FMW 10.1 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe (I <3 You Seany)

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo

[center]-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo[u]

Television Championship:
PX (c)

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c)



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Virus

Singles Match:
Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
The Celt


-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream

Singles Match:
Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith

Street Fight:
Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Romeo

Proving Grounds

From the Case Files of Detective Raul Dominguez, Baltimore Homicide Division



The Following is a record taken five months and one week into the incarceration of Calvin X. Carter. While the City’s officials continued to relish in the victory over the collapse of the criminal’s regime, a brutal new threat surfaced, killing ten men in the West Baltimore area. Without a lead in the Strickers Street Massacre (documented in the previous dissertation) the Baltimore Homicide Division scrambled to quell rising tension from the community and the press to bring justice to the perpetrator(s). Before any making any visible headway the killer had struck again; Only this time, the victim was under color of authority.


Serial Killers are particularly dangerous due to the sheer number of victims and mode of operation. With each additional murder, the chances of the victim being a legitimately good person rise significantly. In an isolated incident or crime of passion, the victim did something to deserve their fate, nine times out of ten, in one way or another. But as serial killers continue their numerous, random crime sprees, innocents come into play.

While any good cop knows there will be no end to men laying death upon one another, the phenomenon of murder embodied so elegantly by a serial will always have the boys in blue salivating. It’s probably because it is the fighting chance we have to take a stand, make a difference, actually prevent a danger on the horizon, one inevitable under other circumstances.

Unbeknown to the rest of the force, few detectives like myself were privy to the disappearances of a handful of undercover operatives, but the heads of the departments kept it in the dark in order to protect the integrity of ongoing investigations. The few notable Detectives in the department were alerted, but only to assist us as we tried to uncover the leaks instead of solving the murders. But the death of Albert Kennefick marked a new turn in wave of undercover deaths. Kennefick hadn't simply disappeared like the rest of the his kind, he ended up in a hotbed of gang activity and police forfeiture, brutally murdered in a drug dealer's kitchen.

The Captain and the associated officials involved would have no choice but to open an investigation into the murder, meaning more manpower utilized. I figured my best option for a partner would be former vice officer Patrick McAllister, my long time friend and seasoned veteran of the force. Pat was looking for his big break to become a Detective, and I need his expertise and favors gathered through a career of good police work.


A wide box of a man came strolling up the grime covered side walk, flanked with uniformed patrolmen. His salt and pepper crew cut still glistened with the dew of his morning shower as golden framed glasses hung about his prominent features. Cool, calm, and collected, Captain Bravka strolled up the stairs of the tiny Baltimore bungalow, the stage of the past night’s killings.

Captain Vincent Bravka was always the type of cop to hit a crime scene and address the corpse last. He made sure everyone on the scene knew of his presence, just to make sure they knew to be firing on all cylinders. As his Italian loafers grazed the threshold of the modest abode, he began his wordless salutation around the room, reaching into his jacket to remove a pair of latex gloves and stretching them across his apelike digits. As his eyes met leading detective Raul Dominguez, a sense of calm pacified his anxiety as to who would take the reins of this investigation. Upon striding across the threshold, his loafers clopped on the cheap wooden flooring of the destitute dwelling, alerting Dominguez, who turned to begin the rundown of the facts to Captain.

As Dominguez rose to greet the Captain, revealing the victim’s smiling, blood soaked remains, Bravka’s eager pace dulled. He fought all instincts react in horror, allowing only his eyes to widen subtly, as a cruel recognition surfaced in his mind.

“Albert Kennifick, Thirty Eight years, throat slashed. He was scheduled to meet up with his Parole officer yesterday afternoon, never showed.”

As Bravka continued to stare silently at the corpse at his feet, the grizzly Irish officer Patrick McAllister burst into the scene.

“Yo, so you hear this bullshit? McGwire admitting to steroids? I’ve been saying it since ’98. You think I’ll be able to snatch up any of my gambling losses now that the prick admitted to cheating? Hooooly shit, somebody’s pop didn’t teach ‘em how to shave.”

At the sight of the violent murder, McAllister couldn’t help up curse. The corpse had a face younger than his years, yet it was strangely contorted into a disturbing smile. This stubbly wicked smile sat only inches above a thick meaty gash almost completely around the neck of the victim, now grey and free of any blood cells, having gushed it all the night before. To the side of the man’s head sat a bloody handkerchief.

“We found this, it was obscuring the man’s mouth. It’s a Black Pharaoh’s bandana, it’s how the street units identified themselves. His face is frozen like this somehow, most likely by means on chemical injection, but there’s too much blood to find any puncture wounds for now. Captain?”

The Captain’s gaze had yet to unlock from the bloody mess that was Albert Kennifick, when Dominguez beckoned for his opinion. With a shake of the head, the Captain shook out of his trance and indicated for the Detective to follow him into the parlor.

“Is something bothering you Captain?”

“What was the departed’s name?”

“Albert Caine Kennifick, parolee for an assault charge in 2005.”

“Ok, that’s what I thought. He’s one of the department’s C.I.’s, the assault charge was bogus.”

con•fi•den•tial in•for•mant (kän-fə-ˈden(t)-shəl\in-ˈfȯr-mənt\)– n. a person who has signed a deal with a law enforcement detail in order to protect their livelihood and identity as they gather information on persons of interest in ongoing investigations. Syn. – Snitch, Rat, Pussy, Weasel.

“Jesus, we’ve gotta get working on keeping the cover.”

“No, forget it, if this is tied up in the Strickers Massacre, we need to get our C.I.s safe before anything else like this happens.”

“You think he’s gonna start targeting informants now? This could just be a coincidence.”

Bringing his index to his lips, Bravka quieted the detective and lead them out to the back porch, where no one else could listen.

“Forensics indicate that the first body dropped at the Strickers Street Massacre was Devin Lowe, a C.I. we were going to try and work into Xavier’s prison scheming. Two hours before reporting to duty, he’s murdered. The other nine just happened to want a piece of the killer for laying out their homie. This paired with all those Undercover disappearances...you see where I'm going with this.”

“So we’re going to expose one dead informant and not the others?”

“Not yet, no. We’ve got to figure out a pattern. Lowe died, but he was trying to undermine Xavier. We’ve got no motive, officially, for this body, but I’ll need you to start digging into Internal Affairs to try and make a connection. I need whoever did this.”

Dominguez gnawed on his lower lip in contemplation before looking past the Captain and signaling for McAllister to join them, to the Captain’s visible displeasure.

“This is going to need manpower, but manpower we can trust. I need McAllister here watching my back if I’m going in deeper into IAD’s shit, with his connections, we’ll find whatever leak is sending our informants to the morgue.”

Eyeing the Irishman cautiously, the Captains gaze slipped to the corpse in the center of the hallway through the open back door. Horrified, his eyes shot back to the officer.

“Where are you at with the detective’s exam, McAllister?”

“Passed with flying colors, yet I’m still wedged between the copier and vending machine in the bullpen, you see me every time you’re Jonesing for a Kit-Kat bar.”

“Alright, well I can’t officially put you in the investigation, so you’ll need to work on your own time for this, but get this leak patched and you’ll be out in the field the very next day. I’ve personally vowed to protect anyone willing to stick out their necks and help us, now we’ve got two dead. We need Xavier’s triggerman, maybe we can get his prison time to triple digits, maybe even the needle.”

“Yeah, well the needle's too good for a piece of shit like that.

As the Captain sauntered back into the building, McAllister clutched Dominguez by the crook of the arm, eyeing him inquisitively.

“So he doesn't know about the hunch?”

"Hunch?"

"The 'Xavier's not responsible for this' hunch?"

Realizing the double duty they'd have to play, following their own suspicions while taking orders from the Captain to keep an eye on Xavier, McAllister annoyance could be mapped by his focused glare towards Dominguez, who could feel the tension rising. As he paced quietly, avoiding the question until concocting the right response, McAllister kept his eyes locked on the Mexican detective.

"We don't have any solid evidence that rules Xavier out of this, and its obvious he's somehow involved, so we're gonna stay on him, that's for sure. But we've gotta be stupid to ignore the same thought that keeps surfacing. Xavier's got no reason to bring hell down on the city; if he wanted the informants, he could have them killed less messily."

"So my cautionary stint as a detective is going to be working double duty for you and Bravka with two seperate agendas? Why not just put Bravka on the same track you're rollin' on?"

"Because whoever is leaking informant information is very high up. We don't know who Bravka is answering to in IAD or the feds, and whoever it is could be a compromised division. We're best with keeping the conspiracy allegations under the surface until we get hard evidence."


"Alright, well what's our first step then? Wiretapping the Department of Justice?"

Dominguez chuckled at his partner's indignation, resting a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. McAllister's anger cooled, knowing if his anger was justified and Dominguez was as far out in left as he believed, he would have snapped back. The Irishman figured he just wasn't seeing it yet.

"Tomorrow morning we're going to make a visit to the Pen, see what Xavier's got to say about the slayings."

- Chuck D of Public Enemy

Integritty

As for the rest of the world, they can't realize
A cell is hell - I'm a rebel so I rebel
-Chuck D of Public Enemy

A distant buzzer sounded through the concrete corridors of the Baltimore Corrections Facility, vocalizing the fluid circuit of the imprisoned reaching out to the free world. As loved ones and associates systematically flowed in and out, playing out exchanges of grief, shame, love, levity, condemnation, or any combination of the lot with their institutionalized counterparts, a prison weary Xavier was led past the chattering throng, silencing the halls like a plague. His somnolent gaze rested in the Detective cubicle, where a blood thirsty Irishman and tactful Mexican awaited the ensuing battle. Another buzzer screeched, this time overhead, as the sliding metal and glass entrance to the prison side of the cubicle shuffle back into the wall.

Two guards, unarmed for the sake of keeping the prisoners unarmed should a scuffle ensue, flank Xavier as he slowly and carefully glides towards the cold metal seat at his side of the interrogation style table. Heralded by the sounds of clinking metal shackles, Xavier took his seat across from the pair of detectives, each wearing a unique expression indicating their style of handling the oncoming exchange. As the guards unfastened the prisoner’s wrist clamps and locked him to the questioning table, McAllister began to flip through his folder of notes, while Dominguez proceeded with the questioning.

“Thanks for coming in, Calvin.”


What begins as an irksome grin rolled into a full scale chuckle, as Xavier shifted himself in his seat.

“Can’t pass up a meetin’ with the fuzz, right? You guys really got a hard on for me don’t you? Got me feelin’ like the mayor of crackertown.”

"Yeah, well your police escort isn’t a round trip asshole, you’re at your final destination."

"Oh, I apologize, officer, I thought we were being friendly. In times like these, a community needs to come together."

"Here’s the waiver, dipshit, just like we talked about on the phone."

McAllister tosses a manila folder with a contract on it, lighting a cigarette while focusing his glare at a laughing Xavier. Dominguez posts up in the corner, allowing McAllister to take the lead for the moment.

"It says you’re willing to speak to us without the presence of a lawyer."

"Waive my constitutional rights? Let it be said that Calvin X. Carter is hereby…all about the help baby."

"Oh that’s very prestigious, Calvin X. Carter?"

"I thought you’d like that one, cracker. It’s kind of like starting a new, just like the new Captain, right? That nigga’s gonna be mayor one day, you feel me?"

Detectives exchange glances uncomfortably. Carter signs the document, slamming the pen against the table with a shit eating grin on his face. McAllister takes a seat across from Xavier, flicking his ashes dangerously close to Xavier’s table space.

Who killed our cops?

The way you folks are handling things these days, could be anybody really.

Of all the information to which Carter could be knowledgeable, police work was the least comforting. Familiarity of the subject was ringing true in both detectives as they both remembered what truly made the leader of the Black Pharaohs so dangerous; his knowledge of both sides of the war. While McAllister volleyed strategies in his head, he handed the crime scene information back to Dominguez, casually posted against the wall.

Well, we’ve got numerous ties to you at multiple crime scenes, including bullet fragments and Black Pharaoh Paraphernalia. Not to mention, you’ve been speaking out against recent policy, including asset forfeiture laws, where the state confiscates property paid for by illicit trade, which have put a few families out of their homes. One of our dead cops was found on a block where asset forfeiture took place. You sure this wasn’t your version of a protest song?

“ This may come as a surprise to you, but some there are things in this city to which I ain’t privy.”

McAllister shoots upward, out of his chair, shouting, hoping to startle the prisoner, who barely budges.

Both slayings occurred in Black Pharaoh territory, and you’re the Pharaoh of Pharaohs. You wanna look at me in the face and tell me you didn’t order the hits?!?

I’ve just been in the woods for a minute, son, I’m trying to get my shit in order here. It’s a little early for me to be blowin’ smoke circles to the outer frontier, don’t you think?

Well, with your reputation, and all this evidence, you know what happens now, right? The investigations never end. Ever.

Carter shifts uncomfortably, still struggling with a cocky smile to hold his composure. Dominguez glances to McAllister confidently, who has stood to pace and finish his cigarette.

So let me get it straight. A couple of high profiles get merked and its breaking news’, but my nigga Devin gets wiped out with nine other homies and that can't get mentioned during a commercial break?!

McAllister snaps his gaze back to Carter, unsure if he had heard what he had heard. Dominguez's eyelids peel back astonished behind his expensive black sunglasses, also thrown off by the previous answer.

Wait, say that again.

Just cuz I’m in the cage don’t mean I got earmuffs to the street. I heard about my nigga D funk getting stabbed on Strickers at two in the morning, along with nine cats by some crazy shit, and y’all ain’t turned up nothing

Just so I can be sure of what you’re telling me, you’re saying…you are aware of the death of your friend, Devin Lowe?

I’m guessing the Department’s health care plan doesn’t incorporate any auditory examinations.

“Yeah, well you and yours know the lives you live. Live by the sword, by the sword, am I right?”

“Hey, what you see as criminal karma, I may see as racial prioritizing. Ten niggas go down and no one bats an eyelash, but one crackerwood snitch gets his due and the world’s gotta pause its twirl, try and explain that shit.”

Suddenly Dominguez cut the tense silence between McAllister and Carter, jarred by a realization that the conversation would take a drastically different path, if Carter had no knowledge of Lowe’s work as an undercover informant. Such valuable information could be played at a later date, of strategic importance, thought the detective, not in a verbal spar of pride.

“I think we’ve heard enough. Have a nice day in the box, kiddo.”

“Will do, you Mexican faggot. Just know this: I don’t kill for no reason, and I know nothing about merkin’ them cops.”

Three and a half years on from the invasion, the world was still reeling. Most major nations had surrendered early into the War, with the entire North American Continent targeted as an immediate threat by the intruders. From there, the invasion moved south, finding little resistance in South America. At the same time, the Galactic forces attempted to drive both east and west across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. However, they found tougher resistance from the Homosepians, with both the shock of the surprise attack worn off, and intel coming in fast of their approach.

It would seem the resistance however, was futile, as the Galactic Forces soon found their way into Europe, with France, England and Spain early victims. Russian quickly became a safe haven, with many of the remaining American Defense Force resources retreating to its old enemy, in order to mount an attack. However, with one military strong hold, and much of the earth now under constant attack from the alien species, the outlook was dark and bleak.

The last “Safe” zone on Earth was the continent of Antarctica. Deep under the frozen waste land was a shelter for many of the world’s best and brightest, working around the clock to advance weapons and exploit the few weaknesses the foe presented. Pressure built on these men and women, causing their progress to be slow. With the cull of the human race growing in speed, a renegade force formed, with plans to do anything possible to defend themselves.

Gaining strength on the border of the green zone that is the Australasian continent, hundreds had joined the cause, while managing to avoid much detection from the opposition. Many of their successful missions were credited to the Australian Army, and their special forces. This was a blessing for the Renegades, allowing their anonymity to continue.


April 23rd, 2030 – Auckland, New Zealand

A feminine figure dressed in black suspiciously slinks down an ally off the main street. The woman returns, assessing the area, and surveying who is around. She sees nothing unusual; young mothers with their child, elderly couples doing their grocery shopping, teenagers skating on the sidewalk. Typical New Zealand activity, even in this time of war. However, in this time of war, nothing can be taken as it seems. The threat of spies and undercover agents was a constant threat.

The figure walks out from the safety of the ally, and rushes towards a white, unmarked van. Knocking a short rhythmic pattern on the back of the van, she drops the back pack slung over her shoulders, and dashes back into the ally. Running as if her life depended on it, she rushes up to a man hole, lifts off the cover, and clambers down into the sewer, closing the hole behind her.

Safely in the hole, the woman jumps down, landing in the waist deep waters with a splash. With her surroundings barely visible, she pulls a torch out from her pocket, and flashes it around the dirty environment. Rats scurry about, eager to avoid the beam of light, as the woman searches for her bearings. The ray from the torch lands across an R in the middle of a satanic star, the sign the woman was looking for, as she heads towards it, wading through the mass of sewerage to get to it.


April 23rd, 2030 – Brisbane, Australia

This is National Nine News, with Melissa Downes

The Channel Nine Newsroom; Brisbane opens with Melissa Downes behind the news reader’s desk.

Downes: Good Evening. An explosion in Auckland, New Zealand has uncovered secret operations of the Galactic Forces within the Green Zone. It seems the Galactic Forces are forcing their way into the green zone through undercover missions, targeting the North Island of New Zealand. The explosion occurred at approximately 11:10 am local time, when the unmarked Mitsubishi Van picked up a parcel waiting outside the vehicle. For more, we cross to Tonya Holtz in Auckland.

We cross to a picture of Tonya Holtz standing about 100 yards from the crime scene, standing next to police tape. In the back ground, special forces are rummaging through the wreckage, trying to find any source of information from the explosion they can.

Holtz: It was a routine day in Auckland this morning, when out of nowhere the explosion struck. Many people thought it was a missile attack from the enemy, but the threat of that quickly dissipated, once they realized no more explosions had occurred. As you would expect, the incident caused panic to spread through the district at a rapid rate, but fortunately, there were no civilian causalities.

Now, the biggest shock to come out of this was that the beings inside were all human. Understandably, the Allied Army is refusing to release much of its information, but we are lead to believe that these men were working for the Galactic Forces, in an attempt to spy on Government and Defense business in the country. It is believed there are more of these units stationed around not just New Zealand, but Australia, and also much of South East Asia.

We zoom out to show the television screen in a small, grungy room. Scattered about the labyrinth of furniture, paper and rubbish are a small handful of people who are fixated on the TV, watching the broadcast of the news. Rushing around the handful of people are other people, busily taking care of business. It’s in this bustling apartment where we find the central headquarters of the Renegades.

Members of the Renegades jump and scream in joy as the reporters on the news release more information bombing. One of Renegades hugs a man standing next to her, both with wide smiles on their faces. The smile is quickly wiped off the man’s face, as an older woman solemnly walks up to him, and whispers something into his ear. Discreetly, she hands him a yellow envelope, and takes him by the hand, leading him to the next room.

The room is a lot cleaner than the last. Fifteen computers operate all over the room, with a man operating each of them, busily working through all their information and operations, looking to get the next edge in the war. A young man, no older than a typical college student, walks up to the man, and hands him a microphone.

Young Man: Commander Flick, I’ve set up a connection with Auckland, we’re just waiting for them to respond. It shouldn’t be much longer.

Commander Flick acknowledges this with a nod of his head, as he begins to open his envelope. Before him, a large projector screen, with the words “Connection Pending” being screened across it. Flick pulls out a wad of paper from the envelope, and begins to read. His expression changes once again as soon as he reads the first few sentences. No longer does he have the look of a confident man. All of a sudden, he seems concerned.

Comm. Flick: Ahhh... Fuck...

Young Man: Connection Active. Picture and Sound are live Commander.

On the projector screen, a young lady is shown, who salutes her commander when she sees him. Commander Flick looks up at the projector, and returns the salutes his soldier is giving him.

Comm. Flick: Excellent Work Pliskken. An inspirational job with the explosive and delivery.

Pliskken: Thank You Commander.

Comm. Flick: I have a new assignment, and I’d like you to team with one of our best soldiers. It’s a difficult and highly controversial mission. Only the best can handle it.

Pliskken: How controversial Commander?

Comm. Flick: In 36 seconds, this communication will terminate. Without hesitation, you must go to Wanganui, and seek out “Donald Duong”. He will be able to advise you further.

Pliskken: Of course Commander.

Comm. Flick: God Speed, Pliskken. You’ll need to...

The connection is suddenly cut, and the words “Connection Terminated” comes across the speed. Commander Flick turns to the young man working the controls. The young man apologizes with a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders.

Young Man: Sorry sir, the connection was compromised.

Commander Flick responds with a disgruntled sigh. He sits down in the nearest chair and relaxes slightly. Looking over the papers in his hands, he continues to take in the devastating information they expose.


April 23rd, 2030 – Obama Safe Haven Base, Antarctica

A brightly lit room, laced with extremely high quality computer equipment is a bustling hub of activity. There’s a distinct sense of stress about the place, with multiple people rushing about, delivering information and intel. We focus on one desk, where a man, dressed in a suit with his tie undone, listens though head phones to a communication, writing down what he hears. Suddenly, he throws down the headphones and jumps to his feet, and powers away from his desk.

Making his way through the maze, he turns left and right with blistering speed. Eventually, he comes to a door marked “Maj. Simon Monforte”. Knocking on the door, Major Monforte opens and holds out his hand for the paper the young man holds. Quickly handing over his intel, the man then leaves quickly, as Monforte returns into his office. Moving towards his desk, he takes a quick look at the information, before picking up his phone and dialing a number. It only takes mere seconds for the person on the other line to answer.

Maj. Monforte: Alert the Commissioner that we have the intel we’ve been waiting for. We’re going ahead with the next phase of the operation. Deploy agents to Wanganui, New Zealand.


April 24th, 2030 – Wanganui, New Zealand

A Pick Up truck heads down a back alley, before coming to a halt. The driver gets out of the front, while a blanket rises in the tray of the truck. Emerging from underneath the blanket is the young woman from the Renegades, known only as “Pliskken”. Jumping from the tray, she hands the driver a small wad of money, before picking her back pack out of the truck, and leaving the alley. It’s sunrise in Wanganui, and the sleepy city slowly wakes from its cautious slumber. Pliskken walks down the main street, keeping her eyes open for anything that could be seen as suspicious.

Her mission was simple. Find Donald Duong. The Auckland Renegades had done their research into the man for her. She was looking for a 48 year old male, a former professional boxer. Approximately six feet tall, and in very good physical shape. It’s believed this name is a code name, to protect his real identity, as is his believed place of business, “Golden Gloves Gym”. She only has to walk a few hundred meters, before she reaches the entrance of the gym. Its yellow exterior the only glamorous part about this cold, sweaty and down to earth place.

Pliskken pushes open the heavy door, allowing herself in. Looking around, she finds a barren area, devoid of life. There are no customers, and very few lights turned on. Her footsteps echo on the thinly carpeted floor, catching the attention of someone in another room.

???: HANG ON A MINUTE! I’M COMING!

Rushing out from a room in the back, carrying various bottles of cleaning equipment is a man, who meets the description of the man Pliskken is looking for. Pliskken looks the man straight in the eyes.

Pliskken: Donald Duong?

The face of the man changed instantly, becoming very serious, very quickly. Carelessly, he dropped the cleaning equipment, and rushed to the door. Locking it, he grabs Pliskken by the hand, and leads her through the gym, trying to keep out of sight of the windows. Opening a door, he drags Pliskken into the room, and closes the door behind him.

???: Who are you?

Pliskken: God Speed, Pliskken.

Duong’s entire being relaxes slightly, as he hears what is believed to be a password.

???: I’ve been waiting for you, Pliskken. My name is Abel Steelee.

Pliskken: Former professional boxer, won Gold in the Sydney Olympics in 2000, and unified the titles in three divisions. You branched out into professional wrestling later in your career, in order to continue to pay for the medical bills of your long time sparring partner, Tim, before retiring a highly decorated athlete in both sports when your body could no longer handle the pressure of active competition in fighting sports. Once retired, you spent your life training others, pushing them to strive to the top. You stayed this way until 2026, when the invasion took place. The Allied Armies pressured you to train their men, focusing solely in a crash course in fitness. You disappeared when you refused to adhere to their time frames and brutal work load.

Abel Steele: You’re quite good. You’ve got spunk and smarts. It’s good to know.

Pliskken: I don’t rush blindly into meeting strangers, Abel. It’s how people get killed in these times.

Abel Steele: You’d know why I’m siding with the Renegades then, wouldn’t you.

Pliskken: I wasn’t disclosed that information. I’ve been told that it’s extremely classified, in order to protect your true identity.

Abel Steele: It’s to protect many people. But to protect me, and my identity is the furthest thing from the truth.

Pliskken: Then why are you siding with the Renegades then?

Abel Steele: The simple answer, it’s a cause worth fighting for, especially since our government has long given up the fight in this war.

Pliskken: Given up?

Pliskken seems a little confused at the accusation the government had stopped fighting the invasion. Abel Steelee notices this, and chuckles to himself.

Abel Steele: I guess that means you don’t know what our mission is, do you?

Pliskken: The commander’ communication with me was compromised. I only received your code name, and the password.

Abel Steele: The government giving up is exactly why we have this extreme and controversial mission. You and I are heading to Brisbane. We are going to kill the Commissioner of the Allied Armies.

Pliskken: We’re turning against our own kind?

Abel Steele: We have to. There’s no other choice. We torture and kill the Commissioner, and the use military action to take control of what little resources mankind has left.

Pliskken: That makes no sense. We’ve worked so hard over the last 3 years to maintain secrecy around our identity. We’ve spent days and months on end, perfecting our techniques, signals and footprints to look exactly like the Allied Armies’. Why would we want to blow our cover and jeopardize the safety of the Earth in this outrageous and heinous act of violence?

Abel Steele: Because, the Commissioner’s signing control of the Earth over to the Galactic Forces.

Pliskken: What?

Steelee sighs. It’s news he didn’t like hearing, and repeating it doesn’t make it easier to stomach. It’s the worst fear of the Renegades come to life.

Abel Steele: The Commissioner of Earth is signing over our remaining resources, land and freedom to the Galactic forces. The Government is surrendering.

Pliskken stays silent. This is a mighty shock to her system. The Earth surrendering was the furthest thing from her imagination. She couldn’t fathom how this could have possible happened. Abel Steelee notices how his partner for this mission hasn’t said a word, and turns to a fridge. Pulling out two sodas, he passes one to Pliskken, who shrugs off the gesture.

Pliskken: Sorry. I don’t think I can handle drinking anything right now.

Abel Steele: Drink it. It’ll give you energy. You’ll need it.

Reluctantly Pliskken takes the drink. Simultaneously, both crack the tops off their cans of Soda. Steelee takes a long sip, from the can, while Pliskken just stares at it in disbelief.

Pliskken: The Commissioner’s currently enroot to Brisbane, where he’s meeting with Galactic Officials, who will take the signed treaty of peace to the Galactic Fortress. I’ve been able to organize a ride to Brisbane in one of the Allied Armies’ high speed Subs. It departs the docks in 2 hours.

Pliskken nods, but continues to stare at her Soda in disbelief. Steelee continues to look at her, starting to get concerned with her sudden distance from him.

Abel Steele: Drink!


April 24th, 2030 – Wanganui, New Zealand

Abel Steelee and Pliskken leave the Golden Gloves gym through the back door. Now in the car park, they walk towards a 2009 Holden Commodore. It’s old, rusty and has seen better days. There are dints and scratches scattered all over the blue paint job, but Steelee doesn’t seem to care, as he gets in the driver’s side, with Pliskken getting into the passenger’s seat. Putting the key into the ignition, Steelee turns the engine over, before it roars into life.

The car backs out of the parking lot, and drives down the street. There is very little traffic around, with many people choosing to take the day off, with the ANZAC day public holiday tomorrow. The pair drive along, headed towards the docks. There’s an awkward silence in the car, as if both are coming to terms with the gravity of the mission. Pliskken takes it upon herself to break this silence.

Pliskken: So... I should probably get a phone number for you, shouldn’t I?

Abel Steele: Why?

Pliskken: No reason. I like collecting the phone numbers of people I do missions with.

Abel Steele: Is that like a quirk or something?

Pliskken: No. I just find it helps me relax, knowing the person I’m working with doesn’t mind me calling them.

Abel Steele: Well... ok. Look in the glove box. My phone’s in there. I’ve recently changed number, so my new one’s in there under “This”. They change my number on me so often, I don’t even bother remembering them anymore.

Pliskken opens the glove box, and instantly finds Steelee’s phone. She takes it out and begins keying the number into her own phone, as Abel parks the car. Pliskken looks up to find they’re nowhere near the docks. They’ve come to a stop outside an apartment block. Confused, she turns to Steelee.

Pliskken: Why are we stopping?

Abel Steele: The guy I’ve organized this ride from wants me to pick up the engagement ring he bought. His girlfriend is on the sub with him, and he knows he can’t keep it hidden from her. Once we dock in Brisbane, he’s going to pop the question in front of her family.

Pliskken: That’s sweet, but do we really have time for this?

Abel Steele: It’s either that, or we’re kayaking it across the Tasman.

Pliskken: What ever...

Pliskken returns to her mobile phone as Abel Steelee gets out of the car. Taking keys from his pocket, he walks up to the apartment block, puts a key in the slot, and opens the door. Entering the hallway, he’s presented with two doors, marked 1 and 2, as well as a stairway heading upwards. Steelee turns to the door marked 2, puts the key in the lock, and enters.

He’s only in the door a few feet, when he hears glass being smashed, and a blood curdling scream. Instantly, he jumps into action, and runs out the door. Standing before him are two extremely well built men, wearing dark black suits. Both of the men are double Steelee’s size, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to unsuccessfully burst through them.

Behind the men, Steelee can see two more men grabbing Pliskken from his car. She screams loudly as she tries to fight the pair off, but their strength proves too great. The quickly overpower her and carry her to a limousine parked behind the car. Steelee fights to try and get past the two men, but one of them lands a stiff blow to his stomach. With an almighty cough, Steelee’s mouth erupts with blood, but he refuses to go down.

Instead, Steelee falls back onto his boxing skills, landing a massive right hook to the temple of the smaller man, who hits the ground quickly. The other man springs into action with a punch of his own, but Steelee’s easily able to duck underneath it, and bring him down with a massive uppercut.

Through the scuffle, Steelee has lost track of Pliskken. The two men who took her had disappeared into the limousine, so surely Pliskken had been taken hostage inside the luxury vehicle. The Limousine suddenly speeds away, and down the street. Steelee hurries after it, not hesitating to jump into his car, and speed after it. However, by the time he is able to start the engine, the Limousine is long gone. Steelee speeds off down the street anyway, trying to hunt down the kidnappers.


April 24th, 2030 – Wanganui, New Zealand

An hour had passed since Pliskken had been taken, and Abel Steelee still had no sign on where she had been taken. He’d driven to the docks, where he and Pliskken were to travel to Brisbane together on a high speed submarine. He knew he had to continue with the mission. Once in Brisbane, he could get together with Commander Flick to create a new plan. However, he couldn’t help but think, what if?

What if he’d invited Pliskken to come with him instead of leaving her in the car? What if he’d just forgotten about the engagement ring and went straight to the dock? What if he’d knocked out the burley men earlier? Steelee mulled over these thoughts while he looked out to see, until he was distracted by the sound of his phone ringing.

The number had no id on it, and was coming through as a voice exclusive phone call. Steelee pressed the answer button, and held it to his ear.

Abel Steele: Hello.

Pliskken: Oh good, you’re OK. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I’m on my way to Brisbane now, don’t ask me how. All you need know is you gotta get to Brisbane too.

Abel Steele: But how?

Pliskken: They were spies for the Allied Forces. It’s ok, they’re dead. I’m fine, I’ll see you in Brisbane in 48 hours.

Steelee pulled the phone away from his ear and breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was alright. He got out of the car, and started walking towards the dock. As he passed a stack of empty barrels, he couldn’t help but think that Pliskken had an extremely calm voice for someone who had been abducted merely an hour earlier.


April 26th, 2030 – Brisbane, Australia

Pliskken sits outside the Brisbane Town Hall, in plain sight, listening to her iPod. The town hall is busy this morning, with many people rushing about. It had been 2 hours since she had spoken to Abel Steelee last, who had been closing in on Brisbane’s CBD. To pass the time, she chose to watch the people she fought so hard to save. In a small way, she found it comforting to connect with these people, even if it’s just observing them.

She is suddenly distracted by a man, who walks up and sits next to her. Pliskken takes out her head phones and greets Abel Steelee with a firm hand shake. Steelee looks around, watching all the people go by.

Abel Steele: So this is how you relax.

Pliskken: I call it a moment of truth. It reminds me why I risk my life to save theirs, instead of placing my safety first. Every single one of their heart beats grows more and more valuable as every second passes.

Abel Steele: That’s very...

Pliskken: Don’t label it. In fact, don’t discuss it. It’s something very personal to me. It reminds me of something my father taught me when I was young.

Abel Steele: And what is that, Pliskken?

Pliskken: Always fight for what you believe in. I believe in humanity.


April 26th, 2030 – Brisbane, Australia

[i]Abel Steelee and Pliskken walk into a building, and head through the sparse lobby towards the elevators. Pushing a button, the door closest to them opens immediately, and the pair enter. Steelee pushes number “7” on the controls, and the elevator whirs into action. Pliskken however, reaches across and abruptly pushes the emergency stop button.

Abel Steele: What’s the matter?

Pliskken: There has to be a better way. Killing the Commissioner of Earth just doesn’t seem right.

Abel Steele: Are you serious? This is the man who is willing to let mankind suffer for eternity, because some alien race has come in and decided they want to take the planet by force. He’s succumbing to the pressures of a being who don’t wish to live in harmony with us. It’s a criminal offence, one that could end what YOU believe in.

Pliskken: Maybe you’re right, but what if you’re wrong? What if surrendering is the best option? What if this peace treaty isn’t all that our intel has lead us to believe?

Steelee sighs and pushes “7” again and the elevator whirs back to life. Steelee turns his back towards Pliskken, almost in disgust.

Abel Steele: The intel is right. We have to stop this. We’re going to pick up our supplies, and in 2 hours time, the Renegades will hold the fate of humanity in our hands. And we will fight to maintain the hope of a prosperous future, because it’s a fight worth believing in.

Steelee looks over his shoulder to a disgruntled Pliskken.

Abel Steele: Isn’t that right?

Pliskken says nothing, the look of disappointment on her face says it all. The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open. Abel Steelee walks out of the elevator and is completely taken back by what he sees.

Before him, lay the bodies of his Renegade allies. The floor is a mess, as if a battle had been staged, but no blood had been spilt. The bodies lie there, motionless, except for the expansion and contraction of their chests. They’re all still alive, still breathing. Abel Steelee, too shocked to bend down and help the fallen, continues to cautiously walk through the war zone. All of sudden, and unfamiliar voice booms out from behind him.

???: Get him, Kelsey.

Steelee barely has time to react before he is tackled from behind be Pliskken. He begins to struggle, before looking up to find a gun, pointed squarely at his head. As if it’s a primal instinct, he instantly stops struggling, unwilling to risk his life on an impossible escape. He tries to assess the situation, as lies there, flat on his stomach.

The man holding the gun is wearing highly polished black shoes, and blue suit pants. There’s a shine off the belt buckle of the man holding the gun, which shines directly into his eyes, preventing him from telling the identity of the man. This unknown figure begins to talk once more, but this time, there’s a certain familiarity about his voice.

???: Abel Steelee. I’d like to say this is a pleasure, but I think you know that is really isn’t the case.

Abel Steele: What have you done here?

???: Please. I didn’t do anything. This is a job I kept my hands well clear of. I wouldn’t be able to work with restraint against people meddling in my affairs. I thought you knew that about me.

Abel Steele: You? I don’t know who you are!

???: Much like many of the men who your Renegades thoughtlessly killed, you don’t know me, yet you were willing to murder me in a vein bid to save the planet.

Suddenly, it all begins to piece together. This was the Commissioner of the Allied Forces. The man Steelee and Pliskken were supposed to kill.

Abel Steele: Commissioner, please, you’re making a mistake.

???: No. You’ve made the mistake of falling right into my trap. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your creation, working its magic trying to make an impact on this war. You were the founding father of the Renegades, so it’s now your responsibility to bear the fruits of its labors. That means both sharing in its success, and being held accountable for its failings.

Pliskken continues to pin Steelee to the ground. The Commissioner makes a gesture to her to get up, as he drags Steelee up to his feet. Steelee finally gets his first look at the illusive commissioner, representative of the President of the Allied Forces outside of the safe zone.

Abel Steele: You...

Christian G. Smitten: Me. And to think, you could have gotten out of here, ran off and played soldier somewhere else, and let me take care of business. If only you’d listened to Kelsey’s change of heart. Of course, it didn’t take much to give you no reason to suspect her of foul play. A little abduction can do wonders for an opinion of a person.

Pliskken: Abel, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. You wouldn’t understand.

Christian G. Smitten: You know, a simple change of a name, and you disappeared right off our radar. A simple changing of a name was all she needed to do, in order to get involved with your little... organization.

Pliskken: Abel... I’m sorry

Abel Steele: You sold me out.

Christian G. Smitten: It was her purpose. Ever since your group popped up onto the scene, we’ve required someone to monitor your activity. She’s been a government agent the entire time. And now, the war is ending, we had to flush you out, so there couldn’t be any... unwelcome surprises at our signing today.

Abel Steele: You’re a monster. I hope you rot in hell for what you’re about to do to mankind.

Christian G. Smitten: Rot in hell for saving it? I’d hope not. Kelsey. Tell your friend here, what the Achilles Tendon of the Galactic Forces is.

Kelsey Pliskken stands there silently for a moment, before sheepishly opening her mouth, and muttering to Abel Steele.

Pliskken: Nuclear Radiation...

Christian G. Smitten: Nuclear Radiation. The Galactic Forces are dwindling in numbers here on Earth. Surely, you and your marsh mellow filled head of yours has seen that. They’ve requested back up. Yet, the entire fleet which has come to provide backup is sitting outside of Earth’s atmosphere right now, with thousands of Nuclear Warheads targeted onto them. Any advance, and half their race is destroyed in vein.

Abel Steele: ...they’re surrendering...

Abel Steelee slumps down into the nearest chair as Kelsey and Christian G. Smitten look on. Steelee runs his hands through his hair in disbelief.

Christian G. Smitten: I think you’ll understand why we don’t want any funny business. Be a gentleman, and stay out of the way.

Commissioner Smitten begins to leave, with Kelsey Pliskken just staring at him. Smitten stops at the door, and looks over his shoulder.

Christian G. Smitten: Your men will wake within the hour. Be sure to tell them who really won the war, and who’s efforts were hindering it.


Dear Abel Steelee,

Not a day goes by where I can’t thank you and your misfit colleagues for not blowing the biggest day in our planet’s history. Watching ship after ship of the alien race leave our planet is a constant reminder of how Humanity won out in a battle between common sense and stupidity.

However, I can’t help but wonder, why? Why did you feel it necessary to impose your will upon the war by forming a rogue unit of fighters, equipping them with strategies and techniques you learned while a part of the Allied Armies, and leaving them to the command of another man, while you watched on from a far. I understand distancing yourself, but why start in the first place?

Is it because you felt that those managing the fight were incompetent?

Or was it because you felt you weren’t getting enough attention?

Was it because you had little faith in the direction we were taking?

Did you feel the system was corrupt?

Or, did it simply boil down to a matter of your ego becoming too big for your reasoning?

You rushed into battle, not knowing the entirety of the story. Your final “mission”, if we’re to call it that, is a living testament to this fact. Without knowing everything, you jumped to conclusions, made rash decisions, and pissed off the wrong people. You’re lucky that up until now, I have let you get away with as much as you have.

That ends now.

You have been a nuisance for too long, Abel Steelee. It’s high time you face the music and take responsibility for your actions. You’ve had your fun, and proven all that you have the ability to prove. It’s now time for me to return the favor to you.

Yours Honorably,

Christian G. Smitten.

Holding the FMW Championship had brought a strange feeling to the old timer when he first grasped the gold plated belt with a gloved hand. It was a feeling he should have experienced nearly twenty years ago when he last had the chance. Twice over it was robbed from him, a chance to take glory by its reins and ride it for all it was worth. The third time, after decades of battling the thin line that separated him from being amongst the greatest, the TyranT was no longer denied.

Yer’ don’t deserve this.

That is what Billy McKenzie would say, knowing the grim truth of what it had cost to get the status he had sought ever since he first stepped into the ring with another man to fight to the bloody finish. But Billy was weak, he always had been weak, as a man he was never ready to make the call that to step up and take what he wanted, to do what he had to.

No… yer’ do deserve this. Yer’ worked all yer’ life for this… and it didn’t cost ya’ a damn thing.

For the first time in his life, Billy McKenzie did what the TyranT would have, and should have done a long time ago. As a man, Billy was nothing, as the TyranT, he was capable of anything. In one fell swoop, he managed to obtain what he always wanted, and in the process, managed to protect the only thing that ever meant anything to him.

This called for a celebration.

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

And celebrate he did. Not even the long winter nights and the icy touch of frost could stop TyranT from his merriment. Forty-nine years old, over three decades of a legacy that had only grown stronger now that he had endured wear and tear of combat, gained glory and the gold belt to prove it. McKenzie felt like he was twenty five all over again, not a care in the world as he knocked back drink after drink in the company of faceless strangers around him. He didn’t know a single person in the foreign city centre, a place that breathed life in the dead of night, he didn’t have to, because everyone knew him. Everyone knew the TyranT and that was all that mattered this night.

TyranT had hit every bar, club and shithole he could find that served beer, his aged heart beat so fast with adrenaline he never even so much as staggered despite the quantity of alcohol flowing through his veins. The night wouldn’t be complete without feeling human again, and like some Viking warrior who came home fresh from a raid with the remnants of war lust still lurking in his mind, TyranT took a young woman there and then on the bar the very moment he laid eyes on her shapely figure and her soft exposed flesh that glistened in the dim lights. All sound was deafened by mindless cheers of approval and the god forsaken fast paced music that left his ears ringing, but TyranT could see the blonde woman’s face as she writhed below him. She loved every second of it….

There wasn’t much else to remember when TyranT slowly opened his eyes, welcomed back into the world with the view of a lavish white ceiling and pain that stabbing into his head as if he had somehow managed to back his truck over his own head. The brightness of the ceiling did little to relieve the straining headache that grew worse as the seconds passed. A groan escaped from his lips, his voice strained and his breath carrying a stench so foul he could taste it at the edge of his tongue. He stretched his legs only to feel his toes touch soft skin. With a frown he turned in bed, noticing a young fiery haired woman laying asleep beside him, as naked as he was. She lay tangled in the covers, her torso left exposed. The woman was reasonably attractive, though her figure was clearly her strong point. Strange though, she wasn’t the same blonde he remembered last night.

The searing pain hit again when there was a loud knock of the door forced the old timer to wince in discomfort as he pinched at the bridge in his nose. He took a moment to take in his surroundings, the knock on the door was no priority to him. The place quite familiar, and before long he was aware of his location. He was in a rented apartment, quite a well furnished one as well thanks to the funding of the FMW. As a new champion, TyranT felt like he should have access to better quality comforts as he lay on a king sized bed in a room nearly as big as the old shack he and his father lived in when he was but a little shithead.

The knock came again, and much to his surprise, TyranT noticed the covers shift next to the fiery haired woman, noticing blonde hair and the stunning shape of the woman he took on the bar last night. Apparently he had been a busy man, though it hurt to smile as he did now. Knowing how bad he could be when drinking so much, his drunken counter part would often at least prepare his pained and worn out future-self. Reaching down the side of the bed, he felt for a bucket, feeling the cold touch of water that once held an icy form. Within was a couple of cold bottles of beer, and TyranT wasted no time twisting one open.

TyranT: Good thinkin’. Yer’ always one step ahead ain’t ya?

With the steaming cold beverage so close to his lips, it seemed the gods would deny him a little longer. The hinges of the front door flew from the frame, sending splinters along with them as the door itself swung open. It woke both of the women up with a gasp, as both the blonde and red tried to hide under the covers, sliding away any concealment TyranT had of his nakedform as he sat up against the bed frame with a lazy expression. That expression soon soured into a grotesque smile when he saw the shell of the man that stood before him.

TyranT: Ah’ was wonderin’ when yer’ were gonna’ come an’ congratulate yer’ oldest and best’est friend.

Striker: What… what the hell are you doing?

TyranT made no attempt to cover himself up, lying on his back with a cold beer bottle in his hand. He found a great deal of solace from downing half the bottle, feeling the ice cold liquid pour down his throat. It did more then just take the edge off the migraine, sometimes more beer was the perfect cure for a hangover, something is father taught him. Wiping a hairy arm across his jaw, TyranT removed the dregs of beer that had slid down his chin, it didn’t make him appear any less savage however in his naked form as he managed a smile, finally conjuring up and answer.

TyranT: Nuthin’ a Christian man like yer’self would understand. What Ah’m doin’ here is bein’ sumthin’ you’ve wanted to be for a long time. Ah’m bein’ human.

Striker: You’ve gone beyond reason this time.

TyranT spat out a brief laughter, looking to the women to his side.

TyranT: Men are talkin’ ‘ere. Go run a bath an’ Ah’ll join yer’ both in a couple of minutes.

Covering themselves up as best they could, both women slid from the bed, the fiery haired woman taking the covers with her before the two disappeared behind the bathroom door. Another long swig of his beer later, and TyranT struggled to his feet, facing Striker.

TyranT: Funny… the way you came blazin’ in ‘ere, Ah’ could’ve sworn yer’ came ‘ere lookin’ for a fight. Don’t let mah’ names day suit put yer’ off now.

Striker: You bastard. I’m in a good mind to leave you in a pool of your own blood after what you pulled. Faith didn’t deserve that, she didn‘t deserve any of it.

TyranT: Ah’ know. What a mess that was made of that poor girl, to think it all could’a been avoided if yer’ actually had her back instead of puttin’ a dagger in it.

Striker winced, his wrist twitching briefly. Something seemed off about him, more then just the mere fact that TyranT stood in nothing but his name day suit. There was something within his eyes, like a piece of him was missing. TyranT took a brief note of it, but took more interest in the wrist he seemed to favour.

Striker: Cut the crap McKenzie! Don’t you dare try and pin anything on me after what you did to her. Faith was set to make history in the FMW, she was set to take it all and you messed it up! You tore down that poor girl, used her and exploited everything she achieved to steal the FMW Championship! You were the one who stabbed her in the back. Faith trusted you, she has always tried to protect you, and this is how you reward her. You’re sick…

TyranT: Ah’ think it might be yer’ turn to cut the crap Striker.

TyranT merely responded, his tone low as he managed to drain the rest of the emerald bottle that rested in his hand. He pressed the bottom of the bottle against his forehead, savouring the last of the bitter chill that the drink bottle once possessed. The pain hammering in his head had long passed, and TyranT hurled the bottle away to the side, his weary eyes returning to Striker.

TyranT: Let’s be honest with each other now boy. Faith nor yer’ lil’ rent boy Leon are ’ere with us so let’s not fuckin’ pretend yer’ the goody goody two shoes who wants the best for Faith or anyone else for that matter. Ah’ bet you were just as fuckin’ pleased as all the bastard officials when Faith was taken off the main event an’ replaced by me. Ah’ can’t imagine you’d want to see Faith actually managing to best yer’ by climbin’ to the top in less then a fuckin’ cycle an’ claimin’ the best trophy the federation has to offer. Ah’ know yer’ better then yer’ know yer’self son. Ah’ know that would eat yer’ up inside. Ah’ get the feelin’ the moment Faith stepped into that ring and shown us just how good she actually is… yer’ started getting’ bile risin’ up from yer’ stomach.

Striker: Please. I trained her, TyranT. I wanted what was best for her.

TyranT: C’mon Striker, all yer’ did was unlock what was already there. Teachin’ her to prance ‘bout an’ leap and jump through hoops has hardly made her any stronger then she already was before yer‘ even got yer‘ hands on her. Sure, yer’ can take pride in what Faith has achieved since comin’ here, slap yer’ name down as her trainer and take some of her glory every time she gets a big win, but let’s be honest now… yer’ couldn’t give two shits ‘bout that girl.

Striker: I care about her more then you do, that much is obvious now. You’re suppose to be her father, you’re suppose to look after her and protect her.

TyranT: For someone who considered Faith to be their own daughter…. Heh… your one to talk.

Striker: I promise you that I’ve done a hell of a lot more for her then you ever will.

TyranT: C’mon son, just cause TyranT is in control doesn’t mean the goals are any different then they were. Mah’ goal since comin’ out of retirement has never changed Striker. Faith has been… and always will be mah’ top priority.

Striker stepped forward, his wrist twitching when his hands clenched. There was something new in his eyes now, a fire that he was struggling to contain as he looked upon TyranT in disgust.

Striker: Bull… Everyone knows what you did to her!

TyranT: An’ what did Ah’ do exactly?

Striker: You robbed her.

TyranT: Wrong again boy… Ah’ protected her.

Striker shoved TyranT hard, enough to send him reeling back against the wall. TyranT could only laugh however, a horrific laughter that drilled deep into Striker, but he didn’t follow up. Was it because he had a match to wait for… or was it because he couldn’t as he favoured the wrist of his. Either way, TyranT stood tall, his figure nowhere near as flabby as it was months ago. Amongst the rounded figure was clear muscle now, revealing a powerful frame, a glimpse of what the TyranT used to be in his prime.

TyranT: What do you think would’a happened at DeathRow if Faith was still in that match.

Striker: She would have had as good a chance as anyone in that ring, and you damn well know it! Faith could potentially beat Hostyle and Romeo. She could have -no, she SHOULD have lifted that belt.

TyranT: That Ah’ won’t deny… but tell me this…. Then what would have happened?

Striker: …

TyranT: Yer’ seein’ the picture now ain’t ya? Faith is many things, she’s been the best thing to happen in mah’ life outta’ all the constant fuck ups Ah’ve endured, she’s been the son Ah’ was never gifted with but always wanted, she’s a great fighter and a survivor just like her ol’ man. Do Ah’ think she could have won that title? Hell yeah, an’ Ah’ would have been fuckin’ proud, Ah’ almost wish she was the champion… but do Ah’ think she’s ready to be a champion? No, Faith isn’t ready for that, she’s not ready to face what comes with that fuckin’ belt.

Striker: Don't you dare try and pretend you did this for her.

TyranT: But Ah’ did son, why else would Ah’ drag mah’ sorry ass back here after all the shit the FMW has put me through?! She was gunnin’ for that belt without knowin’ what comes along with it. Think of all the assholes that would have came for her, what they would have done to get that title from her. Eric Scorpio, Jaro, Smitten, even the likes of Drew Michaels and god help me even Harlequin. They would all descend on mah little girl… and they would break her by any means that would come into their twisted lil‘ imaginations.

She needs to see what happens when yer’ become a champion, what yer‘ have to endure and deal with… Faith needs to know what to do, so that’s why Ah’ took the title shot, an’ that’s why Ah’ had to win. This is all just a lesson for her, an’ Ah’m gonna’ keep pushin’ her til’ she’s ready to step above the TyranT. Now she will see how its done, who she will have to fight and what she will have to do. She will be ready, but until then her ol’ man needs to show her how its done… Ah’ tell you now, that’s somethin’ yer’ can never do for her.

Striker: Am I suppose to believe any of this? I saw the look on your face when you raised the title above your head, I saw the look on your face when you pushed yourself into that match. There was no remorse there! You did it all for yourself! You betrayed Faith and you took the easy route to get something that will never, EVER belong to you! Damnit...

TyranT observed a wince from Striker as his flaring temper was evidently hurting his wrist via the flowing blood, or something of that nature. Striker backed off a step, holding his arm in what looked like severe pain. TyranT just laughed again.

TyranT: Then tell me where you come into all this Striker. Tell me, where were you when Faith needed a friend the most. Yer’ ignored her, yer’ drove her away at every corner, an’ for what? Yer’ choose Leon over Faith? Did he really need yer’ hand more then she did?! What did you do to try an’ stop me when Ah’ took that title shot from under her? Oh wait, no Ah’m sorry, yer’ had your tag titles to defend, yer’ own little shiney belts to fuckin’ keep clean. Ah’ thought yer were suppose to look after her… it’s through yer’ failure that Ah’m back here where it all started, simply ‘cause yer’ didn’t give a shit about her anymore!!

A delay this time, not a long one, but noticeable enough when Striker wasn’t quick enough to reply. TyranT didn’t truly believe he didn’t care for her, but the words certainly made him realize that there was a valid reasoning behind the statement. Striker was never in her corner since her return, to the point where a stranger named VanGuard was the only one to back her up, and now even he was gone.

Striker: As always, trying to push all your problems onto someone else. Don’t get comfortable TyranT, I’ll see to it that you leave the FMW quicker then you came in. I’ve stopped you time and time again, this won’t be any different.

TyranT: Ah’ don’t doubt someone will knock me down, but whilst your in the position yer’ in, it ain’t gonna’ be you boy. You comin’ in here, tryna’ judge me… have yer’ taken a look at yer’self lately?

Striker looked away, as if ashamed of his own injuries... or was he? TyranT suspected it was something more - something Striker had told no-one.

Striker: She should have left you, Billy. Faith should have left you to bleed dry.

The bastard had been saving that one, his own trump card to play against the old timer. Somehow Faith must have told him, somehow he managed to know about when he tried to take his own life. TyranT wasn’t smiling any more, instead he glared at Striker, sheer malice evident from his stern expression. It didn’t change his resolve however, nor did it change Strikers. An invisible blade had been left in TyranT’s chest when Striker turned and began to walk away through the carnage he made of the door, leaving TyranT fuming.

TyranT: Striker…

Striker turned to look at the TyranT, a condescending look spread upon his face as he favoured the wrist. He frowned when something was tossed his way, as Striker managed to catch it with one hand before opening his palm. He studied the container before looking back up to TyranT.

TyranT: Yer’ gonna’ need it. Trust me.

For better or worse, Skyler slid the container into his pocket, before making his leave, taking his anger with him. When left alone, TyranT punched the wall hard, splitting the flesh to let blood seep from between his knuckles. Billy McKenzie was just a man, and men were full of flaws… Billy McKenzie had always been the true weakness of the TyranT, he could never let his shell break ever again. Recalling that two naked women awaited within his bathroom, TyranT recomposed himself, taking up another ice cold bottle from the bucket, before making his way to a place to wash away his sorrows and recall just exactly why he was the champion of the FMW.


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

It was hard to pinpoint just exactly when everything had gone so wrong. Striker couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to lose the trust of the mute girl that once turned to him in times of need. It felt like only a week ago that the dark haired mute came to him when her father was admitted to hospital from the dangerous amount of blood loss. Those emerald eyes of hers no longer looked at him the same way since the day she first stepped into the ring, bringing truth and reality to a David and Goliath story when she managed to bring down Smitten against all odds. From that night on, what was once a friendship had become slowly torn apart. It was hard to say what they were now, enemies perhaps? Striker did not want to admit that if it were true.

For someone who had become as well known in the western world as Faith had, she knew how to keep herself hidden when she wanted. Striker had sought her out for some time, asking both friends and enemies within the roster of the FMW. No one had seen her, but he could not just stop searching, he couldn’t leave things as they were. Striker did not dare approach TyranT again who no doubt knew of her whereabouts, knowing how close he came to fighting the man for all that he had done. Striker was on his own in his search, looking through hotel bookings and anything he could find in the area around the booked event for Distortion, Faith was to face the returning Mass Caesar after all. It was only when he stopped to think about Faith’s mindset that Striker finally picked up on something to follow.

VanGuard.

Striker visited the downed wrestler who had been unconscious since Deathrow, the would be up and comer who was in the prime of his return. Syanide put an early end to what was almost one of the greatest comebacks any wrestler had achieved in the FMW, it didn’t look like VanGuard was going to awaken from his injuries any time soon as his woman Chloe was often by his side. Faith had also been there, visiting the only man that helped her since she joined the federation. Faith had never made a friend on her own, VanGuard was probably the only friend she had ever managed to make, and at DeathRow that friend was taken away from her.

The young mute was staying in a near by hotel from the hospital, a bit of a rough place that needed one hell of a paint job. No doubt the kind of area’s Faith was used to holding her own within given how capable she had become at looking after herself. Striker managed to find out the room she was staying in with the owner caring little about data protection, and the manager himself confessed he had not seen the quiet woman for some time since she booked the place to stay. Apparently the bills were still coming in paid however, meaning she was still here. It didn’t take long before Striker found himself in a run down auburn corridor on the fifth floor, having used the stairs with no trust for the slanted elevator.

He had been putting this off for longer then he should have, and so Striker knocked on the apartment room door, shifting his hand straight to the aching wrist. To his surprise, the door opened a few inches the moment his hand made contact, making a quiet creak in the process.

Striker: Faith?

Striker dared to open the door, his eyes widening to the sight before him. The worn down furniture had been trashed and torn up. A glass table was broken with traces of blood visible upon the shattered shards that lay on a dirty carpet. Curtains had been pulled down, allowing for the mid afternoon sunlight to peer in effortlessly, casting shadows in the dark corners of the room. There was broken plates, glasses and shattered ornaments littering the entire room. Striker was more then concerned as he began a quick search. It looked as if some kind of struggle had taken place here. What was more concerning was the amount of pills and tablets that lay scattered amongst the carnage with a few empty containers… Faith’s medication.

Striker: Faith?!!

Striker was about to check the bedroom when he heard the sound of the shower running, a low trickle as pipes sang a chilling song with croaks and low moans. Striker felt his heart sink deep within his chest, noticing blood on the door handle and a crimson handprint on the wall besides it. He hoped to god that he was not going through what Faith endured when she discovered her father in a pool of his own blood. Striker prayed the young woman wasn’t following her fathers footsteps again.

Striker: No…

Striker for the second time in one day lifted his leg up to slam a heavy boot into the door of the bathroom, almost letting it jolt from its hinges. He rushed into the room, a bleak sight to behold with grey tiled and moss stained walls. The toilet and bath looked far older then he was, as tiles in the floor were missing. Mirror shards covered the ground, as minor splatters of blood were trickled over their reflective surfaces. The shower was left open, bloody hand print marks both inside and out the cracked glass door as water trickled down from a shower that barely functioned. Here there was a few more pills and tablets that were part of the mutes medication. Below the half functioning was Faith, crouched in the corner.

Striker: Faith… Jesus…

Faith sat with her arms around her knees, a black top soaking wet and clinging to her torso as jeans coated her legs. She sat in the shower despite being clothed, small cuts visible upon her arms that still bled a little from the small shards of the mirror that remained embedded into her pale flesh. There was a rather vicious cut on her forehead above her left eye, covered mostly by a messy fringe that lay flat over her face from the low pressure water spitting out over her. The blood made it look like one of her eyes were shedding tears of blood. Her faded eyes looked to Striker, almost as if half void of life. Striker was quick to go to her, turning the shower off as he knelt down by the mute.

The water had been freezing cold, leaving Faith with Goosebumps across her arms, yet she wasn’t shivering, she was motionless. She looked like hell, more so then Striker did himself as he still couldn’t help but favour the injury that even now continued to haunt him. It was clear the girl hadn’t taken her medication in some time. Striker had never seen what she had been like without them.

Striker: It’s alright Faith.

Striker tried to ensure, glad that she wasn’t in a worse condition then he expected. He noticed capsules and pills floating in the inch deep water that had gathered from the shower, along with an empty container they all used to rest in. Her mental state must have progressively become worse. With TyranT‘s betrayal and VanGuards fall combined, it was no wonder the poor mute had lost her nerves to continue the medication. Reaching into his pocket, Striker pulled out a matching container, one TyranT had given to him… it was for Faith he now realized. Did the bastard know she would be like this?

Striker: You’re alright Faith. You just need to take your meds, it will calm you down… I promise.

Faith only glared, her eyes wide, given her an intimidating appearance.

Striker: Faith… please..

Striker tried to place a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, leaning in to hand her the container. Her response was aggressive, as a fist collided hard against the side of his jaw, quick and precise. The knock took Striker off guard, sending him reeling against the wall as a few tiles fell from the impact. As fast as he remembered, Faith made her move, rising past Striker to run. Striker proved to be fast himself as he managed to snatch her wrist, not wanting her to get away whilst she was in such a dangerous state of mind. It brought searing pain however as he used the injured wrist to stop her from running.

Striker: Damit! You have to calm down before you hurt yourself!

Striker grimaced through gritting teeth. Another strike came his way in the mutes response, even more aggressive then the last. Once more the strike connected, clashing against the side of his head this time. It seemed Faith had no intention of running this time however when she pushed forward against him, looking to hit again as her lips parted as if she was shouting out in anger. Striker managed to twist out of the way, grasping Faith around the waist from behind, managing to trap her arms to restrain her. Faith lifted her legs up, kicking off the shower wall hard to send Striker crashing through the glass door onto the floor. He shouted in pain as his wrist let him know it was taking more damage then it wanted, yet somehow he managed to keep hold of the mute. He felt Faith kicking and squirming violently, sending a fire of pain through his wrist.

Striker: I’m sorry Faith!

Striker shouted out, daring to let go of Faith who was quick to scramble out of reaching distance. Her teeth clenched, her eyes concealed by hair that draped over them, but she wasn’t attacking at least as Striker sat himself up, favouring his wrist under one arm as he winced in clear discomfort, sitting amongst the broken shards of the mirror.

Striker: I’m sorry…

Striker whispered this time, finding the chance to speak what he wanted to say.

Striker: I’ve been trying to do, and be… everything at the same time. I’ve been stretching myself out too far… and I see now that its costing me. It’s costing me everything. I said to your old man, that I’d watch out for you, so I did. I trained you and tried to prepare you for anything that would come, but everything changed when you joined the FMW. I let other duties get in the way when I should have had your back. I never meant to ignore you, but I did, and that’s how you got dragged into Deathrow with VanGuard.

Striker began to explain, his breathing heavy as his wrist was really beginning to trouble him after the brief struggle. He kept his eyes on Faith however, how her appearance was so deceiving. She was still a strong fighter even when so mentally damaged as now, but how much more would and could she take without her medication before she ended up where she started?

Striker: I’m beginning to see what its like Faith, seeing things from your perspective. How it feels like everything is against you, what its like when no one has your back anymore and even the people you trust the most can turn into your enemies. I’ve spoke to my friends, but its as if I’m just a mute like you, none of them can hear what I’m saying. It made me realize the mistakes I’ve been making with you. I get the feeling things… are going to get worse from hear on out, and I don’t think they’ll be getting better this time.

Striker went on, managing to pick himself up off the ground as shards of glass fell from his jacket. Faith also stood, whatever reason was left within her mind was giving him his undivided attention for now.

Striker: I know things will never be the same between us, not with your father back on the scene and what happened to VanGuard, but I don’t want to lose you as a friend, nor as part of the family. I know for certain TyranT will force you to fight for his benefit, even make you work with him. There isn’t a great deal neither of us can do about that, but I’ll stand by your side this time Faith. I’m not going to abandon you like your old man did, nor will I steal from you.

Striker held out his injured hand, holding the container of medication for Faith. She glared past dark bangs at Striker before looking down at the container in his hand. After being drugged, it was no surprise she was hesitant, having already emptied every bit of medication she had owned, putting her in such a wild and violent state.

Striker: Everything is so broken right now, and this is something I need to fix. I want to help you Faith. I want you to trust me again, and help me. We can do this if we work together. Help me bring an end to all this madness. Help me bring down the fucking TyranT.

Faith looked to Striker again over the mention of her father, not a sound escaping her as she kept a note of Strikers outstretched arm, holding the medication that would set her head straight if she only trusted the man before her. The moment of silence between them seemed almost endless, but after it passed, Faith reached out with a bloodied hand, grasping the medication, before taking it from Striker. Faith had no one else to turn to after all…

[/quote]

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

It's been a long night, a long week, a long cycle. It all began with a decision to come back and end his self imposed retirement. To end the boredom, to end the monotony of the every man daily live. Wrestling was all he known, wrestling was all that he was. He had tried on many occasions to leave the combative nature of wrestling to lead a normal life, with a loved one, with a family. But on the couple of occasions that he tried, he found that he could never win the combative nature of love. Every attempt would end in failure. He would not succeed. He would never find the happiness he always longed for, be it from his inability to truly not understanding the opposite sex, to his nature to return to the hobby, his passion that he truly loved... wrestling.

But somehow somewhere, he ran into Alexis. A woman, who seemed so fragile at first, has seemingly gone on to embrace his dark, lone wolf world.

For the truly the first time, he may have found someone who can walk the same path and to not be alone.

Alexis: Do you want something to drink while I'm up?

He snaps out of his trance as he sits in his sofa and looks around.

Alexis: Babe, do you want anything?

Scorpio: Ah, no, sorry just pre-occupied. I got a big match coming up.

Alexis: You've been in seemingly big matches every show.

Scorpio: Tell me about it. It's what the people want I suppose. They are all gunning for me, and management is simply giving them what they want.

Alexis: You can't believe that.

Scorpio shrugs and sinks into the chair.

Scorpio: I don't know what to believe anymore. This is simply another match.

Alexis walks towards and unsuspecting to Scorpio, she slaps him in the back of the head. Scorpio turns his attention at Alexis and simply glares at him.

Alexis: You know damn well this is not any other match. You and Drew have a history. And he feels slighted with you being the champion, and holding onto the title he never got pinned for.

Scorpio: So, you're a Drew supporter now?

Alexis: No, no. I'm not saying that at all.

Scorpio: Then what are you saying, babe?

Alexis takes a deep breath and carefully thinks what to say next.

Scorpio: So what is it? Tell me.

Alexis: I wasn't saying anything.

Scorpio: So why bring up that shit about him being the rightful champion?

Alexis: That's what he claims baby. I know you are the real champion. I know how hard you fought for it and I know how hard you fought to keep it. I just want to make sure you don't simply enter this match thinking otherwise.

Scorpio: I've underestimated on opponent in my life and it cost me everything. Trust me, I know Drew, I know how good he is and I most definitely will not underestimate him. But you also have to understand, I consider anyone gunning for my belt a threat, and I will not take anyone lightly anymore.

Alexis: Alright baby, just checking to see if your head is in the game is all.

Scorpio: Don't worry I'm not going to half ass it.

Alexis sits down on Scorpio's lap and wraps her arms around him. Both sit down calmly enjoying each others company. After a few minutes, Alexis breaks the silence.

Alexis: So what will you do?

Scorpio: What do you mean?

Alexis: Was wondering if you had any ideas on what you would do after your match. If your going to drop your title and give another shot at the title you always wanted.

Scorpio: I don't know. I hadn't really thought that far ahead.

Alexis: Really, you haven't thought about it one bit? A chance to become the first two time Full Metal Champion.

Scorpio: Not really.

Alexis: You can't be serious. There is so much on the line, there is so many decisions that you could be pondering. You can't honestly say you want to remain the C-4 Champion. You aspire for more. You aspire for the top. You aspire to be the best.

As Alexis talks, Scorpio stares at her with puzzlement, as she goes on, Scorpio can't take anymore and simply uses his hand and covers her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Alexis brushes off Scorpio's hand and stands back up.

Scorpio: Why are you acting like this? Seems like you're fishing for information. Listen, I have no fuckin idea what I will do after my match. You want to know why? Because I am not looking past it. You're right, this isn't any other match, it's against Drew Michaels. I know exactly what this man is capable of and I will not let my guard down by thinking of such trivial things, like what decisions I will do after my match. That's the future babe.

The present situation is that the C-4 Championship is for me to lose. My only goal is to retain it and win. And for me to do that, is to not overlook my opponent, like I did in my past. So for you to bring this shit up, is seriously pissing me the fuck off. I wil-

Before finishing what he has to say, Alexis' cell phone begins to ring and she quickly reaches in her pocket, checks the caller ID.

Alexis: i really need to take this. Sorry babe, we'll talk after.

Alexis walks out of the room answering the phone on her way out. Scorpio simply stares at her walking out and shakes his head.

I can't believe that bitch. To get me all riled up like that.

ARGGGGHHHH!

I need to go blow off some steam.

Scorpio quickly gets off the couch, grabs his trench coat, his keys and walks towards the door.

Scorpio: I'm off. We'll talk later.

Scorpio walks out of his apartment and slams the door shut. Still talking on the phone, she walks back into the room and sees through the window, Scorpio drive off in a mad rush.

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

In the dressing room, Eric Scorpio is tapping up his wrist, as he prepares for his big match. Through the locker room door, Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno barge in. Scorpio glances at the two Dance Macabre members before going back to taping his wrist.

Scorpio: What do you two want? I got a big match coming up.

Crow: That's why were are here.

Inferno: Just wondering if you need anything...

Scorpio: Like your help?

Crow: Yeah.

Silence fills the room. The two Dance Macabre stand still waiting for an answer as Scorpio finishes taping up his wrists. He tosses the remaining tape in his duffel bag and begins to chuckle.

Scorpio: You really believe I need your help? Do you believe that I've fallen so far that I can't handle Drew? I'm the champion around these parts for god sake. What do you two possibly think you can help me with tonight?

Inferno: Well we ca-

Scorpio: Shut up. Listen carefully. I see you at ringside in anyway against Drew, I will personally give you my own personal brand of hell. If you want to help, make sure none of his so called Saints interfere with the match. But for Drew, do not lay a finger on him.

Crow: Fine. But if we keep his Saints from interfering, you will owe us.

Before Scorpio can even respond, Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno make their way out, leaving Scorpio alone in his dressing room. Scorpio simply continues to glare at the locker room door before giving off a sarcastic laugh.

Scorpio: Owe you one? That'll be the day...

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

The flickering of the stars illuminates the night sky as there is no moon in sight in this clear crisp winter night. Through the darkness, a small rocky path can be seen cutting through the dense forest heading up a winding path. The silence is broken when the sounds of footsteps approaches the camera. As the cameraman turns his focus he sees the C-4 Champion, Eric Scorpio walk up beside him, in full black ceremonial cloak. Scorpio gives the cameraman a head nod and both begin to walk up the dark narrow rocky path.

Ah doesn't the air feel fresh tonight.

You can look out everywhere right now and see the beauty of it all. The innocence.

The camera pans around, but doesn't really see anything of note and goes back to filing Scorpio.

Exactly. That is the only innocence you will ever know, this is the only innocence you will ever find in this world. No one to judge you, no one to hate, no one to give you misery, no one to condemn you.

The first step you take anywhere where there is one other person, than it is all thrown out the window. No matter if you love, hate, even feel indifferent to this other person, you and the other person has already made an opinion.

You have already labeled him. And he has already labeled you.

All it took was one look. One scent. One presence. Now you are judged, now you are condemn, for good or bad, you have been given a label.

Then what happens when you add another? And then another. And then another. Well, you can find yourself in a group, a majority, and then issue your dominance. Your will. Your thoughts. Your ideals. Or you can find yourself alone, the minority, the loner. And in the mist of this, you are judged, your thought are trampled on, your ideas are blasphemous and by God, you look different too. And then, you become suppressed.

So to survive you have to conform to their ideals, do as they do, and damn look like they do as well.

Then what happens when more and more people are added to this little mist. They don't get to think on their own, they can't do their own things, and suddenly, they find themselves in a situation where they must follow this group in fear to be left out, suppressed, condemn just like the loner over there by the fence.

Then add more people, and now they've just practically entered into this gang where, it's do as I say or we will condemn you and you'll just be like that loner guy over there.

And before long, it's no longer a gang imposing its will.

Now, that loner's thoughts, ideas, way of life has just become demonized. Diseased. Taboo.

For that gang, its no longer just become a way of life...

Its just become a religion...

Even though the camera is still sort of focused on Scorpio's face, he's not showing the same emotional intensity that the audience is normally accustomed to. Instead a very stoic calm look is what they get instead.

It's funny though, at this point the loner is also branded as the evil side of this religion. Becoming a symbol of everything they do not stand in their minds.

Yet, for that loner, he is doing nothing wrong. And objectively, who's to really say if his ideas are right or wrong, if his thoughts are better or perverse. But that group is quick to judge, that religion is quick to condemn and the mob is ready to burn that loner, the non conformer, at the stake.

You see, I am that loner.

I have my own thoughts, my own ideas, my own way of things.

There is nothing wrong with any of it. Nothing.

But because it is different, because it doesn't conform to the masses, I am prosecuted, I am judged and I am evil. And if anyone were to follow my ideals, my path, my way, suddenly, we are labelled a cult and must be banished or even possibly vanquished.

Fear of the unknown. It is all that it is.

Occasionally however, we have a few people that stand out of the religion, we have a few people who must enforce the ideals of the religion. Men who become Martyrs, Men who would eventually be deemed Saints by their peers, Men who self proclaim themselves as Messiahs.

We know these people, and love them or hate them, they do effectively heavily influence the masses. Whether it is for good or not. That's the problem with the masses. With such a large group, even if their thoughts change, fear is enlisted into them as they watch what happens to those who don't follow.

For a Messiah, it's the reverse. They'll do things so blindly and follow the word and the ideals of a group without question. They will believe so much into the ideals that they will try to enforce this on others. Where they will condemn anyone who doesn't follow them and will attempt to destroy this “evil”. If they win, they instill renewed faith in everyone. If they fail, they become Martyrs, and everyone is renewed with faith.

See the problem.

There is no room for compromise, there is no room for anyone else.

These messiahs are single minded, these messiahs would be considered evil by anyone else. These Messiahs are relentless in their actions, right or wrong.

Remind you of somebody.

A small smile is clearly shown on Scorpio's face as he gives the camera a quick glance as they continue their march up the rocky trail.

Knowing this target audience, most probably just went thought, “Well you do the same thing too”.

Bunch of uneducated fools is what I say.

My ideals, Scorpionism, is a way of life. It is MY way of life. I do not care if you follow it, I do not care if you do not. I do not impose this ideal on anyone. And I will no go out of my way to destroy anyone who objects to my thoughts either.

But one man does.

One man always has.

Drew Michaels.

You know him very well, people love him, people chant for him, yet he is very much the extremist that you all claimed me to be in the past. If you don't follow his way, if you don't follow his thoughts he is has stated that he will make an example of you.

Yet, you still cheer.

Do not let the fear grip you. Do not let his words mean anything. I do not intend to turn him into a Martyr, I do not intend for him to become a Saint. That is what he wants. That is just not going to happen. That, I will not let happen.

For every time a man like him steps out of line, you should be thankful for a man like me is here to put him back into his place.

You know this Drew Michaels. There is one like him everywhere. At work, at school, in society. And for everyone of him out there, there is always someone else who will stand up and stop him. In wrestling, that someone is me.

And I'm not just saying that.

I know Drew Michaels very well. He knows me just as much. If there is anything of a Yin and Yang thing around here, you know we are it. It seems our destinies are tied together no matter what we do. This never ending dance that will and could very well define both of our careers. I know my career will be linked to his no matter what I do. Be it for better or worst.

Now there comes a time, enough is enough.

How many beatings can you take dear old Drew? You've beaten me, I've beaten you. I've beaten you... then you beaten me. It's become a vicious cycle.

You seem to have changed lately though. Who are you fighting for exactly?

First of all, your greed for this title I now carry is blinding you so deeply. Can't you see the greed is consuming you? Can't you see that wrath has blinded you?

You are over ridden with sin.

How can you be the Chosen One, when the path you have taken contradicts everything you believe in.

However now, you seem to be running with some new dogs. A new pack. A new group. You my friend have now become the minority. Your thoughts, your ideals, your motives no longer conform to the masses. You my friend have become the extremist, demonized in their thoughts.

Fear again engulfs them all.

But you see, the difference here. Everyone expect this huge clash of ideals between us to erupt into this huge good versus evil battle.

To those, I laugh. I feel sorry for. You see, I will not condemn Drew for his new ideals, his new thoughts. He will not be vindicated for doing something that conspires to be different that those of the masses, just like I was demonized for my own person views.

So Drew, you do what you want, say what you want, think what you want. I do not care. I do not judge. I do not condemn.

But... but... I do have one big problem with you.

It seems you believe this title I have around my waist belongs to you. That I did not defeat the rightful owner of it. That I am a paper champion, and yet... the title is still around my waist.

So if this title belongs to you, and that you are the rightful owner, then why the fuck is the title around my hallowed waist?

Come on Drew, tell me. Tell me how I never defeated you to become the rightful champion. Tell me how it matters that you were striped of your title for being weak and injured. Tell me how you had to leave and fake your own death so people would feel sorry for you. Tell me how how suckered in Seth Omega and Gray into your little extremist cult and brainwash them into believing they are Saints.

TELL ME DREW!!! TELL ME HOW YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME!!!

See this title?

The camera scans down from Scorpio's face to his waist where Scorpio parts his ceremonial cloak to reveal the shine of the FMW C-4 Division Championship Title.

Get a good look at it?

You will NEVER get this title back. You will never beat me for it.

I do not have to beat you to be called the rightful champion. I do not have to entertain your childish thoughts of your delusional mind. I do not have to do anything.

I have already shown myself to be better than you when it matters. And for everything else you believe it doesn't matter.

Because when both of us cross paths in that very ring, that is the only time that it has ever mattered.

And for some reason, you just can't seem to grasp at that, which is why you have been beaten over and over.

It doesn't matter what the masses think. I do not seek their approval, I do not wish for their attention, I do not care what they do or contribute; I just do what I want, I just do what I feel like, and I don't let anything or anyone else determined my fate.

Very simply, I will win Drew.

Not because you are the Chosen One.

But because I simply don't give a fuck.

With the sunrise now peering over the horizon, both men approach the end of the stony path to a step ledge which leads to a beautiful view of a canyon. Scorpio removes the ceremonial cloak from his body and tosses it over the edge. The camera zooms in on the falling cloak, as it drifts down the canyon walls and into obscurity. The camera points back to Scorpio as he begins to smirk.

You can publicly concern yourself about what choices you will make, between the regaining MY C-4 Championship or getting another shot at the Full Metal Championship.

Just remember, I am not your judge, nor will I condemn you. But once you enter MY ring Drew, you really only have one question you should be concerning yourself with.

Will you go up and ascend to the heavens, or fall down and end up in the pits of hell?

It's the only choice you will have to ponder to yourself, when you try to take MY C-4 Championship from my hands.

Scorpio rips the camera from the cameraman's hands and points it at his face.

You've entered my domain, dear Drew, however, there is simply one thing that will happen...

With one quick thrust, Scorpio lunges the camera over the edge of the cliff and down into the canyon. As the camera rotates upwards, it captures Scorpio peering over the cliff and shouting as the camera falls further and further away.

You...

Will...

Fail...

Suddenly the image cuts to black.

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

The dark room sits quietly, only being lit by the light from the doorway, the sounds of a cell phone ringing can be heard, getting louder and louder as Alexis walks into the bedroom and flips her phone open to answer the ring.

Alexis: I was wondering when you were going to call.

???: Don't worry, I told you I was going to.

Alexis sits down on the edge of the bed.

???: Is he around?

Alexis: Yeah in the other room. I kind of pissed him off.

???: You know its not safe there with him.

Alexis: I'll be okay.

???: So, is he thinking about the match?

Alexis: Yeah. I think that's what pissed him off though. I kept pestering him about the match stipulations and what he would do. I don't think he appreciated that.

???: Anything that will help.

Alexis: Not sure if I did. He's focused more than ever on the match, and doesn't even want to think about after that.

???: Don't worry, I've known him for a long time. He's the same greedy bastard I've always know him to be. He's thinking about that chance for another Heavyweight Title.

Alexis: I don't know, he's changed.

???: He'll always be the same.

From the other room, some stomping can be heard, including the distinguished sound of keys rattling. From the other room, Scorpio shouts out.

Scorpio: I'm off. We'll talk later.

The door to the apartment just slammed shut, and the sounds of a car starting can be heard. Alexis gets off the bed and walks into the living room, looking out the picture window only to see Scorpio drive off in a mad rush.

???: You still there?

Alexis: Yeah... He's really mad right now. I've really upset him.

???: Don't worry. He's just showing his true nature.

Alexis: I don't know... I swear, he is different now. Anyways, I still really want to thank you.

???: Oh, its nothing.

Alexis: No, I could be dead now if it wasn't for you. I'd still be in that deprivation chamber. I owe you my life.

???: Well just do as I had asked, and we will be squared off.

Alexis takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself, unsure of what to do to next. She sits down on a nearby chair.

Alexis: I will.

???: Alright.

Alexis: Thank you.

???: I better be going.

Alexis: Alright.

???: Talk to you soon, Alexis. And remember to do what I asked. Like you said, you owe me.

Alexis: Okay... bye. Drew.

Alexis hangs up the phone and lays it on the table in front of her. The apartment is completely quiet now. As Alexis stares at her cellphone. Her face guilt ridden, her eyes begin to water, and her head collapses into her waiting hands as she begins to sob.

Alexis: What have I done...

The silence of the room, broken only by a poor woman's sobs fades into black.

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo

*Votes Subject to Change*

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans
All three guys put in a great effort, but for me Nikko just pips the others on this occassion.

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah
Since neither guy has posted anything I'm going by imput in Trash Talking on this one.

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy
And that is going purely on his contributions on the Trash Talking thread.

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo

[i]

All in all really enjoyed reading through all the promos.

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c)

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru
This character has alot of potential I think.

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten
Very suprised with the strides that Steele has made while I've been away, great work both of ye.

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c)
TIGHT!

-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Zachariah
Coin Flip

No Disqualifications:
Virus

Singles Match:
Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box
The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood

Singles Match:
MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Romeo

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c)

Triple Threat Match:
Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels
TOUGH FUCKING CALL!



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)
Waiting for Gray

Singles Match:
Harlequin

No Disqualifications:
Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box
The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream

Singles Match:
Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith

Street Fight:
Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Romeo
Hard to choose, so hard to choose.

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX
Where be you Black Marcus?!

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson
I was looking forward to seeing Virus. Alas, it is not to be.

Singles Match:
Sean Carter

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice
This match should be a lil' closer me thinks.

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Romeo
Very tough call, but I have to agree with Harley take on Striker's, and in the end that did sway my vote.

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo

-FMW Ammunition 10.1 LIVE from Houston, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Television Championship:
PX (c)

Triple Threat Match:
Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper

No Disqualifications:
Virus

Singles Match:
Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Boobies



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood

Singles Match:
MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker

HEAR NOW what the Lord says: Arise, contend and plead your case before the mountains, and let the hills hear your voice.
Hear, O mountains, the Lord's controversy, and you strong and enduring foundations of the earth, for the Lord has a controversy with His people, and He will contend with Israel.
O My people, what have I done to you? And in what have I wearied you? Testify against Me!


I have done many things in the past that I might not be proud of. I have fought many battles, often times with my opponent not even knowing they were engaged in war. I pity some of those people, blindsided by my unwritten code of honor. To be honest, I spent a lot of time waging war on myself, but… that is another issue.

Which is why it pains me so to sit there and embelish my short comings over, and over, and over, and over. Reliving my lifes greatest pitfalls like some sort of sick cinema in my mind. My body demolished, my family targeted, and losing her, well… things havent been beautiful to say the least.

This is why I find myself here, now. I seem to be lost in my thoughts, and I have brought you in here with me. You know as well as I do the outcome of my demons, you know as well as anybody. You’ve seen me overcome adversity, opposition, and heartbreak to become the man that I am now, the leader that I am now, and you want to take me down that pathway back to what I once was. You want to see me destroyed. You want to see me ravaged. You want the very meaning of my existance tore away from me like the filth that you are. You want me to be in fear, you want me to live in darkness, but you see, I will not.

The good light of the Lord has shineth through the clouds to show me the path I must take. His warm embrace caresses my face and his love fills my heart. With him I can walk again down the path of righteousness, for I have seen him. I have talked to him. I have heard his miraculous voice and he has told me what to do to show me the way past my nemesis. Past you.

In order to find and defeat that which seeks to defeat me, I must become that which seeks to defeat me.

I must give up compassion. I must forget love. I must forget that I ever had a family, or friends, or anything. I must remember that because you are not human, I must not be with you. I must remember that because you are cold, judgemental, and ruthless, I too must be with you, because it is you who seeks to test my faith. You who seeks to call yourself saint, standing on your soap box, preaching from the tainted pages of your own gospel, will soon find a day of recknoning at hand, because if I am ever to be whole again, I must defeat you.

You attempt in trying my faith. You succeed only in trying my patience.

*****

Voice: Its always sunny in Philadelphia. My ass. Its usually shit in Philadelphia.

[i]His voice comes out over the darkness as the mechanical glass doors of the hospital slide open and he exits them.

Voice: This Dallas weather would kick phillys ass any day of the year.

He rubs his brown, bloodshot eyes in a futile attempt to adjust to the bright sunlight of the blue, cloudless Dallas sky. He squints and sheilds his eyes for a second before moving to a car.

Voice: Why do these people think I care what they have to say? Small talk is for chumps. I can care less if you have never been to Philadelphia, quit pretending like I am there all the time.

As he approaches his vehicle he notices a child rushing towards him. Quickly he pulls a white cloth to his mouth and coughs in it, looking away from the childs look and towards the endless city streets. He ignores the kids plea for attention and enters his vehicle.

Voice: God damn I wish I had my car back.

He rests gently on the headrest of his seat, his eyes closed and his mind racing.

How would he do it?
How would he do it?
How could he do it?

Defeat overcomes his demeanor. Shame. He leans forward and with a muffled thud he places his head on the wheel of the car. Slowly opening his eyes to the world outside he tilts back his head and looks in the rear view mirror. With a sudden movement, he spins to look in the back seat, as if he has seen a ghost.

Quickly, he ruffles through the contents of his back seat, tossing bits and pieces of junk around the interior, until his eyes open up wide. He pulls a zipper open as if anticipating opening a long-awaited christmas present, and his smile resembles the same. Gently, he reaches in and pull out the black mass. He gently strokes his fingertips over the mask as if it were diamonds, stopping over the eyes. He stares into their black-tinted emptiness and smiles before moving his hand over them, as if to close the eyes of the mask. He then brings it close to his chest as the scene fades to black.


Fade in from black. “The Masked Man from Corruption”, also known as Virus, sits in the dark in his car, parked in an alleyway. Steam rises from the sewers as he tightens the strings behind his mask, pulling his face ever so closer to his skin. Once again he tilts his head back to the headrest, his mind racing.

What went wrong?
What went wrong?
What went wrong?

Quote :

Stone: It’s the Masked Man! The Masked Man from Corruption!

Foxx: And he’s here to even the odds, just in time!

Stone: Celt and Mark don’t know what’s happening... no, the Masked Man turned Celt around and gave him a hard roundhouse kick to the head!

Foxx: Finally someone had the presence of mind to show up and even the odds!

Stone: And now he’s got Johansson!

The Masked Man hits a stiff side kick to Johansson’s head, and takes a step back... to hit a spinning roundhouse kick to Johansson’s face, sending him flying to the sound fixture him and Celt were going to throw Jaro to! The fixture explodes and causes a loudspeaker to fall down from its tower!

Stone: OH MY GOD, THE MASKED MAN JUST SENT MARK JOHANSSON CRASHING AND THAT SPEAKER EXPLODING! THAT MAN HAS NO BUSINESS HERE! JOHANSSON MAY BE DEAD FROM THAT WRECKAGE!

Foxx: YES HE DOES! WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND! I LOVE IT!

Stone: HE HAS NO BUSINESS BEING INVOLVED IN THIS MATCH! THE MASKED MAN HAS ALSO JUST DESTROYED A VERY EXPENSIVE PIECE OF EQUIPMENT!

Foxx: BUT I’M SO GLAD HE’S HERE!

The Masked Man then follows Johansson’s body to the floor, finding his body, and putting him in a sleeper hold, and then dragging Johansson into the shadows and out of the match.
Stone: Oh god, where is that man taking him?

Virus: To the abyss…

He chuckled to himself as he relived his moment again and again, because as much as he accomplished on that night;

Virus: He still got away…

How did Johansson get away? How did he fail when he so clearly had his target in his grasp? He was foolish, he let down his guard, if only for a moment. He forgot never to underestimate anybody. He forgot to be cold. He forgot not to be human.

Virus: Never again.

His head shot forward as a large metal door clicked open. Up on top of a concrete dock, about four feet high, was an employee of the building Virus was parked behind. He was light skinned and mustached, his uniform shirt pressed ever so neatly, his stained white apron covered his perfect black slacks. Almost silently, Virus left his car, clicking the door closed gently. As the man put the door stop down he went back into the building and pulled out two large trash bags, releasing the doorstop as he came back outside. He whistles a tune to himself, to put his mind at ease, as if no harm could come to him while whistling.

Mistake.

The man known as Virus silently hopped up the ledge of the dock and crouched just outside of the light. He pressed his back to the wall as he replayed his assault in his head once again…

Quote :

The Masked Man hits a stiff side kick to Johansson’s head, and takes a step back... to hit a spinning roundhouse kick to Johansson’s face, sending him flying to the sound fixture him and Celt were going to throw Jaro to! The fixture explodes and causes a loudspeaker to fall down from its tower!

Stone: OH MY GOD, THE MASKED MAN JUST SENT MARK JOHANSSON CRASHING AND THAT SPEAKER EXPLODING! THAT MAN HAS NO BUSINESS HERE! JOHANSSON MAY BE DEAD FROM THAT WRECKAGE!

He will be, the Virus thought to himself. He will be.

As the employee turned around and rifled through his pockets he pulled out a blue card. As he reached for the door, the Virus shot out at his helpless victim, grabbing the card from his hand. With one swift motion he thrust his fist into the victims exposed throat and before he could say a word his voice was removed from him. As the helpless man staggered back, the Virus jumped up and delivered a roundhouse kick to his victims face, staggering him back.

Quote :

The Masked Man hits a stiff side kick to Johansson’s head, and takes a step back... to hit a spinning roundhouse kick to Johansson’s face, sending him flying to the sound fixture

The Virus watched as the man fell almost in slow motion. He listened patiently for the satisfying sound of skull on concrete. The joyful sound of flesh on rock. Without hesitation the Virus moved towards the metal dumpster. He knew where he went wrong.

Quote :

The Masked Man then follows Johansson’s body to the floor, finding his body, and putting him in a sleeper hold, and then dragging Johansson into the shadows and out of the match.

Stone: Oh god, where is that man taking him?

He will not let him live.

With great strain on the muscles of the Virus he pushed the large metal dumpster. It was only inches away from the ledge, but each inch might as well have been a mile. Sweat formed under his face, his veins bulged as blood rushed through his body, his tinted eyes fogged with the intensity of his breath until finally the Virus was able to tilt the dumpster over the edge and safely onto the defeated man on the ground.

He will not let him live.

He would not pause to examine the damage he had done. No, he had more plans, plans that he must follow through on, because he cannot be compassionate. He cannot be kind. He cannot be human, he must only be cold. He must only be heartless.

As he slid the card through the reader on the door the click let him inside, he observed his surroundings. He was in the warehouse room of the hotel Euphoria. Quickly he moved, blending himself with the darkness, just like you do. He made his way to the service elevator. Getting inside of the machine he pressed to the lobby and waited, replaying his failures in his mind.

Quote :

The Masked Man hits a stiff side kick to Johansson’s head, and takes a step back... to hit a spinning roundhouse kick to Johansson’s face, sending him flying to the sound fixture him and Celt were going to throw Jaro to! The fixture explodes and causes a loudspeaker to fall down from its tower!

Stone: OH MY GOD, THE MASKED MAN JUST SENT MARK JOHANSSON CRASHING AND THAT SPEAKER EXPLODING! THAT MAN HAS NO BUSINESS HERE! JOHANSSON MAY BE DEAD FROM THAT WRECKAGE!

Foxx: YES HE DOES! WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND! I LOVE IT!

Stone: HE HAS NO BUSINESS BEING INVOLVED IN THIS MATCH! THE MASKED MAN HAS ALSO JUST DESTROYED A VERY EXPENSIVE PIECE OF EQUIPMENT!

Foxx: BUT I’M SO GLAD HE’S HERE!

He was snapped back to reality when the doors began to slide open. Quickly he darted to a side before peeking his face outside of the machine. When he deemed the coast to be clear he made his move.

Darting across the hallway he clicked open a wooden door, being very cautious as to close it gently so it wouldn’t alert any passerby’s. Darting his eyes back and forth through his tinted view, he moved quietly towards his target, a woman standing at the front counter. As he prepared to make his move in on her, the doors to the hotel opened and two new customers arrived. In a moment of panic he darted into the slightly open door of the nearby office. Patiently he waited as he put his gloved hand over his mouth.

After a few moments and the new guests had gone, he decided to make her play into his hand now. Deliberately he reached up and turned off the light. The click got her attention as she proceeded cautiously towards the unexplainably darkened room.

As she entered and reached for the light switch, the Virus closed the door behind her and leapt up, putting his hands around her mouth and her throat.

Quote :

The Masked Man then follows Johansson’s body to the floor, finding his body, and putting him in a sleeper hold, and then dragging Johansson into the shadows and out of the match.

Stone: Oh god, where is that man taking him?

He knew what his mistake was. He would not leave him alive.

As the woman struggled the Virus hooked her legs with his, thrusting them both forward to the ground. Her head cracked against the tile as he squeezed harder around her windpipes. Overpowering her strong will, her struggle eventually ended. As he got to his knees, the Virus ran his fingers through her hair, savoring the moment before pulling on the back of her skull violently and thrusting it into the ground once more. As he stood, his heart swelled with pride at the puddle of crimson around her head, because he felt like he could finally become you, but this was a mistake, because you do not show emotion.

He recollected himself before exiting the room. He casually walked up to the registry and opened it, as if he were opening a long awaited gift on Christmas. He touched the pages with bliss as his eyes searched through their tinted view for his name until he came across it.

Johannson, Mark. Room 1027

With a heavy sigh he knew his work was getting close to its end. He felt that with every step he took, he became more and more like you. Joy was the emotion he was showing, and it was a mistake, because you do not show emotions.

Entering the elevator he pushed floor ten and he waited. Every ding was another step closer, another heartbeat skipped, because he was anxious. Anxious to defeat you, and it was a mistake, because you do not show emotions.

As the tenth and final beep resounded in the machine it was like a choir of angels heeding his call. He exited the elevator and turned down the hallway.

Quote :

All of a sudden, the lights in the arena go dark and the broadcast goes to static, but they come back as fast as they disappeared – with a fourth man with them on the stage!

Stone: Oh my god, is that –

Foxx: Oh, thank god! The cavalry has arrived!

Stone: It’s the Masked Man! The Masked Man from Corruption!

His hands wanted to shake with anticipation, but they did not.

Quote :

Foxx: And he’s here to even the odds, just in time!

Stone: Celt and Mark don’t know what’s happening... no, the Masked Man turned Celt around and gave him a hard roundhouse kick to the head!

Foxx: Finally someone had the presence of mind to show up and even the odds!

Stone: And now he’s got Johansson!

Giddy with joy, he slid his fingertips silently over every golden door handle leading up to his door.

The Masked Man hits a stiff side kick to Johansson’s head, and takes a step back... to hit a spinning roundhouse kick to Johansson’s face, sending him flying to the sound fixture him and Celt were going to throw Jaro to! The fixture explodes and causes a loudspeaker to fall down from its tower!

Stone: OH MY GOD, THE MASKED MAN JUST SENT MARK JOHANSSON CRASHING AND THAT SPEAKER EXPLODING! THAT MAN HAS NO BUSINESS HERE! JOHANSSON MAY BE DEAD FROM THAT WRECKAGE!

Everything was silent now. His leather gloves creaked as he reached forward and put the skeleton card into the reader on the door to Johansson’s hotel room. The light turned green and with a click of a handle, it was show time.

Quote :

Foxx: YES HE DOES! WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND! I LOVE IT!

Stone: HE HAS NO BUSINESS BEING INVOLVED IN THIS MATCH! THE MASKED MAN HAS ALSO JUST DESTROYED A VERY EXPENSIVE PIECE OF EQUIPMENT!

He entered the room slowly. It was dark, and generic, exactly as you would expect a hotel to look. He walked towards the center of the room, the small space in between the curtains illuminating his path. He turned and looked through his tinted view at the sleeping Johansson when he reached the foot of his bed. He observed him sleeping peacefully when it finally hit him.

His failures.


The Virus reached up behind his head and tugged at the strings keeping his face on. Slowly, he removed the mask that he had grown to love and held it in his palms. He wanted to wake his victim. He wanted him to see the war he was about to engage, but you would not give your opponent that, so why would he?

He walked to the side of Johansson’s bed and stared at him once again-

You cannot let him live.
You cannot let him live.
You cannot let him live.

Like lightning the Virus moved, placing his mask over his victims face and tightening the strings. As Johansson began to struggle the Virus placed the sole of his boot on the back of his victims head, thinking it is what you would do. Deeper into the soft cushions of the mattress went Johansson’s face as the mask began to cut off his oxygen. His movements slowed as he continued to struggle.

Quote :

The Masked Man then follows Johansson’s body to the floor, finding his body, and putting him in a sleeper hold, and then dragging Johansson into the shadows and out of the match.

Stone: Oh god, where is that man taking him?

And then he thought of you. He thought of the damage you have caused. The lives you have destroyed. Would you do this now?

Absolutely not.

And you would be right. It was a revelation. You didn’t need to simply destroy people, you needed to send a message, otherwise, how would the world know of you?

He would not kill him now.

So when Johansson ceased to struggle the Virus turned him around and looked into his mask, his face.

Virus: I want you to wake up from this, and I want you to see what it is like to look out of the eyes of that which you fear most. I want you to understand that I have been generous in the past, that I was too kind, but no longer will that be the person before you.

Gently, the Virus places a kiss on the forehead of his own face.

Virus: Sleep well, sweet prince, because after tonight you will not be so lucky. You will become my bastion of righteousness. You will become the torch that lights my way.

The Virus leaves the scene as the moonlight illuminates a barely conscious Johansson, disheveled in his sheets, wearing the mask of the Virus. The scene fades to black.




The righteous have shown me the path I should follow.

You have shown me the path I must take.

Friedrich Nietzsche once said Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he doesn't become a monster

You have no idea what kind of monster you have unleashed.

Mercury is sitting near a desk lamp with his journal, trying to fill in the gaps of everything that has happened the last few months for himself and hopefully later generations. He looks around at the new housing of MASS Caesar, an abandoned storage facility that is equipped with workout equipment and a small area for ring training. It is unbearably cold in the winter months in New York.


Mercury: I miss the old palace! It was warm at least!


It was warm alright. Everything you could ever want at your disposal! Except...peace! Caesar thrived on making people's lives miserable. A day didn't pass at that beautiful residence that someone was killed for merely looking wrong at the evil despot in a variety of cruel, inventive, and sometimes comical ways.


Mercury: Well, I don't miss it that much!


Mercury sighs as he sees Caesar sleeping on his comfortable bed, as he starts to write, something that seems to be his only pleasure in life.

“Where has Caesar been all these months? Aside from still trying to find his teeth from the vicious slaughter he suffered at the hands of War Machine at 9.2? Well, he went back to the Insane Asylum! And I was happy he was there! He caused too much pain to all of us who lived with him! We all hoped that maybe the Asylum would treat him and bring Mass Chaos back to our realm and purge the “presence” of MASS Caesar forever! If only things where that simple.”

“After he left the FMW event after 9.2...”

The scene goes back all those months in the past, right after the 9.2 event is over. Some of the fans are walking around the arena, hoping to meet some of there heroes in FMW. Most of the young men are between 16 and 23, all the type that Caesar would beat up for the fun of it. As the youngsters move farther away from the main crowds, they hear a loud thud near them. Curious, they walk cautiously to were they heard the sound. One of the youngsters looks in horror as they see MASS Caesar taking a tree branch to beat the hell out of a car. That young man's car!


Caesar: YOU DAMNED Horse! Move I say, or I shall give you a DAMNED GOOD THRASHING!


Car Owner: What the Hell, man! That is my car! Are you out of your mind?


Friend: Of course he is! What kind of freak really believes himself to be a ruler of Rome?


The group of friends starts to laugh hysterically at the joke, until they hear the sound of glass breaking. The boys look in horror as Caesar continues to break every window on the car. He then starts to stomp on the top of the car, trying to cave in the roof. The youngsters move closer to the car, the owner clearly enraged over what is happening.


Car Owner: DUDE! Stop it! I will call security...


Before they can blink, Caesar jumps from the roof of the car and dives on all of them. He punches out the first two with ease, than gives a Roman Steel Low Blow to the Car's Owner, using the rear view mirror as an added weapon when hitting him in the nuts. Caesar than turns his attention, and the tree branch that he has just picked up again, toward the practical jokester from earlier. Caesar corners him and shoves him into a parked SUV. Caesar has the branch near the young man's throat. The young man is terrified at what might be in store for him. He glances into Caesar's eyes, noticing that it seems that Caesar seems to be still out of it after the beating he took at the hands of War Machine.


Caesar: Did you enjoy your little joke, peasant? Did you enjoy it?


The young man does nothing, too scared to make any movement.


Caesar: I hope you did, boy! Because this could be the last time you ever say a joke...


Before Caesar can finish, he feels a surge of 10,000 volts go through his body, knocking him down. The security detail goes over to him and starts to tie him up in the straight jacket. As they do there work, a familiar figure appears and approaches the frightened youngster.


Mercury: Here, take this money! Use it to repair the car and heal your friends! Never mention what happened here! The rest of your fellows are going to be helped by the emergency staff here. Say nothing!


Caesar gets dragged out of the arena by five men, who have patches on there arms that say “HAVE A NICE DAY INSANE ASYLUM”! Mercury looks toward his former master.


Mercury: It is what you deserve!



He calmly walks away, believing that soon, his life will go back to normal.

“Yes, it was I who betrayed Caesar this time. I had hoped that with Caesar out of my life, I could leave this mortal world and return to what I was. Of course, things never go they way you plan. I should have known that my brother Mars would be furious that I basically left Caesar to the Asylum and that there was a chance that the monstrous spirit of Caesar would return to make his life a nightmare. So for months I toiled, looking to return to my home. But for some reason, me and Caesar can not be separated. Not yet anyway! I was going to the river...”

We go to a scene where Mercury is walking down the banks of the Red River in Texas. He has journeyed the last few months, trying to be as far away from Caesar as possible. He takes in the cool morning and breathes calmly; a type of breath that gives a man the feeling of being free.


Mysterious Voice: Quite a peaceful place for a land that is known for fighters! Than again, dear brother, you where never a fighter!


Mercury: What is it that you want now, Mars!


Mars: That depends on you, Mercury! You see...


Before Mars continues, he accidentally steps into a weasel pit, plunging eight feet into the ground. Mercury laughs at his brother's misfortune and turns away, only to almost bump into Mars again.


Mercury: Of course you would have your powers still! You couldn't rough it as a mortal!


Mars: Of course not! What do you think I am, an idiot? You know, you could at least faked some sympathy. That hole in the ground hurt! Anyway, as I was saying, I know you want to return. But you haven't completed you mission with Caesar. And Caesar hasn't finished his mission!


Mercury: What is his mission? To cause pain and torture to all in his path? To destroy lives? To make people beg for mercy as he slices them in half in the not so pleasant way?


Mars: Well...yes! That and dominate the profession that his former charge, Mass Chaos is in. Caesar has the needs to attain the glory. He just needs a new focus. And honestly, he needs to start from humbler beginnings.


Mercury: What do you mean?


Mars: The wealth, the gigantic house, the slaves! Caesar gained them all, than went on a tailspin, but had the solace those possessions. How will he react now, when he is free, that to attain the glory and prestige he believes he has, that he has to start at the bottom like a lowly foot soldier?


Mercury: Interesting! And how does this concern me?


Mars: Because even though Caesar likes to abuse you, make fun of you, and sometimes let the lions into your bed room...


Mercury: He told me Pullo did that! That no good...


Mars: Back to the point, he trusts you! He trusts that you will always be loyal to him. He needs you! He needs you to disagree with him! He needs you to be a companion and a trusted friend!


Mercury: How can I do that?


Mars: Look at it this way. You do it, or you stay here forever!


Mercury: Damn you!


Mars: You are going to need help. Obviously, we can't have Caesar have a huge security detachment like before, but he needs a bodyguard of sorts. Jupiter knows that you are useless in a fight! Ah, I have someone in mind! Mars, you are so brilliant you God of War you!


Mercury: Shall I get a mirror for you to kiss your mighty muscles, you Lex Luger wannabe?


Mars: Keep silent! And see that man that just popped up?


Mercury: What man...


Before Mercury can finish, he sees that a man is lying unconscious next to the river bed. He is an imposing figure, at least 6'6 and almost 270 pounds of muscle. There are many scars across the arms of this man, who looks no older than 22. His face is youthful, innocent, yet tortured.


Mercury: Who is this?


Mars: His name is Judas. He shall be Caesar's new body guard and sparring partner. Now you must go and release Caesar from that Insane Asylum! He will be making his return to FMW soon!


Mercury: How can we do that? And who is he facing?


Mars: A woman named Faith!


Mercury: I know the name! I have been keeping up! I can say for a certainty that Caesar will feel insulted! And that I feel for the poor woman...and hope she destroys him!


Mars: You need to be a little more supportive of Caesar! As for his release, here are the necessary papers for you to acquire his release, here is a file for you being an accredited psychologist, with all degrees and paper work to befit that. No one will question your credentials. And to make sure, I will allow you the gift of persuasion. Any mortal you talk to will do what you say! And before you ask, no, it won't work on Caesar! Jupiter knows if I allowed that you would have him picking flowers and singing Greek songs about equality and democracy! Well, use your gifts well. I will be dropping by a lot more. Make sure you all stay on track.


Both men notice the young man is starting to stir and slowly come to his senses.


Mars: Here is your chance to use that gift of persuasion. Farwell, brother!



Mars vanishes from sight as the young man named Judas awakens, visibly shaken that he is not where he thought he was. He looks toward Mercury and slowly nods his head. Mercury walks toward the young man.


Judas: Where am I?


Mercury: Texas.


Judas: Tejas? How did I get here? Has God finally blessed me and allow me the opportunity to crush the one who deceived me?


Mercury: Care to explain? What is your name, boy?


Judas: Judas de Dios! Are you the one that will allow me to gain my revenge on that false prophet Craig Christ?



Mercury is flabergasted at what he is hearing. Another out of his mind loon. Great! But he sighs and motions to the young man to come closer.


Mercury: Indeed young Judas. I am here to help you to the right path! But before you are deemed worth to attain your revenge, you must please me and obey my commands. I swear to you that you will have your revenge!


Judas: Yes master! What shall I call you?


Mercury: Mercury!


Judas: Odd name for an angel of the lord. I can't recall that being an angelic name?


Mercury: It's um...hey, are you defying the Lord's messenger who is giving you a chance at your revenge?


Judas: Oh, no! Forgive me for being an unbeliever! I shall do what you ask!



Mercury looks toward the sun and sighs. Caesar shall be free tomorrow. Why do I feel sick?

“So me and young Judas arrived at the “HAVE A NICE DAY INSANE ASYLUM”. We flawlessly made it through all points, me as the world renowned psychologist and young Judas as my eager young space cadet...erm assistant. We talked with the superintendent of the asylum, asking him about what Caesar had been doing the last few months here. It was the typical sort of thing you would expect from him. One man rioting, beating up guards, burning the plants of other inmates, urinating on the superintendent during inspections! The superintendent was hesitant at first, but I was able to persuade him finally that my new treatments would restore the young man into a normal, upstanding citizen. Once the papers where signed, we where taken to a wing of the Asylum that was said to only have been occupied by one other person. The guards cautiously open the door, handing Mercury the keys. Mercury walks inside, seeing his master, unshaved and looking like a bum on the street, for the first time in months.

Mercury: My lord, Caesar...


Caesar: Took you long enough to free me from this veritable Hades, you cretin! Now untie me! I swear you can not find good help these days!


Mercury gives the keys to Judas, who frees Caesar quickly. Caesar walks cautiously toward Mercury, nodding slowly to the young giant.


Caesar: Who is this man with us, Mercury? A Persian?


Mercury: No sir, he is Mexican.


Caesar: Mexi-what?


Mercury: From the seed of the Spaniards, sir.


Caesar: Oh! Big guy! What is his purpose? Is he loyal?


Mercury: He is your new body guard and trainer. We must get you back in shape, sire. You must rise again!


Caesar: Yes. FMW must have there King return! And what better way to return than becoming the grand champion!


Mercury: My lord...


Caesar: Yes, nothing better than making a triumphant return in a battle against a champion!


Mercury: Sire...


Caesar: You have finally done something useful, Mercury!


Mercury: CAESAR! You are not fighting a champion. Well, she isn't one yet! Her genealogy and recent accomplishments will make her a worthy advesary.


Caesar: Yes, yes, I am sure she...what? SHE? I AM FIGHTING A WOMAN? WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO ME? Are they mocking there KING? WOMEN have many fine purposes! Fighting? Not one of them...unless for amusement!


Mercury: Caesar...let me be honest with you! You have been tied up in this room for months, you where double crossed by a woman and many others you would deem lower than you. This young woman has already accomplished more in her short time than you did. Plus, looking at who has trained and taken care of her, she is as formidable as the ancient Amazons. Don't take her lightly!


Caesar: Fine, Mercury! I will go 75% instead of 50%! Happy? Now, how are we breaking out of here? Oh, if we use this piece from the straight jacket, it will make an effective whip!


Mercury: Caesar, you are...


Caesar: YOU MISERABLE PLEBS COULDN”T HOLD ME HERE FOREVER! ATTACK!


As Caesar runs out the door, Mercury looks dumbfound.


Mercury: Free!


Mercury puts his hands to his face in frustration as he sees Caesar chasing guards and inmates down, whipping and smashing anyone in his path. He bumps into the superintendent of the Asylum, who he ties up and drags to the man's office. Mercury and Judas run quickly to intercept, only to see Caesar using the Superintendent's prized Cactus plant about to be inserted somewhere. Mercury walks out, leaving Caesar to his sick devices. He looks at Judas and nods to the young man.


Mercury: It is better for him to get his frustrations out now.


Superintendent (from other room) AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Caesar: Come on, you coward! Caligula loved this game! Seeing as you subjected me to all those...what did you call them? Nickelback CD's? Yes, considering you tortured me with that...music, I thought I would show you a game that sick, perverted Roman's played!


We are back to the storage room. Caesar, freshly shaved and bathed, is sleeping soundly. Mercury continues to write.

“Caesar is back in my life! I can say I am not thrilled by this. But hopefully this all leads to me returning to my home. I hope the young lady destroys and humbles Caesar! Maybe than, his heart will soften and he will be open to listening! Maybe she can do destroy his pride! I hope so! But Caesar is still unpredictable. You just never know what he has in his head. I just pray to Jupiter I can stay one step ahead of him. And this young Judas...I will save that for next time. I am weary. So much has happened. And so much is yet to come!


Caesar is back!

Think what you wish about it!

As for me, I hope for him to be humbled!

But I know that the Caesar I knew is lurking around the corner! And I can't stop him!"

PX (c)
Kaoru
Chris Kelson
Abel Steele
Eric Scorpio (c)

Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)
Ripper
Virus
Sean Carter
The Celt

Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy
Faith
Leon Caprice
Skyler Striker

Posted on behalf of Leon Caprice:

PX (c)
Nikko Nulthy Nathans
Chris Kelson
Abel Steele
Drew Michaels

Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)
Ripper
Mark Johansson
Alistair Wolfe
Jaro (c)

Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy
Faith
Leon Caprice
Skyler Striker (c)

[size=150]

The Two Cycles

[/size]

Based on an unfortunately true story

It is so unfortunate, that all the good that we do will dissolve into the ether of time. Most every good deed that we do in our lifetimes will be taken for granted, disregarded and will be forgotten. Save for the truly heroic deeds, like saving a person from death. Most of the time, we can only remember the good deeds of people by their title. Almost by default, we honor the good deeds of soldiers, policemen, firemen and paramedics. Everyone else might as well be just another bastard-coated bastard with bastard filling.

All that remains is hatred, ignorance and evil. A man will remember for years that his neighbor neglected to pay back even the smallest sum of money. He would also forget within a month that that same neighbor had offered to babysit his children when he was away from his home. This emphasis on negativity extends to failure, as well. As humans, our greatest failures are destined to outlive our greatest successes. Bill Buckner will never be remembered for the good baseball player he was, he will only remembered for one singular play… a spectacular failure on a grand stage.

And so shall my failures be remembered. I have failed… regardless of hard I tried, no matter the effort I gave, and no care about how close I was… I failed to win the Gold Card Gauntlet… twice. I failed to earn a shot at the television title. Unless I eventually succeed on some major goal, this will be what I am known for. And beating Jack Eastwood won’t help me one bit. These are the matches I win. Nothing at stake, just pride. And it was the same way with both of my mentors.

I do love this business, but she is hard on me. I spend so much of my time toiling in hopes that I will reach… something. I pour my heart and soul into this business, at least as much as I can bear to give, and the rewards are fleeting. She is an abusive partner, but the highs she can deal out are superior to any other high I could receive.

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

Alice’s head couldn’t outrace her heart. Her heart screamed with desire, a burning passion for a man she had only met several months before. The two hadn’t fought at all, not seriously anyway. As far as she could tell, life with Terrance Watson was ideal. In her head, she could imagine them living together. He was so polite, and so willing to help her out even with the most trivial of tasks. If only her mind could have restrained her heart, than this tragedy could have been avoided.

Not that she was the only guilty party. Terrance was also naïve and idealistic. He was a patient man, who fancied that he could put up with just about anything. He should have known better than to declare his love for Alice only after their second date. He had taken a college-level class on human sexuality. He knew that passionate love was fleeting, that the only way people can truly be compatible for each other is through compassionate love. He knew that they were heading in different directions, him nearly failing out of college, and her talking of some day going to law school. They had few shared interests, save for each other’s company. Terrance should have known that everything pointed to them not being ready, and yet… he thought he might be the exception to the rule. He thought he could make it work, no matter what. With this in mind, he presented to her, a ring. And after that ring was given, the two moved in together for the very first time.

It was fast. Perhaps too fast, but they thought it felt right.

-----------------------------
Two months after moving in together

Terrance is at a computer in the living room, while Alice is sitting on the couch, doing homework while watching television.

Alice: Don’t you have any homework to do?

Terrance: No

Alice: How do you not have any homework… ever?

Terrance: Most of my classes are lecture classes, and most of the homework I get I can finish between classes.

Alice: Must be nice…

Terrance (joking): It is actually.

Alice: Can you come sit with me?

Terrance gets up, and sits next to her on the couch. On the television, an episode of “Clean House” is on.

Terrance: God, that woman is annoying

Alice: Neicy Nash?

Terrance: Yeah… how could anyone put up with her for any extended period of time.

Alice: I think she’s cool.

Terrance: Ah… okay then.

Terrance gives Alice a quick back scratch, and then relaxes on the couch.

Alice: Scratch

Terrance slightly recoils at her demands, then begins scratching her back again. After awhile, he stops.

Alice: No, keep going

Terrance, now looking annoyed, collects his breath, and begins scratching again.

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

I once heard that love was a chemical addiction coupled with a mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Romantic types don’t like hearing that, as it ruins the essence of what they believe love is. Love is supposed to be this almost magical thing, that heals all wounds and unites all people. The truth is just the opposite, of course. Love is essentially a socially accepted version of insanity. In the heat of passion, we forget our senses. We suspect others of trying to steal our loved ones away. We use so much of our money, time and energy solely on one person. Even when it becomes a detriment to others, and even when it is a detriment to ourselves.

Terrance and Alice had lusted after each other for the last several months, and assumed it would last forever. They had not made the transition from passionate and compassionate love. And they had become so seriously entangled that, if things broke down between them, all sorts of sadness awaited them. Plans that they had sworn would never be broken would be demolished. They had begun building their lives around each other, slowly becoming co-dependent on each other. The brain chemicals that they were hooked on would soon be fading, as always happens with couples over time.

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

Terrance is lying next to Alice in bed, looking very unhappy. Alice is reading next to him, without a care.

Terrance: Alice… can I talk to you for a minute?

Alice: Sure, what’s up?

Terrance: Alice… we’ve been living together for 4 months. We’ve been seeing each other for a little less than a year. Do you ever think that we’re going… too fast?

Alice turns to Terrance, looking very angry

Alice: Why would you ask me that? We… listen… I know what I want. And I act accordingly. There’s no need to worry about going “too fast”… that’s just society telling us what to do.

Terrance: But… I don’t know. It’s just that, we have to renew the lease in a month, and… I’m just not sure I want to do that.

Alice: What? Why?!?

Terrance: Alice… I’m not that happy living here.

Alice: Why aren’t you happy?

Terrance: I’ve told you a bunch of times. I don’t like the way you treat me. Everyone notices it. Your own family has said it.

Alice (sarcastic): I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough for you.

Alice has begun crying

Terrance: I just think we need to slow down is all, and I’m not going to sign up living with you for another year when I’m not even happy now.

Alice: If you aren’t sure… if you can’t be happy with me now… then why am I wasting my time? Why am I with you?

Terrance: Don’t say that

Alice: I’LL SAY WHATEVER I WANT TO SAY!

Terrance tries to collect his breath. Both are now sitting up, Alice staring straight at Terrance, who is looking down.

Terrance: Listen, it’s not the end of the world… we can still be together if we’re not living together. We’ll be on the same campus!

Alice: I don’t want to!

A long silence passes, the only noise to hear is Alice’s sobs. Terrance tries to gather himself, and finally breaks it.

Terrance: I just don’t think I can do it. I’m going to talk with a few friends about a different apartment… I’m sorry.

Alice screams, and begins hitting his arm.

Alice: You fucking bastard! You only think of yourself!

Terrance: I do not!

Alice: You do too! You know how much this fucks me over? How am I going to afford an apartment without you? How am I going to save for our wedding if I’m paying more for an apartment… for myself.

Terrance: Listen…

Alice: GET OUT!

Terrance takes a deep breath, silent tears stream down his cheek. He begins to walk out of the apartment. Alice takes the ring from the nightstand, and throws it at his head. It narrowly misses, going into the hallway.

Alice: And take this too… you asshole!

Terrance shakes with a mixture of rage and sadness. He closes the door and leaves… without another word.

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

Apostasy sits at a restraunt with Edible Smith, sipping a coke

Edible: That soda is just awful for you. It’s terrible for your teeth, for your digestive system, and it’s so high in calories.

Apostasy: I’m fully aware, Ed.

Edible: You also just slurp it down so loudly, your manners are just so poor. I know I’ve taught you better than that.

Apostasy: I’m not much in the mood for a lecture.

Edible: Still down about the loss?

Apostasy: Well… yeah.

Edible: Listen, those battle royale matches…

Apostasy: Clusterfucks

Edible: Watch your tongue. As I was saying, matches with more than 3 people are… random. Sometimes, you do everything right, and still end up on the outside of the ring at just the right time. Then some other guy makes the winning pin, before you have any time to stop it from happening. That’s the way it goes.

Apostasy: I’m aware… I’m just… I just feel kinda helpless out there.

Edible: You handle yourself nicely in that ring, and you’ll prove it when you face Eastwood.

Apostasy: I wish I won that stupid poll.

Edible: FMW fans are fickle. I don’t know what they see in Black Marcus, but you’re better off without that TV Title. It’s practically cursed, nobody can hold on to the darn thing for more than a show or two.

Apostasy: Nothing good ever lasts

A brief silence, while Edible contemplates Apostasy’s saying.

Edible: Some things do last. Some great moments can outshine all the bad ones. I mean, take Peyton Manning for an example. For years, people said he was the new Dan Marino. He couldn’t get it done in the playoffs. Then, he wins the Super Bowl. Now, people give him that respect, and the Colts are almost always favored to win the games they’re playing.

Apostasy: On the flip side, if people found out tomorrow that he had been fighting pit-bulls in his backyard, no conversation about the man would ever neglect that little fact.

Edible: Well, I suppose that’s true.

Apostasy: The amount of good you have to do to be remembered in a positive light is astounding. People will always pick at your flaws, in order to make themselves feel better. People will always tear you down.

Another long silence ensues

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

Terrance went to the lake that night. He was hoping that god, mother nature, zeus or whatever grand force was out there would be willing to lend him some inspiration. After a few hours of the cold December winds stripping away all the warmth in his body. In the movies, it seemed that this would be the time where he’d have some sort of an epiphany. He’d figure out how to save his relationship with Alice, or he’d figure out exactly how to move on. Nothing came to mind, though. His mind raced with scary questions. Where would he live? How could he get his stuff out of the apartment without getting into another fight? Who could possibly take over his end of the remaining rent?

As human beings, we have free will. We make our own mistakes, and we learn from them. It is both the most wonderful and dreadful thing about our existence. We spend so much of our lives judging other people, making fun of their every mistake and problem. When forced to examine our own mistakes, we use the same harsh standards on ourselves. The emphasis on negativity that is so strongly present in our daily lives ends up destroying us.

Those that are the comedians of the world have it worst. Those with razor-sharp wits, who can quickly assess the foolishness in others, they turn on themselves the hardest. It is so easy to make fun of somebody’s mistakes when you neglect to put yourself in their shoes. Even history’s greatest blunders made great sense to the people who made them… at the time. Those who cannot empathize with others often cannot empathize even with themselves. They forget how it was when they made their errors. They are left with nothing but self-hatred.

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

Terrance is sitting in a new apartment, next to a new female friend, watching TV. He receives a text message. To his dismay, it is from Alice. He reads it, then quickly deletes it.

Terrance: Karen, could you turn it up?

Karen grabs the remote and turns up the volume to the movie “Southland Tales”

Karen: No problem

Terrance: Thanks.

On the TV, a man with a rocket launcher aims and fires at a zeppelin. He is standing on a floating ice cream truck.

Karen: What the?

Terrance: I have no idea

Two men, both played by Sean William Scott, hold a handshake in the back of the floating ice cream truck. They promise to not let go. The narrating voice of Justin Timberlake concludes the movie with “He was my friend. He is a pimp… and pimps… don’t… commit… suicide.”

Karen: Is that it?

Terrance: Yeah…

Karen: That didn’t make any sense.

Terrance: Well, clearly… I mean… pimps DON’T commit suicide, now do they?

The two laugh as the credits roll.

Karen: You have the oddest taste in movies.

Terrance: This one was recommended to me by a friend. He said it was absolutely insane.

Karen: I think that’s a slight understatement.

Terrance: So, which movie did you like better?

The two get up, walking towards the door.

Karen: I think I liked Manos: Hands of Fate a little better. At least the Mystery Science Theatre guys made it fun to watch.

Terrance: Fair enough. Though this one had a much better soundtrack.

The two hug at the doorway. They look at each other for a minute.

Karen: Well it’s been nice. I really like your new place.

Terrance: Thank you. It’s been nice having you over.

They stand there for a minute, staring at each other and smiling. Then they both lean in and kiss each other passionately.

Karen: I guess that answers my question…

Terrance: Yeah…

Karen: Fuck… I really do need to get back home… but now I don’t want to.

Terrance: I know, but… hey, I’ll see you tomorrow… okay?

The two smile

Karen: Okay. Bye!

Terrance: Goodnight! Sweet dreams!

The two kiss once more, and then Karen leaves. Terrance takes a deep breath, and settles into the couch.

Terrance: I don’t know if it will last or not… but I enjoy the ride. Nothing good lasts… unless it’s truly great. And I will remember that… as long as I shall live.

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo

Television Championship:
PX (c) vs. Black Marcus

Triple Threat Match:
Kaoru vs. Axel Van Osbourne vs. Nikko Nulthy Nathans

Ammunition vs. Corruption Singles Match:
Chris Kelson vs. Calvin X. Carter

Grudge Match:
Christian G. Smitten vs. Abel Steele

MAIN EVENT, C-4 Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Eric Scorpio (c) vs. Drew Michaels



-FMW Corruption 10.1 LIVE from Dallas, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Ammunition Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Seth Omega and Gray) vs. Danse Macabre (Gabriel Crow and Damien Inferno)

Singles Match:
Ripper vs. Zachariah

No Disqualifications:
Mark Johansson vs. Virus

Singles Match:
Sean Carter vs. Alistair Wolfe

MAIN EVENT, Ultraviolent Championship/Pandora's Box Match:
Jaro (c) vs. The Celt



-FMW Distortion 10.1 LIVE from San Antonio, Texas-
Tonight's Card:

6-Man Tag Team Match:
Butters, Christian Moore, and Jetstream vs. Big Ugly Guy, Bryce Thorne, and TJ Tilli

Singles Match:
Jack Eastwood vs. Apostasy

Singles Match:
Faith vs. MASS Caesar

Street Fight:
Leon Caprice vs. Syanide

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship First Blood Match/Pandora's Box Match:
Skyler Striker (c) vs. Romeo

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” A ripping sound echoed around the First Church of Dunnwood, more commonly known as the Asylum. Jack Eastwood knelt before the Twisted Altar of the Cancer, ripping out large chunks of his hair and well-maintained beard. He screamed in anguish, both at his loss at Death Row 3 and the pain of his scalp, raw from the plucking. A soft swooshing behind him alerted him to the presence of another in the Asylum.

“I can just give you a haircut, you know,” Dunn said, smirking. Red now dripping down the front of his face, Eastwood angrily turned his head towards the tutor-cum-split personality standing before him, in a long black cloak, an amused sarcastic smile playing with the bottom of his eyes. “Why don' ye jus' burn?” Jack growled, turning back again.

“I'm slowly burning and you know it,” he purred, taking one impossibly large step to be behind Eastwood. He stooped a little and wrapped his arms around Jack's neck, in a sick copy of the way a faithful lover might. “You can feel it, can't you? I'm in that bleeding skull of yours, killing you softly from the inside...”
HOMOEROTICISM!
With one massive shoulder Eastwood shrugged Matt's arms off, scowling. “Wha' exackly d'ye wan' from me?” he asked, staring at the writhing, screaming stonework he and Dunn had carved together. Matt sighed and rose, stepping over to the ladders that led up to the ruined belfry, converted into a living space. “Right now? I want to sleep. It's been a trying day. Oh, Jason is waiting at the front door for you.” Jack's head whipped round.

“'Ow long 'as 'e bin waitin'?” he asked, scrabbling to his feet. Dunn's voice called from the top of the ladder. “About fifteen minutes.” Eastwood dusted himself off and jogged to the large front doors. “The las' thing I fuckin' need righ' now...” With a soft sigh, he wrenched the archaic wood open to find Jaro standing there, grumbling.

“Ye could 'ave knocked, ye ken,” Eastwood said with a low growl. Jaro pshawed him, running a hand down his face, the bags under his eyes stretching. “Look at me,” he muttered, half to himself, “I'm beginning to look like you. Next you know I'll be slurring my words like some inbred retard.” He wrinkled his nose and looked up at Jack, eying the crimson on his scalp with distaste. “You know you're bleeding, right?”
Don't deny it; your scalp is prickling.
“Of course,” Eastwood muttered, “I'm no' a fuckin' idio'. An' I'm no' so stupid as ter think ye'd drop by fer a li'le cha' Wha' d'ye wan'?” Jaro smiled. “How very perceptive of you. I came over to tell you two things; first, at 10.1 you'll be facing Apostasy, and second, you've been chosen as one of FMW's “Psychology Stars”. Don't ask me what it actually is, it's just some media spin made by the company to hide the fact that some of our talent are taking illegal drugs. As such, you'll be subjected to the questioning of one of the country's top psychologists.”

Jack paused for a moment, digesting the information he had just received. Finally, he asked, “Will i' be Black Marcus' wife?” Jaro chuckled. “Are you kidding? Half the roster seems to use that whore's service. Anyway, I've got to go, apparently I'm a father now and forgot about it. Cheerio, toodle-pip, whatever it is you English like to say.” He strolled over to his car and jumped in. Before speeding off, he called, “Get a phone. I'd have been able to call you with this information. And maybe some sleep too, Jacky-boy, you look like shit.”

I don't have a phone?


“So what are you going to do with your new phone?” Matt asked. Jack thumbed through the keypad, smiling softly. “No' sure,” he replied, “mebbe some prank calls?” Dunn rolled his eyes. “It sounds childish and gay. Let's do it.”
And so they spent a good deal of hours – and indeed, money – prank calling everyone.
Flicking through the phone book, Jack catches a hold of a certain number. He grins. “I 'ave an idea.” He taps in a number, then lightly tosses the phone to Matt, who looks back quizzically, before placing the phone to his ear.
Not gonna describe them. I'm tired. Fuck you.
“Hello?”

“Hiiiiii!”

“...who on earth is this?”

“Oh, come on, Drewski, surely you recognise the sound of these drums? This beating heart? This Cancerous tone?”

“Quit playing around, Eastwood. You can talk green now. Nobody cares.”

“Those are hurtful words, Mr Michaels. Hurtful, untrue words. I can prove that I am Matt P. Dunn. Ask me anything.”

“I'm not playing this game.”

“Oh, come on... please? Pretty please?”

“...fine. Where did you used to live?”

“The Citadel.”

“What was significant about your first FMW match?”

“I won the World Tag Team titles with that waste of oxygen Nick Lion.”

“What was the self-important title you carried while under the guise of Mortus?”

“Fear Incarnate. Come now, Drew, you can do better than this, a man with a rudimentary search engine could find these answers.”

“...alright. Before our match at Alchemy 7.1 for the World Tag Titles, you came to me and told me something that, quite frankly, made my blood boil. What was it?”

“...I cannot answer that in front of the boy, I don't want to panic him.”

“Then until you can, I shall not believe you. Goodbye, Jack.”

“Wait! What if... what if I showed myself to you? I don't intend to make some grand reveal on a Full Metal stage, but I can appear before you in private. Would that satisfy you?”

“...unfortunately I have my own problems to deal with at the moment. But I can send someone in my stead.”

“That's fine. Send whoever you like to our Church. We shall be waiting.” And he put the phone down with a flourish. Jack jumped up, startled. “Wharrar ye thinkin', ye mad'ouse? Anyone comes 'ere an' the game's up!” Matt sighed and tossed the set back to Eastwood, who caught it angrily. “Don't worry about it. Now, your opponent is Apostasy, right?”

Jack nodded, and he continued, “Let me think... apostasy, sounds like democracy, democracy in an election, or is that an erection? Do I have an erection? ...no. Definitely election, I have an election in my pants. But that would cause everyone to defect from my pants... that's it! I know what apostasy means now! It means to defect!”

“...wha'?” Eastwood stared at the insane, rambling man before him. “No, think about it!” Dunn cried. “Apostasy by its very nature is a defective principle! Apostasy is a weak, worthless concept! The denouncements of one's beliefs leads to apathy! And apathy is neutral, therefore Apostasy – that is, the person – has no chance of winning!” He was correct, of course. His logic was flawed and twisted, but impossibly, there was no means of arguing with him.



Knock. Knock. Knock.

A pounding echoed around the Asylum. Unsure, Seth Omega opened the doors, letting sunlight stream in. Respectfully, he searched for a font to cross himself with and, upon finding one to the right, noted that it was not water, but rather a pale, odorless amber liquid. Slightly perturbed, he sniffed at it, then crossed himself with it slowly and delicately, as if handling acid. He turned around to face the gaping Church of Dunnwood, and was about to walk towards the vast, mutilated Altar, when

TRANSMISSION INTERRUPTED

You are meant to consume the Firewater.

What? *swip* Who's there?

Give me a moment; I am preoccupied. I suggest you take a drink of the Firewater, Mr Omega, as you are in my house now and it pays to be respectful.

This had better not be a trick, Dunnwood... *tp tp tp* *spoosh* *slurp*

Oh no, no trick... *tp tp tp tp tp* Mr Omega.

YOU!

Yes, me. Who did you expect? The Grim Reaper? Though I suppose the black hood makes for no help.

So Eastwood was telling the truth.

That he was. Listen, I need you to do something for me.

...what?

Deliver this... *tp tp* *flutter* ...to Drew. It's the answer to his question.

...am I allowed to read this?

Do what you will, so long as the message reaches its destination.

Alright... *fwip* *scrush scrush* ...I'll take it.

It was nice meeting you, Mr Omega.

Yeah... nice... *swip* *tp tp tp tp tp*

…

…

…

He was a nice boy. I can just tell you two are going to be great friends in the future.

Yeah, ye ken wha'? I really fuckin' ha'e you.

TRANSMISSION RESUMED



As Seth Omega waited for his flight from the airport, he took the crumpled note Matt Dunn had passed onto him. He opened it and read it slowly, absorbing the information.

Dear Mr Michaels,

The answer to your question is, “It is fortunate for you that We were not there to oversee your wife's forced hysterectomy. Sadly We have not been blessed with a surgeon's hands, and so the outcome could have been far worse for you. In any case, even if your wife had bared offspring, We would have only consumed them anyway. Consider yourself a lucky man.”

I stand by that statement.

Yours through all walks of insanity,
Matthew P. Dunn