cﾘnical sits in his dressing room, mentally preparing himself moments before his match against Tromboner Man.  The circles under his eyes betray his cold, mysterious persona.  He clearly hasn't slept in days.  His skin is even more pale than usual. 

He reaches down to pick up a small, thin, rectangular box.  As the camera moves over his shoulder, the box is revealed to be that of the LPW '13 video game for Playstation 3.  International Heavyweight Champion, Tromboner Man, smiles on the cover, his Championship draped across his left shoulder.  The camera pans back around to show the challenger shaking his head.  He begins to talk to the image on the box.[/color]


cﾘnical:[/color]  You know... you deserve this, TBM.  You carried the flag of Inferno, and then pﾘromania while I was banished to that g()d awful hell hole aptly named Insanity.  You took on everyone that stood in your way.  You never once backed down.  Even the great Drew Michaels who denied me the Martinez Cup.  You looked him in the eye, and you defeated him.  Even when he was General Manager, even though the odds were stacked against you, you never lost sight of what mattered.  You are a warrior.  Literally.  You stepped onto the battlefield and lived to tell about it.

When RaTo left you high and dry, you simply shrugged off the tag division and moved on to the next challenge.  You climbed the ranks like so many others have, and you grabbed the proverbial brass ring.  You claimed the gold that tempts so many men, but courts so few.  You achieved the only goal I've never been able to.  You hold the only thing I've ever truly wanted, truly needed in LPW.  The International Heavyweight Championship. 

You say that I don't need it.  You say that I merely want it, and that I'm living in some delusional world.  Well, you're wrong.  You are so. incredibly. wrong.

You see, I came to the PWA ten years ago.  I didn't come here looking for a fight.  I didn't come here looking for fame, or fortune, or friends.  I came here with one goal in mind.  To bring her back.  The only person in this world who ever truly loved me.  The one person who understood who I was and what I wanted in life.  You must understand that all of those hopes and dreams died with her, that day.  In that one brief, dark moment... when I... I killed her... everything that made me who I was... died. 

I was taken in by a very wise man.  A man who had traversed the ethereal plane.  A man who had learned to harness the power of the elemental. 

Giancarlo granted me shelter and food.  He taught me to ignite something within me that I didn't even know existed.  With his guidance, I learned to summon and control The Flame.  Over time, I became the monster that LPW grew to fear.  I began to hurt people... and like it.  I perfected the art of adaptation, leeching the abilities of my opponents in order to use their strengths against them.  Eventually, I became mad with power, overwhelmed by the madness I had embraced. 

He told me that there was only one way to bring my beloved back.  He knew the incantation, but he needed gold.  Not any gold, but the gold from which the International Heavyweight Championship was forged.  My objective was clear.  I knew what I had to do.  So I fought, I schemed, I betrayed and clawed my way to the top of the mountain, time and time again, only to be thwarted in my quest.  I fell into a pit of despair and confusion, completely lost within my own misery.  I lashed out at all who were within striking distance.

Once again, I hurt those that would help me.  I turned my back on my own BMJs.  I burned Sheepster alive.  I drove Styxx to the point of lunacy.  Insanity began to permeate my very nature - every pore brimming with psychotic fire and hatred.  Banished from my true home of pﾘromania, I had no choice but to claw my way to the top of a new mountain, and climb I did.  I reached the peak, not once, but twice.  I became so powerful, that I claimed the greatest prize in LPW - The Martinez Cup.  I stood above all others, triumphant in my coronation.

But I was not satisfied.  No, not my ego.  My soul.  All the blood on my hands, and all the gold around my waist could not soothe my burning spirit.  Though my mind had pushed the thought of her away, causing her to evaporate into the chronicles of my history, my soul mourned her, loved her... craved her.

Giancarlo betrayed me.  As difficult as that was to overcome, it was nothing compared to the soul-crushing knowledge that Ham murdered him.  He was my last chance to bring Jen back from the void.  My last chance at redemption.  One half of the puzzle was gone, but I had to try.  I owed her that much.

I immediately knew that I had to return.  pﾘromania is my only true home.  It is the only place where I can fulfill my destiny.  The only place I truly belong.

Tromboner Man, you are one of the greatest this land has ever seen.  You have fought through as much adversity as anyone could imagine, and you've shone throughout it all.  You have been betrayed, beaten, and bullied.  But you still have your smile.  You still stand proudly as the Champion of pﾘromania.  You will go on to do more great things.  You will lead this brand to new heights, but for now.  Tonight.  I want this more.

Everything that I am, everything that I have ever been, and everything that I could ever be... all rests upon the events of this evening.  Tromboner Man, I respect you as a warrior.  I look up to you as a leader, and I love you as a friend.  But on this night, in this arena... I need this more.

I have no doubt that you will pull out every stop, you will use every facet of your arsenal, and you will release every once of energy you have to defeat me, tonight.  Just know that I intend to sacrifice just a little bit more.  I have seen you compete.  I have faced you within that ring.  I know what you are capable of.  You can do things no one else can fathom, let alone replicate.  But so can I. 

You have stared into the face of death and stood triumphant over the prone body of Krimson Mask.  So have I.

You have led one of the greatest factions this world has ever seen.  So have I.

You have achieved the highest goal either brand can provide.  So have I. 

You have been the Champion, the soul, the face of pﾘromania.  So will I.

This is my night.  This is my destiny.  This is why I had to return.



You will pour out your heart and soul in that ring.  And so will I.






The background morphs into his locker room, backstage at Blistering Inferno.  A smirk peels across his lips.[/color]

I can see clearly now.  All that once clouded my mind has been erased. 

cﾘnical stands, flipping his hood over his head.  His eyes glowing as he begins to walk toward the camera with a rarely seen swagger.[/color]

All obstacles that stand before me are merely gateways to greatness.

Even Tromboner Man.  He may be a legend, and he may be a good friend.  But today?  He's just a bridge I must cross.

I am the true face of pﾘromania.  Always have been.  Now it's time I finally claim my fucking throne. 

For the good of pﾘr... No.  For me.

Hello, pﾘromania.  Welcome to the beginning of a new era.  Mine.

cﾘnical finally reaches the camera.  As he strides forward, he reaches out a hand, sending a purple Flame into the screen.[/color]

Tromboner Man: Morpheus?

Morpheus: Yes Tromboner Man.

Tromboner Man sits backstage with Morpheus at Pyromania 20.3, both men battered and bruised following the physical 10 man tag match they have both competed in. Beer in hand, TBM ices up his shoulder, while Morpheus sits there, stretching out his groin.

Tromboner Man: Will it be you versus the Tromboner Man in the Main Event of Altered Reality Six?

Morpheus: I hope so. I want it to be, so…

Tromboner Man: No no no. None of this “Want it” or “hope so”. Definitive answer Morpheus. Yes or no.

Morpheus: What makes you think I know it?

Tromboner Man: You can find out from the dream realm.

Morpheus looks a bit pissed off as he stands up. This statement has caught him well and truly off guard, from a man he believed understood what he could and could not do.

Morpheus: You’re kidding me, right?

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man never kids with fortune tellers. He learnt that when he teased a fortune cookie writer in Beijing.

Cut to Tromboner Man standing in a factory, with thousands of Chinese workers sitting at typewriters. He leans over to a man sitting next to him, and whispers at him.

Tromboner Man: Dude, you work harder. Work harder now!

The man begins typing furiously on a typewriter, before ripping off a tiny piece of paper, stuffing it into a cookie and handing it to TBM. The Tromboner Man cracks it open, and looks at what is on the inside.


Tromboner Man: Wait…. TBM can’t read Chinese… [/color]

Tromboner Man: Yes… that was the worst fortune ever.

Morpheus: What was that?

Tromboner Man: Traditional Tromboner Man cut away scene. TBM’s decided to go all retro at the moment.

Morpheus: Seems like a rip off from Scrubs, or Family Guy. But whatever, if it makes you happy, I guess.

Tromboner Man: So, are you going to answer the question?

Morpheus: No, I can’t answer the question. Because I legitimately don’t know.  I’m the master of the Dream Realm, I can’t see the future, I can only see people’s deepest wishes. I can see that cﾘnical wants nothing more than to be the champion going into Altered Reality Six, and he’ll be bringing nothing short of everything he’s got to the table to make sure you’re not.

Tromboner Man: So… TBM should stretch before his match?

Morpheus: You’re not listening. Have you even used the Dream Realm key I gifted you yet?

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man tried to, but Professor Oak told him “Now is not the time to use that”. So he gave up on it, and hasn’t tried to since.

Morpheus: That key is one of the most powerful items in the world. And you caved to the imagined will of a Nintendo character? Tromboner Man… are you even taking your reign as International Heavyweight Champion seriously?

Tromboner Man: Well… sure he is. As seriously as he treats babysitting Damion Kross’ long lost son that he doesn’t know he has.

Tromboner Man sits on a couch, dressed comfortably on a cold winters night. With a fire going in the background, TBM reads the evening paper as a small child plays infron…

Morpheus: Don’t do the cut scene. You’re wasting my time.

Tromboner Man: But it had valuable information about his upcoming match with cﾘnical. The fire was going to become out of control, burning Kross’ kid, and TBM would put it out with his own breath.

Morpheus: If you want to face me at Altered Reality Six. Infact, forget about facing me at Altered Reality Six. I’ll hit you where I know you’re passionate. You love Pyromania, don’t you.

Tromboner Man: You know the Tromboner Man gets a BLEEP whenever someone mentions Pyromania.

Morpheus: So, you want to be the man, that leads Pyromania to victory over my Insanity then. The poster boy. The man everybody looks up to, and the man that carries all the pressure to perform on the big stage, yes?

Tromboner Man: Oh yes. TBM loves pressure. That’s no joke, he really does, he performs so much better when the weight of the world is bearing down on him.

Morpheus: cﾘnical wants to be that man. At the moment, you have no idea how badly he wants it. In actual fact, it’s the only thing that makes him get out of bed in the morning. You? You get out of bed because there’s a cool sounding dog being walked past your house.

Tromboner Man: What are you saying?

Morpheus: We promised we would do everything in our power to get to Altered Reality Six as champions. You and I can’t deny that no two people have been more impressive since Altered Reality Five than you and I. I’m busting my ass, exploiting every chance I have to improve my game, so I can meet you for the Martinez Cup. I want to face the best man on Pyromania, not a delusional wizard I’ve defeated before. You on the other hand. Well… I gave you the best tool I can to help you. You haven’t even tried to use it. You might want cﾘnical to take you seriously. You might try to talk a tough game by doing this Iron Man match. But where is your head Tromboner Man?

Tromboner Man falls silent. He certainly didn’t expect this sort of verbal lashing, especially from a man he thought to be a friend. He stares at Morpheus, fighting back tears, trying to keep his pride together.

Morpheus: I can’t even find it. It’s lost.

Morpheus sees Tromboner Man fighting back the tears. Instead of poking the bear further, he just turns and walks away. With the master of the Dream Realm gone, Tromboner Man finally allows a single tear to roll down his cheek. He looks down at the beer in his hand, before throwing it on the floor. The can is heard bouncing away as it empties its contents over the floor.


Tromboner Man, shocked by what Morpheus had said, returned to the hotel. No-longer in the mood for celebratory drinking, or “Someone-told-TBM-off” drinking, TBM began packing his bag. It was pushing close  to 1AM, and TBM wasn’t happy. The Tromboner Man furiously shoved pieces of clothing in his suitcase, trying to vent his spleen before going to bed.

Tromboner Man: Stupid Morpheus… telling TBM he’s lost his head. Doesn’t he know it’s between his shoulders ontop of his neck? God, sometimes you’re more frustrating than Pope Fred when he’s had a few drinks and wants to show TBM his skin-flute skills.

Tromboner Man is seen running out of a bathroom at a bar, screaming his head off. Pope Fred stumbles out of the bathroom behind him, struggling to stay on his feet.

Tromboner Man: IMPURE!!!! IIMMMMMMMMPUUUUUUUUUUUREEEEEE!!!!

Pope Fred: Come on… I didn’t even get a standing ovation… let me try it again!

Tromboner Man: If TBM knew Skin Flute was code for Doodle, he never would have said yes to that.

The Tromboner picks up a sweater and throws it across the room at his suitcase, not stopping to put it in properly. While it is in mid-flight, a small, metal object flies out from inside the sleeve, and hits the wall, pinging as it makes contact. TBM stops what he is doing, and walks over to investigate. As he gets closer, he doesn’t like what he sees.

Tromboner Man: Oh BLEEP!!!. See, this is why TBM can’t have nice things.

On the ground in two pieces is the Key to the Dream Realm. The gift Morpheus gave Tromboner Man for Kwanza. TBM picks up the key, furious that he has broken yet another possession of his. Looking at it however, he sees that it’s not all bad news. Inside the key is a tiny scroll of paper. TBM pulls it out and inspects it further.

Tromboner Man: “Ignore the man who says no. The men who say you can’t are nothing but liars. The world of dreams is yours to enter. Just put the key in the door, and unlock the potential.”

Tromboner Man seems a bit puzzled. Fiddling with the key in his hand, TBM notices two slits in the key itself. Upon closer inspection, the key appears to be designed in such a way that it can be opened. Lining up the slits, a slight click sounds from the key, as it pieces itself back together. Tromboner Man looks around. Was now the best time to use this. His answer is found pretty quickly.


Tromboner Man: BLEEP UP PROFESSOR OAK!!! YOU’RE NOT REAL!!! YOU’RE IN TBM’S HEAD!!! Wait…

The Tromboner Man stops for a moment. He starts putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

Tromboner Man: Ignore Professor Oak, he says no. And TBM says that he can’t… otherwise he wouldn’t have created Professor Oak, a figment of his imagination to tell him so… This… is crazy. Almost as crazy as when Tromboner Man won the LPW International Heavyweight Championship.

Rik: INTONATION BUSTER!!! TROMBONER MAN HIT’S THE INTONATION BUSTER

Lillehammer: Cover by Tromboner Man. 1…2… 3 YES!!! RYANS KICKED OUT!!!

Rik: NO HE DIDN’T!!! HE KICKED OUT TOO LATE!! REFEREE’S CALLING FOR THE BELL!! NEW CHAMP!!! NEW CHAMP!!!

Speaker: Dude man. You just won the International Heavyweight Championship, Tromboner Man. Now excuse me, there’s this fine young thing in the front row who needs some “P.A.” Attention…

Tromboner Man: And once upon a time, people said he couldn’t do that either. And TBM proved them wrong. Is it… time to prove himself wrong now and use the key?

Tromboner Man’s hand starts to shake. He turns to the door on his hotel room. The old style room has a key-hole on the door, but it is no way similar to the key TBM holds in his hand. But for some reason, TBM still walks over to the door, and moves the key closer and closer to the lock. Nervously, TBM shuts his eyes tight.


Morpheus: Welcome… to the Dream Realm.

Tromboner Man opens his eyes. Standing before him is the World Heavyweight Champion, Morpheus. Tromboner Man’s entire body begins to shake with rage.

Tromboner Man: YOU!!!

Morpheus: Yeah, it’s me. I saw you come in, thought I’d come and say hi. You’ve been standing there for about five minutes though, hand outstretched, with your eyes shut. You alright?

Tromboner Man: THE TROMBONER MAN IS FURI… wait… Did you actually say TBM’s in the Dream Realm?

Morpheus: Yeah, where else did you think you were?

Tromboner Man: Did you bring TBM here? Did you send Azreal in to TBM’s room, and have him knock TBM unconscious with his stuffed Pikachu doll to bring him in here?

Morpheus: No, you let yourself in, Teebs. You used the key to the Dream Realm, let yourself in. You’ve finally taken up the invitation to come, and all it took was a bit of a verbal bashing from me to you to do it.

Tromboner Man: Yeah… TBM guesses he finally got past that magical barrier in his mind that was stopping him from doing awesome things. But the Tromboner Man doesn’t know… what brought him here. Why he decided to do it.

Morpheus: So, it wasn’t the talk I had with you?

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man thinks it may have been impulse actually. But this is strange. TBM doesn’t feel like he’s being controlled. Every other time he’s been here, you’ve been there, sort of puppeteering.

Morpheus: That’s because I’m not in control. Well, not of you anyway. You’re the master of your surroundings. The Key has given you not only access, but control over the Dream Realm. Watch, let me show you something.

Tromboner Man: OHH!!! Is it clowns?

Morpheus: No, it’s not clowns at all TBM. More, think of this as a “Christmas Story” moment, but of Championship matches. I’m the Ghost of Championship Matches past.

Tromboner Man: Eh… TBM’s not a fan of Ghosts really. They like taking TBM’s belts…

Tromboner Man stands outside a hotel, with the International Heavyweight Championship Belt over his shoulder, waiting for something. It’s a cutscene, who really cares what he’s waiting for. For argument sake, he’s waiting for Godzilla to come and start destroying the city. All of a sudden, TBM’s pants fall down towards his ankles. Infront of him, his leather belt, holding his pants on his waists, floats away.

Tromboner Man: BLEEPING GHOSTS!!!!

Morpheus: Did that really happen?

Tromboner Man: It happened in TBM’s mind. Speaking of TBM’s mind, what are you showing him?


In a split second, everything around TBM and Morpheus changes. Infront of TBM and Morpheus stretches The Mighty Dyno Might. On the wall, there is a card posted for Pyromania 20.2, with Tromboner Man versus the Mighty Dyno Might listed for the International Heavyweight Championship.

Morpheus: Remember this night?

Tromboner Man: Well… yeah, TBM nearly lost the International Heavyweight Championship here. The Mighty Dyno Might really went to town on the Tromboner Man. He was lucky to walk out with the championship.

Morpheus: Damn straight you were. Look at this.

Dyno Might continues to stretch, as a stage hand walks by him. Dyno Might sees him, and quickly stands to his feet.

Dyno Might: YOU THERE!!! MIGHTY MINION!!

Stage Hand: I’m not a minion, my name is…

Dyno Might: Minion there’s no time for names, the Tromboner Man is about to go to war with me, and I need to remember as much about who I’m fighting. Remembering your name will only make me forget one of Tromboner Man’s weaknesses.

Stage Hand: …

Dyno Might: Sorry, I got a bit excited, but has Tromboner Man arrived at the arena yet?

Stage Hand: If I tell you, will you stop calling me your Mighty Minion?

Dyno Might: Of course Mighty Minion. Anything you want.

Stage Hand: No… no he has not.

Dyno Might: Mighty Minion… this is odd. TBM and I go to battle in 15 minutes. Why hasn’t he shown up yet?

The stage hand just stares at Dyno Might, before turning around and leaving. Dyno Might continues to ponder the question as Morpheus and TBM look on.

Tromboner Man: How did you show TBM this?

Morpheus: I went in and saw the dreams and memories of Dyno Might. It’s quite simple really. Man, he was really, REALLY excited to have that match with you, wasn’t he?

Tromboner Man: TBM sees. He really was late. He didn’t show up until about 10 minutes before the match. People were already supporting Dyno Might backstage, because people didn’t think TBM would show.

Morpheus: It’s a fickle thing, support. People will give it to you, and the funny thing is, the support of your peers holds so much weight. You through a lot of that away by showing up late.

Tromboner Man: The legend goes, if people backstage don’t see you to be a fit champion, it doesn’t matter how good your ability is, if you don’t have their vote of confidence, you’ll be crushed. It’s almost like a fourth wall element.

Morpheus: And I got to tell you, cﾘnical, he’s a popular dude. He’s been around a long time, and people enjoy seeing him win.

Tromboner Man: TBM gets what you’re saying… but the Tromboner Man’s good. He’s got great abilities…

Morpheus: So does cﾘnical. I can bet that cﾘnical’s mind is already on the job. Already thinking about how he can out last you. People think you’ve got more ability than Dyno Might, and look what happened. He almost defeated you because you were late. Do you think that will fly when you’re up against a man people think is your equal in ability?

Tromboner Man: … You said TBM can control the Dream Realm because he entered with the key, right?

Morpheus: You are correct Teebs.

Tromboner Man: Let TBM try something.


Once again, everything around TBM and Morpheus changes, as Tromboner Man starts manipulating the Dream Realm to find the next memory to view. Everything comes together backstage at Redemption, where former LPW Superstar Stephen “Justus” Jacobson sits on a chair near the entrance ramp. Not even dressed to compete yet, Justus walks up to the entrance to the stage, and looks around the empty arena.

Tromboner Man: Before Dyno Might, there was Justus. He came so close to defeating TBM here as well.

Morpheus: He did. In fact, you beating him was kind of a dickish move. You know, ending his career and all. Bad ju-ju.

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man did what he had to, like the time he…

Morpheus: Yeah, we’re not doing wacky cuts in the Dream Realm Teebs.

Justus looks out over the arena as the LPW tech crew put the final touches on all the piece of the arena for tonight. He is approached from behind by a man very familiar to him, the LPW CEO, Damion Kross.

Kross: It’s a wonderful moment, it’s it Stephen? So much excitement, anticipation. The factor of the unknown shortly before we open the doors, and let the public come in to watch out feats in this very ring.

Justus: It’s an experience I am glad I get to have. I truly feel blessed to have been given this opportunity.

Kross: It’s certainly something a man in your position will want to savour, without a doubt. In a few moments, you’ll never get to experience this moment again. Once the crowd starts to pour in, and the pre-show entertainment begins, that’s it. The clock on your career moves into it’s final moments.

Justus: Surely when I am victorious tonight, I will…

Kross: You’re not going to win, Stephen.

Justus: You can’t say that. There is no certainty over the outcome.

Kross: I can say that. Benjamin is just far too strong for the likes of you. And when he finally retains the International Heavyweight Championship, your career, it will be over.

Justus: I admit, Tromboner Man is a daunting opponent, but he is not invincible.

Kross nods his head with a wry grin on his face, as he puts his hand on Justus’ shoulder and walks away.

Kross: Continue to tell yourself that. Enjoy your last night of employment.

Tromboner Man looks at Morpheus, as Kross leaves  Justus to ponder what exactly the future might hold for him.

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man had no idea this happened.

Morpheus: There’s two sides to every championship match, Teebs. Surely you realise that.

Tromboner Man: Yeah, sure, but TBM had no idea Kross was belittling Justus like that.

Morpheus: The faith Kross put into you was well known.  He always said Redemption would be Justus’ last match. He hadn’t even considered what would happen had Justus of won.

Tromboner Man: And TBM accepted the ride on the coat tails of endorsement… kind of like what he’s doing now. He’s allowed Kross to poke Justus, and now cﾘnical, and put pockets of doubt in their mind, which has only made them both come out firing even harder.

Morpheus: That’s one way to look at it. Or, you could…

Tromboner Man: There’s no time for your alternative view. There’s a distinct lack of wacky at the moment, and TBM wants to see another memory quickly so he and Morph can return to reality and be funny again.


Morpheus: So where are we?

Drew Michaels walks up and down out, pacing if you will, backstage after Pyromania 18.4. Damion Kross sits down behind him, as the pair discuss Drew’s upcoming match with Tromboner Man at Sacrificial Creed.

Tromboner Man: Drew Michaels, the man TBM became obsessed with defeating, was another man who came close to defeating him. In their Tijuana Cage match, Drew almost pinned Tromboner Man several times.

Morpheus: I remember a fairly emphatic victory.

Tromboner Man: People wanted to see TBM win, wanted to see him get vengeance. He hadn’t tried to get vengeance for a long time. It was interesting. PLEASE can TBM do a cut scene here. He’s got a perfect set up.

Morpheus: No! They’re ridiculous and serve no purpose.

Tromboner Man: …you serve no purpose…

Morpheus: What?

Tromboner Man: Nothing…

Morpheus stares a hole through Tromboner Man, glaring with all his might. TBM is more interested in watching the memory, as he watches himself enter the room.

Kross: Benjamin, thank you for joining us.

Michaels: We don’t have to do this.

Kross: I think you’ll find we must. It’s a Tijuana Cage match Andrew. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this match is. It almost ended the career of both SoL and D. Hammond Samuels. You yourself almost had to be stretchered out of there, and that was in a match that you won.

Michaels: I know exactly what I’m in for. I know what sort of hard work, and the hard slog I need to go through to end this. I’m sorry that it has come to this, but Benjamin… Ben… you’re about to find out why I’m the king of these situations.

Tromboner Man stares at himself look blankly at Drew, saying nothing. Behind them, a few passing LPW superstars have stopped, and started to listen in. Morpheus leans over and whispers into TBM’s ear.

Morpheus: Teebs… why aren’t you saying anything?

Tromboner Man: TBM doesn’t know…

Michaels: You’re not going to say anything, are you? You know, I might have sacrificed one person in order to overturn Samuels’ regime, but it was something that needed to be done. I apologised time and time again, but you still continue to live in the past. You served a great purpose, Ben. One that ensured the success of our plan. I’m sorry it inconvenienced you, but it had to inconvenience someone. If it wasn’t you, there was nobody else who could have done it.

Still Tromboner Man remains silent. This verbal bashing from Drew continues, much to the surprise of Morpheus and the onlooking Tromboner Man. More and more LPW superstars gather around, listening in to all this take place, watching Drew verbally dismantle Tromboner Man.

Michaels: I’ll take your challenge, but you be careful what you wish for. Remember, you brought this upon yourself. The fury that I will bring. The destruction that will come. I have taken on angrier and more experienced opponents than you before, and sent them packing, crying like little children. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

Kross: Andrew, I think you’ve said enough.

Michaels: No, I haven’t. Because I don’t want to compete in this match. It’s unnecessary, and fixes nothing. The past is the past, and what is done is done. Nothing Benjamin can do now can fix that. No matter how hard he tries to believe that losing to me will make a difference, he needs to accept the fact that everything has happened for the better. If I need to beat that into him, then so be it. I would prefer to sit down, and reconcile with him, non-violently. But if destroying him is what it takes, then I will gladly step into the Tijuana Cage, and take his ego down a peg.

Tromboner Man continues to stare Drew down. Morpheus looks on, his jaw dropped, almost in disbelief that he hasn’t said a word. Tromboner Man watches himself, mulling over many thoughts, even mouthing out words he knew he should have said, but never did.

Michaels: Do you not even have a word to say. Surely there’s something mulling around in that head of yours.

Tromboner Man cracks a smirk, before turning around and walking off, almost intent that his silence has proven his point. Standing back and watching this all unfold, Morpheus turns to the current day Tromboner Man and slaps him across the face.

Tromboner Man: OWWW!!!!

Morpheus: What is wrong with you Teebs? You’ve just let him embarrass you like that? Infront of the roster? Surely that’s no way to prove you’re a respectable champion.

Tromboner Man: Unfortunately yes. Tromboner Man just… he just… ERRR!!!!

Morpheus: Don’t ERRRRR me motherfucker! Finish your thought!

Tromboner Man: TBM just gets caught up in the niceties of this job. He doesn’t like ruffling feathers unless they need to be. If he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he doesn’t like to say it.

Morpheus: You’re an idiot.

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man tries to, but he hides his vile statements behind humor and laughter, so that if people do get too upset, he can turn around and go “sorry, but TBM was just joking. Don’t get your knickers in a knot!”

Morpheus: Please tell me this is a one off occurrence.

Tromboner Man looks down and starts twiddling his thumbs. His aversion to answering the question gives it all away.

Morpheus: TEEBS!!! COME ON!!!

Tromboner Man: Sorry, but… yeah. When TBM defended against a number of Rookies at Vertigo 2.2, and then again against Ken Ryans at Pyromania 18.3, it was exactly the same. He just… he kinda liked the guys, and wanted to be best bros with them.

Morpheus: That is not good enough! You gotta say something man! How else can anyone take you seriously? You’re a professional wrestler for Goodness sake! If you don’t hurt someone’s feelings once in a while, you’ll never show them you mean business.

Tromboner Man: That’s not true, TBM has done just fine without hurting people’s feelings until this point.

Morpheus: So, cﾘnical telling you that you’re an undeserving champion, and that you have no right to go to Altered Reality 6 leading Pyromania, that obviously didn’t offend you?

Tromboner Man: Of course it did, but…

Morpheus: Then you should have stepped up, said something!!! It’s not just a feelings thing Teebs. You can’t let people walk all over you like that. It’s not cool. Not “Championly”.

Tromboner Man: TBM guesses you’re right…

Morpheus: Guesses? You know I am.

Tromboner Man: You’re right. Can TBM thank you by showing you something?

Morpheus: Sure. Anything.


Everything morphs once again, until the Dream Realm shows a hotel room, with Morpheus lying in bed. His bottom half is covered by the bed sheets, but his top half is completely naked. He lies there, staring at the door to the bathroom, waiting patiently. Tromboner Man has a wide grin on his face, as he watches Morpheus watch himself.

Morpheus: Did… did you access my wife’s dreams?

Tromboner Man: Nope!

Morpheus’ face turns to a look of complete horror, as he watches Pope Fred, Showstoppa and Dick Dynamo walk out of the bathroom. Morpheus, on the bed, licks his lips, as he invites them over to the bed.

Morpheus: OH GOD! WHAT THE?!?!

Tromboner Man: You like this? Man…That Christian Parkes thinks about some messed up stuff.

Morpheus: PARKES?!

Tromboner Man: AH!!!! It’s actually Pope Fred, but TBM got you!!! Are you offended Morph? Are you?

Morpheus: You’re a real dick. You do know that right?


Once again, everything changes, TBM quick to take Morpheus away from the dreams of Pope Fred before they get too graphic. Morpheus looks like he’s about to slaughter Tromboner Man, before he realises what’s going on. It soon becomes apparent that the two are witnessing the dreams of cﾘnical. The man himself stands tall on the turnbuckle, holding up the LPW International Heavyweight Championship, with Tromboner Man, physically and mentally exhausted, lying on his back in the middle of the ring.

Tromboner Man: Look at him.

Morpheus: I’m liking this dream better than the last, Teebs. Mainly because it doesn’t have gay porn involving me. But this isn’t a good sign for you, is it?

Tromboner Man: He’s dreaming of it. He’s thinking of our match. He’s thinking of holding the International Heavyweight Championship.

Morpheus: That’s not the bad sign. The bad sign for you is he’s still standing. You’re not. He can see himself winning this match Teebs.

Tromboner Man: TBM can see that. But surely… surely this isn’t a bad thing. TBM wanted cﾘnical to focus on him in their match. He wanted his undivided attention.

Morpheus: You’ve certainly got that. But I need to ask you a simple question. cﾘnical can see himself winning this match. Can you?

Tromboner Man: Can TBM see cﾘnical winning this match?

Morpheus: No. Can you see yourself winning? Defeating cﾘnical, one on one. Something you couldn’t do last time you met.

Tromboner Man: Shall we find out?

Morpheus: You can’t expect the Dream Realm to show you everything Teebs. There’s a lot of things you need to answer for yourself. This is one of them. This is your match to lose. Not cﾘnical’s to win.

Tromboner Man: The Tromboner Man never thought of it like that…

Morpheus:  Can you see yourself defeating cﾘnical at Blistering Inferno? Can you see yourself lining up in the Martinez Cup match? Can you see yourself being the man that Pyromania needs to lead it at Altered Reality Six?

And, she’s awake. This should be fun. Last night she brought up the idea of couples therapy. First of all, we’re a couple by appearance only. We don’t hold hands. We don’t kiss. We don’t fuck. We don’t do anything couple-esque. I know, I know, we’re technically married but that isn’t the point.

The point is…

“Ed.”

Yeah… no time for that, I’m about to get my daily verbal lashing and I didn’t even do anything.

“Eduardo?”

“Yes, Carmen,” I say exasperatedly. I just… look, I don’t want to-

“Have you thought about anything I brought up last night?”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you thinking?”

She studies me while sipping from a coffee mug. She nears me closely as I rub my head. It looks like she’d like to sit down next to me but thought better of it.

“Carmen, you know how I feel about therapy.”

“Look, I don’t like it either but I’m willing to try anything at this stage. What happened a couple weeks ago, it CANNOT happen again.”

“I know.”

I stand up and walk around the den as she twirls her hair and a look of concern washes over her face. For a split second my hands ache in a dull longing. I miss when I could run my fingers through her hair but those days are gone now.

“I’m sorry about that Carmen. You know I would never…”

“No, I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know anymore. I barely know you. I don’t know what has happened in the past 10 or 12 years, I know people change and I know about that unfortunate event with your sister but, seriously… something’s happened to you and it’s made you certifiably loco. You just aren’t the same, I mean at your core.”

“Carmen, you know I wouldn’t jeopardize my relationship with Jasmine.”

“But what about our relationship? Don’t get me wrong, I know the real reason why we’re even doing this and you know it too but something’s still here, right? I mean damn, we don’t have to live together to be good parents to our hija and if nothing’s happening here, I’m not wasting my time or Jasmine’s. So, what exactly are we doing now?”

“We’re trying to raise Jasmine the best we can and give her something that neither one of us really had, for different reasons.”

“No, Eddie. What are WE doing? Exactly what the fuck is this?”

“Uh… well it’s…”

Well shit. What the fuck are we doing, Carmen and I? I sit down defeated as she chooses to sit by me. I stare a bit downcast as I can see out of the corner of my eye, worry on her face.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe I should be asking whether or not you care enough to find out, huh?”

“Carmen it’s just that…”

“Is it pride? Are you scared or something?”

“I fear NOTHING except losing Jasmine… that didn’t come out right, that’s not what I meant, Carmen.”

It’s not that I don’t care about Carmen. It’s… well maybe I don’t care about her. But I find it hard to care about much of anything, especially something that has emasculated you and challenged you like nothing else ever has in your life. I don’t know. I turn to face her and I can see that I may have hurt her feelings then. I try to say something but…

“Que la fuck? Well what did you mean?”

“Carmen, the last time I tried therapy it resulted in some elaborate hoax concocted by my boss that only served to-”

“Introduce you to you daughter.”

Touché, Carmen. She rolls her eyes in minor annoyance and goes to get ready for the day.

“Will you at least think about it,” she pleads.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it Carmen.”

She sighs heavily. As she leaves, I hear her mutter under her breath, “… you won’t.” I look in her direction and she just keeps on walking. I rub my face in frustration and then it hits me.

I don’t think Carmen believes in me anymore. And for some reason, I don’t give a fuck.  Fuck therapy.


Triple threat matches... what’s fun about this one is that I get to beat down Ken Ryans and White Falcon, two people that have been groomed for success in this federation.

The ass-whooping I’m about to hand these monkey asses is going to be legen… wait for that shit… dary.

But before I do that, I need to look for weaknesses. Now, Falcon, I’ve all but got him figured out but it never hurts to stay sharp. Still have to execute, you know. Now, Ken Ryans, he’s interesting. You know, sucking off Robert Lillehammer, then “killing” Misfits until he tried to defeat the members worth a damn, failing there, then failing with a rehash of the Lillehammer Administration and then failing as a member of the same group he tried to kill and so on. But, he’s as tactical as they come, and he’s a slimy mother fucker.

He’s nothing another concussion can’t fix. So as I watch footage of these two, trying to get into kill a bitch mode my little angel strolls in and well, I can’t get into that mindset with her around. She sits beside me and rests her head on my shoulder… well lower bicep to be more accurate. I respond with a quick peck on the head.

“Hey papa, what are you doing?”

“Just preparing for work, sweetie. What about you, anything you want to do today? Want to go to the park and play some soccer?”

Yes, I’ve gotten into the game as of late. She likes it so I took an interest in it. Not a bad sport at all.

“Eh, not really. Kinda want to go to Disney World.”

“I don’t mind taking you. If you really want to go, that can be arranged. We’ll all go, you, me and your mother. It’ll be fun.”

“No, it’s OK. So is this match important or something?”

“Yes, actually. Winner gets to be captain of the team at Altered Reality.”

“If you win you should get the “C” thing on your chest like they do in Futbol Americano or hockey or something.”

“You know what, that’s not a bad idea. How did school come along?”

“I really don’t like my teacher, glad it’s all done.”

“What’s wrong with your teacher?”

“Well she’s…”

“What, mean? Tough? Boring?”

“Kind of a... puta.”

“JASMINE ANDREA RAMIREZ. NO.”

Between you and me, I laughed a little on the inside. She stares up at me, trying to feign innocence. Her act gets nowhere with me and I stare right back at her.

“You’re too young for that language.”

“Dad, if you knew her you would say the same thing.”

I chuckle at her precociousness. I’m not sure where she got that kind of language from to be honest. Oh wait… her parents argue and curse at one another all the time, no-brainer. In retrospect this is our fault. I gently rub her head but then she readjusts her seating.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything,” I say as I pause the TV.

“Are you going to leave me and mama?”

Where in the hell does that question even come from? I mean, why would she- I know we argue but Carmen and I have made great effort to let her know that we love her…

Mother Fucking Carmen. This, this, Goddamnit! What the hell is she doing poisoning Jas’ mind like this? We are already on thin ice, and I get that we’re not happy with one another but that’s fucking low to try and undercut the relationship I have with my baby.

“Honey…”

“I’m scared, daddy.”

“What for?”

“I’m scared you won’t love us forever.”

“Jasmine… I’m not going to leave you or your mother. Why would you even question that?”

“I mean, you and Mom argue all the time, you two never have anything nice to say to each other. It sucks.”

“I’ve lived through worse. And I love you, Jasmine, why would I-“

“You know I’ve never heard you say that to Mom? Besides, you used to love LPW, the lucha libre and you left it. Now you hate it and don’t even care about it anymore. Who’s to say that you’ll always love me and Mom?”

“That’s different, Jasmine.”

“How, besides you loving and knowing LPW longer than you knew Mom and me? If you could hate and stop caring about LPW like that…”

She looks towards me, clearly bothered by something that a person of her age shouldn’t be worrying over. Her eyes tell me what her voice was too scared to say. I look at her and my hand goes to scratch my jawline, but I lower it. And my eyes begin to burn as my face melts into a displeased frown.

“Dad, are you alright? I didn’t mean to make you mad…”

“No, no. It’s alright… I needed to hear it.”

I then grab her slowly and hug her, tightly.

“Te amo, Jasmine. I’m sorry.”

“Te amo.”

I had no idea she felt like that. You see, even when you think you’re doing right, something can fall through the cracks. I cannot lose Jasmine and… it matters that Carmen has lost faith in me. I don’t blame her, I somewhat lost faith in her too. I can’t lose Jasmine and I can’t lose Carmen. She’s the only adult that willingly deals with me. I need her, fortunately or unfortunately.

Then I hear keys as Carmen walks in. She sees our daughter and I embracing one another and she smiles until she looks in my face.

“Ed… what’s wrong? Is Jasmine OK?”

“Carmen…”

Carmen rushes to where we are, seeing if Jasmine is alright. She then looks towards me and asks again, “Ed, is everything OK?”

“Carmen…”

“Si?”

“Call a therapist. We’re going to fix this.”

She looks to Jasmine and then her head snaps back towards me as she realizes what I have said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Carmen smiles as she tries to comfort Jasmine and I. I realize now that I have to do something. I’m not losing them and I had no fucking clue that my apathy towards LPW affected how Jasmine felt about all of this. I know what a dysfunctional upbringing is, and I’ll be damned if Jasmine or Carmen have to suffer through what I did.

If that means I have to care about LPW again, then so be it.

God help you unlucky sons of bitches. God help you all.


Among this cornucopia of faggotry reside a few decent people. You see, this is what I work with. LPW is what I do and after what Jasmine said to me… it has to matter again. I refuse to lose her and Carmen.  And I realize what I have to do in order to ensure that.

It starts at Blistering Inferno and it starts with two pissants that mean more to my career than I’d ever hope. But that’s not on my mind right now. As I swerve into the parking lot of *insert arena here* I can’t help but to wonder what I had been doing all of this time. Had I known that my return, to this point would be so easy…

It should NEVER be that easy. I look into my rear-view mirror and realize that staring back at me is someone I haven’t seen in a long time. I’ve missed him, actually. Welcome back.

I grab my shit, hook up my headphones and click shuffle on my iPod. Then I walk purposefully; hurriedly towards the arena entrance. Every step is more ravenous with anger than the first. All the while, Killswitch Engage, fittingly, serenades my fury and helps me mold it into a weapon with which I can control, exploit and destroy.


Hmm… might be a little too dramatic but fuck it. As I enter the arena all of the backstage shit stops. I keep walking as I can feel eyes staring my way, hoping I look back at them.

These hoes don’t have my attention. It’s best for them that they don’t. I’m only looking for one place: the interview area. I’ve got some shit to get off of my chest and frankly, people don’t do enough of it these days. And there DJC is, talking to a fucking lowlife skidmark who jerks curtains for LPW. His name isn’t important. 

Let’s put an end to that.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Uh… why?”

“I’ve got shit to say, move or be moved.”

DJC pipes up, “Nigga, don’t you see me talkin’ shop with ol’ buddy?”

“Nigga shut the fuck up. No one’s talking to your ghetto Stephen Hawking ass. I’m talking to someone a good bit lower on the totem pole. Now, you’re interrupting my interview time. Leave, bitch.”

“I don’t know who told you different but, this isn’t 2008 or 2009 or 2010, you can’t expect to-HOLY SHIT MAN EASY!”

In case you can’t tell, I’ve grabbed this bitch by his shirt and I can feel the eyes looking directly upon my personage and the ass-whooping I’m about to bust out all over this cunt-bubble.

I haven’t said cunt-bubble in a long time. Felt nice.

“Look here, you third-world herpe. You’re sorely testing my patience which is something I DO NOT HAVE for monkeys liked yourself. Get out of my fucking sight before I turn your ugly-ass face into a Goddamn bedpan. Get it?”

“Ye-ye…”

I smack the poor schmuck on the side of his head and say, “Enunciate, you fucking clown.”

“Yeah, man! Shit, just take your hands off me!”

“Or what? You’re going to tattle to big bad cYn? Maybe your daddy Damion? I’ve gone gangbusters on them before. So what the fuck are you going to do if I don’t let you go?”

The kid’s frightened. That or mind-numbingly stupid, one. I shove the guy out of the frame, having made one of my points for the day.

“Kick rocks, mongrel.” I snort and scratch my jawline as DJC studies my form.

“So clearly you ain’t gettin’ any at the crib. No normal nigga got that kind of rage built up out tha blue,” he says.

“Hold the microphone up, son.”

“B, you not Darth Vader and I ain’t Luke Skywalker.”

So instead of asking his stubborn ass again, I decide to snatch his hand up and expedite the process.

“You see, it’s shit like this, shit like what you just saw and fucking failures like White Falcon and Ken Ryans why I act the way I act, why I am the person I am. You see, people don’t respect apathy. People don’t respect so called quitters, failures and all of that crap. What they really hate about it is when that same apathetic piece of trash is, to put it in your terms, straight up clownin’ these schmucks left and right like it’s a nigga’s fuckin’ birthright.

People ragged on me all the time for quitting on some federation and I’ve heard about it a few times since I got back. That’s fine but the least these sorry assed cowards could do would be to treat all of their quitters like that. But no, Ken Ryans and White Falcon get a fucking free pass. It’s OK, these hemorrhoids say. They mean a lot to us, we can count on them, they’re over, yada, yada, yada-bullshit.

Suddenly, here we are on the eve of the most worthless tradition LPW has, Altered Reality, and Pyromania is looking for a captain or whatever to lead them to some kind of Promised Land. They look towards Celio and Ken like a hungry infant waiting for their mothers to pop out a tit and satiate their boo-hooing like they’re going to fix anything.”

“You sound real fuckin’ hot under the collar, fam.”

“Don’t interrupt me, DeSean. But yeah, I am hot under the collar because we’ve been down this road before. You see this triple threat match here? Two of the three participants have been the face of Pyromania; they’ve been International Heavyweight Champion. Both of them have reached the pinnacle when they didn’t even earn the right.

I don’t hit X with that chair, Ryans doesn’t win the Inferno Seven. I don’t annihilate White Falcon in successive shows for the Western States Heritage Championship, he is unable to compete for the IHC, let alone go on to become the WORST International Heavyweight Champion that this brand ever saw. Don’t worry, Ken, you’re a fucking close second, followed by NPD.

As SOON as Ken faced real competition, he either quit, as he did with X, or he wilted under the pressure of being the man. And you know what he did after bombing as International Heavyweight Champion? He meandered about with that mother canucker Marcus, smacking him around before the aforementioned moose knuckle knocked him all loopy. AND THEN? He beats down Seth Omega before losing in his IHC rematch. Ryans has been nothing but a disappointment, a fucking coward that has found a new comfort zone facing inferior competition to him.

As soon as Falcon left Insanity and realized that someone like me, who for the first part of his career treaded water at best on Inferno, was worlds better than anyone he had faced on Insanity for the two years prior? He called everybody heathens and eventually deserted the brand. You know what he’s done since coming back? Get his ass whipped by me at Pyro 20.2, just like he did when he FIRST landed on this God-forsaken brand, and get his ass whipped by me AGAIN at Pyro 20.3.

And I’m the one who keeps getting it thrown in my face? I’m the one that people want to go away, heh-heh.

Hell, you keep that derision coming my way because thanks to little miss Daniel? Two of his best chances of winning are up against someone who has outclassed, with a half-hearted effort, just about every one in Pyromania’s main event sans Tromboner Man. Yet when the captaincy gets passed around like the slimy whore that is this brand’s authority position, my name does not even get considered until the wizard wants me to play ball.”

I twist my neck and audible cracks echo as a crowd has gathered. cYnical pushes his way to the forefront as I glare at him. He smirks at me; apparently his so called mind game has worked. Little does he know that this has nothing to do with him.

I’m sick of not unleashing my frustrations on these assmunches at work, taking that shit home with me and adversely affecting my relationships with those closest to me. I’m sick of taking it easy, to be quite honest. I’m sick of people thinking that just because I don’t care means that they have the right to write me off as some non-threat.

I’m sick of not being on my way to becoming the man to beat in Pyromania. I’m sick of watching people I’ve beaten, reap spoils. I’m sick of people trying to puppeteer me around when they know NOT that which they are fucking with.

But most of all? MOST OF ALL? I’m sick of holding myself back and at the expense of Ken Ryans and White Falcon, I break my own glass ceiling.

“Well as the most dominating bastard on Pyro this cycle, I refuse to allow the captaincy go to someone that I’m embarrassing without my best effort. Kenny, Celio… I told Daniel when he told me about this match that he had written a check that neither one of you could cash. He tried to put me in this match to make me follow him; to make me reach down and find something within, something that makes me care. I didn’t need him to get me to care you rat-faced pieces of shit and you two MOST DEFINITELY didn’t need me to care about this match… but I do.

Perhaps Danny wanted to make things a bit more interesting or give his boys a “tune-up” but, unless people are interested in seeing me beat the absolute dogshit out two people like the cock-juggling bimbos that they are, then I’d advise you not to watch this match.

You both had your time; you wilted, you failed.  I’ve never had my chance to bask in the glow. I start at Blistering Inferno when I make a human centipede out of my opponents, Hancock-style. I keep going to Altered Reality 6 when I LEAD MY TEAM to victory. And then… whichever titlist I set my sights on, your respective reign might as well be given its last rites.

I will not lead Pyromania for the benefit of this piss-poor brand. I will lead Pyromania because I trust myself a whole hell of a lot more than I do two failed abortions that have already shown you who they really are. Now I will take the massive piss called a reality check all over your vision of the status quo. You wanted an Eddie B. that was emotionally invested? You’ve got him. You want a real face of Pyromania? Don’t look toward your fuckboy champions or these soon-to-be-ex-captains that I’m about to curb stomp. Look at me.

I’m not the face of Pyromania because I want to be. I’m the face of Pyromania because nobody can take it from me and I walk to the beat of my own drum. Falcon follows some batshit Harry Potter-looking wannabe deity because God ‘failed him’. Kenny, that so called soldier needs a leader because well, you all saw how the Ryans Administration went.”

“Tha what, fam? Tha hell is tha fuckin’ Ryans Administration?”

“That’s my point. The new face of Pyromania is an angry, jealous son of a bitch that sees every single one of you people as a puff of oxygen that fuels the Sodom and Gomorrah that I’m about to drown you fucks in as I raze any and all obstacles.

Kenny, Celio… you bitches are about to get stomped. When you wake up, tell Daniel I said be careful what you wish for, because everybody gets it. I’m going to ruin and dispose of you two snatch-hat wearing twits as if I was a high school version of Xander fucking and chucking a 16-year-old snowbunny that thought she was getting him caught up.”

“DAY-UMMMM son!”

“Kenneth Bradford Ryans and Celio Falkone… you two will serve as prime examples of this: Y’all hoes need to learn that while Daniel’s name may be on the lease, I run this bitch and there’s nothing that the flaming purple Loki can do about it except get rag-dolled by me, AGAIN.

To prove it, rest assured that I’m going to mollywhop both you placeholding cunts from here to kingdom come and this time, I’ll do it with feeling[/color].”

Keeping it quiet within his upstairs room at a Motel 6 wasn’t usually the style of Dick Dynamo. However, he felt that he needed to focus someplace OTHER than an airport-adjacent Hotel. He was getting ready for a night of movies, while going back into his roots of going staying in motels the night before the events took place. It was the life he will go back to once his Lords of Pain Wrestling contract expires, with all hopes of last-minute renewal lost at the hands of the LPW President himself.

A knock was heard on the door. Looking into the peep-hole Dick saw someone he would’ve welcomed into his quarters a few years prior to current events. Jay, who was now notorious as the assistant to Christian Parkes, was at the door. He was wearing a Dynamo t-shirt and an upset look on his face, as far as Double D could see through the peephole. Opening the door slowly, Dick looked towards the assistant with a lot of skepticism.

Dick: Look what the asshole dragged in. Came to peddle ‘We Hate Richard Dynamo’ propaganda door-to-door?

Jay: I think I deserved that much, by giving all the dirt I had on you to Parkes. Look, can I come in, or are you going to let me sit out here until you relent?

Albeit reluctantly, Dick conceded to let Jay into his room. It was just a standard motel room with a landline and a queen-sized bed. The only thing that seemed off of the norm, was his open duffel bag laid on the table close to the only source of natural light that was the window.

Dick: Now tell me what ultimatum Chris has ordered you to give me, so you can quickly go back to him, and tell him, that there will be NO deals on the side. I have no tolerance for more of his bullshit.

Jay: Seriously, Dick… what makes you think that I am here with a message from Christian, when I am here to see if we still have that something…

Dick: Bullshit! You were a gay-for-pay escort before you worked with him. You are better off with a prick like him paying for something other than your body. What we thought we had a few years ago never existed! I’m not the sex-crazed wrestler I once was. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have preparations to make for my match. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out!

The anger at Christian Parkes was evident in Double D’s voice, as he turned his back to the former escort he had once frequented four years prior. Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t going to let that end as easily, as he slowly embraced Dick gently, rubbing his shoulders. Not feeling comfortable in that embrace for long, Dick struggled his way out of the amorous hug.

Dick: What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

Jay: You looked like you could use the company.

Dick: I told you to get out.

Jay: How can I do that, when I think that we might have something more than a few nights of you screaming out my name in pleasure? You don’t have to be a hard-ass with me, Dick. When was the last time you gave in to your sexual desires?

Dick: It’s none of your business.

Jay: That long, huh? No wonder your win-loss record is suffering. You haven’t gotten any for months, it seems. Well… for a person against the machine like you having your last match, I am giving you your usual services on the house. Besides…

Peeling his t-shirt off to show his bare chest, Jay came closer to Dick, using the confusion of the pYromania wrestler to his advantage. The former escort slowly slipped off Dynamo’s blue tank top to explore all the newer features that Dick had branded on his body since their last tryst. The tattoos may have given Dick a less flamboyant appearance, but to the Dynamic Dragon, they represented the creature he was nicknamed after quite well.

Jay: These tattoos look good on you, Dick… Do you have a tramp stamp of Spyro giving the finger?

Refusing to answer, Dick just glowered at Jay. All that Dick did was glare right through him.  It was a gaze so sharp, it looked like it could cut through anything, even the sexual tension that was once his vice.

Dick: Jay, I’m not interested in becoming the fairy-assed bitch I once was… I’m done with this –

Jay: Shut up for a moment.

Getting closer, Jay kissed Dick gently. The world-known Dynamic Dragon pulled back before it got a bit too serious.

Dick: No… I’m not going to do it.

Jay: Shh… I’ll be good for you, Dick. Especially after I tell Mr. Parkes that I quit.

Kissing Dick further, he got the Innovator of Insurrection to take a possessive embrace of the assistant of his enemy. He kissed Jay deeply before starting to kiss down his neck.

Jay: Oh Dick… if I knew I was bi back then, I would never have let you go without making you mine.

Chuckling at Jay’s compliment, Dick got on his knees as he started to kiss lower and lower down the bare torso until he was in the right position. The right position for a moment Jay would NEVER forget.

Jay: AUUUUUUUUGH!

Looking down, Parkes’ assistant saw that the iron-tight grasp between his legs was a Testicular Claw that Dick had surprised him with. Not only was it out of the blue, Dick had it so tight that Jay couldn’t move without causing further pain; he was dead to rights.

Jay: Dick… you’re hurting me.

Dick: I wonder what you thought I was going to do, Jay? Maybe I’ll get a confession out of you if I make you a EUNUCH!

Jay couldn’t hold back the urge to scream out in pain as he fell to his knees. He then saw what was in the eyes of Dick Dynamo; it was the look that even a giant would fear if he saw it. It was a look of unparalleled rage derived from months of frustration and anguish, and Dick had enough.

Dick: Tell me the REAL reason why you are so eager to get in bed with me. And before you lie, remember I hold your chances of reproducing in MY HANDS!

Jay: Dick… please… you’re better than this.

He squeezed the grip harder, relishing in the yelp of extreme pain coming from his ex-favorite escort.

Jay: ALRIGHT ALRIGHT! Mr. Parkes sent me here to sleep with you… so I can distract you enough to get him the win. The sooner I got you in bed, the easier I can distract you enough to give Mr. Parkes the win.

Dick: Ah... so when I damage you where it hurts, I can get you to sing like a canary, eh? Chris must be eager to make my last match at Blistering Inferno a bad one... I might’ve known he would stoop this low.

He then glowered at Jay, slacking his grip on the family jewels ever so slightly.

Dick: Send this message to Chris, you glorified prostitute. If he thinks he can throw Dick Dynamo off his game, then he has another thing coming, and I can’t wait for him to press his lips on my bare ass! You got it?

No response.

Dick: YOU GOT IT?!

With another squeeze of his iron tight grip, Dick made Jay wimper more than a coward would in front of a firing squad.

Jay: I GOT IT! I GOT IT! I GOT IT!

Satisfied with the damage done, Dick shoved Jay out of his way as he got up from kneeling. The joy of watching Jay squirm away from his former client sated Dick’s need to prove his dominance for the first time in a while.

Dick: Good… now get out, and take your stupidity with you!

A newfound fear for the Dynamic Dragon in his eyes, Jay ran out the door, forgetting to take the Dynamo t-shirt he wore with him. It didn't matter  that much anymore, since Double D deadbolted the door after Parkes' assistant departed in such haste. Letting out a sigh, Dick muttered to himself in regret.

Dick: I should’ve gotten a room at the Holiday Inn.



With a lot on his mind over what he was going to do after his contract expires with LPW, Dick had found a way to get himself from the Motel 6 to a Holiday Inn. Tired from the day and the filthy act of desperation, Dick plopped onto the Queen-sized bed, and fell into an uneasy sleep that night. Once again, he was tossing and turning as he tried to get some decent sleep for his last match the next day.

Voice: Open your eyes, Dick.

Opening the eyes he tried to keep closed, Dynamo is standing on the roof of a skyscraper, looking over San Diego on a humid night, Dick looked around at his surroundings, the nuances of the cityscape seems like something out of a DC Superhero comic book, or maybe Smallville.

Dick: What is this?

Voice: This is the home we’ve sworn to protect… It’s San Diego. Don’t you remember, Dick?

Dick: Who’s that talking to me?

Voice: It seems two years has changed you so much, you forgot how you came to Lords of Pain Wrestling. It’s such a shame, judging that you try to fashion yourself a champion for the people.

Dick turned to the source of the voice, and saw a practical mirror image of himself, tattoo free and in long wrestling tights with blue camouflage all over. What he saw was the superhero side of things; The Black and Blue Blur watches over San Diego with determined stature as he perches himself on a corner ledge.

Blur: I’ve been dormant since Hardcore Degenerates, and I’ve come back to see you tatted as if you were the Bizarro World version of Dwayne Johnson, and on the brink of losing your livelihood after contract negotiations were refused by the enemy.

Dick: You were listening in on that?

Blur: Listening? It’s obvious in the way you carry yourself nowadays. You claim to be the Innovator of Insurrection, yet you are starting to succumb to the tyranny of the Lex Luthor stereotype in Damion Lashireá. He’s got the kryptonite against you, and should you let him, he’ll not only take your job, but your life as well.

Dick: No shit, Sherlock! Did you get help from Jeff Watson or something?

A hearty laugh came from the superhero, while Dick isn’t feeling all that amused.

Blur: The corrupt FBI Agent? He called you a jobber, and currently, your attitude is what causing the big ‘Jobber’ to be stamped onto your forehead.

The Dynamic One glared, as the ‘Jobber’ stamp appeared on his head; in big military-style block lettering, the red paint drips ever so-slighty down his brow. He tried to smear the words off as if they were fresh paint, but to no avail.

Dick: You did that on purpose!

Blur: No… you are doing it to yourself. Redemption… you lost the Rumble after Parkes eliminated you. 20.1,.. you ended up losing to Styxx-O after Parkes interfered, 20.2… you lost in your match against Golden without any interference. 20.3… you were screwed out of a well-fought victory, when Parkes stole the pin from you with a phantom tag. Face it Dick, win or lose, Damo will end up being the winner, because he will have you GONE!

Angered by his third doppelganger saying things as it stands, Dick slapped his superhero counterpart across the face in a bout of anger. The rage that Dynamo was experiencing also appeared in the Black and Blue Blur’s eyes as well, before it faded into a look of understanding. Putting his gloved hand over his face, the Blur could feel swelling and the stinging pain left behind from that slap. He shook his head, and let out a stifled sigh.

Blur: I am not as much of a joker as the Dynamic Dragon, and the demon that was the Extreme Dragon were. And like you have done with Damo and the fanbase, I didn’t candy-coat the facts of your dire straits.

Dick: What are you REALLY doing here, Blur? I’m not a hero to the masses like I used to be. I was the voice for the voiceless in LPW. Now the voice is going to be silenced by the corrupt, and the greedy.

Blur: Which is why you are not going to give TRIPLE the effort to beat Chris Parkes to a pulp, and bring him to justice when you have him kiss your bare ass.

What you did to Jay was an act of desperation, but it clued you in to the potential sabotage that would’ve caused you problems in the long run. I commend you from preventing a situation like when you were unceremoniously outed by that trust fund bastard.

Dick: I know I averted a crisis I would’ve ruined my last stand. But how can I keep in a company I am no longer welcome in?

Blur: Damion has done a few damnable things to discredit you. One of those damnable things being that he falsely named some of the Board of Malcontents as sexual minorities. You also know that he re-hired Pope Fred to fill the gap that you will leave when your contract expires. After all is said and done, Damo will most like say that it’s all in the interest of ‘public image.’ The members of the Board of Directors are all afraid… afraid of what he might do to them should they speak against his wishes. Damo would’ve fired you anyways, should you have lost to Nigel at All-Stars. He wouldn’t have any use for you in the case you have lost your Contendership for the Western States Heritage title.

All the advice I can give at this time of change is to show the world that Corporate is making the biggest mistake in the company’s history. During your match with Parkes, do something to shock the Board of Directors to their senses. Make an impact right in the middle of that ring, and take the world by storm the way only Dick Dynamo could!

Dick: Thanks, Blur… but how do I start something I don’t know how to begin?

The Blur then zoomed at super-speed behind the Innovator of Insurrection, coming in a little too close for comfort. The Blur then transformed into the enemy that was going to make or break his chance at leaving in a blaze of glory, Christian Parkes.

Parkes: Maybe it should start with a little push?

The push sent Dick falling off the skyscraper, flailing his limbs in a vain attempt to catch a ledge before he landed SPLAT on the pavement below.


Dick suddenly sprang up to a sitting position on his bed, the cloth on his forehead falling into his lap, as he tried to catch his breath. His subconscious started to play tricks on his on him towards the end, but dreams such as that one was not to be taken lightly. That was what Double D had learned from experience. Reaching for his phone, he activated the voice command function of his phone.

He was fatigued. The stress over not being able to stay a constant in LPW was getting to him. His bloodshot eyes told the story of rigorous training, sleepless nights, and the depravity of the pleasure he once took for granted. It was one trial after another for the world-known Dynamic Dragon. However, these trials were like old friends to him for over six years. He groaned, as he heard the voice comparable in wrecking nerves only to the Star Trek computer chimed out its startup for the functionality of voice command.

Phone: Please wait…

Dick: Up your shaft…

Phone: Please say a command.

Dick: Call… Matt Clark.

The scene fades in to a shot of Lacey Valentine sitting by Christian Valentine's grave all dressed in black with a lace veil concealing her face. She is carrying one single red rose and holds onto it tightly while the sea of black-dressed people surround her, not daring to make a single noise. One by one, a black-clad person walks up and gently places their hand on Lacey's shoulder before leaving the memorial park.

I'm sorry for your loss.
I'm sorry for your loss.
I'm sorry for your loss.

Lacey simply mutters a soft thank you as they leave to attend their daily meetings, sure to forget about the tragedy that has struck the town. Roxanne walks up to the grave and throws a single red rose onto the casket lowered down into the ground and then she gently places her hand on Lacey's shoulder.

Roxanne: I'm sorry for your loss.

Lacey: Get your fucking filthy paws off me, whore!

Roxanne: I beg your pardon?

Lacey: Thank you.

Roxanne cautiously stumbles away from Lacey, almost tripping over her own feet. The rest of the people in attendance had finally left the memorial park which left Lacey sitting next to Christian's grave by herself. One by one, Lacey begins to rip off a petal from the red rose in her hand, eight petals in total. One petal representing one eyar she has known the man who lays next to her. She disposes of the leftover rose in her hand breathes a sigh of relief. She slowly lifted the veil over her face and the soft, sweet and innocent face momentarily contorted into a look of pure rage.

Lacey: I hope you fucking rot in hell for what you done, bastard!

Lacey tears off her wedding ring and angrily tosses it down onto the casket without thinking. She turns sharply on her heel and after kicking dirt onto the casket, calmly places the veil back over her face and walks herself to her car.




Lacey Valentine innocently stands out the front of her pristine home pruning some of her plants and watering her perfectly flourished flowers and walks up to her front porch, pulling off her garden gloves and carelessly tossing them onto the table. She picks up a pitcher of water and deftly pours herself a glass. She looks up and sees the mailman, Dave, hopping off his motorcycle, carrying several envelopes and a somewhat larger package.

Dave: Good morning, Miss Valentine! It's a lovely day out!

Lacey: Hello Dave. Yes, it is quite lovely out although it must be getting quite hot for you out there; may I interest you in a glass of water and a slice of raisin loaf?

Dave: You know I can't say no to your culinary creations, Miss Valentine.

Dave places the deliveries onto the table next to the pitcher of water as Lacey cuts a slice of raisin loaf for the friendly mailman. He scoops it up off the napkin and devours it in one whole bite and finishes it off by downing the glass of water quickly.

Dave: I would bother you for some more but I've got to run. I'll see you around, Miss Valentine, and your garden looks immaculate as always.

Lacey watches him rush down the pathway and hop onto his motorcycle; he kicks it into gear which raises a few barks from the dogs in the neighbourhood before he rushes off. She picks up the delivery and looks through the envelopes for anything of interest. She rolls her eyes as she sees a large A4 sized envelope for Christian. She knew what it was. Despite being six feet under, his magazine subscription to all of his titty magazines was still largely in effect.

Lacey: Oh how I hate these.


I was very naive and silly, cut me some slack.


Naive and silly. Give me a break.

Lacey picks up the magazine and walks over to her garbage bin; she happily disposes of the titty magazine and breathes a sigh of relief.





The scene flashes back to Lacey's match with Bunny on Vertigo; Bunny is rolling out of the ring looking for a breather after Lacey dominated her early on in the match.

Fucking destroy her now, Lacey!

Lacey steps out of the ring, looking visibly distracted as she tries to contain her Dark Passenger from causing any extreme harm to Bunny and walks over to her with a bright smile on her face, looking to help her back into the ring.

What the fuck are you doing?! Get her!

Lacey hesitates for a moment as Bunny stumbles around in front of her, barely able to stand on her two feet, before her Dark Passenger overrides her authority and takes total control of her body. Her face dramatically changes from a look of innocence to one of malovolence and she reaches out to grab Bunny's hair; she throws her facefirst onto the apron of the ring and watches with joy as she collapses onto the floor.

That's how it's done, Lacey.

Lacey's Dark Passenger uses her strength and easily picks up the fallen Bunny; she easily throws her into the ring and slides in after her. She grips Bunny by the hair and picks her up so she's barely standing on her feet.

Please don't get me disqualified! Go easy on her!

These rules are no fun.

Lacey's Dark Passenger hits the Lace Face facebuster and rolls Bunny onto her back and performs a very arrogant pin on the valet. As the sound of "How Soon is Now" by t.A.T.u blasts through the arena, Lacey's Dark Passenger finally relinquishes control and Lacey is back, looking down at the fallen woman laying beside her.

If you're not going to be as ruthless as I am, you are going to be walked all over.
After this bitch, you're going to face men who won't hold back.
Don't let them use you as a doormat just like Christian did.




The scene flashes forward to Lacey innocently doing her grocery shopping at the local grocer. She is casually pushing around her half-full shopping trolley, looking through the aisles aimlessly for anything she could use in the kitchen. She looked at a tub of maple syrup, disregarded the price and added it to her trolley; she didn't have to worry about money anymore. Christian's death left her more than enough money to keep her settled for the rest of her life. A little boy walks into the aisle and upon seeing her refuses to look away as he intentionally stares at her. Lacey smiles politely to him and then looks around to see if the boys parents were around but no one could be seen. She looks back and he is still staring at her with a curious look on his face.

Little Boy: Excuse me, miss.

Lacey: Yes honey?

Little Boy: Why are you shopping by yourself?

Lacey: That's how I like to do my shopping.

Little Boy: My Mummy goes shopping with me or my Daddy.

Lacey: That's sweet, darling.

Little Boy: Why are you alone then?

Lacey: I don't have anyone else to shop with, dear.

Little Boy: Are you going to die alone then?

Lacey: (A little taken aback) I don't know.

Little Boy: You're going to die alone.

Lacey: If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to kill your parents right in front of your eyes, you little annoying cunt. Fuck off!

The little boy's eyes widen as he looks up at the infuriated Lacey and he steps back slowly; she regains her composure and smiles politely at him. The little boy turns sharply on his heel and runs away, eagerly calling out to his parents.

Lacey: Was that absolutely necessary?


Well, I'm glad you didn't. I'd prefer to stay out of jail, if that's alright.




A 17 year old Lacey Doran is carrying her set of pom poms as she happily skips through the crowd of students at her high school as she has her sights set on her stud boyfriend, Christian Valentine. He is flanked by his two muscular football friends, Ted and Chandler and a bright smile crosses his face as he sees his high school sweetheart. Ted is looking visibly distressed and Chandler is trying to comfort him while remaining distant so not to ruin his manly facade.

Christian: Hey babe! How was cheerleading practice?

Lacey: Aced it. My girls are so ready for Regionals. We have this killer routine that will definitely take us to Nationals. What's up?

Christian: Bad news: Tamara just dumped Ted. He's been down ever since and we're trying to liven him up. You could lend us a hand, being a cheerleader and all.

The thought of Tamara leaving Ted shocked Lacey as she knew how much in love they were with each other; well, at least she thought she knew. The realization of it hit her and she thought about Christian leaving her one day.

Christian: Babe, are you alright? You look upset. It's okay, Ted will be fine.

Lacey: No, no, it's not that. It's just... no, don't worry about it. Go help your friend.

Christian: No, Lacey, you've always come first to me, you know that. Tell me what's wrong.

Christian takes Lacey's hand and leads her to a quiet corner where she could privately vent her feelings to her boyfriend.

Lacey: I don't want to sound selfish or anything but if Ted and Tamara couldn't work out, it's... I don't know, I've just been thinking about us and I never want that to happen to us.

Christian: Lacey, don't be silly. That'll never happen to us.

Lacey: I don't want to be without you, Christian. I never want to be alone.

Christian: You'll never be alone, Lacey. I'll always be with you.




Back in the present time, Lacey has laid out a picnic blanket next to Christian's grave. She is gracefully seated on top of the blanket with her legs crossed. She casually pulls out a single black rose from her picnic basket and begins picking at it, one petal at a time.

Lacey: I don't know why I insist on coming back here.


One petal.

Lacey: I can barely keep this act up, not with you around.


Two petals.

Lacey: What happened to keeping up an appearance?

Three petals.

Lacey: Yeah, I know. I've been thinking about it. She makes me so angry.


Four petals.

Lacey: I won't get caught, nor will I be suspected. No one knows that I knew of their affair.


Five petals.

Lacey: Like what? My match against Dyno Might?


Six petals.

Lacey: He might have to fear for his life if I picture her.


Seven petals.

Lacey: If it's alright with you, I'd rather not murder someone on live television.


Eight petals.

Lacey: Sounds like a deal.


Lacey drops the rose stem onto the head of his grave and picks up her picnic basket and blanket. After carefully folding the blanket and storing it in her basket, she regains her composure and skips down the grass with a smile on her face. The grass crumples underneath her feet as she runs to her car. Barely visible underneath the sunlight are two sets of footprints recently left in the grass; Lacey's and someone walking directly beside her...

Morpheus: Excuse me, can you direct me to solitary confinement?

The Dream King is leaning over a desk, his metal appearance easily distinguishing him from the Brooks Brothers suits shuffling around him. The secretary he is talking to gives a fake smile, obviously annoyed at the interruption.

Secretary: Down the hall, left at the end of C Block, you can't miss it.

Morpheus: Thanks.

Morpheus wanders down the halls of the prison, passing through checkpoint after checkpoint before pulling up short in front of a particular cell. Inside, Azreal is running through a workout, beating a punching bag hanging from the celieng. Seeing Morpheus, Azreal immediately lays off the bag and and pulls on a shirt.

Azreal: Ah, how are you doing, man?

Morpheus: Better than you, I'd bet. How's prison?

Azreal: Roomier than I remember, but a hell of a lot quieter. These guard are so nice, they put in a phone, a television and a punching bag!

Morpheus: Why do you want the first two? You can Dream.

Azreal: Yeah, but with these I can trash talk morons from in here, through that one dude.

Morpheus: Oh yeah, I almost forgot about him. Who is he?

Azreal: Some paralegal I got when I decided to represent myself. I think his name is Todd or something.

Morpheus: You're representing yourself? Why didn't you post bail? Or hire a lawyer?

Azreal: Grecian stubbornness. I'm going to do everything the legal way, and every single step of the way, I will make Watson's life hell.

Morpheus: How?

Azreal: Watson fucked up, big time. He arrested a lawyer.

Morpheus: Oh god...

Azreal: And not just any lawyer, but one that specializes in criminal defense, and has been spending a piece of his spare time over the last few months building up evidence against Watson just in case he gets arrested.

Morpheus: Evidence of what?

Azreal: Harassment. I filed counter-suit this morning, if it works the way I want it to, it'll destroy Watson's career.

Morpheus: Seems a bit petty, doesn't it?

Azreal: It's EXTREMELY petty, but seriously, I'm done playing around with that faggot. He's been bothering me for months, accusing me of crimes I didn't commit, breaking laws despite claiming to be the good guy and then finally arresting me because I tried to save his ass? I'm going to break his credibility, his career and then his neck.

Morpheus: Calm down, Az. You can't go flying off the handle in a courtroom, or in the ring. Chief is keeping a close eye on us thanks to Storme.

Azreal: Relax Morph, you should know me well enough to know that I don't fly off the handle. Watson will pay for what he's done, but every single thing will be planned. It won't be a beating, it will be a dismantling. I won't fall out of control again.

Morpheus: I'd tell you to go easy on him, but we both know that that won't happen.

Azreal: No, it won't.

Morpheus: Then have fun. You've got your defense prepared?

Azreal: I was trying to think of how I'd pull it off, just strolling along earlier, then suddenly it hit me...but I lost it, I strolled a little bit further before, suddenly it hit me again. There are more forms of walking than to stroll. Then I began to strut, and a whole new world of possibilities opened before my eyes.

Morpheus: I have no idea what that meant.

Azreal: That's because you're on the wrong side of the Fourth Wall.

Morpheus: You think I'd be used to that by now.

Azreal: You would.

Morpheus: Whatever. Do you want me to be in the courtroom tomorrow?

Azreal: If you'd like, but I'd prefer you getting ready for the Cube. Nigel and Brown are pushovers, but you have to be ready for Mask, just in case.

Morpheus: Relax, kid. I'll be ready, and I don't want to miss my boy telling the entire legal system to shove it.

Azreal: Awakened for life, right?

Morpheus: Yeah, which for us is quite some time.

Azreal: True facts. Now you go hit the hay, I'm got to finish my workout and sleep before tomorrow.

Morpheus: Peace out.

Azreal: Peace, brother.


Bailiff: All rise for the court!

A flurry of movement spreads through the courtroom as all those in attendance stand. Separated from the crowd by a wooden railing sit two tables, the first covered with papers as a pair of men in Brooks Brothers suits scramble to their feet. The other barren as a lone figure slides a lone sheet of paper out of his bag before somberly rising to bear witness as the judge enters the chamber. The judge is an elderly white man, wire frame glasses perched on his crooked nose. Quickly the judge shuffles to his seat and the entire courtroom returns to theirs.

Bailiff: In the case of Alexander Dukov vs Special Agent Jeffery Watson, the court is now in session! The Honorable Judge Fairweather presiding.

Fairweather: Alright ladies and gentlemen, let's get moving. The charges are as follows, one count of aggravated assault, three counts of obstruction of justice, one count of threatening a federal agent and one count of kidnapping of the first degree of a Federal Agent of these United States. The defendant, Alexander Dukov, has chosen to represent himself, is this correct?

Without rising from his chair, Azreal nods in assent.

Azreal: It is, your honor.

Fairweather: In that case, how do you plead?

Azreal: I plead not guilty to all charges. I also wish it to be known that my presence here is a sign of my continued co-operation with the legal system, as the arrest itself was invalidated by the arrest taking place in a foreign country, where the FBI holds no authority to make arrests.

Fairweather: And am I to understand that you have filed counter-suit against the plaintiff?

Azreal: I have. The proper paperwork was filed night before last and was officially declared this morning.

Fairweather: Very well. On what grounds are you counter-suing?

Azreal: On the charges of obstruction of justice, I am filing for their appeal as the plaintiff, Special Agent Watson, was not in fact pursuing a legitimate crime, but rather engaging in harassment. Also on the charge of threatening a federal agent, I move that that charge be dismissed as well, for those comments were made not by the defendant, but by the television character Azreal as played by the defendant for the purposes of garnering interest in the product of Lords of Pain Wrestling. Since these comments were made, not from the defendant to Special Agent Watson, but rather from the fictional character Azreal to the television character of Special Agent Watson, the supposed threats are not legally considered as such.

Fairweather: And what is your response, Special Agent Watson?

Prosecutor: One moment your Honor.

Watson and the prosecutor confer quietly for a few moments before the prosecutor rises to his feet.

Prosecutor: My client is willing to drop the charge of threatening a federal agent, but will continue to press charges for obstruction of justice.

Fairweather: Well then, let's start with that. Prosecutor, why don't you begin by showing us the evidence you've gathered to support the charges.

Prosecutor: Of course, your honor.

Let me clear the air a bit. I don't give a fuck about Seth Omega, the attacks or your investigation, I also don't give a fuck about your wife, your badge or THAT investigation. If you find your wife and live happily ever after, I'll feel the exact same as if you get that phone call you've been dreading. I know that as far as wrestling goes, I'll beat the merciful crap out of you around the entire arena, because I really am just that much better than you.

Fairweather: and your counter-argument, Mr. Dukov?

Azreal: Simple, Your Honor. I do not deny my lack of co-operation with Special Agent Watson's investigation, but my resistance does not constitute a crime as the questioning only occurred due to Special Agent Watson's harassment.

Fairweather: What evidence do you have?

Azreal: Video from surveillence cameras in the backstage area of Lords of Pain Wrestling, which will show proof of Special Agent Watson's harassment, as well as testimonies from my co-plaintiffs, who were also victims of said harassment.

Fairweather: Co-Plaintiffs?

Azreal: Yes, Your Honor. My counter-suit is actually a class-action lawsuit as filed on behalf of several contracted employees of Lords of Pain Wrestling. Specifically, James McDaygo, Seth Omega, Daientine, and Scruffy the Janitor. Between the five of us, we aim to prove that Jeff Watson's investigations thus far have consisted of random accusations as opposed to legitimate police work.

Fairweather: Very well, call your first witness.

Azreal: I would ask the court to recognize my first witness, the head of janitorial services for Lords of Pain Wrestling's Insanity brand, Scruffy the Janitor.

From a side door in the courtroom, Scruffy walks non-chalantly in, still dressed in his work clothes. Heavily, he plops himself down in the witness chair and props his feet on the railing.

Azreal: Now then, please state your name for the record.

Scruffy: Janitor, Scruffy the.

Fairweather: Pardon the interruption, but your legal name is Scruffy the Janitor?

Scruffy: A-yup.

Fairweather: And you work as a janitor?

Scruffy: A-yup. Scruffy knows, it's serendipitous.

Fairweather: Indeed. Carry on.

Azreal: Thank you, Your Honor. Now then, Scruffy, would you please tell the court how you first met Special Agent Jeffery Watson?

Scruffy: It would be Scruffy's honor. Yup. Ya see, Scruffy first met that there Watson feller in Ireland while Scruffy was on the job.

Fairweather: Forgive me for yet another interruption, but Scruffy, is it necessary for you to deliver your testimony in the third person?

Scruffy: Yup.

Fairweather: Ahem, very well. Please continue.

Scruffy: Mmhmm, well Scruffy first met Watson when he tried to arrest Scruffy.

Azreal: And why did Special Agent Watson try to arrest you?

Scruffy: Scruffy's got tape. Mmhmm.

A middle-aged janitor is cleaning up in one of the dressing rooms in the back. He stumbles and knocks a bag labeled “Watson” onto the floor, a gun falling out and sliding across the floor. As the janitor hurries to pick it up, Watson walks through the door, seeing the janitor with his gun.

Watson:*Who the f**k are you!?

:*I'm Scruffy.

Watson:*Scruffy?

Scruffy:*The Janitor.

Watson:*What the f**k? Never mind. Scruffy, you have my gun?

Scruffy:*Depends. You Watson?

Watson:*Yes.

Scruffy:*Then yup.

Watson:*And you got my gun, how?

Scruffy:*Bumped yer bag.

Watson:*I should arrest you for that.

Scruffy:*Scruffy wants to see a badge.

Watson:*Why don't you go f**k yourself you stupid bastard, because I don't need to prove myself to you or anybody else.

Scruffy:*Then Scruffy won't answer yer questions.

Azreal: And how did Special Agent Watson react to your silence?

Scruffy: He yelled at Scruffy. A lot.

Azreal: Please give us more details.

Scruffy: He told Scruffy to die, and it hurt Scruffy. Scruffy cried every night for a week.

Azreal: Thank you, that is all.

Quietly Scruffy rises to his feet and exits the courtroom.

Fairweather: Do you have any other witnesses?

Azreal: No, your honor. The rest of my co-plaintiffs are too busy to appear in person, but I have footage of Watson's harassment for each and every one of them.

Fairweather: Very well. You may proceed.

Azreal: Thank you, Your Honor. Now then, I am apparently a favored victim of Special Agent Watson's harassment, so I have several videos to choose from. In this one, during a session of trash talk with another superstar, Special Agent Watson decided to lend his expertise on the matter at hand.

Hey Azreal why don't you do us all a favor and shut the fuck up you worthless fucking bastard. Nobody wants to hear you ramble on about this or that, because to tell you the truth it's getting fucking annoying. Who in the fuck are you to be running your mouth when you haven't done shit in the fucking ring. And then you have the nerve to start shit with me about what is going on in my personal life. I would beat the living hell out of you, but you aren't worth me getting into the fucking ring. So before you ramble on about how you think that you're better than me when actually you aren't worth shit just think about what i'll do to you if you decide to push me over the fucking edge you worthless little cocksucker.

Azreal: For those of you who were left wondering what the matter at hand was, the other party and I were in the middle of a discussion over the feasibility of immortality. While I do have several more instances of his harassment on file, I'll only show you one more. This was one of the first interactions that Special Agent Watson and I had ever had, when I overheard him attempting to arrest Seth Corleone despite having no legitimate evidence.

Quote from: Azreal;385622

Azreal:*As far as the message goes, you still have absolutely no evidence connecting any one of us with the crime. There is exactly as much evidence linking Seth Omega to the attacks as there is linking them to, I dunno, you. I'm going to cry myself to sleep tonight knowing that someone like you has the power to arrest people.

I'm pretty sure that I haven't questioned or implicated you in regards to this crime. So if I was you I would shut the fuck up before I turn the questioning on you.

Azreal: I understand that you must be getting bored with the footage of Watson's harassment, so I'll go ahead and make this the last video I show. This footage is the evidence of harassment of LPW worker Daientine, who was approached by Special Agent Watson after a match the former had just completed.

Daientine is backstage, being looked over by trainers after his match with Storme. As they finish bandaging him up, Jeff Watson walks into the room.

Watson:*Daientine! We need to talk.

Daientine continues dressing, completely ignoring Watson.

Watson:*Pay attention mother**ker, or else! What do you know about the attacks at EPIC?

Without answering, Daientine tries to walk out the door, but Watson steps in his way.

Watson:*I am on official police business, Daientine, it is your civic duty to answer my questions.

Low, rumbling laughter bubbles out of Daientine, but he still makes no effort to respond.

Watson:*Listen Daientine, I don't want to talk to you. In fact, I wish that you would be burned at the f**king stake so that people wouldn't have to deal with your bulls**t anymore. However, you are at the top of my list as far as the recent attacks go, so you will damn well answer my f**king questions!

Daientine:*You don't threaten me, “Officer.” Aren’t you the one that just lost to that homeless guy on Pyro?

Watson pulls out his gun and waves it in Daientine's face.

Watson:*How about this?! Are you threatened by this you mother**ker!?

Daientine:*Don't make me laugh...

Watson:*Just answer the question, you bitch. Did you have anything to do with the attacks at EPIC, or, more importantly, with my wife's kidnapping?

Daientine:*Wrong on both counts, I'm afraid. Your lack of coherent investigative ability has led you to yet another dead end as far as suspects go, and now you're just wasting time, both yours and mine.

Watson:*I want an alibi for both the time of the attacks, and the night my wife went missing.

Daientine:*No.

Watson:*Why the fuck not?!

Daientine:*I have better things to do.

Watson:*Like losing to Storme? Again? You are a worthless mother**ker who should be in a prison getting raped on a daily basis.

Azreal: That will be all, Your Honor. I rest my case.

Fairweather: Special Agent Watson, your defence?

Without consulting his lawyer, Watson stands defiantly.

Watson: Yeah, I said those things. I said them because these motherfuckers won't assist my investigation! I'm trying to find my wife and all these bastards care about is making fun of me! I won't let them get away with that!

Watson's lawyer stands quickly and yanks Watson back down to his chair.

Prosecutor: That will be all, Your Honor. We rest.

Fairweather: Very well. In that case we move quickly onto the next charge, that of assualting a federal officer. You pled not guilty, is that correct?

Azreal: It is, Your Honor.

Fairweather: Very well, Prosecutor.

Prosecutor: We have no witnesses Your Honor, as the attack took place during a live television broadcast. We've brought in the footage of the attack, and that will be all.

While Watson and the referee are both watching Morpheus, a figure jumps the barricade. His face obscured by his hoodie and sunglasses, the figure bulrushes the ring and levels Watson with a shot from a pair of brass knuckles.

Tromboner Man: Hey! TBM thinks that wasn’t very nice!

Phoenix: What the hell was that?

Rik: I don't know, someone just attacked Watson! Those look like brass knuckles!

Phoenix: Who was it?

Tromboner Man: How should TBM know? It wasn't him.

Just as the figure starts to exit the ring, a security officer goes flying out of the backstage area and crashes onto the stage. Azreal hits the stage at full sprint and the figure in the ring bails as the four VIRALs at ringside spring belatedly into action. The figure hops the barricade and makes a break for it, barely getting away as Azreal vaults the barricade without slowing. Seeing the man pull ahead, Azreal stops short and returns to the ring areaas two of the four VIRALs leap over the barrier and chase the figure down. Azreal walks over and pushes the referee out of the way to check on Morpheus.

Phoenix: And what was that?

Rik: I think Azreal just scared off Watson's assailant..

Phoenix: Why would he do that?

Rik: I'd guess he wanted to make sure that the man didn't turn on Morpheus next, and it worked.(Removed due to irrelevance)

Rik: But it looks like his celebration will be cut short, as Watson out here just grabbed a microphone.

Watson: You! Tromboner Man! You attacked me!

Tromboner Man: TBM doesn’t know what you are talking about.

Watson: You attacked me during my match while my back was turned!

Tromboner Man: Not true! TBM was sitting here the whole time! Ask TBM’s good friend The Rik!

Rik: Good friend, my Queen-loving arse! Sadly, though, he is correct, Watson.

Tromboner Man: See? TBM knew you liked him.

Watson starts to calm down a bit when he hears laughter coming from behind him. He sees Azreal, still supporting Morpheus’ bleeding frame, laughing and shaking his head.

Watson: You. I should have known. It was YOU who attacked me when my back was turned.

Azreal just shakes his head as he laughs again. Then he smiles, winks, and gives Watson the thumbs up.

Watson: I should have known it was you.

Azreal just shakes his head again and then turns his attention back to Morpheus.

Watson: If you attacked me here tonight, you must be the attacker that I’ve been after all this time! It all makes sense now.

Azreal looks back at him, confused, then shakes his head again and goes to help Morpheus out of the ring.

Watson: So after all this searching, I’ve finally found the man who kidnapped my wife. I got your note earlier tonight.

Azreal looks back at Watson, a genuine look of confusion on his face. Then he finally waves him off and helps Morpheus exit the ring.

Watson: You’re going to learn that you never should have crossed me. Azreal, you are under arrest!

Azreal stops dead in his tracks and turns around. He checks on Morpheus again, who waves him off and begins heading toward the back under his own power.

Watson: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

Fairweather: Mr. Dukov, your response?

Azreal: I don't need one. The video evidence offered by the prosecution is irrevocable evidence of my innocence. I am within the camera's field of vision at the same time as the attacker, and never made a move against Special Agent Watson.

Fairweather: Very well, and that brings us to our most serious charge, 1st degree kidnapping of a federal agent?

Azreal: The most serious charge, of course, and also the most easily disprovable. You see, in order to convict someone of a crime in the legal system of these great United States, the prosecution has to offer three pieces of evidence, namely opportunity, motive, and means. I'm lacking in all three. Not only have I never previously had reason to bring harm to Special Agent Watson, but I would never have the means to kidnap or arrange for the kidnapping of a federal agent. Now then, even if you were to ignore those, I also lacked opportunity. During the time that it's believed that Mrs. Watson was taken from her home in Miami, I was on a trans-Atlantic flight. I have tickets, airport security footage and hotel receipts which conclusively prove that I was either in or on my way to London at the time of the kidnapping. Oh, and of course, there is Special Agent Watson's own testimony attributing to my innocence.

Fairweather: What? He said what?!

Azreal: Allow me to play you the tape, Your Honor.

What makes your client think that he'll be the one to stop my quest to find the guy who kidnapped my wife? It really doesn't matter one way or another because I plan on unleashing the hate that has been building up inside of me towards you Azreal. You're nothing more than a stepping stone to finally getting my hands on the guy who has my wife and there is nothing that you can do to stop me.

Fairweather: Oh god.... Mr. Watson, your response?

The prosecutor sighs heavily before half-rising from his chair.

Prosecutor: We have none, Your Honor. The prosecution rests.

Fairweather: Very well, Mr. Dukov, your closing statement.

Azreal: While the evidence may be in my favor tonight, I will continue to worry for the future. You see, the footage I have shown you tonight paints a saddening picture of the future of law enforcment in our country. Jeff Watson attacks, insults and threatens people with only the most tenous of connections between them and whatever crime he thinks he's currently investigating. I've shown you proof of four different people who could have had their lives ruined by one psychopathic cop on a blood-thirsty rampage looking for his wife. While my heart goes out to Special Agent Watson and his missing wife, no man should be allowed that much power. You, the jury, have the power to stop him. Support my lawsuit, and stop a madman from trampling the liberties that all Americans cherish. Thank you, and good night.

Fairweather: In the face of overwhelming evidence, the blatant misconduct of Agent Watson and the trampling of proper legal procedure in this investigation, I'm left with no choice but to order the charges against Mr. Dukov to be dropped.

Azreal: Thank you, your honor. What about my counter-suit?

Fairweather: That is an internal matter to be handled by his superiors at the FBI, I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do. You're free to go, Mr. Dukov.

Watson grabs his lawyer by the tie and starts screaming at him as Azreal walks over.

Azreal: I'm waiting for that apology.

Watson: Fuck off.

Azreal just laughs before walking towards Morpheus, who gets up from his chair and they walk out of the courthouse.

Azreal: I'm a free man again! Let's go get drunk!

The scene opens to show a fancy wooden bench of iron and wood. Behind it but before the bare trees all around sits the rubble of the once glorious Church of the White Falcon.

We close in on the bench to show book bound in solid white leather. The wind opens the book up swiftly as the camera zooms in. Soon the screen becomes it's pages.





The hallways backstage are abuzz with people going off to do something somewhere. Soon, the White Falcon comes out right in front of the camera and begins heading away. As we go to catch up, a glance to the right shows the name 'Styxx' on the door Falcon just came out of.

As Falcon is huffing off through a more open area his first name CELIO is yelled out from the left. The supposed savior of Pyromania is talking to a short stocky man donning a headset/clipboard ensemble. He scurries off with him beyond a screen.

Where we cut to right now, Falcon on the other side of that curtain with an LPW interviewer.

Interviewer: Here with me now is the man who will be competing against two other men for control as captain of the Pyromania team at Altered Reality, the White Falcon.

Now Mr. Falcon, you came back as cYnical's hand picked savior and becoming official captain of his brands' team at Altered Reality will certainly prove cYnical is going in the right direction.

Your return though has been marrred in literal pyromaniacs and your own personal white whale, EB4. Has the addition of Eddie to the match of Blistering Inferno hurt your chances even more than normal?

White Falcon: You get me in here for an interview and this is the way we start? Keeping the recent popular trend in wrestling as of late I believe you owe me an apology for your brazen statements.

Interviewer: What?

White Falcon: Say you're sorry right now. ***He says while clenching his jaw.***

Interviewer: Okay, I'm sorry. Sorry.

White Falcon: Thanks, now unlike others I will leave it at that and answer your question.

No, Eddie in this match changes nothing. I am so tired of this but what can I say. The facts, or more importantly the “W's” in his column against me, speak for themselves so whatever.

I guess just believe me, have faith in your savior when I say it ends at Blistering Inferno. Edward I am done trying to figure you out. This time I come at you the way you come at the world. I'm going the 'taking you out' way. This time there is nothing past you, it's fending Ken off and beating you. That's the spoiler-ful results for you.

Not meaning to discredit Ken Ryan's because I know I'm up against one tough bastard in him. I only gotta pin one though, and I know who I want it to be is all.

I'm focused on my training more than I ever was and  . ..

The scene snaps a shot of Falcon at the gym jumping some rope, then lifting weights, and then we are looking over the shoulder of a punching bag as Falcon looses up before teeing off.

He takes a shot, then another, then one more before bouncing back. He goes to strike again when the man holding the bags asks

Unknown: Why are you working out here anywhere, don't you have like, a top of the line gym at home?

White Falcon: I do but I'm trying to take it up a notch in my workouts and needed some assistance. And sorry, but I barely know you and don't really need a fanboy lurking through my house.

Falcon takes a couple shots.

We then notice the young man holding the bag is Jeremy, a college-age gentleman that recently interviewed White Falcon after being chosen off of a wrestling news site.
             
Jeremy: Ouch man that really hurts.

White Falcon: Sorry it's a comfort zone thing, let it go.

Falcon steps back and throws a D. Bryan-esque kick into the bag, forcing Jeremy to really hold onto the bag for once.

~Thwack~ once more.

Jeremy: So what's up dude, you got this shit at Blistering Inferno? That stunt at 20.3 was straight embarrassing.

White Falcon: I got it.

~Thwack~

Jeremy: I hope so man, you have got to be the captain at Altered Reality right? Yea, you just gotta. That's the spot for you right now.

White Falcon: What?

Jeremy: Yea man gotta prove that dominance to th..!

He is cut off by Falcon shoving the bag hard as heck, throwing Jeremy onto his behind. He looks up shocked and appalled.

White Falcon: No WHAT? As in what the hell is with all the fucking questions?

Jeremy gets to his feet, looking weary of the Hallowed Hitman and confused at what is taking place.

Jeremy: Umm . . .

White Falcon: Umm what?

Jeremy: What do you want me to say man I was talking? You know, like having a conversation and shit. What, you wanted me to come and just stay silent? That's odd.

A look comes over Falcon as if he suddenly realizes it is odd as well. He takes a step back thinking to himself.

Jeremy: I don't know man, sorry if I offended somehow. Not wanting people to talk at all should just be brought up prior to hanging out I guess.

Falcon appears to accept his actions and try to brush them off his mind.

White Falcon: No it's cool, just never really like gabbed when I worked out. Guess that comfort zone thing is coming into play again.

Jeremy: I guess man . . . wait weren't you always shown with like you're followers when you training and junk on LPW TV.

White Falcon: They didn't speak unless I spoke to them.

Jeremy: Really? Why?

White Falcon:  . . I  . . respect I guess. They were my Church followers, I was their Pope. We spoke on God and my works but not much more.

Jeremy: So who did you talk to?

White Falcon: What do you mean exactly?

Jeremy: You know what, I don't mean anything actually.

Falcon accepts this, avoiding awkwardness.

The scene cuts quickly to that bench outside of the Falkone manor lies and the Church once dide. This time the trees have leaves and instead of leveled rubble there are work trucks and the beginnings of the construction of something.

As the pages of the book still on the bench flutter on and stop as the camera goes and the words fill our vision.


The words fade off and that official backstage interview for LPW that was taking place earlier on resumes.

Interviewer: Now, after Blistering Inferno you will have to take your two enemies and turn them into allies most likely. How do you feel about this and does it affect the way you wrestle them at Blistering Inferno?

White Falcon: You know I've been doing some legwork and speaking with the possibles for what will be my team at Altered Reality and I must say I think this all can work. So far those I've spoke with along with Ken Ryans seem to be men that can deal with mutual dislike and still  fight hard enough for personal honor to roll over Insanity at Altered Reality.

I didn't mention Eddie in there because I have no intention of letting him make it to Altered Reality. I can bury the hatchet with the others but that disgusting man will not team with me, whether he adds something or not. That and he's as terrible with teams as I have been with him. He's getting smited at Blistering Inferno, so guess the team will still be looking after that triple threat match.

That doesn't mean I'll be taking it easy on Ken or anything, but I'm sure he can handle a hard fought war and still fight on. It's not like I'm out to injure him or anything.

I bet after hearing me Eddie is back there fuming. Don't get too mad bitch, I owe you after all.

The interview ends and fades off. Soon though the scene comes back outside of Falcon's mansion. Where the old church stood the ongoing construction of rock and wood begin to form what we can believe will be a new Church.

Soon the camera turns back to show a grey Ford Escape make it's way up the driveway.

Inside the vehicle sit the White Falcon and Jeremy, with Jeremy driving.

Jeremy: Wow, you live really far out here. No wonder we could never figure out where you lived.

White Falcon: haha alright, but thanks for bringing me home.

Jeremy: No problem, still can't believe you wasted the money for a cab to come all the way out here and get you. Damn. Why not just drive?

White Falcon: Didn't feel like it. Been taking the ole Rolls out here and there lately but never really drove much so still habit for someone else to be I guess.

Jeremy: See, break out the Rolls I'll drive your ass anywhere in that.

As the manor comes into view Jeremy squints out to stare it down.

Jeremy: Wow, that place looked huge on TV but damn again. And what's that? A Church huh? Thought you were done with that.

White Falcon: I am, that Church is for me.

Jeremy: Oh so you're not like opening a Church back up or anything.

White Falcon: Why, would you come?

Jeremy: Ah . . . eh . . Church really isn't my “thing”.

White Falcon: That's right. We will have to talk about that sometime. It's just my Church anyways. Mine alone.

Jeremy: You are one sad cat.

Falcon stares down and ponders a moment.

White Falcon: Eh, it's not that bad really.

The car comes to a stop before the walkway and bench, and Falcon goes to get out.

Jeremy: Alright man, catch ya later.

Jeremy extends his hand for a handshake.

Falcon stops and looks at the hand a second before shaking it, snickering, and heading out of the vehicle.

White Falcon: Catch you later. Alright sounds good. Thanks again.

Jeremy: No problem yo.

Falcon shuts the door and begins the walk to his home as the SUV backs up and heads off. As Falcon walks towards his home he veers off and into the open doorway on the Church being built. He goes in and off to the side where he enters a tarped off area.

From inside we see Falcon step into a confessional stall. It is very dark with very little rays of light shining through. He closes the door and sits. As he does he bows his head into his palms.

Soon, a whisper.

Unknown: Father, are you there?

Falcon's concentration is broke as he stares intently at the confessional stall next to him.

He clears his throat and say.

White Falcon: Yes, my son?

Unknown: I have sins I wish to confess.

A lot of them.

Falcon settles back into his seat as if he understands all of a sudden what is going on.

White Falcon: Yes you do. Go on.

Before he can go on the scene up and

***Fades to White***

CRIPSY'S PROMO

Not long after Pyro 20.??in the Australis locker room.

Cripsy,Roop and Zenith are in the locker room, Roop is less than impressed with what just happened out in the ring, and is letting Cripsy know it.

Roop: That’s bullshit and you know it!!
Cripsy: Hey man calm your shit! I had nothing to do with the stunt Kross just pulled!
Roop: As if you didn’t! You were afraid to face me!
Cripsy: You serious? That’s what you’re going with? I was afraid? Fuck you! I’ll fight you right here right now if that’s what you want!
Roop: Don’t tempt me Shane! You will regret it!
Cripsy: Why? Everyone out there might be fooled by your tough and mean outback crap but I know you remember? We on the same fucking team!
Roop: Why don’t you just call me what you’re thinking Shane! I’m just a coon to you, right?
Cripsy: Oh what the fuck man, when have I ever said that to you or to anyone about you?
Zenith: Yeah Roop that’s never been said by anyone in this group, you should know that.
Roop: Well…I…
Cripsy: Got nothing to fucking say to that have you?! Don’t go putting the fact that Kross only want’s the one of us out there, I didn’t ask him to cancel the match.
Roop: Then why did it happen?!
Zenith: Maybe Kross is trying to hammer a wedge between us, see if we will fold.
Cripsy: That wouldn’t surprise me at all; it’s a good way for him to see what we are made of.
Roop: So he is trying to trick me?! I’ll kill him!
Zenith: Pretty sure that’s the wrong way to go about things.
Cripsy: Yeah I agree with Zen, we can’t do anything irrational, would give him a reason to fire us.
Roop: Than what do you suggest we do?
Cripsy: Nothing.
Roop: Nothing? NOTHING?!
Cripsy: Yeah that’s right, we do nothing, act like it never happened.
Zenith: Give him no reaction at all; act like it didn’t piss you right off.
Roop: That’s nonsense!
Cripsy: No its not. It’s the smartest thing we could do.
Zenith: Exactly. Business as usual.

Roop offers no response other than a muffled grunt as he pushes his way past his fellow team mates in a huff.


Zenith: Shit! What’s he going to do?
Cripsy: He won’t do anything; he just needs to cool off a little.
Zenith: I hope so, anyway man congrats! A title shot that’s nice!
Cripsy: Yeah, it’s a little unexpected but I’m glad to have a chance.
Zenith: And against a fellow Aussie no less.
Cripsy: Yeah, Purser.
Zenith: He has been pretty switched on of late, should be an excellent match.
Cripsy: Yeah, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by his performances of late.
Zenith: Let’s go grab a cold one and celebrate a little, what ya say?
Cripsy: A brew sounds good after a hard match like that.

Zenith goes to say the bleeding obvious but looks across at Cripsy, who has a stupid grin on his face. They both break out in laughter as they head out into the night.


2 days later.
Cripsy is sitting down in a small coffee shop, clutching a cup of fresh, hot coffee. He flicks aimlessly through a newspaper, stopping on a page for a moment before flicking back again. The door to the shop opens with a bell and Cripsy raises his head and motions for the person that entered to come over to the table.

Styxx: Coffee? Seriously? Since when do you do coffee?

Styxx half smiles at his friend and stable mate before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.

Cripsy: Since Zen and I had a big one a few nights ago, I swear that man drinks beer like it was water.
Styxx: Yeah he knows how to throw em back that’s for sure. I didn’t expect you to get slaughtered.
Cripsy: Neither did I, it was just a few drinks and turned into something else.
Styxx: Like the good old days eh?
Cripsy: Yeah, but those days weren’t so long ago.
Styxx: True, So why get plastered a week out from a title match?
Cripsy: As I said, I didn’t plan it this way, just happened.
Styxx: Nights out with Zen often turn out that way. You regret it?
Cripsy: (smiles) Only when I try to stand up.
Styxx: Well next time you should probably avoid the drink, you don’t want to blow this opportunity to snag a belt.
Cripsy: (smile fades) Yeah you’re right, It was a bit careless of me.
Styxx: Oh well, keep hitting the coffee and then hit the gym try and work out the grog.
Cripsy: (raises his cup) Will do.
Styxx: Good, will catch you a bit later to talk about your match. Oh don’t forget you have a television interview with the D later, so try to sound coherent won’t you? 
Cripsy: alright then, and yes I will try to sound coherent as I possibly can. I better have another coffee first though.
Styxx: Better make it two, and shower too, you smell like the inside of a brewery.
Cripsy: You say the sweetest things sometimes.
Styxx: I know I do, ok I’m off, don’t forget, interview.
Cripsy: Ok ok I won’t mother.
Styxx: Don’t call me mother.
Cripsy: Stop acting like one then.
Styxx: Shut ya face, catch ya later bud.
Cripsy Aight then, catch.


Styxx gets up and leaves Cripsy to his headache and coffee.

Cripsy: Fuckin’Zen.


Later that day.

Cripsy is walking into an interview room for a chat with The D before his title match at blistering inferno.

The D: Oh wow, have you been drinking?
Cripsy: Maybe…why?
The D: You smell like Courtney Love
Cripsy: I smell like coke and seamen? Think you are thinking of someone else, Dynamo maybe?
The D: Maybe, are you going to be right to go on camera?
Cripsy: Provided people watching can’t smell me, I should be fine.
The D: Righto then, (motions to camera crew) here we go.

The room goes silent as the camera is switched on and the interview begins.

The D: Hello, I’m Here With Shane “Cripsy” Cripps ahead of his Pure Championship match against the current champion, Daniel Purser at Blistering inferno in just a few days’ time. So Cripsy, are you ready to face the champ?
Cripsy: Well D, to keep it short and sweet, yes. I am ready to face Purser at Blistering Inferno.
The D: That’s all well and good, but this isn’t your first chance at a belt though is it?
Cripsy: That’s correct; I had a match against Atlas Adams for the now defunct Television championship.
The D: Ah yes that’s right, In the first LPW bull rope match I believe.
Cripsy: Yes that’s right.
The D: And what was the result of that match?
Cripsy: I lost. You know that already though.
The D: Just making sure you were not deluded in anyway.
Cripsy: Thanks.
The D: You’re welcome. Moving on though, what do you say to those people who say you don’t deserve this match at all? That you haven’t done enough to be in the hunt for the belt?
Cripsy: I’d tell them to eat a dick, and that Kross wouldn’t pick me to take on Purser if I wasn’t the man for the job.
The D: Well it could be that Kross wants Purser to keep the belt, so he picked you.
Cripsy: What are you trying to say there, D?
The D: Oh, nothing. Moving on. How did Maroopna Mayamaya handle the fact that his chance at a title shot was snuffed out before the bell even rang?
Cripsy: Well he was pissed off, as anyone would be. But we have sorted that out and moved on.
The D: There are whispers out there that cancelling the match and awarding you the number one contender spot was a way for the brass to weed out the weak link in your little group. Thus causing a split.
Cripsy: Well if that was the plan it backfired, it’s going to take more than that to split us apart. We are a tight knit group and we have to be if we want to make it anywhere in this company.
The D: Fair enough, well it’s a good thing your all friends and can sort differences out.
Cripsy: Well we have more sense than other groups, take POV for example. They fell apart from the top down. That won’t happen to us, we have a solid leader in Styxx, and Zen, Roop and myself don’t try and delude ourselves with notions of grandeur like the rats beneath Jensen did.
The D: Ah POV, what a train wreck. Well Cripsy that’s about all the time we have. Is there any clichés you would like to throw at your opponent, like “shine that belt for me “or I’m coming for you”?
Cripsy: Ah no, I will say to him though bring you’re a game Daniel, I want to face you at your very best, so when I do get the 3 count you can’t say you were not prepared. If you’re not ready for one hell of a fight at B.I then I would suggest you just stay at home.

The D: And there you have it a cliché ladies and gentleman, I’ve been the D, goodnight!

Cripsy stands up and rips the mic setup off

Cripsy: Fuck you, D.

As Cripsy walks out of the interview room, with the D mumble nonsensical garbage at him he bumps into Purser.

Purser: Out of the way, mate.
Cripsy: I’m not your mate, and make me.
Purser: What? You wanna go right here? Without ya boys to protect you?
Cripsy: I don’t need my “boys” to kick your ass.
Purser: (laughs) Really? You toss a couple of hacks around and nail a few finishers and suddenly your top shit?
Cripsy: Kross picked the best to face you, I guess he knows potential when he see’s it.
Purser: That’s all you have been though Shane, potential.
Cripsy: Than beating me shouldn’t be a problem, should it Dan?
Purser: No, It WON”T be.
Cripsy: (walks off laughing) We’ll see Danny boy, we’ll see.

“I’ve been asked a lot lately if I really deserve this match, if the contender match had gone ahead would I really be the one left standing?. It got me thinking, doubting myself, and asking myself if I was really the right one to face Daniel Purser for the belt. Yes, yes I am the right one to face him, and yes I would have been victorious in the contenders match. Why? Because I do have the potential to be great, no not great, the best. To climb all the way to the top of this mountain and shout fuck you! To all the doubters and haters. But before I can do that I have to get my hands on my first belt, and now that’s within my reach, it’s so close I can taste it! And yes, I know I have been here before and that I failed. I was naïve back then, thought I deserved the belt and under estimated my opponent, and payed for it. Not this time though, this time I have prepared, when I walk onto that stage to face Purser I will be ready. I guess there is only one thing to say to him now…I’m ready, are you?. It’s time to live up to all this potential.

FIN.

Nearby, a small stone building sits alone off the interstate. Light emanating through its decorated stain glass windows, as a very small handful of beaten up vehicles scattered throughout the parking lot. Inside a small handful of people sit quietly in the pews while they listen to the minister talk as he holds in his hands a book with only part of the title showing; “The Libri Sco”. The book tattered and very apparent that its been used a lot still has the trademark scorpion symbol on the cover. The minister continues to talk.

Minister: ...as with the preacher, Eric would cast away his past as well and renaming himself Eric Scorpio. Eric would pray to God and swear his allegiance to him, and declare himself the messiah God had always wanted; not by fighting using the Lord’s words, but using himself as a weapon against all would be deemed sinners to God’s laws. With one loud proclamation, Eric would declare himself the Cleanser of Sinners and the true descent of God...

The minister would continue to recite from the sacred book. In the back of the room, a cloaked man stands leaning against the back wall observing the mass. Not moving, nor making a sound. Simply remaining still.


The minister continues to talk, as the cloak man slowly turns his head examining the people in the room. To the left, a young, hillbilly couple. In the front row, a couple of old men. And on the right in two different row sits an heavily makeup-ed goth teen and and a normal looking business man fills out the remaining people sitting in the back row.

A very empty room. The cloaked man gives out a small sigh as the minister is still preaching. 

Minister: ...On a final attempt, God would send his new messiah to quell this rebellion with the help of a sinner. However, Scorpio would rise up and would battle this evil force of God’s head on, and cleanse them of their one fatal sin; their sin of God... Hallowed be thy name.

Despite the 5 parishioners in the room, only the goth teen speaks up.

Goth Teen: Hallowed he truly is.

The minister continues to talk before the people slowly get up and walk out of the building. The young goth teen walks up to the minister asking a few questions while the cloaked man simply gets off the wall and walks through a nearby door. He slowly removes his cloak and hangs it on a nearby hook. Beside the hook, the reflection of the man can be seen on a mirror hanging off the wall.

It's none other than Eric Scorpio.

Looking older, a few spider wrinkles around his eyes, a scruffy face with a small welt on his lip from the altercation with Seth Omega at Pyromania. Despite all this, the same stoic look that he's sported for years still remains on his face.


Scorpio's stoic look breaks as a small smile appears as he catches his own mistakes in his inner ramblings. At that moment the  minister walks into the room, straight to the table where a few bottles of whiskey lay upon on it. He pours two drinks from the bottles, walks over to Scorpio and hands him one of the glasses.

Minister: Admiring yourself?

Scorpio's smile disappears and sees the whiskey offering. He shakes his head and walks over to a nearby chair and sits down.

Minister: Fine more for me.

The minister chugs the other glass and sits on a nearby couch.

Minister: So what's on your mind?

Scorpio: This is the last remaining diocese, am I correct?

Minister: Yeah. The others closed a few years ago. You still have some devotes here though. Always good right?

Scorpio lets out a small sigh.

Scorpio: Honestly no. I've been thinking this is it.

Minister: It?

Scorpio: I'm going to close this one too. Burn it to the ground. Just like the others.

The minister gets back up and pours himself another drink. He pours a second drink and attempts to hand it to Scorpio a second time.

Minister: Here, don't act rash, have a drink and relax.

Scorpio gives the minister an ice cold look as he smacks the glass out of the minister's hand sending it crashing to the ground, shattering the glass in thousands of pieces.

Scorpio: Don't tell me what to do. Don't EVER! Your simply enjoying all these lavish things at my expense. If I want to end it. Then I end it.

Minister: I...I'm sorry. I meant no offense.

Scorpio: You meant to save your own ass at my expense. Tell me why I shouldn't burn this place to the ground? So you can keep shouting the word of Scorpionism. MY WORDS by the way. And what do you think people are doing when they listen to your words?

The minister backs up and sits back down trying to think of another reason.

Minister: The people care. They come and they listen.

Scorpio shakes his head.

Scorpio: Those people?

Minister: Yeah.

Scorpio: They don't care. The hillbillies probably have a meth lab close by and were simply killing some time between cooking or waiting for a drug deal. Those old men probably killed their wives after they nagged them to their... well own demise and are too ashamed to go to a proper church and have come here. The business man probably lost his job and was just driving around, afraid to go home and tell his wive and kids what kind of loser he is and saw this building off the interstate. And the goth teen... well she's a goth teen for fucksakes. Who the fuck knows what is truly going through her head. Probably going to kill a cat or cut herself after she gets home.

Minister: She was interested in you. She wanted to know more about what your future holds.

Annoyed, Scorpio gets off his chair and walks to a nearby window overlooking the interstate. He stares out and watches the few vehicles going back and forth on the road, while below in the church's parking lot, an apparent drug deal is indeed taking place with the hillbilly couple. Scorpio smirks a little from the transpiring actions.

Scorpio: She doesn't get the point. None of them get the point. Scorpionism isn't about a way to follow. It was always about a way of being. It's why none of the dioceses have survived. It's why I stopped caring about being worshipped or being this figure head.

Minister: What are you saying?

Scorpio: My teaching were about raising oneself to be better. To shows fire and passion and to drive towards what you are most passionate about. If you want to teach... then teach. Do what it takes to do just that. Don't decide that the road is too hard and just give up on your dream and decide that pumping gas is the best you will achieve. Fight for it. Scorpionism is a way of being. Not someone to follow. And that's why no one gets it. Or got it.

Minister: I got it. I get it.

Scorpio shakes his head and stares back at the minister.

Scorpio: You get it?

Minister: Yes.

Scorpio: Then why are you preaching MY words? Why aren't you preaching your words? Why aren't your preaching what you want to preach about?

Minister: Because that's what I want to do.

Scorpio: And with that, you just showed me why you don't get it either.

Confused the minister gets back up and walks over to the table for another drink. This time however, Scorpio grabs his arm and throws the minister to the ground.

Scorpio: No more. I created Scorpionism, and as of this moment, I will be the one who puts an end to it.

Minister: What are you planning on doing?

Scorpio: I plan to leave this all behind. This is my past. None of you have what it takes. None of you have that fire. And to be honest, I no longer have the time or passion to do help you find it. I'm a lot older than the day I started and I no longer have the time to waste on such trivial things... like this place.

The minister goes to get back up with the help of a chair but this time Scorpio rushes over and nails the minister with a right cross sending him down hard to the ground. The minister gets on all fours only for Scorpio to drives his leg right into the minister's side sending him back on the ground shriveled in pain.

Minister: Why? I've been so loyal. I've been a good follower.

Scorpio: And that's why I'm doing this. What was that last thing you said tonight in church? “Scorpio would rise up and would battle this evil force of God’s head on, and cleanse them of their one fatal sin; their sin of God”.

Minister: Ye..Yes.

With a smile, Scorpio bends down, grabs the minister's hair and stares right into his frighten eyes.

Scorpio: Well since you are a devoted follower of MY words, then lets follow through. I'm GOD...

The room remains silent, with the minister's lips quivering in fear. Scorpio raises his voice.

Scorpio: I'm GOD right?

Minister: Of course.

Scorpio: Very well. And since I'm GOD, I created Scorpionism, I created the Libri Scorpionius, the book you so enjoy preaching from. I created all of this.

Minister: Yes, of course... but I don't follow.

Scorpio drives the minister's head back to the ground and begins walking towards the table.

Scorpio: That's where you're a wrong. You are indeed following. You are a sheep.

Scorpio grabs the bottles of liquor off the table, while removing the caps off of each bottle. He walks by the couch, dumping one of the bottles of liquor on it. Proceeds back by the table pouring some more. He then walks over towards the minister and dumps another bottle over the minister as he remains shivering in fear on his back staring into the cold eyes of Eric Scorpio.

Scorpio: You see, my little sheep. You, Scorpionism, IS my sin... all of this. And since I'm GOD, this is GOD's sin right? And since I'm Eric Scorpio, and I will rise up and cleanse GOD's one fatal sin just like you said right? It's one vicious cycle that I intend to clean up. And well, my clueless little sheep, that means... you.

The minister's eye grow big, as Scorpio reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Zippo. He lights it up creating a small flame, admiring it for a moment. Scorpio looks down and smiles at the minister, while dropping the lighter onto the minister's back. The flames quickly spread across his body as he begins running and screaming in terror and agony, spreading the flames across the room where ever he goes.

Scorpio: Good bye, my sin...

With the final words, Scorpio grabs a trench coat off the hook and proceeds to walk out of the church as the screeching comes to a halt, but the crackling sound begins to get louder and louder. He walks toward one of two remaining vehicles in the parking lot, enters and drives away. As he drives down the  interstate, the flickering light flashes off the rear view mirror, as the church has turned into a roaring fire, with a pillar of smoke now reaching high into the sky. Scorpio remains unfazed and continues driving.


Scorpio chuckles again.


Scorpio looks at the rear-view mirror and hanging off of it is a miniature hour glass. He flicks it with his finger sending it swaying back and forth.



Scorpio sets his eyes back onto the road. Watching the endless painted asphalt of the road as he heads to his destination.



Scorpio internal frustration continues to mount as he continues to drive. In the short distance, flashing lights are quickly coming into sight as a couple firetrucks drive by at high speed in the opposing lane. Scorpio looks into the rear-view mirror and see the distance pillar of smoke with the slight crackling of light from the fire he started.

Scorpio smiles.


A few days later, in complete darkness, Scorpio rests. Half asleep, his thoughts are on the road ahead. Having been away from a sanctioned match in some time, Scorpio does what he's always done before a match; visualize and plan his strategy. Going over move after move, counters after counters, and the possibly of unexpected events. This seemingly goes on for hours, but could very well have only taken a few minutes in Scorpio fatigued state, until a small creak echoes through the quiet room. Scorpio's thoughts of wrestling quickly vanish and focused solely on the quietness of the room.

Mere moments later, another creak echoes through the room.

Scorpio remains calm, his breathing remaining light as if he were still sleeping. The room remains silent for quite some time again, until pressure is felt pushing down across his chest and the feeling of something sharp pressed against his throat.

?.?.?: You're slipping.

Scorpio: How's your stomach?

The assailant reaches down with his free hand along his abdomen to find a sharp object pointed directly  at it.

Scorpio: Sorry brother, but I think you're the one slipping. The Hulk had a better chance to sneak up on me than your pathetic ass did.

The sharp object across Scorpio's neck goes away only to be replaced by the sudden grasp of two big hand grasping his throat. Scorpio is suddenly lifted out of his bed by his neck and thrown right across the dark room, landing flat on his back against the hardwood floor. Scorpio slightly groans in pain, as the room's lights get turned on. Scorpio looks up and sees his towering brother Ash Strife standing above him.

Scorpio: Didn't hurt brother.

Scorpio gives his brother a snark smile which causes his brother to kick Scorpio in the abdomen. Ash reaches down and picks his brother back up only to get a headbutt to the face for his trouble. Scorpio nails Ash in the face with a right cross, causing his head to move slightly and for blood to trickled from his lip. Ash wipes the blood from his mouth and nails Scorpio with a right cross of his own sending him back against the dresser in the room. Both brothers stares at each other, until Ash breaks the silence.

Ash: Is that any way to treat your dear old brother?

Scorpio: Half brother... and after the shit we've been through the last couple years, you're lucky I even call you that. What the hell do you want?

Ash: Come on brother, I just wanted to see you. Nothing wrong with a little family bonding.

Scorpio grasping at his sore jaw, gives Ash a cold stare.

Scorpio: You know, I see the charm of people having estranged families.

Ash gives a loud laugh, which doesn't seem to amuse the Scorpio at the very least. Scorpio pushes his way past his brother and walks into the kitchen and grabs a couple of beers. He tosses one to Ash and uses the other to cool his sore face.

Scorpio: So what do you want?

Ash takes a drink from the beer and sits down on a nearby chair.

Ash: So I've been reading some interesting things going on with you. Like your last church burnt down for starters?

Scorpio: What of it? Not like it mattered anymore.

Ash: I hear that the minister was hospitalized with severe burns over his body.

Scorpio: Ah so he lives... guess he found something in himself that wanted to keep on going.

Ash: You haven't changed.

Scorpio: So you've come all this way to tell me something I've already known about? Well thanks, the door is right there.

Ash takes another drink from his beer.

Ash: No. I want to know about this bullshit of you going back to the ring.

Scorpio finally opens up his beer and has himself a seat as well.

Scorpio: What's it to you?

Ash: Don't be like that. We're family.

Scorpio: Fuck off with that family shit. Apocalypse ring any bells to you? You've fucked me over so many goddamn times, you're lucky I even gave you the chance to speak instead of gutting you like some overgrown pig. I'm going to fight, and that's that. I don't need your fuckin' approval.

With the last sentence, Ash lets out a loud laugh while his brother simple stares at him unamused.

Ash: Oh I needed a good laugh. Anyways I thought you were done with all this, especially after Insanity's new head guy disposed of you so effortlessly.

Scorpio: I haven't forgotten. He's next on my list.

Ash pounds back the remaining beer and signals Scorpio for another, prompting him to flip him off.

Scorpio: Get it yourself.

Ash gets up and grabs himself a beer out of the refrigerator and tosses Scorpio another as well. Ash open his beer takes a drink and walks over to his brother.

Ash: So, am I on this list?

Scorpio: I've already dealt with you. Besides, you and I will keep doing this dance, so your not even my concern.

Ash: So who's on this list? You know you're getting old big bro.

Scorpio: I'm well aware of that. The list is very small. That chief and Omega.

Ash sits back down and gives his brother a quizzical look.

Ash: I've been meaning to ask you. What's with Omega? He ain't anything special. Hell, you even fired him when you were in charged.

Scorpio: There's something about him.

Ash: Yeah, a stench of failure. Bro, from what I hear, the guy can't even get a contract. Why even bother. I wouldn't.

Scorpio: I know you wouldn't, you can't look pass your own nose. No he's got something, he's got the ability to be better than he is. He just needs help getting it out.

Ash: Help?

Scorpio: Well, my kind of help.

With that statement said, the wall animosity between the two brothers slowly begin to break down as both brothers share a hearty chuckle.

Ash: It's going to be painful...

Scorpio: Yeah... it is.

Ash: Still though, you got to start thinking about yourself. You've done this charity case thing before when you were mentoring that tag team at that other place. That didn't bode well for you either. And this church thing as well.

Scorpio: Yeah, I know. I don't have much time left, and I think this guy has something. He's got a lot of traits I can respect, he just needs a push.

His brother sighs.

Scorpio: Don't worry. It's one and only chance. He either becomes the man I believe he could be... or...

Ash: Or... we don't see him again?

Scorpio smiles.

Scorpio: Not quite so literal, but after the ppv, he won't be seen as the same man, no matter which way that match turns out.

Ash: He better win.

Scorpio: Yeah... he definitely doesn't want to lose this one for a couple reasons.

Ash: Which are?

Scorpio: Watch, the match and find out. I'm keeping this one close to the chest.

Ash: Fair enough.

Both brothers finish off their respecting beers. Scorpio gets up and makes the beer run this turn. Scorpio tosses his brother a fresh beer, which Ash quickly catches and opens. Scorpio opens his beer and takes a drink himself.

Scorpio: So brother. Instead of me continuing to narcissisticly ramble on about my shit, what's going on with you?

Ash: About time, well...

The two brothers continue to socialize as the bounds of animosity deteriorate more and more as the day goes by.


After a brief moment of static, the image turns completely dark. No sounds, no faint images, just pure blackness. A few seconds pass when the sound of tapping fingers breaks the silence.


With that said, the sounds of snapping fingers is heard, and instantly after, a spotlight shines down breaking the darkness and illuminating a large throne like chair made of human skulls and bones. Sitting in this throne, is man wearing a large black and blue leather trench coat, tapping his fingers on the arm rest of the throne. As the man looks up at the camera with his icy cold eyes and his maniacal smile, we can clearly see that it is Eric Scorpio. Which most of you have already figured out by this point.



Without breaking his stare at the camera, still sitting in his throne, Scorpio points up in the air towards the spotlight.


Scorpio reaches in his coat and pulls out a large rolled up brown envelop and rests it on top of the human skull of his left armrest.



Scorpio gets off the bone throne and offers the envelop towards the camera.



Scorpio smiles maniacally, and places the envelop back inside of his trench coat.


Scorpio reaches into his trench coat and pulls out a set of matches. He shows it to the camera and lights the entire pack showing the small dancing flame at the top.


Scorpio flicks the lit pack of matches behind him onto the bone throne, causing to burst into a large smoldering fire partially blinding the camera with it's bright light.


Despite the bright blinding light blinding the camera, the faint image of Scorpio's face is barely visible as he begins to laugh maniacally before sudden the image fades to a single dot in the middle of the screen and disappears...

Normally when I interact with someone here in LPW I either have one of two clear thoughts. The first is “He’s cool.” Normally reserved for the Australis guys, the other option is usually to the effect of I don’t want to talk to you so fuck off. Xander Kross doesn’t fit into either category and I’m completely intrigued by this. He earned his shot, which is what I wanted my challengers to do each and every time. Yet he didn’t boast like most of the guys. He didn’t even act as if the match was his already, everyone here does that. LPW is ego central yet there is something about this kid, this essential rookie that doesn’t define any rule of behavior.

I kinda like that.



The Big Come Up.


Styxx walks into the American Airlines Arena early in the morning, just as the production trucks are coming in. The regular Pyro crew run over to the trucks in preparation to unload into the arena. Acknowledging them with a nod the WSHC slips in through the opening door to avoid security and try and see if any of the other competitors booked have already made it before him. Not being able t point out anyone of note he heads towards the gym and finds Cripsy on the bike machine trying to wear himself out.


Styxx: Save some for the match, I know how important these kinds of things are.


Cripsy: But I need to be in the best shape possible for the match. Preparation is the key here.


Styxx laughs as he gets on the bike next to him and starts peddling at a minimal rate in comparison to the friend beside him.


Styxx: Shane, preparation is what you do before the time comes before the event. It’s today, if you do exactly the same routine during the day beforehand where will you find the energy when the time comes to fight?


Cripsy stops peddling and slumps down over the handlebars. Breathing heavily he turns his head to face his mentor.


Cripsy: I can’t allow any room to fuck this up. If I lose this match what chance do I have of being on Altered Reality? No one is going to pick me for any spots if I’m a loser.


Styxx: You’re not a loser. Think about this for a second, you have gone from being a kid who nearly killed himself over something that wasn’t your fault you were that depressed to becoming someone who not only earned a LPW contract and became the wrestler you dreamed about being when you were a kid when WE were kids, to now facing off in the biggest lead up event to the biggest show in history and you could walk out of here as the Pure Champion. How is that a loser? Shit, you should be proud of yourself. I know I am.


Cripsy stops and lifts himself up into a sitting position before nodding and saying a thanks, he slowly gets off the bike and grabs his bag which had been tucked away behind the bike.


Cripsy: So what do I need to do then?


Styxx responds while noticing that Cripsy’s bag is a lot emptier than usual.


Styxx: Same thing as you do every match, it’s gotten you to this point hasn’t it?....Um, why is your bag…spacier than usual?


Cripsy: Well, figured I needed room to store the belt in when we travel.


Styxx(laughing): Ha! Good work. I’ll see you later on champ.

Cripsy turns and leaves the room as Styxx reclines back in the bike seat while still pedaling.

Just because you have earned the opportunity doesn’t mean you will succeed. This isn’t Cripsy’s first shot at the pure championship, he could have been the first champ but the night wasn’t his. Hopefully he learnt a lot from that. A title match is more difficult because there are only two ways to win it and an infinite number of ways to lose when it isn’t yours. Same thing goes for Xander. You earned the match, but not the title. Something tells me you know this.

Now, I could play some really lazy math and say that the UGK beat you down; Cripsy wiped them out on the last Pyro so you shouldn’t be a threat. But it doesn’t work like that because it’s one on one. No one to jump us from behind like what happened with Parkes and Dynamo a couple of shows ago.


Are you prepared Xander? I’m prepared to defend this belt as hard as I can, for as long as I can to restore the legitimacy back to it. It doesn’t happen overnight, hell it doesn’t happen in a short timeframe. It takes months to fix what was almost destroyed forever.
Be prepared Xander, because if your not you won’t win the Western States Heritage Title.



The Big Let Down.


Sometime later Styxx leaves the gym area and notices more and more people are arriving by the moment. Some small media groups have arrived to cover the event, each of them trying to get words from some of the other wrestlers as they appear. Out of the corner of his eye he see’s Jericho – Mooroopna’s driver - trying to sneak by without being spotted. Styxx walks over towards him and Jericho notices, breaking into a half sprint just a second too late as his boss grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him into a hidden corridor before slamming him up against a wall.

Styxx: I’m really beginning to lose my patience with you.


Jericho: You can’t do this; we are in a public setting.


Styxx: Yeah, and you can’t seem to do your job properly either now can you?


Jericho sighs and drops his head into his chest, Styxx raising his forearm to make sure Jericho’s eyes can’t leave his.


Styxx: You have spent nearly an entire year with Mooroopna, he should be destroying guys in twenty seconds by now from your word. Bt what’s happened? The more you’ve taught him about the culture the more he has lost his instinct, the killer attitude I saw when I found him fighting for money in shitty little halls.


Jericho: I can explain, really I..


Styxx now presses his forearm hard into Jericho’s throat. Before going almost forehead to forehead with the driver-come-handler, who tries to grab at Styxx’s arm in an attempt to break free.


Styxx: No more excuses, you were supposed to refine his ability not kill it, the next time Mooroopna drops the ball again it’ll be curtains for at least one of you…and you don’t fight.


Styxx lets go and storms away from Jericho quietly hoping in his mind to have to never see the little man ever again.

Now, you’re in the biggest match of your life, the bright lights, people paying money to watch you in the crowd and now people paying money to watch you on TV. You have to succeed don’t you? You don’t want to let the fans down do you? You don’t to let your family down do you? Do you want to let yourself down?

Only one of those three should matter. Because that’s the one that will affect you in the long run, if you lose – and I intend to cause such a result, do not bury your head in your hands and give up. Do you know how many people have failed at their first attempt at a championship? I lost my first two attempts at a world title before I made the top of the mountain. I didn’t give up, I didn’t surrender and I didn’t feel guilty. I either went even harder with the same tactic because I saw the value in it…or I changed things up.

Xander, I expect you not to give due to failure. In fact if you’re the type of guy most people with a rational brain think you are you will use it to make you a stronger competitor than before you had the match.
Don’t give in because of the let down.

What’s Next?


Styxx straps up the laces of his boots whilst glancing upward occasionally, waiting for someone arrive he momentarily breathes a sigh of annoyance just as the door opens and he looks to see Zenith walking into the room.

Zenith: You wanted to see me?

Styxx: Well I did, but you are so late I have to keep it short.

Zenith: What’s up?

Styxx: Well you, you’ve gone from being the Hardcore Champion to getting annihilated for it, and since then you haven’t won a match and have been relegated to the preshow against some unknown squib.

Zenith looks down and slightly away from Styxx as he tries to find an excuse but is quickly cut off.

Styxx: Look, Cameron. Everyone goes through shit. But the difference between everyone else and you at the moment is that they can either ignore it or use it to their advantage. You on the other hand let it drag you down. You used to be better than what you’re producing. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but your career is up to you. Where we go with it is not up to me.

Zenith simply nods and leaves the room, Styxx goes back to his laces before stopping to glance back at the door and then to the WSHC belt sitting on the chair next to him.


Regardless of what happens tonight the big picture is Altered Reality. I know what I’m doing because of the main level elimination match. For the first time in years the Western States Champion doesn’t go into a collective pissing contest against the US Champion. So my place is booked, on one hand I get to relax, I don’t need to fight for my future. On the other hand, you do.
Winning the title guarantees a spot on the biggest show LPW has to offer. Conversely it destroys what I set out to do. When I won this belt I realized this had to mean more than another notch on my belt, it meant I had the opportunity to save the value, the history and legacy of the Western States Championship. So many people wanted to change its name; so many people couldn’t find the will to defend it. It got passed around more than a streetwalker and now for the past 6 months has been around my waist. But instead of the defending the title on damn near every show like I wanted to to bring the respect back, I’m thrown into meaningless tag team matches with people I don’t give a fuck about. Oh yeah I defended it once, and the guy facing me got screwed out of a fair result. So I haven’t even come close to achieving what I wanted.

I dare say, neither have you.

The light blinded him, and seemed even more intense due to the darkness that surrounded him and the light was directly above his head and shone straight into his eyes. He looked down at his hands; they were restrained against the chair he sat on. He then stared down at his feet and saw they had taken the same fate as his hands. He shook his head back and forth, the long strands of material that hung off his mask batted his face and whipped in random directions. His eyes had still not adjusted to the abyss that surrounded him, yet he continued to look into the darkness, as if expecting something to reveal itself.

He shook his shackles loudly, as if trying to appeal to a mysterious entity to release him. When he realised nobody had come, he repeated it, this time adding screams so intense his head began to ache. Heavy breathing came next, followed by the raking of his dirty finger nails against the arm rest, which soon turned into a rhythmic tapping. The restlessness increased in him, screaming, tapping, shaking of shackles, foot stamping, sobbing, mindless jabbering….silence.

As soon as the outburst stopped, a light flickered opposite him, revealing someone sat in a chair, but not shackled. The man had short, sharp spikes for hair, and dressed casually, his expression was one of uncaringness and contentment with himself. The man slammed his palms against the arm rest and stood up, hands in the pockets either side of his trousers and he whistled us he walked slowly over to his hostage. The man’s hands wandered over his hostage’s mask and gradually down his face. He stroked the beard of his hostage, mockingly and then gave a skin-touch slap to the man shackled to the chair.

“How are you feeling?” The man shrugged.

His hostage remained silent.

“Yes, I know, you don’t like it.  Neither do I, but this is necessary,” the man said sadly.

The hostage still stared into the eyes of the man, who merely broke his gaze and walked behind the hostage and started to massage the head of his hostage.

“Better? Are you calming down? I’ve been to Thailand, so I know a thing about massages.”

“Artemis. Why am I in shackles?” The hostage finally spoke.

“Well, CraZe….it’s one of my methods.”

“.......”

“I should explain. You want to remember your past, right?”

“More than anything.”

“So, I wanted to sit you down and have a conversation, but that was pretty hard, as you always walked off. Then I decided to go for the extreme…I knocked you unconscious, tied you up and your little outburst cleared your head of any anger you’ve had clouding your mind,” Pembroke explained.

“Was that necessary?”

“Hey, it’s my methods,” Pembroke shrugged.

“Can I go yet, or at least talk about this in a place that doesn’t look like a sex dungeon?” CraZe moaned.

“Speaking from experience?”

“A guy in a mask roaming the streets is bound to end up in one sooner or later,” CraZe said nonchalantly.

“Even that is too weird for me to discuss, but anyway, I didn’t teach you how to communicate again just so you can avoid discussion,” Pembroke smiled.

“Deal with it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, you’re kind of trapped here until we talk,” Pembroke chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s always good being in control over you, it’s been a while.”

Pembroke walked back to his original chair, sat down and sighed, following by a slightly annoying whistle.

“So…tell me about Harry Vetch,” Pembroke said.

CraZe tensed up at the mention of the name and his eyes increased in size slightly and his fingers fidgeted. Pembroke obviously noticed this, but showed no reaction, he was expecting this to happen of course, bringing up memories that someone locks away will normally cause an odd reaction.

“Vetch was an old man wasn’t he? Sources say he was sixty-eight, great age for someone homeless,” Pembroke added.

CraZe still didn’t answer. His eyes began to glaze over slightly. It seemed his brain remembered everything, but did not want to let loose anything of value.

“And of course, when I raided one of your many safe houses in the streets, I came across clothing. It had the blood from Harry Vetch on it.”

This seemed to struck a nerve with CraZe, as the Loopy Luchadore’s lost the day dreaming look and turned into one of hate, directed at Pembroke.

“I didn’t kill him,” CraZe muttered.

“What was that?” Pembroke asked patronisingly.

“I DIDN’T KILL HIM!”

“Okay,” Pembroke replied simply.

“That’s not what I do, I don’t kill people, I try…I try to save them,” CraZe said as tears slowly came to his eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Pembroke said, “Please, tell me about your relationship with Harry Vetch.”

“Okay, here goes…..”

I first met Harry Vetch…in December 2009 in Bristol. They said it was the coldest December in over one hundred years, or so they said.  Vetch didn’t care; he seemed impervious to the cold and didn’t care much for summer either. He pretty much lived with an uncaring attitude, I mean, nobody cared about him and vice versa, if somebody told him a family member had died, he didn’t care, they had abandoned him. He would lose a dog, and he’d find another mutt just one day later.

I was in Bristol after causing a disturbance in Gloucester, stopping a dog walker from being attacked at night, and then saved someone in the same area from being hit by a car followed by saving a child from pond. Media began to grow in the area, looking for the so called “superhero” to show up, so I fled many a mile to Bristol. Settled down in the city centre, practically buried myself in alley ways under rubbish bags and all kinds of crap.

I was struggling to keep warm, dressed in a mask and ripped trousers; it wasn’t exactly the greatest way of protecting yourself against the British cold. So, whilst nearly shivering to death, I met Harry Vetch….

“What the fuck are you?” The old man questioned as he kicked the thing before him, “You’re a bloody clubber, aren’t you? Get wasted and then dress up for the laughs only to awake in a hospital with liver poisoning.

The thing in front of him, half buried in black rubbish bags began to twitch every few seconds as the old man grew impatient as the time went on and he hadn’t received a response.

“Oi, you little shit, this is my place, fuck off,” the old man continued.

Still, no response came from the ever twitching thing.

“Bugger,” the old man said as he kicked the thing again.

The old man bent down and wrapped his hand around the ankle of the thing and began top drag it across the street floor, not caring if it’s ankle met any broken glass or any other nasty things. The thing’s head became visible: a green and black mask with long black strands of material hanging from the back. The old man seemed taken aback at the creature before him, curiosity had struck him slightly, but he went back to his accusing ways.

“You are a party goer aren’t you? Must have been dress up night, you don’t look like those chino wankers or those bastards with their greasy comb overs,” The old man barked.

The thing before him slowly began to stir and dropped itself up on it’s elbows while it’s hands clawed at it’s mask. It seemed quite calm, casual in fact, yet it could not stop the twitch and shivers that seemed to affect the rest of it’s body.

“I’ll give you five seconds before I beat the crap out of you, son, just you wai-“ the old man was cut off as the back of the thing’s hand met the face of the old man.

The creature had gotten to it’s feet so quickly it had caught the old man unexpectedly with a backfist. The thing fell into a crouch and slowly moved itself over to the man. The thing growled cautiously, but it soon fell to a whimper as it tried to awake the old man. It took a few light nudges followed by a serious kick to awaken the man. In an instant, the old man backed away from the creature until he hit the wall behind him.

“What the fuck are you?” The homeless man said for a second time.

The thing’s only response was a growl, before it turned and latched onto a nearby wall and began to climb. But it’s escape was cut off by the old man pulling the leg of the thing until it fell off the wall and the homeless man spun him around.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the old man grunted as he nailed the thing in the stomach and followed it up by throwing the creature into the ground.

The homeless man stared down at the mysterious creature and swiftly stomped on the ribs of the thing. The creature tried to crawl away from the assault, but more kicks rained down on the masked thing. The creature turned over and backed away, before oddly pressing his hands together in a pray or a peace symbol. The man’s stare softened in response.

“You’re scared,” the old man said softly, “You’re just like everyone else in this world,”

The old man grabbed the creature’s arm and pulled him up and embraced him awkwardly.

“You’re batshit insane, but screw it, you’ll be entertaining,”  The old man said.

The creature tried to pull away but the old man still had it in his grip.

“What I’m trying to say is, stay here for the night, keep warm, and then fuck off the following morning, okay?”

The creature’s response seemed to be one of acceptance.


“So, how long did you stay with him,” Pembroke asked.

“One night turned into three months,”  CraZe said.

“So what happened in the end?” Pembroke questioned.

“I don’t want to go into it,” CraZe said.

“Why?” Pembroke said.

“I left him,”  CraZe said.

“When?”

“As he was dying.”

“You left? But why?”

“You tracked me down.”

[/color]

We fade in with The Mighty Dyno Might walking down the backstage corridor of a recent LPW house show wearing only his green pants and his helmet when all of a sudden, a mask appears right in front of him on the floor. Interested in this mask, The Mighty Dyno Might stops and admires it taking great care when he bends over to pick up the mask.[/i]

Might: Whoa...a mask.

The mask is bright red with eyes that look like wings of a dragon, the mask's mouth piece is completely concealed which is why The Mighty Dyno Might is taking interest in the mask.

Might: Whoa...

Voice: Dyno!

The Mighty Dyno Might aimlessly drops the mask back on the door and turns his head to see his new assistant Doctor Jones come running towards him. Doctor Jones is quite literally on his knees panting like a dog.

Dr Jones: Dyno...cake...don't eat.

Might: Dude what are you on about?

Dr Jones: I just had cake.

Might: DUDE...

Dr Jones: I know...my bad.

Might: Was it a fairy cake?

Dr Jones: What?

Might: Dude The Mighty Dyno Might likes fairy cakes.

Dr Jones: Oh dear.

A long silence ensues...

Might: So what happens now?

Dr Jones: We get out of here. That cake is a lie.

Might: Dude it's a cake!

I am going to hurt your dick.

Might: Excuse me?

You heard me.

Might: Did you just say something Doctor?

Dr Jones: No.

Both Doctor Jones and The Mighty Dyno Might look at each other in confusion. They both then survey their surroundings trying to find the source of the voice but to no avail when all of a sudden a kitten comes walking up towards the Mask that The Mighty Dyno Might found.

Might: Aw...look a kitten.

Suddenly the kitten wasn't being cute after all and decided to attack the mask. Naughty kitten.

Might: Dude...the mask.

Without paying any attention, Doctor Jones took a look at The Mighty Dyno Might then at the kitten.

Dr Jones: Oh yeah...hang on.

Without hesitation, Doctor Jones goes towards the kitten and tries to pin it towards the ground. The Mighty Dyno Might however just stands there and watches on with glee. Hilarity ensues.

Dr Jones: Uh...a little less help here.

Might: A little more action you mean?

As The Mighty Dyno Might goes to help out Doctor Jones fighting the evil kitten, the scene ends abruptly to darkness.

[/i]

~ ~ ~ ~

The scene begins with a row of LPW superstars sitting down on plastic seats waiting for their names to be called up for a Q and A and autograph session for a Make A Wish Foundation charity event in Los Angeles. In the middle, we focus on a man wearing a black suit and trousers with his balck shades on as if to conceal his true face. On the floor was the mask shown from the lost promo tapes Of The Mighty Dyno Might. The shaded man taps his feet, waiting patiently for something interesting to happen.

Sitting from left to right, Mr Golden, Azreal, Dick Dynamo and Lacey Valentine look on nervously towards this mysterious guy not knowing who or what his personality really is. Dick Dynamo who is sitting immediately to his right shuffles a bit then mumbles something under his breath.

“Speak up, you know I cannot hear you.”

“I didn't say a word.” snapped Dynamo who was nearly on the verge of punching this guy in the face.

The mysterious man laid back and crossed his arms impatiently waiting for his name to be called out. Dick Dynamo being his normal self turned around to a road agent who sat right next to him and seemed to be less interested to even be in the same room as all of these superstars at this moment in time.

“Who is this fucking goon?” asked Dynamo.

The road agent who seemed to be reading the latest edition of the LA times turned to face Dick Dynamo and grunted then carried on reading. While this is happening, Lacey who is sitting to the left of this mysterious man is eating cake and offers him a piece.

“What is this?”

“A cake, would you like some?” replied Lacey which is then followed up by...

“You fucking whore, take the cake!”

The mysterious man heard this random voice from Lacey and was slightly taken back from it.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn't say anything.”

Lacey looked all innocent when she replied back to the mysterious gentlemen sitting right next to her.

“I heard you bitch.”

The mysterious man kept his arms crossed, frustrated by the waiting time that he had to endure when all of the sudden...

“Number 129...”

The PA system was loud, loud enough so that the entire room can hear it. All of the superstars who were literally bored at this point rushed for their tickets hoping that they would be next. Without any expression on his face, the mysterious man picked up the mask right from his feet and placed it over his head and fastening it up with a small elastic band so that it felt comfortable over his head. Everyone in the room including the bored looking road agent looks on in shock, realising who this mysterious man really was.

“Dudes, my Mighty Minions are waiting for me.”

“Are you fucking serious?” whispered Dick Dynamo as he watches The Mighty Dyno Might get up from his chair and dashes straight past Dick Dynamo. In the distance, Mr Golden, the captain of Pyromania's Lower Card team is grinning to himself knowing all too well what is about to unfold during the build up to Altered Reality and most importantly Blistering Inferno.

“This has got to be some fucking sick joke, somebody get my fucking agent and quickly.” muttered Dynamo as we end the scene with everyone still looking on completely shocked at what has just transpired.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With the official entrance theme of The Mighty Dyno Might already playing, we see The Mighty Dyno Might energetically high fives all of the kids by the barriers then makes his way towards the desk where he is waiting for the first child to request a signature from The Mighty One himself.

The theme then ends and a Dyno Might chant breaks out from every single kid inside the Make A Wish foundation headquarters in Los Angeles. Before The Mighty Dyno Might can read out his mighty statement given to him by a road agent, P.A. Speaker makes an unexpected announcement saying that “there will be no Questions and Answers section, only this dude's ink on your programs or piece of paper or something like that so yeah. This stuff is awesome kids.”

Secretly inside, this made The Mighty Dyno Might upset but he had to remain in character throughout the entire autograph session. While The mighty Dyno Might is happily enough, we hear a voice over from the Mighty One himself...

“I must admit, I was generally disappointed by this event. All of my fans...

No...

Mighty Minions were expecting me to make a speech.”

The Mighty Dyno Might continued to sign papers upon papers for the kids that were inpatiently waiting for their chance to get their chance for a photo shoot with their favourite superstar but something seemed to be on his mind, something far more important.

“Lacey I don't know if your reading this but you caused a storm for all the right reasons baby.

Your fighting against men, something that I haven't seen in years but there's something on my mind Lacey and I don't want this to affect our match before Blistering Inferno gets underway.

Something I need to sort out but I have to do it under my terms.

You see Lacey, The Mighty Dyno Might has to win in order to go into Altered Reality 6 fresh.

You may have your muffins Lacey but I have my Mighty Minions.

This might or might not be the last you ever heard of The Mighty Dyno Might.

If I lose then your coming with me bitch."

My own hell


Seth sits alone in a black chair, surrounded by the darkness that is Philadelphia Crematorium Inc.  He was sent here to carry out the last wish of his dead mother, and it was here where her ashes were kept.  Due to the laws in place, once Rebecca had passed her ashes had to be kept by the Crematorium until a family member came to pick them up, and since Omega was the last one in her family he was automatically the only one who could pick up the ashes.  It was a very somber day, and one that Seth had feared since he had learned of his mother's fate.

The formerly cold winter days of Philadelphia were replaced by the 80 degree summer weather of the city.  But compared to the summers that Omega had to put up with and Tennessee and Florida, this 80 degrees was a blessing in disguise.  As he sat in silence, the only thing that could be heard was the constant ticking of a big wooden clock that sat out in the lobby of the Crematorium.  Services weren't scheduled for the rest of the day, which left Seth alone with nothing but time inside the old historical building.  Suddenly, his silence focus was broken by the sound of the door opening and a short, stubby, middle aged man stepping out.

Cremator: Are you Mr. Corleone?

Omega stood up and nodded looking at the significantly shorter gentleman in front of him.

Cremator: The name is Meredith, Nick Meredith.  I was the one who handled your mother's cremation.  I have been expecting you for a while now, please come on back.

The two walked through the door into the service room where an urn sat.  This urn was the last remains of Rebecca Corleone, the once Puerto Rican beauty queen.  Just thinking about her being in a can was enough to make Seth's stomach turn flips.  It had been some odd number of years since she had passed, but knowing how it happened was enough to turn Omega's emotions upside down, especially with it happening at such a pivotal time in his career.  Alas, a promise was a promise...and a man was only as good as his promise.

Nick: I knew your mother well, she was such a beautiful lady...it was such a shame what happened to her at the end.

Omega: She did what she could with what little she had, it's too bad she got dealt a shitty hand.

Nick: Indeed...God works in mysterious ways.

Seth shot over a glance at the short, stubby man.  Almost instantly he looked at the ground, wanting not to poke a very angry bear.  Omega picked up the urn, and looked down at it somberly.  The pain he felt was almost surreal, and it had finally peaked through and replaced the numbness that he normally felt.  The sooner this was over, the better it was for him...he couldn't afford to be off his game anymore.  Feeling the emotion in the room, Mr. Meredith stepped forward and patted Seth on the shoulder.

Nick: May the Lord be your Shepard Seth...may he guide you thro-

At that moment Omega spun around and picked the short man up by his throat, as he pushed him up against the wall and shot a cold stare into his eyes.  Nick kicked his stubby legs as fast as he could, still not touching the ground in doing so.

Nick: WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?

Omega: Fuck your God, and fuck what he's done to me.

As Seth released his grip, the cremator fell in a heap to the floor.  Slowly, Omega headed for the door and put his hands on it, but before he could push it open he heard Nick mutter one last sentence.

Nick: May God help you find peace and may God protect you in your fight.

Seth smirked slightly shaking his head.

Omega: God ain't got a dog in this fight Meredith, and there's nobody who can protect me but myself.

With that Seth disappears out the door leaving the cremator still laying on the floor.

Ω

Somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains, a couple of days later.

The sound of running water fills the air as birds chip overhead.  A small overcast makes for a darkened sky as the sound of twigs crunching beneath Omega's feet can be heard in the distance.  Suddenly a machete cuts through some tall grass and out comes Seth, wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt.  Even with the overcast the sight of sweat can be seen from a mile away, it had to be at least 85 degrees in the summer heat.  As Omega keeps walking the brush begins to get thicker and thicker, going deep into the woods to where most people wouldn't go, most people would fear it but not him.  Fear was an emotion that didn't apply to him, as he had felt almost superhuman lately.  Things had began to change, his visions were becoming blurred and the line between reality and fiction had began to blur.

Part of him felt this wasn't really real anymore.  Everything around him was just numbness.  Nothing really truly made sense, and if did it didn't make much sense.  Was everything exactly as it seemed?  Or was everything an illusion crafted by his mind?  Either way, Seth continued on making sure to carry out his final promise to his mother.  It was the last thing he had to do before he stepped into the ring with his destiny, Eric Scorpio.  Nothing else mattered at this point, nor did he care past Scorpio.  He was so willing to fight for Pyromania before cYnical went behind his back and added Eric to the team, now he was debating if he even cared enough to show up to Altered Reality 6.

It wasn't suppose to be this way, he was suppose to be going into the Deathcube with a firm clutch on the title.  Something Omega had tasted and was oh so close to having, but managed to come up oh so short in the long run.  Since then everything seemed to spiral out of control...almost as if he had lost his edge that made him so deadly to begin with.  Had he lost the mad dog mentality where he would destroy anything in his way?  To the untrained eye it may have seemed as such...to Seth he wasn't sure of anything anymore, but he wanted to take that next step and take what was rightfully his.  At this point he didn't care which title he took, but either the International Heavyweight Championship or the World Heavyweight Championship would be his by the end of the year, that much he could swear.

Seth stopped in his footsteps as he stood upon a giant jaded rock.  He looked down and saw the pristine  crystal clear water below him, water so clear you could see the catfish swimming down at the bottom.  This was where she wanted to be, a place so pure it could do nothing but wash away the sins of a life past.  Some people called this place God's place, but Omega didn't believe so because it wasn't tarnished and destroyed like the rest of the places this “God” had seen.  It was time to let go of his last regret, time to wash away everything he had feared, it wasn't someone or something he feared...it was being alone in the world that he feared.  Even though Seth had spent years away from his mother, his hopes had always been there that she was watching over him somehow, someway.  There was the hope that someone still had his back, especially in a world that had not had his back at all.

Omega pulled an urn out of his backpack, one of the few things he had brought with him on this journey.  The urn that would put an end to all this pain, or so he had hoped.  Now he wanted to feel numbness, that was the way he would beat Eric Scorpio.  To defeat the man that is hallowed one must become hallowed himself, ripped apart from all emotions, torn from the rhine that was his soul.  If he did that then he would once again become the unstoppable man he once was, and he could destroy everyone...or anything in his path.

Seth unscrewed the lid to the urn, and tilted it at a 45 degree angle so the current could slowly take the ashes down over the waterfall.  Maybe from there the ashes would grow into something bigger, maybe they would provide nutrients for some plants to grow, or maybe they would just sink to the bottom and Rebecca would finally be at rest.  That much he didn't know, and at this point he didn't care anymore.  Finally as all the ashes had been poured from the stainless steel urn he screwed the lid back on and stuck in back into his backpack.  From there he pulled out a little ziploc bag and a mason jar before sitting down on the jagged edge of the rock.

Omega unscrewed the lid to his mason jar and took a drink of the clear liquid that was inside.  One could only assume that he was drinking Tennessee White Whiskey, something that was common in these mountains.  It was also something that was extremely potent and could fuel cars, but it helped in making him numb again and that was all he really cared about at this point.  He took a couple more sips before pulling a joint out of his sandwich bag.  Seth lit the tip and inhaled deeply as he just took in the sights and sounds of the mountains.  For once, he was feeling peaceful...his mind finally at rest from all the racing it had been doing previously.  This was one of the few times he could afford being at peace, for after this he was walking into a war zone.  Only one man was going to survive...the other might damn near be dead, but that was the price both of these men were willing to pay for vengeance.

Seth's eyes began to turn bloodshot as he looked up at the sky.  He took another drag off his joint and started talking out loud, to someone who wasn't there.

Omega: I can see why you'd want to be out here...it's truly more beautiful than where we came from huh momma?

Silence filled the air, with exception of the creek splashing against the rocks.

Omega: Good answer...I guess there really is nothing else to say at this moment is there?  You got your peaceful ending, and now you can finally rest in peace.

Suddenly a familiar voice comes from behind Seth, one that was rather unexpected.

?: Why do you talk to her if you know she cannot answer?

Omega: Why do you ask questions you already know the answer too Andrew?

Out of the darkness of the woods steps the man they call Drew Michaels, dressed in very casual attire even though it didn't match the expression on his face.

Drew: This is how you prepare for the biggest match of your career?  I know you miss your mother, but you have got more pressing issues on your plate at the moment.

Omega: I'm still trying to figure out how you found me in the middle of nowhere.

Drew: Let me just say my “Seth's about to do something stupid” sense was tingling.

Omega: I have no clue what you're talking about old friend.

Drew: Really?  So you know nothing about a cremator that was assaulted in Philadelphia a couple days ago?

Omega: I figured that would have stayed on the downlow...

Drew: Do not worry, names weren't mentioned...that's besides the point.  I want answer from you Seth, and I want them right now.

Omega: What in the world could the almighty Drew Michaels want to know?  You already know most of the stuff you need too, so why this unexpected visit?

Drew: Obviously there is something very different about you lately...your rage...your anger...your lack of control.  That's not you.

Omega: Are you kidding me right now?  I've always been an angry man, taking out my aggressions on my opponents.  You of all people should know that considering you were face to face with me in the ring Drew.

Drew: You have always had control over your emotions too, you have never been the type to lose that control over your anger until now.  And anybody who knows you can see it, especially someone who knows you so well.

Omega: Things change... people change...sometimes things change so people can get the edge, other times they change so they don't lose their edge.  Figuring out the balance isn't my job, my job is just to go and attack whenever I see the chance.

Drew: Right, and I guess that would include going out to the ring with a concussion and wrestling as good if not better than you normally do?  You have done some pretty remarkable things in a short time, but I have to admit that wrestling that good with a concussion might be the most amazing thing you have done.  That drive, that hunger, that aggression...that is something that you have not had in a long time and now suddenly it is back.  Things like that just do not disappear and come back without a good reason.

Omega: Maybe the reason is, I'm fueled by the aggression to kill Scorpio for the forty hells he has put me through time and time again.  Maybe I want to end him for trying to destroy me shortly before my title match while he sent Morpheus away for weeks at a time, then added Rabbi at the last minute.  Maybe I want to taste his blood because of the dirty handed tactics he used to destroy what was suppose to be the greatest moment of my career.  Did you ever think about that?
Drew stands in silence.

Omega: Did you ever think that maybe I wanted my last hoorah before I rode off into the sunset?  A career that has been filled with broken bones and broken tables, it just would have been nice if for once I got admired as being “the guy” and not “that crazy sonovabitch”.  It would have been nice to get my moment in the sun after spending years below the surface, it was my time to break that glass ceiling and Eric took that from me.  And it broke me to the point of not caring about what the fuck happens next.  This is the end of Eric Scorpio and Seth Omega, one of us will be walking out of that ring alive and the other will wish he was dead.  There is no other alternative, I won't let there be any other alternative.

Drew: You would be willing to throw away a shot at Altered Reality just for a brief chance at revenge?  That is borderline insanity...you know damn well Altered Reality is the biggest show of the year, having you around for it would do nothing but good things for your career.

Seth stands up off the rock and tosses what little bit was left on his joint into the creek before walking up and looking Drew directly in the eyes.

Omega: For revenge, I would do anything...this is personal, fuck Altered Reality, fuck Pyromania, fuck Insanity, this is just Scorpio and Omega now.  Hell, I don't even think there is a need for a referee anymore...we both know it's going to get ugly, it's done nothing but gotten uglier since the match was announced.  Now it's time to dance with the devil, and I promise you it'll be well worth the watch.

Seth starts to walk away before Drew says something that stops him dead in his tracks.

Drew: I think you should get that concussion checked out Seth, I do not think you are thinking straight at all right now.  As a family member, I am asking you not to go in that ring without getting checked out.  You can not afford being hit directly in the skull when you're concussed, it could send you into a full blown coma.  At least think about it...

Omega: As much as I would love to take your advice, I have a meeting to go too.

Drew: With who?

Omega: That's for me to know, and for you to sit here and ponder.

With that Seth walks away leaving Drew standing in the woods on the side of a mountain.

Ω

Eric...can you hear me?

I wanted to tell you something, something you probably wanted to hear for a long time now.  You were right, I had gotten soft.  I had not been going as hard as I possibly can in the ring, and for that I took a string of losses.  But now, it's different Eric...this isn't just a wrestling match, this is about much much more.  This is revenge, this is agony, this is the months of pain and torture that you put me through.  This is retribution for all of our history...and no, I'm not just talking about LPW history.  This has been brewing for a while, I've waited and waited and waited for you to come out of your shadows to step up to me, and I commend you for finally doing such.  Now you must pay for what you have done to me.
How do you make a hallowed man bleed?  Is it even possible?  I intend to find out Eric...I intend to make you stain the canvas with your plasma.  I intend to make you feel things you have never felt before.  If you thought your match vs Ash was bad, if you thought he took you to your absolute limit, then you haven't seen anything yet.  Three years Eric...three long god damn years...you never thought I'd climb up to your level, you never thought I'd rip and tear at you from the bottom rungs, and you damn sure wanted to make sure I never made it bigger than you.  Face it...you always thought I was going to fail, and when I didn't you had to do your damnest to make sure that I did.

But now it's different...now there are no more emotions...there are no more feelings, there is nothing but hatred, pure loathing if you will.  Now you have to prove yourself to me, prove to me you're not the old man I see you as, prove to me that you're willing to match my intensity pound of pound.  Prove that to me and you just might win.  Maybe that's enough for you, but for me tonight isn't about winning...tonight is just a night to punish you.  Tonight is a chance to show the world what is about to be unleashed on all of LPW.  Tonight I make my bid and put the International Heavyweight Champion on notice.  It's time Eric...don't keep me waiting.

Even if the hallowed man never sleeps...he still has a NIGHTMARE.

Votes subject to change...

Vertigo PPV Pre-Show

Cross Brand Singles Match*
Zenith vs. CraZe

Cross Brand Singles Match*
The Mighty Dyno Might v. Lacey Valentine
I'm a babe.

Blistering Inferno

LPW Pure Championship Match
Daniel Purser © vs. Cripsy

LPW Western States Heritage Championship Match
Styxx © vs. Xander Kross

Grudge Match
Eric Scorpio vs. Seth Omega

Kiss My Ass Match
Christian Parkes vs. Dick Dynamo

No Holds Barred Match*
Jeff Watson vs. Azreal

Triple Threat Altered Reality 6 Main Event Captaincy Match
Eddie B vs. Ken Ryans vs. White Falcon

MAIN EVENT – LPW International Heavyweight Championship 60 Minute Iron Man Match
Tromboner Man © vs. cﾘnical