Ammunition 16.1 VOTING AND PROMO Thread

The alarm clock sailed across the room, slamming into the far wall with a thud before dropping down onto a jumbled pile of dirty clothes. As the last of the chimes died in the air Abel gave himself a satisfied nod and snuggled back down into his blankets, not yet ready to face the day ahead.

After ten minutes dozing and trying, unsuccessfully, to get back to sleep Abel finally sits up in his bed and starts pulling on his clothes. As he does the naked form next to him stirs a little.

Don’t wake up, don’t wake up…

The woman finally snorts and rolls back over.

8:15

Abel can just make out the time between the dirty clothes on his bedroom floor as he grabs up his shoes and heads for the front door.

Late again

He thinks to himself, grabbing an apple from the kitchen bench on his way past. Abel chomps into it as he pulls his shoes on then tosses the core onto the bench.

I really must get a new cleaner

He thinks to himself as the apple core lands amid a pile of dirty dishes and food wrappers. It was only last Sunday morning that he took Li into his bed but the apartment already looked like a bomb site.

Dumb bitch isn’t doing her job.

Abel thought to himself. Ever since he pulled her into his bed one morning the maid had slacked off, somehow confusing the momentary lapse in judgement for an invitation to stop performing her duties. Abel had put up with it for a week but tit was starting to wear thin.

He brushed his teeth, grabbed up his keys and jammed a rolled wad of $50 notes into his pocket before opening the front door. He quickly pinned it open with the dustbin and then marched back to his bedroom.

Abel: OUT!

Li did not stir at his command although, to be fair, Abel didn’t really pause for a response. He quickly scooped her up off his bed and carried her toward the door, silk sheet trailing behind them.

Li: Mr Abel?

Abel didn’t respond, instead he carried the woman to his front door and upended her on the welcome mat. He snatched away his sheet and left her standing naked in the hallway.

Abel: Get out Li!

Li stood there staring back at Abel, not comprehending what was going on. Her English had never been very good but that hadn’t really mattered when she was cleaning his house. Or performing other duties.

Abel: You…

Abel said slowly poking his finger hard into her breast bone.

Abel: FIRED!

Abel wasn’t sure that the woman had understood him but as he slammed the door in her face he didn’t really care. He stepped back into his kitchen and grabbed up the phone when he heard a bang on the front door.

Li: Please Mr Abel?

Abel strode back to the door and opened it a crack, looking disdainfully out at the naked woman cowering on his doorstep.

Abel: What Li?

Li: I have clothes?

Abel held up his finger, motioning the woman to wait as he shut the door again. He wandered back toward his bedroom but grabbed up his Magic 8 Ball™ and gave it a shake.

Abel: Should I give the bitch her clothes?

He asked the toy as he shook it firmly.


Abel smiled to himself as he gathered up the clothes from the floor and stepped out into the hallway. The relief on Li’s face was palpable but it soon disappeared as Abel stepped past her down the hallway still carrying her clothes.

Li: Mr Abel?

Abel kept walking down the hallway

Li: Please?

She began to run behind him, all thoughts of modesty forgotten as she desperately tried to get her clothes back.

Abel saw the door to apartment 15B open a crack and the pimpled face of Jack Warner poke out. The boy’s jaw very nearly hit the floor as the lithe, naked form of Li swept past the doorway toward where Abel had stopped with her clothes.

Li: Mr Abel…

She sobbed in-between breaths.

Li: Please. My clothes?

Abel smiled up at the disparate girl.

Abel: Oh, you want your clothes back?

Li nodded eagerly.

Abel: Well go get ‘em.

Abel tossed the clothes down the laundry chute, sending the young cleaner into racking sobs.

Abel: Well don’t just stand there. Here let me give you a hand.

Abel reached out and grabbed Li by one arm, carefully keeping his injured right wrist away from her. With a quick shove he sent her tumbling down the chute after her clothes, smiling to himself as her screams echoed back up the chute behind him.

Abel: What are you looking at?

Abel gave a glare at the door to 15B and it clicked shut instantly as the sound of adolescent footsteps could be heard running away on the other side.

Satisfied with his morning’s work Abel grabbed out his mobile phone punched in a number and headed for the lobby.






Abel: You wanted to see me?

P Thurston Devereaux looked up from his desk momentarily, affording Abel a brief smile and a nod before getting right back to his paperwork.

Devereaux: Sit down Abel, thanks for coming in at short notice.

Abel sat in the leather chair opposite, subconsciously massaging his injured wriest as he waited fro his friend to finish up the last of his paperwork.

Devereaux: Abel, the results from Lethal Injection are in.

Abel: And?

Devereaux: Good news! Sort of….. The spot with Doc went over great and creative think if we continue to work you on that line then by the next Pay-Per-View you should be firmly entrenched as about as vicious a heel as we have in FMW right now.

Abel stopped playing with his injured wrist and leant over the table.

Abel: What about the ‘tweener shtick?

Devereaux: Abel that was a desperate plan dreamed up out of a desperate situation. After you did such a wonderful screw job on Doc people are buying you as the villain. This is much better trust me.

Abel looked across the desk at his co-worker, studying him intently.

Abel: That’s what you said last week.

Devereaux: Listen Abel don’t get me wrong. I think we could have made that work but this is just better all around. Now we aren’t going to push you as the next Harlequin tomorrow but we’ll keep you moving to a slightly darker shade of grey each week. By Death Row you’ll be as black as… well me I guess.

Abel: I wish you would make up your damn mind. How am I supposed to sell a story if I don’t know where the hell I am going?

Devereaux: This is where we’re going Abel. No more changes.

Abel: Really? What if I have a match against Bryson and take him out? You won’t swing me back to face next week?

Devereaux: You’re not being booked against Bryson Abel.

Abel: That’s not really the point.

Devereaux: No I guess not….Look Abel this business is not so clear cut as boxing. You don’t just go out and fight for your paycheque.

Abel looked at him mockingly

Devereaux: Okay so I will stop telling you to suck eggs. Listen the point is things are liquid in this game. I love your determination and one track mindedness but you need to become more adaptable.

Abel: Fine.

Devereaux: Abel do you remember your first few shows in FMW?

Abel: Sure. I destroyed all comers to start with.

Devereaux: Right and you did that milking your boxer background as far as you could.

Abel: What’s your point?

Devereaux: Look at you now.

Abel: Broken down and struggling for success?

Devereaux: Abel you need to have faith in your own ability. Everyone else here can see you’ve got amazing potential. Hell if you weren’t so damn talented we wouldn’t have booked you into the semi-finals of a tournament for our premium belt would we?

Abel: I guess not.

Devereaux: You lost to the eventual winner of the Full Metal Championship Abel. That’s not struggling for success.

Abel: I’ve never won a belt of any description. How is that not failure?

Devereaux: Abel, I could book you in for the Television Championship belt tomorrow knowing that eventually, and sooner rather than later, you’d win the title.

Abel: So do it.

Devereaux: I could book you into that title scene Abel, but it hurts the show, it hurts the company and most of all it hurts you.

Abel: How does winning a Title hurt me?

Devereaux put aside his plie of paperwork and relaxes down in his chair.

Devereaux: Abel I know you are frustrated and craving success but is that what you really want?

Abel: Yes.

Devereaux: Success at any cost?

Abel: Yes.

Devereaux: Why? Why do you crave success so badly?

Abel: I want respect.

Devereaux: And you think the Television Title would bring that?

Abel: It sure as hell can’t hurt.

Devereaux: You know what Abel…. You’re right.

Abel: Really?

Devereaux: Yeh.

Abel looked at Devereaux, knowing full well the man was trying to work him over.

Abel: Okay I’ll bite. What?

Devereaux: What, what?

Abel: What are you thinking?

Devereaux: Nothing Abel, I agree with you entirely. The Television Title will win you respect, I’ll book you in for the next show.

Abel: But?

Devereaux: No but. The 5 year old demographic will respect you immensely Abel. You will have what you crave.

Abel: Ahhh, so that’s where you are going. Although I hardly think 5 year olds are watching our production. I think they’d be more into the WWE.

Devereaux: Maybe but you get my point.

Abel: Sort of.

Devereaux: Listen Abel, you might not see it but you already have a lot of respect in FMW?

Abel: Respect…from who? You’ve told me I’m not over with the fans and I haven’t won anything since that god damned Gold Card.

Devereaux: It’s not all about winning Abel.

Abel: Really?

Devereaux: Really… You are being booked into the top matches on our shows. You are known with the other guys in the business as a great person to work a match with. They all know that you consistently perform at the top level in the ring.

Abel: Consistently losing at the top level you mean?

Devereaux: Abel answer me this. Who is the hottest person in FMW right now?

Abel: Austin is, by a mile.

Devereaux: Right, now answer me this. Who is responsible for that?

Abel: Errr…Austin?

Devereaux: Well yes. But he didn’t get there himself. He worked with a lot of guys to get himself to the top and a key part of that was his work with you Abel.

Abel: By jobbing to him for the best part of 2 years?

Devereaux: No, by getting him over as a heel, he’s said as much himself.

Abel: I suppose…

Devereaux: The point is you are respected Abel. People around here know you contribute to the overall success FMW is enjoying.

Abel: But I get nothing from it?

Devereaux: Well… not yet anyway. But let’s take a look at someone other than you for a second.

Abel: Such as?

Devereaux: Doc.

Abel: Mmmm?

Devereaux: Do you respect Doc Abel?

Abel: Are you kidding? The guy is a legend. Working with him has been a privilege and an honour.

Devereaux: But he has more or less jobbed to you for the past 6 months. He’s had no success…

Abel: Point taken.

Devereaux: Maybe... Do you fully understand that Doc has given you the opportunity to establish something here.

Abel: I think I’m beginning to.

Devereaux: Good. Abel no one blasts there way straight to the top, at least not by themselves. It takes a lot of help from the other people in this business. Take this opportunity and run with it. Being the best fighter isn’t as important here as it was in your boxing career Abel. Just because you’d probably knock most of these guys out without raising a sweat in a real fight isn’t enough to take you to the top.

Abel: Tell me about it

Devereaux: You need to sell us a story Abel and you are on the verge of creating something very special right now.

Abel: Okay.

Devereaux: But that’s beside the point. I’ll book you in to the Television Championship scene for this next cycle and you can enjoy easy wins again.

Abel: It’s ok Dev. You’ve sold me. I can wait it out for success

Devereaux: First of all don’t call me Dev. Secondly I don’t want to hear about you waiting for success to come. What I really want to hear you say is that you can work for it, harder than ever before. Can you do that Abel?

Abel: Well….. There’s only one way to find out.






Abel stepped out onto the street and started down the road He chuckled to himself as Li stumbled out from the building basement wrapped in dirty linen.

Guess she didn’t find her clothes after all…

He didn’t blink as she yelled obscenities at him down the street. He considered going and grabbing the dirty sheet she was wrapped in to complete her humiliation but decided against it. The bitch was nothing more than a piece of dirty laundry herself and you didn’t pay any attention to a dirty sock once you tossed it in down the chute.

As he set off toward his favourite little café a block and a half away his phone started ringing in his coat pocket.

Abel: Hello?

There was a slight pause before the voice came through from the other end of the phone. The pause usually meant one thing: Telemarketer.

???: Hello Abel?

A lady’s voice finally came over the line.

Abel: Listen bitch, you can take your story and jam it up your ass; I’ve got better things than to talk to you okay?

The voice on the other end of the phone gasped in shock at the outburst and Abel smiled inside. He loved causing those pushy salespeople grief. As he admired his work Abel heard muffled conversation and then a different voice came over the phone.

Grandpa: Abel Steele, wash your mouth out. That is no way to speak to your grandmother.

Abel dropped the phone, sending it crashing into the pavement.

Abel: Hang on!

He shouted out loud as he scrambled to grab up the phone from the ground.

Abel: Are you there?

Grandpa: Yes I am bloody well here Abel. What the hell is going on with you?

Abel: Ahhh, nothing, nothing. One of my friends answered my phone and I just grabbed it off of him.

Grandpa: Really?

The pause said Grandad wasn’t buying his story for a second.

Grandpa: Uh yeh, yeh. I’ll be having words later. Say sorry to Grandma for me.

Grandpa: Abel I haven’t got time to deal with this right now, I’m about to step onto a plane.

Abel wondered what his grandparents could be doing on a plane. He had offered multiple times to fly them out to one of his shows but they had always insisted that they wouldn’t leave Australia for anything.

Abel: What’s up?

Grandpa: We’re just leaving Singapore now Abel. We’ll be in the US later tonight. Can you pick us up from the airport?

Abel: Tonight? I wish you would have told me you were coming.

Grandpa: Well we didn’t. Can you pick us up or not?

Abel glanced at his watch.

Abel: Sure I can Grandad. I didn’t have anything important on today anyway.

Grandpa: Ok. I’ll text you the flight details before we depart.

Abel: Ha-ha…you…. text…. me the details.

Grandpa: Don’t make fun of old people Abel. It’s rude.

Abel: Yes Grandpa

Grandpa: See you tonight.

Abel’s grandfather hung up the phone without waiting for a response as was his want, leaving a gaping Abel Steele to wonder what on earth could have been important enough h to make them fly all the way to visit him and without any warning. Abel couldn’t help shake the feeling of dread that came to him as he considered the possibilities.






For the tenth time in the past minute and a half Abel glanced back up at the board. Gate 13, Flight Q7626 was the first listed with status “arrived”. Abel had watched as the people piled off the plane, relieved to stretch their legs after the long haul. At first he had waited patiently expecting his grandparents to be next off the plane. Now he was a little confused as the passengers exiting had slowed to a trickle and there was still no sign of them

Finally the trickle stopped completely and Abel stood up from his seat in the lounge and wandered over to the help desk, ready to inquire as to the whereabouts of his family when the doors opened one more time and one of the crew emerged. Abel turned back to the help desk when he realised she was assisting a wheelchair bound passenger from the plane.

Abel: Excuse me…

Flight attendant #1: Yes sir?

Abel: Can you tell me was that the flight from Singapore?

Flight attendant #1: Yes sir.

Abel: Flight Q7626?

Flight attendant #1: Yes sir.

Abel turned around as one of the other crew members tapped him on the shoulder.

Flight attendant #2: Excuse me sir; Are you Abel

Abel’s eyes rolled in his head.

Abel: Listen lady, I bloody well don’t have time for autographs right now. I’m supposed to be picking bloody my grandparents up from this flight….OK

The woman stepped back in shock at the outburst as an elderly voice piped u from behind her.

Grandpa: Abel Steele that’s twice today I’ve caught you being rude to ladies. What on earth has gotten into you boy?

Abel winced momentarily at the unmistakable voice of his Grandfather, before his excitement got the better of him and he rushed forward to give him a hug.

Abel: What…

Abel’s Grandfather looked up at him patiently.

Abel: What…. What are you…

Grandpa: Doing in a wheelchair?

Abel: Ahhh no… I was going to say what are you doing here?

Abel’s Grandfather smiled knowingly back at him from his wheelchair.

Grandpa: It’s ok boy. I was shocked the first time I saw myself in this damn thing too.

Grandma: Close your mouth Abel. You’ll catch flies that way.

The honeyed voice of his Grandmother shook Abel from his stupor and he bent down to grab up the luggage she was hauling along.

Grandma: Forget the bags and give me a hug you big lump.

Abel did exactly that. Embracing the woman with all the love he had. Abel’s Grandparent’s had raised him on their own from the age of 9 and he loved them more dearly than anything on this planet.

Grandma: It’s good to see you again Abel, you haven’t been down to Australia since you brought T.J down to live with us.

Abel blinked…. T.J hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Abel: Ahhh….

Grandma: Don’t worry he’s being looked after by your cousin Doreen. Actually to be honest he spends more time with over there playing with her two girls than he does with us these days. What with your Grandpa’s….

Abel: Now, now champ. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Abel’s Grandfather interrupted.

Grandpa: Right now I want to get somewhere comfortable and crack a beer with my favourite grandson.

Abel: Sure thing.

Abel said as he grabbed up the luggage his grandmother had been carrying. It was troubling for him to see his grandfather like this. It had been less than 2 years since he last visited and it appeared at that time as though the man would live forever. Abel’s mind reeled from the possibilities of what could have caused such a swift turnaround.

Abel: I’ve even got a couple of cartons of Carlton Draught in my fridge. I know how you hate the yank’s beer.

Grandpa: Bah, I think they shouldn’t even be allowed to call it beer.

Abel smiled to himself. He might look a little worse for wear but, under it all, his Grandad would never be anything but a straight shooter. Unfaltering trust in his Grandfather had been what kept Abel’s sanity when he lost his parents.






Grandma: Well, Abel dear, you were right after all. We should have had take away.

Abel looked down at the plate in front of him. Two boiled spuds, some mushed vegetables and a dried out overcooked piece of steak.

Abel: Well, you taught me everything I know about cooking.

Grandma: Humph

Abel’s grandmother snorted audibly.

Grandma: You never listened when I tried to teach you. Always too busy following your grandfather around that damn gym, if I remember correctly.

Abel: And look where that got me

Abel said arms wide gesturing to his lavish inner city apartment.

Grandma: Yes…. Look.

Abel studied his grandmother’s face covertly. This wasn’t the first comment she had made tonight and he wondered how much of the shows she had been watching despite their protests that they didn’t care for wrestling.

Abel: I’m doing all right grandma!

Grandma: Really?

Abel: Really.

Abel knew he didn’t sound convincing. Hell he didn’t believe it himself so how could he. With all the things that had happened recently he hardly felt like his old self. Anger, aggression and selfishness had become a part of his daily routine and it went against everything his grandparent’s had taught him.

Grandpa: What about that wrist?

His grandfather chimed in.

Grandpa: You never used to listen when I told you that you had to follow through properly or it was going to cause you trouble.

Abel smiled to himself, for about the hundredth time tonight. He had been through Olympic coaches, professional trainers and not a one of them could hold a candle to what his grandfather knew about being inside the ring.

Abel: Why don’t you stay here and be my coach again Grandpa? I haven’t felt this at peace in months.

Not for the first time over dinner Abel’s grandparent’s exchanged trouble glances but this time his Grandmother stood up and started grabbing up dirty plates.

Abel: Leave it Grandma, I’ve got a….oh wait, I had a cleaner for that. But never mind that, I’ll get someone new from the agency tomorrow to do it.

Grandma: Rubbish Abel. I’ll do these dishes and then ht the hay. I’m feeling a little jet-lagged anyway and there’s nothing like doing the dishes to send me to sleep.

Abel’s Grandfather waited impatiently as she gathered up the remaining dishes and scurried into the kitchen, barely waiting until she was out of earshot to speak.

Grandpa: Abel there’s something I have to tell you.

The tone in his voice was one that Abel didn’t like the sound of very much. He had been expecting to come to the topic of their visit and the wheelchair at some point but had been enjoying the dinner too much to bring it up himself.

Grandpa: I came to say goodbye Abel.

Abel took one look at his Grandfather and instantly knew that his worst fears were reality. The pain on the old man’s face may as well have been written in glowing golden letters across his forehead.

The two men sat in silence for a time as Abel reeled with the news, trying desperately to find something solid for his mind to grasp a hold of. His Grandfather appeared to be in complete control, no doubt reconciled to the facts and wanting to make this as business like as possible. None of the Steele men had ever done well at displays of emotion.

Grandpa: The doctor gave me two weeks Abel.

Abel: RUBBISH!!

Grandpa: I’ve seen the test results Abel.

His grandfather replied calmly, in contrast to the anguish on his face and the shake in his hands.

Abel: LIES. THEY TOLD ME I COULD NEVER FIGHT AGAIN. THEY DON’T KNOW!! IT’S ALL BULLSHIT!!

Grandpa: Abel Steele! I will wheel myself over there and wash your mouth out with soap, so help me God!

The harsh tone jolted Abel out of his self pity. He looked apologetically at his Grandfather, ashamed that his outburst would only be amplifying the pain this conversation must be causing him already.

Grandpa: It’s cancer Abel. Incurable, aggressive and late stage pancreatic cancer…

Abel nodded his understanding dumbly, unable to form words as all the saliva seemed to have evaporated from his mouth. The matter-of-fact-ness with which his Grandfather was delivering the news only served to make it more unbearable somehow.

Abel: I…. I…. I…can’t…….deal….

Abel stood up from the table and grabbed his keys, wallet and Magic 8 Ball™ from the kitchen bench before storming out the door and into the hallway.

Grandma: Abel please, wait!!!

His Grandmother shouted from the kitchen as she hurried as fast as a 75 year old woman can from the kitchen, where she had watched the entire exchange, silently blubbering to herself as she watched the devastating news crash over her only grandson like a tsunami.

Abel’s grandfather slowly rolled himself over to the doorway and grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard as all the strength he had kept up washed out of him.

Grandpa: Let him go dear. He just needs some time.

She wriggled her hand free of his feeble grip and trundled to the bedroom, the door clicking behind her but unable to dull the violent sobbing that she could no longer hold inside.

Grandpa:
Don’t we all

Abel’s Grandfather muttered to himself as a single tear dribbled slowly down his age wearied face.

Grandpa: Don’t we all…….






Abel marched down the street like a man on a mission. The reality was he didn’t know where he was going but he just had to march himself there. The news his Grandfather had just dropped on him had hit hard.

Harder than he imagined but it wasn’t a great surprise. The man had been his father figure since the age of 9 when his parent’s had been tragically killed on a hunting trip. He loved his Grandmother dearly but the glue of his life had been his Grandfather for as long as he could clearly remember.

His mind raced at a pace even faster than his march down the pavement. Questions of fate and mortality were flashing into his conscious thoughts and being replaced before he even had the time to consider an answer.

Over all of that though the one question that kept surfacing was “why?”. No suitable answer had been forthcoming and he jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from wringing them as he walked. His left hand wrapped around the Magic 8 Ball™ subconsciously and pulled it out in front of his face causing him to stop dead in his tracks.

As he looked around he had no idea where he was. This was a part of the city he had no call to visit and none of the landmarks looked recognisable at night.

Abel: Am I lost?

Abel asked the Magic 8 Ball™ out loud, not caring who might hear and think he was insane.


Abel: Should I keep going forwards?


Abel: Should I go backwards?


Abel put the toy back into his pocket. It never seemed to be very helpful. Most of the time anything he proposed to the Magic 8 Ball™ only served to delay him from taking any action at all.






Cameron was running late.

Actually that was an understatement. Cameron was running “Fucking late”. His job had become a nightmare. His boss had threatened to fire him on several occasions because he wouldn’t do more overtime and his wife was constantly angry that he wasn’t home to help out with the children.

Cameron didn’t dare speak up to his boss as he was afraid that he wouldn’t find another job and his family would end up on the street. He wouldn’t speak up to his wife who threatened to walk out on him at least once a month.

Basically his life was a toilet and the one thing that he got any enjoyment from was his regular Tuesday night bowling with his buddies.

And now he was “Fucking late”.

He sped along the streets hoping like hell that no police officers happened to be patrolling. Confident that no one would be out on the streets at this time of night

Beep Beep.

His phone beeped as a text message came through from his best friend.


Cameron pushed his foot to the floor as he read the message. He couldn’t lose this one bit of relief from his shitty life and he quickly texted back as he raced toward the bowling alley.


Cameron: SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!

Cameron yelled out as he looked up from his phone, slamming the brakes on and locking all four wheels as it slid across the slippery winter roads. The car turned sideways as it skidded, panic washing over his face as he looked up at the lone man standing in the middle of the road in front of him.

The man did nothing to get out of the way. Seemingly paralysed like a deer in the headlights. Cameron pumped the brakes repeatedly as the car slid closer and closer until at last he closed his eyes, unable to watch the impact.

Suddenly a second man flashed out of the darkness and knocked the first man down and out of the car’s path. As both men tumbled on the bitumen Cameron finally brought his vehicle to a stop and jumped out to see if they were alright.

By the time he got to the two men the second man had helped the first, an elderly man of at least 75 years to his feet and was checking to see if he was ok. From all appearances the worst injury between the 2 of them was a small abrasion to the cheek of the younger man, although the swelling already coming up suggested maybe there was more to it than that.

Abel: Are you ok?

The younger man asked the old fellow. The old man nodded back and muttered something in a language that Cameron couldn’t understand. Judging by the reaction neither did thee younger man , who simply escorted him to the pavement and urged him to be careful.

Cameron: What about you?

Cameron asked the younger man.

Cameron: Are you alright? Your face looks a bit swollen…

The younger man rubbed his cheek, wincing a little but seemingly unperturbed, before checking his left side. As he opened up his coat Cameron gasped out loud. Dark red liquid stained his shirt and was spreading quickly.

Cameron: Holy Shit.

Cameron yelled, his facing turning a shade of green ant the amount of red fluind puddling on the floor beneath the younger man's feet.

Cameron: I have to get you to a hospital, jump in.

The young man looked back at the old man on the pavement before briefly examining the stained area of his coat. Finally he nodded, more to himself Cameron thought, than in answer and jumped into the passenger seat of Cameron’s car.






Abel kept checking his right side as the car sped along the road. Clearly the young man behind the wheel had no care for other’s safety as he seemed not to have learned anything from his recent near miss of the old man.

His shirt was ruined. The big dark red patch would never come out. So was his Magic 8 Ball™. The liquid had flowed out of a crack that had appeared on the side of it, after he crashed hard into the bitumen. The writing on the top seemed to be swirling around uncontrollably as well. Clearly the loss of fluid had upset the balance in the mechanism.

Abel: You could have killed that old man.

The man clucked to himself as his mobile phone beeped in his pocket.

Cameron: He shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road like that.

Abel: He’s OLD.

Abel roared at him.

Abel: Didn’t anyone teach you respect for your elders?

Abel knew his emotion at finding out his Grandfather’s fate was brewing over but he didn’t care. This arrogant little shit had caught him on the wrong night.

Abel: You really should be more careful when you drive

Abel said to the man as he reached out and grabbed a hold of the steering wheel, yanking it hard and swerving the car around a corner and down a back street. He wasn’t really sure what he was trying to achieve but the fact this man had nearly killed someone else’s grandfather tonight had struck a very raw nerve and he wanted retribution. The wheels spun as the vehicle slid sideways for the second time that night. A large thud told Abel they had gone over the sidewalk and the next thing he noticed was the sound of running water as the car teetered over the edge of a riverbank.

Abel opened his door and jumped down to the ground. It was a small drop of about 8 feet but as he turned around he noticed the driver’s side hung totally over the river and the driver had nowhere to go.

Abel looked around the vehicle. It was balanced precariously with the tail in the air, but from what he could see a small amount of force applied there should be enough to swing the balance back towards the land and prevent the car from falling into the river.

Abel grabbed out his Magic 8 Ball™, red fluid dripping from his palm as the last remnants seeped out of the crack. The words on the top appeared to have settled now the fluid was gone and they didn’t move at all no matter how hard he shook it.

One of the letters had stained with the red fluid to the point it was illegible and the resultant answer was emblazoned in Abel’s mind as he walked back onto the road, pretending not to hear the screech of steel on concrete as the car slid sown the riverbank and bubbled to a watery grave at the bottom of the river.

The Outlaw Rides Again...

Billy went drivin' on a Saturday night
Headed for trouble with a bottle of wine
He took his pistol and his shotgun, ready for action
Flyin' higher than a rocket out of control

He said I ain't got money
I ain't got fame
But after tonight they're gonna know my name

Angry and young, under the gun
The kid goes wild!
Rebel alone, heart of a stone
The kid goes wild!

The camera zooms in on John Andrews whom is standing next to a hitching post wearing a Cowboy Hat and a long black duster coat

OJA: Well well well... The lovely Santana finally gets the match she wished for, a match with the "Outlaw"... I'm afraid my fiance saw your little stunt at Corruption 15.3 and assumes that there is something going on between us which is farther from the truth and has left me and headed back to her home in Maryland. So you see miss Santana... The gloves are off and unfortunately win or lose you're going to be an example and well if your sister Sage or anyone else for that matter decides to get involved there is enough Outlaw to go around. Ya see now you'll be in the ring with the most vicious living thing from East Texas and unfortunately for you it won't be a cuddly teddy bears and pillow match like you think. Don't go thinkin, "Well his rage cost him the championship at Lethal Injection... He won't be focused enough to carry out his plans" that's where you'd be wrong, Lethal Injection was raw... the wound was still bleeding and I poured salt in it and got side tracked. This time i'm ready for my vengeance, you've cost me the woman I loved. I usually am not about hittin women but you ma'am have crossed a very fine line in my book...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
New T-Shirt announced in "Outlaw" Clothing Line

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen the President of "Outlaw" Inc... John Andrews!

OJA comes out from behind the curtain and shakes the announcer's hand and gives a slight nod to the crowd

Announcer: Thanks for being with us here Mr. Andrews it only seems fitting that you're here for the announcement for one of your companies new products.

OJA: It is what it is... and sometimes a business man has to do things himself ya know. As for the shirts yes we do indeed have a brand new product for you hunters out there... It is apart of the new "Outlaw Hunter" package which I will be debuting at Ammunition 16.1 but ya'll will get a first hand look here today...

Andrews steps back to reveal the new t-shirt



OJA: This shirt also comes in OD Green and white, pink and black for the ladies, red and black, and also light blue and black... You can buy it online or direct at any other FMW shows for $15...

Announcer: Sure looks great Mr. Andrews, thanks for your time!

OJA: Any time...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sea Isle City, NJ

Hey
I'm your life
I'm the one who took you there
Hey
I'm your life
And I no longer care

I'm your dream, make you real
I'm your eyes when you must steal
I'm your pain when you can't feel
Sad but true

I'm your truth, telling lies
I'm your reasoned alibis
I'm inside, open your eyes
I'm you... Sad But True...

Andrews is seen backstage staring at a picture of his fiance before preparing for a match, a single tear sheds from beneath his eye before he tosses the photograph to the side and begins getting into his gear...

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen... The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit!

The lights dim... The Kid Goes Wild by Babylon A.D. begins blaring over the speakers in the arena... The crowd stands in silence as they watch John Andrews silently stalk to the ring... the music blares louder...

"Billy's on the run tonight he's a nightmare. Fire burnin' in his eyes, Blood's boiling hot. Hell bent and out of control!"

Announcer: Introducing first... From Houston, Texas... Weighing in at 195 pounds... He is the "All American Nightmare" OUTLAW JOHN ANDREWS!

Commentator #1: John Andrews on his way to the ring now, he's a wrestler from Full Metal Wrestling and you can see him in action at Ammunition 16.1...

Commentator #2: Look at the eyes of that young man... That is pure determination right there... There is a fire deep inside him and it is fighting to get out. I feel sorry for his opponent here tonight.

John Andrews climbs into the ring and throws his right arm into the air taunting the crowd... "LET ME FUCKING HEAR YOU!"

Andrew's entrance music fades as "Under and Over It" by Five Finger Death Punch overtakes the arena and the opponent stood at the top of the entrance way

Announcer: And his OPPONENT! About to come down the aisle... From Sea Isle City, New Jersey... Weighing in at 200 pounds he is the self pro-claimed "Mr. Outstanding" Elliott James...

Commentator #1: All small pop for "Mr. Outstanding" Elliott James as he makes his way to the ring... He's got that cocky smirk across his face... We've seen that smirk before haven't we?

Commentator #2: Yes we have... Last time "Mr. Outstanding" smirked like that he walked out of here as the Heavyweight Champion... Lets see how he fairs against the "Outlaw" here tonight

Both Andrews and James stare each other down in the center of the ring... James walks towards Andrews...

Commentator #1: A swift kick to the gut from Andrews! He's going for the DDT... He landed it and is rolling James over onto his back... 1... 2... 3... The "Outlaw" has beat James with a devastating DDT that he calls the Outlaw Drop!

Commentator #2: A total upset for "Mr. Outstanding"... John Andrews made quick work with him and has just left the ring and has pushed his way past Stacey Danielson...

Announcer: Here is your winner by pin fall... OUTLAW JOHN ANDREWS!

Commentator #1: Obviously the Outlaw isn't in the mood to provide an interview with Stacey... We are going to have to cut to a quick commercial while they assist Elliott James out of the ring, stay tuned folks we will be back shortly!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Madison Square Garden - 1 Year Ago - The Night Train -

Loaded like a freight train
Flyin' like an aeroplane
Feelin' like a space brain
One more time tonight

Well I'm a west coast struttin'
One bad mother
Got a rattlesnake suitcase
Under my arm

Said I'm a mean machine
Been drinkin' gasoline
An honey you can make my motor hum

Well I got one chance left
In a nine live cat
I got a dog eat dog sly smile

I got a Molotov cocktail with a match to go
I smoke my cigarette with style
An I can tell you honey
You can make my money tonight...

Announcer: Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen and welcome to tonight's MAIN EVENT... For the WORLD... HEAVYWEIGHT... CHAMPIONSHIP!

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause as "Awake" by Godsmack filled the arena...

Announcer: Introducing first... The challenger... From Memphis, Tennessee... Weighing in at 240 pounds, he is the "Mighty Ox"... Matt McLaughlin!

Matt McLaughlin began his way to the ring... taking large strides and firing up the crowd in the process

Commentator #2: Let us not forget how this match got set up folks... Matt McLaughlin earned the right to face "Outlaw" John Andrews after winning the six-man battle royal last show. Now we're about to see the young McLaughlin can seal the deal and claim the championship for himself...

Commentator #1: It'll never happen... McLaughlin will never be champion... Not as long as Andrews is involved, I guarantee a quick and easy victory for Andrews.

McLaughlin points back towards the stage... "Night Train" by Guns N Roses now fills the air and the crowd jumps to their feet

Announcer: HIS OPPONENT! Accompanied to the ring by Tori... He is the the World Heavyweight Champion... "OUTLAW" JOHN ANDREWS!!

Commentator #2: The World Heavyweight Champion on his way to the ring now with Tori, she has played a key role in Andrews past few matches, helping him retain the title one can only guess if she will get involved tonight.

Commentator #1: Easy now... Tori is looking out for her investment... and she'll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets what she wants.

Commentator #2: There's the bell both men sizing each other up it looks like... Now circling each other and getting ready to lock up. Text book collar and elbow lock up... Andrews turns it into a headlock... McLaughlin fighting out of it and getting ready to shoot Andrews into the ropes. Andrews replies with a flying clothesline with Tori clapping in approval at ringside.

Commentator #1 Poor choice on McLaughlin's part... Here we go Andrews has the ref distracted and Tori has that belt and is now standing on the apron. McLaughlin sees her... He's going to push her off... WAIT!... Andrews with the save... Andrews did a swinging neck breaker to McLaughlin... He's dazed and doesn't realize where he is. Andrews is heading up top!

Commentator #2: Andrews will fly!... Andrews will fly! He nailed his patented diving elbow drop and now he's going for the cover... 1... 2... 3...! Andrews retains the championship!

Tori slides into the ring with the belt to celebrate with Andrews... as she gets ready to hand him the belt she lays Andrews out with a solid shot to the forehead with the title...

Commentator #1: Safe to say nobody saw that coming... Tori just took out her own man with his title! Andrew's face is crimson and he's out cold!

Commentator #2: We've got to go! Tune in next week! Good night ladies and gentlemen!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Metlife Stadium - 1 Year Ago - The Birth of a Monster -

And it's mine on my own
Yes, it's mine all alone
As I cry for you
Yes, I'll die for you
Pain in my heart, it is real
And I'll take
Everything as it comes my way
Feel in my heart it's for you
And I'll lie for you as I die for you
Pain in my heart it is real
And I'll tell you now
How I feel inside
Fuck you
It's for you

Commentator #2: We start the night here in the Meadowlands with "Outlaw" John Andrews in the ring, although he retained his title against Elliot James last night we saw an unusual turn of events when Andrew's valet and long time girlfriend turned on him, striking him in the head with the belt. We understand that the bandage on Andrew's left eye brow covers the stitches he received as a result from that title shot to the head.

Commentator #1: That's right, there is no telling what frame of mind the "Outlaw" is in here tonight, you can clearly see the look of sleep deprivation and frustration written all over Andrew's face. I am sure he like the rest of us want answers from Tori and one can bet we will get them tonight.

OJA: First to start with you all know who I am and what I am out here for... What you don't know is that things haven't been the same between Tori and I for the past three weeks and we've done our best to keep it off camera but I guess it came to a boiling point last night at Non-Point. Anyway, without further a-do Tori... Get your ass out here and give these people your explanation for last night...

The crowd began booing John Andrews then began cheering when "Hey Baby" by No Doubt began playing over the speakers...

"Hey baby, hey baby, hey!
Girls say, boys say,
Hey baby, hey baby, hey!"

Commentator #2: Here comes Tori... But look she isn't alone... Isn't that...

Commentator #1: It is... Its Brent Mathewson, former Light Heavyweight Champion, Brent Mathewson is walking with Tori to the ring... Maybe he's just there to protect her in case Andrews tries doing something in retaliation for last night.

Commentator #2: Right... We both know why he's walking out with Tori... She's hung Andrews out to dry and is showing off her new trophy in the form of Brent Mathewson. Look at Andrews face, he's livid.

OJA: Brent... I suggest if you know what is good for you... you'll just stop right there and allow Tori and I to sort through this I mean after all you've already done enough haven't you?

Brent Mathewson stops in front of the ring and crosses his arms...

Tori: Here I am John... Just like you asked for... Now what do you want?...

OJA: These people deserve the answer of why you did what you did... and why you're walking out with that chump and not on my shoulder.

Tori: Johnny I owe these people nothing... and quite frankly I owe you nothing. Not anymore. I have moved on to better things in my life...

Andrews points to Mathewson

OJA: Right... You've moved onto a FORMER champion who has sights on my title... Convenient I think and you're wrong you owe these people everything, they made you Beth... If it weren't for them you wouldn't be in this damn ring.

Tori smacked Andrews across the face... angering Andrews more

Commentator #1: Oh no! Not the best choice of action... You might want to get out of there Tori!!

Mathewson slides in under the bottom ring rope and steps in between Andrews and Tori... Andrews now turns his attention to him

Commentator #2: Actually I think that was the worst choice of action! Andrews is locked in on Mathewson and isn't even worried about Tori now... I think we might see these two clash before "End Game" in Las Vegas...

Mathewson shoves Andrews and Andrews responds with a flurry of rights and lefts...

Commentator #1: See I knew that damn "Outlaw" couldn't be trusted he's trying to get to Tori!

Commentator #2: Don't fool yourself we both know that if Andrews wanted to hurt her he would of done so BEFORE Mathewson stepped in the ring. Mathewson pushed Andrews and Andrews responded in kind. Andrews is stomping the life out of the number one contender! Here we go he's got him in the center of the ring... DDT! DDT!!

Commentator #1: Where are the referees to break this up... Where is the Commissioner! Andrews needs to be fired!

Commentator #2: Control yourself before he comes up this way... Andrews is leaning down saying something to Mathewson that we cannot hear. Okay Andrews is exiting the ring... Oh no... No John you don't need to do this...

Commentator #1: ANDREWS HAS A CHAIR!

Commentator #2: Andrews is lifting Mathewson into a corner... He's lining him up with that steel chair... He's leaning back!

Commentator #1: Tori is back in the ring! She's standing in front of Andrews!

Commentator #2: She knows he won't hit her... Andrews lowering the chair now... Wait he's got Tori by the arm... He threw her out of the ring and is lining Mathewson back up!

BAM!

Commentator #1: Mathewson is out cold after that shot to the head! Here come the officials! Finally... The damage is done you morons...

Commentator #2: The refs are sliding into the ring... Andrews just nailed the closest ref and is swinging that chair like a man possessed, we've never seen the "Outlaw" like this before folks!

Commentator #1: They've just dragged Mathewson out of there... Andrews is now standing over that ref's limp body... He's turned the chair side ways and just hit the ref in the ribs with the chair. That referee didn't have anything to do with this!

Commentator #2: John Andrews has snapped... Here comes the locker room... The locker room has cleared out to try and restore order to this madness! But it looks like Andrews isn't going down without a fight... he just nailed another ref!

Commentator #1: Finally they got that chair away from him and have subdued him... He should lose the title. It should automatically go to Mathewson! Andrews should be fired on the spot!

Commentator #2: Oh will you be quiet... Andrews did what any other man would of done faced in this situation... Now we have to wait and see the commissioner's response to this chaos caused at the hands of the World Heavyweight Champion.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Present - 37 Stitches -

So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself
And I won't listen to your shame
You ran away - you're all the same
Angels lie to keep control...
My love was punished long ago
If you still care, don't ever let me know
If you still care, don't ever let me know...

Andrews is sitting at a bar playing pool when his cell phone rings...

OJA: I thought you told me not to call you so why are you calling me... This isn't how this works...

Beth: Is it true John? Did you...?

OJA: Is what true? Did I what...?

Beth: A letter came in the mail today for you... From that Santana twin... I know I shouldn't of opened it but i'm glad I did... I read the letter and saw the picture of what was inside John. I just want the truth... Are you seeing her?

OJA: Are we talking about the same twins? The one that seem to be border line lesbian whom really wouldn't give any man the time of day because they had daddy issues during their childhood. Those twins?

Beth: God damn it John! Now isn't the time for this... I want the truth... I saw the kiss on television. I saw how long you both held it for at first I thought it was just a work but after seeing this letter and this picture I am starting to think otherwise. There's lipstick on this picture...

OJA: Like I said after the show when you called... That wasn't planned and it was all her... You got a problem you should be talking to her not me, i'm innocent babe...

Beth: No John don't babe me... I know this has to be some sort of pay back for me cheating on you the first time we were together. So tell me John... Is that what she is? Pay back? You sucker me back in thinking you're totally over it and then you go out and fuck her... Did you screw her sister while you were at it?

OJA: Whoa whoa whoa... Nobody fucked anybody... and even if there was anything, which there wasn't, they must of slipped something into my drink before the show. I'm telling you Beth Santana's obsessed with me because I wouldn't help take out Storm Master... That's all this is... She's the one with the obsession.

Beth: Regardless of the matter John... I won't be here when you get back home... I'm going back to my apartment. I can't trust you right now. God for bid if I get anymore pictures or anymore letters we're through. Then again at this rate with these pictures alone and the kiss I think we are through.

OJA: Don't you think you're over reacting? I mean come on...

Beth: No John... I'm not over reacting... I hope that little whore was worth it!

The call ended abruptly and Andrews threw the phone across the room then slammed down the cue stick that he had been holding, breaking it in two...

OJA: Bartender double shot of Southern Comfort!
.....................................................................................................................................................
Three Days Later - The Marriott Hotel, NYC -

Here's to the past, they can kiss my glass.
I hope she's happy with him.
Here's to the girl, who wrecked my world,
That angel who did me in.
I think the devil drives a Coupe de Ville.
I watched 'em drive away over the hill,
Not against her will, an' I've got time to kill,
Down in Brokenheartsville.

Andrew's Agent: Come on John you have to get your head in the game... You can't let this get you down. You need to dig deep. The old John Andrews wouldn't be beat by these two bitches, why are you letting them get to you.

OJA: Don't go there Kev... The old John Andrews would of fucked Santana and had her wrapped around his finger.

Andrew's Agent: That's my point exactly... I've got an idea...

OJA: Why is it I cringe every time I hear you say that? It usually follows up with me doing something stupid and getting further behind in this business. You know you're not helping right.

Andrew's Agent: Look if we do this right... You won't have anything to worry about in this match... In fact... You may get a lot of respect in the locker room for splitting the tightest duo in FMW... No pun intended.

OJA: Damn it Kev... I'm not going to sleep with her, you're better off coming up with something else then that...

Andrew's Agent: Will you pip down. No one said you had to sleep with her, although that's a bonus if you can get it, I mean look at it through the fine print Johnny she want's something from you. It's either your country bone or to make your life a living hell.

OJA: My country what? Kev... Stop listening to country it just isn't you... As for your two options i'm leaning towards number two.

Andrew's Agent: Oh come on John... Don't tell me you wouldn't if she didn't offer...

OJA: Once again... Not helping... From the way you're sounding I think they should of did that sexual harassment suit against you.

Andrew's Agent: Anyway... we can play mind games just like they can... In fact, i've already taken the liberty of sending Sage some steamy letters by "accident" addressed to Santana. She'll think her sisters broken their agreement and will turn on her. You won't have to worry about a thing...

Andrews put his head in between his hands... and mumbled to himself, "and they call me the idiot"

OJA: So you did this without even checking with me... You do realize what will happen if those letters aren't convincing enough or if they are too convincing right. This can backfire in so many ways...

Andrew's Agent: No worries Johnny... There's an extra somethin in the envelope I sent to Sage... Something that she would only believe, on-top of that I also paid one of their dressing room guys for one of Santana's bras... I do believe little miss Sage will take the bait.

OJA: No. Absolutely not... I refuse to do this... It isn't how I work Kevin and you know it. I refuse to be apart of something like this. Matter of fact i'm going to call Santana now...

Andrew's Agent: John... You're going to do exactly what we tell you to do, you've still got a heavy debt to pay back and don't forget that. We own you. If you back out it will not only be your career but it will be everything you've earned.

OJA: Don't remind me Kevin... But i'm telling you this now. If this back fires I am not protecting you, I will let them take care of you and not how your perverted mind wishes to be taken care of.

Andrew's Agent: One last thing John... How is it you have Santana's personal phone number if nothings happened between you two?

Andrews sat in silence...

Andrew's Agent: That's what I thought John... All you have to do is play along... You can either woo her and break her heart or send both of them to the hospital it's your choice. But the boss has deemed these twins a plague in FMW and they want them taken care of...

Andrews watched the Agent leave then rose to get a night cap before turning in... "They'll never fall for it... They've been doing this too long to have real emotions for someone, this is a joke... an outright plain ol' joke and i'm at the end of it"...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Next Day - Words From Beyond -

The gypsy woman told my mother
Before I was born
I got a boy child's comin'
He's gonna be a son of a gun
He gonna make pretty women's
Jump and shout
Then the world wanna know
What this all about
But you know I'm him
Everybody knows I'm him
Well you know I'm the hoochie coochie man
Everybody knows I'm him...

Andrews sat at the bar then checked his phone and noticed a voice mail and decided to check it...

Andrew's Mentor: Look kid... I heard you've got some woman problems and have lost sight of the reason why you're with that outfit. Give me a call, we've got to talk...

Andrews sat stunned sitting at the bar not realizing it was filling up again with patrons... He checked his watch and decided it was still early enough to call a the person he hadn't heard from in years... a person he thought to be dead... after several rings a deep southern voice answered on the other end...

Andrew's Mentor: Well if it isn't the famed "Outlaw" John Andrews from HOUSTON, TEXAS!

OJA: You don't have to be so sarcastic about it... Let's cut to the chase, why now? Why come out of the shadows now? We thought you were dead.

Andrew's Mentor: I'm deader than you think kid...

Andrews didn't notice the crowd gathering around him and watching with their cell phones out recording

OJA: That still doesn't answer anythin... I want the truth damn it...

Andrew's Mentor: You've been drinkin again haven't ya kid... Shame, you aren't always your best when you drink. Anyway Tex... I've been watchin your career with them their city folks and i'm not that impressed. A Teddy Bears and Pillows match? Really... That's the best match my star pupil can get himself into?

OJA: Hey... I do what the management wants...

Andrew's Mentor: Oh yeah Johnny... That isn't the first time i've heard that from you... Just followin orders are ya. Well what happened to the kid that used to be a champion... That hung titles next to his deer heads. What happened to him "Outlaw"?

OJA: You don't understand times have changed... That part of me is dead...

Andrew's Mentor: I'm sorry but it sounds like you're deader than me son... C'mon Johnny you were on fire when you made your debut with these folks... Hell you even had a title shot and you'd only been there for three shows. You can do it boy put that poison down and get your head back in the game!

OJA: Easier said then done hoss... My rep is tarnished... Whose really going to take me serious after this joke of a match?

Andrew's Mentor: Hey... It won't be easy but if you get your focus back on the gold you'll be wrappin that strap around your waist in no time. I trained men to be champions not drinkin away their career like you are Johnny...

The line started to fill with static and the Mentor's voice started to seem more distant now...

OJA: The calls breakin up... I can't hear you...

Andrew's Mentor: The path is up to you son... Only you can chose the one you want to blaze down, if you want to fizzle out into a curtain jerkin jobber that's your call. But I think ya best think it over... you still have a shot Johnny.

The call disconnected... Andrews didn't notice he spilled the guy's beer next to him and stood up and walked over to the jukebox while dropping his cell phone after trying to put it away...

Random Bar Guy: Hey asshole! You got my beer all over me... Asshole... I'm talking to you!

Andrews continued browsing through the selections on the jukebox paying the guy no attention...

Random Bar Guy: Asshole... What are one of them deaf mute fellas... I saw ya on the phone so don't act like you don't hear me.

The man finally got Andrews attention by poking him in the back with a cue stick... Just as Andrew's selection began playing... "Hoochie Coochie Man" by The Jeff Healey Band...

I got a black cat bone
I got a mojo too
I got the Johnny Concheroo
I'm gonna mess with you
I'm gonna make you girls
Lead me by my hand
Then the world will know
The hoochie coochie man
But you know I'm him
Everybody knows I'm him
Oh you know I'm the hoochie coochie man
Everybody knows I'm him...

OJA: Whoa fella I aint got a bone to pick with you... How bout you put that cue down and i'll buy ya another... C'mon hoss you're sweatin more then Lindsay Lohan in a liquor store and ya haven't done anythin yet.

Random Bar Guy: The fuck you just say cowboy!?

OJA: I said... Drop the cue and i'll buy ya another... C'mon padre your boyfriends over there shakin with his purse waitin for ya to come back...

Random Bar Guy: Cowboy... Those are fightin words where I come from... I'm gonna skin you alive!

OJA: Well looks like the house is gonna be rockin' tonight!

The larger man swung as hard as he could with the cue stick and Andrews caught it perfectly, disarming the man and now twirling the cue stick in front of him then poked him in the stomach with the cue causing other patrons to laugh and howl...

Random Bar Guy: You're a dead man! YOU MOTHER...

Andrews slightly stepped to the side allowing the man to run into the jukebox which slightly skips but continues playing music... as the man bounced off the wall Andrews hit him behind the knee with the cue sending the man to the ground...

OJA: Ya see... Ya just had to be Mr. Big Bad Billy Bad Ass and just got your ass handed to you by a wall and a drunk with a cue stick. Now if I were you'd i'd just lie there and bleed...

Andrews spun back around and picked up a Budweiser nearby and tossed the cap and began chugging it down, unbeknownst to him the larger fella was back on his feet and extremely pissed...

Random Bar Guy: You dumb sum bitch... It's gonna take more than that to put Big Hoss on the ground...

Andrews turned to the guy next to him... "Did he really just call himself Big Hoss?"... The other patron nodded... and Andrews turned to face "Big Hoss"...

OJA: SO... You're Big Hoss....

Random Bar Guy: Damn right Cowboy!

OJA: No shit... Well Big Hoss... If ya don't mind... Hold my beer for me for a second i've gotta go take a piss...

Big Hoss took Andrews beer... Before the large fellow could say anything in reply Andrews kicked him in the balls sending the large fella to the ground an act that received more cat calls and howls...

OJA: Well damn Big Hoss... Looks like we're even... Now you done spilled my beer asshole... Bartender... The drinks are on the outside!

Andrews calmly strode to the door and left the bar...

On the seventh hours
On the seventh day
On the seventh month
The seven doctors say
He was born for good luck
And that you'll see
I got seven hundred dollars
Don't you mess with me
But you know I'm him
Everybody knows I'm him
Well you know I'm the hoochie coochie man
Everybody knows I'm him...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
- Back In The Saddle - 1 Week Away from Ammunition 16.1 -

Fallen Angels
So fast to kill
Thy kingdom come on the wild side
Our father
Who ain't in heaven
Plead thy name on on the wild side Holy Mary
Mother may I
Pray for us on the wild side
Wild side
Wild side...

Andrews walked into a new bar... Pausing at the entrance to take in the view and a whiff of the freshly laid hay on the dance floor...

Bouncer: Hey partner, either come in or get out... No gawkin aloud...

OJA: Easy Cochise don't get your panties in a wad... I'm here to talk to Jeff about the door job...

Bouncer: He's by the bar on the main floor... Careful out there kid this is a rough crowd....

OJA: Thank ya... Sounds like my kind of party...

Andrews proceeded to the main bar and talked to the bartender, a stunning little blonde in a white tank top and daisy dukes...

OJA: I'm lookin for Jeff...

The bartender pointed to a large man standing near the bar watching the dance floor

OJA: Thank ya...

Jeff: I hear you're lookin for me...

OJA: Word gets around quick around here huh...

Jeff: Has to in this environment. You don't look like one of them one percenters and you surely don't look like one of our average wannabe bad boys judgin by the way you carry yourself... So what can I do you for Mr...

OJA: Andrews... John... I'm here for the door job...

Jeff: Is that so Mr. Andrews? You do know this isn't your average watering hole... We get all kinds of trouble in here nightly ranging from bikers, frat boys, service men, and the ones who tend to get a little rowdy after havin some of that liquid courage if ya know what I mean...

:OJA: Sounds my kind of place...

Jeff: Well Mr. Andrews... What do you bring to the table? Can you maintain your own if need be?

OJA: I did some work down in Austin at a place called The Jumpin' Jack...

Jeff: Ah yeah "Big Thunder" Jack's i've heard of the place, just as rough of a crowd...

OJA: We had our share of fun moments...

Jeff: Alright, any drugs or drinkin... I need a man that has a clear train of thought when he's workin this jungle... If you are one of them dopers you mind as well turn and walk right out the door now son. I don't tolerate it...

OJA: Never touched any drugs... but have been known to drink a bottle or two of Southern Comfort... but never while workin... My golden rule of course...

Jeff: Sounds good son... Well we'll give ya a try... You can start tomorrow night...

Gang fights
Fatal strikes
We lie on the wild side
No escape
Murder rape
Doing time on the wild side
A baby cries
A cop dies
A day's pay on the wild side
Wild side
Wild side
Tragic life on the wild side
Wild side
Wild side
Kickin' ass on the Wild Side...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hear voices in the air
I hear it loud and clear
They’re telling me to listen
Whispers in my ear
Nothing can compare
I just want to listen

Telling me
I’m invincible [x3]
Telling me
I’m invincible [x3]
I am

{Lyric Excerpt:Invincible by MGK ft. Ester Dean}

~Intro~

~Flashback~

The night air is cool and crisp like a profound freshness of Dasani™water, which was in the cup holder of my red 1970 Ford Gran Torino.The visual wasn’t clear as the rain knocked at the hood with sudden taps.How the fuck can anyone see in this hellish weather?Well I’m no rocket scientist or do I plan on taking up the occupation. Dwindling on the past holding my side, it still hurts from the vicious battles against Brian Kennedy and the satanic overtones of a man I never beat. I was undefeated for a while back during my first independent wrestling run, but who knows with this run it’s impossible.


Impossible like a game of chess but simply I’m the master of your favorite past time. Take a look at the hellish background of my psyche and revel on the thought of me not being dead. When God prevented my mother from ridding herself of me, it was a blessing in its own right. I was born in a world filled with cruel bastards who thought only of themselves and for once I was like that. But it wasn’t always a consistent thought of selflessness but it was based upon my unemployment.Osamu Ojai called me unstable and pulled the plug on my rise to fame but it’s time to utilize a second chance. The sirens whiz past me as I sit thinking of the past when I once felt human. I wasn’t an outcast or was treated like less than a f*cking human being. Oh how I wish you weren’t a slut? I’m drinking out of the Dasani™ water bottle…eying my ex-girlfriend Elizabeth Cross’ picture.Truth is she wasn’t a slut but she wasn’t in my life anymore.




She died tragically in a car wreck last year and it fucked up my head worse than a heroin overdose. Fidgeting around the bottom shelf of the secret compartment, hidden under my driver’s seat and outcomes a photograph. It’s about eleven years old and there I was at nine years old and my younger brother Nicholas. Jimmy & Nick, the Brothers Grimm who were inseparable until our little POW WOW. He left me while I was dealing with the death of my lover, who was the world to me, and it wasn’t likely to ever heal the pain inside. BOOM… The loud bang of lightning didn’t frighten all it did was make remember. It made me remember the fateful night last year where her life was taken in an instant like Quaker™ grits.


The night was pounding with rain, how vague was the thought of it looking similar to this moment now. I was preparing to do an indie show later that day and I got sick. I was bleeding out of my nose, so I canceled and that was the end of a pay day. Her supple breast draped over me as I lay in bed with a bandaged tight nose, she was sweet to give me a quick oral exam and she left for work. I was alone all that day and then the storm hit with a quick flash of emotion which didn’t really do much.


My head was spinning nonstop with questions of her whereabouts, my body was paralyzed and it was still as a cougar eying his prey. Life is a box of chocolates as I didn’t know what I was going to get. Racing to know her whereabouts I sat up with my eyes peeled to the car keys. I gripped them tightly and rushed outside getting into my 1970 Gran Torino. I was off taking to the streets like a bat out of hell, gripping the wheel tightly & sweating like I was trapped in a hot elevator with two sumo wrestlers. Shifting onward and my vehicle spun off the side of the highway, rolling down a gritty dirt hill and then I collided with an already nasty accident. The steel gutted as I felt my back spill red fluid. I grabbed my back and there was a hole near the spinal cord, I couldn’t move as I cried out help. The ambulance carefully loaded me onto an ambulance where I was shipped off to the county hospital. I received surgery on my back where a metal plate was inserted into my spine.




I would have a hard time flying now I guessed briefly crying at the news of my lost Elizabeth Cross. I then sat up reading the letter in which my IHW employment was approved by legendary owner "The Great Muhammad".It was an invite to be a part of the Friday Night Turbo after Survival Games when I was fully healed just in time for the event February 4th,2005. I put the letter close to my forehead and started laughing hysterically like I was related to the joker himself. I needed to get back in great shape and I knew the right people to help in my quest.

~The Iron Man's Back....~

~Do as the Romans~

~Already Won~

~Outro~

The world was a gleefully vicious blur. Human shapes and inanimate objects all looked the same, while the interior of a shitty, hole in the wall bar began to spin in circles.

Hannibal Frost drunkenly stumbled back into the wall as another fist connected with his chin. There wasn't any pain, but damn it if the force wasn't enough to rattle decorations from the wall. A large figure filled his vision, prompting him to raise his fists, but Frost's arms felt like noodles.

Another swing rolled in fast. Frost ducked, smiling when he heard the stud backed wall fracture the man's hand. His momentary cry of pain gave Frost an opening, which he tactfully used to throw the worst punch of his life.

Laughter broke out as Frost was forced to the air. His body twisted with an uncontrollable motion as a table shattered into splinters under Frost's weight. Luckily, his back broke his fall...

Frost's vision cleared a little as he stumbled to his feet, proving that being used as a discus really does sober you up. "Alright guys... who threw me across the room?"

Laughter broke out again as the biggest one stepped forward. The freakishly tall man growled, muscles bulging under his black shirt. His head was shaved to avoid an early receding hairline, but at this point, Frost didn't think it'd be wise to mention it.

Taking a shaky glance about the room, Frost found the bar to be empty. Six and half tables, and the one pool table, shared space with only a handful of people. Frost eyed the bartender as he spoke back and forth with who amounted to security here, and then the three guys in front of him.

The big bald sonuvabitch looked down at Frost, his fists clenched."You're dead, superstar."

Frost jumped forward, mustering up all of his strength, before drilling a thunderous right hand into the big man's jaw. A pain racked howl echoed inside the bar. Frost pulled his hand back with a furious shaking motion, the pain cutting straight through his drunken stupor. "What the fuck. It's like punching a tank."

The big man huffed, unimpressed with the effort. "Is that really it?"

Frost continued to shake out his hand. "Oh sweet baby Jesus. I think it's broken. In like eighteen places."

"Hey, asshole," The big man called out.

"Feels like... punchin' a steamroller. It's like your jaw, hit my hand, in the face."

The big man's features squinted in confusion. "What the...?"

Frost began to edge towards the exit. "Just- no, no- it's fine. I can walk to the hospital. I now see why there's one within walking distance."

Frost's foe simply shook his head, "I can't let you leave without saying goodbye..."

Frost then took it upon himself to sigh, before tightening up for one hell of a haymaker. "Shit."


Ohhh... Now it Makes Sense



Frost hit the rain slick asphalt with a thud. The alley behind the bar greeted him with trash cans, rodents, and the ominous darkness beyond... where the street lights were out.

The big bald guy pointed one meaty finger at Frost and growled, "You're lucky. But next time I catch you eating cereal out of my girlfriend's ass, I'm gonna' bury you."

The back door to the bar slammed shut in the next moment, the blunt sound echoing down the alley. Frost pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet, and tried to get some distance between himself and the bar.

He stumbled and fell ten feet later.

Resigning to chilling face first on the wet asphalt for a while, Frost closed his eyes. He'd been trying to remember something lately. Something that he'd forgotten before Lethal Injection and just couldn't remember worth a damn. It felt important, too.

Ever since he'd forgotten... whatever he'd forgotten, Frost felt something was missing. Knowledge of some kind had been taken from him and he couldn't help but let it bug him. He wanted to know what it was.

Tonight, in a way, Frost had been trying to found out.

He'd initially stopped there to drown his sorrows after Lethal Injection went off the air, but found himself in a mess of trouble right as he walked in the door. Rose, as she introduced herself, immediately took to seducing the great Hannibal Frost. It wasn't difficult... at all, but Frost had been in the dark about the boyfriend at the time. So, of course, when the restroom door was ripped off its hinges, Frost found himself surprised.

The boyfriend found something similar, only in the form of Frost's face... buried in his girlfriend's ass. Frost had to chuckle at the thought, but his ribs weren't exactly forgiving of the gesture. At that, he couldn't help but to think that he was somehow... living a recklessly endangering lifestyle. But it was pointless to try and stop. Frost had tried to stay sober before. It always felt like he was dying. Rotting away from the inside, eaten alive by the negativity that had no place to go.

So it stayed in his head.

Frost pushed himself onto his back, making it easier to take a long swig from the flask in his duster pocket. The Johnny Walker Red Label scotch burned a path down his throat, taking with it the negativity swelling up inside.

Frost tossed the empty flask to the side, his head pounding from the recent ass kicking he'd taken. The rotting feeling hadn't gone yet. Made sense. There wasn't enough scotch in the world to fix the feeling of waking up from a whirlwind of bad decisions and memory loss.

It was like his direction had suddenly been ripped away from him, leaving him with no place to go. There wasn't a purpose anymore. No goals to attain.

Nothing but..............


My Sweet Summertime Angel



A breeze swept across Frost's face, bringing him to ease his eyes open. Above him, nothing but a cloudy blue sky could be seen. Pigeons cooed from somewhere nearby.

Frost wasn't in the alley anymore.

He jumped up, first noticing that just about everything on his person was missing. All he had on was a pair of jeans with empty pockets.

That's when Frost noticed he was on a rooftop.

A good ten stories in the air.

Frost quickly scoped out the area around him, noticing it to be quite the comfy living space. That definitely took his defenses down a notch. Easing clenched fists, Frost slumped back down onto what appeared to be folded out futon.

Interesting...

The sound of a door opening pulled Frost back to his feet, where he turned to find a strikingly attractive young woman step out onto the rooftop. She carried in her hands a steaming mug, and with soft lips she stooped to cool it down. Blonde hair, tied back into a loose bun, framed the movement, giving it a carefree grace. Her long, slender legs carried her towards Frost, moving unrestricted in what might've passed for shorts. She was slender, as well, under the grey t-shirt hanging loosely over her upper body.

But Frost most adored the beautiful smile the girl threw his way...

as she walked right on by.

Frost cocked an eyebrow, but shrugged it off as he caught a glimpse of her proportional backside. Like her ass was emitting a tractor beam, Frost fell in line behind her. Upon reaching the wall surrounding the edge of the rooftop, he propped his elbows up beside her.

She simply smiled. "Took you long enough. This is for you."

Frost took the mug from the girl, careful not to let it slip to the street below, and gave it the once over. "Smells... organic."

A youthful, cheery laugh escaped from the girl. "It's a... supplemental tea. I thought you could use one."

"Beer woulda' been fine," Frost said, before taking a sip of the tea. It tasted bitter almost, with just enough honey to keep it from being overpowering.

"I can't drink. Therefore, no beer."

Frost took another sip of the tea, pining for the aforementioned beverage. "Isn't that a shame."

"I guess. But once I turn twenty one I-"

Frost dropped the mug.

"Wait, once you what?"

Seeming oblivious to the mug, the girl rolled her eyes with dramatic sarcasm. "Don't freak out, old man. I'm nineteen. And besides, you're indebted to me. I saved your life."

Frost began to back away from the girl. "I- you- what? Listen kid, I pass out in an alley like twice a week. You didn't save shit."

The girl donned a more serious face. "Now you're just being a fucking drama queen."

Looking aghast, Frost points an angry finger at the girl. "You want a drama queen? Watch a Meryl Streep movie. As for me, I'm being a 'I don't wanna' get arrested for statutory rape' queen."

With that, Frost turned to stride towards the stairwell that led into the building below. With all the bad luck he'd had recently, it wouldn't surprise him...

"Are you running away from me, or from sober human contact in general? You know, people were saying that you'd gone crazy. That you thought you were Van Helsing or something."

Frost stopped on a dime.

He turned to the blonde haired prison sentence and tried his best to convey how confused he was. "Is that what you do up here all day? Read the tabloids? I'm a wrestler, not a monster whisperer."

The girl was breathing deeper now, trying calmly to maintain her composure. "I know who you are. I wouldn't have picked you up otherwise. You've always been weird, Hannibal, but, now it's like you've gone off the deep end."

"You don't know me," Frost replied, his voice stern in its delivery.

"After last night, yeah, I do. You talked. A lot. I felt like your therapist."

Frost couldn't bring himself to say anything now. There was no telling what a drunk and concussed Hannibal would choose to let slip. Take that how you will...

The girl began to close the distance between them. "You don't remember me telling you this, but my parents died a couple of years ago. This is my uncle's apartment complex. I don't want a lot of friends, but I feel like I met you for a reason."

Frost stuttered to find a reply. "I- but, I- I'm old."

"You're thirty one. That's not old."

Frost huffed, bringing up a hand to massage his furrowed brow. "She knows my stats. It's like she can see straight into my soul."

The girl finally stopped a few feet away. "Yeah, and I know you've got a date standing with Skyler Striker at the next Ammunition. I wanna' help you. I wanna' find the more balanced side of you."

Frost cocked an eyebrow. "What are we talkin'? Like meditating and shit?"

The girl simply shook her head in amused disbelief. Looking to the right, she snagged a shirt hanging from a clothes line.

Frost slipped it on after she threw it to him. "So... what... I don't get it."

The girl eyed Frost skeptically. "So you really aren't crazy? And you never were?"

Frost nodded. "That'd be about right. I'll admit there's been some tough times, but you've got me on this whole monster thing."

The girl smiled, slowly but surely, and reached out for a handshake. "My name is Claire. And after we get through meditating and shit, I've got some friends I'd like you to meet."

Frost hesitantly returned the handshake, surprised to find a solid grip there. "Fine."

Claire turned to saunter over to the futon, where she fell back first onto the mattress. She looked over at Frost, then teased at lifting her shirt up. "You know at nineteen I'm legal, right?"

Frost immediately perked up. "In that case-"

"No."

Frost laughed as Claire turned to look out over the City around them. For some reason the rejection didn't really sting. Frost could sense the girl's good nature. And damn it if he didn't need a place to gather his thoughts.

Something was different now.

Frost felt that a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt he could focus again, on a singular goal. With a temporarily sober mind and clear eyes, things seemed quite the opposite of complicated. Frost in no way was finding peace; to hell with that. He just, somehow, felt like he could be himself again. Concentrate on Hannibal for a little while. For some reason, it seemed like the right thing to do. The only thing to do. There really wasn't anything else to focus on.

Except for his revenge on Skyler Striker. Which was long overdue.

Frost laughed.

Jeff Whit. Leviticus.

They wouldn't be in his way for long.

The sun began to set on the horizon before long, giving Frost the feeling of the closing of a chapter. He could feel the change coming. Another chapter was about to begin.

The one about Hannibal Frost.

The wrestler.

* * *

Two years ago. . .

The scene opens on a hospital in Austin, Texas. It's a bright day, a few clouds here or there. The door opens, revealing a younger Damien Inferno being pushed out in a wheel chair by then-girlfriend Jess.

"That bastard Gabriel," he grumbles. "Asshole wants to blame me for his career not goin' anywhere."

"Babe, calm down," sighs Jess. "He's an ass anyway."

"That's part of the problem, though. What about Chrystal?"

"What about her?"

"She's delusional if she thinks that prick really gives a fuck about her. He'll kick her to the curb, just like he did me."

"Bitterness doesn't suit you, love."

They reach their car, and Damien slowly pushes himself up from his seat. His back flares up in pain, causing him to stumble forward and balance himself by grabbing hold of the roof of the car.

"Fuckin' Scorpio," he gasps through the pain. "I'll get him back for this eventually."

"Damien," Jess chides gently, rubbing his back tenderly, "you really should try to let go of this anger. For me; for us."

Damien closes his eyes and focuses, trying to swallow all his anger. He's been through so much just to fall this far. The doctor's say he may never wrestle again. He told them not to put money on that.

"I'm trying," he whispers, reaching back behind him to caress her stomach with his hand. "Before you, my anger was all I had to keep me warm in my loneliness."

"Not anymore, Damien," Jess replies, smiling. "That's what I'm here for."

Damien's rage somewhat quelled for now, he climbs into the car and relaxes his head against the head-rest. Jess folds up the wheelchair and puts it in the back seat. Then, she walks around to the driver's side, climbs in and starts the car.

"Life is changing, Damien," she says. "We have a chance to try and build one together now."

"I like that idea," Damien whispers drowsily, his pain killers finally kicking in. "I can't wait."

Jess smiles, moves over and kisses Damien on the cheek. He moans softly as he loses consciousness. She turns back to look at the road, shifts into drive, and presses the accelerator. As she drives away, a man with greasy black hair appears from behind a magical veil, watching them leave. He grins deviously before turning and heading into the hospital.

* * *

Dear diary.

How ridiculous is this? A diary entry? I am twelve, for crying out loud. Albeit more intelligent than the rest of the world’s twelve year olds put together, but nevertheless. I do not write diary entries. I log things on camera, record results, show my working.

But perhaps this is best for the events unfolding today. The black suits and dresses, the solemn mood. The gravestones.

Seeing as you are simply an inanimate book, with no real concept of memory, allow me to explain to you why I am currently practicing the equivalent of spying on a funeral:

Three days ago, my father’s mother - my grandmother - passed away.

It was a peaceful passing, so I am told. I know that she was quite elderly and frail, and I doubt she would have been able to fight off anything serious that came her way, so it was perhaps… good?... that she passed into the void peacefully, with family by her side.

My father was not present. His brother and sister – Christian and Whitney – were with her, as was my young cousin Shay, although given he is only fifteen months old I can only presume he was blissfully unaware of the sombre occasion.

I was only informed when I received a call from Christian. I do not know whether or not my father knew at this time and had not told me, but the call nonetheless came from my uncle, who fought back tears as he spoke.

It is here that I run into a moral quandary.

How do you respond to death when you feel no sadness?

There are always family bonds that hold us together. Blood is a strong tie, one that should not be underestimated. I have found this out via walking the difficult path (and do not make assumptions, diary, this does not change the way I feel about a certain blood relative). But blood alone cannot force us to feel sorrow. Blood by itself cannot drive emotion.

I held no grudges nor bad feelings of any sort towards my grandmother. She was a beautiful, kind woman, who suffered from Multiple Sclerosis disease but was always strong, upbeat and cheerful. She loved us very much.

It was sadly distance that kept us apart – living in Japan and then the United States for most of my life, I have struggled to meet her in her Australian residence very often. Usually we interacted via a brief phone call once every two or three months. This kind of limited interaction is not enough to develop an incredibly meaningful relationship, sadly.

If I had been physically closer to my grandmother then perhaps this story might be different. But circumstances were what they were, and what has passed cannot change.

Thus, diary, you can understand why I do not feel sad. Her passing was just… an event.

But while I do not feel sadness, I feel empathy for those who do.

While my father never told me volumes of stories about his mother, the few that he did feel he could share were moving, and honest. He spoke from his heart about the love that she had shown him and the encouragement he had received which spurred him on to do many of the things he did.

I remember his first phone call after winning the Abandoned Championship for the first time. It was to his mother. He said thankyou many times.

My aunt and uncle, Whitney and Christian, both live much closer to her, and I have heard stories of a similar vein of the strong bond they shared with their mother.

To lose someone who meant so much to you can not be easy. I can not hypothesize further at this point in my life – I have never met my birth mother, I have not spent a great deal of time with my new mother, and my father… well.

But common sense would tell you that the death of a loved one would cause you sorrow.

What am I to do, then? To be ostracised at present from my own family and without any hint of sadness at the death of my own grandmother?

I felt guilt, initially.

Guilt is horrible. Why should I feel guilty? The death was not my fault, and nor was the situation which prevented us from growing closer together.

But you cannot help but wonder whether there is something intrinsically wrong with yourself, to not feel the same sadness as everyone else.

This feeling of guilt, however, was temporary, my logic makes sense, even in the face of emotion. I will not feel guilty for something that is not of my own making.

Am I to learn from this instead, then? Is this a big lesson? Should I sit through the funeral clichés and stay closer to my loved ones while I have the chance?

That is a story for another time, there are too few pages in this diary for it.

I was invited to the funeral by my family. I was sent a letter. My RSVP was negative. I informed them that regrettably I was unable to make the occasion due to an important conference I would be attending at the time.

I received a phone call from Aunt Whitney, who asked me again if there was any way I could make it. I declined again – although I perpetuated the same story, I had already decided to attend via the method I am currently employing – watching via zoom-glasses and listening via a hearing enhancement device from atop a hill overlooking the funeral proceedings.

I opted, instead, to write some words to be spoken on my behalf in my absence:

*****

It’s always grey for funerals, or so it seems.

Many members of the Striker family and friends of Mrs. Striker are amongst the audience. At the podium is Leah Striker.

Leah: Maggie left behind her four wonderful grandchildren. Three of them are too young to fully grasp the sadness that resonates throughout this place today, and another sadly could not attend today. On her behalf, though, are these words.

Death has a slick sadness to it.

Very few look forward to death. We all understand that life is a gift.

How many words can be said on this subject that have not already been spoken?

I am not a poet. I am not a writer, nor a scientist, nor any sort of person at all, today. I just… am.

Perception will differ greatly amongst all those who knew Gran. Sadness, however, is universal. This is why I call it slick; it falls from one to another. The sadness we feel is communal, for someone is gone who was treasured, and that part of her which lived in your hearts has now become a memory, albeit one in the same residence – our hearts. And the pain we see transfers to us – we feel a little of that pain, too.

I wish I were a poet. Perhaps I could phrase my words in a better manner, so they could remove the pain which we feel.

I may not feel the same as any given one of you, but I feel nonetheless.

We will remember, and love, and hope.

*****

April 6, 2012.

I did not write a complete promo this week. Instead, I tried to put a little of what I've been feeling recently into words in one of the only ways I know. These are not my exact feelings but perhaps they are the best I can express at this time.

This promo is dedicated to the memory of Margaret Smith. Rest in Peace, gran.

Ammunition 16.1
LIVE from the BC Place in Vancouver, British Columbia

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Ammunition 16.1
LIVE from the BC Place in Vancouver, British Columbia

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Votes subject to change.

Ice

Gray inferno

Me

Strtiker/frost

We find ourselves in a well-lit and well-decorated room at the GSW headquarters. The normally slightly dim and dank room is now littered with black and gold decorations and banners, lit brightly by the new light bulbs. The wall is covered with a simple black wallpaper with various photos plastered on them. Leviticus hitting the Tribute on a foe. Jonathan King smugly raising the FMW Television Title. Jeff Whitt grinning darkly at an opponent from across the ring. These images and many more, showing the successes of Gold Standard Wrestling, can be seen just about everywhere, as well as a cake, bottles of booze, and various foodstuffs. GSW is partying tonight, apparently.

But before they do, the roster members gather in front of one of the walls. Crusoe stands directly in the middle, the proud trainer of most of the members of the group. Jonathan King, TV Title slung over his shoulder and dressed to the nines in a black-and-silver button-up, stands to Crusoe’s right, while the Braxton twins – Sage and Santana – stand around him, looking mostly at him. Leviticus stands to Crusoe’s left, smiling brightly. Matt Dunn stands off to the back, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, but still grinning in apparent happiness. Crusoe pats King and Levi on the shoulder, before looking directly into the camera, sly grin across his face.

Crusoe: Ya know, we’ve been tha butt of FMW’s jokes since we showed up to tha company. Since day one, none of them have taken us seriously. No mattah what we did, no mattah who we beat or stood up ta, we couldn’t get not a single iota of respect from them.

Crusoe looks around at the GSW crew, a toothy, sly grin growing across his face.

Crusoe: Looks like those days will be long gone soon enough.

The group laughs darkly together; even Dunn in the back offers a slight huff of laughter.

Crusoe: Ya see, all that doubt you had ‘bout us, that lack of respect…that only inspired us. Drove us. Those smirks of content and ignorance y’all wore the entire time? We wanted to wipe them off ya faces, permanently. You looked down ‘pon us for too long, ladies and gentlemen. And now, after Lethal Injection, ya have no choice but to look up at the Gold Standard.

The comrades all give off a round of applause, punctuated by a hearty King “hell yeah!” thrown in the middle of it all (which got a provocative smile out of Sage). Crusoe looks around at the group, smiles even wider, and focuses back on the camera.

Crusoe: Because aftah Lethal Injection, GSW possesses not one, but two of FMW’s precious title belts. King here *motions to King, who slaps his belt proudly* has the TV title, and Jeff, who ain’t here right now but will be arriving soon, has the Corruption Ultraviolent title. Imagine that: the supposed least-threatening stable in FMW, the invaders from a “weaker” fed, now have a stranglehold on two of ya belts. Don’t that just sting, eheh?

After another moment of light laughter from the group, Levi steps up a bit and begins to speak.

Leviticus: It had been a long and arduous road for Gold Standard Wrestling. We started off strong before becoming a rather laughable “threat”. We lost, and lost repeatedly. All those claims we had made about being a dominant force amounted to less than zero for a while, and dang, was it tough to deal with.

Crusoe nods his head in agreement while King shrugs and Dunn does nothing.

Leviticus: We talked a huge game, but couldn’t back it up, no matter how hard we tried. Williams wanted us to back out, after seeing how we bickered and argued and lost. And at the time, hey, maybe we should have, ya know? It certainly looked like leaving was the better option.

After a moment to rub his chin in thought, Levi grins a bit.

Leviticus: But we didn’t. We pressed on, knowing that one day, we would succeed. One day, we would break through. And we did just that, with the exclamation point coming this past pay-per-view. Lethal Injection was our night, even ahead of impressive showings at Death Row and Mount Vesuvius. Because it was at Lethal Injection where we put the icing on the cake, as the kids say. We won, fair and square, the Ultraviolent Championship, winning it away from the Law of FMW, Celt. And now everything that we have done has been validated. Nothing any of you FMWites say will take that away from us.

King extends an arm, telling Levi to step back, which he gladly does. After a sly nod to the Braxtons, the TV champ steps up.

King: It’s simple, really. We have the victories, we have the women *motions to the girls, who do a quick twirl to show off their outfits*, and we have the belts. And with the way things are going, it’s gonna be a while before anyone stops us. The Gold Standard, frankly, is back on track!

King thrusts a single fist into the air, which pumps everyone up back into a round of applause. Crusoe laughs heartily and slaps King on the back before stepping back up.

Crusoe: Indeed, indeed! Now, tanight, we celebrate. We’ve proven our worth, and we’ve earned a little bit of fun for proving you wrong, FMW. So join us as we…well hey! Look who it is!

Crusoe’s eyes and smile widen, as the rest of the group begins to hoot and holler, as UV champ Jeff Whitt finally arrives, dressed in but a plain black t-shirt and jean shorts. His messy, unkempt hair just barely covers his eyes, but the slight frown on his face gives away his thoughts on the current events in the room. The others seem to not notice, however, as they continue to yell, going so far as to start a “Jeff” chant. Once the yelling subsides, everyone looks to Jeff in anticipation of what he’ll say. After looking disapprovingly around the room, he turns to the camera for a moment, before turning back to Crusoe.

Whitt: What the hell are you doing?

Clearly not the answer anyone was expecting. Crusoe falters, smile dropping, and he begins to explain before being cut off by Whitt.

Whitt: We’re celebrating? And what exactly are we celebrating? Me winning this belt?

Sage: Well, yeah!

Whitt: And what the holy hell are these two non-affiliates doing here, huh? I don’t believe they’re members of our roster, they have no business fuckin’ being here.

The Braxtons recoil while King gets closer to them, shielding the two from any further venom from Jeff. Whitt turns to Leviticus and sneers before turning back to Crusoe.

Whitt: We’re celebrating mediocrity? Is that what we’re doing? Because as far as I know, it shouldn’t have taken us this long to get on track. As far as I know, we have still accomplished nothing.

Crusoe: Now that jus’ ain’t true…

Whitt: To hell it isn’t true. You think winning this belt is the be-all end-all for us, huh? That winning this one title suddenly makes everything better for us? Need I remind all of you about what FMW has of ours?

The room grows quiet as everyone thinks silently to themselves, making the answer to Jeff’s question obvious. The UV champ sighs loudly.

Whitt: We have nothing to celebrate. Not now. As wonderful as it is to have this belt, it means nothing if I, if we, don’t capitalize on it. Each and every last one of you should have realized that.

Whitt turns to the camera, glaring at it intensely.

Whitt: While we may have nothing to throw a party about, FMW, let me remind you that you tried over and over again to step on our heads and end us. And like the roaches you believed us to be, we survived. We survived, and got mad. All that anger, that spite, that hatred, it fucking fueled us. The mistakes you made in insulting us have only driven us more. And now we have something you created. I took one of your most prestigious belts from one of your most popular superstars. And now you rely on the people you hate the most to hold your title with the same glory and honor your peons did.

Jeff, for the first time during the night, smiles. It is a deranged, evil smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Whitt: Oh, and trust me, I will. I will defend this belt better than any and every champion before me. I am going to make topping this reign impossible for future generations. I am going to force you to acknowledge the greatness of GSW and of the Truly Talented. You will not sully our name any further, you degenerate, thieving abomination of a wrestling company. You WILL respect us!

Jeff turns to his comrades, gracing them with his “smile”, which most recoil from.

Whitt: Tonight? We have nothing to celebrate. We have nothing to throw a party over. But in the future? After we truly prove FMW wrong? Oh, there will be plenty to party about. We’ll be up to our necks with reasons to celebrate.

He then turns back to the camera, grin somehow looking more evil than originally.

Whitt: And FMW will be up to its neck with failure and missed opportunities and getting these belts back. And then what will you do, hmm? Strip us of the titles because there can be no other way? Throw every competitor at us at once, hoping one of them will get lucky? Ha! Either way, you will look weak when you fail.

Now, the rest of the GSW roster begins to (slowly) smile, as they begin to get behind Jeff’s words. Jeff looks around again to see the faces of his roster-mates.

Whitt: This? This is only the beginning. We are finally beginning to prove our worth. It took a while, yes, but we got there. And now, with titles around our waists, the only way to continue going is up. I personally cannot wait to see whom FMW decides to throw at me next. A rematch with Celt? A member of the Pack? One of Bryson’s personal army? Oh, and thanks for the payment, Bryson. It’s almost enough to make me consider not bringing down the company. Enough, but not quite, eheheh. King!

King stands at attention as the Truly Talented one walks over to him. The two near-rivals stare at one another stoically, before Jeff smiles and pats King’s title.

Whitt: We may bicker and quarrel and refuse to see eye-to-eye, but you are a champion and thus a figurehead of GSW. Can I count on you to continue to defend your title admirably as you have thus far?

King: *nods his head* Of course.

Whitt: Good! Your next opponent is a guy by the name of Jimmy Ice. Rock imitator who needs to be knocked down a peg or seven. Make sure to remind him of who we are.

King nods his head once again, which seems to satisfy Whitt. He then turns and walks over to Leviticus.

Whitt: Ah, Levi. I’ve heard rumors abound that you may be leaving us?

Leviticus: That is correct. Just don’t have my head in the game.

[color=gold]Whitt:[c/olor] Such a shame. But we have a match together on Ammunition. It seems FMW is already pulling out the big guns. Hannibal Frost and Skyler Striker are teaming to take on the two of us.

Levi raises his eyebrows and whistles, impressed.

Leviticus: Already? Must be deathly afraid.

Whitt: Apparently! The two of them will probably be our biggest challenge to date. Can I count on you to be at your best when we take them on?

Leviticus: I shall do my best, my man. I shall not allow them to get the best of us.

Whitt: Good, good! I’m counting on you. I would hate to be embarrassed in my first match as champion…

Jeff turns back to the camera, and chuckles to himself.

Whitt: And there you have it. If you pea-brains couldn’t figure out what that was about, well, let me just say that GSW is on the same page once again. No more shall we argue betwixt ourselves. No, all eyes are on the same prize. Starting tonight, and continuing forever, GSW shall prove to everyone why we are the Gold Standard in wrestling! We shall prove to FMW why you must fear the Midas Touch! And we shall be the most dominant force FMW has ever dealt with!

The group breaks out in a chorus of cheers and yelling. A GSW chant breaks out as Levi wraps a brotherly arm around Jeff’s shoulder. The comrades continue to chant while the screen fades to black.

Ammunition 16.1
LIVE from the BC Place in Vancouver, British Columbia

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton

TV Title Match
Jonathan King

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray

Singles Match
Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Seems like all the competition is fading away.

I had a really great idea, one that I've been holding for a few years now. And it got shot down. He thinks the time for that is over. Not the only time I've heard that now.

Seeing stuff like that can be disheartening. What do my accomplishments now mean if it's because there's no one else good enough for it?

I said a lot about making the tag titles worth something again. Now, I could probably say we've succeeded. We're one match away from breaking the record for most defenses.

But does it really count when it's just some jobbers? And that's what these guys are, jobbers that are getting thrown at us instead of some kind of actual competition.

I've got to wonder. Is it because any actual competition doesn't want to face us, because of fear or intimidation or something...

Or is all the competition just gone?

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt

Ammunition 16.1
LIVE from the BC Place in Vancouver, British Columbia

Teddy Bears and Pillow Fight Match
Santana Braxton vs John Andrews

TV Title Match
Jonathan King vs Jimmy Ice

Tag Team Championship Match
Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray vs Christopher Luck and Dazz Andrews

Singles Match
Leon Caprice vs Abel Steele

Main Event
C4 Rules Tag Match
Skyler Striker and Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus and Jeff Whitt
for the record, this is easily like the best whitt promo Ive read.

Leviticus Gibbons: Jobber To The Stars

Has a nice ring to it doesn't it? I mean look at it. It looks like it should be plastered across a business card. It would be a nice business card to, all Bone and Silian Rail, ready to be handed out to promoters all over the world announcing my enhancement talents.

Granted it isn't the job I had envisioned for myself when I got into this business, but hey, at least I am still in the business right? Not only that but the job has certain perks. For example, occasionally they will give me some lower card guys to beat to enhance my credibility. Heck, they may even put a lower level title on me. They will build me up so I look like a legitimate threat right before the upper card guy or rising star leaves me lying on the mat as the referee raises their arm in victory.

It's a time tested role and somebody has to do it. It's not the job I want to do but when I look back at everyone who has beaten me over the last few shows, as well as my previous track record, I can't help but wonder if maybe this is the job I have had assigned to me.

*****************************************************************************************

Leviticus sat alone in the special GSW locker room. FMW had set it up with the intent of keep chaos between the two sides to a bare minimum and keeping that minimum in the ring whenever possible. The dirt sheets had a different opinion though, they felt as though GSW had gotten it's own locker room as part of a plan to legitimize the group. The rumor mills were all about that kind of thing: work rates, pushes, card positioning, all that nonsense. They babbled on and on about how FMW seemed to finally be making an effort to make FMW look like a legitimate threat in an attempt to boost Ammunition ratings with fresh feuds. They said that was why King and Whitt had been given titles, after all gold makes wrestlers seem more “legit”. Things were going well for GSW right then, but that wasn't what was on Leviticus's mind at that moment.

Leviticus: Why do I keep doing this?

He spoke the thought out loud despite the fact that there was no one in the locker room to hear him. If they had been there to hear him they probably would have gone on at great length about their current success and his potential, potential that seemed to amount to less and less everyday. He shook his head as he imagined all of them there trying their best to pep him up. He knew they meant well but I all seemed so pointless. He wanted to believe what they had to say but everything he saw pointed toward his current position in things. In fact, his match on Ammunition certainly didn't do anything to help his thinking either.

Skyler Stryker and Hannibal Frost were both main event level talents. In fact Hannibal had even held the top title in FMW not too long ago. Both of them had also come back recently, and needed a few wins to remind people why they were amongst the elite of the wrestling business. That was where Leviticus's most recent match came into play. Jeff Whitt had recently won a championship so they couldn't really afford to make him look weak, so that left just one person, Leviticus.

Leviticus shook his head as he thought about it. When he had first come into FMW he had been booked as a man with a whole world worth of potential. A guy who was practically guaranteed to shoot straight up the card. Over the course of several shows he had been built up as a credible challenger before he was defeated by DGS. Then he began to regain his momentum again, and was entered into the GSW faction. He was costing well until he met up with Nick Bryson. And then there were all the others. It all just seemed so repetitive to Leviticus and frankly he was getting a little tired of it. Either that or he was getting complacent. It didn't really matter because neither option was particularly good.

(OOC Writer's note: This is only part of the promo. Unfortunately I have been working six days a week at least nine hours a day. I had a plan for this promo and the one last show but needless to say my job interfered. I know that is no excuse and I apologize to Jeff, Hannibal, and Skyler. You all deserve better. I promise you will get it just as soon as things level out which should be soon.)