shit.

Chris chuckles, clasping a hand on Gordon’s shoulder.

Chris Cryptic: Well you better get used to it quickly Gordon because whether you like it or not, things have changed for you. You aren’t the unknown Aussie guy anymore. You are a genuine name, and with that, a genuine threat, someone that people can believe in. So for once, stop being an emo little bitch about it, and embrace it.

I end up taking the bald fucks advice, as I am really getting caught up amongst all of the people, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone. I get the same feeling when I feel someone sneaking up on me, and its as I expected. While all of us in the queue are clearly distracted, this old lady with a walker, who look at least 112, goes around the queue and tries to push in in front of me.

Gordon Fury: Excuse me, but what the fuck do you think you are doing?

Gordon pushes his way out of the crowd as the old lady turns to him.

Old Lady: You were holding up the line with your rabble, and I’m going to be late to watch my movie.

Gordon Fury: So that gives you the right to cut to the front of the line? Look I get that you’re old, but you aren’t going to drop dead for at least 10 minutes, so you can spend 2 of them waiting where you are supposed to, at the back of the line.

The old lady looks really offended, as all of the rabble, Chris, and the staff all stare, just watching… whatever this is, unfold.

Old Lady: Well I never! You are a disgusting, disrespectful young man! Didn’t your parents ever teach you to respect your elders?

Not telling us anything we don’t know lady.

Gordon Fury: And you are a self entitled piece of shit line cutter, that thinks you deserve more than everyone else because you are old. So please remove your cabbage smelling arse from my presence.

With an angry huff the old lady marches as fast as her walker can take her, out the door of the cinema. Gordon walks up the counter, the girl survey still completely dumbstruck.

Gordon Fury: Can you believe the NERVE of that woman? I can’t STAND rude people.

And that ironic statement is the one we leave you with, as the scene fades to black.

“The Last Chance” (On Camera)

The scene opens up in front of the Allianz Arena in Munich, Germany, the Australian dumb arse known as Gordon Fury standing in front of it, back to the camera as he seems to be studying the posters on the building. Not only the poster for this year’s event, but all of the posters from the Survive and Conquer’s gone by. A small smile crosses his face when he lays eyes on the poster for last year’s event, before turning around.

Gordon Fury: Survive and Conquer, we meet again. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Gordon Fury, Australian import and all around nice guy. But most of you already know that, don’t you? Especially the people in my group. See this year’s Survive and Conquer is similar in a lot of ways to last year’s for me, but in the same token, different in a lot of ways as well, and I don’t just mean the layout of the match. Last year I would have been surprised if anyone even bothered to watch my promo or read my bio to bother to find out who the fuck I was. No one picked me to do well, because no one gave a fuck about me. This year, I’ve become the odds on favourite to win my group and make it to the final 4.

Gordon takes a few steps towards the camera.

Gordon Fury: I mean granted, that is what the internet is saying, but when I flew into Germany this morning, I had fans waiting for me to get off the plane, wanting me to sign things. Fans, waiting for ME. Last year I’d be hard pressed for the ring announcer to remember my name, but this year all of that has changed. And thinking about it made me realise how much Survive and Conquer means to me. This isn’t just my chance to prove I am as good as i know I can be, this isn’t just my chance to prove I can outlast 79 other people. This is my chance, to come back to where it all began, to where people first heard the name Gordon Fury and cared about the man behind it, and cement my legacy, as all people should want to do. But some people are too focussed on the other people in this match.

See I’ve read a few of the promos that have surfaced, and a lot of people are caught up on the magnitude of the other people in this match, like in the confines of this match, who they are matters. Sorry to hurt egos here, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t matter who you are, how long you have been doing this for, or what you have achieved. People mention title victories and other wins like its going to help them, like they can use that to prove a point. The only point you are proving, is how ignorant you really are.

It takes less than a second to get tossed over that top rope. It doesn’t matter how good you are, you STILL lose to gravity, and you will still tumble to the floor and be eliminated. This match isn’t about being the best wrestler. The past winners of this match didn’t prove they are the best wrestler, they proved they were a SURVIVOR. That they outlasted EVERYONE else to stand tall and claim victory. Its about instincts, its about knowing where you are at all times, and yes, luck obviously plays a factor. I have been a survivor all through my career. I don’t have a fucking sob story about my upbringing, or a rough childhood or any shit like that, but from day one in this business I have had people tell me I will make it. By looks alone there is nothing special about me, I don’t turn heads, and as I worked my way up, instead of the resistance fading, it got stronger. It was a fucking wrestling career version of Newton’s Law: The harder I fought to work my way up, the more the pressure was stacked on, the more people wanted to see me fail.

Wow Gordo, I’m surprised you even know who that is.

I don’t, but google does.

And that makes a lot more sense. Carry on.

Gordon Fury: But I didn’t when I was standing on the apron of my career after going over the top rope, I climbed back into that ring and kept on fighting. Relying on my survival instincts is the only thing I truly know I can do, which considering this match, seems kind of convenient. Survive and Conquer is an event unlike any other, and being known as the winner of Survive and Conquer is an honour unlike any you will ever have again.

This event launched my career, and I would be nowhere near where I am today if not for Survive and Conquer. When APW closed it doors, I was sad to see another company die, but even sadder knowing that Survive and Conquer died with it. So when I heard that Survive and Conquer was coming back for what is most likely the last time, you bet your fucking arse I signed up. Last year I came close, really close, closer than anyone thought i would get, but it wasn’t close enough. I refuse to settle for 4th, or 3rd, or second. This isn’t about trying to get my name out there, this is about me winning Survive and Conquer.

Gordon looks into the camera, a fire in his eyes as his hands clench slightly.

Gordon Fury: Winning this event means EVERYTHING to me, to a level that none of you in this match, and none of you at home can understand. This match started everything, I more or less owe my career to Survive and Conquer, and I only got one more shot to win it. Just one. Chances are that this is the last Survive and Conquer ever, meaning that if I going to do it, it has to be now. I am putting everything on the line, everything I have, because I HAVE to win. I have to, there is NO other option. Yes anything could happen in that ring, yes there are a ton of talented people in this match, but NONE of them want this as much as I do.

Gordon takes a deep breath

Gordon Fury: I don’t get a chance to try again if I fail. I don’t get to say “better luck next year.” This is do or die, but people don’t seem to realise that. This isn’t just Survive and Conquer. This is the LAST Survive and Conquer, and I am going out there to fight like it’s the last match I ever have, because I can guarantee that once the match is over, there will never be another match like it again. Survive and Conquer to me is about coming full circle, and I’ve got one chance to close this properly. I don’t make it a habit to waste opportunities, and I’m not going to start now. That said, I know this isn’t going to be easy.

On paper, my group is the “easiest.” It has the least amount of notable names, so naturally people pick me as the favourite to get through the the final 4 by default. But matches aren’t fought on paper, matches are fought in the ring where anything can happen. To be completely honest, the group that I am in concerns me more than any others. With group four for example, you KNOW its going to be a fight, you KNOW how good everyone is going to be. I’m with a lot of people when I say that I have never heard of almost all of the people in this group. And that makes them the biggest threat possible. As the saying goes, the shot that puts you down is the one you don’t see coming, and ANY of the people in this group could do what I did last year, and shock the world. It is my job, to make sure that doesn’t happen, to take all of these dark horses out to pasture and put them down, because I am not going to be someone else’s stepping stone.

Gordon takes a step back motioning at the building behind him.

Gordon Fury: Ladies and gentlemen the stakes in this match are so much more than money and bragging right, it is a chance to call yourself not only the ultimate survivor, but the LAST ultimate survivor. The LAST winner of Survive and Conquer. This building is going to be host to one of the greatest matches in the HISTORY of this sport, and I am not happy to just be apart of it. Participation is not survival. While on my suspension I have been training my arse off every day to prepare for this, to get my body ready for the onslaught, but preparation can only get me so far. When that bell rings, the person standing tall will be the one that truly wants to win, that truly wants to survive. And that person is going to be me. I am coming for nothing less that victory. As 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.”

Its time to face the fury…

...Mates.

Gordon walks out of the shot as the scene fades to black.

[savannah]

Our scene opens inside an apartment. The footae is obviously a webcam, the background your typical hotel room. But the speaker- a tall, shapely brunette wearing jeans and an IWF tee shirt- smiles at the camera, perhaps a bit apologetically.

Savannah:
Hello, Action Packed Wrestling. My name is Savannah, and I wrestle for Insurgency Wrestling. First off I'm want to apologize to you. What you're about to see is nothing like what I'd like to give you, but events of the past week have kinda been taking up all my time to the point where I barely have time for my own fed's needs, let alone a special tournament. But that doesn't mean that I'm bowing out of Survive and Conquer Six.

You see, I made a commitment to be in Munich on the 26th and it's a commitment that I'm going to keep! Once I get there and in that ring I'm going to do my best to be the one to walk out of there victorious. Because I know that this is an opportunity that I can't pass up or do half ass- even if some things, like this promo, have to suffer because of real life.

Savannah smiles into the camera.

Savannah:
Actually 'real life' might have been only part of the reason for this. I mean, who can really write a promo in a match against 19 other guys? I could go over the list of my opponents and tick off how great they are, but that would take forever. Besides there is one way to shorten up al this, because Gordon Fury is lucky enough to be in my group. So if you guys don't mind I'm going to limit my remarks to the ex IWF champion and perceived favorite to win my group- and perhaps the entire shooting match. Which makes him the perfect measure for me.

You see I've met Gordon a couple times in the ring already. Once was a one on one match that I lost (of course, he WAS a champion), the second in a fifteen to one clusterfuck that may have been unfair to him but was his own doing. I'd say I'd be surprised if he shows up, but that would be lying. Gordon has no time for doctors of getting better.

Oh, Gordon? Don't worry that I'll somehow blame you for how I got eliminated from that match. If all that shit with Tim hadn't gone down I'm sure I would have taken care of that bitch myself already.

Anyway… again I'm sorry for this. See you in Munich.