Survive and Conquer RP Thread

[President Jeff]

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

Deadline to RP for this match is on January 29th at 9:00pm EST allowing 2 weeks to RP for this match, Any RP's posted after the Deadline time will NOT COUNT. There will be a 2 RP LIMIT for this match. This allows me time to write this match and give the people who do show up a reason to read the match. Results will be posted Sunday, January 31st. Only Rule, You CAN NOT post 2 RP's within 24 hours of deadline, meaning, your first RP must be posted by January 28th @ 9:00pm EST

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SURVIVE AND CONQUER MATCH

VICTOR HADES VS KIP KUTLER VS THE MASKED MARVEL VS JASON ROYCE VS SLADE CRAVEN VS YOUNG MANNIE VS JAMES KASH VS LEVEL ONE VS PENCE WEATHERLIGHT VS BRYCE BRIDGES VS HUTT ANDERSON VS ROBB MCBRIDE VS BRYAN PAYNE VS ESTHER AQSA ROSE VS ARKIA FISK VS NATHAN HELLSING VS DEXTER SOMERS VS NICK DREAMS VS DOZER VS ATREIDES VS MIKE CORRAL VS JONNY BRIGGS VS DAMAGE VS VALERIE BELMONT VS RYAN RUCKUS VS ORNERY HILLMAN VS ASSASSIN VS MDK VS DANIELLE DEATHSTRIKE VS GORDIE JAMES VS KATIE KING VS STALKER KNIGHT VS MR. HUGGLES VS DAVEY ALLEN DUNHAM VS PANEMONIC VS CHRIS CYRUS VS BENNY STARR VS GLADIATOR

[razzledazzle]

Did you think we'd just lay down and die
While you tried to bleed us dry
Did you think I'd up and disappear?
I'm feeling superhuman
Did you think I'd just turn and walk away?
Like theres nothing left to say
For you I got a surprise mother fucker!!
Here's mud in your eye

It was a quiet, calm December evening. The moon was out shining brightly despite being partially overcast with the dark looming congestion of clouds that had just finished dispensing their precipitation over the city. It wasn’t obvious by the looks of things what exact city or location that our protagonist was currently within, but it was certainly smaller and dimmer than the usual big business and bursting lights that most are used to. Katie King however, had a different agenda. Rather than spending her time like most of her competitors training endlessly day and night, or partying it up and getting smashed, she was doing something that not many people in this day and age do. Especially not at night where it’s largely considered taboo to traverse the streets at night, Razzle Dazzle had actually taken a moment to walk through the central park, to stop and smell the roses. Kneeling down with slightly bended knees to prevent her from exposing her bare skin to the freshly wet concrete, she enjoyed the often forgotten scent of the roses, the lilacs & her personal favorite, the daisies. Turning her head back towards the city lights, she seemed to be in personal debate with herself as to whether she should turn back or continue wandering through the park and into the woods.

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
No turning back now….

She slowly whispered her decision to herself, as if keeping every precious thought closely attached to her chest so that she could savor not only the scent of flowers, but also the feelings of her own heart. Adventurous, wild & untamable, Razzle Dazzle dared to defy modern conventional thought and despite all the dangers, walked alone a narrow concrete & cobblestone pathway into the darkness. She began speaking to herself again, and yet it was in a slow, motivational type of tone. Almost as if she was walking herself through every little step, letting her self-appointed audience know that what she was about to embark on was a huge risk to her life. And she wasn’t talking about the park.

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
There are a lot of fighters represented in this match. Alotta good fighters. Thirty seven including me, sixteen promotions included my own. Nobodies joined this thing thinking they are going to lose. Nobody comes from across the world to enter into a multinational contest of wills for the fun of it. There’s going to be a lot of ambition in that ring on the 31st of January, a lot of pride too. We all want to win, and for what?

Katie took one of her black leather cutoff gloved hands and held it at the elbow with her adjacent arm, while she placed it precariously under her chin. As if it took her but a few moments to recollect what the terms of her inter-promotional battle exactly entailed. Quickly, her eyes lit up in their violet shaded contacts as her finger rose into the air in remembrance to what exactly was on the line.

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
The ultimate bragging rights, that’s what. Not to mention, a spiffy trophy and a briefcase full of five-hundred thousand dollars cash money. Then again, that’s just trivial now isn’t it? After all, why need five-hundred G’s when if you survive this hellacious encounter, you’re gonna feel like a million bucks am I right? Knowing that almost forty superstars entered this match, from almost twenty promotions, and you beat them all. You’re the best inter-promotional free agent in the history of this business. So what’s the catch?

As Razzle Dazzle continued to explain the intricacies of her scheduled match later this month, she stepped under one of the street lights illuminating the otherwise dark and foreboding nothingness of the woods beyond. We get a better look at her with this illumination, as her hair shines against the light a bright lime green dye. Wearing a black short sleeve “crop top” that leaves her well toned mid section exposed to the winter cold. Otherwise she has an unorthodox “trip” cargo pant design that is fashioned just like the chained and deep pocketed source material but was cut off just after the knee caps much like the short legged athletic wear, also in black with neon rainbow chains. Finishing up her attire was none other than her medium length signature chained combat boots along with a surprisingly stunning sterling silver cross necklace around her neck. She resumed her dialogue as she crossed back from under the light, escaping its revealing eyes.

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
It’s simple in its cruelty when you think about it. There is a reason the first ever Survive & Conquer match was first featured in two thousand and one and they’ve only done four of these matches total out of the past nine years. Eliminating over thirty superstars has never been an easy feat in any federation. Let alone thirty people who you don’t have a clue about, have no way to prepare for, and have no strategy of your own other than to Survive & Conquer. Anybody who wants to pretend like winning this match is going to be a piece of cake for them or that any amount of preparation in the world is going to get them ready for what their body is about to go through can hit the bricks and not bother showing up.

It was obvious that Razzy D was taking this booking quite seriously. Moreso than probably necessary, but it was going to be no secret from her camp that anyone who dared to disrespect the efforts put forth by all thirty eight contestants were going to answer directly to her. She could play the arrogance game, draw the confidence card & run down all thirty seven of her opponents generically like the rest of the Jo Blows plan to do. But win or lose Razzle Dazzle was going to walk out of this fight with a new found respect for the sport of professional wrestling and its finest.

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
But it’s much more than a battle royale, kids. You see, after all is said and done, and all the bodies are gone, and only four of the best are left standing, then things get interesting don’t they? A steel cage lowers into the ring, and from there if you’ve got anything left you gotta fight your way to become one of three superstars who escape the ring first and move onto part three. From there, the final three battle in a street fight one fall to a finish. By the time you’re done with that if you’ve somehow found a way to bite, scratch & claw your way to the final two superstar in that ring, a hell in a cell will drop down. But not just any cell, one with ladders of top of it. Because you see the Briefcase that you need to get to win is held so ridiculously high above the ring that you need to scale to the top of a near thirty foot cell, grab a near fifteen foot ladder, and THEN, if you’re not dead by now, you grab the briefcase, and you win. That is, as long as you don’t plummet fifty feet to your death trying.


Razzle Dazzle shivered slightly at the very real possibility that this match was so dangerous, people could die in this thing. The sheer amount of physical exertion it would require to win would be far more than any realistic expectation of cardio & endurance. But that’s what they were getting paid for, and it was after all the nature of the business. Her eyes revealed a different story however, one of possible self doubt and worry. She would expand upon the tale of her eyes with the words of her lips, asking the very same question that she may be asking herself inside.

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
So, that leaves us with one little question. How in the hell, is little old me, Razzy D, gonna win this match? A hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, with no commercial success or merit to go off of. No big name experience in terms of a who’s who’s rogues gallery on who I’ve defeated. No credentials whatsoever that screams “This girls got what it takes”. So I know the questions crossed your mind at least once, how has she got a snowballs chance in hell? In a match where no mere human can win, in a contest where you have to give MORE than 110%, in a test of will that even the most conditioned of men will be brought to tears of a child, what right do I have to think that I can win? Because boys and girls…….

As she finally began to reach the end of her trek across the darkened edges of the forest, light cascading from all directions as she began to step out more into the business district of the city. She had walked through the valley of the shadow of death itself, and walked out unscathed. It would not be as easy once she stepped into a match that simply asked you to Survive & Conquer, but it was one taboo of society that was laid the rest on this night. Could she go two for two? Either way, that question will have to wait a while before it is resolved. But when it comes to how Katie King feels about it?

“Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:
I’m feeling superhuman

[Aaron Drake]

Stalker can be seen sitting on a bench, looking down at his reflection below, the sunglasses hiding his eyes, and the hat shading most of his face. He looks down at the lake and thinks about everything that has transpired over the last few months between him and X.W.W. He thinks about his arrival there, and beating Pandemonic, and of the others, he also thinks back to his issues with the New Horsemen, and of course, what comes ahead for him: the A.P.W. Survive and Conquer match and the $500,000 but one match away. This match.

He knows the many things that people have labeled him over the past, but he knows in his heart that he is none of those things now. His brother turned on him right along with the other horsemen, so he left X.W.W. and re-opened P.C.W. He's been in a rut as of late. Now he realizes that all the games, the psychology, the stories... all ends. Realizing this all while seeing his reflection in the lake, he begins to speak.

Stalker: If there's one thing that Pandemonic, or hell any of the others from X.W.W. know about me... it's that I definitely have changed. I'm not the same man I was when I walked into X.W.W. Change is always a good thing, you have to change in order to be stronger, and in this wicked world that we live in, no pun intended, only the strong survive. Change is good, change makes you strong, change can make you take risks that you never thought you could ever take.

...That's the problem though isn't it? I have changed... for myself, but THIS industry however, has not. And no, the change in environment does not count either. Survive and Conquer is nothing to me, I've been through the hell once before, and won, and everyone damn well knows I can do it again.

He pauses a little bit and stands up from the bench, still staring into the reflection at the lake looking back at him as if it was a long lost twin. He then turns to the right and looks at the open field in this park that he is in. He's not exactly sure where he's at, nor does he care, as he is spending time training, and preparing himself for the match of his life again, both physically and mentally. To him, he feels physically prepared, but mentally is another story. He knows how easy a match like this can get into someone's head, and that it takes a lot of willpower to simply shake it off and keep your mind focused on the game... but he knows that is what he must do to reach the heights of this match.

Stalker: I mean look at it, there are only three men in this match I know anything about, first we got Gordie James, brother I only know that you represent X.W.W. which in and of itself makes you my enemy, Stay out of my way or you will regret it. Next we have some girls stuffed animal of a manager? Fine. There's no reason to fear. Sorry, but with the piss-poor performance, if I were you, I wouldn't be the one setting up threats about how great I am.

Stalker smirks to himself.

Stalker: And change will happen, at Survive and Conquer. So enjoy that belt while it lasts. Enjoy the X.W.W. being on top, because come the batle royal, the dominance of the X.W.W. will come to an end, and I will make sure of it!

He raises his arms up to do his normal Stalker pose from the old days, reminiscing but realizing the change in him as he does it. He doesn't feel the same pain and turmoil that he has from when he first arrived in the industry, he plans to prove it, he thinks to himself.

Stalker: When the time comes, it will be me, Stalker... holding my hands up high as the winner of Survive and Conquer, and nothing will stop me! Not the Gordie, not some fluffed and stuffed childs toy, not Pande...

Stalker puts his hands back down.

Stalker: Not even me..

He turns towards the other way and walks through the field, looking smaller and smaller as he makes his way toward the horizon and then simply disappears into sight....

[-TJ-]

As “The Anderson Evolution” airs throughout the IWF arena, Hutt Anderson enters the arena to a huge ovation from the crowd. He slowly walks down to the ramp, wearing his singlet, but with a Hutt Anderson Enforcer IWF T-Shirt on. He high fives some of the fans and bump knuckles with them. Anderson eventually enters the ring and walks to the middle of the ring while he waits for his music to die down. Anderson looks around the crowd as they wait impatiently for Anderson to speak. Anderson finally holds his microphone to his mouth to talk.

Hutt Anderson:
Action Packed Wrestling, I’m sure you all heard of it... Right?

Some of the fans cheer as Anderson nods in approval. Anderson then holds his microphone to his mouth to talk again.

Hutt Anderson:
I’m sure every great wrestling fan like all of you have heard about the Survive and Conquer match. Right?

Most of the crowd begins to cheer as Anderson nods in approval. He walks back and forth in the ring while he speaks.

Hutt Anderson:
And all of you heard about IWF’s return PPV, Inception on January 24th right!?!

The fans of IWF cheer as Anderson nods in approval. Anderson begins to speak again as the cheers die down.

Hutt Anderson:
And I know you’re all excited to see me win the IWF Tag Team titles with Petey Payne in Madison Square Garden in Inception!

The crowd cheers as Anderson paces back and forth again, he stops as the fans’ cheers stops to talk again.

Hutt Anderson:
But, APW’s New Years Retribution, the home of the Survive and Conquer match, is on January 31st and is going to be in Madison Square Garden.

The crowd remains still as Hutt speaks.

Hutt Anderson:
IWF is represented in APW’s Survive and Conquer match for the first time in history as you’ll see me and three other IWF wrestlers compete for the ultimate glory.

The fans cheer and start a “IWF!” chant as Anderson smiles. Anderson begins to talk again.

Hutt Anderson:
It’s going to be a special week for Hutt Anderson. Not only will I become the IWF Tag Team Champion come Inception, but I will also be the first winner of the APW’s Survive and Conquer match that comes from IWF. Some people would think I’m getting a little arrogant and cocky, but listen here. If you go into a match thinking your going to lose..... Then you will..........

The fans clap as Anderson paces back and forth. Anderson smiles as he begins to talk into his microphone again.

Hutt Anderson:
This man is one of my personal favorites given his in ring work, James Kash.

The fans start some clapping to the name of Kash. Anderson looks into the camera as he speaks again.

Hutt Anderson:
I like Kash, but I feel that he’ll be to busy in an all out war with his former tag team partner, RJC Cool to be ready for the Survive and Conquer match. Now that turns my attention to Katie King.

The male audience whistle to the name of Katie King. Anderson chuckles a little before he speaks in his microphone.

Hutt Anderson:
You are the manager of Triple A. Why APW allowed you to compete in this match is beyond me. I don’t want to hurt a girl as lovely as you, so I don’t know. I’ll tell you what though. I refuse to let you stand in my way unfortunately. I’ll make sure to eliminate you quickly to avoid any harm to you. Now this brings me to IWF’s reject. Young Mannie.

The fans boo Mannie as Anderson points his thumbs down and talks into his microphone again.

Hutt Anderson:
The Red Shield Mafia’s finest, but that’s not saying much. I don’t know what’s worst. Watching Mannie’s attempt at wrestling or smelling him in the ring.

The fans laugh a little as Anderson begins to talk again.

Hutt Anderson:
I mean I’ve smelled some horrible things in my life. Cow Shit, APW President Jeff’s Office.

The fans let out an “Ohhhhhhhh” as Anderson looks into the crowd.

Hutt Anderson:
What to soon?

The crowd begins to clap as Anderson shrugs his shoulders and talks again.

Hutt Anderson:
I mean I was talking with him about the Survive and Conquer match and he farted. I mean that was horrible. I had to get out of the office by saying I had to piss.

Hutt closes his nostrils as the fans laugh. Hutt stops and begins to speak again.

Hutt Anderson:
Ok I’ve smelled horrible things like Cow Shit, Jeff’s Office, and Mannie’s Fish smelling mom.

The fans let out another “Ohhh” as Hutt laughs. Hutt begins to speak again.

Hutt Anderson:
But when I wrestled Mannie, I thought I was going to die by stench alone. He has some strong weed powered gas.

The fans cheer as Hutt smirks a little. Hutt begins to talk as the crowd dies down.

Hutt Anderson:
But enough about his 15 seconds of fame come Survive and Conquer, I must talk about the other 33 participants, but that’ll take to long so I’ll just sum it up.

Anderson pulls out a scrap piece of notebook paper as he begins to read it.

Hutt Anderson:
Oh by the way, Petey came up with the material.

Fans cheer as Petey has a reputation of being a funny guy. Hutt reads the scrap notebook paper.

Hutt Anderson:
Victor Hades, the Devil’s sex toy. This man is representing the APW, but when I was talking to Jeff, he claimed Victor to be a sort of side show.

The fans laugh as Anderson acts surprised. Anderson continues to read the paper.

Hutt Anderson:
Now we got Kip Kutler, the new age failure. This man has a huge ego. This might be fun. The Masked Marvel..... Who is this guy? Jason Royce... A.K.A. Iceman is about to be meet the heat. Slade “The Lowercard Man” Craven is also in it. Looks like a field of jobbers.

The crowd laughs as Anderson tears up the piece of paper. Anderson looks into the microphone.

Hutt Anderson:
Born in a small city like Youngstown, you didn’t have much. You had to earn it. You had to scratch and claw and fight to become on the top. Unlike all of these guys, who had people hold their hand, I fought. No one expected this fat kid to become who he is now. But I proved all of them wrong! Just like come Survive and Conquer, no one thinks this tag team wrestler is going to win, but guess what! I will!

Anderson looks into the camera with a determined look on his face as the crowd claps. Anderson speaks softly into the camera.

Hutt Anderson:
I was born for this. I was bred for this. I will win this. No one in that match will stop me, even including APW’s World Heavyweight Champion who also signed up for it.

Fans cheer as Hutt looks into the camera and talks.

Hutt Anderson:
I’m hoping him and I end up at the final part of the match. I would love to defeat him and prove to anyone that this man can do it and will become the greatest wrestler in the world!

The fans clap as Anderson paces back and forth in the ring.

Hutt Anderson:
This will be forever an exciting moment in wrestling history. That a man 20 years from now will be walking into Madison Square garden with his kids and he will talk about how he watched a man defeat 30 plus men to become the greatest wrestler in the world. His kids will listen with much delight to hear about this man, then they will sit in the crowd as they see this man come out to continue his historic career. That man is Hutt Anderson. Look here.......... You guys in that locker room come New Year’s Retribution, I wish I wasn’t you!

“The Anderson Evolution” airs throughout the arena as Hutt Anderson drops his microphone and he leaves the ring. The crowd cheers Anderson’s final comments as he walks up the ramp shaking the hands of the fans in the crowd. He eventually leaves the arena and the scene fades out.

[Nathan Hellsing]

Our scene begins as we fade in to an event presented by Denver Pro Wrestling. It seems to be a packed house of about 4,000 fans. The fans are sitting in their seats, anxiously awaiting tonight’s mystery appearance. Music hits the PA system and a wrestler comes out from the back.

Ring Announcer:
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is a non-title main event! Entering first, from Salt Lake City, Utah, George Matthews!”

The man makes his way to the ring, getting a fair pop from the crowd. He stands in the ring and there is silence for several moments… and then…“Killin Me” by Drowning Pool hits the PA system. The fans in Denver know exactly whose music it is – the legendary Nathan Hellsing. The arena explodes and the entire crowd rises to its feet in unison. Nathan Hellsing appears on stage in all his glory – his signature red and black knee length wrestling tights and long black trench coat.

Ring Announcer:
“And his opponent… from right here in Denver, CO, ladies and gentlemen… THE INCREDIBLE ONE NATHAN HELLLLLSSSSSINNNNNNG!”

The light seems to glimmer off his bald head. He looks around, smirking. He walks to the ring, interacting with his fans as he goes. After several minutes, he finally reaches the ring. He slides under the bottom rope, stands up in the middle of the ring, and gets a microphone. He begins to speak…

Nathan Hellsing:
“My, oh my… it’s been too long.”

The crowd cheers loudly as The Incredible One stand before them, in the ring for the first time in 2 years. He looks around, smiling.

Nathan Hellsing:
“2 years ago, I so many nagging injuries that I thought I would never step in the ring again…I felt that my time had come and gone. However, about a month ago, I received a letter from APW about a very special event known as Survive and Conquer. It’s a one of a kind match in which the competitors, 38 this year, start off in a Royal Rumble match. The last 4 remaining then face off in a cage match. The first three to escape the cage then face each other in a street right. The final two competitors – the two who survive up to this point – then face each other in a Ladder Match inside Hell in a Cell. The winner claims all the glory, the money, and the title shot. And the best part is that the match is open to anybody, even one of you, the fans, if you wanted to. That’s what brings me here tonight… I am here to burn off my ring rust and win APW’s Survive and Conquer!”

The crowd goes insane at his announcement.

Nathan Hellsing:
“Now… whether or not I remain out of retirement after this match remains to be seen. But I felt that if I have any chance of making it as a World Champion again, then I need to do something big. I need bring myself back into the spotlight in this business and I knew that this would be the perfect opportunity. This match can be my ticket back on top. I’ve been out for way too long and it’s time for Nathan Hellsing to get back to what he does best: Kick Ass and Take Names!”

The crowd inside the arena is estatic as Nathan speaks.

Nathan Hellsing:
“I feel I’ve had a fulfilling career – I’ve been world champion, tag team champion, you name it… but I don’t think what I’ve accomplished will leave a mark in history. When I got into this business, my dream had always been to be remembered for all time. I grew up watching the likes of the now in WCW and The Rock in WWF. Those are the types of wrestlers that are remembered. I wanted that, and I feel it isn’t going to happen… that is, unless I come back and that is exactly why I am here tonight. I know that although you people love me, you’ve always felt I could do more – and you’re absolutely right. I’ve been training non stop for the past two weeks. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in. Survive and Conquer is one of those events that people are going to remember, and the winner will become immortal. The winner becomes a legend overnight. This is my time, my chance, and I am going to give it everything I’ve got to come out on top.”

The crowd stands up and gives a standing ovation for the returning wrestler. Nathan looks around the arena with a strong look of pride in his eye.

Nathan Hellsing:
“Thank you, really. Without you, my fans, I would never have made it even as long as I did in this business. I know that you’ve all wanted to see me back for a while and although I can’t promise that this return is permanent, this match is going to be the best of my career. It is going to be better than Kendo X against John Vallance in WWA, better than my battles with Donnie Hoyland back in XFL, more brutal than the Glass Tables epic I had with Nic Leone.”

“I know that I have what it takes to win – it’s simply a matter of reaching down inside myself and finding it. I signed up for this match for so many reasons, only about have of which I’ve mentioned. I believe that this match is going to make me not only a better wrestler, but it will improve me personally. I’ve had the itch to get back into the ring for a while – so much so that I marriage to my lovely wife Jennifer nearly fell apart. I wanted to return but didn’t have the motivation, and it was causing so many problems between her and I.”

“But now, the chance has arisen and I am going to snatch it. This is my chance to be remembered forever and come January 31, 2010, I am going to walk into Madison Square Garden, the great arena in the country, and step into the APW ring , and I promise you all that, beyond the shadow of a doubt, I will… Survive and Conquer. January 31 will be a major night in this generation of our business, and I promise you that I will make it simply… INCREDIBLE!”

As Nathan delivers his signature closing, the fans continue the standing ovation. It is several minutes before they calm down enough to allow the referee to start the match. The bell sounds and Nathan and George lock up in the middle of the ring… Fade to Black…

["Sin City Shotgun" BB Langley]

The scene opens up to a strip club. There are many girls dancing on poles, missing pieces of vital clothing. There are men sitting around the various stages, smoking, holding out money for the dancers to take. There are a few visitors at the bar, ordering drinks, poisoning their bodies. Seldom is there a man without a smile on his face. Then all at once, the camera swings violently, and cuts to a completely different part of the club. It shows just a door. On the door, the letters "V.I.P." The cameraman opens the door. All you can see is a singular woman dancing for a man in a chair, leaning back with his feet on the table in a chilled fashion. The cameraman goes to the side of the man in the chair, who is revealed to be Bryce Bridges complete with his signature emerald jacket with pink Superman logo. From the camera angle, you can see Bryce's head, torso, legs on the table, and, every so often, the stripper, barley getting in the scene at all. Bryce Bridges' eyes never leave the dancer as he begins the promo.

===Bryce Bridges===
Bryce Bridges, comin' at you, from the Edge of Seventeen. Today, we are at the local strip club. I am joined at this time by "Joselynn". She is an erotic dancer. Do I know why she is doing it? No. Do I care? No.

===Joselynn===
I am trying to pay off college funds.

===Bryce Bridges===
Honestly, I could, in no way, care less. My point is that she is going what she has to do. She is showing her body to random people for a cost that she could not pay otherwise.

Bryce turns his head away from Joselynn and looks at the camera.

===Bryce Bridges===
The reason that I wish to address this is that I am in a similar situation. I knew that when I first saw APW, I knew I would never be accepted. I knew that even though my skill, my attitude, and my looks are far superior to any of those in Action Packed Wrestling, I would never be given the chance to succeed. APW management, Hurricane Jeff in particular, would never give me an opportunity to progress. Well I have a question for you that was first brought up by a band named Chiodos. Is it progression if a cannibal uses a fork?

Bryce stands up and looks at the camera as the stripper continues to dance.

===Bryce Bridges===
I was over at EWC when Hurricane Jeff walked in. He said that if anybody had the balls, come to APW for an inter-promotion tournament. Well at least that is what I heard out of the challenge. And that was enough for me to know that this was my chance to show that Bryce is not the person to overlook. I knew that this was my way into APW spotlight. I am a cannibal, and the Survive and Conquer is my fork. I am ready to fast forward time and bring APW its superstar.

Bryce looks away from the camera for a moment. He looks to the ceiling and around the room before rubbing his face, the same place a beard would be, if he had one. He looks back at the camera with a smile on his face, almost with a hint of laughter.

===Bryce Bridges===
Honestly, at first I thought that this mega-match was going to be excessively star-studded for me to even stand a chance. Let us just say that after the first few entrants, I knew that my previous notion would be nothing to worry about. I know for a fact that there is nobody in this match that can even stand a chance against “B Double”.

Bryce removes the happiness from his face and begins to raise his voice.

===Bryce Bridges===
Men and women who have been doing this for so long. Men and women who have devoted their life to wrestling. Men and women who stood no chance of winning, as soon as Bridges signed on the dotted line. I am better than any person who is in Survive and Conquer. Oh, wait! I know that there is someone out there saying, “But Bryce! What about Level One? Pence Weatherlight? Victor Hades? Hutt Anderson?” What do I see when I see these men? I see a thug, a man who has turned his back on society. The scum of the Earth, some would call him. I wouldn’t call that too far off. Then we got a goodie-goodie fool. He plays be the rules. Whatever. I will drop him either way. Don’t forget about Hell’s Hooker. A whore to the satanic life-style. I will send him back to where he belongs. Hell, along with God’s other mistakes. Lord knows he made one big mistake with you. And now to the guy who is supposed to be the next generation Anderson. If this were true, I would officially be embarrassed to be an Anderson. But hey! At least I don’t have to use my ancestor’s fame as a stepping stone. Too bad Hutt isn’t just using it as a stepping stone, he is using it as a crutch to help him get accepted by APW. Let’s just face facts. Without his parents and his last name, he would be a talentless tool.

Bryce takes a deep breath and calms down.

===Bryce Bridges===
The truth is that my skill was guaranteed at birth. I have had all the skills needed to make it big. And I did it by myself. I don’t have a family of pro wrestlers. I am not from hell. I am not a good guy. I am not a man with a gang mentality. The only thing I have in life, to help me with my career, is the drive to be the man at the top of the mountain. Well there is one other thing….

Bryce takes a step back.

===Bryce Bridges===
I concuss with my kicks!

Bryce throws a swift roundhouse kick in the air. He then makes a chicken wing with his right arm, suggesting for the Roaring Elbow

===Bryce Bridges===
And I KO with my elbow!

Bryce lowers his arm and puts both hands in his jacket pockets.

===Bryce Bridges===
Survive and Conquer is going to be remembered as the night when Bryce became the star everyone expected him to be. Do I care how many people there are in the match? No. Do I care how many companies are being represented? No. Do I care who the three people who will lose to me once the cage is lower are? No way in Hell. Bryce Bridges will show everyone that, even though it is a large mountain to summit, I will take the Survive and Conquer championship. I will prove to everyone that I am a force to be reckoned with.

Bryce pulls out his hands and runs his fingers through his red hair slowly.

===Bryce Bridges===
Any man could make a pinfall. Many can make an opponent submit in pain. However, only a select few can knock an opponent unconscious. All I have to ask to the competitors of Survive and Conquer is, “How do you attempt to take on a person who can do all three?”

Bryce puts on his hood quickly.

===Bryce Bridges===
Straight from the Hollywood Boulevard, on the Edge of Seventeen, “B Double” Bryce Bridges will always… reign… supreme.

Bryce walks out of the camera shot, and out of the room. As he walks out, all you see is Joselynn, gathering her clothing. The screen begins to turn blurry and dark. Then all at once it turns to complete darkness.[/center][/i]

[kipkutler]

(Scene opens outside the MADISON SQUARE GARDENS, in New York city as a black stylish limo approaches and comes to a halt. The driver hurries to the back and opens the door as RAGE's SENSATION, The New Age Icon, Kip Kutler emerges from the car dressed in black suit, white button up shirt. He has his hair tied back in a pony tail and his world famous black sun glasses. He tips the shades down his nose and that all too familiar cocky grin appears.)

Kip: What took you so damn long boy?

Driver: Sorry sir!

(Kip brings his hand back as if to smack him but the Driver flinches and
walks away.)

Kip: Damn immigrants!

(Kip grabs his bags and begins to walk into the building as he is met by some workers of the arena.)

Worker: Can I have your autograph?

(He sets his bags down and takes a PWI magazine that has Kip on the cover from the worker.)

Kip:Who should I make it out to?

Worker: Georgie!!

Kip:OK!

(Kip smirks as he scribbles.)

Dear Redneck fuck,

Fuck off!

Sincerely,

Kip Kutler

(Kip smirks as he hands the picture to worker.)

Worker: Thank you I think.....

(The worker walks away mumbling....)

Worker: Piece of shit Canadian!

(Kip walks into the building. He heads through the big green doors and opens the curtain as he stands in the empty arena. He looks around the arena.)

Kip: The most famous building of them all in this business. This is the building that dreams are made of, every kid who watches wrestling dreams of coming here to live that childhood dream. Too bad President Jeff decided there is no title shot.

(Kip wipes his mouth.)

Kip: Adding another trophy to my already impressive trophy case is not a bad thing. I wonder if the Hurricane will throw his name into the hat? Anyone who wrestles in small promotions like EWC should be ashamed of themselves.

(Kip chuckles.)

Kip: What's the deal Jeff? EWC has the KOTC so you have Survive and conquer? Wow, how original that is. Are you competing with EWC? I got news for you bud. APW is the minor leagues compared to EWC and EWC is like National compared to RAGE, where I am from which is the world wide leader in this business. I find it sad Jeff that you invest all your time and energy into provoking a washed up old RELIC like Mac from EWC promoting yourself some washed has been instead of the talent you have. That would be like fighting a man trapped in a ninety year old man's body! You acted like a 5 year old until you got what you wanted and the RELIC only did it s you would GO AWAY!

(Kip laughs.)

Kip: I know by now, you must be wondering how I can just waltz in here and start mouthing off at the President Hurricane Jeff of APW? I can because I SAID I fucking can! I come and go and say and do as I see fucking fit and there isn't a damn thing any of you can do about it!

(Camera fade to red and white.)

[Sedition: Gladiator]

NEWS FLASH....


***A cheesy news music plays as Gladiator appears on the screen sitting behind a desk. Gladiator is wearing a blue blazer and blue and white striped tie. The music stops.***

GLADIATOR: “Good evening and welcome to a very special edition of The Sedition Edition. I am Gladiator, your usual host The Rev is away on business. He is closing a major financial deal with the, unknown, and possibly fictitious country of Terroristan. Tonight we will be profiling Action Packed Wrestling's Survive And Conquer.”

***The camera angle changes and Gladiator adjusts himself to face the camera.***

GLADIATOR: “Homosexual President of the APW, Hurricane Jeff has decided to open up the contest to all wrestling organizations. Competitors of the legitimate organizations such as WWE and TNA have refused to participate out of worry that they would be exposed as the talentless black holes of entertainment that they are. Luckily nearly 40 competitors from other organizations have stepped forth. We tried to reach President Jeff for comment on his reasons for opening up this contest to all organizations. Unfortunately he was in the St. Jude's Hospital being treated for his latest case of genital herpes. Outside the hospital, we go to Sedition correspondant Skippy Mohophosite outside St. Jude's”

***The camera cuts to Skippy Mohophosite. He is a run down, middle aged, Bill Gates look-alike wearing a lime green suit. He is standing in front of what is clearly a cardboard backdrop of a hospital.***

GLADIATOR: “Skippy, can you update us on the condition of President Jeff?”

SKIPPY: “Well Gladiator, President Jeff was barely coherent, but I did get a statement from him. He said, and I quote 'Kids, always remember to stay away from transvestite prostitutes. If the price is too low, let them go. Sometimes you get what you pay for.' Godd advice from a good man.”

***The camera cuts back to Gladiator.***

GLADIATOR: “Thank you Skippy for that very disturbing report. We do wish President Jeff a speedy recovery, and hope he avoids transvestites in the future.”

***The camera angle changes again and Gladiator faces the camera.***

GLADIATOR: “In other news, APW Overdrive Champion Pence Weatherlight has been arrested. At this time we can report that he has been accused of sickeningly crowd pleasing ways. We now go to Sedition correspondant Skippy Mohophosite #2 is with Pence via sattelite.”

***The camera cuts to a shot of Skippy Mohophosite #2, he is the younger brother of Skippy. His real name is Earl, but Gladiator thought that Earl was terrible name, thus the name Skippy #2. Pence Weatherlight steps into the scene. This is clearly not Pence Weatherlight. Clearly it is Emilio Estevez disguised as Pence Weatherlight.***

GLADIATOR: “Skippy #2, please give us the details on this arrest.”

SKIPPY #2: “Yes Gladiator, it seems that Pence Weatherlight was found at an autograph signing shaking hands with fans and kissing babies. It was then that he was approached by the Boy Scouts of America and offered the position as their spokesperson. That's when the police received a call from a concerned citizen.”

GLADIATOR: “Mr. Weatherlight, what say you to this accusation?”

PENCE (Emilio Estevez): “Someone has to think of the children. Someone must protect their future. I will stand for what's right, and stand up in the face of tyranny. To all you people who are good and decent, will you stand with me? Together we will conquer evil!”

GLADIATOR: “So you are not denying the allegations.”

PENCE (Emilio Estevez): “If doing the right thing makes me guilty, then I guess I'm guilty.”

GLADIATOR: “There you have it folks, an admission of guilt from Pence Weatherlight.”

PENCE (Emilio Estevez): “There, I did the bit now where's my money?”

GLADIATOR: “I told you, you'll get paid as soon as you get me my guest spot on Two And A Half Men.”

PENCE (Emilio Estevez): “But Charlie won't talk to me until I pay him back what I owe him. He said he's gonna cut me out of his will.”

GLADIATOR: “Then give the people what they want and make a Mighty Ducks 4. Until then, get back in your cage and I'll deal with you after work.”

***Emilio hangs his head and walks away. Gladiator again becomes the focus of the camera.***

GLADIATOR: “So there you have it folks, Pence Weatherlight pleads guilty to being a boy scout do-gooder. We all hope he gets locked up for a very long time before he has a chance to spread his message of good will. We now throw it over to friend of The Sedition Victor Hades for a Public Service Announcement.”

***The camera cuts to Victor Hades standing in a dark room. It's actually not Victor Hades, but Lou Ferigno disguised as Victor Hades.***

HADES (Lou Ferigno): “Rahhhhh!!! I'm mad at the world! I hate everybody!!! I want to kill everybody!!! This world sucks!!! DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE!!!”

***The camera cuts back to Gladiator.***

GLADIATOR: “This just in, suicide rates soared higher during that Public Service Announcement than Level One's ego. Hey speaking of Level One, The Sedition would like to announce the winner of the most over rated wrestler of all time. And the winner is.... You guessed it... Level One. Don't worry Level, maybe one day someone will validate you, so you can stop validating yourself.

In other news Friday Night Rampage employees Bryce Bridges, Kip Kutler, and Danielle Deathstrike have entered Survive And Conquer..... Ahahahahaha! No challenge there!

And finally to end this special edition of The Sedition Edition, let's discuss those who have already commented on Survive and Conquer. From Katie King razzling and dazzling us all with her lack of appreciation of $500, 000 in favor of feeling like a million bucks, to Stalker Knight declaring himself the winner based on his ability to defeat people no one cares about, the showing has been dismal. From Hutt Anderson's fart jokes, to Bryce Bridges suggestion that he can concuss with his kicks, to Kip Kutler's sad attempt at intimidation, the showing has been laughable. Not in a ha ha kind of way, but more in a, I'm embarassed for them kind of way.

Finally, we have Nathan Helsing, the man who said...

“Thank you, really. Without you, my fans, I would never have made it even as long as I did in this business.”

***Gladiator stares at the camera for a moment, then bursts out laughing.***

GLADIATOR: “And that's all I have to say about that! Join us next week, our topic will be... Gladiator, the man of the Century. Join us as we look into the amazing career, and bright future of the greatest man alive... ME! Thank you for joining us. Until next time, Goodnight and Godspeed.”

***The cheesy music plays and and the screen fades.***[/b]




Gladiator would like to thank Lou Ferigno for his awesomeness. No thanks given to Emilio Estevez until he makes Mighty Ducks 4.

[arkiafisk]

Thursday December 22, 2010

"Sleep...sleep. Forget that, I'm on here for as long as you on."

CLICK, CLICK, CLACK...

"Aww head shot...hey fuck you buddy just wait till I get back there."

CLICK...BOOM!

"HA! I saw you sneaking loser..."

BANG...CLICK CLICK...BOOM! TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT!!

"Yeeeeaaaahhhh....boi! Feel my semi-auto homey!"

BOOOOOMMMM!!!

"Awww fuck ME! Who just blew me up like that?!?"

A white X-box 360 controller is governed by a set of soft, delicate well manicured hands. But the words coming out of the mouth of the same person...isn't as soft.

"I'ma get your ass CaptTank101...Bet that!"

On the set of the 42 inch plasma television an online session of Modern Warfare 2 is in full effect and the person behind the controls, Phoenix Wrestling Revolution superstar Arkia Fisk, one of the very few women known to play MW2 religiously and actually can be good competition.

"GOTDAMNIT! I can never make it around that corner..."

Well good competition on good days...

"I'ma get to that position...I'ma show you how to snipe someone DarthNeaderB."

Arkia keeps her eyes on the screen barely leaving room to even blink. One blink and your head can be shot off. Most people have awkward ways of getting ready for matches. Some watch film of opponents, some just workout until they can feel anymore, some just walk around aimlessly talking to themselves, some walk into house shows and talk that overdone bull, and some just do things to not think about what's ahead. Arkia Fisk has worked out, she's watched film of opponents, hell she's even done the crazy talking to herself bit...now, she's just doesn't want to think. But hey if you still want to work out reflexes and what better way than to bust out some X-Box 360...

"Oh you thought you was just gonna run up on me huh?"

TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT,TAT...CLICK, BOOM!!

"Now, hold that fool...Hold that!"

Arkia causes a hell inspired explosion which takes out many people at once...

"HA HA HA!! YEAH YEAH YEAH!! Thought I was just another woman with nothing on me huh!? How you like me NOW!?!"

Arkia smiles hearing the screams and crying of disapproval from the other male players that just caught the wrath of her actions. As the game starts winding down Arkia tries to get as many kills as possible. With her quick kills set and a few head shots Arkia rises up from what looks to be her not even on the scoreboard to damn near topping the list.

"Ahhh hell 3rd."

She shakes her head in a small stint of disappointment but then thinks of where she was just a few minutes before the session ended. She climbed up the ranks rather quickly.

"Gonna have to get back on this...but I'm hungry."

Arkia gets up off the couch turns the game off from the controller and sits the controller on the small coffee table in front of her. Walks around the couch and heads to her kitchen area, some may think that she would go to get something extra healthy with a protein shake on the side or something.

Fuck healthy...I'm hungry

Arkia walks out with leftovers...Catfish, beans and rice, mixed greens, and sweet tea.

Yeah I am from the East Coast but aint nothing better than some good old Southern Soul Food.

Arkia takes a seat back on the couch and places her plate on the table. Over time she says a quick prayer and starts to dig in. She switches on the television and starts flicking through channels just trying to look for something to entertain her while she eats.

....King of Queens? NO....18 Kids and Counting? WHY, no really why even do that?.....Jersey Shore?! THE WORST IDEA EVER...Completely disrespectful to my home state...I should kick MTV in the nads!.....Lakers vs. Cavaliers? Awesome.

Arkia places the Television remote down and starts eating....Delonte West acts as if he's taking a shot and passes it to JJ Hickson which he wasn't even looking for, the ball soars out of bounds.

"mmmufffCan't fffthey just mmmkill that red hhheaded idiot?" Arkia says partially unclear with a mouthful of food. "Jesus...What to do, what to do on a early Friday morning?"

Arkia starts working around the plate and as the game hits halftime Arkia has just finished her plate of food...she takes the plate back to the kitchen sink and sits back down to enjoy her tea. As the halftime broadcast begins Arkia gets up and places a mini camera in from of her on her coffee table and connects it to the television so that she can see herself before she starts her personal broadcast. After turning on a few lights in the living room to see better Arkia turns on the camera and with her tea in hand addresses those who are looking forward to the Action Packed Wrestling's Survive and Conquer and those who are participants in APW's Survive and Conquer.

====
-ON AIR-

Arkia takes a drink of her iced tea...yeah she's speaks the truth like that...and you fuckers better listen.

"I can go ahead and do the typical 'I'm gonna win it all and this is why speech' but with sooooo so so many superstars involved only probably knowing a few others...what's the point? But then that's also what tickles me a little..."

Arkia chuckles as she spits out her last sentence...

"Everyone that has spoken so far has verbalized the fact that there is 38 participants in this upcoming war. But of course they speak on themselves being the best and how this match will skyrocket them to ultra super-stardom because they got it in the bag right? Every man or woman for themselves but yet they don't want to take the time out and as professionals do the right thing. What do I mean by the right thing??"

Arkia smiles knowing just how easy it is to put people in their place...she plans on doing the same come the end of January.

"The right thing is doing your homework. I don't know many people who just walks into a classroom and takes a test without at least working on some studying. I don't know many people who are now surgeons or lawyers that didn't have to open a book and grasp some information. How do you expect to win a match going in blind? These "wrestlers" and I do use that term as loosely as possible are so hard-on their own abilities that they don't even CARE to try and look up their opponents. I don't doubt for one second that in any other case when these superstars are back wrestling in their own federations that they don't do their homework on other opponent or opponents. Why does that change now? Because your lazy and there's too many people to get information on?

And I was just gonna be the dumb sheep and follow the flock and do the same thing...Just focus on a prize few and just let my talent do the rest. Then I thought about it..."

Arkia places her index finger and thumb below her chin in almost "The Thinker" statue type of way.

"If I come into this match with that many amount of people and just not pay attention to all of them...it will be the one I say 'isn't that important' that will take me out of contention. I will NOT be that stupid.

Am I saying to have select words or each person involved? No.

Am I saying to get every single participants legal background check? No.

But if you haven't at least tried to watch one wrestling match from each person involved something is very wrong. I've always said that many people in life have the unfortunate tendency to 'feel' themselves a little bit too much. I mean I'm all for a little self gratification but two always makes it a party right?...Anyway here I have..."

Arkia reaches underneath her couch and pulls out a list of papers with what seems to be DVD cases attached to each sheet. One by one Arkia shows the papers with cases attached to them...each paper has a picture of each participant.

"A nice grouping of our many entrants in Survive and Conquer...the DVD's a collection of each said wrestlers 'greatest matches' some lists are a lot more than others but none the less it's homework."

First shown is Stalker Knight...

"Actually he kinda bunches in with another so let me find him right quick..."

Arkia shuffles through the papers for a moment until she finds who's she's looking for...Nathan Hellsing. She ends up holding Hellsing's picture to the right of her Stalker to her left.

"So, you may be wondering why I've chosen to group both of these men at once. No they aren't related or anything like that but I must say their stories are similar. They are what I consider to be our 'comeback kids'. Those 'can't put them down' type of old dogs. I would have to say out of everyone involved they come in with already known weakness and ring rust. While choosing to comeback at such a level with so much at stake to your physical well being may not be the smartest choice, you gotta respect their gusto. Unfortunately, I don't believe you can teach and old dog new tricks...I just believe in euthanizing them. And trust I plan on giving these two a good old Michael Vickin'!

Next..."

Arkia flips over the next paper....Kip Kutler. Arkia immediately starts to laugh but quickly starts to hold it back.

"I'm sorry, I'm...I'm....I just....Ahhhh man! Aint nothing funnier than a man that thinks so highly of himself and everyone around him in basically laughing at him. He sounds too much like another Kutler with a C, and I think we all know he sucks something awful. He gets a personal invite from the guy running this whole show then proceeds to talk the most shit about him. I gotta news flash for you and its way more to the point than that dumbass Gladiator...you were invited by President Jeff because he knew someone would be waiting and willing to kick you in the ass so hard you end up fucking yourself! And considering I have nothing better to do..."

Arkia raises her hand like the kids do in grade school.

"I gladly volunteer. Of course Mr. President gotta make sure he pays up! Aint nothing free round here."

Arkia flips over the next page...Katie King.

"A name I've actually heard before...followed by laughter of her sub-par record and/or fact that she puts fear in no one. She feels superhuman...well I'm feelin like kryptonite. Keep sucking the scum from the bottom of the barrel."

Next page...Hutt Anderson

"Well other than making a living as Jabba the Hutt's understudy I would guess this overgrown tumor must have put time aside to wrestle and I guess be an 'Evolution' in his eyes. And yes I'm talking to you Anderson and have been talking since I turned this camera on. WHAT?!

Arkia extends her arms in a 'do something' fashion and then leans back in her couch.

"Sure there's more to me than just the gift of gab as you will come to see in just a few weeks and although I don't know much about you as a person...as a wrestler, your as predictable as the sun rising and setting. I've taken a look already."

Arkia taps the DVD attached to his picture...

Next page...Level One.....

"Oh...uhhh ummm. Yeah..uhhh."

Arkia moves to the side of the view of the camera and fixes her hair before getting in front of the camera again.

"Yes uhh...The big man on campus...One of the biggest men on the campus of professional wrestling period. What has this man not done? Championships galore, unlimited accolades...Former True Experts Champion. The sun shines bright for the one, Level One. I will respect a man that sits on top of his game but I honestly hope he doesn't look at me like the rest of these nothings. I am not an easy chick and I fight like the best of them. I'm no one's light-work and well..."

Arkia changes from having the picture of Level One face the camera to turning the picture towards her. She smiles at the pic...

"Well how YOU doin?! You can rule my game anytime..."

Arkia says to the picture in remembrance of Norbit...

"You may be fine but you aint $500,000 fine! Your at the top of the ladder...and I tend to climb fast. I know I may be out of place coming at the big man like that but whatever...it is what it is, I respect it but I aint no punk. You also may think that I aint shit for coming at you like I have but then you'll just be another person on the list of many making a $500,000 mistake!."

Arkia smiles at the camera trying to go back on the words she said before.

"But win or lose...maybe we can talk after the match.....please? Ummm? Think about it..."

Arkia giggles like a geeky teenager with a crush on the star quarterback and then straightens up as she flips the next page...

"And there's this Bryce Bridges now this ladies and gentleman is a sad story. He didn't get accepted to APW so now he enters this match with a chip on his shoulder and a point to prove. Sounds like a child crying over spilled milk to me but whatever. He makes the same mistake as I spoke of earlier as he feels his natural talent alone will help him to win against 37 other people."

Arkia shrugs...

"I don't get it but hey more power to you. And when your sitting on the 'edge' of the rope I will be more than happy to kick your ass over. Trust me when I say you won't make the final 4."

Arkia places the rest of the pile beside her and continues.

"Now here I am telling a few of the entrants what I plan to do to them and not once have I said I'm winning the whole thing. Am I confident? Of course. Do I believe I can do it? Sure. But not for one second am I going to work my mouth out to say I got the thing wrapped up. I'm a realist I know odds are against me but I know many of these wrestlers don't have the heart that I do...or the love of the prizes available. Sure bragging rights are cool and yeah a trophy is always nice but...BUT there's something I love more than any of those things. That prize money!

Arkia hands come together in a sinister way when the thought of the prize money enters her head. An smile comes across her face.

"...Not only do I love money but if I want to live and do what I want in life...I need it. And believe me when I say I'm coming in guns blazing, daring a piss poor asshole to test me. I want all of you to try me...please try your best. Cause know that I will!"

Arkia picks up the pile of papers...

"Now if you would excuse me...I have some more reviewing to do. Don't hate me I'm just taking care of Busine$$...I suggest you do the same."

-OFF AIR-

====

Arkia takes the camera and sets it to the side of her entertainment system. And as promised she takes one of the first DVD's from the top and puts it in her DVD player. The DVD starts right away with no main screen or anything like that....All is shown is letters in black going across the screen.

"MATCHES of
Pence Weatherlight"

The first match starting is where he wins his Overdrive Championship...

Arkia takes a sip of the last of her iced tea...

"Ummm...he aint bad looking either. I need to take a trip to Canada...Seems to be where all the cuties are."

====

Monday January 25, 2010

Arkia sits in a plastic blue chair looking at the LED screen on the wall across from her.

-B79-

Then looks back at the small white ticket in her hand.

-D12-

"Awwwww...GOD!" Arkia exclaims to herself as time is going slower than an hourglass.

The sea of people around her seem to feel the exact same way as they are holding similar tickets with similar facial expressions. The DMV aka 'hell's outhouse' can definitely be a place to even make a monk go crazy. Everyone is the building is irritated, the people waiting in front of the desk, the people sitting behind the desk, the fake ass rent-a-cops that failed becoming a actual cop. Arkia tries to lean back to get more comfortable in her chair and decides to go through her purse. Her hand comes back out with her Iphone and after placing the ear-buds in her ear she decides to listen to some of her music.

During her on-beat head nod her phone goes off...the ringing also goes through her ears which shocks her to jump out of her chair. After fumbling her phone for a second she answers.

PHONE CONVO

Arkia: Yo...hello?

Jason: Yeah uhh you gotta problem...

Arkia: Don't I always?

Jason: No seriously unless you plan on being at two places at once you might wanna get a hold of this.

Arkia: What...

The security guard in the distance signals Arkia to hang up the phone. Arkia ignores him.

Jason: First off where are you?

Arkia: I'm still at this DMV about to lose my mind.

Jason: Well good luck with that. I told you to re-register the car.

Arkia: No I told YOU to re-register the car. You think I got time for all that?

Jason: No I just think your lazy...

Arkia: Well go to hell and forget you. Tell me what's wrong...

Jason: You have your Survive and Conquer match on the same day as your brother's shipping out party.

Arkia pauses as she realizes how important this party is to her family and herself. God forbid but her younger brother's party may be the last time she ever sees him. Meanwhile, the security guard is pointing at the 'NO CELL PHONES' sign in Arkia's direction. She continues to ignore him.

Arkia: Well ummm...damn.

Jason: Yeah exactly.

Arkia looks up at the ceiling in thought and bites her lower lip contemplating.

Arkia: I'm already gonna work on getting the night off from work. But that's because I'm gonna be in New York for Survive and Conquer. I just saw this as a great opportunity and took it, but now I'm gonna be ostracized from my family...

Jason: Again...

Arkia smacks her lips over the phone.

Arkia: Not helping Jason. Your supposed to be a good protege...I can find someone else ya know. Ahhh what the hell is wrong with me?!

Jason: I've been telling you to get a planner...

Arkia: What the fu...Jason? I need help, not a repeat of the fact that I'ma dumbass.

Jason: But can't I do both?...

Awkward slience hits the conversation Jason takes the hint knowing that although Arkia may not be near him now...She will be soon. The security guard continues to show signs of hanging up.

Jason: I say just talk to Derek I think he out of everyone would understand.

Arkia: I hope so, I'm sure everyone will have something to say about it.

Jason: Are they paying your bills? Are they donating the foundation of your dream?

Arkia: No...

Jason: Then fuck em.

Arkia: Good point...let me get back to you. The stupid rent-a-cop is coming toward me.

-END CONVO-

Arkia puts her phone back into her purse just as the security guard approaches. He looks like the average day loser, too big for the work shirt and the pants stop right below the ankle exposing a set of mis-match socks. He has the comb-over to cover his premature balding all he needs is a set of coke bottled glasses and he would be complete.

"You know there's no cell phone use in the building." The security guard says with the 'I own the world' voice.

"Yeah well I'm no longer on it." Arkia smiles in reaction.

"Well I've been trying to tell you to get off the phone for the past 5 minutes." The security guard says.

"And...I'm done with my conversation." Arkia states back with her irritation level rising.

"I know you saw me from the very beginning about you getting off the phone but you continued your conversation." The security guard continues.

"You could have been signaling anyone." Arkia tries to ignore him and change her direction of vision. The guard just keeps stepping in front of her.

"I wasn't signaling anyone else and you know I wasn't. Which is the whole reason I got up from my comfortable seat and came over here to get you off the phone." The guard stays in Arkia's face

"And I'm off it now so if you could excuse me..." Arkia focuses in on the guard's badge. "Mr. David Burns...could you please..."

Arkia looks up at the LED screen for the first time in like forever and pushes past the security guard.

-D20-

"SHIT!..."

Arkia looks up and down the ranks in a panic trying to find the desk with -D12- above it and once she notices it she goes into a dead sprint down the walkway pushing people over on the way. As soon as she's within 2 feet of the desk the LED changes above it to -D24-. Arkia gets to the desk with the gray haired wrinkly woman behind it, the security guard David a few meters behind her.

"Hold on, Hold on...look I've been right here. I have all the stuff I need...."

Arkia pulls out a manila folder from her purse.

"See right here, right here I got everything here. Can we just got through this right quick. Just a wham-bam-thank you man type of deal?"

The lady looks at her in disgust to the 'wham-bam' reference and starts looking past Arkia for the next person on her LED list.

"D-20! D-20 your next!"

"Oh your gonna just sit there and act like I'm not addressing you!?" Arkia's decibels go higher causing a scene.

The person who is D-20 a teenage kid with his mother starts approaching the desk.

"You know all this time your taking could easily have gotten my car registered. Come one lady I just need my tags so I can go..."

The lady waves at the approaching mother and teen still not acknowledging Arkia. After being there for three hours Arkia loses it. She grabs the lady behind the desk by the collar and starts shaking her. Changing her direction with each word.

"You...wanna...act...like...I'm...not...here?!? DO...YOU...SEE....."

Arkia is rushed by David and two other security guards in the area....

Arkia is being carried out by the three security guards of the front doorway to the DMV and a couple of guys in their 20's start walking in passing the screaming Arkia.

"Man, isn't that Arkia Fisk?"

"Dude I think it is..."

"Man she's hot..."

David the security guard who is still currently struggling with the fighting Arkia replies to the young men,

"Yeah but she's fucking nuts!!"

Arkia continues to scream and struggle against the three guards as they approach the squad booth.

====

[Assassin]

Click Here

[Sedition: Gladiator]

***A cheesy news music plays and Friday Night Rampage GM, and Sedition member The Rev is sitting at a desk. He is wearing a cheap blu blazer and a crooked tie.***

REV: “Good evening, I am your ruler The Rev, and this tie is indeed a clip-on. I would like to thank Gladiator for filling in for me last week, and let me say, thanks to the deal I made last week with the representatives of the nation of Terroristan 90% of the free world is now at high risk of a major biological attack. Tonight on The Sedition Edition we will be profiling one of the greatest human beings to ever grace this Earth, my partner in crime, Gladiator. But first to follow up on last weeks story we have homosexual APW President Hurricane Jeff here live via-satellite. He wishes to comment on his recent struggle with genital herpes.”

***The screen goes to a split screen. Hurricane Jeff comes on, it's clearly not Hurricane Jeff, but clearly actor James Van Der Beek from TV's Dawson's Creek posing as Hurricane Jeff.***

REV: “Jeff, it's good to see you up and about again. Let me ask the question everyone is wondering. How is your junatalia holding up.”

JEFF (James Van Der Beek): “Well, it's not really holding up at all. The pain has been so severe. I was fine until I saw a rerun of The Partridge family. David Cassidy is just so dreamy. The moment I saw him I couldn't help myself. I found the first transvestite David Cassidy look alike, and needless to say, I had a relapse.”

REV: “Wow, that is very disturbing. I kind of wish you never told me that.”

JEFF (James Van Der Beek): “But, you were the one who wrote the script.”

***The screen turns to fuzz.***

REV: “I'm sorry, we seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties. Shame too, that interview was just getting interesting. Now for something completely different. As promised we have prepared a special profile of Gladiator's great wrestling career. We will be hearing from some of the people who have known him best throughout his career, including stablemates Apollo, Deadeye Proteus, Mr. Mahoney, Dr. Amy Rosen, James Chambers, Victor Hades, and yours truly. Hope you enjoy.”

***The camera cuts to a montage of previously recorded interviews.The Rev sitting in an armchair. Across from him is a disturbed looking man in a straight jacket, this man is none other than the original third member of The Sedition Apollo. With this man is a cardboard cut out of Rambo.***

REV: “Good to have you here Apollo. And please send our appreciation to the Newfoundland Asylum for allowing you the day pass.”

APOLLO: “Don't be rude. Say hi to Rambo.”

REV: “Uh... ok... Hello Mr. Rambo. How's the mercenary life these days.”

APOLLO: “Oh, he won't answer you. He's been giving me the silent treatment ever since I told him that he mumbles too much.”

REV: “Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Anyways, the reason I bought you here today is because we are doing a special profile of Gladiator. Please share with us some of your fondest memories of him.”

APOLLO: “Ok, this one time I remember I came to the headquarters cause I wanted to introduce Gladiator to my friend the T-1000. When we got there we found Gladiator curled up in the fetal position in the attic. He was crying like a little baby and railing on and on about the Captain losing his head or something. I actually videotaped it cause I thought it was so funny. Anyways, we took him to a psychiatrist, they locked him up in a psychiatric hospital for a while, but breaking him out sure was fun.”

REV: “Ha, well thank you for that.”

***The camera cuts to another interview. This time it is a crazy looking guy with a glass eye. This man is none other than Deadeye Proteus.***

REV: “Hello Deadeye, long time no see. Please tell us your fondest memory of Gladiator.”

DEADEYE: “Well, that would be the time he beat me for the Hardcore Title.”

REV: “That sounds like a good memory, so do tell.”

DEADEYE: “Well, I just felt sorry for him, cause he had been around for a while and wasn't able to win a title. It was just so sad, so I decided to throw the match. I just couldn't bear to watch a Sedition member lose all the time. It was a pity loss, so he could get a title. Good times.”

REV: “Yes well, you always were a humanitarian.”

***Next we see Rev seated next to an old man with a bad toupee. This man is none other than Gladiator's former stablemate/arch rival Mr. Mahoney.***

REV: “Tell us all your fondest memory of Gladiator.”

MR. MAHONEY: “What... Russell Crowe. You know better than to aske me about that deluded little twerp. Why you insisted on associating yourself with such a weasel is beyond me. You are so much better than that.”

REV: “This was definitely a mistake.”

***Now beside Rev is Dr. Amy Rosen.***

REV: “Tell me Dr. Rosen, what is your fondest memory of Gladiator?”

DR. ROSEN: “That would definitely be the time that I injected him with my short lasting duplicate of Mad Cow Disease so he could get out of defending his HCW title. He was just so scared of losing he said he'd do anything to get out of the match. Of course this sickness caused quite a mess, but the kill bots happily cleaned it all up, and he got out of the match too.”

REV: “Well, everyone likes mad cow disease... right?”

***The next person we see next to Rev is James Chambers.***

REV: “Now, I know your time in The Sedition was short lived. Tell me what was your fondest Gladiator memory?”

JAMES CHAMBERS: “Hmmmm, tough desicion. It's between the first time I beat him, the second time I beat him, and the third time I beat him. Actually I think it would be our 4th showdown. You remember, it was the night I joined The Sedition. The time I chased Gladiator all around the ring, down the aisle and up the jumbotron, and whooped him all around the arena. That was fun. I didn't really want his title so that's why I just joined The Sedition and let the match end in a no contest, but it sure was fun to beat him up.”

REV: “Again, I shoul have known better.”

***Finally we see Rev with Victor Hades, only it's still Lou Ferigno disguised as Victor Hades.***

REV: “Well Victor, I'm sure you have some fond memories of Gladiator.”

HADES (Lou Ferigno): “Grrrr, I hate the world! I hate everyone! Die, die, die, die!”

REV: “I think you're reading last weeks script.”

HADES (Lou Ferigno): “Script? I can't read. I'm just being myself.”

REV: “You swelled up meathead. I knew you'd screw this up.”

HADES (Lou Ferigno): “Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.”

***Rev nervously looks at the camera as it cuts off. Next we see Rev sitting alone in a chair.***

REV: “My fondest memory of Gladiator is... oh who am I kidding. The guy is the laziest man I've ever known. He's never earned anything in his life. I can't think of anything good to say about the guy.”

***The interview montage ends and the scene cuts back to the news desk. Rev has James Van Der Beek tied to a chair and is beating him to a pulp.***

REV: “You idiot! I knew you'd screw up the bit just like Ferigno.”

***Rev looks up and sees the on air sign has just lit up. He olaces a piece of duct tape over Van Der Beeks mouth, fixes his clip-on tie and sits down.***

REV: “Well in case the interviews didn't tell you enough. We have the man right here with us. Gladiator welcome to the show.”

GLADIATOR: “Good to be here Rev, and let me just say, that last speech of yours brought a tear to my eye.”

REV: “The one where I said you were lazy and pretty much useless.”

GLADIATOR: “Stop, you'll make me blush. I've never been more proud of myself. You've given me a positive outlook of myself heading into Survive And Conquer.”

REV: “Speaking of Survive And Conquer, one of your opponents there is none other than Victor Hades. He is one of your close allies in The Sedition in the EWC. Do you expect to be working together with him?”

GLADIATOR: “Well, the thing is, EWC is EWC, and APW is APW. I don't know if our agreement would stretch into APW. Besides, let's be real about this, Victor Hades is the angriest man in the world. He would rip the head off of anyone who gets in his way of victory regardless of whether he likes them or not. I will say this though, I think Victor has bigger fish to fry in this thing. I think our working relationship will help me in this, because though I don't believe Victor would consider anyone his friend, I know I'm not his enemy.”

REV: “So eventhough you and Victor have worked together quite a bit in the EWC, you don't think he would consider you a friend?”

GLADIATOR: “I don't think Victor Hades is the type of guy to have friends. Victor doesn't like anybody, but what I'm saying is he doesn't hate me, whereas I think he probably would hate everyone else in the match. So since he doesn't hate me I probably won't be on his radar. I will say this, I certainly don't want him in the final 4 with me, cause then I definitely will be on his radar, and to be honest... he kind of scares me. It is in my best interest that Victor Hades gets eliminated early on.”

REV: “So, are you saying that you are gunning for Victor Hades in this match?”

GLADIATOR: “Oh Lord no, I'm not gunning for anybody. If I can, I will run, hide and do what I can to avoid mixing it up with anyone. I don't want to get hurt or anything. My goal is to coast through this thing, and hope to not be noticed.”

REV: “Well, one person who will definitely notice you is your arch nemesis Pence Weatherlight.”

GLADIATOR: “Pants Weatherman is no threat to me whatsoever. Sure he's been on a conquest against The Sedition as of late, but I don't think Pence has time to worry about me. The good thing about him is that he can't keep his mouth shut. He's like one of those super heros who vows to crush evil wherever he sees it. The good news for me is that there seems to be alot of evil in this match. I think Pence has barked up so many trees, that he'll be too busy getting squashed by them that I will go unnoticed. Of course that being said, I have every intention of embarassing him on his own territory. I figure once he's been beaten up enough by his many enemies, I'll just sneak in and eliminate him. It gives me the bragging rights, and that's all I really care about.”

REV: “Your rivalry with Pence does go back pretty far, and it has become quite heated in past weeks. What is it specifically that makes you hate his ugly face so much?”

GLADIATOR: “Well, you said it yourself. Firstly I hate his ugly face. There is something about is face that just makes me want to take a machete and cut out his eyeballs. Secondly, I hate what he stands for. Honesty, integrity, peace, goodwill towards men. Listening to him is like watching Miracle On 34th Street over and over and over again. And thirdly, I think he sticks his nose where it doesn't belong. If he would have just stayed out of The Sedition's business I would only think terrible thoughts about him, but since he decided to stick his nose in his business I want to watch terrible things happen to him. That's why I unleashed Victor Hades on him on Rampage, and that's why I'm going to enjoy every second of watching Hades rip his head off again at Survive And Conquer.”

REV: “There are some other familiar faces in this thing. I think I would be crazy if I didn't mention the golden boy Level One.”

GLADIATOR: “Hahahaha. Well, Level One is definitely his biggest fan, and for some reason everyone around him bows to him like he is the God of wrestling. There is nothing about Level One that impresses me. I don't care how many titles he's won. I don't care how many matches he's won. I think the only person who really cares about that is Level One. I think Level One's biggest fear is that one day everyone around him is going to wake up and realizes how dull, and weak he really is. The only thing I like about this guy is his distaste for Pants Weatherman. The problem is I can't sit through his promos long enough to enjoy him trashing Pence. I get so tired of his shameless self promotion that I can't bear to watch it any longer.”

REV: “Do you not see him as a threat?”

GLADIATOR: “I don't see him as anything that even closely resembles a threat. Since I'm sure he will probably just overlook me, and pass me over. I don't think Level One will give me the respect that he should. Let me take a page out of Level One's book, and do some self promotion here. There is a reason I am a hall of famer. There is a reason that I have had so much success in my career. There is a reason that I am a former World Champion. There is a reason why I am respected by so many. It's not because I'm the toughest. It's not because I'm the best. It's certainly not because I'm the most talented, because I am none of these things. There's 3 things that got me to where I am, that I don't think anyone else has, especially not Level One.

Number 1, I don't care about being the best. I don't care if people are intimidated by me, or fear me. I don't care about winning every match. I'm semi retired because I want the ability to pick and choose what matches I'm in. If money and titles aren't involved... I don't care. I just want the glory. The guy with nothing to prove is the most dangerous guy around, and that is me.

Number 2, I will do whatever it takes to win. I will cheat, I will take chepshots, I will hide under the ring and let everyone else rip eachother apart, then sneak in and get the win at the right moment. I have no standards, no morals and no shame. I'm not embarassed to be known as a coward, I embrace my cowardice. I don't want to get hurt in the ring, I've got multi million dollar arms deals going on with hostile countries. I've got para military operations to organize with my monkey army. I'm a busy man, so I will run and hide, and sneak around and pick up my win.

Number 3, If all else fails, I'll just bribe the referee to give me the win. I've got plenty of money, and I'm not afraid to use it to my benefit. So for this reason I should be feared, but I won't be. I'll be able to fly under the radar and sneak my way into the finals.”

REV: “Most competitors in this match are unknown to us. Obviously we in The Sedition are too lazy to do extensive research, but who else in this match are in your scope?”

GLADIATOR: “I am very intrigued by KCW's Ester Aqsa Rose. I like her style. She seems like a loose cannon, kind of an unexpected nut. The nuts are the one's that make me nervous. There can only be room for a few lunatic's in a match such as this... and no one is aloud to out-loon me. I do appreciate her attitude, but I can't allow her to get to the final 4, because I fear that she will cause too much chaos. The crazier it gets, the harder it will be for me to pick my time to strike.

Another one who worries me a bit is Arkia Fisk. The only reason She concerns me at all is that she is all about the money. She's willing to do what it takes to get that money. That makes for a dangerous person. Of course she is a woman, and women only worry me if they are mentally unstable. She seems pretty good in that department, but money can make people crazy. So in taht sense she does worry me, but to be honest, she didn't really show me anything to worry about in her promo. She could probably beat me in a video game competition, definitely beat me in a sandwhich making competition, but in a wrestling match... she has neither the mental or physical prowess to overcome me.

Ornery Hillman seems like my kind of guy. I like sick, twisted, evil cheaters. He seems like the kind of guy I would do business with, but let's face the facts... he's a manager not a wrestler. He'll get eaten alive in this thing. Maybe once he loses we can make some deals.. but in this thing he's nothing.

Then of course we have this dim witted mountain of muscle Dozer. He's big, he's strong... but he's stupid. The only place this guy should be competing is the Special Olympics. Let's face it, if this guy gets his hands on me he could probably rip me in half, but all I really have to do is bring some sock puppets and put on a show for him. That should keep his peanut brain occupied long enough for someone else to take him out.

I would mention the rest, but honestly for the most part, they are all the smae to me. They're all a bunch of generic, cocky, boring competitors. They all will say the smae things. I'm the toughest, baddest guy in the world. I'm gonna beat the crap out of you. I'm the toughest SOB. I'm so cool. I bang more chicks than anyone else. You can't stop me, cause I'm too good.

I've been in this business a long time, and I've heard it all before.It doesn't work on me. I personally am bored with all these carbon copy, assembly line wrestlers. If you've seen one you've seen them all. You can only find so many entertaining ways to say I'm tougher than you, before I hit the mute button. I may be wrong, and if I am I will welcome it. I would love for someone to impress me, cause I'm not easily impressed. I doubt however that it will happen. So please, do your best. I will be watching.”

REV: “Well my friend, I'm very happy that we have had a chance to discuss these things. Thank you for making this a Sedition Edition to remember.”

GLADIATOR: “Anytime. I'm always happy to entertain the world with my awesomeness.”

***Rev turns to face the camera.***

REV: “Until next time, remember don't eat yeallow snow, don't take any wooden nickels, and keep fit and have fun. This has been The Sedition Edition, Goodnight and Godspeed.”

***The cheesy news music plays once again as the camera fades out.***




Gladiator wishes to thank James Van Der Beek for being the only actor gay enough to play the part of Hurricane Jeff.

[ɹǝzop]

^{WARNING! This RP is incredibly stupid, SERIOUSLY! No joke, you will most likely loose some brain cells by just reading this!...Yet you continue to read. Well you know what!?! You deserve to loose brain cells, but hey I warned you and you can't sue cause of this disclaimer....THIS IS A STUPID SENTENCE BUT YOU READ IT ANYWAY! <---SEE!?! That's just an example of things to come. Also fuck Tom Cruise...Seriously.}


(Scene opens to a McMansion in Beverly Hills, the weather is storming. Fall rain pouring down and thunder slashing through the air. A near new BMW seven series pulls up the drive. A well dressed man steps out of the Beamer, puts up an umbrella, grabs a briefcase and a plastic bag and runs to the house. The man steps inside, shakes off the umbrella at the door and closes the door behind him. He hangs up his jacket and hat and it’s revealed that it is Benny Hayze, Manager Extraordinaire. Benny strolls through the hall whistling turning on the lights. He makes his way to the kitchen and sets his briefcase on the counter and the plastic bag on the kitchen counter. Benny smiles and whistles as he opens the bag and begins to pull out Chinese take out. Suddenly the power goes out.

Benny Hayze: *scoffs* Sunshine state my ass…

(Lightning strikes and a large figure is seen behind Hayze. Lightning strikes again and Hayze feels breathing on the back of his head, he turns and as the lightning strikes once more he sees the large grizzly figure towering over him. Hayze is picked up and hurled across the room into the chine cabinet, causing the cabinet to come crashing down on Hayze. The lights come back on as the cabinet is lifted off Hayze and Hayze is picked up by the throat and slammed against the wall. Hayze takes a look at his attacker. The man is a giant, hair past his shoulders, along with an ear to ear beard. It becomes apparent to Hayze that he is being attacked by none other than big Foot.

Man(AKA Big Foot): YOU BETRAYED ME BENNY! YOU BETRAYED ME LIKE WHEN JOEY BETRAYED ROSS WHEN HE BONED RACHEL! YOU BONED MY LIFE BENNY! BONED IT HARD!

Hayze: Dozer?

(The large man drops Hayze and walks around the room pacing)

Dozer: YOU LIED TO ME BENNY! YOUR PANTS ARE A BLAZE HAYZE!... Hey that rhymed. BUT THAT’S IRRELEVANT! You told me that I was going on a reality show! “Celebrity Summer Camp” you called it! That was no summer camp! It doesn’t snow in summer time! Why did you do it Benny!?! Why did you do it?

(Dozer slams backwards into the wall and slides down to a sitting position. Hayze gets up and sits next to him)

Hayze: Dozer we have known each other for years. So I owe you the truth. It’s the least I can do. I got tired of how you and Jay treated me. The practical jokes and the…

Dozer: The transvestite?

Hayze: That too, but you betrayed me Dozer. Back in Britain at Premier, you ditched me for that rotten slime of a man Budai.

Dozer: He had Candy…

Hayze: After all that bullshit you ditched me. Then you tried to act as if we were still friends. Then I get this call from the Warden in Siberia. He had connections, grand connections. He promised me wonderful things if I brought you to his institution. Premier went under and it seemed to be perfect.

Dozer: Well was it everything that you wanted it to be? Was it Disney Land Benny? Did you get your log ride, your Goofy’s Fun House, your Space Mountain? DIJAH BENNY!?! DIDJAH!?!

Hayze: Yes.

Dozer: Say what now?

Hayze: As guilty as I feel, it’s been great. The Warden came through on everything. He got me a job at Creative Artists Agency in Beverly Hills. Over the past year I have become a lead agent there. Everything fell into place, new house, nice car; I got to fuck Cynthia Nixon…

Dozer: You fucked Miranda?

Hayze: Yeah, that was her character. But I guess I sold my soul to the devil and betrayed a friend only to find…

Dozer: Doesn’t she have boob disease?

Hayze: Yes, well she did. They removed it in 2008. Dozer, I feel awful I have to find some way to…

Dozer: So her Kool-Aid pitcher’s are empty?

Hayze: I…I suppose one could say that. Bottom line is, you weren’t just my client. But my friend Dozer…

(Dozer stands up and puts his hand on Hayze’s shoulder)

Dozer: I forgive you Benny…Get any chicken egg rolls? Been living on red kale for like a four months now…

Hayze: Wait, what?

Dozer: It’s like a rutabaga only smaller…

(Dozer proceeds to make his way to the kitchen and begins to dig through the Chinese food)

Hayze: No, why I am forgiven all of a sudden?

Dozer: Dude, you fucked a chick with deflated fun bags. If that’s not taking one for the team then I don’t know what is.

Hayze: Well…OK then. But I still feel like I need to make things up to you. Dozer, I am going to make things right I swear.

Dozer: If you want to make things right, then get me a chalupa.

Hayze: No, I will get your career back on track. With all my contact at CAA you could be big again.

Dozer: I just like to say it. Chalupe, chalupa, chalupa, chalupa…

Hayze: I have a guest room; help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen Dozer. I am gonna make this right buddy. I will get somebody to clean all this up in the morning.

Dozer: You know what else is a funny word? Spatula. Spatula, spatula, spatula…

Hayze: The office is closed today. But I will call everyone I know first thing tomorrow. With CAA at my disposal I am sure I can find something. We will get you a personal trainer, a stylist and get you back into game shape.

Dozer: Tabernacle…That’s another good one. Tabernacle, tabernacle, tabernacle…

Hayze: Right… I’ll go and get your room ready.

Dozer: Hey Benny, why don’t we go to the tabernacle and make some chalupas with a spatula!

Benny: Huh…I will also schedule some group therapy too…

(Hayze goes upstairs and begins setting up the guest room while Dozer goes to town on the Chinese food. Hayze returns twenty minutes later to find a kitchen in shambles. Empty wrappers and containers all over the place, with Dozer drinking mustard. Hayze takes a deep breath and proceeds into the room)

Hayze: You know there was a time when this would have shocked me or frustrated me. But you know what, I have a made and it’s about time she earned her Christmas bonus. Well anyway the guest room is all ready for you. It’s a king size bed. I put a chest with blankets on it to extend it a bit. You should rest up; we have a long week ahead.

Dozer: *YAWN!* Can I take the mustard?

Hayze: Yes, yes you can take the mustard.

Dozer: Win…

(Dozer follows Hayze upstairs, down the hall and to the guest room. Dozer crawls under the covers and Hayze begins to walk out the door)

Dozer: Benny?

Hayze: Yes Dozer?

Dozer: Will you tuck me in?

Hayze: ...OK

Dozer: Thanks.

Hayze: No problem man. Good night.

(Hayze begins to walk out the door again)

Dozer: Hey, Benny?

Hayze: Yeah?

Dozer: Will you read my a bedtime story?

Hayze: It’s late, why don’t you just go to sleep and we have a long day tomorrow.

Dozer: PLEASE?!? It’s a short one.

Hayze: I don’t even have anything to read you.

Dozer: I GOT ONE!

(Dozer rumbles under the covers and pulls out a small book)

Dozer: HERE! READ THIS ONE!

(Dozer hands Hayze the book)

Hayze: Where, where did you get this? *sniff* OH GOD! IT REAKS!

Dozer: Never mind that! Just read it!

(Hayze sprays some Febreze® on the book and begins to read it)

Hayze: Sally and the Solution?

Dozer: READ IT!

The Book:

There once was a girl named Sally Blaine,
Who lived in a small town in south western Maine.

Sally had found herself with quite a problem,
She had wild sex and didn’t use condom.

Hayze: What kind of book is this?

Dozer: Keep reading.

Book:

Sally didn’t know who the father was cause she is a slut,
Sally should’ve practice safe sex or at least done it in the butt.

Sally was a whore at the age of seventeen,
She would get fat and stretch marks would be seen.

She would be teased like an outcast at school,
If only she hadn’t squatted on cocks and just used a vibrator tool.

Pregnancy is a problem she needed to get rid,
She is in no shape to raise a kid.

She needed a way out, to find a solution,
Then the idea hit, she would get an abortion!

She grabbed her keys to go to the clinic,
So she wouldn’t be another welfare mom in a tunic.

Sally didn’t want to be recognized so she grabbed sunglasses and hat,
Didn’t want to be recognized when somebody is digging in her twat.

Sally arrived at the clinic to see protestors in lines,
They were shouting at her and waving their signs.

These people scared Sally, so she went home,
All of these could’ve been avoided, if the guys sheathed their bone.

Sally would open her legs to anyone who would bang her,
Now her only option left is the wire hanger.

Sally was worried and started to fret,
So she looked up the directions on the internet.

So Sally spread eagle and inserted the hanger with a twist,
She felt a tug and then yanked the hanger out with her clinched fist.

From her snatch out came the fetus,
Luckily Sally is no Virgin Mary and that wasn’t Jesus.

So remember kids when doing a whore,
Use a condom or at least put it in her back door.

The End

(Hayze puts down the book on the night stand and looks at a sleeping, smiling Dozer. Hayze pulls the covers up, walks to the door and turns out the lights)

Hayze: Good night Dozer.

(Hayze turns out the lights and walks out of the room. He changes into his pajamas and goes to be in his luscious master bedroom. Hayze gets into his bed and goes to sleep)

THE NEXT MORNING…

(Hayze walks into Dozer’s room to find him tossing and turning. Dozer is drenched in sweat and mumbling)

Dozer: No Tinky Winky! Don’t put your triangle there! I don’t want to play with your magic sack! No don’t! I need a grown up! No means no! Laa-Laa, Noo Noo, Dipsy, Po, somebody help me! RAPE! AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

(Dozer sits up very fast and looks around the room with a freaked out look on his face)

Dozer: Oh thank God! It was only a dream!

Hayze: Dozer, are you going to be OK?

(Dozer sees Hayze and clinches him tightly)

Dozer: Benny, I had the most awful nightmare! THEY WERE GOING TO RAPE ME!

Hayze: Was it prison flashbacks?

Dozer: NO! …IT WAS THE TELETUBBIES!
(Hayze pats Dozer on the back with an uncomfortable look on his face)

Hayze: Its OK Dozer. It was just a nightmare. It’s over and I am here now. Plus I have good news. I got you a job.

Dozer: A Job?

Hayze: Yes, a job.

Dozer: I am not going to have to wear a dress again am I? Cause last time I did that the video ended up on YouTube. Then next thing you know I go from a friendly cross-dressing candy gram to an internet meme.

Hayze: No, No. It’s nothing like that. Have you ever heard of Action Packed Wrestling?

Dozer: Isn’t that the place with Hurricane Steve?

Hayze: It’s Jeff. I have signed up at Survive and Conquer match which will be held at New Year’s Retribution.

Dozer: Is Steve related to Katrina?

Hayze: What?

Dozer: Hurricane Steve. He should tell his sister Katrina that New Orleans stuff was not cool. Also what are they going to call it now? New, New Orleans? Cause they rebuilt it and all.

Hayze: Dozer stay focused. This is your chance to get back into main stream sports entertainment.

Dozer: But I don’t want to go back to prowrestling. My heart is dead, deader than Patrick Swayze. You know in that movie where he made a vase with Demi More. They should make a sequel to that movie.

Hayze: Dozer, you have to come back. You never loved anything more than you loved wrestling!

Dozer: I was in love once. I had a dog as a child his name was Optimus Prime. Me and Optimus Prime would run and play all day. Optimus Prime was my best friend. Then one day he dug a hole and ran off…I miss Optimus Prime.

(Hayze looks at Dozer dumb founded, but then he smirks when he gets an evil plan)

Hayze: Well Dozer, I wasn’t going to tell you this cause I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. But since you won’t be competing I don’t see why you won’t be competing tonight. Optimus Prime didn’t run away. He was dognapped!

Dozer: “DOGNAPPED”!?! BY WHO!?!

Hayze: The people in the Survive and Conquer match. All these years they have been playing with Optimus Prime and laughing at your dogless life.

Dozer: THOSE EVIL, GOOD FOR NOTHING…

Hayze: But that’s not the worst of it. They changed Optimus Prime’s name.


Dozer: To what!?!

Hayze: Megatron.

Dozer: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! THOSE BASTARDS!!!!!!!!

Hayze: But since you don’t care anymore, I will just call Jeff and say no thanks…

(Dozer jumps to his feet)

Dozer: You call Steve, but you tell him that I am coming, not for him, not for you, not for the prize, but for vengeance!

-END-

…Or is it?

[Level-Two]

''One's'' Survived & Conquered (1)

Bound by blood

Every action has a consequence and with every consequence comes a price to pay. I'm pockets deep in debt; and I never had intentions to pay back what I owe. This problem of mine, isn't trivial nor paper thin—it's thick, it's red and it's family. I'm far from perfect and even with every step I take in the right direction, I take three steps to the side for the destination that awaits me. Those who choose to walk with me will soon come to know exactly what I mean by this.

Those who don't know me; say, I am a bad guy. Those who know me the best; say I am an animal. It's I, who see's myself as the good guy. Millions can't be wrong, so they must be right. Perhaps, it is me—who knows the least about himself all along and in that sense? Maybe, I just know too much.

What I do know is, I have been looking for something, and many times I manage to fool myself into thinking I had already found it. I've sorted through the remains of a broken home, I relived memories I had taught myself to forget. I've searched what I feel is every corner of the earth and back for these answers—and yet nothing seems to come of it.

Perhaps death is the other piece of me, I'm looking for?

I don't fear death -if- anything, I embrace it. In a way, it's love/hate relationship. I'd love to die in the ring but I'd hate to lose a match. I fight for survival -every- single day and yet, I flirt with death as if we made vows and I promised I'd never depart. If anything, what holds me back from pulling that trigger is remembering how far I have came, how hard I have fought—dying, seems way too easy. It is way to simplistic to be the answer I have been truly looking for all along...

And so; I keep searching.

As I watched my brother wheel himself down the hallway, I asked myself what it would feel like to cry? Apart of me told me I should but the other part of me, reminded me that I can't. I'm all cried out. Tears are merely a myth in the mind of mine. There came a point where I'd try to save my tears for when it would really matter—for one last lost love to show them for once in their life that they mattered to me.

Do you know what happened to those tears?

They were beat of me. Those last tears were shed, coated in blood, because I refused to die in a ring. I refused to die in the hands of my foe, Crazyman... Joel Bryant. Yet, in a way, a piece of me die. The tears that showed someone else that you cared. The tears that showed the world that you feel. Tears, that showed the world that you are human. Those are all gone. Now, all I have for show—is my word and you can't trust that for certain.

My brother saw me, standing in the hall and while he didn't try to show it—he was surprised I was there. He was surprised I actually showed up. Do you know how that feels? To know that not even your -brother- trusts you to be there on one of the most important days of his life and not have a set of tears to show him otherwise? No, you don't...

''It's been a long time, bro. It's good to see you'' I told him...

All he has now is my word.

''Lester, I haven't been this excited in years, man! These doctors say there is a chance I'd be able to walk again!'' My brother said parking his wheel chair in-front of me before extending me a hand to which I slapped in a playful manner.

''Hey, don't take this entire thing too fast. One step at a time...'' I reminded him to which he manoeuvred his head to the side and took a deep sigh. He was the big brother, yet it was I, who was giving him the pep talk. It was something I couldn't help standing -here- knowing that my actions put him -there- in that wheel chair.

''Come on. My little brother, the craziest motherfucker on this planet, telling little old Chris to slow it on down? Give me a break. When was the last time you jumped off a twenty foot scaffold?'' My brother asked to which I merely laughed off.

I realized he wasn't smiling, his face was still and serious which made the grin on my face, die slowly. I decided to avoid the wrestling, chat speak. Things always seems to go downhill whenever that had been brought up.

''Look, Chris, I don't mean anything by it. I just feel guilty about is being where we are today, you wouldn't have to through all this if it wasn't for me'' I admitted. It was the truth. I busted my father out of prison and it resulted in my own brother being shot. To add salt to the wounds; My father hasn't made the effort to contact me since. Father like son?

''I'm sure this entire thing is as much as a recovery process for me as it is for you, right?'' My brother asks me. Realizing that he was in the wrong, he quickly shook his head back and forth. ''Look, Lester; I'm just not used to seeing you care about anyone but yourself...''

''Thanks bro. Exactly what I need to hear...'' I responded, clenching my teeth. It wasn't even a conscious decision when I decided to turn my back on him and walk away. It was nothing more then instinct.

''Come on Lester, you know it's fucking true!'' He shouted back. It hit me. It froze me in my own footprint. My instincts told me to walk away, but that's what I had been doing all along. Turn around, face him. These voices running through my head are something special, unique and they felt different...pure thoughts—it wasn't that dark, slow, slur of a voice that is all to familiar. I had ignored this voice for a long time, but for whatever reason, I listened to it this time.

''I know it's true, Chris. That's fucking problem...'' I said walking towards him. ''I take these steps in the right direction, but then she comes and pulls my arm in the opposite direction''

''She?'' My brother had enquired. I should have bit my lip. I told him too much. Nobody, knows about ''her'' and if they did, I'd be locked up in the metal asylum eating chocolate pudding with a straw. I was quick to respond...

''I meant, I, I'm pulled in the opposite direction'' I lied through my teeth. I scratched the back of my scalp, so vigorously, I managed to cut myself. I lowered my hands, slipping them into my pocket, before realizing a nurse was heading in our direction.

''Look, Lester. I just want to get one thing straight—this perhaps is the best thing that has happened to me. It's taught me something in life, something that can really help you out someday, soon...''

Chris looked over his shoulder as the Nurse peered over him, while I pondered his sentence. I didn't know what the lesson was, but it was probably nothing I hadn't heard before. After all, I was sure I knew just about everything. It wasn't overconfidence. I had been around the world, seen many faces and I often knew what people were thinking, before they had opened their mouth.

Chris was a ladies man back in the day. I'm sure, he'd be please to know the nurse was slightly attracted to him. I decided I wasn't going to let him onto it. It would only be a distraction. The nurse herself was good looking, though, not quite my type. She offered me a hand to which I shook and introduced herself to which I quickly forgot her name. Maybe it was because I was deeply indulged in these thoughts or perhaps in the spur of the moment, I hadn't been thinking at all.

''Are you ready to try this out?'' The nurse asked my brother looking at me as if I was supposed to root him on. A smile crossed my brothers face as he looked up at me—maybe he was expecting me to root him on too, but I doubt it, that was always his job. At least until, I became the pro wrestler he was meant to be. That's when things all changed.

''Now before we do this, I want you to take small steps. You aren't going to be able to walk fully, if at all right now. Slow, easy, steps—I'm going to get your brother to help you out'' The nurse said to my brother; there was a look in his eyes, I'd never forget.

I assisted him up from his wheel chair; and for the first few minutes I had practically been the one holding him up. His feet where fragile and would buckle under his weight more often then not. Eventually, though progress would be made. He could stand up straight on his own. Slowly, tilting his head back to me, he said...

''It's funny. I taught you how to walk and now twenty something years later... your the one teaching me''

To the nurse's surprise he successfully took a step, the another. She was so surprised she called out her fellow co-workers. I stood beside my brother as his face twisted with pain, focus and determination—a walking reflection of myself. Each step he took became a larger stride. Then the strides became quicker. And quicker...

''Chris, this great... now slow down'' the nurse shouted over the now stirring voices of disbelief that came from her co-workers. My brother didn't listen. He blocked everything out. He wasn't going to walk, he was going to run. He was going to go faster the had ever went, further then he has ever gone—a warrior who had no boundaries.

''Chris, slow it down bro... your going to hurt yourself''

I could feel his hand push me to the side as he continued on. His feet became wobbly, his stance grew weaker—he collapsed to the floor. Rushing to his fallen body, the nurse was quick to accompany me by my side. My brothers eyes open and nurse asked him if he was alright, he only answered with a smile across his face.

''Never give up, Lester. Not until your legs give way and your body tells your mind that you can't go any further'' He took a deep breath of air. ''I'm going to walk again and you? You'll find what your looking for no matter which route you decide to take...brother''

---

Old shit, new tenants and a young neighbour

I never understood why my life was so intriguing; until I understood my life. Most know me as the wrestler, the guy who wins world championships, crushes skulls and surely has a few skeletons in his closet. You're right. Well, at least you managed to scratch the surface. It isn't until you fully look past the closet door, search around the closet as dark and as cold as it maybe and begin to put faces & flesh to the skulls and bones; can you begin to understand me anymore then you do, I, Level-One, that wrestler.

My self- importance isn't overestimated. I talk to ears that are willing to listen. I walk towards eyes that are open. Nothing more. I expect no one to sit down and read my book, my life story—but if you did, perhaps you'd begin to know me a little bit better or at the very least, pretend too.

See, I once loved. I mean, really, loved. I knew what it felt. The empty feeling in your chest when the scent of the women is no longer there, the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your sanity telling you to pick up the phone and call her and remind her that you love her and then remembering that it was only a few minutes before—did you call her and told her you loved her, after fighting with yourself for what felt like an eternity to hang up the phone. I, have been there.

Not today, however. Nope. Love is merely a concept. Rage. Hate and a little something special mixed together is all I need to get me through the day, when day brings you harm. It's a high, it's an addiction and it plays out on television, sanctioned by the ring of a bell nearly every single week. Love is nothing more then a sign of weakness, a sign I destroyed because I wanted to be -untouchable-; and so, untouchable is what I am.

Kayla Rose; is an old love of mine and -this- is her home. It's been a while since I have been here. The cracked patio glass door is a stark reminder of the day I walked out on her in a fit of rage—it feels good even thinking about it. The house was nothing special; a middle class home in the suburbs, a quiet community who went about their business. Gossip, wasn't the talk of the neighbourhood here which was great for a face like mine showing up and around these parts.

The reason I was here, was seemingly quiet simple. I had a few belongings stuffed away in storage and I needed to pick them up, before she had thrown them away. She was moving, somewhere to an upper class area and to be honest I didn't really think much of it. The phone call from her though, it surprised. Not only was it out of the blue, but it was as if -nothing- between us had ever went down. It was clear to me that there was more to this entire thing, that she originally let onto.

''And here is your shirt. You gave this to me after one of those wrestling events. It was raining, and cold...'' Kayla held the sweater in front of her. It was a black sweater, with splashes of green graphics paint, with the letters ''EWC'' across the front. Handing it over to me, I threw it to the side in which it landed on two heavy duty garbage bags.

''Thanks but no thanks. I've been done with the Extreme Wrestling Corporation for about a year now and it is quite possibly the best feeling of my life''

''You gave up wrestling?'' Kayla asked. The change in her voice was clearly apparent. It was as if she had a new world of hope. A big reason on why our relationship didn't work out was because of wrestling, and the fact she simply couldn't comprehend I loved the business just as much as her—it was like sharing her man with another women.

''No. I just moved onto bigger and better things'' I said, throwing an old book into a bulky brown wooden box, folding the top close. She looked at me, slightly disappointed, but tried her hardest to hide it.

''Any girlfriends?'' Kayla asked. I quickly looked up at her, she merely scratched the back of her neck and shrugged her shoulders innocently. She reached over and grabbed a tape roll of an old wooden desk and tossed it towards me, which I caught with one hand.

''No, none that would set me up with career criminals and fuck her boyfriends manager behind his back...''

Kayla merely stared at me, as I turned my attention to the box with a smile on my face hidden from her. The sound of scotch tape is awkwardly the only sound between us as I tape the cardboard box shut.

''So, I'm taking it that your single?'' Kayla replied sarcastically, clearly avoiding my jab. She walked over in my direction and grabbed the scotch tape from my hand. ''Look, Lester. I can't take back what I have done but remember that I wasn't well, I was in a coma for god sakes and Brian took advantage of me knowing this full well...''

''It's fucked up'' I said lifting the cardboard box onto my shoulder. I tried to go past Kayla, but she stepped in front of me before reaching up and grabbing the wooden box from my hands.

''I know it's fucked up. All Brian is now is a distant memory, Lester. I just want the chance to be like how we were before to accident, before Brian and before all this bullshit...''

I laughed to myself.

''Before it was me begging you to take me back. Amazing how we creatures change...''

I reached over grabbing back the cardboard box.

''It's about time I load this up and get going. I do have a match or two to take care of, if that doesn't bother -you- at all...'' I said, making the effort to rub it all in.

''No, no problem. Just give me a call sometime, will you?''

I looked past her dark chocolate eyes that desperately attempted to appeal to my tastes and brushed past her. I wasn't going to let her pull me back in, not after the shit she had put me through. She was beautiful, but as ugly as I am in the inside. Maybe, she changed—we all can change right? The answer to that scared me. There comes a time though, when a man needs to grow up—and realize no matter how damn good she looks a pair of bra and panties, the relationship just isn't healthy for you.

I guess deep down, I really have been just looking out for myself.

As I headed through the front door and down the flight of steps with the big brown cardboard box in my hand I walked out to the car which had a old time friend and mentor of mine Lee Takashi manning the drivers seat. I placed the box inside the back of the truck and slammed it shut. As I moved towards the front of the car, something caught my eye...

A small round face appeared in the window across the street. The boy, was no older then eight years old. His face wore disgusting shades of purple under his eye lids and his eyes itself was bloodshot red. The boy lifted one hand onto the glass at this point he had already made eye contact with me and with his other hand he lifted up a sign.

''You understand. Help me''

My heart raced nearly out of my chest. I felt sick to my stomach. I felt lost, confused, unable to take reasonable action. I stark reminder on the boy, I used to be—it was a kick in the gut, a punch in the face, yeah, yeah, let's not talk about it. I eagerly ripped open the passenger door, as Lee Takashi turned to be with a befuddled looked on his face.

''Lee, look at the house'' I said pointing towards the house across the street with the little boy in the window. ''There is a boy in there, he's beaten black and blue and held up a sign to me telling me to help him...''

Lee Takashi stuck his head out the window, observing the house. After a few moments he ducked his head back into the car window and shook his head back and forth.

''I don't see anything, eh'' Lee Takashi said placing his key into the ignition as he revved up the engine. How could he not see anything? I saw him. I know he was there; I'm not crazy. I think.

''You didn't see him? Not through those fucking slanted eyes you did!'' Lee Takashi flashed a solid look of frustration towards me, as I peered my head back at the house, trying to lookout for the boy that was just in the window, but he was gone.

''I'm telling you, Lee—there was a boy, in a window, he was there like two seconds ago!'' I assured Lee Takashi. Lee Takashi tapped me on the shoulder and nodded his head.

''I believe you. We'll figure out something, eh?'' Lee Takashi said to which I nodded my head in agreement too. I cared very little about anyone but myself, until that anyone looked a lot like me—if left untouched, he might even grow up like me too...

That would be dangerous.

''Lee. I'm going to tell you something, I'm going to tell you something that you must never, ever, repeat to no-one, alright?''

''You have my word, yeah?'' Lee assured me to which I merely nodded my head up and down. There was nobody in this world, I trusted more then Lee—if I couldn't trust him, I could trust truly no one.

''When I was younger, my mother was an alcoholic. She'd party, stay out late, she was a fucking mess. Well, it all really got out of hand one day when...''

---

The devil walks hand in hand with me

Definition: ''She'' The devil. Evil. Greed. Corruption. Power. That's who ''She'' is.

A walk. It's very rare I find true free time to myself. Travelling back and forth between cities and sometimes even countries is quite possibly the most time consuming thing you could find yourself doing. If I wasn't so busy, so focus driven on my wrestling career then the -only- thing I'd have is my life outside the ring, which often doesn't feel worth living.

Each walk was a new experience. While the people stayed the same, walking up and down the streets like mindless drones—the environment always felt a little different. There was a random element of surprise that accompanied these walks that made it all worth while. And so with a slow and calculated pace, I walked. Before I knew it though there was a loud ring. It came from my pocket. I had forgotten to turn off my phone.

Should I answer it?

I mean, this was my free time after all, a rarity in itself. What if it's APW's office hounding me for some annoying pre pay-per-view press conference appearance? What if it's an offer for some type of cross promotional event? God knows I can't turn something like that down. I shouldn't answer it, after all I had enough on my plate.

''Answer it''

I told myself, I wouldn't. No. I'm not picking up the phone. I told myself this, over and over again, until words found themselves flying out of my mouth.

''Hello?'' I answered. Damn it. I'm not weak just curious. I could always turn it down, I didn't owe these people a damn thing, after all.

''Hello, Lester Only. A few days ago you called Child's Service Protection about a claim about seeing an abused boy in a house across from an acquaintances home?''

''Yeah, that...'' I said trailing off as I wiped my hand down my face, I wasn't sure if I was going to regret it. Why would I? I remembered what happened to me. If only someone, anyone that guts to pick up the phone, maybe I'd be saved too.

''Well, Child Services took a trip out to the home in question and upon investigation there is no young boy in the household. The house belongs to two elderly folks. Is there perhaps a mistake with the household in question? Did you maybe mix up the households location or house address?''

''Absolutely not...''

To be honest where the conversation went from there is irrelevant. The point was, she thought I was crazy. She believes I'm seeing things. She never told me upfront but I am no idiot. They'd like to interview me some other time. Great. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, took a deep breath of the cold air which burnt my lungs, and then simply exhaled. This wasn't going to ruin my day...

''Pathetic. Look at you. What are you doing with yourself?'' It was her, again. Usually, she'd bother me when I wasn't out in public, but I guess, she had grown bored of keeping it so civil.

''Shut up, please, not now'' I begged of her.

''Aww...'' She said softly, her voice sound rich and sweet. ''I'm sorry, did I break some unspoken rule between us? When did you start playing by the rules anyways? One visit to your crippled bother has gotten you all soft and shit. I am NOT pleased...'' She said. I imaged her flipping her long black hair with attitude, right about now.

''I'm just trying to do what's right, okay? Besides, it was my fault my brother is like that. You know I can't run from my responsibilities forever...'' I said as a man beside me, stopped dead in his tracks. He thought I was talking to myself... I was talking to myself.

''Do you see how those people look at you? Guys like him, they think your crazy'' She said. I stared at the guy, and jerked forward causing the man to back up and scatter away.

''Shit and he's probably right because of you. You're the batshit insane one'' I shot back at her, once again, continuing down the long stretch of sidewalk.

''So why don't you just embrace it? Why don't you show me to the entire world rather then covering it up by showing the world that there is a hint of a good guy, in you? You know, you aren't anything without me. Even when you shut me up, I'm still here. Giving you the high you know your addicted too...'' She said following her words up, with a seductive moan.

''Listen. You do your thing when we are inside an arena—out side of it? I take care of the rest. I don't need that rage, anger and survivalist instinct outside the ring, there is no place for it in the real world...''

Well, that was before I walked past an alleyway and had a homeless bum with a plastic knife, inching towards my throat. I managed to grab the sleeve of his old, dirty and torn sports jacket and hold him at bay.

''You were saying?'' She teased.

I clinched my teeth and shoved the barely coherent bum back into the alleyway. He took a few drunken steps back, before tripping over his own feet and landing ass first on the concrete. Poor soul, he barely knew what the hell he had been getting himself into. I guess, I'm in the same boat—I just don't smell as bad.

I reached into my pocket and threw a dollar bill on the concrete, the bum merely stared at it as I walked off.

''Great now he's just going to put that towards beer money'' She sarcastically jabbed with the 1-2 punchline. She was the biggest cynic within me. The relationship we had together, certainly was an explosive one. My mental state was no match for her. And apart of me, knew I could use her—just as much as she used me.

''Listen to me, Lester. There is something I need from you. You see, you being the grand world champion is great but I am starting to become bored with it, you know? I'm tired of watching you tear apart of Slade Craven. I need an extra, oomph, in my step...'' She said. This bitch was greedy. I don't know what she had in mind and apart of me didn't want to know either.

''Looks like your out of luck then. Find someone else to bother'' I had shot back, picking up my pace. With my walk clearly ruined by her presence, I just wanted to go back to my hotel.

''Oh, sweetie. Trust me, you are my chosen one. Besides, bringing back the Survive and Conquer match just to win it, is exactly the thing you need for publicity. An extra, accomplishment upon your beautiful resume...''

I managed to win the Survive and Conquer match last year. It was no easy task. I nearly killed myself, upon doing it. It is the random element that really eats away at your mental state. Never knowing you you'd be matched up against, never knowing what angle of attack your opponent maybe coming at you with—perhaps, this attracted me to the proposition.

''And as the Co manager of Wednesday Night Overdrive, you shouldn't have any problem getting this done for me, correct?'' She asked.

''Well... what if I don't want too?'' I asked to which she merely laughed. I waited for a response, but none ever came. My phone rang again. The ere situation made my heart beat kick up in speed, I began to feel sick to my stomach. Reluctantly, I reached into my pocket and flipped my phone open.

''Hello?'' I said, coming to the end of the side walk, stopping at a street light crossing.

''It's Chris. Lester, you won't believe who just visited me at the hospital today, man!'' It was my brother and the sound of his voice was something, I can't describe. I never heard someone so happy, so excited—maybe he's walking by himself and upright again? He sounded as if he was about to cry, as I took a step out onto the street.

''Who is it, Chris?'' I asked. My brother followed up with a long pause. I could barely wait for the answer, but once I heard it, time froze and waiting was never an issue.

''It was Mom. Mom is alive''

The last thing I remember seeing was a car speeding towards my direction, cranking on the brakes with all their might, the vehicle stopping just before me. I didn't move. I couldn't move. All I knew was that I needed, ''She'' more then anything now...

---

What the fuck have I done? Here, I, the APW world heavyweight champion decides to open up the floodgates to the entire wrestling world at large under one small, APW banner. A decision that would have been shot down by our ''former'' APW, President Jeff as quick as he could pull the trigger. Unlike, me, Jeff truly does fear the competition. He fears the fact that some no-named jobber wearing a goddamn t-shirt, wrist band, or a tattoo on their foreheads is getting three-to-four pathetic initials publicized to the APW audience. He shivers every-time the EWC, KCW, or ZZZ initials are whispered.

President Jeff, alive or not—needs to get over this pathetic phobia he has. And I? The good employee, now co-general manger, is going to help him out with it. This is what this is. President Jeff will finally see just how pathetic these promotions really are. President Jeff will finally see that the APW actually stands for something—he will see just how good we really are—and by the end of the night, I'll show both him and the rest of the APW fans at home that I am the greatest star in this business!

While others may cower in the thought of stepping into the ring with men and women they don't know; the mere thought of it, excites me. Knowing that you have another 30' something' hopeless souls, with the smell of their own taint appeasing their nostrils, all buying into their own ignorance in believing they are the one to survive and conquer is what drives me further down victory road. There's nothing better then reaching up and tweaking your car mirror—only to see a wreckage of burning dreams & broken bodies hanging in the backdrop.

Yet, one thing I do not what to happen—is to crush dreams that belong to nameless faces. I don't want to hurt people, I can't see shed tears. That's called wasted misery. And while I see it all often, I don't see it nearly enough. Besides, how rude would it be for me to invite you all to the APW as guests, yet not address you at the door personally? I'm not that type of guy. As far as I'm concerned? You are all more then welcome—just wipe that smile off your face and take your filthy shoes off at the door.

Since this entire event has turned into a clusterfuck, I've created a list of my opponents and have sorted them into two simple categories. Due to time constraints and the fact that I have some guy named Slade Craven, I need to prepare an ass kicking for later the same night—I figured I'd read one list today, and the other one... well, sometime soon. The first list, is actually the second list I have made. It's called...

''You didn't make the first list, because I forgot you and you fucking suck''

Not the most creative list perhaps, but shit, at least I remembered you (after forgetting you). After three years in this business and over seventy career wins in my win column, the lot of you no named shit heads, slowly begin to take a backseat. Suck it up.

Kip Kutler: You know it's only fitting we start this off with some fresh blood, straight out of the EWC—throwing himself in front of an oncoming mack truck, thinking it's going to simply drive around him. You stupid fuck. I'm glad you've taken over Friday Night Rampage as the next up and coming star, unfortunately you aren't going to do it as well as me. See, before you were running your mouth, gyrating your hips to your own entrance music; I was paving the ramp to the wrestling ring. The same wrestling ring, you manage to make a joke out of yourself in. Your performance in this match will be no different from President Mac's performances in his bedroom. If you last more then five seconds, you'll consider it a success.

Young Mannie: You've got be kidding me. I'm potentially, sharing a ring, with a guy with a ring name that is most likely to be heard in a Prison Cell next to big bubba and little Choco—whom were busted for smoking a dubbie outside the local seven eleven. Do you even represent a place of employment or did you come to the APW to collect on a couple of food stamps and some cheap hookers? I'll make a deal with you. Shut your mouth. Stay out my way—and I'll give you the directions to the parking lot, where Ms. Lively will be waiting. As for the food stamps? I'll just step on them and watch you starve to death. Enjoy, motherfucker.

James Kash: At first, I thought I heard of you before—but then I remembered there are another twenty five James Kash's already wrestling in this business and ALL have managed to do nothing worthy of note. Generic Joe, you're boring me already. I want to forget you again. What's your name? Generic Joe, was it? Right. Listen; because I barely know you exist is a great thing. I actually recommend you use it to your advantage and decide to simply not show up to this match—we honestly wouldn't know the difference. Go on. Play hooky. You deserve it, Joe!

Bryce Bridges: You know; it's no surprise that when I issued this open challenge on overdrive it was going to open up the floodgates to EWC rejects from rampage and it looks like I was right. Bryce, it's about time you actually got up off your ass and wrestled some real competition; because you know you'll never find any in the EWC. Everyone with a inch of tact, an inch of credibility, packed their shit up and walked on to bigger and better things. For the mean time, it looks like President Mac has picked up a bunch of wrestling rejects and is attempting to make them into stars by funnelling large amounts of cash he wipes his ass with, towards the big bright lights and fancy graphics; but I know as you soon will—that all fades away.

All the glitz and glam are soon to be wiped away with shades of black and grey.

Hutt Anderson: Shit. If there is anyone who needs the aroma of bright lights, glitz and glam—for a minor, temporary distraction, it's this guy. Upon research, he carries the aroma of a flaming, shit filled trash bag, which actually makes him a perfect contender for Micheal Lively's garbage can championship. It's amazing how these things all come together. Apparently, though this guy isn't all that bad. He comes from the same dark corner of the earth Young Mannie does and apparently doesn't get along with him. One look at this guy, and I'm pretty sure Hutt Anderson can be found by the same Seven Eleven, throwing orange peels at illegals. Word has it; he also doesn't like ''talkers''; I think that's actually code for he doesn't like Mexican speak. Audios Amigo!

Nathan Hellsing: Nathan Hellsing, is perhaps the greatest thing that is going to come out of this match. Why? Because here you all are, fighting for the representation of your pathetic promotions; while he's out to do this for himself. This man has no affiliation; he's retired. An ol' retiree shaking the rust out of his arm sockets just to see if he still has it! I almost want to shed a tear for you but then I remembered; I can't cry. I won't think twice about crashing your hopes and dreams if the opportunity ceases itself and I would love nothing more for you to receive a wake up call you desperately need. It's a wake up call reminding you to go back to sleep and never wake the fuck up again. Goodnight, old man.

Dexter Somers: A good ol' competitor straight out of the SCCW! You know after having a short run of my own in SCCW, I can say your home promotion isn't a bad one; however...I find it highly unprofessional for them to send the resident water boy, curtain jerker and overall undesirable over to the APW. I guess, they're too busy enjoying the fruits of their labour and failed to realize I was actually participating in this event. They don't expect you to win, I assure you that. In fact, I could draw more ticket sales then you could in your OWN home promotion. I don't know if that's a testament to how goddamn talented I am or how much you suck, but regardless, it's something to think about.

Nick Dreams: This shit is way too easy. Nick Dreams!? You're goddamn right, Nick Dreams. Nick Dreams of winning. Nick Dreams of being someone important somewhere. Nick Dreams about actually surviving and conquering—but when Nick Dreams open's his goddamn eyes and steps into reality, he'll realize that stepping in the ring with people far beyond his ability was nothing short of a bad nightmare. Apparently, you represent 3XW. That's almost like coming into this match representing single mothers everywhere. In fact, I've never heard of 3XW. Not once. Therefore I doubt it actually exists. You'll be in the jail cell next to Young Mannie by the end of the night brought up on fraud charges. Fuck outta here, chump.

Atreides: Yeah. Say this guys name five times fast and you'll sound as intelligent as Jason Royce in a English class. This guy apparently has a fucked up life. Join the tea-party, Nancy. Now you seem like the type of guy, I could hang out with. You can bitch about your shitty life, I can laugh at it—and make myself feel that much better at the end of the day. Hopefully, your too busy throwing darts at your mothers face and beating up the white paint off the backstage walls to really care about this match—I'd hate to have a conflict of interest with you. Your life is as bad as it is.

Johnny Briggs: To be honest; I can't imagine your life being any better then Atreides. While I know nothing about you (nor do I care?) you do wrestle for Evolution Wrestling and that's enough torture already. It's clear to see Evolution Wrestling is swimming in dangerous waters when they send some cannon fodder over for a quick and cheap advertisement. The best thing that can come out of this, is you pitching an awesome deal to Pence Weatherlight, so he decides to wrestle in an hundredth promotion and eventually forgets that the APW exists. As for you? What about you? I'd be damned if your left in the ring with me when it's all said and done.

Damage: Jesus Christ. Young Mannie is retarded. James Kash is over used. Atreides is hard to pronounce and Damage? Well, it's fucking boring. I hate to judge a book by it's cover; but seriously, you sound like you'd turn out to be a boring read. Truth be told, if I wrote another list—I'd probably forget you a second time. The only chance you have actually winning this match, is having NOBODY realize you exist long enough to dump a few bodies over the top rope. Out of this bunch, believe it or not—your the one to look out for. I wouldn't notice you otherwise.

Valarie Belmont: A girl out of this bunch. This is the closet thing APW has been to pussy in months. And I mean, months! Take a look at the APW roster for further proof. Pence Weatherlight draws gay-teens in droves so even the crowd is filled by meat eaters. If President Jeff was here today, I'd be fighting this chick for the World Heavyweight Championship. Not because he's into that equal rights bullshit, feminist nonsense—but because he wants to prove to the world he isn't gay. I mean to head a company with not one female wrestler? Suspicious. Valarie, your entry into this match is a great inspiration for women everywhere; until Victor Hades cracks your skull open and consumes your brain in it's entirety. Eh, fuck it.

Danielle Deathstrike: Holy shit, it looks like I struck a titty-filled landmine! This match may be re-advertised as the first time in months, nearly years—that two pairs of tits and asses share the ring together in harmony, and forget about the rest of us wrestlers. Ooops. Look Danielle, I'm not doubting your talent at all. I really DO think YOU have NONE. You really haven't made any big splashes. No big waves. Nothing. You are no Georgie Nickles; you can't piss out gold. So as far as I'm concerned? You aren't on my level, you aren't a threat—but a great business acquisition? Maybe.

Katie King: Alright. Enough of this fucking bullshit! Three chicks in a row, now? What the fuck is this; a soup kitchen? I can't imagine all three of you actually being here to wrestle. You're just here to spew some feminist bull crap about being able to do what my Penis can and how your here fighting for females around the world and that you are equal to us men. Good. Because in that sense, I won't hesitate caving your pretty face in, Katie---with a foreign object or my fist. I'd love you ladies to show me you have an inch of talent but please for the love of god, do not open your filthy mouths. If I have to hear some Betty Crocker cooks a better meal then Chef Boyardee schtick ONE more time...I may just kill the lot of you.

Benny Starr: Well, through out this little discussion we have got the token black guy, Young Mannie. The token white trash guy, Hutt Anderson. And now the token homosexual guy, Benny Starr. Honestly, I can sit here and make gay jokes all day, but Pence Weatherlight is really going to beat me to the slap on this one. All I can say, is don't be surprised that if President Jeff manages to escape from President Mac's closet that this guy is going to be signed to the APW immediately for the launch of a divas division. Sadly, Benny Star is probably more feminine then the actual ladies participating in the match.

Gordie James: Yawn. The only thing amusing about this guy, is the fact when he pieces together some shitty promotional video and steps into the ring, he'll expose just how fucking untalented the boys and girls really are at ''Xtreme Wrestling''; this guy was actually a former world champion. Funny thing, considering Xtreme Wrestling is about as wordily as a backyard in North Korea. You barely realize anyone else exists.

Stalker Knight: More XWW crap. With no important accomplishments to note; chances are he sucks more then Gordie James does. Neither seem to have a decent personality either. But then again, any promotion who dares calling themselves ''Xtreme'' anything, is basically working under a sixteen year olds wet dream after he sold his daddies Rolls Royce to fund it. You don't need any talent, social skills—or anything to be apart of ''Xtreme Wrestling''. You just need to know how to hit each-other with lawn mowers and whatever other pieces of trash you can manage to find in the shed out back so a bunch of wife beatin', sister fuckin', cheesy cheetos eatin', son of a hillbilly can wank off to the excessive amount of blood and prissy screams through his computer screen. Sick fucks.

Mr. Huggles: Gay name? Check. No accomplishments of note? Check. Another piece of ''Xtreme Wrestling'' garbage? Check. I don't know what idiot's President Jeff associates the APW with but this trash is low grade. This doesn't fit my standards. Here I have issued an open challenge in hopes of finding the best talent in the world and putting them in the same ring, all so they can bow before me—yet we have morons like Mr. Huggles and the rest of his retarded friends of XWW jumping out of their cesspool of no talent. Please. Just go. Jump back in the cesspool and I'll get Jason Royce to hold your faces down in it until you drown...

Irony.

Pandemonic: The one thing about shit diarrhoea is that it never stops coming, as displayed perfectly by Pandemonic. One can only imagine how the owner of XWW is going to feel when he realizes his roster is filled with bottom feeders and failures? I for one, hope the ten fans of XWW that actually log onto their computers to watch you guys pull thumbtacks out of your ass don't see this or they might move onto something better, you know, like—the APW? It is important to note that Pandemonic dislikes Stalker Knight. Whoop-de-fucking-do. An unmotivated bitter feud between two losers. Hopefully, their rivalry takes them both over the top rope at the same time.

Davey Allen Dunham: Just when you think ''Xtreme World Wrestling'' died in 1800; ''Xtreme Wrestling Federation'' comes back and slaps you in the face with a flaming barbed wire base ball bat. Obviously, originality isn't big with this crowd around here—just in case I haven't already established that. Look. Here's some advice. Join a real promotion. It seems you've built a decent reputation under the ''XWF'' banner; but it's almost like holding a title in which your name is misspelled on. Well...whatever floats your boat or sinks it for that matter.

I guess that's it for the list... Wait. Bar one. The one and only Jason Royce! Who better to end this promo off with? Now, I admit—I really didn't forget Jason Royce. I mean how could you? He's been wrestling in the APW since day one and is still losing up to, today. I however, figured Jason Royce had no fucking chance of winning this match, much like the lot of you.

Enjoy the spotlight; because you have one dark night coming your way, and you aren't going to forget it.

[razzledazzle]

"If I told you that anything is possible, would you believe me?"




The scene was grainy, obscene, flickering and overall hard to make out. There were lights, they seemed to be in strobing fashion as well, making it all the more difficult to make out the scene. There was one person there, Katie King. She was in black and white, her visage would come in and out of focus, distort itself in unique and irritating effects. She seemed to have a sad look on her face, her eyes were trying to connect with you. She was pleading for the effects to stop, she was biting her lower lip in nervousness. But she was also speaking to you, she needed to get the message across. And you needed to listen, her vocals were surprisingly clear despite the distorted video quality. Her voice rang to you in a calm, smooth and assuring manner. She was trying to comfort you, as if you were in need of her help to understand the severity of her message.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

Strength, determination, faith, integrity, endurance, and a dash of heroics. They will not survive unless all of these ingredients are harnessed. Take away the sadism, the masochism, the confidence, the arrogance, the self assuring dialects. Strip away the hopes, the dreams, the respect & the bullshit. What do you have left? Nothing. Nothing more than natural human instincts needed for survival. Not only are you after survival, but you must fight. You must sacrifice everything to win. To conquer is key, and if you cannot adapt? Then your life is wasted. You will not conquer, you will not survive. You will not be there at the the end of the road.

Suddenly, the picture began to distort even further, it would rip and tear & peel away. She pulled her hand out to you, needing for you to reach back. Would you save her from her demons? Have you given her your hand? Save her from the sea of sorrow, take her with you, listen to her words!

The screen begins to shift suddenly, it must of worked. As the screen comes to a weird violet shade, it pulsates into lime greens, to a deep red, back to black & white into a sepia tune and many others. Likewise, her visage was changing, at first, she was looking straight at you. An appreciative smile across her face, you saved her.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

So, you think I can't do it?

No, of course not. You believe in her. We all believe in her. She is your friend, she thanks you for giving her your hand. But she becomes shifted yet again, now she is faced at a side angle. Her hair shifts colors alongside with the changing of the tones. But she continues to speak as if you were right besides her.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

So, you think it's impossible?

Could she be speaking to you? Is she speaking to someone else? Her eyes look as if she is worried, but they continue to flash as often as her tones & her position is changing. One second she seems happy to see you, then she seems saddened at your loss, then she seems angered by your words. She is calling to all of you, friend or foe, you are linked to this message.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

So, you think you've got nothing left to lose?

The angered face with the furrowed brow of Razzy D seems to grate her teeth in frustration at your arrogance. At your dismissal of her talents, at your insistance that she has no chance. She turns and walks away from you, the screen shutters again as she attempts to leave, and she is brought back to a sitting position. The screen twitches again, She's standing with her arms folded across her chest in a playful grin across her face as her eyes stare into you kindly.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

Will you be there? At the end of my road?

She offers her hand to you again, motioning to you as a gesture of endearment. Sher face contorts with the screen yet again, as the screen violently shakes and twists again, until a sudden POP! Is made, and the screen is normal again. It's normal colored tones, the scene is solid. Katie King is standing before you in an all white room, with her black t-shirt cut off at the stomach, her cargo pants & a brilliant silver shine to her hair with violet colored contacts. She takes your invisible hand and holds it to her chest as she speaks to you.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

If you've answered yes to all these questions. Then I've got news for you baby, you're only half right.

The screen shutters again, it returns to a black and white, and her body is moved to an upper right hand diagonal upside down appearance with her contacts being replaced with something that looks to have no cornia. Just pure blackness due to the tone. She switches again as the screen refocuses, she has on now a completely white ensemble with the same completely covered white shade of eyes with no middle color as she lies on a bed looking towards you approaching her position.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

Look at me honey, do I look like I'm kidding you? I wouldn't lie to you babe, this one's for you. So please, do me one favor could you? Meet me in that ring at the show ok? Let me show you.....

That last line, "let me show you" begins to echo and echo and echo, distorting into different tones & volumes, all still carrying that eerie appeal to emotion that her voice lingers in your ears. The screen shifts again, her back is turned to you as she now faces a long winding road. Cobblestones & dirt accompany each step ahead leading into a blinding bright light that cannot be made out what it is concealing in the distance. Her attire is now black with painted stripes and designs amongst her trip pants and spagghetti strap shirt. We cannot see her eyes as she has her back turned to us, but her hair is a bright and brilliant lime green.

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

Let me show you what it's like at the end of the road.

Her hand appeals towards the long, curvy path. Surrounding it is forboding trees with gnarled branchs touching to the cobblestones & jagged boulders jutted up from the dirt below. A strange and symbolic metaphor for the trials and tribulations to come in this grueling contest presented for the masses. She turns around at last, staring kindly & excitedly at you, with her eyes a wide & spiralled deep forest green, she winks at you and offers her hand to you one last time. Beckoning to follow her on this dangerous and treacherous road. Will you take it? One last time?

”Razzle Dazzle” Katie King:

Will you be there.....at the end of the road?

[Victor Hades]

Life is Cruel:
"Fight for Survival"

Trapped inside a box
Four long years
Hiding from the world
Punished by your peers

Studied teachers words
Staff appointed hearts
Earned a piece of paper
No go forth and start

Go forth, be conquered, go forth and die
Go forth, be conquered, go forth and die

Go forth be conquered
Go Forth and Die

Now you've graduated
Mind is mutilated
Thrust into the world
Feeling segregated
Move in with your parents
Back into the dark
Landed where you started

"Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope... but I-I will NEVER give up hope, and I will NEVER quit. I will survive, I will out last, and I... will be the last. man. standing."-Victor Hades

Hades Journal:
January 13, 2010

"Built to last; and made for Resistance."

"I've seen my days of Championship glory; I've seen my days of tearing strong men to pieces, and turning fearless men into frightened cowards. Oh, I've still got plenty left in the tank, and with saying that I guess you could say I've just been biding my time... waiting for the right moment. Now that opportunity has been brought upon me, to lace up my boots and step into that squared circle once again. I will be no stepping stone, I will be no obstacle to climb, and I will simply stand the solid fucking brick wall that allows them to go no further. I've risen above the odds when they were stacked high against me, and I've beaten them down to tiny crumbled pieces. I've taken some of the biggest names, and driven them straight into the ground... I've taken the most pathetic and wasted youth of this company, and I turned them into Main-Event Icons. As for the thirty-seven feeble-minded pompous pieces of shit I'll be annihilating come Survive and Conquer, there is no bright future for them... Except for the future of darkness the very second I knock their fucking lights out. I always live up to my word, after all..."

"This is a match made not only for the strongest of warriors, a match made where gods battle against gods, and only the weakling, pathetic excuse of men crumble beneath, and fade away like dust caught in the wind... The biggest battlefield in the history of APW, and I stand waiting prepared for the longest, toughest, and quite literally the bloodiest fight of my entire career. Thirty-seven other souls will be clawing, pushing, beating, and throwing bodies around, only to see to it the other man is removed from the ring. I don't care if I have to rip every last one of their eyes out, smash them beneath my boots as I splatter them along the canvas. Leaving them helpless like blind mice scurrying about the ring... I don't care... if I have to use any desperate tactics, any cheap maneuvers, or any cunning wits to outlast these men. I will go to any lengths to ensure my spot at Rasslemania."

"The fucking biggest showcase of APW, one of the most anticipated events of the year, and the only showcase of the Immortals. The very place where I will take place in the Main-Event, and see to it I not only take my throne at the top of the mountain, but the APW World Heavyweight Championship...as well. I want this like no one else, I'm hungry for it like a starving child in Ethiopia, I'm hungry for it like a shark with the smell of blood in the water, I'm hungry for it like a caged, untamed, mouth-watering Lion staring at a piece of meat outside it's cage. Pacing from side to side just eagerly awaiting to be unleashed… I'd sell my soul back to the Devil for this prized possession if I hadn't already dealt with him once before. Hell, I'd do it all over again."

"Survive and Conquer, marks one of the biggest pages in APW history, history which I intend to make when I eliminate thirty-seven other unworthy and undeserving animals for that contract locked away in that briefcase... History I intend to make when I survive one of the most brutal, violent, chaotic, and intense match-ups of the ages...I am going to fucking slaughter my way to the very end, and no one is going to stop me. Should any feeble-minded poor son of a bitch try such a task..."

"May whatever god they pray to have mercy on their soul."

Never in his life had he seen such a gathering, a merging of companies, a match drawn together with such talent from across the entire world... Never had he ever imagined a competition so big, so defining, and yet such a risk. A risk he would have to face yet a risk he was beyond willing to take, after all he hadn't much left to lose anymore. The world he'd once lived in had been turned upside down over him, so very little had made much sense since then until now. Now he had only one goal, one dream, one mind-set he was living and breathing for, one thing that he was ready to go down fighting a bloody and battered mess for... the Main-Event spot for the APW World Heavyweight Championship at Rasslemania. Of course he wasn't the only man who wanted this, nor was he the only man with these thoughts in his head, but he was for damn sure going to be the only man walking away with that opportunity. So many faces he could point out and recognize from previous battles on the field, yet so many new ones he would know so very little about... This surprisingly to some had little if no effect on him, he would have to treat them as any other opponent, an obstacle standing in his way. For the time being...

"The most persistent sound which reverberates through every man's ears is not only his heart, but the pulsating sound of beating war drums. I am a man who marches to the beat of his own drum."-Victor Hades

The truth about war is... the biggest problem in defense has always been how far you can go without destroying from within what you're trying to defend from without. He has vowed, promised, guaranteed, and yes-sworn... that nothing can penetrate his mind-set. Nothing on this rugged patch of earth, living or breathing creature can tear away this oath he has pledged upon himself. This would certainly mark for the biggest challenge he has ever taken upon himself, and it would only prove in the end just how badly he truly wanted it. Nevertheless, there are other predators, other monsters, other warriors, and other gods amongst insects he would have to be weary of... Level-One, one of the most recognizable and successful names in the sport today... Pence Weatherlight, a true warrior in both mind and spirit as well as inside a wrestling ring... Gladiator, a veteran of sorts and a Champion by reputation yet a fierce competitor... Chris Cyrus, a former reigning Champion as well as a future World Champion... Esther Rose, Kip Kutler, Slade Craven, just a few of several opponents who would be no simple task...

He would have to bring it all.

It is said that the tragedy of war is that it uses men's best to do man's worst, ironic how true those words can be... This competition, this all-out... war, was pitting the best of seventeen federations against each other in one giant all out battle royal. One thing was for certain... he would go into this warzone doing what he did best, bringing about the worst pain to some of the best in the world... and nothing, was going to stop him...

"God I fucking hate this part..."

Victor Hades was not a people person.
Victor Hades was not a social person.
Victor Hades was not a friendly person by any means.

This was something millions of every day people did not seem to comprehend as they encountered his presence, whether it were a waitress, a fellow APW fan, a five dollar hooker, or a college degree lawyer fresh out of Harvard... No one could get around the fact that Victor Hades simply hated people to his core, both equally and passionately... He held no regard for those who respected him, he held very little for himself for the matter... One thing was true; the presence of people surrounding him like a mass of insects infesting a household was like oxygen being vaporized from the lungs... This nausea it caused him only fueled his revulsion towards them, this lack of sympathy and pity for such careless, clumsy, and pathetic sacks of meat...

Victor Hades stood dreary and impatient in a rather long line which only seemed to move merely five inches every thirty minutes, as boarding calls continued to be announced and cancelled over the intercom. LAX-one of the biggest and busiest airports in the country, sadly at this point also the center of his hometown... was now the biggest annoyance occurring in his life at the moment... While holding a black "Underarmor" gym bag slung over his shoulder, before reaching behind his head and tugging the hood of his red, white, and black "Tapout" hoodie over his head... He slips out a quiet and impatient sigh as he guides his other hand into the pocket of his black and white track pants. Mashing his thumb against the buttons of his MP3 player, trying to distract himself from the ignorant ruckus surrounding him... While the ear buds snug-tight inside his ears blared the melodious tunes of "War is the Answer"-Five Finger Death Punch. The tedious and agonizing thought of simply standing there waiting simply made him want to tear through everyone in a ten foot radius and rip them to pieces...

Much like every other man he would be left inside that ring with, people whom he couldn't stomach the sight of, people who weren't worthy of the spotlight, people who weren't worthy to be classified as "wrestlers", these people would pay dearly... he would see to that...

A sharp yet distracting pain began to emerge in his left shoulder blade, an irritation which he was just now realizing after holding his luggage for the past several hours. Time had become a blur, he couldn't even recall what time he arrived at the airport or how long he had been standing there... it didn't matter now...

Slipping the shoulder strap of his bag from his broad shoulders, he arches back and rolls his shoulders carefully. Stretching those aching and tired muscles which had been bothering him since his last match at Christmas Chaos... Every muscle in his body screaming bloody murder they became so bruised and sore, after all he had just competed in one of the most violent matches of his career... Simply standing there holding his luggage over his shoulder was enough to make him realize, still, it was something which had taken time to become used to after all... it was in the job description. He came to terms long ago that he would have to make due with the pain, and that the income would surely take his mind far from it once the checks rolled in.

"If this is going to be my misery up until Survive and Conquer, you can bet your sorry ass there will be victims lying in my wake. No one will go unscathed, untouched, I promise you that."

Moving further down the line, as people fled from the ticket booth service desk like a tree being hacked down... He finally began to regain some stamina, comforting his thoughts with the idea of the soft cushioned seats and a nice warm blanket awaiting him onboard his flight...

Fifteen minutes later...

He was now onboard and placing his luggage into the overhead compartment, which was now becoming much more difficult than needed. A small plastic box some imprudent passenger had placed overhead marked "FRAGILE" all over the box was taking up far more space than needed. Groaning frustrated under his breath, Victor peered over each shoulder slowly as he thrust his luggage into the compartment thus shattering the "fragile components" in the way...

Clearing his throat as he gives a fleeting look around, he sits himself comfortably in his seat nearby the window.

Victor Hades-"Miss... ?"

Victor grumbles giving a brief nod to the stewardess passing him by, a slender, middle-aged brunette turns and replies with a warm and kind smile playing upon her face...

Victor Hades-"Could I get a blanket and pillow by chance..."

Victor adds, pointing to the wall beside him as if gesturing he would like a pillow to rest against rather than simply just asking. The stewardess meanwhile slurs an uneasy and disappointed murmur that escapes her pouty pink lips... While a friendly smile remains playing upon her face, she kindly shakes her head and gently taps the palm of her hand along the seat.

Stewardess-"I'm sorry sir; we just gave out our last bundle."

Victor Hades' casual and very clear "fake" smirk is instantly erased.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

His mind protests furiously.

After nauseating hours of changing altitudes and consuming by far the worst airline provided food available, his flight had finally landed and docked at the terminal. Quickly slipping out of his seat and removing his bag from the overhead compartment which now was clearly filled with shattered pieces of glass and plastic. He exited the plane while sobbing sounds and whining remarks echoed in the distance behind him, a poor bastard must have found their carry-on luggage in pieces, what a shame...

The air was warmer now and the sun breaking through the clouds was now beginning to set over the horizon, at least the weather had improved anyway... Calling a cab and quickly stuffing his luggage inside the trunk, he was finally off to a quiet hotel room and some good night's rest...

[ "Honk! Honk! Honnnk!" ]

Cab Driver: "C'mon you dumb pieces of shit, move your ass outta the way!"


The cab driver began to scream and demand leaning out his window, flipping off other driver's that appeared to be moving slower... Peering over the driver's shoulder he watched the speed gauge accelerate to forty-miles-per-hour every fifteen feet. Once again he was being shown exactly why this world was infested with people he hated, people that drove him far beyond the limits of sanity... What kind of world was this?

[ "Honk! Honk! Honnnk!" ]

Cab Driver: "Muovere il suo asino stupido! Get the hell out the way you moron!"


The cab driver grumbled once more in his fluent and foreign language, meanwhile digging through his pocket while grabbing his gym bag... He hands the driver a wadded ball of cash and opens the door...

Victor Hades-"Yeah I'm just going to walk from here; I need the work-out anyway."

He adds just seconds before closing the door.


Cab Driver: "Il signore per favore attesa! Sir please! Agh!"

[ "Honk! Honk! Honnnk!" ]

Cab Driver: "Prendere l'inferno fuori della maniera! Asshole!"


He had better luck on foot anyway rather than being stuck in that yellow metal contraption of death, at least now he could get a good jog in... Strapping his gym bag over his bag he slipped his "Tapout" hoodie off and into his bag, beginning a hard yet steady jog through traffic... Vehicles remaining stationary bumper to bumper as he passed, the verbal sounds of curse words, different languages, and honking horns soon began to fade out... His conscience focusing on nothing but his body functioning as he continued to move down the highway...

[ Thirty minutes later... ]

Checked in and showered, he could finally rest in a dark, warm, quiet and relaxing hotel room without interruptions or noise of any kind... The soothing silence gave him time to adjust, time to mentally focus on the biggest opportunity of his career... New Year's Retribution... A chance to not only become the Number One Contender for the World Heavyweight Championship at Rasslemania, but also the opportunity to become Overdrive Champion in the same night... It was if fate itself were smiling upon him and the rest of the world with cruel intentions... APW Overdrive and World Heavyweight Champion, Victor Hades... god damn that had a good ring to it.

---- [shadow=gray,left,300]Survive and Conquer 2010 Promo[/shadow] ----

The sun is just barely over the horizon once again, as the camera swiftly rises outside the balcony of Victor Hades' hotel room... The sliding glass door carefully ajars and outsteps one of wrestling's most dangerous, successful, and intimidating superstars... Victor Hades. Hades was more than just 'a gimmick', Hades was more than just a psychopathic lunatic, and Hades was more than just a pure evil maniac...

Stepping out onto the balcony in a tight fit, white t-shirt with the words "Survive or be Slaughtered" in red across the rest... Hades' custom t-shirt for New Year's Retribution and a black baggy pair of surfer trunks.. He crosses his massive tatooed arms and glances out over the surroundings and looks to the camera lens... Mustering up the best impersonation he can deliver...

Victor Hades-"It's gonna be me', 'I'm going to be the last one', 'I'mma eliminate you boy'..."I'd take pleasure in guttin' you... boy"... Those thirty-plus men don't stand a chance against me'! What the fuck is wrong with these people, huh? Anyone? Don't you think there's a lot of, uh, a lot of anger flowing around this match? Some kind of a pubescent volatility..? Don't you think? A lotta angst, a lot of "I'm sixteen, I'm angry at my father" syndrome? I mean grow up! We're stuck on in a jam-packed, elbow-to-elbow battle royal with a bunch of violence-for-pleasure-seeking psychopathic lunatics! Oh-wait that's right never mind... THEY'RE STUCK IN THERE WITH ME! I'm only going to say this once, clean and crystal clear for you dumb-fucks to comprehend... There is no chance, no hope, and no survival for any of you... Jobbers don't get pushed; Main-Event veterans don't put over jobbers... It just DOESN'T happen. So for you washed-up, never-was any good for nothing wanna-be jobbers... Masked Marvel, Young Mannie, James Kash, McBride, Payne, Fisk, Helsing, Somers, Dreams, Dozer, Katie King, and the rest of you worthless, impotent, narrow-minded fucks who's names don't deserve to be mentioned..."

Pauses.

"Understand THIS... I don't give a rat's ass if your name is The Rock, Muhammad Ali, Samuel L. Jackson, Rocky Balboa, Jesus, or even Chuck freaking' Norris... You have no business inside this ring or any other, you are nothing special, you are nothing within a mile of being unique, you are all the same wasted space and for the lack of a better word PATHETIC... You won't be making it to the finals; you won't be outlasting every other man in this battle royal... You're going to climb into THAT ring, and I'm going to be immediately tossing your sorry ass BACK OUT the way you came... End of story... Enjoy kissing the concrete for me..."

Hades gives a re-assuring nod towards the camera as he sends a clear message and issuing a fair warning out to the lower-rated competing superstars in the battle royal...

"First in the long line on this massive stack of jobbers I'm going to enjoy the pleasure of ripping apart, Hutt Anderson... I did my research to find anything about this short-tempered, hairline-receding, Jersey Shore knuckle-bumping fatass and you know what came up... NOTHING... I'm sorry Mr. Anderson... aside from the fact you appear to be nothing more than a simple nobody with some serious moral issues as well as a habit of underestimating your opponents... You don't appear to have the slightest chance in making past me motherfucker... Your style is old-fashioned; you look constipated twenty-four hours a day unless you shit yourself when President Jeff really told you who I was... And your gimmick, well let's just say the early 90's called... The Legion of Doom's "Road Warriors" want their gimmick back. Then again I don't think Larry the Cable Guy would be too happy if he saw your gimmick either... Stay the fuck out of my way, or become just another casualty..."

Hades pauses, tilting his head aside spitting a small wad of saliva from his lucid lips... Tightly twisting his neck to the side as it crackles in response to the next name on his list, a familiar one at that...

"Slade "The Not-So Main-Man" Craven was the next on my list, and for good reason... I know you don't respect me, I know you don't like me, and I know you don't give a damn about my reputation... Aside from the fact we've met a time or two before, Slade... things have changed... For example I beat your boyfriend, former Tag-Team partner's sorry redneck ass to a pulp at Christmas Chaos 2009... I'd like to go as far as saying I was the result in his retirement after the humiliation I brought upon him... The mental reminder that he would forever be haunted by the FACT I did what he claimed I could never do... You Slade, you're just the half-wit trying to survive on the bigger playing field... The red-shirt trying to compete in the big league, but it just isn't quite enough... Take my advice, lose the bruised and battered inflated ego, realize this is 2010 and not the year 2000 anymore, the Undertaker "American Badass" gimmick died out a decade ago... Then maybe-JUST MAYBE you'll start to see some fucking progress... Till' then, don't get in my fucking way at Survive and Conquer... it wouldn't be in your 'best interest' to stop an oncoming freight train about to roll straight through you."

Pauses.

"Bryce Bridges, wait the high-school drop out jackass who's ass I kicked around like a soccer-ball, the same Bryce Bridges who wanted 'so badly' to be a huge EWC star? The same Bryce Bridges who claimed he could overcome the Titan of Torment... Me, Victor Hades? Go back to your bedroom and finish playing with your wrestling action figures you fucking pre-mature, shaggy-haired, Chad Kroeger wanna-be jackass. I got shoes older than you, kid; and tougher, too... If you don't want to suffer a repeat of the overwhelming ass-kicking you took from me just several days ago, I suggest you stay the fuck out of my way-or else eliminate yourself for me."

He pauses once more and slowly shakes his head with a callous smirk, reminiscing upon the horrific and merciless beating he delivered onto Bryce Bridges previously on EWC territory.

"Pence Weatherlight-the SORRIEST son of a bitch who gets to enjoy my company all night come New Year's Retribution... The man who STILL to this very moment, believes he is in fact BETTER than me... Fuck you Pence Weatherlight... Don't piss down my back and tell me it's raining. For the last FOUR times we've encountered one another, -I- came out on top... -I- picked up the victories, and -I- outshined YOU, PERIOD. If by some God-given miracle, if by some SMALL fraction of a chance your coward tactics manage to give you a cheap win, if in ANY way your EWC-worshipping little cunts decide to interfere to help you win and retain that Overdrive Championship... You can bet your ass I'll be coming for you in the Battle Royal... And I'll finish what I started. The truth is Pence, your time is over...my time is now, and at New Year's Retribution... my New Year's Resolution of becoming a Champion, rising to the top, and getting a shot at the World Heavyweight championship... becomes a reality."

Hades now leaning along the balcony railing stares into the lens, making it absolutely clear that Pence Weatherlight will not be walking out a winner by any means come New Year's Retribution.

"Chris Cyrus, the former reigning Xtreme Champion turned into Biggs' walking-talking sidekick... The man who never once faced worthy competition or defended that belt against anyone noteable for the matter till' Michael Lively came along and snatched the title away just as easily... Exhausted resources, little hope left, and running on a few sparks of talent you still hold with a death-grip in your arsenal remaining... It just isn't enough Chris, and any dreams you have of winning Survive and Conquer... are all about to be shattered at New Year's Retribution. You haven't made it past me one on one yet, and you aren't so much as about to with thirty-something other men in the ring either... I hold no hard feelings for you, it's just well... you aren't fit to be ranked above me, it's just business..."

"For all of you lamefuck, faceless, worthless, half-assing retards fighting your way to gain some 'edge' in this battle royal, check your ass at the door... It reads "APW" and that just so happens to be my fucking territory... Your career, your history, your EXISTANCE means nothing to me... NOTHING, the split-second I see any one of your faces in my way, you'll be forgotten just as quickly as I've got my hands on you... You'll remain the same shit-performing nobody I couldn't remember and life itself will carry on... So step up to the plate motherfuckers, it's almost game time...

Fade to black.

Now you're sad and frightened
Want to go and hide
Maybe get your masters
Eight more years inside
Dream of your own murder
Strangled by the IVY
Drown in student loans
Better off just dying

Go Die
Go Die

You'll be eaten by the blackness
Of your rotting mind that's dying
You're consumed with sharpened wings
That penetrates your frightened lying

Go forth be conquered
Go forth and die
Go forth be conquered
Go forth and die
Go forth and die

[bryanpayne]

(Bryan Payne’s Hotel Room, Atlantic City New Jersey. Hours after SCW Jackpot PPV.)

Bryan paused the playback and a buzzing rewind sound was all that could be heard in the dark hotel room. Then he hit play again the light from the TV casting shadows on the wall behind him as he focused again on the play back being shown before him.

“He’s done it! He’s done it!” Came the voice of the ring announcer breaking the silence of the room with a shattering that almost seemed like a gunshot when set beside the previous silence. “Bryan Payne has defeated Destiny Champion Robb McBride! What a match! I’ve never seen anything like that!”

Bryan ran his hand back through his hair letting it drift back down over his face where he rubbed it vigorously restoring his focus. He watched himself… eight months ago now, standing in the ring tired and spent, but victorious. An enraged Robb McBride in the background of the shot staring venom at him as his hand was raised and the crowd in the packed D.C. Arena exploded all around him. It had been the first major success of the gamble he and John had taken leaving Japan for the States… it had been a hell of a night.

“What’s this?!” Came the voice again, “It’s Randy Rotten and Ricky Riot coming to ring side, I think they might be after Robb McBride!” The two entered the ring with a steel chair firmly in Randy’s hand, the two looked at Bryan and then turned their backs to him approaching Robb menacingly. Bryan looked confused for a moment and then a switch seemed to go off in his head as he started towards them to prevent them from attacking Robb, and just as he was about to reach them Randy turned around cracking him over the head with the steel chair. “Oh my god! Well that’s what happens when you poke your head into someone else’s…. What’s this?” On the screen all three men fell on Bryan like a pack of wolves in what was becoming increasingly obvious had been a planned assault from the start. The three men continue to brutalize Bryan who makes the occasional effort to fight back, but the combination of the match he’d just fought plus the numbers game prevented him from being able to fight off the combined efforts. “I don’t understand what we’re seeing here…. What’s to understand partner Ricky and Randy were both part of the Silverweight tournament that Bryan won, both victims of his mouth and now its pay back time!”

On the screen Bryan is finally pulled out of harms way by John Henry, who is having to hold up a battered and bloody Bryan, who is spitting up globs of blood and doesn’t appear to know exactly where he is, but is struggling weakly, as though instinctively wants to get back into the ring despite the shape he’s in. However, the massive bulk of John hauls him away bodily as Robb crabs the microphone and stands in the ring with Ricky and Randy on either side of him a sick smile on his face. “We are the Cult of Personality! And tonight… all of you at witness to the birth of greatness! So John… you pick up the pieces of your boy tonight, patch him up… because I promise you we’re going to finish the job soon enough!”

Inside the hotel room, Bryan’s upper lip curled baring his teeth for a moment as he watched the three men strut around the inside of the ring, holding aloft the chair still stained red with his blood. They promised domination, they promised that no one would change it. They had counted Bryan down and out, that having owner Chad Alpha in their corner would cement them as the dominate force in DEW forever. They had been wrong.

On the screen a swarm of doctors and techs surrounded Bryan who was being half carried as he was checked out, the cameras continually shoved away by security and John himself, until there was a surge inside the mass and a bloody and seemingly broken Bryan, one arm clutched to his middle, lurched out of the group of people. He took two steps back towards the arena and stumbled, falling to one knee and coughing up several more mouthfuls of blood, slapping away the hand that tried to pick him up.

“ROOOBB!” He yelled, pushing against the wall, leaning against it, it being the only thing that was keeping him up as he started to shuffle back towards the ring again. “ROOOBBB!” He shouted again, confronted this time with the massive form of John Henry who put his hands on Bryan’s shoulders and prevented him from going any further with a shake of his head. He tried to struggle, but the massive former wrestler was too strong to allow that to happen in Bryan’s battered state and walked him backwards a few steps until a microphone was shoved into his face from the other side.

“So Bryan do you have anything to say after that brutal attack by the newly formed Cult of Personality?”

“Get this camera out of his face!” John snarled trying to push it away but Bryan started talking, grabbing the interviewer and pulling him close so that blood stained his shirt and was soon flecked on his shades as it escaped his mouth. The man tried to free himself but he might as well have been trying to pry a car door off with his bare hands.

“I want Robb to enjoy tonight,” He paused turning his head to the side, a cut on his forehead seeming to unclot for a moment sending a fresh sprinkle of blood down his forehead to splash onto the concrete below and he paused to swallow down a spasm of pain from somewhere among his various injuries. “I want him to enjoy this moment. I want him to forget about me, forget about this match and concentrate on one thing.. his career. Because a guy like him, that much talent… and make no mistake the man has more talent in his finger than most people in this business have in their whole body.. is going to succeed. I want him to ride the success that’s going to give him.. ride it.. all the way to the top! Until little kids in their backyards are pretending to be him, wearing his t-shirts playing with his kung fu grip action figure… I want him to marry that pretty girlfriend of his. I want him to leave DEW take his name global…” He nodded a bit, something inside Bryan’s eyes making the interviewer very nervous as he tried to break away again with no success.

“Because one day Robb, when you least expect it… I’m going to be there to take it from you. And you won’t know when… and you won’t know where, but know I’ll be there. I’m going to beat you, and break you, and just like you couldn’t beat me tonight without a post match assist from the moron twins…. There’s not a damn thing you’ll be able to do to stop me then! And when you’re lying there, bloody, and broken, looking up at the arena lights far over head, everything you worked for laying it tatters around you… you’re going to know it was me Robb… you’re going to know!” Bryan snarled at the interviewer and shoved him away falling backwards into the arms of John and the arena staff which continued to carry him away. Of course that hadn’t quite been the end of things… two weeks later Bryan would lead a team of three against the entire Cult, a match that was eventually stopped after, in response to the Cult sending one of his team mates out on a stretcher, he broke a barbed wire wrapped baseball back over Ricky Riot’s back. A backboard had been brought out. But still he and Robb had never settled things… two weeks later DEW closed it’s doors, and both men with all that mutual hatred went their separate ways.

Inside the hotel room, Bryan rewound the tape again. A fire that had been raging inside him for almost a year… at Survive and Conquer his name was Vengeance.

(*********)
(2 days later, Las Vegas Nevada)

Bryan sat up. His feet were wedged tightly underneath a metal bar that had been welded along the baseboard for that purpose and his hands were tightly held behind the back of his head. As he reached a sufficient crunch he twisted his torso touching the opposite elbow to it’s corresponding knee, then the other, and then went back down; the pleasant burn that spread out through his gut telling him he was getting what he needed out of this. His ears were blaring with sound of the stereo playing in the background forcing a small smile to spread across his lips, Drowning Pool he thought, chuckling despite himself and growled then, “Step up?” yeah that was the name of the song, not too shabby. It was certainly good work out music and that, in the moment, was all he was concerned about.

Since he stepped off the plane from Jersey he hadn’t paid attention to much of anything but training. The bumps and bruises from the night before totally ignored and pushed to the side, sacrificed to the altar of getting ready for what could be one of the most brutal challenges of his career. Thirty-eight competitors from all over the world inside one ring, each doing their level best to destroy each other for pride, for respect, some for cash, it made him smile, he couldn’t wait. Of course, there were other reason to do this, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he had anterior motives for singing up for this. He’d been sitting watching a movie, with whom wasn’t important, when he’d gotten the phone call letting him who had just submitted their name for this. After that it had just been a matter of hours before Bryan had gotten the paper work done himself, no way was he going to miss this chance.

He paused in mid-sit up as the music cut off, and looked over his shoulder, noticing a familiar figure in a grey hoodie standing up straight from the stereo. He grunted softly and rolled over onto his stomach, bracing his feet against the wall as he did the courtesy of now facing his visitor, but the work out waits for no socialization. “You know, if you’re going to turn off a man’s music, the least you could do was say something.” The hood came down and the woman arched an eyebrow slightly as she approached, finally taking a seat on the edge of a weight bench and watched Bryan for a few moments, her mouth set in a way that suggested she was trying to figure out how to say something.

“We’ve known each other a while now, right Bryan?” She finally came out, stuffing her hands into the front pockets of the sweater. He looked up at her for a moment, the image constantly shifting with the up and down motion of the sit ups and he grunted in acknowledgement. They really had… about six months or so, perhaps not long in the scheme of things but considering everything that had happened to each of them during that period of time they had gotten closer than most. Hell Defiance Reborn was based on the friendship of these three. “So, you know the part where I said I’d better not ever hear about you trying to fight one of my battles for me?”

Bryan paused, grunted again, and pushed himself up onto his knees as he looked at her again. She was bruised, her lip still swollen all to hell from the night before. Christ, she looked like nothing at the moment more than a refugee from a battered woman’s shelter, but surprisingly strength was hidden inside that small frame, and he should know. Sometimes though, she could be a little dense.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about Georgie,” he finally said, brushing his hands off against each other before yanking his towel out from where she was partly sitting on it. He heaved himself over into a sitting position letting his sweat drenched head drift backwards until it rested against the cool of the mirror covered wall behind him and buried his face in the towel to wipe away the layer of grime that now coated him from his morning work out. “Besides, isn’t it a little early for you to be out and about preaching?” His lips twisted up into a bit of a smile and he held up a hand to ward off the evil stink eye look Georgie Nickles gave him in that moment.

“You know exactly what I mean damnit!” She snorted a bit shaking her head, “APW… Level-One… Survive and Conquer? AC just told me you were heading out there this week, care to tell me why you didn’t bother telling me?”

“It wasn’t any of your business?” Bryan snapped, perhaps a little too strongly. Sometimes people made the mistake of thinking friends never fought… nothing could be further from the truth, and when you put three personalities as big as Nickles, Thunder, and Payne inside one room, hell one locker room for months at a time, things were bound to come up.

“The hell it’s not! I don’t need you going over there to go beating on Level One for me!”

Bryan clutched the towel under his chin for a moment and looked at Georgie like he was seeing some kind of strange alien creature he’d never seen before in his entire life. And then he did something that REALLY pissed the Rebel Child off… he started laughing. It wasn’t a chuckle, a chortle, or a snort, it was a roaring belly laugh the kind you get and you can’t breathe for ten minutes afterwards. Even when Georgie picked up his water bottle and hurled it at him hard enough to make him grab his shoulder, he still didn’t stop laughing for several minutes.

“It’s not funny!” Shouted Georgie standing up now doing her level best to loom over Bryan and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“Oh god,” he laughed wiping a single tear from the corner of his eye, “Georgie, I love ya, but sometimes… Not everything is about YOU, you know.” He shook his head. He knew that was rich, especially coming from him, perhaps one of the most ego-centric people on the face of the planet, but it was no less true. “Look, even if Level One was the reason for me to head over there for this, which he’s not, it still wouldn’t be about you, it would be about pushing myself.” He paused shaking his head a little bit, “But it just so happens he’s a guy who’s just going to happen to be there and frankly I couldn’t care less at the moment…”

“Oh really? Well then tell me oh great and powerful Payne,” Georgie muttered, still irritated by the laughing from earlier, “Why ARE you doing this then?”

“McBride.” He bit out between clenched teeth as he stood up, tossing his towel aside. He could tell his answer shocked Georgie a little bit, who wasn’t quite sure how to take that and she watched Bryan cross in front of her to another station, where he took a short hop in order to grab a hold of the chin up bar. He began a steady pace then lifting his body upwards with his feet crossed and tucked up away from the ground.

“McBride, but why…. Ooh…” Georgie suddenly remembered. Back when they first met she had confided that she’d had her eye on Bryan for a while, as soon as a friend of hers who was involved in DEW had dropped his name as a ‘guy on the rise.’ So it took her a moment but she suddenly knew exactly what Bryan was referring to, and remembering the pictures and the medical reports from after that attack, she chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “Bryan, that was a long time ago I mean…”

“Don’t!” Bryan said suddenly, making Georgie jump a little with the vehemence in his voice, “Don’t even try to tell me ‘he’s changed’” He didn’t even pause in his work out.

“But sometimes all people need is… something to wake them up, make them face what they’ve done before, I think Robb has turned that corner that whole bit with the reha-“

“Gah!” Bryan let go of the bar and shook his head cutting Georgie of with a violent movement of his arm. “Enough Georgie! Damn it all. I know this guy better than you ever will. He’s all smiles and laughs backstage, he’ll suck you in with his girlfriend how great she is… he’ll shake your hand and look you in the eye and then he will end you.” Bryan’s upper lip lifted back again baring his teeth as he turned his back to Georgie looking at his own reflection in the wall and inside it he could see Georgie in it looking somewhat pole axed. “He’s never going to change, turn over a new leaf, he’s always going to be a snake in the grass, a disease eating away at everyone and everything he touches. He’s a coward, a trumped up two dime punk, who is going to get what’s coming to him. This piece of Canadian trash, tried to end my career Georgie… tried to end ME! End Payne! I don’t forgive that.”

“But…”

“After everything that’s happened would you forgive ADL tomorrow if he suddenly said ‘oh wow I’m going to be a good guy now just befucking ‘cause?!”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it!”

“Why? Because it happened to you?” Bryan turned around to face her for a moment, “maybe I should go see if ADL wants to form a tag team with me huh? Since we’re apparently in the business of forgiving each other’s worst enemies.” He shook his head for a moment a look of disgust on his features for a moment and he waved Georgie away when she tried to say something again. “No! If you can’t support me in this, if you can’t get onboard just get the fuck out and stay away from me. This is something I have to do, for myself, for John, and for the rest of my life. I cannot, I will not spend the rest of my life dealing with this, I will not be defined by a fight with a guy from a second rate promotion that can’t even compete with TFWF when it’s bankrupt!”

He shook his head and turned his back on Georgie again jumping up off the ground to catch a hold of the chin up bar again and resumed the steady up and down motion.

“Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?” Georgie snarled at Bryan who, oddly enough, broke into a smile.

“I’m Bryan Payne, and no one had better forget it.”

“Yeah? And is this about you? Or about John?... cause it’s not about Robb anymore!”

“You don’t know the first thing about it Georgie so stop pretending you do. Now I’m sorry you’ve had a heap of shit dumped on you the last couple months, I am and I have tried to be there to help you out. But if you can’t help me with this, if you can’t stand by me while I take care of a piece of trash… some unfinished business from my past… if you’re honestly going to stand there and play the Swiss card on me with this… just stay out of my way and let me do what I do.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do huh? Huh? Mr Tough Guy?”

Bryan snarled dropping back down from the chin up bar and grabbed a weight tree and with a roar it flipped over spilling hundreds of pounds of weight onto the floor and into the mirrored wall shattering and cracking the image of the two of them inside it, and then he whirled around on Georgie who backed away a couple steps.

“Robb better hope he goes out early, and you can tell him that if you want to Georgie, ‘cause if I get my hands on the piece of shit….” A little smile came across his face, “I’m going to do exactly what I promised him I’d do. Good luck at the Invitational Georgie, maybe in a couple months I can team up with Hannibal and then the circle of life will be complete eh?” Bryan rolled his eyes a bit and walked out of the gym ignoring the shocked look she got from several other patrons and leaving Georgie more than a little flustered.

(***************)

(Bryan Payne’s apartment, Las Vegas, running behind for a flight to New York)

“Bryan.. what the fuck?!” AC Thunder stood in the open doorway of Bryan’s apartment, with a slightly disgruntled expression on his face the caused Bryan to pause for a moment holding a pair of ‘tickle my elmo’ boxers in mid packing. He stood for a minute regarding his friend and then a slow smirk appeared on Bryan’s face as he stuffed the boxers down into the suitcase trying for the life of him to figure out how he was going to manage to fit it all in only one bag! Damn airlines…

“Hello AC, nice to see you too. How are you today? Fine bro, fine just trying to catch a plane. Here let me help you!” He muttered to himself actually doing a halfway credible mimic of AC’s voice.

“Don’t change the subject man, what the hell happened between you and Georgie?”

Bryan paused for a moment hopping up on top of his suitcase in a move that would have been laughably absurd in another moment, but passed unremarked on while he worked the zipper slowly closed. “That, AC, is I think,” he grunted a bit using his fingers to shove some bulging fabric back inside away from the zipper and then with a little sound of triumph managed to close it clicking the small lock closed and then wiped his forehead with relief, “None of your business.” He looked up at AC who blinked in surprise.

“Oh don’t you even try to give me that too, she said the same thing and then gave ME the cold shoulder like it was somehow my fault. What is going on here?” AC walked over to Bryan and physically prevented him from picking his suitcase up.

“Look, we’re having a difference of opinion here, it’s not the end of the world, but my life and my goals do not end or revolve around what she, or you, or that bastard John Henry want. I’m calling the shots for me now.” Bryan looked about ready to start a full blown rant and then he paused signing and let go of the suitcase and put a hand on AC’s shoulder to guide him across the room while they talked and he gathered up his shades, keys and jacket. “Bro, this is just something I have to do… for me. Now maybe Georgie doesn’t understand, or doesn’t want to understand why this is so important to me, but it is. And no one is going to talk me out of it. When I get back, we’ll patch things up and it’ll be all good, but right now I can’t waste any time worrying about Georgie, there are thirty-seven individuals I have a date with who would enjoy few things so much as decapitating Bryan Payne!”

“But…” AC sighed then running a hand back through his hair and then softly cursing under his breath, “Yeah… I suppose I do understand at that. But you’re going into the lions den alone man, at least let me tag along, watch your back?”

Bryan smiled a bit and shook his head. “No… you need to have Georgie’s back this week, or do you suddenly thing Hannibal is going to decide to play fair because he’s getting his rematch?” He shook his head and clapped AC on the shoulder. “Besides according to the promo shoots I’ve seen so far I might as well be the invisible man in this match as far as my opponents are concerned, and that suits me just fine. They don’t see me coming it’s that much easier to take them out.”

“Ugh,” He sighed and then laughed a little bit, “Bryan, has anyone ever told you that you’re too cocky for your own good and one day it’s going to get you killed?”

Bryan broke into a wide grin flashed AC a wink, “All the time, and they haven’t been right yet, Defiance Forever?” Bryan held up a clenched fist.

“Defiance Forever,” AC bumped it with one of his own, a rueful little smile on his lips, “I’ve fought some of these guys before, I’ll give you a run down in the cab of what I know, every little bit helps.”

“Cab?” Bryan shook his head holding out the keys to his Porsche and held them out to AC, “we don’t have time for that, fast but safely, you got me?”

“You’re letting me drive the Porsche? You wouldn’t let Jesus Christ himself breathe on that car!” AC laughed and took the keys getting a little mischievous light in his eyes as Bryan hauled his suitcase up and the two men started to exit the apartment. “So I figure while you’re gone I’ll take your car and Catherine out on a date….”

“Why you little,” The two men started tussling in the doorway and then broke apart with laughter, “But seriously… not a scratch or I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll treat it like it was my very own Car,” AC replied with a smile patting him on the shoulder.

“How about… you treat it better than that?”

“Wha.. what are you trying to say?!”

The two men continued that way all the way down the hall until they disappeared from earshot, the end result being that Bryan barely made his flight.


(**********)
(New York, Madison Square Garden)

Revelation n.
1.
a. The act of revealing or disclosing.
b. Something revealed, especially a dramatic disclosure of something not previously known or realized.
2. Theology. A manifestation of divine will or truth.

(The Camera opens to reveal Bryan standing in front of the Arena rubbing his hands together. He huffs into them a couple of times and rubs them together seemingly totally oblivious to the fact that he’s ‘on’ right now.)

“Pssst… Bryan..” came a hushed whisper of a voice that made him blink a little looking over to the left of the camera. “you’re on!”

“Hello Boys and Girls,” Bryan nodded wiping his hand down the front of his face after adjusting his shades against his face, “Many of you out there are going to recognize me, and a lot of you aren’t. Because the truth of the matter is that my journey from Japan to the States is only seven months old… So for those of you who need an introduction, I am Bryan Payne, or “The Revelation,” if you’re looking for something a bit more snappy.” He paused then, his lips curving slightly for a moment. “Seven months, seven months, two federations two Championships later here I stand before you as Sin City Wrestling’s Global Champion. The Journey has not been an easy one, hell to be honest with all of you here tonight, it’s not even one I originally wanted to make.”

“My Manager John Henry had to almost beg me to get on that plane to make this trip to the States to compete in DEW and SCW, and after more conversations that I currently care to talk about, I agreed.” He shrugged a little bit taking a moment to walk a few steps so that the camera could trail along with him. “Along the way my first promotion Diamond Elite Wrestling, once a member of the Experts itself, closed it’s doors, and I almost headed back to Japan then, except for the foresight of the owner of SCW Doug E Fresh who said…. ‘No Bryan, come to Vegas, you’re a born Sinner…’ and so I did. SCW wasn’t the first place I looked at when I was looking for a new place to call my home, but it was the first place to realize the truth when they saw it. The Truth is Payne.”

“I mean it sounds so simple right? It was anything but, because during my journey I had to say goodbye to a man who was like a father to me, a man who took a starry eyed confused punk off the streets of Tokyo and turned him into the most highly conditioned athlete ever to lace up a pair of wrestling boots, and then… taught me how to focus my anger, my rage and unleash it on anyone who stood in my path. I have a lot to thank John Henry for, and shaking hands and wishing him the best of luck in the future was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life inside or outside of the ring.” He paused then his brows bunching together for a moment and then he nodded before continuing, “But sometimes the final step in developing into who and what you are meant to be, to growing into the position you find yourself in, is stepping away from the supports that have brought you to that point. It forces you to take a good long damn look at yourself and the people around you, the choices you’ve made, the enemies of your past and realize that in order to grow you have to cut those things that are holding you back.”

“Now if you know me, you know I’m real big on being honest with myself, and honest with all of you, so before you start wondering where I’m going with this, most of this is for the benefit of those people who’ve never heard of me. So that they can hear about this personal Revelation I’ve been going through first hand… is there a point?” He chuckled slightly and shrugged, “I guess you’ll just have to keep listening to find out eh?.... Of course there’s a point don’t be a rube…”

“The point is Survive and Conquer, why we’re all here in New York this week, APW, the lights, the crowd, Madison Square Garden, oh my! Thirty-eight competitors, I mean wow, that’s a lot of disappointed people going home tonight if you’re here to grab that $500 Grand right? Thirty-seven broken dreams at the end of it… But is that really why we’re here? I mean we all have jobs right? Five-hundred grand is a lot I’ll grant you, and it’s nice, but anyone who is entering this match with the money on their mind well… they’ve already lost.” He shrugged a bit, “Sorry, so sad… This match isn’t about money… at least it should be, that just separates the mercenaries for the people who are here for the right reasons. This match is about respect. It’s about pride, laying it all out on the line. But above all of that… it’s about discovering the Truth about yourself, about each and everyone of those other men and women who are going to be climbing inside the ring with me.”

“Sure, I could come here into this ring and run down all thirty-seven of my opponents, god knows I do stuff like that all the time. But what would that really prove?... This isn’t a debate contest, it’s not about who can say the best little quip on one guy when the whole ring is stacked with top shelf talent from around the world. I mean what do you want me to say here? That Level-One is an overhyped man child with all the charm, grace, and talent of any random gang banger in any run down inner city in the world? It might be true, but that doesn’t prove anything. Do you want to hear that MDK who left SCW in a huff after losing the title I now hold is a broken down has been who buckled under the pressure when push came to shove? Or that Robb McBride is a miserable hack who, if you’ll notice, never manages to accomplish much of anything other than being tossed out of apartments and into rehab… unless he has a stable to back him up. Do you want to hear that the only people that have a lower opinion of Pence than his opponents in the ring apparently do, are the fans?” He paused again to adjust his shades. “I mean all these things are true, but what, NOW I’m somehow more likely to win this thing because I actually said them?” He snorted a little bit.

“For the benefit of my opponents at S&C, let me give you a little lesson, a run down if you will… Payne 101. Nothing you say matters my friends, no amount of snappy one liners or ‘rawr I’m the great and powerful bad ass’ is going to help you when that cage lowers from the sky trapping you inside after thirty-four other men and women have been eliminated. It’s not going to help you when four people turn on you at once just because they decide it’s your time to go. No bad joke about Valerie Lambs hygiene is going to make Hades and Arika suddenly say… you know what you’re not such a bad sort, let’s just help pull you back to the mat from where you’re dangling on this rope.” He paused chuckling for a moment, “I mean it would be nice if it did right? But this isn’t the case, all running your mouth is going to get you in a fight like this is beaten and broken, without a friend in the world and put a whale sized bull’s-eye on your back.”

“Now some of you are reading this and saying ‘surely this isn’t BRYAN PAYNE’ saying this crap, I mean I run my mouth like it’s going out of style most weeks. And that’s certainly true, I’ve been known to talks some smack… on occasion just occasion.” The voice behind the camera that spoke earlier actually snorted out a brief laugh before it was stifled. “Sush you, now where was I? Oh yes. So if smack talk, back talk, double talk isn’t going to get you through this thing what is? I mean what are my opponents missing in this fratricidal urge to demolish each other verbally? What’s going to get you through this match my friends, is preparation. Who out there among the thirty-eight, who has the drive, the will power, the heart to refuse to go over that rope, to always find some small scrap of energy when everyone else is gassed and spent and laying on the mat gasping for air. Who day in and day out, every damn day of their career as made it their mission to outlast anyone who’s in the ring with them? Which one of the thirty-eight is going to be able to always have an answer for everything his opponent throws at him? Who has their eye focused not on wanting the cash, not on winning the match, but on each and every opponent in that fight dedicated to the proposition of demolishing each and everyone of them like they do week in and week out elsewhere?”


Bryan takes a moment here, removing his shades finally and tucking them inside a jacket pocket before turning back to the camera.

“Bryan Payne is that man. I am the most complete package of speed, agility, technical prowess, power, and stamina ever to set foot inside a wrestling ring; a world class athlete with a taste for a little good old fashioned knuckle bashing. My opponents have discovered over the years no matter where they go no matter what they do, I remain the ‘man who can’t be pinned,’ not because I have some kind of gravity defiance. But because I refuse to be, because each and every day my training regiment prepares me to always be the last man standing after everyone else has put down everything they have trying to match the pace I set, I still have more in the tank! Always stronger, always faster, never enough is the motto I live my life in the gym by. The Revelation ladies and gentleman, as I said before, is Payne! The simple truth of the matter is that none of my opponents has what it takes to beat me to the point where I will let them toss me out of that ring, or is prepared for the lengths I will go to be the last man standing in that ring. When that cage lowers three other competitors are going to be trapped inside that thing with me, and people, that’s what I live for!”

“The money? Fuck the money, I’ll give it to Haiti, it’s not the point, the point is being the best, showing the world what I can do on another stage. SCW has seen it… New York has seen it before and now that I’m back I want a bigger bite of that apple, it’s time for a new group of fans to see the Revelation… the truth… that no one can Bring the Payne like me. And that is all any of you really need to know, so make your jokes, your quips take turns running each other down. Watch your video, read what so and so thinks about this or that person, none if it is relevant, because I’ve just told you the only thing you need to concern yourself with at Survive and Conquer. Thirty-eight competitors, but only one Bryan Payne, and APW, and all of them will learn exactly what that means, learn exactly why they do call me the Revelation. Get ready to Feel the Payne people… feel it and weep.”

[mdk]

(Footsteps. That is all there is for now in this dimly lit area. It’s not sinister; it’s not pretentious, dank and foreboding. It’s just that somebody hasn’t switched the lights on yet and the only real sense that is picking anything up at this opening is that of steady rhythmic footsteps across a cold hard surface. A calm, deep, well-spoken, non-regional English voice pipes up from the darkness to interrupt the metronome like footsteps.)

?: “Enough of the pretence, the jokes and the deluded visions of grandeur. Enough of the games, the lies and the fallacies. Enough of the childish games and the nursery grade insults. Enough…”

(He stops walking for a moment and allows a pregnant pause in his speech.)

… of the bullshit.”

(The figure continues to walk and talk.)

“Now is the time for the grown-ups to stop talking so if you offend easily or just can’t tolerate criticism I guess it’s time to take your teddy bear, take your milk and take your cookies and take yourself up to bed because the real challenge for this tournament is about to speak.”

(The footsteps begin to move across the vast room and those in stereo are blessed at listening to the footsteps pan from the left side of the room to the right. They abruptly stop the rhythmic stepping and a loud lick followed by the electrical surging of the strip lights being illuminated throughout the room. The room which we are in is now revealed to be that of a vacant wrestling arena complete with dusty old ring in the centre standing proudly to a live audience of zero. The figure who owns the footsteps now makes his way towards the ring. Clad in jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he rolls into the ring and his sheer presence and stature reveals to us that this is evidently one of the 38 competitors of the Survive and Conquer tournament. Some of the entrants will have heard of him from other competitions and other companies and some will defiantly snort in derision and question his right to be in this ring. This man hasn’t been seen for some six months in a wrestling ring though and has not been heard of at all for that time. No news bulletins, no gossip columns, no internet fan forums dared to mention his name as the nature of his disappearance was thought to have gone hand in hand with the vast debt he had accrued in the months leading up to his disappearance.
Now he stands before an audience of slack jawed viewers and keen followers of his work because here is a man who has defeated wrestling deities, destroyed pedestal perched heroes and has defiled legendary status holding hall of fame inhabitants. The man standing before you all now is a man who is a cancer and a cure in equal measure. A man you either love to hate or just love which in turn makes you hate yourself. His face displays a smile and a smattering of stubble while his hair maintains and ever scruffy tousled look. He gets to his feet and paces around briefly and takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes with a smile. Something about the smell of an arena – be it packed to the rafters or exactly how it is now – can evoke memories. Memories of clashes with icons of the ring such as Rebel Child, Fallen Angel and Ryan Ruckus all spring to the forefront of his mind. Victories and defeats to those people also spring forth and the joy and the anguish that this squared circle can give a mere mortal such as the one standing before us. He opens his eyes again to reveal the piercing blue eyes that many friends and foes have come to know all too well. The eyes of a determined man, the eyes of a man who has seen so much and done even more and the eyes of a man whose mind, body and soul are racked in pain. These eyes belong to M.D.K. and now it is time for him to speak.)

M.D.K.: “For too long I have been away because now I see that just like other areas of professional wrestling, this particular area has seen fit to ‘dumb down’ it’s calibre of talent and just allow and Tom, Dick or Katie to wrestle and walk down an assortment of generic alleyways, graveyards and poorly lit rooms. I mean how much does a light bulb cost?”

(He smiles and rubs his face before hopping up onto one of the turnbuckles to sit and continue.)

M.D.K.: “I could sit here and mock those of you that feel that make-up, a mask or some mood lighting makes you a better person or a more menacing prospect in a competition of this magnitude. I could sit here and pick you off one by one… I may still do that at some point… but right now all I am interested in is giving you a little history lesson into the world that consists – for me at least – of three letters. I am M.D.K. and I am superior to you.”

“I’m not going to become the Big Bad Billy Bullshit though and regale you with tales of past glories in the Like You Give A Fuck Wrestling Federations of days gone by and I’m not going to break some nobody in half or tear a telephone directory up into origami friendly chunks but what I will do is give you an insight of why I am so damn sure of myself.”

“I am here for one reason and one reason alone and that is five hundred thousand dollars. For those of you that know me certain acquisitions and business opportunities of mine went slightly pear shaped and for reasons unknown, I began to struggle financially. I was in a place where I needed to take a break from the ring and I needed to find my feet again. The ships are now balanced again but I still am not the man of means that I once was.”

“Now I could swan back to Sin City Wrestling from whence I came and into a Main Event Grade contract where I would be comfortable for the time being but what is the challenge in that? I have had to invest a couple of thousand pounds into this event in order for me to appear and to have it all come crumbling down would be devastating for me to say the least. But this very risk is such an incentive for somebody like me. When I receive invitations such as this I will never turn it down. When I receive business opportunities such as I have received building up to this even I don’t tend to turn my nose up anymore. I am a man standing to lose a lot from being in this even but I also stand to gain a whole lot more. The idea of so many bodies careering out of the ring and to the outside makes me give off a small shudder of excitement. To think of the crowd being positively rabid at the anticipation of the next entrant or the next elimination makes me want to get into that very ring now. Instead I am here at my training facility just reacclimatising myself again with the sheer adrenaline rush that comes with a match of this magnitude.”

“I can sense some of you yawning or cupping your mouths or simply feigning sleep right now but to know exactly why I love events such as this you would need to look at tournaments such as the Experts Extreme Tournaments these past two years and the sheer prowess I show when I am put into an event against feared legends and total unknowns in equal measure. I have bought the likes of Fallen Angel to his knees before me, Rebel Child – a woman revered by so many – knows that I am more than a match for her. These are names that people know and love and these are people that I have vanquished in the past. Where does that put people such as you? People whose biggest dream is to one day grace the main event, people whose main aim in life is to be regarded as something more than average and people that actually stand a chance of winning this whole fucking thing outright.”

“Most people fear the unknown yet I embrace it and utilise it because I am the biggest fucking wildcard you could encounter. You are either going to not have heard of me and be pretty damn surprised or you will have heard of me and yet will not have fought me. I can see from the line-up that there are two of you who have crossed me in the path and both of you have fallen before me. Admittedly, one of those individuals gives me as good as they get but that is not what I am talking about right here. I am talking about the pride in which I go into this event with the backing of Sin City Wrestling, the backing of my fellow SCW competitors and that despite my hiatus, they are here to support me in any way that they see fit to do so and I will do the same thing… providing it doesn’t clash with my own personal aims.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I am an incredibly proud man but I would sell my own grandmother in order to win or command respect. I don’t care if I have known you for five minutes or five lifetimes, if you are in my way I will ensure very quickly that you are no longer in my way. Ryan Ruckus, Brian Payne and the rest of my SCW ‘buddies’ should take not that we can work for a single goal but the long term goal… is mine? I look forward to seeing you all back in Vegas once this is out of the way…”

(He smirks just a little before hopping off of the turnbuckle to pace around the ring some more.)

M.D.K.: “I have come a long way from being a hot-headed arrogant youngster who thought that the world owed me so it’s refreshing to see a lot of guys just like that in this very event Guys that think they are something special because they spend some time in the gym and maybe work on being able to utter a sentence without royally fucking it up. The real gift you receive when you have been in this industry for a fraction of the time that I have is that you quickly gain foresight into who is going to make it, who will be something substantial and who is just another cookie cut generic bullshit shouting never-damn-will-be. In this sort of thing the majority of them are the latter but of course some gems to step out from the generically dim darkness.”

“The one that has always stood out as a genuine competitor in this and the one man who I am watching intently is Lester… You are a man with a target on his back you know that? The Last Minute Loving Level One. Lester, ever since seeing you carve through the opposition in the Experts I have craved to get my hands on you in the ring and at Survive and Conquer I intend to do just that. For too long people have held you in such high regard with your work and the iron clad hold of fear which you hold over so many. People see you and quake at the prospect of facing you but I don’t. For me you are simply another bubble that needs to be burst. People like you make me sick to think that you are given critical acclaim when in reality if anybody watched your matches, you always take so long to truly get into it. You really are a late bloomer. That isn’t my style you see. I like to lay my cards down from the outset and her I am boys.”

(He holds his arms out wide to indicate his presence. His palms are open and his head is tilted and sported a sarcastic smile.)

“Come and take your best shot, I dare you… no I DOUBLE dare you. Whether you are some flower picking little girl or some strip club inhabiting, slow witted dullard it matter little to me because this is the beginning of the new era for you people, a superior era and one in which you will be left looking mighty INFERIOR!”

(His gaze is fixed intently on the camera before it snaps to a wicked grin and he continues as he steps out of the ring and back towards the exit of the arena.)

M.D.K.: “There of course isn’t just one man other than myself in this match; there isn’t one man, one myth or one circus attire sporting fucktard to contend with. You see there is an entire army of dim witted pantaloon wearing cocks of fuck-tacular proportions out there just waiting to be beaten by me come Survive and Conquer. I mean do any of you actually think that this is the best thirty-eight people in this industry today? Of course not. There is no Fallen Angel, Sebastian Cross… Crazy Man…”

(M.D.K. looks directly at the character and pauses with a wicked smile spread across his face.)

M.D.K.: “Oh I know damn well about Crazy Man and am a big supporter of his still. Always the better man with the high ground isn’t he Level One?”

(He keeps walking and makes his way through a set of double doors to a long clinical looking corridor that stretches for quite a while. M.D.K. continues to walk and talk.)

M.D.K.: “I see some real talent in the line up. The likes of Ryan Ruckus, Valerie Belmont, Pence, Victor Hades and the Masked Marvel spring to mind. Then there are the Kip Cuttlers, the Slade Cravens and Gladiators that make this line up look considerably less than average. I mean do most of you think you are here to simply put out some You Tube grade musical montage of your sheer ineptitude or are you here to put on a fucking stellar wrestling contest?”

“You silly blinkered children only worrying about what you know. This is where I come into my own. I am the big fucking unknown for most of you. I have come back from hiatus and even those that know won’t know me anymore. I am a new man, a changed man and one who is feeling on the top of his game. The same names are banded about the whole fucking time. The same names are feared and addressed all of the time and yet you are missing the bigger picture. If you know so few of the thirty-eight how do you stand a chance of securing any semblance of reputation after it is said and done?”

“I have sat back and watched many of you in recent months. The ongoing battles and the general soap style plots that many of you seem to embrace. Friendships forged and rivalries ignited and yet you fail to realise how many threats there are in this match.”

“The likes of Stalker and Frazzle Dazzle can sit back and put on a moody pout for the camera in the vain hope that somebody somewhere will think that they are deep and meaningful when in reality they just look like planks. Beach-Hutt Anderson and Nathan Helsing can talk in their crowd filled rings to a crowd of I’m not listening and tell them that they are going to walk to the fucking moon but their words are as reliable as their ring ability. The likes of Bryce Bridges and Kip Cuttler who endeavour to play some cheap bad attitude storybook, cookie cutter mother fucking bad boy when in reality they are just the geek trying to hard… Or of course you could be preparing for your match with a slapstick style farce with some security guards and a video game…”

(He stops halfway down the corridor and spreads his arms out and sports an exasperated look on his face. We cut to a camera at the very far end of the corridor where M.D.K. is facing as he bellows at the top of his lungs.)

M.D.K.: “DOES NOBODY WANT TO FUCKING TRY ANYMORE?”

(He turns back to where he was walking and shakes his head despondently.)

M.D.K.: “To me it’s seems as though with morons like the motley crew who have joined up for this tournament that profession wrestling has lost it’s spark and it needs to find it again as soon as possible. Only certain men are designed for a task of that magnitude and from I see, very few of you have it and even fewer of you realise that you have a wealth of untapped potential in some of you. I mean guys like Dozer clearly prepares for his matches by vomiting and using whatever falls from his twisted little maw.”

“Or maybe you could take a leave from Victor Hades and just turn an act of self promotion into a fucking god-awful music video… but you impress me.”

(He slows his pace down again and licks his lips with a malicious glee.)

M.D.K.: “You sir have the balls to call things as you see them and that is something I can respect in a make-up wearing deviant sperm-dumpster such as yourself. The thing is when I enter a building I don’t give a shit whether it says APW, SCW, TFWF or HSBC because all that matters to me is asserting myself into my new territory and that all boils down to sheer primitive, animalistic tendencies. Victor you like to think of yourself as some fucking gate-keeper to this company when in reality you are a Chihuahua with the words ‘Guard Dog’ written on your kennel to try to convince you that you are special and a big scary creature. All I see when I look at you is a fat kid trying to find a niche in a society that doesn’t give two flying fucks about you.”

“It’s not all bad though because there are some genuine gems heading into that match at Survive and Conquer. Ryan Ruckus is a man whom I would call a worthy adversary. We have stood in opposite corners of the ring many times now and have always put on a stellar performance. In this match though it is every man for himself and every woman there to look like women’s rights are still being made equal. That means that when it comes to the crunch I will dump your arse out of this match. As long as blood pumps through my body I am SCW through and through and will be standing tall at the end of it all.”

(M.D.K. steps out of the double doors into the cold night air. An icy breeze catches M.D.K.’s breath momentarily as his body adjusts to the sub-zero temperatures.)

M.D.K.: “So what sets me apart from every other slack jawed hillbilly in this match? What gives me the cutting edge that makes me so damn sure of myself? The answer is simply that I have the true self confidence and self belief that I will walk into this match and not do as the title suggests. I won’t be SURVIVING and Conquering. I will be THRIVING and conquering to be standing tall when all is said and done. My self belief comes from my own determination and grit to get the job done at any damn cost. My own self worth is given to me by the things I have achieved and the people I have left by the wayside. I don’t rely on fortune cookie grade clichés to get me through. My mind, my body and my self given ability are enough to see me reign SUPERIOR over each and every one of you average simpletons.”

(He smirks to the camera and over to a waiting estate car where a middle aged black man sits patiently with the engine running. M.D.K. opens the passenger door and slides inside. Those of you familiar with the world of M.D.K. will recognise this man as Eddie Simmons; long term manager and friend of M.D.K.)

Eddie: “How did it go?”

(M.D.K. lets out a deep exhalation as though trying to expel every ounce of cold air from within him. He turns to Eddie and smiles.)

M.D.K.: “It was odd… but good.”

Eddie: “Did it feel natural to be there calling out the weak and retarded?”

M.D.K.: “It was like slipping on a pair of comfortable shoes that you have had for years.”

(Eddie passes M.D.K. a bottle of water. M.D.K. looks at it in a puzzled manner before taking a long drink from it.)

M.D.K.: “Thanks…”

Eddie: “A long monologue after such a long time? Your throat must be like a grandmother’s vagina.”

(M.D.K. wrinkles his nose in disgust.)

M.D.K.: “Grim… but true.”

Eddie: “So what now?”

M.D.K.: “Well I need to fit some training in… Some sparring as well… But due to the fact I have more interesting things to do in my life I have no desire to utilise them for this. People know I use a fucking gym and spar. They don’t want to see it on their days off.”

Eddie: “True but we have got this camera crew booked for a few minutes more for this session. Might as well make use of them…”

M.D.K.: “What do you suggest?”

Eddie: “Well seeing as so many people enjoy turning a video of self promotion into a music video we should play these people at their own game.”

M.D.K.: “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

(We cut to M.D.K. in a large refrigeration unit pounding his meat… I mean beating some meat… I mean… oh fuck it. He’s doing what Sylvester Stallone did in Rocky… Anyway, M.D.K. continues to train while some music kicks in to aid him.)

The hours approaching, just give it your best
You've got to reach your prime.
That’s when you need to put yourself to the test,
And show us a passage of time,
We're gonna need a montage (montage)
Oh it takes a montage (montage)

(We see M.D.K. being handed two tramps fighting over a broom and M.D.K. uses them as a set of weights and proceeds to chest press them)

Show a lot of things happing at once,
Remind everyone of what’s going on (what’s going on?)
And with every shot you show a little improvement
To show it all would take to long
That’s called a montage (montage)
Oh we want montage (montage)

(M.D.K. is now doing jumping jacks for some reason and then eating some pasta and looking confused as to why he is being filmed…)

In anything that we want to go from just a beginner to a pro,
You need a montage (montage)
Even Rocky had a montage (montage)

(Montage…montage)

(We see M.D.K. now being measured and weighed by Eddie and wordlessly receiving a positive response with the aid of his manager’s thumb.)

Anything that we want to go from just a beginner to a pro,
You need a montage (montage)
Oh it takes a montage (montage)

(M.D.K. now is eating more pasta and is doing some more meat beating…)

Always fade out in a montage,
If you fade out, it seem like more time
Has passed in a montage,
Montage

(We fade to M.D.K. climbing the stairs in his house and putting on the Rocky Balboa pose. He then starts to jog on the spot as the camera fades back to M.D.K. and Eddie only they are seated in a café both nursing cups of coffee and looking slightly baffled.)

M.D.K.: “Do you think that was a decent montage Eddie?”

Eddie: “That was good son… real good.”

(The camera fades out.)

[The Main Attraction]

*The Scene Opens As The Words RSM Flash Across The Screen Followed By Them Morphing Into IWF, As We See Mannie In The RSM Dojo Hitting His Last Set Of Weights Before Dressing In His MMA Gear For A Match With Nero*

(The RSM's Manager Damien Walker Is Pushing Mannie Hard As He Sees The IWF/APW Media Crew And Tells Mannie Too Take Break)

DW: Yo Mannie There Here Take A Break, After That More Training We Got Too Big Matches In The Garden!

(Mannie Out Of Breathe Pulls A Chair And Places A Towel Around His Neck)

Mannie: Welcome Too The RSM Dojo, If You Have'nt Had Any Internet Acess Or Had Any Cable, Well You Been Missing The Hottest Thing In The World AKA Young Mannie! I Am Part Of The Best Tag Team In The World Today The RED SHIELD MAIFA! We Only One Lost On Record And It Was Too The "Small Indie" Sensation The Anderson Evolution, But These Two Matches Coming Up Are Not Going Too Be Just A Foot Note In My History! OH NO This Is Going Too Be The Match The Re-Unites The Light In Pro-Wrestling And Will Kicking The Next Generation And Beyond, And You The RSM Is At The Fore-Front, People Like The AE Believe Were Not Good Enough Too Be In The Biz! But The Facts And Numbers Show That People Like Us Keep People Like You In The Market! Without Us PEOPLE Like The AE Will Fall Off The Earth! But With Or Without You This Will Be The RSM ERA! Now Me And My Partner Nero Already Have Plans Coming Into IWF Inception! But Enough About That This Brings Too Why I Have Blessed All You Pieces Of Garbage Known As The APW Universe, See People Like Biggs Know! That When You Step Into A Promotion Like IWF You Have Too Get Rid Of This Indie's Crap, Here In This Indie Promotion And Step It Up With The Real Players! IWF Is A Major Scale Production And APW Is Merely A Playgroud For All The SmartMarks And (Airs Quotes) "Real" Wrestling Fans Goto! Now Tell Me This You Say This Where Wrestling Is Still A Sport And What IWF Does Is Whore In It's Fashion As A Soap Opera And Sports Entertaiment! Well I GOT News For This Crowd, The Biz Is Excalty What I Just Said A Biz The IWF Is More Money For Me And Nero! And APW Is Another Check For My Pockets Because Coing Into The Survive And Conquer Match I'm Going For (Starts Too Stand And Slams Down Towel And Points With Fire In His Eyes) You James Kash! For You Hutt Anderson! For All Of My Opponents Because Simply It Does'nt Matter What Match I'm In Because, It Always The Same Result!

(Damien Walker And Nero Both Walk Back In, And Nero Is Shadow Boxing, As DW Tells Mannie It's Time Too Get Back Too Work)

DW: Mannie Let's Go! The Break Is Over (Starts Too Blow Whistle And Jogs) Come On Daddy!

(Mannie Smirks And Tells DW One Sec)

Mannie: Yo DW! I'm Coming Hold On Let Me Finish! (Turns Back Too Camera) Like I Was Saying It Always The Same Result! And That Is......

(Nero Walks Into The Shot And Puts His Arm Around Mannie)

RSM: WE WANT THIS S#!+ FOREVER!

*Scene Fades From The Live Feed As The IWF/APW Media Leaves The RSM Dojo*

[Jonny Briggs]

THE FOLLWING MESSAGE IS DEDICATED TO MY OWN PERSONAL MESSIAH, CORY FELDMAN. GOONIES, STAND BY ME, LOST BOYS, WHAT A LEGEND! IF I WAS MAKING A HOLLYWOOD MOVIE THIS WOULD BE MY FIRST PIECE OF CASTING... & I'D TEAM HIM UP WITH MACAULY CULKIN.

New York, everytime I pass through this God forsaken city I wonder why holiday makers visit here in droves every year. It's got big buildings, a big statue & big prices for everything you might want to buy. So it's big then. Who cares? The only reason that everything in New York is overhead is to draw your attention from what's going on at street level. Bums, trash & hookers are on every street & the smell is nothing short of putrid. The city that never sleeps? Who could sleep with the constant fear of being stabbed & robbed while you did? Why had I agreed to participate in the APW Survive & Conquer match in the first place knowing that I'd have to spend the weekend in New York?

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

3 Weeks Ago

Jonny Briggs sits watching television on a leather couch in his apartment, his Evolution New Age title resting on the empty seat beside him. After a few seconds the door opens & his manager Doug comes striding in wearing a long brown coat & carrying some papers. Doug stands in the centre of the room looking at Jonny who in turn refuses to acknowledge his presence instead opting to continue watching TV.

Jonny... Jonny.

(Without even turning his head) Do you think that I can't see you Doug? I'm choosing to ignore you because I told you not to come back here until you have a business prospect which peaks my interest. Do you have such an offer Doug?

Actually I do Jonny. Have you ever heard of APW?

No.

Umm, they're a pretty big fed Jon. Anyway, they want you to appear at their January pay per view & wrestle in a royal rumble type match called Survive & Conquer. This could be a big shot in the arm for your career if you could pull out a win against this field.

An APW field? What are we talking here, Frosty, James Raven & Barney Green?

Actually, we're talking more M.D.K., Ryan Ruckus & Level One!

The mention of those top level opponents peaks Briggs' interest & he finally turns his head to look at Doug.

Interesting. Maybe this thing could be worth a look. When are they coming to Michigan?

That's the thing, it isn't in some hovel Michigan. It's been booked for 31st January in Madison Square Garden.

New York? I'm out. I'm not going to that toilet again if I'm not contractually obliged to do so. Give me one good reason to subject myself to that level of torture.

All you have to do is make a few PA's on the saturday & work the event on the sunday, you'll be out of the city by sunday night. Besides, I could give you 500,000 reasons to work this event!

Briggs archs an eyebrow at the implied mention of money.

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

Yeah, five hundred large is good enough reason to go anywhere. Plus, I was relishing the opportunity to step into the ring with superior calibre opposition. Everywhere I'd been going since I got to this country I've been hearing about guys like Level One & Valerie Belmont but yet I've never actually had the opportunity to face them from across the ring while my legions of fans urge me to stomp a hole in them. Some men have a problem with hitting a woman but not me, my theory is that if you are standing in between those ropes when I drop my robe, your ass is mine. Damn, I'd punt a newborn baby to get my hands on the biggest paycheck of my life!

But that was all to come. Right now I was waiting for my new assistant to pick me up from outside my hotel where he seemed intent on making me wait amongst the scum that frequent this city's streets. These PA's were killing me. If I had to sign one more autograph or take one more picture I was going to snap & swing for one of these idiots. I can tell from the look in their eyes that they have no idea who I am & are only there to see the more established names who are on the card. That will all change when I am the last man standing on sunday. Finally Bobby pulled up in the rental car & I hopped into the back seat tossing my gym bag in as I did, the clanking of metal on metal as my New Age title rebounded off the car door interior.

You ready to go Jonny?

Shut up & drive you idiot.

I get it, you need to remain focused until after your match. I'll just shut up now... but I can't imagine what you are going through knowing that really soon you are going to be in the ring with the best wrestler in the world!

I shot him a look in the rear view mirror that could melt a polar bear.

I AM the best wrestler in the world!

Even though I didn't truly believe it, I needed the people around me to treat me like I was. This game is much more about the mental than the physical. I knew that my task was not an easy one but as we made our way through the overcrowded streets to MSG one thing was for sure, I was ready not just to survive but to conquer.

[The Masked Marvel]

The scene opens as a young man about college age walks into what appears to be a normal looking house, seated in a normal looking neighborhood. It is just about dusk as he enters this house, and when he closes the door behind him, he is shocked by what he sees: a masked man completely decked in red, white, and blue! It's not the fact that he's finding himself face to face with a masked man, however, it's more of the fact that he was right in his face, yelling at him. When he first took the job, he expected things to be hectic, since The Masked Marvel was a professional wrestler with anti-liberal views who was very outspoken. He knew that being the assistant for The Masked Marvel was a troubling job, but ever since he had departed from the VWF, he had become even more difficult to work with...

TMM: CHARLES! Where are the cookies you promised me and The Masked Maiden!

C: Well, I-

TMM: All DAY we were waiting for those delicious morsels to enter our mouths, Charles. And now you just decide to stroll in there with the morsels in question?

C: There was a long line...

TMM: AND YOU LACKED THE THOUGHT OF CUTTING THIS SAID LINE? FOR SHAME, CHARLES!!!

Charles drops the cookies on the floor and stomps on this. This causes The Masked Marvel to gasp. When The Masked Maiden comes in and sees the crushed cookies on the floor, she cries and dashes out of the room. The Masked Marvel calls out to her, but there is no response.

TMM: I hope you're happy, making a girl cry like that. She was looking forward to the cookies all day, you monster.

Charles hears none of it. He starts to fume, thinking of all the other times The Masked Marvel had bossed him around.

C: I am tired of having to deal with you all the time, Marvel. I can't meet up with every single one of your demands! I...

TMM: You...

C: I....ah...

TMM: You'll continue your job and you'll love it with all your heart. I mean after all, your mother requires around the clock medical care, doesn't she?

C: ...

TMM: Yep. And this tough economy, which I entirely blame Barack Obama on, you can't just decide to quit a fair paying job like this one now...don't you think?

C: I hate you.

TMM: But I like your cheerful attitude, so I don't hate you...you're a good assistant, Charles, just...stupid.

The Masked Marvel walks over to the couch in the nearby living room area. Charles stares at The Masked Marvel for a few seconds before lowering his head and walking over to the adjacent chair.

C: I'd like to remind you that you're booked to be in the Survive and Conquer match over in APW...

TMM: APW?

Charles sighs. As usual, The Masked Marvel was unprepared for his upcoming match. This wasn't something that happened every once in a while...this was something that happened ALL THE TIME.

C: Yes. The Survive and Conquer match...

TMM: Sounds like something The Masked Marvel is very capable of winning. After all, I know what it is like living in the mean streets of Metro City. I know how to survive...and of course I know how to conquer all of the bad people that The Masked Marvel encounters every day in his life. The Masked Marvel is fully prepared for Survive and Conquer, if you ask me.

C: Well, I'm not, and I don't think you are. You do know the stipulations regarding the Survive and Conquer match, right?

TMM: Yes.

C: ...no, you don't, considering you didn't even know you were BOOKED for a match, or forgot, I don't know. Either way, it's a battle royal, but it features many wrestling personalites that are not in APW.

TMM: Anyone I know?

Charles shakes his head.

C: There are a few well known names in this battle royal, including Level One, who is a favorite to win.

The Masked Marvel rolls his eyes.

TMM: Please, the nerd is still stuck on level one! You would think by now that he's at level two or maybe even three, but he's still at level one! How pathetic. I mean, sure, Level One is good, maybe even great. But he isn't Masked Marvel. He doesn't know what Masked Marvel can truly bring to the ring. Anyone else?

C: Ryan Ruckus?

TMM: Ryan Ruckus...oh, the guy that says "ruck" all the time as an excuse to use excessive language. I think he's a rather disgusting individual, really. "Ruck you!" and all that. Please, he might be talented but he does not have the skill nor the intellegence to match The Masked Marvel. I mean, if all he can do is talk about rucking this and rucking that, and rucking that, then I shall have no problem in trouncing that little rat. He is everything that is wrong in today's society, with his "in your face" attitude, and I will be the one to eliminate him in this battle royal! Now...anyone else?

C: MDK and Valerie Belmont?

At this point Charles was just naming names, but apparently The Masked Marvel knew who they were anyway as he continued to cut his usual random promo to a crowd of just one...maybe two if The Masked Maiden could hear through her large sobs in the background.

TMM: MDK sounds disgusting, like of of those diseases the young people get when they have unprotected sex. And DARN RIGHT they deserve it! After all, today's youth is as corrupt as ever and I am not just talking about America! Just like that Twilight...there are like 235 Belmonts that wrestler and apparently Valerie is another of them. You can shove it, sister, along with Simon, Jerimiah, and the other 325 Belmonts I have forgotten because your glittery vampire facade does not phase The Masked Marvel one single iota! The Masked Marvel tackles any enemy, wether it be The War on Drugs, The War in Afganistan, or The War Against Sparkly Vampires...now, list me more names!

C: Uh...there's a Mr. Huggles. He sounds friendly. And there's a DOZER....

TMM: DOZER, you say? Would this be spelled in all capital letters?

C: The sheet I printed out at the Kinkos has it that way, yeah.

TMM: Never heard of him. And this Mr. Huggles...names are deciving, Charles. This guy could be a mass murderer. You better be out there watching him in case he tries to do something funny.

C: I'm not going to be there...I might be backstage, but I'm not going to th ring...

TMM: Fine, be like that, Charles. I thought you were my friend.

C: I'm not. I'm stuck here.

The Masked Marvel sighs, shaking his head.

TMM: Oh, you aren't stuck, Charles. You can leave at any time. Just...what would your poor mother think? She should watch the Survive or Counquer event, anyway. Maybe pay the nice people at the hospital money to watch the event on pay per view. Watch as The Masked Marvel enters that ring and clears out everyone, then at the end of the day his hand is raised and he gets all of that precious money...you know what it's going to go to?

C: Well, I don't ask for much, but maybe you can give it to me for my mom's hospita-

TMM: Wow, Charles, I never knew you were so GREEDY. How insulting...I don't want to talk to you. Go away!

C: ...what?

TMM: GO AWAY! I'M DONE TALKING TO YOU! I'M THROWING YOU OVER THE TOP ROPE THAT IS MY HOUSE OUT OF THE RING THAT IS MY...uhhh...street? Yes...perfect analogy. Now go away, The Masked Marvel has preperations to do!

Just as soon as he had entered, Charles is thrown out of the house and into the street. It was a bizzare half hour of emotions and rambling promos that made little to no sense, and while he didn't want to be there, he couldn't deny that it was an interesting place. He picked himself up and dusted himself off, ready to head home when suddenly he is hit with pieces of chocolate chip cookie. He turns around and sees an angry Masked Maiden out by the window.

Maiden: NEXT TIME GET PEANUT BUTTER!

She shuts the window shut as Charles can only shake his head. It was a bizzare world he lived in, but not many could say they had an oppertunity to assist a lunatic disguised as a superhero who wrestled. The scene ends as Charles walks down the street, enjoying the small amount of time he had where everything was actually sane...

[Ryan Ruckus]

For Robert Altman and William S. Burroughs.
I feel ya, brothers.

RUCK THE WORLD - Season1. Episode 2 – SHORT RUCKS

The Secret Garden on the outskirts of Hollywood, though perhaps too-pretentiously named, is the paradigm of everything a floral shop should be. Lusty aromas fill the air for blocks around her. Her external décor is the precise marriage of bold-meets-strangely-tranquil. Even the infamous Sunshine State sun shines a little brighter through the smog over her rooftop. In short, she’s perfect.

And that’s why she is the ONLY choice for those who care to send the very best…


INSIDE

“Do you have anything in like, a desert camo motif?”

A bald man in a black suit and a pair of two-tone shades stands at the check out counter. This is our hero, RYAN RUCKUS. The Real Thing. The One Man Hall of Fame. The patron Saint of Sin. One-time multi-media superstar. Two-time Sin City Wrestling Global champion. Current resident of the Siberian Wrestling prison facility. And right now, he’s currently talking to the cute little button of a sales girl, KATY SUE.

K-S: Well, we have these butterscotch roses. They’re light brown. Throw in some cinnamon sticks, a couple sprigs of baby’s breath, and viola! Desert Camo.

R2: Perfect. You’re a testament to your profession. The card should reads as follows: Dear Derek, Happy send off. Come home safe. -R2. And I’m going to need the over-night shipping on those. Definite timing issue. Money is no object.

That wasn’t entirely true. Any minute now, might become a hell of an object. But the flower shop girl didn’t need that information. All she really had to do was ask-

K-S: Cash or credit, Mr. Ruckus?

And all he had to tell her was-

R2: Store account, actually. In your files, under Foxy Fox. We’re married. I’m her husband. It’s a thing.

Too much information, Ruck. You’re rambling, and you’re running short on time. And it’s not like Foxy would mind, anyway. Being in a coma and all…

K-S: Alright, Mr. Ruckus, your order ships tomorrow. Your wife’s account will be credited 12 reward points. And you have a nice d-

But our hero is already gone…


SIBERIAN PRISON FACILITY – EARLIER.

The visual scene is different now, taking on the unmistakable quality of a hand-held mini DV camera, often used in the creation of YouTube videos, yet of a slighty-higher production value than your standard webcam porn.

The setting is different too. A slate-gray cell replaces the Hollywood exterior, a cold, cement floor takes the place of Cahuenga Boulevard. And across that cold, cement floor, and in front of that slate-gray cell, the Siberian Voyle champ, Ryan Ruckus, paces back and forth, smoking an unlit straw like it’s a cigarette.

R2: It’s a lot of pressure, man. Survive and Conquer, Hunter on Lockdown, Cage at the Massacre, The Experts Invitational, Ornery Hillman, Level-One, the Warden, Bryan Payne, the lawsuit, and ANY other time in the past, I give a trademark smirk, remark some shit about ‘no rest for the wicked,’ and I’d do it. But CHRIST, I can’t hear myself think. I got Bryce Bridges concussive elbows comin’ outta one ear, and Razzle Dazzle’s midnight stroll through Central Park comin’ outta the other. Jason Royce. Pence Weatherlight! Dexter Somers. Danielle-fucking-Deathstrike!!!

He turns to the camera, exasperated.

R2: Too Reservoir Dogs for ya?

Donning a floppy, blond wig and stuffing a pillow up his shirt-

R2: How bout this… Man, this rucking sucks! I don’t know how I’m gonna do it. The Warden doesn’t let us smoke. My wife’s in a coma, I live in a prison, and everytime Gladiator comes on the screen, I want jerk the t.v. into a goddamn bridge embankment!

Breathing absurdly and pulling the wig, so it stands on end-

R2: Too Tommy Boy?

He steps on his straw cigarette to ‘put it out.’

R2: I’ll work on it…


OUTSIDE THE SECRET GARDEN. NOW.

The little bell on the Secret Garden door jingles behind Ruckus, as he steps onto Cahuenga Boulevard. Quickly, our hero lights up a smoke, using the seemingly-extraneous action to scan the nearby surroundings with his ice-blue eyes. For a moment, all seems safe. But then he sees the man.

Two blocks away, he wears a light brown trenchcoat, like an old school private eye. In his left hand, a manila envelope hangs ominously. Then his eyes catch our hero’s, and there’s an undeniable moment, where they both realize they seen each other. And that’s when the man starts running.

R2: Ruck me…

VRROOM! From nowhere, a cream & chrome Rolls Royce jettisons two lanes of traffic, pulls a U-y, and squeals to a stop in front of Ruckus. The driver’s side door swings out and open on its own, and from inside the car, an electronic voice-

REF: Get in, Ryan.

Yes, the R2 Engineering 5,000, REF for short. The very best money can buy, in terms of state-of-the-art, vocally-capable, western-european luxury cars. An unparalleled sidekick in times such as this. Which is precisely why our hero seems relieved as he jumps behind the wheel and the car speeds off, mere seconds before the trenchcoat man can catch them.

R2: Cuttin’ it close, REF.

-Ruckus blurts, catching his breath. Watching in the rearview, as the trenchcoat man diminishes behind them. Then the talking car responds in a voice not unlike Boy Meets World’s Mr. Feeny. (Or John Adams from 1776, depending on your pop-culture preferences)

REF: It would not have been an problem, if it weren’t for someone’s spur of the moment NEED to purchase flowers. What was that all about, anyway?

R2: Style points, REF.

Ruckus leans his seat back and hits the button for the auto-drive. Seventeen miles to Burbank Airport, and he could use the time to take a freaking rest.

R2: Style points…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Excerpt from RUCK OF AGES
the forthcoming sequel to FACE-POP CULTURE
(Available in bookstores March 15th)

“You can’t just beat the match. You have to beat the reputation of those in it.”

A lot of the young guys coming up, when they see me at the Hard Ruck or our training camp shows, ask me about specialty matches. Monkeys can be trained to work a singles match, given the current standard, but if you truly want to cement yourself a legacy, look no further than the Ladder Match. The Hardcore Match. The Winner gets a Handjob Match. (Or was that a strip club thing?)

The point is, when these young guys ask me, I smile and tell them to ask someone else. I have a knack for coming up with gimmick matches. *cough* Double Down Match. *cough* Odd Man Out Match. But when it comes to winning them, the only thing I’ve ever ruled at was the cage. And I’ve lost so many of THOSE recently, they might not count either. Once is a fluke. But twice in a row, and it’s time to stop saying you’re King of the Cage; am I right?

There is, however, one thing I can say about the specialty match. A certain truth I learned (the hard way) on this long and lime-lit road: Reputation is half the battle. Whether tip-toeing a ladder, reaching for a dangling briefcase, or standing with a bullseye on your back amidst 40 opponents, Never under estimate the power of mass consciousness. The winner, almost always, is the one who’s most revered.

Sure, there are those for whom sheer force of will is enough. But let’s honest, you do that enough, and you’re bound to be known for it. And that reputation… that belief by yourself and the world, you’re the odds on favorite… That is priceless.

Great if you are the guy, sucks if your not, as they say. Cause in the end, despite the gimmicks, despite the trash talk and the ego trips, despite it all, the only legacy you must routinely outshine is your own. And so that’s my advice to all the new guys. The old guys. To everyone sitting there, reading this now. Work like a madman to build reputation.

The rest is just survive and conquer.

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

INSIDE THE PRISON. EARLIER.

The interior of the Siberian Wrestling Facility is simultaneously stark in its whiteness, and dull in its depressing uniformity. Square floors full of cells face a central common area, and each is meticulously stenciled and numbered. Each, except for twenty-second cell, where the stencil has been altered with a black Sharpie marker to read: R2. And from inside the cell, someone is singing Europe badly.

“Survive and Conquer!
Dun-na-dun-DAH. Dun-na-dun-dun-DAH
Dun-na-dun-DAH. Dun-na-dun-dun-dun-na-DAH!
Survive and Conqu-

?: You do know those aren’t the word’s, right?

Ruckus stops mid-chorus, microphone hairbrush still in his fist, and turns to look up at his camera man and cellmate, DP.

R2: Of course I know those aren’t the words. But it is the name of the pay per view.

See, ever since Ruckus petitioned the Warden to let DP be his acting manager –effectively uprooting DP from his home in Santa Monica and transplanting him to a cold, Russian hell hole- the two’s relationship has been largely bullshit free.

DP: Look- [he sinks on the bottom bunk] All I’m saying is with prestige, a future title opportunity, and $500,000 at stake, there may be a better way to prepare than singing quaintly-improved lyrics over 80’s synth-rock hits.

R2: Pshh! Says you. [Ruckus sits himself] Look, the truth of the matter is I’m just as good as everyone else in the match, but the outcome is largely based on luck. Luck that the crowd’s behind you. Luck that you draw a late number. Luck that –when it comes ladder time- your opponent is more spent than you are. I don’t care how much training you have, or how superhuman your stamina, nobody-be it Mr. Huggies or MDK- can keep their eyes on 38 potential threats the whole time. That reminds me.

Ruckus leans under the bunk bed a grabs a Dayplanner. Opening it, he makes note for the near future, and then slides it back under the bed.

R2; Besides, I’ve had plenty of titles, and I’ve got plenty of money. I’m in this thing to get out of the prison and get my hands on one mother-rucker-

[Okay, so Ryan Ruckus used to be a Hollywood celebrity and Sin City Wrestling champion. Then he signed with this asshole manager, who promised to make the R2 brand as big as Coca-Cola. But bastard’s methods were less than honest –hell, less than legal- and Ruckus let him know it wouldn’t fly. So manager arranged for Ruck to spend 6 long months amongst the worst of society, in a frozen, Siberian Prison. That manager’s name-]

R2: Ornery Hillman…

[Now you’re up to speed.]

DP: You know, Bryan Payne is this sucker too.

If Ruckus were drinking, here would the spit-take.

R2: He is?

[Bryan Payne was the man who defeated R2 for the title two months back. He’s also the one who handed Ruckus his second cage match loss. He’ ALSO the one who pointed out Hillman’s shady business dealings, which inspired Ruckus to take action, which inspired Hillman to send Ruckus to Siberia. Now you’re up to speed again.]

R2: Okay, so I’m in this thing to get my hands on TWO mother-ruckers.

DP: Level-One’s in it too.

R2: Three mother-ruckers!

[Level one had been ducking Ruckus since early last year. Or at least that’s Ryan’s story. But just think about it, L1 v. R2? It even sounds good.]

DP: Valerie Belmont too.

[ . . . ]

R2: DP, I don’t’ have a problem with Valerie.

DP: My point, Ryan, you absurd ass, is-

Ryan’s iphone rings.

R2: Hold on. I have to take this.

DP can’t believe it. He stands up from the bunk, running his fingers through his hair. Ruckus checks the screen on his cell, where a picture text is requested for download. Ruck hits the button, allowing the message, and watches as it scrolls onto the screen. And then his jaw drops.

And there she was, in the picture on his phone, her movie-star looks bent out of shape by cords and neck braces. And there Hillman was, leaning over top of her, his stupid, rucking grin beneath his stupid rucking moustache. The message was as blatant as it was inappropriate.

“Wish you were here…”

That’s when Ryan’s cell phone explodes into splinters off the far wall of the cell, and the man previously holding it roars

DP: Shit just got serious, huh?

Ruckus takes a few deeps breaths. Runs his hands across his shaved head. Sits. Stands. Sits again. And exhales.

R2: Well, I mean, as serious as it CAN get. I AM still Ryan Ruckus, after all.

DP breathes a sigh of relief.

DP: So now’s an okay time to tell you you’re being sued?

And there’s that roar again.


HIGHWAY 101 – NOW.

R2’s custom, cream and chrome Rolls Royce, speeds down Highway 101, darting in and out of traffic, like a chase scene from an action movie. Inside the car, our hero’s using the on-board skype to catch up with an old friend.

“Just wanted to let you know, I’ve got your back.”

Ruckus glances toward the council screen, and there’s the smirking face of former SCW Global champ, MDK.

MDK: So what are you saying? That just because I’ve been on sabbatical, I need a handout from you?

R2: No, man. I was just saying-

MDK: That since you got lucky and caught me in fucked up headspace when you beat me for the strap last time, you’re suddenly more qualified than I am to watch my back.

R2: No, it’s not like that. I-

MDK: Seem to forget that at one point in time, I dominated you so totally, you’ll forever have ‘Inferior’ branded across your back.

R2: Christ, Danny! All I was saying was-

MDK: Ryan, chill out. I’m fucking with you. If you want to assist in my match longevity, I’m not going to stop you. And if it doesn’t take to much effort, I may even do the same for you. But make no mistake, Ruck. We’re opponents in this thing. And if I have to, I’m going to put you down. [then, smiling] Again.

[Ruckus smiles himself.]

R2: Love you too. Ass.

MDK: Good luck, mate. I’ll see you there.

R2: Word.

He ends the call and shakes his head with a smile. He’d never admit it, but it was nice to see Tenegra back, and from the sound of it, on top of his game. It was the first decent piece of he’d received in some time now. But a single glance into his rearview mirror, and our hero’s hopeful mood is dashed. Three cars back, driving an SUV that is darting in and out of traffic itself, the man in the light brown trenchcoat is in pursuit.

And he’s gaining fast.

R2: Ruck…

[Victor Hades]

Life is Cruel:
"Survivor and Conqueror"

(I) I am the one
(The one) Who lost control
(Control) But in the end I'd be the
Last Man Standing

(I) I am the one
(The one) Who sold his soul
(His soul) Forever gone to be the
Last Man Standing

Glorious
Noble in my mind
Everything a fight to win
Taking all and giving
Whatever my pride would let me
Not backing down, not giving in
I wouldn't lose, I couldn't
I WON'T LOSE.

"Building character strength is like building physical strength. When the test comes, if you don't have it, no cosmetics can disguise the fact that it just isn't there. You can't fake it. It takes strength to set a heroic goal, to work on chronic problems instead of going for the 'quick fix,' to stay with your commitments when the tide of popular opinion turns against you."-Unknown

Hades Journal:
Wednesday, January 27, 2010

"I'm finally ready for this, this moment I've been waiting for my entire life since the day I set foot inside of a wrestling ring... My moment to be near the very top of the mountain, just before I take my place upon the throne above the greatest warriors in the world... That would soon become my place in this world of wrestling, a reality unlike anything ever seen before... I've grown from a broken home as a young boy, I became a young man and learned quickly on my own, I did my time in prison, and now I'm one of the most familiar names in the wrestling industry... I am a fucking force to be reckoned with..."

"I've overcome the most impossible odds, I've defeated men I was told I could never defeat, I've withstood my ground when none said I could, and now I stand before you... Victor Hades, a successful, sadistic, methodical, cold-blooded, merciless, killing machine programmed to do one thing...destroy. I have no regard for success but to be the absolute best while keeping the pleasure of dismantling, hurting, and torturing those against me along the way... I want it ALL, and I refuse to be cast aside, to be second best, some under-rated sack of meat, I won't become "a future World Champion"...because I AM the next World Champion! I've stood by and watched countless men topple over one another, scratching, clawing, and gnawing their way through the barriers like a pack of rodents... None carried the finesse, the caliber of a world-class athlete, the desire, the presence, nor the power to become the next greatest thing... I do."

"Pence Weatherlight may be the current Overdrive Champion, a former APW World Heavyweight Champion, and a very impressive athlete himself... But after New Year's Retribution, Pence Weatherlight will be nothing more than a footnote in Victor Hades' history as "the man who was annihilated and beating nearly to death by Victor Hades for the APW Overdrive Championship"... A small notation in APW wrestling history, Pence is slowly falling his way back down the mountain, and once he does finally hit rock bottom, which he will... The world will no longer want to run into his gay-loving, bright and sunny, fake-tanned arms and wish to embrace him as their 'savior'. Come Survive and Conquer, not even Pence Weatherlight is going to make a fucking scratch on me to prevent me from winning..."

"I'm giving this everything I will have left, every last drop of sweat, every last drop of blood, every ounce of breath in my body until there is only one man in that ring... ME. Whether it be a steel cage locking me inside and leaving nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide for any poor unlucky soul trapped in there with me, or a ladder to merely behead the unfortunate victims... I will obtain that briefcase, and I WILL walk out of New Year's Retribution... Into RassleMania's Main-Event the number one contender, walk out the newly crowned World Heavyweight Champion... Straight into the record books..."

"And with God as my witness, I'll set this world on fire...If I have to."

Neither a single moment nor a split second had gone by without him concentrating on the biggest fight of his life ahead... Much consideration had to be placed into the mindset for such a thing, one false error and his entire strategy lest he had one could easily blow up in front of his face... A moment where he could grow too careless, a simple wrong step, or a minor hesitation could cost him everything... He could not by any means possible allow this to happen, simply because everything he'd worked for, everything he'd fought for, was riding on this Pay-Per-View he would be rolling in to...

Sleep simply had come and gone, some nights he could crawl sore and bruised into bed after a tough workout or some intense training... and sleep like a baby... Some nights he could lay there staring at the ceiling and not sleep at all... Surely he would need every bit of rest he could get for a competition as big as this, hell even if he had to put himself to sleep... a little overboard, but hey if it did the trick? Victor was now in his own world, his own quiet, dark, contemplative and much focused state of mind... Not even the flesh-burning singe of hot coffee against his fingertips could break this concentration...

Both he and Angela had been sitting inside a local Starbucks Coffee shop for the past two hours, discussing Overdrive, Nunez, Victor's "strange behavior", and finally New Year's Retribution... At some point Angela began to go on about a magazine article involving Kim Kardashian and Reggie Bush, and then Victor's mind began to fall back into focusing on his upcoming back-to-back double-header match-ups... Both which were very important at this point and time... Sitting quietly with the bangs of his long, damp, black raven-shaded hair falling over portions of his face... Victor remains staring at the table in a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and baggy navy jeans which snug-fit his lower frame... Meanwhile Angela lowering the magazine looks to Victor, repeating herself before realizing he hadn't been paying attention...


Angela-"V...V, haven't you been listening to anything I said?"


Victor's face merely almost wrinkles as his eyes flinch and he slightly shakes the grogginess off... Looking to Angela and tilts his chin to an angle, as if asking her to once more repeat herself...

Victor Hades-"Oh shit, uh I'm sorry...what were you saying again?"

Angela's lips make a rather scrunched and disappointed-like expression as she folds the magazine shut and turns her slender hips towards the table... A small jean jacket covers a rather revealing white tanktop, her smooth skin and tan "well-figured" chest slightly sticks out... As her torn-jean covered legs slid between his own...

Angela-"I said...you need to be careful or you'll really burn yourself."

Angela grumbles before sliding the steaming hot coffee cup from between his cupped hands towards the center of the table, small red-shaded burn scars cover his fingertips... As Angela slightly looks them over, before flashing him a small "unpleasant" eye glance... Victor noticing the scars simply shrugs and replies with a friendly smirk, since he did infact carry a much higher pain tolerance than most people did... The burn hardly affected his focus... The same rock-solid mentality he would have to carry against thirty-plus men inside that wrestling ring...

Victor Hades-"I'm fine...really..."

Victor insists.

Angela-"You don't seem fine, you've been gone for days, you act as though you haven't slept, and you're putting so much on this huge match you're throwing yourself into..."

Victor slowly turning his head away in frustration presses his index finger gently against the coffee cup, sliding it away from him carefully before leaning back in his chair... As Angela's shoulders sink in disappointment, they share a small moment of silence as Angela keeps her caramel brown eyes fixed on Victor...

Angela-"Does it really mean that much to you?"

Victor remains silent, staring out the nearby large window as Angela tries to get some answers for his recent actions...

Angela-"Is it because you're trying to prove something to them, what... Is it trying to redeem yourself for past mistakes... V, you can talk to me it's okay..."

Angela mutters softly, her soft and smooth-skinned palms of her hands gliding over his knuckles and resting firmly along his cold hands... Her thumbs carefully tracing over his skin as they rub along his hands gently... He tilts his head back towards her and leans back towards the table...

Victor Hades-"This is for me, to prove to myself I am ready to be better than I ever was, to prove to myself I am worthy of something better... That I deserve... better... That I am a Champion at heart, that no one can hold that against me, nobody can hold a candle to me when I'm at my best... I'm doing this because I have to Angela, because if I don't I let myself down again. They win, and everything I will have ever worked my ass off for, everything I've ever ruined lives for...will be for nothing..."

Angela nods slowly, beginning to understand Victor's reasons.

Victor Hades-"This isn't just about going to Rasslemania, winning a large wad of cash to put in my pocket, or to brag about it for the next couple of months... This means more to me than that, this is to prove I can be the absolute best and outsmart, outperform, and outlast all of those men from around the world... This is about respect, honor, pride, and going out there to do what I do best-hurt people... I've hurt a lot of people Angela, and to me this is about the only way of getting something "rewarding" in return..."

Angela brushing her tips of her thumbs continuously in a small and slow motion along Victor's hands nods carefully...

Angela-"You're trying to prove to them that you're more than just a name, face, and some entertaining gimmick..."

Victor nods slowly in silence.

Victor Hades-"I'm going to make every last one of those fake, arrogant, ass-kissing, snob-nosed, hollow-minded fucks sorry as hell for the words they've spoken against me... I don't care what they try to do to stop me Angela, they'll pay dearly or they'll die trying..."

Angela's hands gently grip Victor's own.

Angela-"V, please just promise me you won't go out there and do anything wreckless, you know you can't take on all of them alone..."

Victor's facial expression begins to turn a bit into resentment.

Victor Hades-"I've been fighting my battles alone since the day I was born Angela, and Sunday night won't be any different... I'm going to be fine, here I thought you of all people would get that through your fucking head..."

Victor carefully pulls his hands away slowly.

Victor Hades-"I'll give up everything I have left in me if it means walking out that night a true champion and a number one contender for Rasslemania... Maybe once I'm done proving that to the rest of the world, you'll begin to realize that too...Until then, I don't need your fucking sympathy..."

Victor adjusts his shirt as he pulls a black hooded "Dethklok" zip-up hoodie over his shoulders, sliding out from the booth and stands to leave...

Angela-"V that's not what I meant, I'm sorry, just...please listen-"

Angela pleads as Victor turns and walks away before stepping out of the packed coffee shop, walking on down the street meanwhile pulling the dark, soft, cotton-made hood over his head to keep warm... Allowing himself some space and time alone to get his head focused once more, and some room to breathe from these life-sucking dramatic women...

Perhaps Angela was right in the aspect that Victor's odds were stacked low against a massive number of other men competing for the same purpose... He was well aware of this when he became the first man to sign-up, and he would be damned for eternity if he let it be all for nothing...

These were common, hard-working, dedicated, and talented men from all across the world; well...some had proven to be anyway... Very few at that, while others simply put in a small amount of effort to try to come off as the 'Justin Timberlake' of professional wrestling. In that case, that must have officially now made him the Saddam Hussein of the wrestling business... Very fitting...

Nothing now was more important than this, not his health insurance, sure he suffered injuries-but injuries heal with time...he didn't have time to bleed... It sure as hell wasn't more important than his Eight-Hundred and Fifty-thousand dollar black, 72' custom Dodge Charger sitting in his Los Angeles home garage... This was the most important moment in his life, and he was going to survive it...one way...or another...

He was now a man everyone would be keeping their eyes on, which now made him a threat to those going after the victory... Victor always did seem to love a good challenge, especially when the odds remain stacked against him... Now was the time to put the talking aside and put the words into action, as the rest of the competition would finally have to do... "nut up or shut up", casting their microphones aside and putting their money where there mouth is...

[ A vibrating rhythm tone echoes from his outside pocket of his hoodie... ]

Slipping out his black and red iTouch phone, the screen flashing reveals a photo captured of Sindy Black, wrapped in a white towel... A photo Victor had recently taken, meanwhile a strange yet clever feeling fell over him... As the phone continued to ring silently, Victor stared at Sindy's name flashing upon the screen...

Victor Hades-"To hell with it, I can play mind games..."

Victor mumbled under his cool breath to himself, lifting the phone to his ear just after mashing the "answer" button...

Victor Hades-"You really couldn't go a few days without me, huh?"

He smirked, playing off the idea that Sindy had actually been calling and texting trying to reach him... While he simply played hard to get.

Sindy Black-"Well, if you weren't such a jerk and been so busy this whole time I might have been able to... but I was kinda bored sitting around the apartment and needed someone to play with..."

Sindy responds playfully with a soft moan at the end, as if pouting just to get things her way... Knowing full-well Victor knows her well enough by now...

Victor Hades-"I wish I had time to sit and play, but I've been kind of busy doing all this work and preparing for the long night I've got coming up Sunday..."

Victor rolls his eyes slightly and continues walking down the busy and crowded street, snatching a newspaper from an old man's wheelchair as he passes by... Skimming through articles and reading over a few paragraphs on Jay Leno and Jimmy Kimmel's ongoing rivalry...

Sindy Black-"Oh that's right your wrestling thing, do you really have to go do it that night?"

She pouts once more as it slowly grows into a quiet whine...

Victor Hades-"It's my life and my job, of course I'm going to be there."

Sindy Black-"Okay...Can I come watch you kick some ass?"

Victor smirks, recalling to himself that Angela had already bought tickets to the show as well...

Victor Hades-"Of course you can, I wouldn't want you to miss it."

Victor reaches the end of the street, and glances to his phone as another in-coming call forces the phone to 'beep'. Victor carefully holding the phone away glances to the screen as the name popping-up reads "Sedition Buddy"... Placing the phone quickly back up to his ear, Victor clears his throat...

Victor Hades-"Hey I've gotta let you go I've got an old friend I've got to speak with."

Victor removes the phone from his ear, extending his thumb to the screen to switch the call over...

Sindy Black-"Does this mean you're not coming over?"

[ Click. ]

Victor shakes his head and grumbles.

Victor Hades-"Ditzy bitch."

He mutters before answering the other phonecall and grins lifting the phone to his ear...

Victor Hades-"Hey I was just wondering when you were going to call me back, I had a small proposition I wanted to run by you..."

___________________________

"I see myself in the mirror, I see this destructive and cold-blooded monstrosity I've become... I see a man who holds no regard and no sympathy for anyone or anything else... I see a man who's bled, sweat, breathed, slept, and ate this business more than almost anyone has in this entire company... I see a man who has no limits, no boundaries, no lines he won't cross to get exactly what he wants... No end to how far he is truly willing to go to get it, no hesitation, no backing down, just an on-coming freight train ready to take down anything in it's path head on... Sometimes in life that's the only way to win, to simply look the bull in the eye, and grab it by the horns as it comes toward you... And just like me, I'm going to snap it's fat fucking neck and show it there is no breaking, no destroying, and simply no bringing down Victor Hades. I will fight, I will bleed, I will win, I will...survive and conquer."-Victor Hades

_____________________

Every ounce of adrenaline coursing through his veins, every bead of sweat pouring down his face and neck... Veins running along his biceps and forearms bulging along his skin, meanwhile his heart pumping nearly a mile a minute... As he bounces off the ropes and breathes deeply and heavily through his nose, pushing himself harder as he races across the ring canvas... Slingshotting his body into the ropes as he springs back and repeats the same motion... His cardio clearly having greatly improved, as his stamina which would be a well advantage over the other competitors... A very powerful endurance would be the key along with every other asset in a situation such as a battle royal... Merely hour after hour practicing and working ways to catch himself along the ropes, utilizing any possible escape plan he would be able to capatilize on at his disposal...

The hard work and the dedication, the long hours of preparation put in, massive amounts of mental focus and determination, all would allow him to be as absolutely ready as possible.

This was going to be a night no one in this wrestling world would forget. This was going to be a night he would never forget. This undoubtedly was going to be the best night of Victor Hades.

[shadow=black,left,300]The world is not ready for Victor Hades...[/shadow]

____________________

"The greatest way to live with honor in this world is to be what we pretend to be."-Anonymous

--- [shadow=gray,left,300]FINAL SURVIVE AND CONQUER 2010 PROMO[/shadow] ---

The darkness filling the screen slowly begins to fade out as a bright flourescent orange spark of light gleams into the camera... It's brightly shades of red, gold, orange, and yellow all illuminate the clear sky... Bright rays of sun coming up over the horizon and casting down over the vast and beautiful city of downtown Los Angeles, meanwhile the camera continuing to pan around... Stops as directly to its right sits a tall, tattooed, masculine figure... One of the most recognized and feared names in EWC and APW, known only to the millions by none other than 'Victor Hades'...

Arms relaxed in a folded position across his broad and rock solid chest, as the dark raven-like shades of his long hair drip down his shoulders... The camera merely flickers for a moment, as a montage-like transition reveals another shot of Victor in the same position standing atop the entrance ramp at Survive and Conquer... The entire arena completely desolate and silent, as the only source of light remains casted over himself and the squared-circle in the center of the arena... Darkness all around appears to consume what cannot be seen, while the light itself focuses upon Victor and 'his' playground, his home, 'his' ring...

Suddenly the camera flickers again and we see Hades once more standing overlooking the bright and colorful city lights of Los Angeles, almost like that of a massive and dominate Lion, overlooking it's animal kingdom in the jungle... The king watching over and protecting it's territory from any opposition, any prey, any threat that so much as endangers its environment...

Victor Hades was that untamed, vicious and blood-thirsty Lion prepared to tear anything that endangered his environment to pieces, no matter who, no matter how, no matter what the cost...

"Every morning in Africa, a Gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a Lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest Gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn't matter whether you are a Lion or a Gazelle... when the sun comes up, your ass better be running.."...Victor grumbles silently.

Another flash flickers upon the screen as the short montage continues, revealing Victor Hades once more before the massive squared-circle as he gazes around the arena, almost self-imaging the jam-packed sold-out crowd filling the empty seats... Their roaring obscenities and screams, their boo's, their cheers, and their excitement... He could feel the electricity, the adrenaline, he could feel it already... His time was coming.

[ Fade. ]

Now the scene transitions inside of Victor Hades' home and the camera merely perched upon a solid concrete ledge, resting along his back porch balcony faces his medieval-themed home and focuses upon two massive wooden double-doors... Neatly decorated with two large black metal rings, which in that century were used for doorhandles and doorbells...

Within a matter of moments the doors swing open as Victor Hades now marches out, pushing the doors open as he steps onto the balcony... His bare upper torso reflecting he's clearly now in the best-fit shape of his life for this match, his toned masculine torso, gleams merely under the sunlight... As a pair of black, baggy leather pants stretch down his lower frame...

Victor Hades-"Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous... Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose... valiantly I humbly vow viva la revolution...yeah, right..."

Hades smirks, as if scoffing at the idea of those words concerned his persona, his career, or his life at this point... Flashing a brief glare to the camera as he slowly paces before the camera lens, stretching his legs just a second before stopping and facing the camera front and center...


"Survive and Conquer will surely be a vicious and clusterfuck of a battle, but what the rest of you cocky, arrogant, snob-nosed, regrettable wastes of talent fail to realize... Every single one of you wants it as badly as the other, every single one of you wants to be the last man left in that ring... The one thing you can’t seem to fucking comprehend is, it’s ME who will be taking that place, and it’s ME who is going to the Main-Event at RassleMania... I’ve busted my ASS, working and dismantling jobbers, touring the world, paying my dues, gaining my success, I’ve EARNED my place in that Main-Event slot. I’d bleed myself dry and feed myself to the sharks before I EVER let a single fucking one of you unworthy, impotent, horde of jackasses take that away from me! Many of you may carry some form of true potential dwelling in the depths of your spirits and in your hearts... But when it comes down to reality and the inevitable truth come New Year’s Retribution...none of you could hold a fucking candle to the Titan of Torment, Victor Hades... I have fought countless battles, waged unimaginable wars between companies, ended legendary careers, I have shed blood, and I’ve even taken the life of an unborn child...just to be where I am fucking standing...above you! I may carry one of the coldest and darkest hearts this wrestling industry has ever seen, but I hold bar none the biggest and strongest... It will never stop beating so long as I hold a breath in my lungs, I will never stop, I will never give up, and I will never...fucking...quit. There isn’t a SOUL in this competition who can carry the fucking determination, the will, valor, presence, fighting skill, nor the courage that I alone carry. I will give it everything I have in my entire body, until there isn’t one single body left inside my god damn ring beside me... If any of you so much as dare to argue otherwise, I ask you-no I beg of you...fucking TRY me...please...”[/b][/color]

He growls under his breath, flexing his arm as he bends his elbow and points his index finger at his chest... Taunting any man or woman below his rank of a superior athlete to try taking him on... Knowing full well it would cost them dearly and he would easily dispatch them just as quickly...

“Bryce...Bryan, Payne, whatever the fuck your name that I’ve already forgotten happens to be...Which the name alone expresses how greatly this self-centered prick really is a royal “pain” in everyone’s ass. I want you to pay close attention Bryan, because unlike those other mindless scum that surely will learn the hard way... Perhaps you can save yourself the trouble of thinking you can overlook a twisted and sadistic motherfucker like me...Because at Survive and Conquer Bryan, I’ll bring you pain, I’ll bring you horror, I’ll bring you a beating unlike anything you’d ever thought you’d endure… and then I’ll toss you out just like the rest of the trash. Enjoy the floor you ignorant, cocky, narcissist son of a bitch... You think you’re special because you’ve defeated some no-names, beat a man down with a chair, and keep pictures of yourself throughout your bedroom you get off on every night... Tell me something, you’d think if you meant shit in this industry, if you meant A DAMN THING anywhere, a man like me, Level-One, or Gladiator would have heard about you... According to the internet research, the only thing on record of your name at all is a homosexual pornstar actor... No wonder you’re so god damn excited to get into the ring with thirty plus men, I’ll be sure to keep my fucking distances from you long enough to toss you out on your sausage loving ass... Men like me don’t stand for that bullshit in a wrestling ring, so when you get your wrestling reject ass into that ring-go find Level-One... You know, the overrated guy you completely shit on, he makes dumb fucks like you look like a can of dog shit... Until then, keep your flapping mouth shut and prepare yourself for a total upset. This night isn’t a night meant for you, this night isn’t your dream come true, this is MY night, and I’m going to make it a real life fucking nightmare for you asshole.”

Grumbling his words as he looks back at the camera, while rather disgusted by the resume of Bryan Payne as well as his performance... Feeling rather eager to climb inside that ring and remove the cocky and revolting sack of shit that is Bryan Payne.

“While I’ve found it upon myself to substitute SEVERAL fitting words from acronyms for this foolish and dip-shitted moron’s choice for a name... I can’t help but notice this jackass’ persistence to be something he most definitely...is not. You...whom fail from a company where you are classified as a Legend, where that legacy begins...it will simply end HERE... I must admit for you to speak so highly of yourself walking into this unpredictable and very treacherous territory, you seem to believe you know what you are doing. Meanwhile I found it more than amusing if not utterly fucking foolish for your company to send what they believe to be “one of their golden boys”...The minute you set foot into that ring, they’ll quickly realize their golden boy has been tarnished, twisted, trampled, and tossed aside just as viciously. Listen up you Muff-Diving-‘Kunt’, yes...I pronounced that with a “K”, because regardless of how you struggle to perceive yourself as, you undoubtedly remain nothing more to be a cunt. If your beloved SCW is considering to literally hand-toss you into this competition, then they’ve just tossed you right into a pack of blood-thirsty wolves, my friend... This is no fucking ankle-biting Chihuahua you see before you, if you believe me to be a small, insignificant little pest in your way, then you are surely have just forfeited any chances of surviving this battle. I’m not a gatekeeper of any sort in this part of the wrestling organization... I am simply the sick and twisted motherfucker who decides who lives to walk out of MY ring breathing, and who leaves MY ring carried out under a white sheet on a stretcher! This competition means MORE to me than anything I’ve ever accomplished, worked for, bled for, shed tears for, and broken my body for... I will gladly do it all over again for the chance to earn this spot at Rasslemania, and there isn’t a fucking thing you can possibly do to prevent that. I’ll be sure to look for you inside the ring motherfucker...”

Victor twists his neck as he tilts his head slightly, crackling his neck appearing to collect himself and calm his anger... Rather uncomfortable and displeased with MDK's words of disrespectful and insulting conduct... Clearing his throat Victor looks back towards the camera through those frightening and intimidating transparent contact lens, growing a small smirk upon the left side of his face...

“The real ‘Lone Wolf’ in this match, a respectable man who’s only goal is to look out for himself and himself alone... while I admire the courage in a man who’s only focus is to eliminate everyone around him as quickly as he can... It stops there. Nathan, there are countless numbers in the hundreds whom have tried to stand defiant against me, who have underestimated me, who so boldly believed they could insult, belittle, and oppose me so easily... Every last one of them have risen and fallen just as quickly if not hard enough it shook them to their very fucking core. Just like the rest of them, you can come out of retirement as much as you please and just like the famous fossils known as Chris “BDC” Defoe, and Shadow Man... You’re going to be dropped right back into that rusted old rocking chair that your wrinkled and dust-infesting ass crawled out of. You want to give it another shot at the big-time and try to make a final note in the history books...I’ll make it your last.”

He mutters reassuringly, the sounds of his fingertips curling as they clench into a tight fist crackle... Knowing no matter what man which stands in his way, rookie, amateur, veteran or legend... Will all fall before him by his hands and his own sadistic doing... Victor was more than determined to wipe them out by any means necessary...

“While we’ve met on various accounts once before, and while we both may hold a mutual friendship with Sedition’s Rev and Gladiator and our friend Amy Rosen... I can’t state well enough that I’m aware of your...in-ring talents. I am however a very unprejudiced man who sees you as quite the challenge meanwhile... While I look forward to our first encounter if not our last inside this warzone that shall be taking place, this battlefield of countless athletes from around the fucking globe... Let me remind you woman that you watch your step, I am no stepping stone, I am no obstacle anyone can overcome, I’m simply the most violent, unorthodox, sadistic, tactical, and deadliest force you will come within reach of encountering in this competition... I hold no sympathy for any living, walking, or breathing thing inside that wrestling ring... When we meet inside that hellacious and unimaginable horrific massacre that will ensue, it is strictly business between you and I and nothing more... All else aside, you indeed have my respect and I simply bid you the best of luck... Because going up against me at New Year’s Retribution you will most certainly need it...”

He nods carefully.

“My dear old friend and fellow Sedition ally, comrade, my brother in arms... Yet again we are stepping into the squared-circle on opposite sides to dance once more, and see who the better man is... Though I can merely scoff at your jokes and for the lack of a better word ‘bland’ insults, I can’t help but wonder just what your intentions are the moment you face me inside that dispersed and clusterfucked squared-circle... Though you are correct in the aspect you certainly are not my enemy, regretfully... You ARE an obstruction standing in my way, one which must be removed when that moment arrives... Yes, I am indeed a very hateful human being lest I be considered such a thing, but make no mistake... Friend or foe Gladiator, nothing, no one, and no ally... will keep me from reaching this life-long triumph. I’m going to let nothing stop me, stand in my way, or try to forestall MY DESTINY! You know me and you know EXACTLY what I am capable of doing, and you know DAMN well that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to become World Champion... Let it be tearing my own dead mother’s head from her body, whether it be hating every last man in this competition, whether it be bleeding every last one of them like a stuffed pig, you know this! My only request, my only offer, and my only admonition Gladiator...Is that you mind your place beside me, you’re either with me or against me...I’ll leave that for you to decide brother.”

He calmly pauses and exhales carefully, lifting his tattoo-sleeved arms and rubs the palms of his hands flat together slowly... Glaring back at the camera as the next man he is about to address won't be any easy challenge to rid of, the very man who has won Survive and Conquer before... The very same man who will have a red target painted on his back this night, the very man Victor will be focused on winning the opportunity to challenge at RassleMania...

“A man I had once truly believed to be what some men call “immortal”, strange I had once actually thought this ruthless and widely hated human being to be held in such high regard... Until, you did the one thing I never expected you to do Lester, you failed my test and proved me otherwise... As years went on you bled, you began to lose, and you had even once slipped a full step below your own self-proclaimed “level”. That was when I started to realize, who could even consider this man “unbeatable”, an “immortal”, a “God” amongst warriors... The fans... they were merely a herd of sheep following one another as they always had... The endless numbers of men you defeated... Those men simply claimed you to be these entitlements, was because they couldn’t give a better reason to excuse the fact they were fucking pathetic and didn’t possess what it truly takes to bring a man like you down... I’ve seen it in that dark black abyss of your eyes before, the moment you caught sight of my presence around you... I saw what no one else had the clear fucking sense of focus to notice, as you ran around fancying yourself as a un-fucking-beatable adversary... The moment you saw my presence you felt a very human-like chill crawl up your spine. I know it and you damn sure know it, because regardless of the hype you build yourself up to be, regardless of what legacy you haul around in that luggage of yours... Regardless of what anyone on this fucking god forsaken earth can argue, I’ve seen it in your eyes. You’ve begun to doubt yourself as you have before; you’ve begun to see that there are few with the capability, with the power, with the true wrestling aptitude to bring you down. New Year’s Retribution you can snake your way through whatever opponent you wish, huddle behind the Axis of Awesome, backstab whatever fool you align yourself aside with. Sheer terror gripping tight around your blackened heart and World Championship with those icy fingers... Know this you cruel son of a bitch, Victor Hades is coming...and I will be the NEXT...APW World Champion..."

Victor leans closer towards the camera as the sunlight shadows small portions of his face behind the black, damp strands of his long hair... Sending a message to the World Champion that he is more than willing and able to succeed, and that he will be coming for the World Heavyweight Championship...

“Quite possibly one of the more recognizable, notable babyfaces going into this clusterfucked battle royal... The problem with Pence in this match is this poor son of a bitch has to survive ME before he even gets to the battle royal. I AM going to see to it personally this Clay-Aiken looking punk-ass doesn’t even make it to the Battle Royal. IF he does somehow manage to walk, crawl, or wheel his own “Rent opera”-loving ass to that ring... He’ll be so nervous climbing back into that ring after the hell I’ve put him through, he’ll puke a good fifty pounds off until he’s face down in a pool of his misery... Pence, you’ve simply dug yourself your own grave and come New Year’s Retribution you’re going to sleep in it. You waste your fucking time believing in hopes, dreams, and love for humanity when meanwhile the world around you rots away in it’s own downward spiral... New Year’s Retribution I’m going to take you from that delightful, bright and sunny, joyful fairytale world you dwell in... And then I’m going to send your ass straight to this world we live in I like to call Hell... while I watch your toothpick for a body snap in half as it hits the ground. Face it Pence, I’ve outgrown and surpassed your ability and your strengths to compete... I’ve become better than you, and now all you can simply do is watch hopelessly as you cramp your neck staring up at me high above you. I’m going to take your chance to win this battle royal, I’m going to take that Overdrive Championship you so heartedly believe you “deserve”, and then I’m going to take your career...and place it right where it truly belongs...in the shitter."

Fade to black.

(I) I am the one
(The one) Who sold his soul
(His soul) Forever gone to be the
Last Man Standing

Seeing clearer what I've done
I'd refuse to let things go
I could never once admit I'm wrong
And what do I have to show?

Seeing clearer what's at stake
And the things I have to change
I just hope I can, it's not too late
To get a chance to end this pain
I WILL END THIS PAIN.

[hillman]

From the office of Ornery Hillman

Greetings, Action Packed assholes. Ornery Hillman here, and if my reputation doesn’t already precede me, then you must’ve spent the last 6 months with your head lodged up your anus. Count em.

Three feds: SCW, G-2, Siberia.

Six clients: Ryan Ruckus, Joe Muddin, and the One Ring Circus.

Three titles: SCW Global, G-2 Openweight, and Siberian Voyle.

20% SCW Superstar of the Year.
20% SCW Feud of the Year
20% SCW Match of the Year.

Fifty-one, fourteen, and three, over all, and I haven’t even been here that long. Truth bomb.

So Madison Square garden, huh? Big deal. I mean, it’s still as dirty and piss-smelling as every other stadium not recently-renovated by Heinz ketchup or Chase Manhattan Bank.
But it’s widely-accepted as the best venue in this business, so I guess there’s that.

Just last Sunday, I won a battle royal. Guaranteed myself ANOTHER title shot. There weren’t 37 other tools in that one, but if you go back and look throughout the course of history, you’ll see the number of tools in the fight is always second to the master craftsman using them. And come Survive and Conquer, I’m going to use you all to myself what I want.

Victor Hades: It must suck getting rained on all the time like that. Maybe if you weren’t such a Twilight-watching, Rob Zombie film reject, you wouldn’t have to walk around like an unlucky cartoon character.

Kip Kutler: You’re Canadian. CANADIAN!!! Also, you’re dumb enough to believe standard black sunglasses are a trademark element. Do your family a favor, and die.

Masked Marvel: Only thing marvelous about you my friend, is the fact that the nice white men in their pretty white coats have not come to take you away. You are clown shoes.

Jason Royce: Should’ve stuck with the family business. You guys make great cars. But when your family is as prominent as that, it’s sometimes necessary to take extreme action to cement your sexuality. And if you’re not related to the folks who make the Rolls, I apologize. For everything but the butt sex thing.

Slade Craven: Your name would make more sense if Slade was a euphemism for cock.

Young Mannie: Thank you for promoting such vivid stereotypes. If it weren’t for you, I might have trouble sleeping at night. But probably not.

James Kash: With an overwrought and industry clichéd name like that, I’ll bet you have an amazing personality. Good for you, boss.

Pence Weatherlight: My recent SCW brother. I want to draw a make moustaches on your stupid, pretty face. With runny cat crap.

Bryce Bridges: Strip clubs are were you belong, man. There’s no place for genital arts in a wrestling ring.

Hutt Anderson: I can smell you from here. Bet you’re a big hit with the lesser woodland creatures.

Rob McBride: I don’t know you, but if you’re dumb enough to feud with Bryan Payne, you’re mostly-likely wrestling’s Forest Gump. By the way, your hair is really stupid. Maybe Deathcab For Cutie will write a song about it.

Bryan Payne: You’re the man. Unless of course, you’re being compared to me. Keep that belt warm for me, brother.

Esther Aqsa Rose: That’s not a name, that’s what happens when a monkey bangs a keyboard. You and James Kash should have kids. Maybe one of them will have half a personality.

Akira Fisk: I’ll whoop your brother-slighting ass in Modern Warfare any day of the week. Except Wednesday. That’s when I hump, as per the name.

Nathan Hellsing: You were played by Hugh Jackman. Nuff said.

Dexter Sommers: Socipathic, schizophrenic, cheerleading vampire slayer? I smell a tag team opportunity with the man above you. Then, maybe that’s just Hutt.

Nick Dreams: Your name would make more sense if it was a euphemism for Slade Craven’s cock.

Dozer: God bless you, Dozer. I could use a big, strong idiot like you. By the way, Level One’s the one who killed your dog. Just saying.

Atreides: You look like a member of the LA Kings. Not the hockey team. The street gang. It’s because of delinquents like you, that helicopters and LAPD drones are constantly flying by my loft.

Mike Corral: Who?

Jonny Briggs: Why?

Damage: I cause you.

Valerie Belmont: Or should I say, Valerie LAMB Belmont. Rumor has it, recently-turned vampires suffer Post Traumatic Emo syndrome? Is that true? By the way, you husbands old enough to be you great, great grandfather. Honestly, if you were any younger, he’d be Roman Polanski.

Ryan Ruckus: Need I say it? Hope you’re enjoying Siberia, asshole. I’ll dry-hump your comatose wife for you. I’d wet hump her, but I don’t want to catch Bryce Bridges genital warts.

Assassin: That’s not a name, it’s a character class. That’d be like calling yourself Wizard. Or Rogue. But she’s got better tits than you and you’re so small potatoes, APW won’t even host your vignette on their webpage.

MDK: We haven’t met. We should. Big things on the horizon, my friend. And I’m not just talking about how well I’m hung.

Danielle Deathstrike: Liked you best when you were causing all those problems for the Teen Titans. Wait, that was DeathSTROKE. Nevermind, I don’t know you.

Geordie James: Geordie’s a worse name than Hutt, Assassin, and Slade. There’s a little inside something for you, McBride. Yes, Geordie, I’m addressing other in the part meant for you. What do you think that says?

Katie King: I hope you get non-consensually fondled by the Central Park Caveman. THAT would be givin’ em the old Razzle Dazzle.

Stalker Knight: Really? Stalker? Knight??? Imagine me face-palming.

Mr. Huggies: It takes a lot of balls for a baby diaper mascot to get into professional wrestling. I commend you.

Dave Allen Dunham:

PANEMONIC: Yes, I left Dunham’s spot blank. Thanks for asking. I can’t pronounce your name.

Chris Cyrus: Leave me a voicemail. Let me know how to pronounce the motherfucker above you’s name.

Benny Starr: Way to be a flaming Jewish talent agent. No offense to flaming Jewish talent agents.

Gladiator: Charlie Sheen and Josh Jackson called and asked me to tell you and your C-list friends to fuck off. They’d have appeared in person, but they’re actually WORKING these days.

And Level-One: Mr. Big Stuff. Former True Expert champion. 853,000,000 wins and half a loss. Brother paralyzer. Companion to evil. Stop mentioning your in the closet in your promos. Makes you sound… well, you ought to know how it makes you sound. Give me a call if you’re ever looking for a new manager. Till then, stop whining about your long-lost love. Maybe that way, you can make it to Level Two.

Thirty-seven tools in total. Gonna need a box as big as Foxy Fox’s to carry you all in this match. Survive? Won’t be a problem. Conquer? I already have. See you losers in Manhattan, and as always-

My dick,

Ornery Hillman

P.S. President Jeff, I’ve included a pink hippo and a bootlegged copy of Richard Simmons Sweatin to the Oldies with this letter. You know, since the general consensus is: you’re a big-ol’ fruit booty. Enjoy.

[Level-Two]

''One's'' Survived & Conquered (2)

Family bloodlines

One minute I was on top of the world and in the next, I felt like dying, maybe I did. The pain and hurt, the years and years of misery I had slung over the back of my shoulders had finally took it's toll on me. I felt my knees give way, my heart beat speed up, and my head spin off my shoulders—because for the first time in years, I had truly been beaten. I, for the first time in years, truly lost the battle and tasted the taste of bitter defeat. I'm lost.

There was no loss of a championship, no loss of main-event no matter the calibre and no short-end of heated feud could replicate the loss I had found beyond a wrestling ring. This tongue of this fact alone was something hard to swallow. For the first time -none- of that mattered. For the first -I- was Lester Only, before I had been Level-One. And for the first time my fight wouldn't be inside the boundaries of a wrestling ring, it'd be waged upon an open world with no boundaries, despite borders. Lastly, rather then a physical battle it would be instead waged on my heart, mind and soul—perhaps the most fragile elements that makes us humans what we are; Imperfect.

My past is as dark as a backroom closet. It's as light as the weight of an empty stomach. It's as free as a locked kitchen fridge. It's as open as the wine cellar door. It's as quiet as a knock on a door and it's as honest as my moms best lie.

Freedom is slavery. War is peace. Ignorance is bravery.

For so long, I had masked my pain and used it as a fuel for my forever flowing fountain of pure rage, hate and distaste for the human populace in it's entirety. Now the face behind the mask has been identified and now I must look it in it's face and confront it; despite it perhaps being the climax of the most painful event in my entire life. Truth be told; it isn't a lie when I say, all bets are off.

I loaded a bullet into the chamber of my gun.

I promised myself, I wouldn't do anything stupid—but promises are meant to be broken. I thought she was dead. Damn it, she was better off when I thought she was dead! What does want with me or even my brother? Where had she been all this time and why did she decided to come out of hiding, now? All questions I needed answered yet apart of me didn't even want them answered. They were better off where they were, in the back of my head, buried beneath the mount of bullshit life throws upon me—they were better off, forgotten.

Now, I remember—that bitch made me remember and as long as she's breathing, living a free life with zero regret, I'll never forget.

I visited my brother at the local hospital in which he had been staying, he was in no condition to stay on his own. The apartment complex had been living in, evicted him, due to the condition of the place he had left it in. As of late though, my brother had been cleaning up his act. His thinking was positive, his voice filled with hope and now with our mother returning on the scene, I really had not a clue to as to how it would effect his recovery.

Our family had been torn apart. My brother never felt the same abuse from my mother that I had, he can't understand it. His relationship with my mother is a mystery, nothing more then a testament to her other side, though. For anyone who claims I am a sociopath; you can make a case that it was passed down to me from my own, mother.

Her two sides had split me and my brother at the hip. So when I visited him at the hospital the tension immediately followed. One of the first things I had said to my brother, sounded something along the lines of this;

''Not here, Chris. Is there anyway you can be released from this place and put on a curfew?'' I asked of him. To which, after a subtle argument with him, he had agreed to file the request. The truth was, I needed answer from him and the hospital was too much of controlled environment which would not allow, all if any, my line of questioning. It was sure to explode between us two and the minute it did, I'd have three doctors and six cops escorting me from the building, in a not so diplomatic manner.

So, we found ourselves on the city streets. I pushed my brothers wheel chair down the side walk as we engaged in conversation in regards to my mother. It was an explosive topic but I tried my best not to cross wires in a wreck less fashion; it wouldn't be healthy for either of us.

''I don't know what brought her back or why she's here now, after all these years but you can't surround yourself around that'' I told my brother and although I couldn't see the expression on his face, I knew he didn't take my statements lightly.

''Lester; do you know how long I have waited to hear from mom? It's been years and I couldn't find a better time then now for her to walk back into my life''

''You should be focused on healing yourself''

''And what do you think this is?'' My brother asked me. It wasn't a problem answering such a question. This was her selfishness, her rubbing the pain she put me through back in my face as if she didn't put me through enough hell—but of course, he wouldn't reach any such conclusion. ''This is healing, mom coming back into my life... it's only going to help me in the long run'' Chris had insisted. It frustrated me. Why couldn't he see the bitch I saw? If only he felt what I felt by the hands of that women, he'd understand.

''I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry if I don't -bare- your share of Stockholm Syndrome'' I had shot back. I actually felt I was going somewhere special with my brother. I actually felt, we could get over our differences, over our jealousy, and over the family bloodlines that put us on opposite sides and be the brothers we were meant to be at conception but it seemed so far out of reach upon this new revelation.

''No, Lester. Whatever happened between you and mom is many years, old. You've grown up since then and mom probably isn't the same person you knew when you were a kid. It's time to move on...'' My brother said. It was a stake in my heart. A cheap shot below the belt. It was enough for me to hide behind my defences.

''Grow up? Why don't YOU grow up, Chris? Why don't YOU finally accept the fact that I am the accomplished wrestler you planned to be? Why don't YOU realize that as long as you begrudge me for being successful, you'll be -nothing- more then a failure? Why don't YOU realize that there -is- a spot in the crowd and it's empty, because YOU don't want to support your little brother?'' I said before cutting around a sharp corner, jerking the wheel chair around violently.

''I'm tired of you making me the fucking bad guy, Chris. I am NOT that bad guy!'' I exclaimed. While I may not have been the bad guy, I sure as hell sounded like it. My brother didn't respond he just watched me as I boiled over.

''Chris, I can't do this. We can't do this. As long as mom is in the picture in any form; I'm not a safe person to be around. As long as mom is the picture, my self destruction is imminent. You're going to have to choose your side, Chris...''

I gave him the ultimatum. It hurt. It struck pain into me in ways, you can't imagine. Only this time the pain cancelled out the other medium of pain and again I fell back into my comfort zone; I no longer felt a damn thing.

''I may have it all, Chris. The world championships, the main-event spots—just about anything, you'd want from life too. But it isn't worth having, anymore. No. Not when you realize your fight belongs somewhere else, somewhere beyond a wrestling ring'' I told him. I prayed he was listening to me even as I entered the alley way, I hoped he'd do the right thing, I hope he'd have his brothers back as I had his, right now.

''Chris; I need to see her. I need to confront her about her evil. I need to face my abuser in their eye and break them down mentally, like they did me''

I said with my voice cracking under the pressure. I began to shake but it felt good. The thought of looking my mother in the eye and watching her cower would give me the greatest sense of strength I have ever felt.

''Chris, where does she live?''

''Damn it! Why are you doing this, Lester!?'' My brother finally shouted. He couldn't keep his silence any longer. Slowly, his wheel chair came to a stop, I controlled his direction now. ''Lester, please—give mom a chance. Give this entire situation a chance before we do something we both regret...'' Chris said trying to talk me out of my dream confrontation with my mother. It was no use for I already had made up my mind.

''Chris, I'm asking you again. Where does that bitch live?'' I said sharply.

''I'm not telling you, Lester'' He said flatly. He was adamant about his choice. It was at that point when I realized he wasn't with me. He was with her; she had brain washed him and he accepted her evil. He condoned everything she had done to me and most importantly, it was clear what side he decided to stand on, it wasn't mine.

''I'm sorry, Brother. You've given me no choice'' My brother squirmed in his chair, helplessly, as I pushed the wheel chair forward. Each step, pushed him on and with each step the quicker we moved through the alleyway. A walk, quickly became a run and the end of the alley way, began to light up from the streetlights that hug by the side of the road. The colours of the cars going by, captivated my eyes, Chris had closed his. As we reached the end of the alleyway, his fate seemed to be all that sealed...

''Damn it, Lester! She lives on 192 Beach grove drive!'' Chris exclaimed and with all my might I planted my feet and pulled on the wheel chair as hard as I could...

SCREEEEEEEECH!

The wheel chair spun around and I found myself with my back to the road with a driver of the car screaming every profanity under the sun. It wouldn't be the first time, I nearly found myself inches away from death. An odd scent filled my nose but I relived when I realized it wasn't the smell of death, just the smell of burnt tires. At this point, I only thought about two things. The first being, I can't believe I nearly just killed my brother...

The second being, it's a good thing I loaded that gun.

---

Born & Bread a Criminal

I never had a wrap sheet, until now. One count of possessing an illegal fire arm. One count of breaking and entering. And then came the kicker which explains my intentions real well; one count of premeditated murder was enough to put me on death row.

The championships, the main-events the status of a future legend—I knew what I was going to throw away, I knew where my actions would lead me. I knew that I had a life that many could only dream to have and I understood I was doing my fellow man a great injustice for wasting such a grand opportunity in life, yet despite this; I still find myself standing by an opened window with only one thought in mind.

I love wrestling, damn it, I love it too much—but there is one thing, that for me has always been stronger then love. It's hate. I hate my mother more then these -words- can describe. This hate isn't that feel good rage nor the adrenaline pumping anger, it's something that you've fucking never felt before. This hate is empty. This hate is painful. This hate is so destructive, I'm willing to give up every title I ever won, every fight I've ever fought and the blood of my own family, the people I love the most--just to escape it.

Each -breath- she takes the harder it is for me to breath. Each -step- I take the closer to freedom I reach. I know when I get there and I stammer up the courage to open up her bedroom door—I'll find peace. Even if it lasts a -second- before I take the life of my own. I still didn't know what I was going do. Do I run or do I make sure nobody catches me? Can I get away with it—does anyone need to know?

It didn't matter, none of it did. Anything was an option as long as she was dead. As long as she was out of my -life- once again, none of it mattered. I inched closer to her bedroom door, I closed my eyes and asked myself, over and over again...

''Why, why, couldn't you just stay away!?''

You made me do this. You made me do this, you stupid bitch. You fucking whore. I hate you. I hate you more then these phrases describe. I thought you were dead you.... better off dead to me. Now that your -back- still -alive- still -breathing- still enjoying the pain, misery, and hell you put me through secretly in the shadows, you'll have to face the fucking monster you've created.

This bitch, this fucking bitch! I wondered if she ever had been to any of my wrestling events, hiding in the crowd cheering and chanting for the destruction of her own son because she wasn't able to do it herself. I wondered if she enjoyed watching the pain I inflicted on others; as I channelled what I thought was hate for my mother, through onto others.

I hope you enjoyed it, every last second of it, bitch.

I saw her -laying- there, peacefully in her sleep, while I stood above her bed—my eyes red and blotchy, I hadn't slept for days, eaten in a solid week and it was all because of -you-; You're dead. She's dead to me! Pull the trigger, come on, do it, pull the trigger...

''Click, click, click''

I shook the gun and cussed under my breath as I squeezed the trigger again. No go. This was enough to disturb her. She stirred in her bed turning over from her side onto her back, her eyes open—she saw me, she sat up in horror...

Was it me? Did she not recognize me without the blood, scratches and bruises painted upon my beaten face?

''Don't you say a fucking word. Don't you make a fucking sound. You stupid bitch'' I said to her, my large hand wrapping around her throat and I barely even realized it. It was as much as a reflex at it was anything else. With her eyes widen she looked at me with a contorted face of fear—a coward of a women.

''It's been a long time hasn't it... mom?'' I asked, observing her face. It was odd. She didn't have the horns, her teeth didn't protrude out of her mouth like fangs, her face was faded in my years old memory, —so I replaced it of that of the devil.

''Lester?'' She barely squeezed out. I couldn't believe I hadn't been choking hard enough. Suddenly, I jerked her forward and up to her feet, throwing her into the back wall sending her legs crashing into the beds head frame.

''Lester isn't home right now...'' I laughed as she struggled in my grips. ''Things have changed over the years. First being, I'm Level-One. Fuck, Lester Only! The Lester Only you know was NOTHING more then your punching bag. The Lester Only you know was NOTHING more then your stupid, no good for nothing son, who was better of dead...''I said taking a small pause...

''Just in case you've forgotten...'' I whispered into her ear as I let go of her throat.

''Please, Lester—stop this. We need to talk'' She desperately begged. There was something different about her, the smell of alcohol for instance had not been present on her breath—but there was no time to think. None.

''Your damn right we need to talk...'' I said before clinching the but of the gun, driving it straight in her gut, as she fell forward onto her bed. She was gasping for air drawing deep and desperate breaths as I towered over her.

''We can start with the time you came home drunk out of your mind because some boyfriend of yours tossed you to the side like a piece of hot meat. So, you wailed on me until your heart felt content... wasn't that fun?''

I said jumping on of her; slapping her casually across the face, as she squirms underneath me.

''Things have changed since then... I've changed!'' She protested as I held the gun in my free hand, pondering yet another unfortunate event at the hands of my own mothers.

''Change. Yes, change is a good thing. Like that time I thought you changed when you decided to actually feed me one night. It was pizza, never could I forget that smell'' I said shaking my head back and forth. ''Though, a day later I was food poisoned and you beat the fucking shit out of me for being so gullible...''

I pistol whipped the bitch.

She screamed and so I hit her again and then one more time for good measure, I split the top of her eye wide open. My shirt, squirted with my mothers own blood. I felt strong. I felt liberated—I felt like I needed to hit her again, hit her so hard—that you put her out her misery, without wasting a single fucking bullet. No mercy. No fucking mercy!

''You should have killed me when you had the chance and now we're both going to have to regret it'' I said, looking at her already, swollen, bloody face.

''You did -this- you did -this- to me. Now it isn't you who doesn't recognized me—its I who doesn't recognize you'' I said lifting my hand with butt of the gun high in the air; ready to rein down upon her head but then something caught my attention. The loud police sirens roaring through the air—rattling my ear drums as my mother play dead beneath me.

It was time to make my escape.

I ran and ran and ran once I hopped through that open window and didn't stop until I got into my getaway, vehicle with Lee Takashi manning the wheel. Remember when I said I had been willing to do -anything- to exact my measure of revenge? Well, it included lying to Lee Takashi, my long time friend and mentor as to why, he needed me to drop me off at this address. Lee Takashi looked at me suspiciously. The loud police series getting louder and louder in his ears mixed in with my panting for deep breaths of air simply didn't mix well with him.

''Drive, Lee... drive!'' I demanded of him.

It wasn't long before we were speeding down the road with the sound of police sirens ringing in our ears every mile of the way. It was clear what had happened—my brother notified the police, my own brother had set me up, but honestly, I expected nothing less of him. I wasn't thinking, at least not clear, as Lee Takashi began to panic.

''Lester, I don't know what the hell you've done but -you- are going to get me in a lot of trouble!'' Lee expressed barely able to keep himself focused on the road ahead of him. At this point, he noted the blood on my shirt. ''Oh, my god...''

''Look, Lee. I'm fucking shaking out of my shoes right now'' I said running my bloody hands through my hair. ''Jesus Christ. You drove me to my mothers house and I did something, legally I shouldn't have...but she had it coming''

''Aye! What the fuck have you done!'' Lee cried out loud. In panic, Lee's attention has been ceased in three opposite directions. It included me, his front view mirror and the side of his window. The sirens weren't stopping and I finally began to realize just how much trouble, I'd find myself in.

''I can't get caught, Lee. My career, it's finished. My life, it's done. I lost this game, it's all over...''

''Did you kill her?'' Lee shouts out his question in a panic. I merely, shrugged my shoulders. I never really thought about it but I let him on to all I knew, it's what I owed him.

''I don't know, maybe...'' I said turning around in the passenger seat. A police squad car had slipped in right behind us. The lights signalled for us to pull over as the vehicle began to slow down.

''What the fuck are you doing, Lee!?'' I shouted as he switched lanes and continued to slow down. Lee looked over at me and shook his head.

''There is no honour amongst thieves, Lester. I am pulling the car over!'' Lee Takashi said firmly. I didn't see it for what it was; tough love. By the time our vehicle stopped the cops emerged from their own squad cars. Two of them to be exact. They pulled out their hand guns and used their car door for a shield. Using, a loud speaker they shouted their demands...

''STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD''

The jig was up.
---

The Great Escape?

The night before one of the biggest pay-per-views of the new year, I found myself locked up in behind solid steel bars. I paced back and forth in my cell like a caged animal. At this point there wasn't a person in the entire world I didn't hate. I hated my brother for calling the cops. I hated Lee Takashi for pulling over the car; and I hated my mom, well, that's given. Yet, despite all this frustration, I knew I really had no one to blame but myself.

I didn't know exactly what I had been brought in for. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, reliving the attack, wondering if I had dealt enough damage to kill her. And as time passed and dinner came in the form of a slice of stale bred with the most watered down butter on top. Chewing the peices of bread realized it was likely she had been still alive, after all—the interrogation still hadn't come into place. At that point in time, I don't know if I was relieved or disappointed. If she was alive—I still had a shot at freedom and if she was dead, I'd be in here for the rest of my life.

The first and -only- phone call I had received since getting in here yesterday night was from Mr. Blackburn a rep from the offices of Action Packed Wrestling. He told me he wasn't given the green light to bail me should the opportunity cease itself and that if I hadn't gotten cleared within a month, I'd lose my APW world championship. It was a sober announcement but nothing I didn't expect. After they took my title, they'd write me off from the hall of fame, and the only thing I'd be remembered for is what the police jail guard knew me for...

''You pathetic scum. No real man lays a single finger on a women—never mind his own mother''

Mr. Blackburn had also told me that the media had been all over the story. The internet blogs, chat rooms and internet forums all had a juice newstory to gossip about, it was nothing short of a P/R nightmare. All I could do is sit my and cell and reflect on everything. My mother, my life, and my future—or there lack of.

If I had one question at this point; it wouldn't be whether or not I'd participate in the Survive and Conquer match or even the condition of my mother, dead or alive. It wouldn't even be about my future or my sure to be devalued past. The question would be, is what I did right? If I was sitting behind that television screen watching, knowing what I know now—would it all be justified and would I come to the conclusion that I had made the right decision?

I knew there was only -one- man who could understand what I had been going through right now...

-REDACTED-

In a small empty bar two police officers wielding their paper pads question the bar tender whom is in the process of cleaning up his station. Running a white cloth across the counter he soaks up the spilt beer, looking up he notices the two officers and promptly throws the wet towel over his back.

''Sir, we got a complaint of violent altercation here, tonight?''

The bar tender was chubby, his beard was shaved but very stubby, and he had a goofy look to him—which made the paedophile jokes come easy, when used on him. He had a thick southern accent something you could only wish to impersonate.

''Yeah, that'd be about correct. Around 3' o clock this mornin' some guy, very big, with light complexion came up here and didn't order a darn thing''

''What was this man doing here? Was he with anyone? What was his purpose?'' A shorter officer asked as his partner took notes.

''Well, the news came on and they was talkin' about some pro rassler who lost his cool and got into some type'a altercation with his mother. Apparently he was caught a few minutes later as the local officers pulled him over by the side of the road. I ain't no much more then that, fellas''

''So what happened?''

''Well the guy stood in front of the TV right over there...'' The bartender said pointing across the bar where a TV clinched tightly against the wall.''...and he was staring at it with his arms crossed as if he was a fan of the guy or somethin''

The two officers look at each-other and then back at the bartender as the lead officer, spoke up.

''Well, we got a report about a beer bottle being smashed over a local's head. Was this man involved?'' The officer asked as the bar tender nodded his head up and down.

''Oh, why yes, sir, he sure was! Some guy, sitting right over here said something about the guy on TV the next minute the big guy comes stomping over, grabs a beer off the bench and smashes it right across the face of one my long time customers''

''That doesn't sound too pleasant...'' one officer dully noted.

''Yeah but guy sure had one hell of a big mouth'' the bartender said making his feelings about his own costumer known. ''The best tip I can give you besides the original description is that he a tattoo on the back of his neck''

''Tattoo? Tell us more'' The officer pushed on. The bartender shook his head back and forth and shrugged his shoulders.

''It said somethin' about...'' he paused as he recollected his memory.

''The only one''

-Back at the jail cell-

Each passing minute I spent inside the jail cell—my hope of getting out sometime soon had dwindled down. I dreaded the arrival of a police guard for I fear receiving an immediate transfer to the local prison facility, they said I'd be raw meat—but they don't know me. The prison populace was nothing special. Petty crooks, career criminals and murders were all people I felt I wouldn't have much of a problem keeping company with.

It was everything else I feared. I feared waking up in the morning and not being able to look out the window and see the sun. I feared waking up in the morning and not walking around your house half naked as you prepare for a long day. I lost all that. I lost it all and now it's replaced with nothing but a stiff metal bed and a toilet as cold the cell room floor.

I couldn't survive this. I couldn't survive being locked up like a caged animal—well, that's how I felt, before I stayed an entire day in here. The days feel so much longer as if another twenty four hours had been added to the clock, just for spite. I wondered how my dad felt—being locked up for more then 20 years of his life. And to think I am here now and he's roaming free, well, it sucks. I wanted the same treatment.

As time passed and the day grew old, I laid my head back and rested on the stiff bed that was hard enough to break.

It was the first time I slept in days.

I awoke to the sound of keys, fiddling with my jail cell door, as a cop demanded I get up and when I didn't do so, when he asked me too—he grabbed my arm with both of his hands and pulled me to my feet.

''Hey, you. Come on kid, your going home'' The officer said to my surprise.

''Home?'' I asked.

''Yeah home...'' He said. I didn't ask him anything else, until we walked down a long hall way, my hands cuffed as he brought me to the front lobby.

''The charges against you have been dropped. You're free to go...'' The officer removed the handcuffs from my wrists and pointed to the front door.

''Go on now, you've been here long enough...'' he encouraged me like an animal that had been freed into a whole new environment. I couldn't believe this was happening, I wanted to pinch myself just to see if it was all real. I looked at the officer as if he had the wrong person.

''Sir, I don't understand...'' I protested.

''Sir, what are you not understanding? Your mother has dropped the charges. You are free to go'' he explains.

The next thing, I found myself sprinting through the front doors and out onto the side walk as if I was home free. I ran—I ran and didn't turn back. My mother has shown me mercy, for first time in a long time, she had shown a sign of a human being—but much like that time she fed me that pizza, I didn't know if she would change her mind. So, I kept running... I ran as far away from the police department as far as my legs could take me. However, I found myself knocked over by a large man—bigger then I was. He wore a hood over his head and mask on his face...

''Holy shit'' I said, as I fell to the concrete, tired, weak, but most importantly free. I didn't know what to make of this—is this a sign of her changing? Well, I wasn't going to give her all, if any credit—at least not now. I trusted no one. Pulling myself up to my knees, I turned backwards and looked back down the street as a man began to run in the same direction, I had been running from. However, that wasn't the odd part, the odd part of the entire thing, was what he carried on his shoulder, it was something I had never seen before.

A rocket propelled grenade launcher?

I shook my head free and just kept walking, I figured I was only better off that way. I'd forget it. None of this happened... move on. Besides, I had one of the biggest matches in my life to prepare for...

BOOM!

The explosion rocked the building, with screams quick to follow. Someone had blown up the jail wide open...

That's when it really hit me. Shit, someone had blown up the jail.

It wasn't long before I realized it had been blown up to free...

Me.

---

New Years Retribution is quickly approaching as we march towards the special day. I can feel it. I can feel the breath of victory breathing down my neck. I can hear victory sing it's song as it whistles through the air being carried with the force of wind. Lastly, I can taste the sweetness of victory, an addiction I can't seem to get enough of. To me, I've already won and this Sunday is nothing more then making it official. It's nothing more then leaving my signature on the world stage with a few bodies laying in my wake. It's nothing more then leaving my impact imprinted in the faces of those I choose to stomp in. It's nothing more then what it is; business, not personal.

This match has been weeks in the making and not ONE person has truly made me double think my odds going into this match. I have listened to those who've chosen to use spoken words and they haven't convinced me they really want to win; they really aren't convincing liars. Some haven't even stammered up enough courage to address the situation they're walking into—further cementing their spot in the abysmal black holes in which they've taunted to pull themselves out of. These people are the lowest form of human scum.

No guts. No glory. No pride.

This -match- this Survive and Conquer clusterfuck has attracted some of the worst type of people, I’ll ever come to witness in my entire life. Seventy five percent of them are fragile. Weak. Useless. You could tear them open gut first and you won’t find a fucking spine! The other twenty percent of them are disillusioned they walk right by me, with not a single sense of awareness for they’ve bought into there own useless tripe. The other four percent actually possess an inch of skill but the ignorance within them is a dangerous unbalance. That 1% is the ONE golden nugget in this shit-field that spans for miles; it’s me.

I’m NOT going to be politically correct, so, fuck you all! All this bitching, moaning, all this tripe depicting what your going to do; well, it’s a fucking joke. It’s a joke coming from a bunch of loud mouthed, no names, all who haven’t done half of what I have fucking done. I’ve had the displeasure of running through your bios. I’ve had the displeasure of watching your promos and I’ve come to three possible conclusions on just what the fuck the lot of you want, here.

Money.
Championships.
Victory.

You decide which one you want. You want the money? You can fucking have it, all of it! You want the championships!? I don’t need those fodder championships for they aren’t worth the weight of carrying them! You want victory? Well, then look my in my eye--and TAKE it from me, you slack jawed pieces of shit! This is WAR and you motherfuckers are sucking your thumbs, throwing dirt in each-others eyes, you aren’t wrestlers--your attention seeking pieces of shit!

Dozer: Seriously, what a fucking joke! This guy brings absolutely nothing to the table other then a few flat, corny ass ‘’pass the salt’’ jokes. This is the same clueless bastard who wield a wrench and still ended up being the biggest tool in shed. I never understood Dozer or how it was possible for his wrench to have more of a personality that he did--but to be honest that isn’t saying much. If he wasn’t exiled from the upper echelon of the wrestling industry, nobody would know who the hell he was. My prediction for Dozer is that his night ends when he decides to eliminate himself, by stepping over the top rope. Honestly, this guy is about as retarded as one can get.

The masked marvel: Obviously, hasn’t realized that Hurricane Jeff already stolen the lame super hero, gimmick--but I am sure there is enough debauchery to pass around in circles. Unlike, Dozer I actually believe you intend to be lame so all the power to you; you’ve hit the spot in accurate fashion. It’s unfortunate the tripe you’ve decided to address me with his perhaps the most basic, overused and pathetic choice of an insult--which I swore you’ve used on more then one occasion, but who the fuck is keeping count anyways? Try not to trip over your cape, captain smooth.

Mike Corral: No passion. No heart. No future. I have known Mike Corral for the better part of my career and he is still in the same position today as he was two and a half years ago. It must hurt to look at me and then at yourself and wonder what success feels like, doesn’t it? Well, that’s if you care enough. Listen, get the fuck out of my ring, if you aren’t here to fight. Since when did professional wrestling, become a side show hobby, we decide to put work in only when we fucking feel like it? Stay on EWC’s brawl and don’t think about showing up here again, we don’t need anymore glorified piss breaks.

Assassin: The APW isn’t perfect; we have our own share of unmotivated pieces of crap too! So, how do you do it? Do you flip a coin--heads you show up and give a fuck, tails you don’t bother bringing your A+ game? Here’s a game. It’s real fun, innovative and effective. Take that coin and chip it in with the rest of your retirement money and take all the time off you want! This goes for every other mother fucker who decides to walk down the ramp and enter the square circle. You either give it your all or stay the fuck out. Unlike Mike Corral, maybe, just maybe--you have a chance of pulling your career out of the gutter long enough to help yourself.

Ornery Hillman: Unlike Mike Corral and Assassin; Hillman actually acknowledges he isn’t a wrestler; that’s a start! My question is then -what- the fuck are -you- doing in a wrestling ring? Did you somehow miss the memo? Listen, you media mogul--get back to booking circus shows with fire breathing dragons and lions jumping hoops. Go manage some blowhard who chooses to use YOU in their corner--because they can’t pick up a decent looking chick out of the scummiest bar in town. Your position in this business is undesired.

Esther Agsa Rose: For the past two weeks there’s been a wave of underground hype about this chick. I have a feeling Michael Saint is behind this piece of work; trying to draw as much attention as he can to KCW as possible. You can’t blame him. The talent pool has the depth of a kiddie pool. It’s a nostalgia version 1.0 ‘’EWC’’ act with a group of guys well past their prime. So, all this--like now, overshadows this mysterious Esther Agsa Rose and will continue to do so as long as she continues to associate with bottom feeders amongst the wrestling word at large. It’s a shame.

Robb McBride: More new blood; only this one seems to have a better grasp on his career. To be quite honest; little is known about this guy, so it tells me he didn’t hit the interview circle and make a bunch of shit up. Unfortunately, Robb has made a poor decision when he decided to accept my open invitational and joined this match instead of beating a few bottom feeders for a few months which would at least make him seem the least bit creditable. Robb, the only ‘’side effect’’ you’ll be feeling in result of your stupid mistake is one nasty headache and a few bad nightmares. In a few months, it’ll all wear off and you can just chalk the entire thing up as a bad experience…

Chris Cyrus: Now here is a man, I truly respect. Unlike the rest of you idiots; this man isn’t reckless. Each step he takes is calculated, it’s slow, and it’s wise. It’s why he has captured the 37th entry. Chris Cyrus knows his purpose real well in this match and it’s good knowing that I’ll have a helping hand when I outlast the original rounds of competitors. Rest assured by the end of the night, when I survive and conquer--this man will share the spoils of my victory. A win for me; is a win for the axis!

MDK: It’s amazing how three simple initials can turn a talk of honour to a show of sickening disgrace as quick as you can stand to utter the name, MDK. For someone who hasn’t done a damn thing of note in the entirety of his career and is at best, a former shell of his old self, he sure can talk up a big game. It seems as if I’ve been too busy wrestling circles around his greatest friends and foes to really take note that I too can play at his game and do it -twice- as better. I may prefer to lurk, take it easy and feel my opponent out before I systematically break them down--but let’s see how your ‘’wail and fail’’ strategy works out for you; when your finding it hard to breath and are promptly exposed of, over the top rope.

Oh, by the way, say Hi to Crazyman for me and tell him I sent you.

Pence Weatherlight: Is it really a surprise pence has decided to throw his name into this hat? He’ll do virtually anything to be embarrassed in my presence. It seems as if every week the star of Pence Weatherlight shrinks as he ignorantly spreads himself thin across the wrestling industry. Hey, dumbfuck--here’s a tip. When you wrestle every other night; you tend to get burned out and slow down in other aspects of your life. Your new career in the EWC and SCW maybe blooming, but your quickly becoming APW biggest joke week-after-week. I guess, good Ol’ Pence just wants some success and it doesn’t matter how he comes across it. It’s just yet another reason why Pence Weatherlight will always be inferior to myself, even on paper.

Ryan Ruckus: And if you want to see a falling star, look no further then Ryan Ruckus himself. He was a hot inter-promotional commodity for about two months at best. Now he’s just that annoying, curtain jerker, who says ‘’ruck’’ instead of ‘’fuck’’; shit, at least he’s still popular amongst the 13 and younger crowd. Word through the grapevine is that I am ducking you--or rather ‘’rucking’’ you--because you have exactly what, I should be afraid of? It’s bullshit. It’s nonsense. It’s a fairy tale. The only reason I haven’t stomped your teeth down your throat is because I haven’t had the time to get around to it. What the fuck makes you so special?

Gladiator: Honestly, I didn’t even really feel the need to down talk this idiot. He managed to do so in his own ‘’dribble on chin’’ tirade. He seemed worried about me ‘’over looking him’’ not because I am one to over look my competitors but because Gladiator couldn’t imagine himself being worth ANY of my time at all. With thirty seven other competitors in this match it was clear that Gladiator had a phobia of being, picked last. However, he does have his reasons. Gladiator is years past his prime. His hall of fame spot in the EWC is simply a indication of how fucking weak this industry was in the mid two thousands. So what exactly has Gladiator done? Revolutionize the industry from an old school in-ring promo into some type of slapstick improve comedy shtick?

Shit, Gladdy… I’ve broken barriers within this industry, you don’t even know exist yet. What the fuck are you doing around here anyways? Don’t you have a show called ‘’Friday Night Rampage’’ to tend to in the EWC? Oh, by the way, good luck on running that into the ground as five people sit by their televisions to watch it happen.

Arkia Fisk: The fact that you are one of the two ladies I haven’t addressed in my first promotion video is a testament to just what I really do think about you. I think YOU have a bigger set of balls then half of the men in this match. Please, for the sake of Ryan Ruckus’s fan followings do NOT lift up your skirt. And your right; I really shouldn’t over look women, even if they sound, look and talk like a transvestite; I mean the entire WORLD saw how my battle with Georgie Nickels turned out, right?

One loss; one loss and the entire world puts you aside as second best. One simple fuck up and the minds of the weak spin out of control. Arkia, I’m going to make them remember. See, with -no- true expert title shot laying in my wakes, I’ll need to send a message of some sort. While you aren’t Georgie Nickels and for name sake you aren’t anything special, if I can manage to get my hands around your neck and snap it like a twig, the images sent around the world will be telling…

This all it’s about. Sending a message. Cementing my name as the next one to take that position as the number 1 contender for the True Experts title. Yet, I still can’t help but feel it isn’t I who is overlooking you--it is you who is over looking me. I’m not the big boy on campus as you say it. Miss, you have it all wrong….

…I own the fucking campus; every last inch of it.

Bryan Payne: See, Bryan seems to be a man who has his head on straight. He’s a world champion in SCW and has a stroke of confidence to him that is enough to gather a stroke of respect by even the biggest of egos but even with this said, he is no Level-One. He can speak well, he comes across crisp and proficient--but heeding his own words is enough to show his beaming in-experience and his ignorance to in-ring psychology.

My words may not throw a single person over the top rope. My words won’t get me through a cage match, it won’t put pick me up when I’m broken and it won’t win me the match for that simply isn’t it’s purpose. I’ve made grown men cry, I’ve made grown men shake in their wrestling boots in fear--and while you may look up at me and not bat an eye, you’ll remember my voice.

You’ll remember when I said I was better then you. You’ll remember when I said I’d stop at nothing less then victory and you’ll hear my voice, reminding you that I will NOT die. You will NOT survive OR conquer. And do you know how this turns out, Mr. Payne?

When my hands are raised in victory and 37 other competitors are laid out before me; everything I said would have come true! Everyone watching would see me with my hands raised in victory and they’ll remember this match (like many matches before it) the next time I run some no named shit head through the mud. And instead of the Bryan Payne philosophy of shaking their heads side to side, mocking my words and summing it up as just some ‘’trash talk’’ they’ll instead nod their heads; UP and DOWN and they’ll say…

He’s right.

Victor Hades: If there is anyone who even shares the slightest desire to win this match, it’s you. No longer content with your status of a glorified mid-carder whom struggles with consistency, you’ve finally made your allegiance to this business and your ultimate goal in life known. Unlike virtually every other person in this match, you’ve set your eyes on something and you are un-willing to be derailed at the sight of an overdrive championship, the lure of green paper--or any other frivolous bullshit I have thrown as an incentive to attract this pack of blood sucking vultures.

We maybe on the same -page- but we have a very different interpretation of the exerts. We -both- may want to win this match but one of us or both of us are going to have to come up short. It isn’t going to be determined by the words we speak nor the direction the wind blows but instead the blood we are willing to bleed and the lengths and obstacles we are willing to go through. Unfortunately enough for you, Victor Hades, history repeats itself--and for anyone daring to keep tabs; history is on my side.

You’re playing a very dangerous game with me, Victor Hades. I know you can’t help but ask yourself, is it worth it? I’m sure your foolish enough to go all in. You have all your little eggs in one basket and your putting the credibility of your future on the line; and I have to wage the assumption that you’ve made a bad mistake. For -everything- you’ve put on the table will be forgotten, your little eggs are going to crack under the pressure--and the only credibility you’ll come to walk out with, is what I find it in my heart to leave you with…

All I can hope is that you take it like a man and you don’t let it throw you off your game; like it will the weak. And for the love of god, try not to make a mess of your mascara…

That goes for all of you bitches.

Editors note: You forgot Slade Craven…

…Who?

I have survived.
I have conquered.

Here I am, a year later, doing it ALL over again!

[Ryan Ruckus]

Previously, on Ruck the World…

Ruckus steps onto Cahuenga Boulevard, lighting a smoke, as he scans the nearby surroundings with his ice-blue eyes. Two blocks away, a man in a light brown trenchcoat holds an ominous manila envelope in his hand. His eyes catch our hero’s, and there’s an undeniable moment, where they both realize they seen each other. And that’s when the man starts running.

R2: In the end, despite the gimmicks, despite the trash talk and the ego trips, despite it all, the only legacy you must routinely outshine is your own. And so that’s my advice to all the new guys. The old guys. To everyone sitting there, reading this now. Work like a madman to build reputation. The rest is just survive and conquer.

And there she is, Ryan’s wife, her movie-star looks bent out of shape by hospital cords and neck braces. And there Hillman was, leaning over top of her, his stupid, grin beneath his stupid moustache. The message was as blatant as it was inappropriate.

[/I]
“Wish you were here…”[/quote]

R2’s custom, cream and chrome Rolls Royce, speeds down Highway 101, darting in and out of traffic, like a chase scene from an action movie. Three cars back, driving an SUV that is darting in and out of traffic itself, the man in the light brown trenchcoat is in pursuit. And he’s gaining fast.

And now, the thrilling conclusion to-

Season1. Episode 2 – SHORT RUCKS

UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER. LAS VEGAS. NOW.

Hollywood actress and former Sin City Wrestling Women’s champion, Foxy Fox lays in a hospital bed, IVs in her arm, and a brace clasped round her neck. On the other side of a glass partition, her husband, Ryan Ruckus, watches her with a blank look on his face. Having successfully dodged the man in the tan trenchcoat, at least momentarily, it’s hard to tell if Ruckus feels nothing, or if he’s trying to hold whatever feelings he’s having in, But we’ll never know either way, as a voice springs up behind him.

DOUG: She was awake earlier. We could see if we can get one of the nurses to wake her.

Ruckus turns to see the face of SCW owner, Doug E. Fresh. “In character,” Ruckus and Doug are still deep into the biggest rivalry of both their careers. But “Out of Character,” they’ve been damn-near life-long friends.

R2: Nah. Let her rest. Not even sure how she’d deal with seeing me. Heard you flew up to see me at the prison.

Stepping forward, he extends a hand. He and Doug engage in the silly little handshake they used to do in their Something Wicked days.

DOUG: Yeah, Hillman put the kibosh on that real quick.

R2: Well, I appreciate the sentiment.

Ruckus says with a sigh, then turns again to stare over his shoulder at his unconscious wife.

DOUG: Want to play a quick game of sell ninja? Might help take your mind off it.

R2: [smirking] Dude, there’s 37 other people in the match. It will not be a QUICK game.

DOUG: Want to play a long game of sell ninja then?

And that makes Ryan Ruckus smile.


SIBERIA. EARLIER.

Open on a lesser-traveled section of the Siberian Prison Facility. Who knows where the guards are, but Ryan Ruckus can’t help but notice the distinct opportunity for the type of thinly-veiled, metaphorical message we have come to expect from him. Currently, he stands at the far end of a hallway, and he grins at himself like a cat still eating a canary.

Across from him, a shadowed doorway hangs open, offering a vision of the darkness just beyond. Above the framework of the door, big, black Sharpie marker letters read: THE CLOSET, and a line of mock-gold championship belts trace a path from the open door to where R2’s crouched, across the room. Softly, he beckons-

R2: Here, Level-One, Level-One, Level-One… Don’t be scared, boy… Come on out…

Then, with a smirk for the camera-

R2: Be honest. He kinda walked right into that one, didn’t he?


UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER CAFETERIA. NOW.

Ryan Ruckus and Doug E Fresh sit on opposite sides of a hospital cafeteria table. Doug is eating a plate of greasy cheese fries, while Ruckus simply sips a cup of coffee. After two months of Russian prison diet, the stomach tends to shrink a little bit.

R2: I don’t know about this match, Doug. Thirty-seven others men and women. Three specialty matches, back-to-back. And lord knows my terrible record in Battle Royals.

DOUG: But Ryan, you’re one of the most adaptable in-ring talents I’ve ever known. Given the course of your entire career, the over-whelming majority of your matches have been gimmicked in one way or another.

R2: Yeah, but not like this. And not against this many people. Hell, Razzle Dazzle Katie King takes midnight walks, BY HERSELF, through the garden-y parts of Central Park.
She has to be hard.

DOUG: Dude, you LIVE in a SIBERIAN PRISON, where you wrestle thieves, pyromaniacs, and MURDERERS week after week.

R2: Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything to my opponents experientially, you know? It’d be better if I had a fear-inspiring name, like Stalker Knight. Or maybe Assassin.

DOUG: Are you kidding? Stalker Knight sounds like a restraining-order member of the New Kids on the Block. And that Assassin guy actually just signed a contract with us. Nobody was scared. Besides, your name RULES. We Will Ruck You? I Wanna Ruck? Ruck-Heads, the Ruck Stops Here, the Hard Ruck Café? Are you ready to Ruckus?!? Have you ever gone ANYWHERE where the other people there didn’t start saying “ruck” instead of fuck?

R2: No, but it’s not like I’m a big tank of a guy who can cut a Brutus the Barber Beefcake-quality in-ring promo.

DOUG: No, you’re an electrifying, high-spot rounder, who can out-talk anyone he’s ever faced. Not to mention the biggest, arguably, crossover star to come out of the ring.

R2: Yeah, but they don’t make movies about me. Cool Universal Monster-fighting movies, starring guys who ruined Wolverine.

DOUG: Ruckus, they don’t make movies about you, because YOU make MOVIES. Three of them. And a novel.

R2: A novel and a half. Ruck of Ages is almost done.

DOUG: See?

R2: But I’m not the most popular wrestler at the strip clubs.

DOUG: You don’t GO to the strip clubs. You’re married to FOXY FOX.

R2: Yeah, but I don’t have trademark black sunglasses.

DOUG: You have trademark two-tone red and green sunglasses. Who trademarks black sunglasses? Didn’t the Blues brothers already do that.

R2: I would’ve have gone with Men In Black.But I’m not rich, and conniving, and cowardly, and in league with a bunch of washed-up film and t.v. actors.

DOUG: You’re a million-dollar Hollywood blockbuster filmmaker.

R2: And television personality, now that Ruck the World has taken off. But I suck video games.

DOUG: No you don’t. You used to conduct interview from your basement, so you wouldn’t have to stop playing Warcraft.

R2: Yeah, but I never had a dog named Optimus Prime.

DOUG: So?...

R2: And I don’t have any connection to the devil, or vampires, or witches, or aliens, or Twi-Hard emo gothy people.

DOUG: Thank God for that. And didn’t you beat the Devil at poker once?

R2: Yeah, but that was a while ago, I not so young anymore that the word young is a part of my ring name.

DOUG: The word young was never a part of your ring name. And you’re only 30.

R2: But I don’t wear a mask.

DOUG: Because you wouldn’t be able to smoke.

R2: That reminds me.

Ruckus lights up a cigarette.

DOUG: You probably shouldn’t smoke in the HOSPITAL cafeteria.

R2: But I’m stressed. I don’t have the free time to do three-hour-long webcam Wayne’s World rip offs, like Bryan Payne.

DOUG: Bryan Payne is my Global champion. It’s a conflict of interest for me to talk shit about him.

R2: Fair enough. But what about Level-One? Haven’t you heard? He’s damn-near unstoppable. He has so many wrestlers and fed-heads hanging off of his nutsack, it takes him half an hour to get to the ring. He’s loved and lost, dammit. That DOES things to a man.

DOUG: Yeah, like inflate his ego.You remember when L1 invaded SCW and talked us down, and you jumped right up and offered to fight him, then and there? You remember how you took to calling yourself Level Two in a –thus far- unsuccessful attempt to answer your challenge?

R2: Yeah.

DOUG: Besides, you forgot MDK.

R2: No, I called him. We’re cool. I think.

DOUG: The point is this, man. You’re the Real Thing. The SCW Grander Slam champion, The One Man Hall of Fame, The King of the Cage.

R2: Erm, not anymore. It’s Patron Saint of Sin now.

DOUG: Right, Patron Saint of Sin. Winner of the third annual EFK tournament. Last regional man standing in the Experts interfed tag match. Mr. SCW 2009. Founder of Something Wicked. Current, undefeated in singles competition, Siberian Voyle champion. The busiest man in wrestling, even THOUGH you live in a Russian freezer, and the holder of one of the most impressive overall records this business has ever seen. You shouldn’t be afraid of the people in this Survive and Conquer match. They should be afraid of you. Cause you’re not just going to WIN this thing; You’re going to KILL it.

Ruckus thinks a minute, snuffing his smoke.

R2: Well, Doug… When you put it like that, I guess you’re right.

Then they both turn and wink for the camera. And THAT’S how you play “Sell Ninja.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Excerpt from RUCK OF AGES
the forthcoming sequel to FACE-POP CULTURE
(Available in bookstores March 15th)

“The Inter-fed scene is the sex tape of professional wrestling. It can make, or BREAK, your career.”

It’s no secret I’m no stranger to the inter-fed scene. I may have gotten a late start, competing solely for indy joints the first eight years of my career. But once I got on the tip, I got addicted to it, like it was crack cocaine. I’m guessing; I’ve never smoked crack cocaine.

In one year’s time, I out-lasted all but TFWF heavyweight champion, Sebastian Cross, in the Experts Regional vs. Worldwide tag tourney. I went on to win the EFK tournament, last fall. I made a hell of a showing in the DIWFWIDFWF North American title battle Royal. (Little inside jab at Ian Monks there. You’re Welcome, Ian. I advanced to the second round of the Experts Extreme tournament. And I defeated opponents from feds all over the world, during my unheard of interfed Global Title open challenge. In short, I got my name out there.

And, at the end of the day, that’s really the point. You can’t win ‘em all. Hell, some of them, you’re not ALLOWED to win. (Can you believe there are still people who think wrestling’s fake?!?) But win or lose, True Experts champ, or merely number five on their overall rankings, your stock rises just the same.

I could not have signed with Ornery Hillman, if not for my inter-fed stints. Which, in retrospect, might be a reason NOT to partake in them, but at the end of the day, I’m a household name in 60% more households than I was two years ago. Sure, a lot of that may have to do with my unrivaled SCW success, my three big budget silver screen films, and my New York Time’s best-selling memoir. But a good portion of it is due to my multi-federational diversity.

It’s the smartest career move I’ve ever made. And that is why, no matter who you are, I commend you if you’re doing the same. Be you a dominant world champion juggernaut, or a rehashed Tales From the Darkside hack, your mere participation on the inter-fed scene makes me consider you my intellectual, intestinal, and self-promoting peer.

And it will truly be an honor to defeat you.

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

UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER. NOW.

Having finished his impromptu game of Sell Ninja, Ryan Ruckus returns to give a silent goodbye to his recovering wife. Following that, he has stopped by the hospital information booth, because a brilliant idea has just struck him.

R2: Excuse me-

-He asks the lady behind the counter. She looks categorically bored to be there.

R2: Could you direct me to the head of your charitable donations department. I’d like to talk to them about a potential $500,000 donation.

That got her unbored REAL quick, and her jaw hits the floor. Metaphorically, of course.

LADY: Right away, sir.

DOUG: Whatcha doing?

Ruckus turns to see Doug finally catching up. Seems he had to stay behind until he’d pulled every last bit of cheese of the plate his fries were on.

R2: I’m thinking of donating the prize money to the hospital. I mean, if it weren’t for them, I might be a widower.

And now it’s Doug’s turn to let his jaw drop.

DOUG: Doug, that’s half a MILLION dollars.

Ruckus shrugs.

R2: Yeah, but I got money. And besides, with this Filat lawsuit breathing down my neck, it’s likely I wouldn’t have seen the cash anyway. Can you believe some bastard chased me across California trying to give me the notice? It’s the right thing to do, Doug.

DOUG: Hell, give it to me then.

Ryan laughs out loud.

R2: Some things never change.

?: Mr. Ruckus?

Ryan shoots a smirk at his old friend, then turns to face a man in green scrubs and a surgical mask.

R2: Oh, are you the doctor in charge of donations.

MAN: No.

And pulling down his mask, the doctor reveals himself to be the man in the tan trenchcoat. But before R2 can react, the manilla envelope the man has been carrying since first we saw him, is thrust into Ruckus’ hand.

MAN: You’ve been served.

Then just as quickly as he appeared, the man is gone. Ruckus gives a sideways glance to Doug, then reluctantly opens the envelope. Removing the contents and scanning them quickly, our hero finally gets to breathe a sigh of relief.

DOUG: What is it?

Ruckus hands him the paper with a head shake and a smirk.

R2: It’s my official invitation to compete against Joel Bryant at the Experts.

DOUG: Neat. Good luck.


MADISON SQUARE GARDEN – ONE HOUR BEFORE S&C.

No fancy backdrops. No death metal music. No expensive, production truck graphics. Just a mid-shot on the Real Thing Ryan Ruckus, with his cigarette and two-tone shades.

You know, living in a freezing, cold-gray cell, removed from the rest of the civilized world, you get a lot of time to think. About the choices you’ve made. The alliances you’ve formed. The psycho-analytic core from which you operate. You get a lot of bad mood days and a lot of time to think.

Like, oh my rucking Christ, could Leve-One BE more emo?Don’t get me wrong, the guy has got A LOT of wins, but if that ‘lost-love, paralyzed-brother, after-school special shit, is what helped him beat Crazyman, it doesn’t stand a chance against Ryan Ruckus. Hell, he even said that if you wanted to find the REAL him, you’d have to look in the closet. The R-Kelly-scandal-be-damned closet. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

And what the hell is this “off air” tripe I keep hearing about? You’re a performer! Hell, most of you are even B-level television personalities. Always be recording, kids. ALWAYS. Otherwise, why do we care?

And is it just me, or does Katie King look like something out of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere underground. On top of that, who correlates a stroll through Central Park with one of, if not THE most grueling match on the planet?

And if, IF there is a man who will walk his kids into Madison Square Garden and regale them stories of the man who won 2010’s Survive and Conquer, that man will most-likely be me, and will certainly NOT be Jobber the Hutt.

And if Nathan Hellsing is truly ‘incredible,’ than it must be the Richard Nixon version, rather than the Hulk version. Who burns off ring rust in a match like this? He ought to go back to his wife and re-retire BEFORE the match. Or else, he’s going to spend the rest of his days pooping into a bag. Alone. And I would assume, when you’re crapping your paralyzed self every hour, due to long-term, internal injuries, you would want someone to help you clean that shit up. But I’m not the expert. Maybe we should ask Lester’s brother.

And how much does a man who can concuss with his kicks and KO with his elbows pay for lousy lap dances from single mom’s trying to put themselves through college?

And how can a black-shade-trademarking douchebag be racist against immigrants, when he comes from the land where Dudley Do-Right calls ham Canadian bacon?

And who the HELL wants to see Mighty Ducks Four?

And what kind of currently-fadtastic-video-game-playing Ganja hooker skips her own brother’s shipping out party for a chance to LOSE a shot at half a million dollars? I wonder if Derek liked the flowers I sent him.

And is Hurricane Jeff really gay? And is his name really Jeff? And what part of him, exactly, is Hurricane-like.

These are the things I think about in my free time. Well, those, and my currently-non-applicable Sin City Wrestling Global Title rematch. And my medical-coma-induced movie star wife. And the evil asshole ringmaster who put her in that coma and put me on the sidelines of a psycho-Warden’s frozen wet dream. And the fact that, whether it’s Surviving Thunderdomer or Conquering death itself, Ryan Ruckus always finds a way back to the top of the mountain.

So when the APW world champion starts flexing his big-dick of a win / loss record, once again, I’ll Survive and Conquer.

When Akira Fisk is trying to pick me off with Wii remote shotgun, I will Survive and Conquer.

When Gladiator is using my image to resurrect the careers of Emilio Estevez and James VanDerBeek, I will Survive and Conquer.

And when Katie King tries to make me feel bad for hitting a Rainbow Brite character, and when Stalker Knight is too preoccupied with his old stable mates, and when Hutt Anderson is starting to savvy the weird smell in the room is HIM, and when Bryce Bridges is sweating community shower time later, due to the strange growths on his man parts, and when Kip Kutler’s ego blinds him to the fact he’s inconsequential, and when Assassin files a complaint about his lack of APW support, and when Dozer is avenging Optimus Prime, and when Victor Hades finally decides to come in out of the rain, and when Bryan Payne admits the only reason he won the Global title is cause I was trying to get fired by my manager, and when MDK let’s go of the time he branded me, in light of the three times I’ve defeated him since, and when Ornery Rucking Hillman has himself a big fat coronary cause his cottage cheese ass burns itself out on the way down to the ring…

I will throw every bastard in my way out of the ring, and I will push peoples heads through the slats of the cage like I’m playing with a Play-Doh extruder, and I will set a twenty-foot ladder in the center of a cell even bigger than the one I currently live in, and I will climb that ladder, and I will capture my prize.

And I will Survive and Conquer.

[arkiafisk]

Friday January 29, 2010

Another day in in the East Coast during the winter usually means the ground can't be seen because of the snow. This day of course is not different and Arkia is having one hell of a time driving through the streets of Newark, NJ. The weather plus people who can't drive in said weather plus the fact that Arkia has always been short-tempered equals one irritated atmosphere. Inside the flashy red Monte Carlo Arkia sits behind the steering wheel irritated because of traffic but also saddened because she still hasn't figured out how to approach one of the people she loves the most and disappoint him. Her Monte Carlo is idle at the stoplight and she rests her head upon the top of the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. She wraps her Rocawear winter coat around her a little tighter and zips it from its mid position all the way to the top. The light changes and she starts down the street...

<i>Its easy to get lost in thought when driving alone, no music, no conversation...especially when your moving at 5 mph cause Grandma has no business out in these conditions.</i>

Arkia honks the horn twice before switching lanes and carefully passing by the slower driver.

<i>Not that I'm against old bitty's but damn lady when its time...its time, get off the fucking road already.

I really have screwed up this time. I have many brothers...I love them all the same but at the same time Derek and I are basically twins, we have that closeness. I mean we are 11 months apart (yea my parents are freaks, they didn't listen to ANY doctor in the world and two kids in one year IS possible) so we were always in the same grade. It was so hard to even explain to people how were in the same classes but aren't twins that we basically went through school saying that we were. Now we are grown adults, although my mom would love to differ, and here this same brother that I have so much in common with is going overseas and he may not come back.

Sure, the war is ending -SUPPOSEDLY- but unless it ends by -MONDAY- he's putting himself in danger for a country that doesn't even consider him an equal...which is another subject I won't elaborate on.

His party is tomorrow and although the show is in New York not too far away I know I have a responsibility to be prepared and ready to win this money. So now the question is, do I chance myself winning this battle royal and hang with my brother for his last few days of freedom...basically walking through the door at the same time my match begins? Or do I do what I always do as a professional wrestler, get in a day early...get prepared and do what I need to do to get this money?

Will going in the day of really damage my chances? I mean either way I'm ready...I've been in Madison Square Garden before. I've had big matches before...sure the match didn't max out at damn near 40 people but still, this is my brother. I love him like nothing else in this world and I know he wouldn't be hurt if I didn't go, even if he doesn't show it. Family...or Money? Its not even certain that if I keep to my routine that I'll walk away with the win. But to break it will definitely break my concentration...Family or Money?</i>

Arkia pulls up among an apartment complex where a lot of people have on uniforms and training gear.

"I thought he stayed on a base...this doesn't look like a base to me." Arkia says to herself.

Arkia makes her way through the maze looking against the siding of building to figure out where she is....

"17....17....17.....17....ah." Arkia finds what she was looking for and pulls up to the first open spot.

Once parked Arkia pulls out her iphone and speed dials her younger brother, Private First Class Derek Fisk.

"Bro...yeah I'm outside. No I don't.....you see how bad it is out here? Ahhhhhh....fine."

Arkia hangs up the phone and places in her Fendi purse. She takes a deep breath and steps out in the brisk cold snow as she walks to building 17 where Derek stands in the doorway.

"D-sco..." Arkia says while passing by Derek standing in the doorway.

"Nay..." Derek says back to her sister.

<i>There's only a few that get away with calling me that...like only two people in this entire world!</i>

Arkia smiles and waits for Derek to lead her to his apartment. He starts up the stairs...

"So, may I ask now why you insisted on coming over here today...the party is tomorrow." Derek says.

<i>Damnit.</i>

"Ahhh...just saying hey and well..." Arkia didn't want to tell him right there at least let him be sitting and among comfort in his own domain.

Derek knows his sister like himself...something was wrong. Derek stops midstep...Arkia winces.

"What's wrong?" Derek asks with a flat tone.

"Lets just get inside first, it is a bit cold out here." Arkia tries to deflect. She tries to bundle up more with her winter coat to emphasize her discomfort. Derek wasn't having it.

"It isn't that cold in here, its a hallway. I'm out here in a white beater and shorts!" Derek turns around on the stairs and looks dead at Arkia even though he's standing above her.

"What?" He asks again. "For real..."

Arkia sighs...

<i>Well here it is...tell him I choose money.</i>

"I'm not gonna make it to the party tomorrow. I leave for New York tomorrow afternoon. I have a match..." Arkia strays from keeping eye contact with her brother.

"I thought the PWR gave you the week off." Derek stands in his rigid Army form.

"I applied for an extra match in another wrestling promotion..." Arkia leans back on the banister on the stairway.

"You've known I was gonna ship out for a while now." Derek keeps a rigid tone to match his stance.

"I wasn't thinking at the time I applied for the match I-" Arkia starts and Derek stops her.

"It's cool...just do ya thing Arkia." Derek is an Army man, a man of short words but he never calls Arkia...Arkia. To him she's just Nay...

Arkia knew then he was pissed.

Derek keeps walking to her destination and basically leaves Arkia to figure out what to do. She decides quickly and races up the stairs after her younger brother.

"Derek...Derek....Derek come on." Arkia catches up with Derek as he reaches his door attempting to quickly open the door.

"Your a professional wrestler...its cool Arkia." Derek keeps the steel face.

"Your calling me Arkia." Arkia says seeing through his B.S.

"That's your name."

"You haven't called me Arkia since I broke your G.I. Joe set. I'm sorry." Arkia puts her hands together praying for forgiveness.

"Ok." Derek turns around and walks in his apartment.

Arkia tries to follow behind him but a door shuts dead in her face. Arkia shamefully looks at the floor and starts walking away.

<i>Hey I made my choice...</i>

Arkia makes it to the end of the hallway where the familiar stairway begins she takes that first step down as a door opens in the distance. Derek appears from the end of the hallway and Arkia starts up as soon as he's in view.

"Derek, really man I'm sorry I just...you know what I'm trying to do with my life...I didn't mean...I didn't-" Arkia starts her apolgetic rambling again, just to be cut off by her little brother once again.

"Well if you won't be there to wish me well tomorrow...we are getting drunk as fuck and partying tonight. Come on...I gotta get dressed, and we need to take some shots before we go." Derek smiles in a way that lets Arkia know everything is ok. But she still isn't sure as she starts walking toward Derek.

"Is it Gin..." Arkia asks.

"Seagrams of course." Derek laughs as Arkia passes by him.

Arkia makes her way toward the open front door to her brothers apartment but stops right before it.

"What's my name again?"

"Nay..."

"Ok...I just wanted to make sure." Arkia walks into the doorway. "It better be Seagrams black yo."

Derek laughs and Arkia joins in.

====
THREE HOURS LATER
====

Derek's apartment has turned into a joined apartment party where every person living there has basically opened their doors to each other drink, smoke, and whatever else goes on before a whole fleet of kids go overseas to war.

Arkia's in the middle of playing beer pong in Derek's apartment with her brother as her partner. She smiles as she watched Derek score again leaving the other team to wallow in defeat. Arkia starts laughing and give Derek a high-five. They are both drunk out of their minds and enjoying every minute.

<i>Cause this could be the last time...</i>

====
-STARTS RECORDING-

Arkia sits on one of her machines and keeps in short and sweet.

<i>I still tend to feel like I can make the worse of decisions...sometimes I can even take things seem more than what they truly are. But here and now...it's not about anything to me but the money! I need a half a million in my possession...I have dreams and to put it frankly money is my way to make it happen. I've put it all on the line before but what people don't understand is not only do I in the ring but I put it all on the line outside of the ring.

I want this so bad that I have put it in front of my family...my friends...things that matter the most to me. Can all of you say that you are able or even -willing- to do the same?

Those of you which success comes so easy for I won't name names but you know who they are. Have you ever really been pushed to the limit, have you really had to do anything and everything to get what you wanted? Probably not because...life and success comes easy.

Those of you that have not seen success but continuously strive and tries, have you come to the root of your problem yet? Probably not because until you place everything behind you...you'll always come in second place.

I will do anything and because of that I will get it all...

See you there...

-ENDS RECORDING-
====

[valerie]

17 January 2010

(Off Camera)

Finally, I felt my fangs retract back into my mouth and my canine teeth actually looked normal fir the first time since Ashleigh McDaniel busted me open during our match. Not that I was complaining, I liked the little frenzy that it drove me into. It was...I dunno...I'd call it empowering I guess. I looked across the bed at the form of my husband, who was quite quickly drifting off into sleep. Waking him up would be a fun task...but that's to be expected when you are what we are I suppose. Sleep. Something I should be thinking of doing soon. It was 6am, and the dawn was due within the next hour. On the same token, most people with some sense or normality about them would be asleep right now. But that's a word that, to be honest, just doesn't apply here. I could stay up, if I so desired. The blinds in the house in Belfast that we had made home were closed, and they were blackout, so it wasn't like any sunlight could get in. But it doesn't work like that, and a massive part of me wished it did. I was forced to retire to wherever it was I chose to spend the daylight hours when the sun was due up. It was quite sad.

I missed the feeling of the sun on my back, but it was better for myself and my family that I didn't get myself killed. Greeting the sun, to steal a quote from the Sookie Stackhouse books, was suicide, literally. And to be quite honest...suicide doesn't seem all that appealing! Great, I just put myself in the mood for those books now. Turning on the lamp on my side of the bed, I grab "All Together Dead" and take the bookmark out, rolling onto my front and propping myself up with my elbows. I don't have much left to go, and I'm a fast reader, so I would probably be done before I found myself knocked out completely.

As it turned out...that wasn't the case. The next thing I actually remember is waking up in a way that I never sleep; with my hands above me head. Raising my head a bit, the bookmark was in the book and the book itself was on the bedside table. Which only served to annoy me even more. I HATE leaving books on the table. 'Miah knows that. But that's just one of those stupid wee quirks I have that can sometimes fuck me over. Maybe it's slight OCD...I don't know. Can vampires get that? But then again, that's about the only "Obsessive Compulsive" trait that I have...otherwise I'm pretty much the definition of a slob. To be honest, it makes me wonder why I do as well as I do in the ring. Sure, I'm by no means fallible, but I tend to go on a massive tear, at least in Sin City, before coming back down to Earth with a thump. But on the same token...I'm not egomaniacal like Doug Fresh, my boss...or Level One, who seems to think that he's God of Wrestling or something. Ah well, each to their own. Besides, I have a feeling that if I were truly like that, my head would be in the clouds like Ashleigh McDaniel's and I'd need to lose despite having copious amounts of help to at least get my chin out of the clouds.

God, I come up with some weird shit. If it wasn't for the fact that those two are probably the most hated people in the company, I'd be getting some serious heat. I'm good at that. If the person I'm facing could get booed out of the arena, then surely to God my bitching them out like...I dunno, something really nasty...like they were a mood swing during pregnancy or a period...yeah, no wonder fans like me. Haha.

Anyway! Like I was saying. Composing myself and trying not to slide out of the bed stark naked and yell at 'Miah for leaving the book out, I push myself up to my elbows and look around. Then remember the man I married is about as neat as I am outside the ring; not very. I roll over to my back and notice that I managed to get my housecoat onto my feet while I'd been sleeping. Fine with me! With a bit of difficulty, I manage to get the black cotton robe to a distance where I can reach it without sitting up - my bed's comfy thanks - and pull it on without much difficulty. I head through to the living room, realising that it's 8pm And I overslept by two hours. Again. Making a quick detour into the kitchen, I grab a cup and sort myself out so that I don't frenzy and do something I would later come to regret. I've heard enough horror stories about newborns that don't feed enough, and personally don't want to become one of them.

Another thought occurs to me as I'm pouring my drink. When are you not a newborn? After a year? I was tired of being looked down on as a fledgling by most of the Council, and I'd been sired in November. I don't hide what I am. I don't see the point. By nature I'm the kind of person where if you want to know something about me, it's right there in black and white. Of course, like everyone else, I have secrets, I won't deny that. I won't deny there are some things about me that I hope like Hell people never find out. But it's not stuff like "Oh, I was pushed down the stairs by my sister the night my then-boyfriend-now-husband met my father", as true as this piece of information is. It's deeper stuff. But aside of maybe...four or five things, I am pretty much an open book.

Walking out of the kitchen, I notice fairly quickly that I'm on my own. Lord knows where 'Miah's gone. It can't be to find out what our matches are for Jackpot, we know what those are. Yeah, double booked. That and everyone except for whoever's Global Champion at the end of the semi-main event. Shrugging, I take a drink and sit down at the table and wonder how long it's going to take before I get a phone call from Emma or Katherine. Then decide that right now, Katherine's less likely a I work out that 'Miah may have gone to Hardknocks.

As if on cue, my phone starts to ring in my housecoat pocket. When I answer it, knowing it's Emma - I actually looked at the caller ID, which is something I never do - I don't hear anything. Which in a way, isn't actually worrying. Most people would expect to hear breathing, and for about half a second, so did I, but then I remember that Emma married Liam, my nephew, and is like me, so not hearing anything for a couple of seconds is okay, but after about thirty...yeah, that's worrying.

There's a knock on the door. Ugh, if that's 'Miah having forgotten his keys again, I'll hurt him and not in a way that he may not like and he knows that. Which explains why I don't think he's ever lost his keys in the whole...six or seven months I've lived with him.

At the door stands Emma McIntyre, who's easily one of my best friends, though she is an in-law in some really fucked up way. Exchanging pleasantries, I let her in and she takes a seat on the sofa, draining what's left of my cup. I normally wouldn't have minded, but I haven't fed in over 48 hours, aside of the carnal exchanging that comes with sex. Which doesn't really count as a proper feed, but I digress. So right now, the last thing I needed was Emma to drain the cup, but I don't say anything, and instead go and get another feed, and hope like Hell there's enough to do us until Jackpot. There is...barely. looks like I might have to risk frenzy mode. Not that 'Miah would let me. He'd probably go down that road himself.

"Shit, I shouldn't have drank that...should I?" Emma asks, suddenly all too aware that it was a bad idea. I can't blame her though, she's a newborn herself, only sired on Christmas Day. Yeah, weird gift to get on Christmas Day, I would have thought. "Hey honey, come here when the family's left and I'll make you one of us". Well, that's what might as well have been said For all I know though, it was.

"It's fine. You need it a lot more than I do right now." Okay, so it's part lie, but I don't care. Angel's probably yelling at her, telling her as such, but I honestly couldn't give less of a damn if I tried. It wasn't fine, it was actually a bit irritating, but she's far more likely to frenzy right now than me. Apparently not wanting to get through the small talk, I don't give her much choice in the matter. "Congrats on the result of that match on Thursday,"

"Shut up, Val." Emma gives me a look, and I know I went a bit far with that one. And that was my own fault. She might have main evented, and gotten her hands on someone that she wanted to get her hands on, but that didn't stop her being irritated about being cost a win by her "boss", a man who has ego enough to probably rival Doug. Though, to be fair, Emma might actually like Doug...they both had that weird sense of corruption... "What? You told me congrats on a loss, don't expect me to take it like you meant nothing by it." Seriously, more often than not, I think Emma needs to relax a little. I shrug my shoulders.

"Calm down, Em. It's not the end of the world that you lost a damn match, is it?"

"It's not even that Val. I'm supposed to be better than what I'm turning into." Clearly, being on a slump is not something that sits very well with Emma, and I can't blame her. She's too used to being the dominant one, being on a par with Katherine no matter what she does in that ring. If not better in some cases. But that's the way it's been the whole time she's been in HIW; unable to keep up with the standards that Katherine set, and seldom actually pulling through and making herself look like the massive threat that we all know that she is when she's got no one to have her back. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out that it's almost literally eating her alive. "What am I doing wrong?"

"Well, you're fretting about it for a start." I tell her somewhat sternly. And it's true as well. If it wasn't for the fact that she could barely age at all anymore, you would be able to see he in about a month's time, covered in worry lines. "You've been worrying about that since you started losing. Shut up about it and think about how you're going to get better. You walk into matches with an air of being invincible that no one buys into anymore and it's biting you in the arse, and you're hating it, not understanding what the fuck is going on." Not a word that I am speaking is a lie, that's the worst of it. Emma McIntyre; as much as she tries so hard to deny it, is a very egotistical piece of shit sometimes. "Get the fuck over the ego Emma."

She looks at me like I've just committed some kind of heinous crime against her, which only serves to make me want to laugh. But I don't. "God, I hate it when you do that." She snaps. Rolling my eyes, I light a smoke, and pass Emma the packet. She takes it, lights one of her own, and continues too glower at me for my upfront brutality. Something's she's also good at, but I digress.

"Why? Because it's one of the few traits we share?"

"What? Other than the Scottish accents, the almost lethal feet, love of Kamelot, and the fact we're some sort of vampire?" I laugh, and Emma grins. She's right, we do actually have a lot in common. "Ya know...I randomly got the memory of the time you got into a fight in Primary school, and Miss Kinney said you were a born fighter. And that Andy spent the next three days complaining that his shin was sore." She grins at me, and I return the gesture. The irony of that was, by who won and who lost, I actually lost it. I couldn't fight worth a damn until I was fifteen. But I'd always had that streak that said I could fight back. I blame the fact that I'm a classic case of how wrestling more often than not runs in families nowadays.

"I remember that. He had to go to hospital didn't he?" Emma nods. "Thought so. I was so glad I didn't break his leg."

"I wouldn't have been shocked if you did, really. He got diagnosed with brittle bone disease a couple of years ago, but apparently it went without notice for years. That and you've always kicked damn hard. Why don't you just make a pele kick to the head a finisher and get it over with? Seriously! If you put enough force into that, you'd get the pinfall every time!" This is exactly why I love Emma so much. As much as she's my nephew's wife, I always considered her more of a sister, no matter how much shit we were putting each other through. (Liam's uncle, Jeremiah, my nephew by marriage. So she's actually now relation to me in the slightest save for maybe some convoluted niece-in-law type deal) Rolling my eyes, I lean forward a little bit.

"So what's next on the agenda then?"

"I don't actually know, to be honest. The only thing I really got going right now is HIW and Deka being a prat." She shrugs her shoulders. That's the weird thing about Emma; she likes to have a lot going on, even if it's outside the ring. And with Christmas just out of the window, all she really had was her weekly Vital Signs appearance. Sure, she'd be at The Experts Invitational in a couple of weeks, but she'd be there as support for Katherine. A ticket to the part of Cali where that was taking place had already been booked, and she told me she felt guilty about not coming to the Survive and Conquer match in APW. But truth be told, I was used to the only backstage support being 'Miah. That had been the case since we left my first company, though, that had been a nightmare, I won't lie. When I started, 'Miah was a General Manager. The company had three shows, and he was the GM of the Friday Night one. When I started, we agreed to cover up our relationship (at that point we'd been together four months), more so that if I got anywhere, it was off my own merit. And that's what happened...though often I was accused of this not being the case. I'd been pretending to be engaged to 'Miah's brother, Vincent, and Katherine Stryfe (then Belmont), went off on some ridiculous tangent about how I was a leech. It makes me laugh to think about it now, but at the time I absolutely hated it. It's probably why I'm so open about things now.

Emma notices my faraway expression, and waves a hand in front of my face, causing me to blink rapidly several times before looking at her. "What are you thinking?" She asks, looking slightly curious. God damnit. I hate it when she does that. At least it's not anything bad. "Just about our first joint tenure...and so far, our only one."

"Well, at least we're all free now to do what we want, and not hide everything about who we are." She has a point. "Okay, that's a lie. I'm not totally out in the open, but I doubt I could handle the Twilight shite as well as you." This, if anything, makes me laugh a little bit considering all the Twilight and Buffy crap I gave her in the couple of weeks between me meeting Liam and finding out what he and his family, including 'Miah are, and 'Miah and I actually getting together. That's a scary thought, that was two years ago almost. And she handled it pretty well, I think. But that might be fact I have known her literally her entire life, I'm not sure and to be honest, I don't actually care too much. "Something smells of bullshit there, sweetie." I tell her honestly, and she knows why. My train of thought is then interrupted by the front door opening and closing, then anything I had in my head vanishes completely as Liam and 'Miah walk into the room. "You know Katherine's been looking for you right, baba?"

"Ah crap, any idea what she wanted?" Emma pulls Liam over to her and kisses him lightly. Doesn't bother me any, I've seen Emma with countless people, though I kinda wonder how it doesn't get to 'Miah a little; that's kinda his nephew. Haha. "I'll phone her later on."

"Alexander also wants to speak with us when we have the time, my love. I think he's wanting to expand here in Ireland... again. All our attempts have been met with council red-tape; I've told him this... but you know my brother."

"I do." I nod, and smile as 'Miah sits beside me, and puts his arms around me. "You got any avenues left for that or has everything been exhausted?" It was a general question, aimed at the two of them, because neither Emma nor I knew what options were left for the clubs that Alexander, Liam's dad, runs, to get this bloody expansion they want to put in place. Emma looks about as confused about the whole thing as I do, and honestly, I can't blame her too much. We both tend to stay out of their affairs when it comes to this, but given everything else that I really don't have the mental capacity to explain, trying to explain wouldn't be the best idea I've ever had. And not gong with an unwise decision sounds plain weird, I'm not known for making smart ones!

"Chris tried the... violent approach; needless to say Ireland's council is missing a few key members. Under the rug of course and no connections back to us. Granted I do wish my uncle would use more peaceful means; violence only gets so far."

"I never knew Chris to be a peaceful man." Emma comments, and I can't honestly say I disagree with the statement. Sure, he has his moments, but yeah...he's not known for being a man of peace. At least that I've seen.

"She has a point, and besides he only made the ones working for the old guard disappear. You were too young to remember the original grandmaster of the council, Liam... but he wanted you dead; wanted all of us...dead." That catches me seriously off guard. Even if I'd been old enough to know about that, I didn't know these guys till I was in my late teens. Emma and I exchange a glance. It's painfully obvious that both of us want to ask why, but not like either of us are going to, and that probably doesn't shock our resident telepath in Liam. But as 'Miah pointed out, Liam's not old enough to remember. I'm only a few days older than him, and I turned 21 two weeks ago. "I'm gonna regret asking why...or what the fuck..." I manage to mutter eventually.

"It stems to the fact that Liam is halfbreed; and the former grandmaster did not want a halfbreed becoming the heir to my brother's part of the council. He put a hit out on Liam and all halfbreeds; Chris lost one of his daughters in the attack and at one point Katherine and Liam were kidnapped. We managed to get them free and in the same vein; my brother killed the grandmaster and thus became the new one... you take what you kill; it's always been the creed of the council. Needless to say some did not... approve of this and still hold resentment towards Alex." The room is eerily silent following this, Emma, Liam and I taking all this in. The look on Emma's face says it all. It's no secret how much she loves Liam. Hell, the girl harps about it on camera often enough. Not that I can talk. But that's not the point. Closing my eyes, I shiver violently, with her feelings of confusion, anger and a slight twinge of sadness hitting me in the head and heart, not helping my own feeling of slight confusion, made an oxymoron with understanding. If Emma speaks, she'll say something, and then carry it out, only to come to regret it and get herself exiled, which won't look good for Liam. I'm no telepath, but I know that for a fact, having known her for as long as I have, she's pretty much an open book to me. I open my mouth...I'll just say something stupid.

"What's done is done; after the death of the old grandmaster the hits were stopped and Alexander has made it clear if anyone is dumb enough to try they will meet a fate far worse than the old grandmaster's... and needless to say no one wants to know what is worse than having your head decapitated." Everyone nods at that, and I feel my hand instinctively go to my neck.

"Maybe forced holy water baths? High rates of sun light? The list is endless..." I'm not sure what Liam's trying to do, maybe calm people down, and it works with me a little bit, but it wasn't with Emma, it's clear as day on her face. I close my eyes.

"Emma, sweetie, nothing is going to happen to Liam, or anyone else in this room or family." I tell her, and she shakes her head, lighting a cigarette.

"Not the point." I've never heard her mutter anything in such a dark tone in my life. It's almost like it was Angel talking, but it wasn't. Angel hates Liam, and that feeling's mutual, everyone knows that.

"It's the fact someone attempted it..." Emma nods in agreement with Liam's statement, and gets up, walking out of the room. I think Liam wants to follow, but I shake my head and go after her myself. I find her in the kitchen, looking out the window with her cigarette in her hand, an ashtray beside her. If anything, the last thing she probably wants is to hear someone talking to her, but she gets like this way too often for my liking. "Emma...he's fine. He's alive and well, that's what matters."

"Val...someone tried to kill him, and took Katherine. There are three people I cannot imagine my life without, and two of them are in this house. I don't want to imagine having never met Liam and Kat, never mind falling for Liam. The idea of it alone scares the Hell out of me." We talk for a few more minutes, during which time Emma gets pretty worked up and winds up having a small cry while I give her a massive hug, and eventually head back into the living room, where Emma curls up in Liam's arms, and 'Miah looks rather sheepish.

"Sorry I brought it up, Emma."

"It's fine. Used to hearing things I don't like."

"I'm glad to know that there were those who thought so highly of me..." No one really says anything for a moment, as Emma wraps her arms around Liam and kisses his cheek. Only one thing really springs to mind.

"We fight together, we die together. Was always the case, as I was lead to believe."

"That is our creed, and some of us have died to protect others in the past, Faith died to protect Liam, Katherine, and Destiny. Even Lilith's sister gave her life to protect us." Another silence passes over us, this time out of respect more than anything else, at least is the picture I get in my head. It's a couple of minutes, and eventually Emma breaks the sudden layer of ice.

"I hate grim topics..."

"Me too... so how about them Wolves."

"Wolves as in Wolverhampton or some random American rules football team?" I ask. Hey! Legit question!

"Your choice..."

"I know nothing about either." I shrug my shoulders. Liam, 'Miah and I sit and talk the biggest load of bullshit for a while, then it occurs to me that Emma is oddly quiet.

"Why are you silent, baba?" Liam asked her. The weird thing is, he doesn't an answer straight away. It's kinda like she's not with it at all, and I can feel the worry etched over my face. Liam looked over at his wife and could pretty much guess what I was feeling from her. "You don't have to worry, baba. I'm still here and I'm never going anywhere."

"I know, baba..." Something's off, and I don't like it one bit. I look over at 'Miah, tilting my head. With him being the oldest here by a couple hundred years, he might have a better clue about that than me. I'm not sure. But whatever it is, Liam's not picking it up and neither am I. "We better go, Kat's gonna wonder why the Hell I haven't gotten a hold of her."

"Sure thing, baba. And you and I are gonna talk on the way there; I don't like you being silent on me." Liam replied, kissing his wife's forehead. Emma nods, apparently in no mood to debate, but if I know anything about her, she'll do her best to avoid it. When they're gone, I close my eyes and push 'Miah against the back of the sofa, and curl up against him.

"That was...eventful." It's all that I can honestly think of to say. I won't like though, I'm partially quite glad all that's been pulled out, as undoubtedly Emma and Liam will be coming up for ten years married in nine years and we'll still be finding stuff out. "It was... I shouldn't have said anything about the old grandmaster, she's worried the attacks will come back; I could tell."

"Of course she is. But she had a right to know about it. I don't doubt that it'll be in those logs Alex keeps, and I don't doubt either that Liam will look through them when Alex steps down. They're better hearing it now than reading about it in however many years and wondering why they were never told." I point out. Thinking more along the lines of how I would react if I read something like that had happened to me as a small child.

"Most of us had been sworn to never tell of it; Chris was one of them and unlike me; when he makes a vow... he cannot break it; no matter how moral he wishes to be." 'Miah sighs. This, if anything, just put more questions in my head. And to be honest, they're not something that you need to be prying in. Go find something a little more interesting to do!

*******

(On Camera)

Two days...two days.

That's all that's left, isn't there? Two days to go until this match that we call Survive and Conquer. Not really for anything...just the chance to say that you are better than the almost forty guys and girls that find themselves in the match. Though it's mostly guys, and that's fine. I like facing guys as much as I like facing girls.

But Ornery Hillman and is his thing of circus freaks...but that's another story for another time I suppose. In the meantime, allow me to explain myself a little bit further to you.

My name is Valerie Charlotte Anne McFarlane Belmont, but to you guys, it's Valerie or Val. I have an ego and I admit as such. The on;y difference is, I know how to keep it in check. I don't believe myself to be the best, and no matter how many times I get my way despite the odds beingheavily stacked against me, I won't believe it. I give out respect too much, but at the same time, I won't give you any if you piss me off. Just ask my boss about that. I might work for him, but sure as shit don't have any respect for the cunt.

I've a temper with a fuse shorter than the wicks on dynamite in cartoons. Comes with being a redhead I suppose.

...I'm not exactly human.

I guess that's pretty much everything, right?

I've not heard of many people in this, I won't lie about that, and I'll be honest, I'm too lazy to do any homework. I didn't do it in school, why should I do it now that I'm not at school? If you're not Ruckus, Level one, Bryan Payne, McBride, MDK, Pence...I don't know your name, you're an unknown entity to me and I love the idea of getting into the ring against guys I don't know and then - with a bit of luck of course - kicking their arses back to whatever place ti was they came from. Fact is, I made my career out of defying the odds, it's what I'm known for in the place where I am known to make me home...as well as disrupt Doug's. But ya know...I said I know I'm fallible, so it's not like I can sit here and tell you that I'm Keaton Saint style and will be able to get past the biggest names in this match like Level One. Sure, he's beatable, but I know my damned limits. And I got this funny feeling that Level One is past that limit.

I got a funny feeling most of the participants in this match are. I have next to no faith in my ability, and yet I know full well that I really should.

I won't tell any lies here, this match gets hardcore down the line, and that is not something that I can honestly say that I am good at. A hardcore wrestler is not something that I pride myself being, though the irony of that statement is that I have lost one in my entire almost-two-year career. Saying something I would have thought. But there;s a first time for everything, and I can honestly say I'll be shocked beyond belief if I can get out of the match the winner.

But maybe that's how I do so well. I constantly talk myself down, it's something that Bryan Payne will be able to tell you about. To you, I'm just some redheaded wee lassie from the East coast of Scotland that might be a wee bit big for her boots because of who she is, her nationality and all that stuff, but 'm past that. I'll tell you quite openly that I'm shit and I don't expect to do well, and then do well. It's what I do.

This might look like I'm stroking my own ego, but I don't care.

Pence Weatherlight...a man who very, very quickly became a thorn in the side of my husband, Jeremiah. And I don't get why. I mean, what exactly happened there that you felt this stupid need to go after him and attack me at the same time? Listen to me kid, you need towake up and smell the coffee. Don't make accusations and I won't get pissed off at you for acting like a hardman when I can't get my mitts on you and then cowering like a six-year-old girl when everything goes tits up for you. I'm warning you kiddo...this might be turf that I am not used to..this might be more your playground than mine, but I will not hesitate ion making you look stupid in front of the fans that know you better than they know your Sin City United and Tag Team Champion. You should remember that regardless of anything that happens, Jeremiah and I will be coming for you over there. And to have one of us on your tail is bad enough...but to have the both of us? You're in the biggest universe of trouble that this life of yours has ever known...I cannot tell you how massive it really is because you are going to have to realise and fee the full power to understand it.

Robb McBride...I don't know much about him, but I do know hes good, and when people are good, it's all good for me. I've no reason to dislike the guy, but I've no reason to like him right now either. Respect I guess.

Bryan Payne...he's good, I'll give him that. Straight off the bat I'd pick him as a favourite to win, but that's what happens when you are unpinned on American soil. Though he harps about it something crazy and it irks the fuck outta me. The fact of the matter is Bryan, I respect you, but at the end of the day, the last thing you need is to keep taking random potshots at people because you feel that they deserve them. Doesn't work like that now, does it? You know that my dear and I promise you...I'll come at you harder than I did on that one time I got into the ring against you one on one, and make you realise that you didn't get lucky, but lightning does not and will not strike twice.

Ryan Ruckus..a former colleague of mine, and one that only left because for whatever reason he was shipped of to Siberia by Hillman. Doesn't make much sense if you as me But I won't lie, I don't miss that little bastard all that much. One less ego to worry about, and that is all that he and Hillman are; their body weight in ego. And in the case of Hillman...that's a bloody big ego! Serious question, how much does that dude weigh and why hasn't that stupid little ego crushed him in his sleep or something? But that's not important. And this is just another opportunity for them to spread their egos further, and in the case of Hillman, some weird ass attempt to prove that men who cannot wrestle don't survive as long in this business.

Everyone else...it depends on who you are, my stance on you will change throughout the night as I learn about you and who you are. It's all good. The only thing out of this is bragging rights...and that's fine, as much as I don't need them, but I'll take them anyway. And there are almost forty lambs to be lead to the slaughter...I might wanna get busy...

[The Dangerous Side Effect]

sorry it sucks.

Foreword - Immaculate Misconceptions
The more things change, the more they are the same. That's how the saying is supposed to go, right?

Well, I hate to be the one to prove one Alphonse Karr wrong, but the only way that I have been able to continue functioning on a day-to-day basis is by changing myself and my beliefs. I used to be nothing more than a selfish prick with no real care about anything or anybody that had no connection to me. Snubbing children who were looking for autographs? It was old hat to me. Resorting to underhanded tactics to advance myself in a match? It was second nature.

Rinse, wash, repeat. Day in and day out, always the same routine.

However, that was before I realized that I could find myself in serious trouble. Now, I can safely say that I have changed as a person, and that I'm really trying my hardest to do things the right way and make amends with the people I had wronged. In a roundabout way, I guess you could compare me to Earl Hickey from My Name Is Earl in that karma really came back and bit me on the ass. The only difference in our stories is that, while Earl's karma retribution came in the form of losing a winning lottery ticket after being hit by a car, mine came in the form of a one-month suspension from PWR in late September. This came as the direct result of a Wellness Policy violation I had incurred shortly after I became an official roster member.

For that one month, I was incarcerated, and I was forced to make choices that would make me a better person in the long term. Once I was released, I exploded back onto the PWR scene, destroying all of my previous influences in the process.

I tried to make everything right with everybody that I’ve wronged, I really did. Yet, there’s always that one sceptic who can’t seem to accept that yes, I have changed for the better. The man playing that role in this little melodrama is none other than my greatest in-ring nemesis, Bryan Payne.

Bryan, I tried to extend an olive branch of friendship to you shortly after my suspension came to an end. I tried to make amends with you, but what did you do, Bryan? That's right, you did nothing more than revert to the conceded ways that made me despise you in the first place. I don't ask for much, but what I would have appreciated from you was to have a little bit of courtesy and least consider accepting my apology, because despite what you might think about me, I actually mean it. I hold no ill will toward you, Payne, not even after everything you said about me leading up to Survive & Conquer.

I guess the only thing I have to say now is that I WILL survive and conquer. Why? Because I already have.

Act One - No Excuses

January 26, 2010
Luxor Hotel & Casino - Las Vegas, Nevada
8:57 p.m.

I find myself kicking back in one of the lavish seats in the Luxor's ballroom space, the space where wrestling shows are booked. My wife and I are taking a little bit of extra time to kick around Vegas before going off to fulfill other commitments, but instead of throwing away everything I've worked for at the slot machines or poker tables, I find myself in here because I had caught wind of a house show that was taking place tonight for SCW. I watch the action in the ring with intent, and I can't help but smile and put things into perspective.

At this time one year ago, I was still snowboarding at home in British Columbia, and I was having the time of my life. At no point did I think that, just one calendar year later, I would find myself travelling abroad and making my living as a professional wrestler. It's funny how life deals itself out sometimes, but I've always been of the belief that everything happens for a reason, and I'm happy to report that I've never been happier about the way my life is going.

However, I can't help but feel a bit uncomfortable with being here in Vegas. Don't get me wrong, I love to get adventurous every once in a while, and Sin City's always been revered as the very place to do that kind of thing. But that's not my problem right now, nope. It's an anxious time for me as we lead up to Survive & Conquer because I know that there are quite a few competitors from local promotion and fellow Experts member Sin City Wrestling who are among the thirty-eight that will fight for half a million dollars on January 31st. Out of those competitors, my worry stems from one competitor in particular.

That competitor's name? Bryan Payne.

Let's flash back to around June or July of last year, back when the two of us were both competing in a promotion known as Diamond Elite Wrestling, which was based out of Washington, D.C.. I had just become the first Destiny Champion since DEW's reincarnation, and I was booked to face Bryan on the first show following the Supershow. In those days, I was still the ever-so-cocky bastard who believed that Bryan, who was holding the promotion's Silverweight Championship at the time, would never be anything more than second-best as long as I was around. To my surprise, he became the first person to pin me on that very show. So, what would somebody like me do in the situation I was facing? Quite simply, I called upon a couple of new acquaintances in Ricky Riot and Randy Rotten to come forth and decimate him. It was all a part of the master plan to assume dominance over DEW and not allow anybody to stand in my way... At least, that's how it was supposed to go down. What actually happened... Let's just say it didn't quite fit that description.

A few short weeks later, Diamond Elite Wrestling would be forced to close its doors on account of lack of sufficient funding from our sister promotion PWR... Or so I thought. It turned out that our boss at the time, Chad Alpha, was merely taking the checks he received from PWR and deposited them into his own bank account. In essence, he screwed everybody in the promotion over in the name of lining his own pockets, and the roster was forced to fend for themselves. The day we found out about DEW's closing was the last time I ever saw Bryan Payne face-to-face, and it bothered me because I knew that there was still some unfinished business between the two of us. During my incarceration, he brought me what he deemed to be a 'care package', but I never actually got to see him face-to-face because security was just that strict. I admit that I had wondered what became of him since DEW's unfortunate and corrupt demise, if only because I sincerely thought he would become nothing without me there to make him look good.

However, shortly after my release, I found out that, not only had he landed firmly on his feet right here in Las Vegas with SCW, he had also had a meteoric rise to the top that culminated in him becoming the promotion's youngest Global Champion. In addition, nobody had ever attained Global Championship status faster than Bryan. To sum things up, I really felt like a loser when I left the rehab facility, and I knew that the only way my life could possibly go was up. In a way, Bryan's success here in Las Vegas has motivated me to get to the top of PWR just so he can't say that he's a World Champion while I'm not. That part of the story is still in progress right now, but I'm not going to relent in my ultimate quest of becoming the PWR World Champion.

As Saliva's 'Survival of the Sickest' plays and Bryan makes his entrance, I decide to take my leave from the show because I am a professional, and I don't want to distract him from what he has to do. Besides, I have a match at Madison Square Garden to focus on.

Act Two – Hello Time Bomb

January 27, 2010
Dee Glen Smith Spectrum – Logan, Utah
10:27 p.m.

We may have a two week reprieve from doing television appearances, but it doesn't mean I'm not going to ramp up my performance on the house show circuit because I know that'll keep me sharp. With Survive & Conquer being just a few short days away, I can't afford to catch any ring rust between now and then. It may seem like a tall order for me to be working Survive & Conquer and the upcoming CWC Ascension Invitational on top of my regular PWR work, but you have to look at things from my perspective: I made some grave mistakes whenever I first burst onto the wrestling scene last spring, and I'm using these experiences as platforms to show that I am more than what I have been made out to be.

With everything that's happened over the last

“YOU KNOW THAT I WANNA BE YOUR DANGEROUS SIDE EFFECT!!!”

These words, taken from the song ‘Mind Eraser (No Chaser)’ by Them Crooked Vultures, eventually give way to the blazing guitar opening of ‘Sideways Attack’ by Priestess. The Utah fans roar as the song plays, and I eventually amble out onto the entrance ramp, Revolution X Championship raised high in my right hand. I stand there for a few precious moments as the lovely PWR ring announcer Veronika Starr boldly says "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome YOUR Revolution X Champion... 'THE DANGEROUS SIDE EFFECT', ROBB MCBRIDE!!!"

On cue, I raise my championship high into the air with both arms while red and white pyro goes off behind me. I make my way down the entrance and into the ramp, casually slapping a few hands along the way. I pop up the ring steps and launch myself over the ropes to a pretty decent response from the Utah gathering. Veronika hands me her microphone as she steps out of the ring. I fumble it for a moment before gaining control, and then my music fades out so I can take in the overwhelming response from the PWR fans in attendance. I raise the microphone to my mouth, and I take a deep breath before beginning to talk.

"Logan, Utah... WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON?" I bellow, achieving a somewhat cheap pop from the fans at the mentioning of their city. I nod along with the response, a mild grin forming on my face.

"Now, usually when I come out here to talk to you guys, it's either to get more hype going for tonight or to run down my next opponents for a PWR show," I muse, drawing a slightly confused reaction from those in attendance, "But I'm sure you don't want to hear me drone on about the seven-foot tall behemoth known simply as Legacy..."

Huge boos from the Utah crowd at the mention of one of the main contenders to the PWR World Championship.

"...Nor do you want to hear me ramble on about everything that's wrong with our resident Nazi man Josef Himmler," I continue, drawing a bit less heat for mentioning Himmler considering he's only recently joined PWR.

"...And I'm ESPECIALLY sure that you don't want me to give a guy like Chris Chaos any more attention, right?" I roar, causing the crowd to boo uncontrollably. I can't help but smirk as I hear all of this, as it somewhat vindicates my own standing in PWR.

"WELL, I won't subject you to anything about them," I finally confess, prompting a huge cheer from the audience, "Instead, I'm going to tackle a slightly different subject tonight, and that's a match I'm competing in this Sunday night in NEW YORK CITY!"

The crowd roars once more as a feverish 'ROBB! ROBB! ROBB!' chant whips up throughout the arena. I quickly scan the audience with my eyes before I start talking again.

"That's right, this Sunday night, FROM..." I pause, taking a deep breath before belting out, "THE MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM-MECCA OF SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT, MADISON SQUARE GARDEN!!!"

Again, the crowd roars as a general 'PWR!' chant begins to take the place of the more personalized chant. For the given circumstances, I'm alright with that.

"It's just me against thirty-seven other competitors in a match known simply as SURVIVE & CONQUER," I bellow out once more, whipping the fans into a frenzy, "I find it funny that, although there are thirty-seven other people in the match, not one of them has taken the time to notice that I could very well be a threat to take home the $500,000 cash prize that's at stake."

The crowd boos that notion, and I love them for it.

"Now, it's been said that money's the root of all evil," I continue, and I can feel myself getting a little tense in the ring, "Perhaps that's what drives a disgusting pig-faced windbag like Ornery Hillman to be the COMPLETELY inconsiderate and, quite frankly, fucking retarded fool that he is."

HEAVY heat on Hillman which, based on what I've seen in the past, is WELL deserved. To be honest, while simpletons think the shit he does is entertaining... To me, he's just another piece of shit. I hope he can read between the lines, I really do.

"Seriously, WHAT place does Ornery Hillman have in this match?" I inquire boldly, "Ornery Hillman is nothing more than a glorified freak show who simply doesn't give a shit about anybody else other than himself, and he's obviously just a power-hungry wimp with a lot of hot air in that fucking ridiculous suit of his."

The crowd ROARS at that statement, and although I'm happy to say that I've never met him, I've seen enough to know that he deserves every last fucking ounce of that and more.

"Of course, I probably shouldn't be wasting a WHOLE lot of time on that worthless sack of shit, because there are so many BIGGER threats to worry about," I state abruptly in resuming my rant, pacing back and forth as I do so, "Take, for example, the only other competitor in PWR who actually had the balls - Or should I say, ovaries - To join me in this match, and that's Arkia Fisk."

Loud booing from the Utah crowd at the mention of Ms. Busine$$, and I just shrug my shoulders as I continue along.

"Arkia, I have to hand it to you for stepping up as a relative PWR newcomer and representing us on the grand stage of Survive & Conquer," I acknowledge, drawing a little bit of heat in the process, "However, I question your reason for being in the match. Don't get me wrong, it's not just because you're a woman, because I actually respect you even more for that. My question here lies within your motives for being in the match."

"You keep bragging about how much money you have, and yet you're still trying to get your grubby hands on more," I muse aloud, before abruptly stating "Did your head pimp go on strike or something? Or maybe the rates on the corners aren't quite as high as they used to be, maybe that's it."

The crowd is absolutely eating that statement up, as Fisk is really not all that well-liked nowadays in PWR circles.

Seriously Fisk, you're not going to have any dirty tactics to hide behind," I continue, my pacing almost reaching a frantic state, "You're definitely not going to have your newly-acquired pimp Ken Fuqua to hide behind either, because he was too much of a chicken-shit to throw his own name into the hat for this match!"

The crowd ROARS at that statement too. I hold my hand up to silence the crowd with one last thing on my mind.

"Before I close, I'd just like to say one last thing to my fellow competitors," I say, taking a deep breath as I do, "To all involved in the match... Whether you're good people like Valerie Belmont, unwavering tools like Bryan Payne and Ornery Hillman, or complete scumbags like Level-One... I wish you all luck, because when you mess with a PWR athlete, there are dangerous side effects."

[President Jeff]

DEADLINE IS NOW FOR THE SURVIVE AND CONQUER RP'S

I want to thank everyone who RPed for this match. A much bigger turn out than I was expecting. I will do my best to make the match worth reading for the people who RPed. Just keep in mind that the entry order for the most part was picked at random, and the same with the eliminations.

Look for Results to be posted This Sunday evening, assuming everything goes according to plan and everything gets sent in to me on time. If theres any changes, I'll keep everyone posted. In the mean time, feel free to post in the New Years Retribution Discussion thread at this link

apwprez.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=ooc&action=display&thread=3920

Good Luck to everyone and I hope you enjoy the event

[ɹǝzop]

(Hey sorry, I know this RP wont count. I miscalculated the time change difference. I thought EST time was 2 hours ahead of me not 3. Its just I worked hard on this and although I know it wont count towards the match and wouldnt expect it to, I just thought I would share it just for the hell of it. Great work everyone )




^{WARNING! YOU WONT READ THIS! You are to busy being some self righteous know it all. You sit there in your chair, behind your keyboard all cocky. Yeah I see you! "Oh look at me! I Efed, so I know everything!" Go pop your pimples you acne infested shaft! I don't know why I even bothered to try and help you. In fact I hope you read this RP. I truly hope you read every word. So then your brain will die and you will become more of a vegetable than one of the Pirates who don't do anything.}


(Scene opens to Dozer watching Saturday morning cartoons eating Lucky charms. Benny Hayze is on his cell phone pacing. Benny had been on the phone all morning, with various personal trainers, physicians and with Action Packed Wrestling)

Dozer: You know something Benny. These are magically delicious!

Hayze: That’s very good Dozer(Hayze goes back to his phone conversation) Yes, so the group focuses on celebrities who have been in prison? Great, that’s perfect. OK he will be there at 3:00PM. Great this makes room for the salon at 10:00AM and the tailor at 1:00PM. Thanks Ron, I owe you one…OK Ron I owe you thirty. But whose county…OK Ron, you are. Bye Ron.

(Benny hangs up his phone just has Dozer is emptying the rest of the lucky charms into his mouth)

Hayze: OK Dozer, its time to go to the salon. You will have your skin lasered, hair cut and will be showed and perfumed bath.

Dozer: Is that the place with a fire truck? I like to get my hair cut on the fair truck Benny.

Hayze: No, but there is a hair dresser with large breasts that can wear a fireman’s helmet if persuaded.

Dozer: Compromised. Just like your five fathers.

Hayze: Its “Our For Fathers”. Well anyway lets go.

Dozer: No, it’s your five fathers. Cause your mom has married five different dudes. Darryl, James, Ivan, Marquis and Rodrigo. That’s five. (Dozer counts on his fingers) One, two, three, four and five. Also, my mother never remarried. Maybes it cause she never cheated on my dad. But who knows.

Hayze: My mother’s activities are irrelevant at this point and time. Dozer please go get in the car and come with me to the salon.

Dozer: OK, just one last thing.

Hayze: What?

Dozer: SHOTGUN!

(Dozer leaps from his chair and runs out the door to the car. Benny Hayze rolls his eyes and follows. Hayze enters the drivers sise, sits down, buckles up and starts the car)

Hayze: Dozer, you do realize its just you and I going and I will be doing all the driving right?

Dozer: Of course, I’m not an idiot.

Hayze: Then why did you shout “shotgun”?

Dozer: Cause I wanted to make sure I got the front seat…DUH! You know Benny I worry about you some times…

(Hayze Rolls his eyes and turns on the GPS)

Hayze: Locate Christophe Salon, Beverly Hills California.

GPS: Address found. Calculating, address found. Head East on Lexington Road towards Rodeo.

(A big smile comes over Dozer’s face as he stares at the GPS screen. The Car begins to back out of the driveway and heads towards Christophe’s Salon)

Dozer: COMPUTER! Light speed now!

GPS: Address unavailable…

Hayze: That’s not a toy Dozer. Don’t play with it.

Dozer: Computer! Make me a sammich!

GPS: Address unavailable…

Dozer: Huh…Computer! Give me a blowjob and tongue my balls!

Hayze: Dozer, that’s enough. You’re going to make us late and…

GPS: Address found. Recalculating. Head East on Humboldt Street in two point three miles…

Hayze: What the fuck?
(Hayze exits out of the detour and then child locks the screen)

Dozer: Ugh… *mumbles* stupid thing, with its stupid not working cyborg. Damn bunnies never refused me…

(Dozer begins to look around the car and starts playing with the windows and locks. Hayze grows sick of it and Dozer is foiled once more by child proofing.)

Dozer: Are we there yet?

Hayze: No.

Dozer: Are we there yet?

Hayze: No.

Dozer: Are we there yet?

Hayze: No.

Dozer: Are we there yet?

Hayze: No.

10 MINUTES LATER…

Dozer: Are we there yet?

Hayze: No.

Dozer: Are we there yet?

(Hayze slams on the breaks)

Hayze: YES! YES WE ARE! GET OUT!

Dozer: REALLY!?!

Hayze: No…

Dozer: Cock tease…

(Five minutes pass and they arrive at Christophe’s Salon. Hayze and Dozer walk into the salon. Hayze fills out the paper work and Dozer stands there rocking to and from)

Hayze: Dozer, why don’t you go sit in the big red chair while I talk to your beautician.

(A busty blonde with red streaks in her hair walks over)

Blonde: Mr “Dozer”?

Hayze: He is right over there.

(Hayze points to Dozer who now has a dozen clips in his hair and beard spinning around wildly in the chair)

Dozer: IM KURT COBAIN! WEEEEEEEEEEE!

Blonde: You have got to be kidding me.

Hayze: Wouldn’t dream of it. Also, I am going to need you to wear this…

(Hayze grabs his brief case and pulls out a fireman’s helmet and tries to hand it to the girl)

Blonde: NO! Do you know who I am? I am Irene Antoine! I studied beauty under Maria Christine at Schönbrunn! I will not be reduced to such ridicule!

Hayze: Right…and I am going to need you to show a little cleavage too. Old dog has been in the pound for awhile. May need a little release, if you catch my drift.

Blonde: HOW DARE YOU! YOU PIG! OUT WITH YOU! Both of you out! You are banished!

Hayze: One second sugar tits…

(Hayze reaches into his jacket and pulls out his check book, looks at the blonde’s nametag)

Hayze: “Charlotte De Maîtresse” …

(Hayze looks up at the woman and hands her a check)

Hayze: Pity me, I forgot your tip.

Charlotte De Maîtresse: You can not bribe me you insect! I am a proud wo…

(Charlotte De Maîtresse glances at the check)

Charlotte De Maîtresse: Show some cleavage and wear this hat?

Hayze: Yep. And be done in one hour. Will there be any more issues Charlotte?

Charlotte De Maîtresse: No, not at all Mr. Hayze and you can call me Charlie.

Hayze: Thanks Charlie. Just get him cleaned up.

Charlie: No problem sir, bathed and shaved.

(Charlie goes to walk towards Dozer)

Hayze: Ah Charlie?

Charlie: Yes Mr. Hayze?

Hayze: You forgot this.

(Hayze hands Charlie the Fireman’s helmet)

Charlie: Oh, of course.

(Charlie gets the helmet from Hayze, puts it on and begins to walk away once more. She pauses behind Dozer’s chair and unbuttons her blouse a few buttons and puckers her breast and takes a deep breath)

Charlie: Hey there big guy! Why don’t we get you in the back for that steamed cleaning and perfume, huh?

Dozer: NO! I DON’T WANNA!

(Charlie spins him around and gets right in Dozer’s face)

Charlie: OK, lets make a deal. You cooperate and I let you touch my breasts over the shirt and give you more sugar than you have ever had. Deal?

Dozer: Bare tit.

Charlie: Under the shirt, over the bra.

Dozer: Deal.

2 HOURS LATER…

(Dozer and Charlie come walking back into the front. Dozer is now clean, hair cut and beard nicely trimmed. Dozer is tipsy and is smiling ear to ear. He makes his way to Hayze)

Dozer: Hey, Hey…Hey Benny. She gave me candy, made me smell pretty and I got to second base.

(Dozer proceeds to make his way out to the car whistling)

Hayze: You give him a volume?

Charlie: Two the size of Texas.

Hayze: Good Girl.

(Hayze walks outside and sees Dozer passed out in the passenger seat. He smiles as he walks down to the car. He gets in, starts the engine and presses the GPS once more)

Hayze: Empire Attire, Beverly Hills California)

GPS: Address found, calculating. Head south on Rodeo Drive and turn left on Hedrick Road.

(Hayze pulls out and heads towards Empire Attire)

45 MINUTES LATER…

(Hayze pulls up in front of Empire Attire. Hayze gets out and walks into the office to talk to Tom Lewis the owner and head tailor. Tom smiles as he sees Hayze and walks over to him)

Tom Lewis: Benny! How have you been?

Hayze: Great Tom.

(Tom Lewis and Benny Hayze shake hands)

Tom: So, who are you bringing by this time? Gary Busey? Brian Austin Green? Jeff Goldblum?

Hayze: Nope, A much older client.

Tom: Who?

(Hayze smiles and points out the front door. Tom takes a glance and spots Dozer drooling on the window. Tom has a flash back of the last time he made Dozer gear and a suit. He was measuring Dozer’s inseam and when Tom went up to the crotch; Dozer screamed “rape” and punched Tom in the face. Tom’s nose has been a little smudged ever since. )

Tom: NO! NEVER AGAIN!

(Tom storms off into the back of the shop and Hayze follows)

Hayze: What? Come on Tom.

Tom: I am Sorry Benny. But I will not touch that brute again. I can not I will not.

Hayze: Tom, when I got it big who did I still bring my clients to?

Tom: I know, I know. But…

Hayze: I could’ve taken them to Dior, Chloe, McQueen or any other of those big name chumps, but I didn’t. I wanted the best, so I came to Empire. So I put your suits, on those people. So its Lewis people see on the red carpet, at the Golden Globes at the Oscars.

(Tom takes a deep breath)

Tom: I know, I know and I appreciate that but…

Hayze: Plus, he is drugged out of his mind. He should be out for at least an hour or so.

1 HOUR AND 15 MINUTES LATER…

(Dozer wakes up in a nice suit and lying down on a table in the basement of Empire Attire. He sits up and looks down at the suit)

Dozer: Oh great! I’m dead…

(Dozer looks around and sees an overweight Mexican woman doing laundry)

Dozer: And I went to hell, this is perfect. That Darius Iscariot guy is full of shit. Give to the church and the church will give to you…

(The Mexican woman snarls at Dozer and then walks out the door. Just as she leaves the room Hayze walks down the stairs and enters)

Hayze: Oh good you’re up.

Dozer: You’re in hell too? Figures…

Hayze: What? No. You’re not in hell, you’re at Empire Attire. Tom fitted you for your ring gear and a nice new suit to arrive in. I had him measure you in your sleep to avoid repeating last time’s incident.

Dozer: So he “measured” me in my sleep? Date rapist. I’LL GET HIM FOR THIS!

(Dozer begins to march up stairs but is stopped by Hayze)

Hayze: Tom is gone Dozer.

Dozer: FOILED ONCE AGAIN! Another time pedo Tom, another time.

Hayze: Well Dozer we can wallow in defeat or we can suck it up and go to group therapy for de-institutionalization .

Dozer: QUICK! TO THE HAYZE MOBILE! BUM BUM BUM!

(Dozer runs up the stairs into the back room and hurries towards the car)

Dozer as he runs towards the car: I CALL SHOTGUN!

(Hayze rolls his eyes and continues towards the car)

1 HOUR LATER…

(Dozer is inside a large room sitting in a chair with a few other chairs in a circle)

Doctor Famblestein: Group we have a new member. Professional Wrestling Star Dozer.

Group: Hi Dozer.

Dozer: Uh Hi…

Doctor Famblestein: Dozer, why don’t you tell us about yourself if you feel comfortable?

Dozer: OK, well recently I was in prison cause my manager made this deal with some Mormons. These were bad Mormons! They tricked me with much shiny things. But then the Mormons brought me to their summer camp. Then three months later it began to come clear to me that I wasn’t in a summer camp but a Siberian prison. Ultimate Frisbee with Nazis is only fun for so long.

Doctor Famblestein: That’s quite interesting Dozer, did you learn anything while incarcerated?

Dozer: Yes, DO NOT TRUST MORMONS!

Doctor Famblestein: Yes, well that’s what you gained. Did you loose anything in the process?

(Dozer gets a tear in his eye as he looks up at the good doctor)

Dozer: Yes I did loose something. I lost my best friend and mentor.

Doctor Famblestein: Yes, your manager mentioned that your brother was imprisoned with you. But he also said that the US ambassador is working with the Siberian government to assure a safe return.

Dozer: My “brother”? Oh yeah Jay! I forgot about him. No, I was talking about Wrenchie!

Doctor Famblestein: “Wrenchie”?

Dozer: Yeah!

Doctor Famblestein: How did you come to know this “Wrenchie”?

Dozer: Met him in the Army. I got stuck in a hole under ground with nothing but me and Wrenchie. He helped me through the time and revealed to me that he is Jesus. You see Jesus is back, but in Wrench form.

Doctor Famblestein: Really…

Dozer: Yeah, you see it makes sense cause Jesus was a carpenter and now we have cars so he would be a Mechanic. But when Jesus came back he was all like “WOW! This plays sucks now, I should fix it” so he became a wrench. But wrench can’t turn themselves so he got a Mechanic, a Maniac Mechanic…That’s me by the way.

Doctor Famblestein: So…You believe you’re a Holy Man on a mission from God?

Dozer: No, that’s Darius Iscariot. I’m just a man with a wicked awesome Wrench. The Lord gave his only begotten wrench to me. Now I begettin to the wrestling with Wrenchie, bustin skulls and what not.
Doctor Famblestein: So, why isn’t Wrenchie with you now?

Dozer: Well I was like “Hey Wrenchie! Epic fucking hole in the wall!” Then he gave me the saddest look ever and told me he had to stay, but I should go cause that was truly an epic hole and it would be a shame to waste it. So I went home with out my buddy. But you know what, here or not Wrenchie will still remain my number one of myspace. I know he will come back.

(Doctor Famblestein notices a wealthy dressed black man scoffing at Dozer’s comments)

Doctor Famblestein: Michael, do you have anything to add?

Michael: Yeah, can you believe this guy? Talking about Mormons, wrenches, Jesus and what not. Actin like he went to prison. Dude, you aint shit! I think he is a publicity hound trying to be seen with us when we walk out by the Paparazzi. You’re just full of shit

Dozer: WOAH HO HO! SPOOTY McSTUPID HEAD! I am here cause my manager made me. I may be full of shit my friend, but you know what, the world needs shit! That’s right I said it! WE NEED SHIT SOMETIMES! For to long the world has been constipated for to long and I am more than happy to breath the air as the turd of relief in these pressed times! Yeah some people might not like my funk and it will anger some who have to clean the shit up, but this all started with great relief!

Michael: You callin me stupid? At least I aint some nobody trying to ride on other people to get noticed!

(Michael stands up and gets in Dozer’s face and Dozer stands as well. Both men scowling at one another)

Dozer: Listen here poofy head! I am not doing this for you, not for the fans I am doing this for Optimus Prime and that’s it! He will be avenged!

Michael: You’re a fuckin retard you know dat!

Doctor Famblestein: DOZER MR.VICK PLEASE CALM DOWN!

(The two men back off, Dozer pauses for a minute)

Dozer: Michael Vick? You’re Mike vick of the Eagles?

Mike Vick: So?

Dozer: YOU KILLED OPTIMU’S FAMILY!!!

(Dozer picks up his chair and smashes Vick in the head. Dozer then jumps on top of Vick and begins to strangle him. The rest of the group trying desperately to pry him off)

THE NEXT MORNING

(Dozer is sitting in a cell in the Beverly Hills police department)

Dozer: Damn Mormons…They’ve done it again.

(A guard walks up and opens the cell door)

Guard: Dozer, you’ve mad bail. You can go.

(Dozer gets up and walks out of the cell and to check out. After check out he walks out into the front of the station to find Benny Hayze standing there)

Dozer: BENNY! I GOT THE PUPPY KILLER!

Hayze: You have generated a lot of media attention…Good work.

Dozer: Thanks…I think.

Hayze: Dozer, I hope you realize what happened yesterday.

Dozer: JUSTICE!

Hayze: No, they are all working together. Its bigger than I thought.

Dozer: It, It is?

Hayze: YES! Don’t you realize? The people who kidnapped Optimus Prime sent their top guy out to weaken you before Survive and Conquer!

Dozer: OH MY GOD YOU’RE RIGHT!

Hayze: Luckily you were able to take him out before he took you out.

Dozer: Yeah I know.

Hayze: OK Dozer, now that you have done your part to stay safe to get to Survive and Conquer let me do mine. When we go outside don’t talk to anyone AT ALL until Survive ad Conquer.

Dozer: But what do I do if I have a great answer.

Hayze: Hold it in and turn it into rage, continue to hold it in till your match then let it out on those dog thieving whores!

Dozer: OJ BENNY! I GOT YOUR BACK!

Hayze: Thanks man! Now lets go!

(Hayze turns around, smiles and puts on his sunglasses. Dozer and Hayze open the door to find a plethora of reporters outside. They make their way to the car Hayze has waiting)

Report: Dozer, why did you attack Michael Vick?

Hayze: DOZER HAS NO COMMENT AT THIS TIME! HE JUST WISHES TO GO HOME AND REST! HE MAY HAVE A STATEMENT READY AT THE ACTION PACKED WRESTLING SURVIVE AND CONUER PAY PER VIEW. TUNE IN IF YOU WISH TO HEAR IT THANK YOU!

Another Reporter: Are you working with any animal rights group?

Hayze: NO COMMENT

Another Reporter: Did you do it for the victims

Hayze: NO COMMENT

Yet Another Reporter: At the hospital Vick was quoted saying “I never touched an Autobot or any transformer” can you clarify?

Hayze: NO COMMENT

(Hayze and Dozer finally make it to the car. Hayze and Dozer get in, the driver closes the door and they soon drive off. The rage now building deep inside Dozer)

-THE END-

…Or is it?

No, it actually is.