FMW 11.2 VOTING & PROMO Thread

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs.Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs.Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs.John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs.Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs.Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P.Dunn


some changes made

Circle X, Chord I

A heartbeat; inside, a smaller, more pathetic one. For over two months now, the bastard clone Ten-chan and her unborn child, sired to her by the filth of Full Metal Wrestling, Dunnwood, has stayed chained-up in the basement of his “Church”, a decrepit ramshackle construct that vaguely resembles a house of the Lord, albeit in a warped vision. He has deserted her for a number of days now; with nobody else to care for her he has ‘kindly’ slipped into her left arm an IV drip that, at the touch of a button, feeds liquidised nutrients directly into her body, as required.

With nothing but pain, darkness and the occasional sexual assault in her piteous life, you might expect Ten-chan to not allow herself the drip feed, to let her body rot to shit. But she cannot bring herself to end the life of an innocent, the festering, growing ball of malice that would be Dunnwood’s spawn... and hers. This, she realised was, besides her intellect, her only weapon, her only offensive against this terrible, towering fiend that seemingly approached her from out of the shadowed corners of the room, violated her and faded away.

The fact that she had another armament in her arsenal occurred to her when Matt Dunn, gaunt and pale from the recent shock of seeing part of his personal self return, stumbled in and gripped her wrist, roughly jamming the sharp point of a needle into her flesh and strung her up with tubes, not even touching her up as he walked away, growling. Tied to the filled bag was a piece of card, which read:

Going away for a bit
Feed yourself and the kid
It’s set up to feed you if you think of killing yourself
And it hurts if you let it
Matty <3

She’d tested her boundaries, of course. Let the pain come, rushing down her arm like fire if she didn’t care to refresh her nutrients. She didn’t know how, she didn’t care why. But it hurt. So she had to keep on pressing the button, avoiding that horrific fiery sensation that made her scream deafeningly. Yet despite her best efforts, her supply was running low. So it – amazingly – came as a relief when the formerly haggard-looking Dunn strolled into the basement, a disgusting, nauseous smirk on his face. Walking up to her, he leaned over her, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hello there beautiful. Come round here often?”

“Fuck you, Dunn. Get me off this drip.”

“I’m sorry, did you say you wanted to drip?”

He licks two fingers and slides his hand down her slightly engorged abdomen, rolling his palm downwards to cup the bulge while he probes at her crotch with his fingertips. She tries to fight it, but with his other hand he harshly yanks the needle from her flesh and in an instant, a sense of calm over-washes her and she slumps forward, onto his waiting hand and his chest. Wrapping his free arm around her, he starts to stroke her back while at the same time probing further, whispering comforts into her ear as she lulls off into sleep.

Circle X, Chord II

Dunnwood walks down an unclean alleyway, somewhere in America. Litter bags are strewn across the beaten, pounded concrete. Dirt cakes the faded red bricks and the stench of cheap cannabis and cheaper hookers is everywhere. By contrast, he wears a smart leather jacket, a designer pair of jeans and a trademark pair of sneakers. He is aware that behind the bins to his rights is a young man, ready to pounce as he passes through his part of town. Above the ladders to his left and behind are two other men, ready to assist their would-be accomplice if things turn sour. A fourth man lurks at the end of the alleyway, ready to block Dunnwood if he tries to make a break for it.

As Dunnwood passes the bins, the man jumps out, brandishing a self-created knife, composed of a razor blade and a toothbrush handle. With ease the larger man sidesteps the youth, sending him skittering across the dank floor. The two men from up above jump from their perch, armed with store-bought kitchen knives. Dunnwood rushes towards them and they freeze up unexpectedly, paying for their nerves with a double clothesline. He turns to face the fourth man and is met with a gun barrel to the face. Dunnwood stares at the wielder, an African-American of around thirty, unflinchingly.

“I would advise dropping the firearm, good sir.”

He sneers back at Dunnwood, through yellowed teeth.

“I ain’t doin’ shit, homie,” he spits. “Why you in my neighbourhood, beatin’ up my crew? You the Corleone’s new thug or some shit? Answer me, boy! You seem to got a smart tongue in yo head. Watch I don’t blow it out.”

“If you’ll let me get a word in edgeways...”

Dunnwood glances at the gun as though it is no more than an irritating insect.

“I’m searching for people. Lots of people. Enough to start a small army, if necessary. That is why I came into your territory and savaged your... ‘crew’. I need those tough enough-“

It’s hard to talk when a gun barrel is wedged in between your lips. The black man has pushed the end of the pistol into the roof of Dunnwood’s mouth.

“So you think you can waltz right in here, take out my main posse and think I’m gonna hook up wit chu limey fuck?” he snarls, one finger curling around the guard of the trigger. Then, he relaxes, and starts to smile. Then, he’s laughing, clutching at his ribs as he curls up into a ball, snickering away to himself. Dunnwood folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, unsure of the reason behind this. Finally, the man stands up, wiping away a tear.

“Shit, kid, if you ain’t got nothin’ else you got balls! Any other guy would a been shittin’ bricks starin’ down this bad motherfucker right here. But no, kid. Shit! Man, just for that I gonna let you speak. What’s yo name, son?”

“It is Dunnwood, sir. And yours?”

“Call me Adam. Like in the Holy Book, see?”

“Odd for a man of faith to walk the streets mugging people and carrying a pistol.”

”It’s a dangerous world. And it’s odd for a man who ain’t got no business in my hood tearing down the place on a whim.”

“As I said. I’m trying to gather people.”

“For what purpose?”

“As a man of faith, I am sure it is a concept that you can appreciate. I am trying to accumulate a congregation.”

“A congregation? Boy, you one of these Scientologist crazies or some shit?”

“Not at all. While the term I am using for this following that I am trying to gather has religious connotations, I do not preach about the words of any god or gods. I am there to lead the downtrodden man into one common unit, to spread the word that we are beyond the roles that society has cast upon us. Only through self-sacrifice can we achieve notability.”

“I see. So you think that we have to martyr ourselves in order to become known? What makes you think we don’t have things to live for?”

“It’s not a question of martyrdom. It’s a question of what you’re willing to go through in order to achieve recognition. And as for what you have to live for, you and three others attack me with weapons that, frankly, are ineffective. The only time you could have killed me with that gun was when it was internally pointing at my cranium. And even then, I could have removed it from your grasp.”

“Don’t talk shit, boy, it was your smart mouth that saved your life. Don’t let it be your smart mouth that loses it. And what the hell do you know about my life? What if I have a lot to live for?”

“Do you have a lot to live for?”

“Does it look it? I had a wife, a kid. I ain’t got shit now. That’s why I’m fightin’ on the streets, man. Ain’t got nothin’ no more. Son, I could a shot you there and then and it wouldn’t of meant nothin’ to me. But I didn’t.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“I ain’t a killer. Ain’t my place to do that part of the Lord’s work.”

“Then you still have something. Your morality.”

“True. But that ain’t worth shit nowadays. Every fool got to be stealin’ from one another. Morals are dead.”

“Therefore, what you have is near-worthless; so what do you have to lose?”

Adam laughs again, his world-weary eyes shining. He’s never seen anything like this before and he never will again.

“Well fuck, if you so keen to die, homie, then allow me to oblige.”

Once more he pushes the barrel of the gun in between Dunnwood’s lips, angling it upwards so that it touches the roof of his mouth.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to say a prayer. Clear what little conscience I have.”

Dunnwood nods, as carefully as one can nod with a lethal weapon about to terminate their life.

“Merciful Father, we are gathered here today-“

Suddenly Dunnwood grips the barrel between his teeth and snaps his neck downwards, whipping the gun into his waiting hand. In the same fluid motion he cocks the barrel, pointing the weapon at Adam, who stares at it in a mixture of fear and shock.

“I must apologise; the nod was a gesture that I took those to be your last words. I would have corrected your mistake beforehand, but for obvious reasons I could not. Would you care to continue?”

“I... I...”

“Speechless? I don’t blame you. I would be surprised too had such an unexpected outcome be sprung upon me.”

“...”

“If that is all you have to say...”

He lazily raises the gun, takes aim briefly, and clicks the side of the weapon. The clip slides out of the back and falls to the ground, joined a moment later by the discarded, now rendered useless piece of metal.

“...then your life is spared.”

“You... you’re not going to kill me?”

“What purpose would that serve? I feel that I have proven to you that I am not a force to be taken lightly. You are also aware that I could have easily taken your life a few moments prior; hence I assume that you now hold some degree of respect for me in exacting the opposite. You have nothing, sir. How would I profit from ending your life here and now? However, in exchange for this I request something. Gather your men, bring them with you to my Church. You are now part of my Congregation.”

“You saved my life, son. But you ask me to forsake my God for you?”

“Believe whatever gives you peace of mind. All I ask is your loyalty, not your worship. Can I count on you, sir?”

“You can, Dunnwood.”

Circle X, Chord III

“So just that tiny little activity forced you to leave me to waste away for six weeks?” Ten-chan snapped, her weakened body filled with hate. Dunn sat across from her, licking tainted fingers and mewling like a cat.

“No, no, of course not,” he said, affronted. “I toured the world, the hotbeds of shit that I would find such characters in. I gathered my Congregation from the best and the brightest – relatively speaking, of course. But there were other tasks that required my attention too...”

Circle X, Chord IV

“Terrible luck in that match, Sy.”

“Forget about it. You win some, you lose some. You just seem to be winning and I just seem to be losing at the moment.”

“Don’t be disheartened, Sy. Remember my rut, after I lost the C-4 Championship? You’ll come out of it, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

A knock on the door of the HavOc dressing room applies a full stop to the conversation of the trio. Making to leave, Daniel “Syanide” Lincoln opens the door to see Jack Eastwood standing there, a cigarette between his lips. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he asks, “Mind if I come in?” Quint and Frost glance at one another, before Harley nods, replying, “It’s three on one... or two on one, if you’re taking your ball, Mr Lincoln?” Syanide gives off a grunt of agreement before turning and walking out, roughly bumping into Eastwood on his way, who enters the room and sits down as though he owns it, smoking the last of his cigarette and idly flicking it away. Quint and Frost stare daggers into him from across the room.

“What is it you want, Eastwood?”

“Steady on, I’m gerrin’ ter tha’. Firs’ off, well done ‘Arles, on bein’ Corruption’s captain a’ Circus Maximus.”

“The sentiment is... appreciated.”

“’Anny, I’d offer ye similar congra’s, bu’ I din think they’ll be relevant fer long, sa I’ll save me breath.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

“Ye ken wha’ i’ means.”

“And you really think that you can beat both Omega and Dunn, and then me? You’re madder than we thought.”

Eastwood smirks.

“Maybe I am, Fros’. Maybe I am...”

Circle X, Chord V

“And so, we come to the main event, of the evening...”

Approaching Ten-chan from behind, Matt wraps a piece of cloth taut around her mouth, preventing her from speaking. She tries to look at him, glaring, but a long piece of luminescent metal, hanging from the ceiling, blinds her view, and she is forced to stare ahead. A long shadow swings from the ceiling. Matt steps quickly across the other side of the room and wheels in a man, strapped to a chair. His head and limbs are immobilised. His bare chest is peppered with cigarette burns that read:


In his hand is a gun, also taped. It is pointed seemingly at Ten-chan. Dunn drapes his arms over the immobile man, grinning at the girl. “Ten, you remember me telling you about Adam, yes? He’s here to make his life worthwhile... or die in the process.” Turning around, he faces Adam, speaking to him without reply, for he too has his mouth gagged.
“You need to keep quiet.”
Ten-chan looks around quickly, despite the blinding light. Dunn towers over Adam, giggling.
“No sudden movements, no noises. Nothing.”
“Now, Adam. In your hand is, as you know, the gun you brought with you. It contains one bullet, and this will either save your life, or damn it. It seems to be pointed at the young woman in front of you, yes? And it can’t be moved, no?” To demonstrate the point, he attempts to shake Adam’s wrist and fails.
A crack appears under the surface of one of the manacles on Ten’s legs.
“Adam, whether or not you fire this gun affects your life, one way or another. I promise that, should you kill the girl in front of you, no harm will befall you.”
“Don’t panic.”
A finger curls around the trigger. To Adam, this girl is meaningless. Matt smirks, his trump card almost revealed as he leans down to whisper in his ear.
“It’s primed to miss.”
“Before you shoot... you should know that she’s pregnant.”
“Don’t worry.”
A tear rolls down a cheek; a shot rings out. The bullet zips past Ten-chan and cuts through the shimmering metal wire, loosening the barbed wire stake that hovers above Adam, slamming through his skull and killing him instantly.
“I will protect you.”
Ten-chan’s eyes widen and she vomits behind the cloth. Dunn looks across at her, grinning, and begins to unzip his pants...

Circle X, Chord VI

“And so it begins...”

The freak, Dunnwood, is hanging upside down off the side of the barbed wire cage he will use later that night. The wreaths of wire cut into his flesh, scuffing him, making him bleed. He stares at the camera, black, soulless eyes always watching and waiting.

“You might consider this structure twisted, horrific. A violent example of the day-to-day ruin we are forced to be subjected to. And yes, it makes you bleed, makes you suffer. But we are our own worst enemy. I disgust myself; I still haven’t gotten rid of the stench of sick. Tonight, I prove to myself and the world why I am everyone’s worst enemy. I will kill myself, just to make everybody pay.

Mr Omega. We have been going through the motions for the longest time now, not in the least because I am Mr Roy’s student and you are Mr Michaels’ cousin. But we are both aware of the simplistic concept of pure, untamed insanity. There is no questioning your achievement elsewhere; but in Full Metal Wrestling? This is my backyard.

Mr Dunn. I suppose it could be intimated that I owe you a lot. However, had you not existed, I may not be infected with this new strain of cancer. Do you think, Mr Dunn, that you can simply stroll back into this industry and try to once again claim what you failed in two years to seize? You have had your chance, Mr Dunn. Now it is my turn to spin the wheel.

Gentlemen, both of you have a large amount of respect from yours truly. But are either of you really that sickening that you think that you can be the Abandoned Champion? Are any of you that mentally disturbed that you think you can handle the pressure? Don’t you know how it feels? To scream at night, knowing you’re a monster?

Can you be that monster, either of you?

Do the right thing. Roll over and sacrifice your victory to save yourself. Either one, I really could not care less. But do it for the sake of your own body, because... if you don’t... I cannot be held accountable for what happens inside these four walls of steel and wire.

I am Dunnwood.

I am a freak.

I kill people.

I repulse people.

I am the most disgusting thing you will ever see on your television sets.

I am a disaster waiting to be unleashed.

And I... am your next Abandoned Champion.

They say all the best geniuses have to be at least a little bit mad...

The damning smell of smoke clogged the nostrils of the man, its mere smell was an instant reminder of its damaging presence, the danger it always represented, and always will. The smoke’s physical from glided and ascended feverishly. Smoke is something to be associated with death, and yet looking at it was like seeing a life of some sort, a spirit dancing onwards and upwards to the skies above.

The smoke is emitting from the end of the gun’s barrel. The weapon itself is sitting in the man’s firm grasp, the hold of a man who can use it, a rare person to find. In one simple flowing moment, the man’s other hand delves into his pocket, withdraws a single bullet, and loads it into his weapon, that powerful revolver.

The smoke fades to nothing soon after it bounces off the dead smoke detectors. The only smell left is a lingering, faint smell of old paints; a smell that seemed to match the room’s pale green colour. The room is simple and boring, it has no distinguishing features, but for a series of bullet holes in the weak wall, arranged in close proximity to one another, as if there were an invisible target against the wall being aimed at, and a wardrobe mirror.

The man is sitting on the floor in front of the mirror, admiring his weapon, appreciating the craftsmanship gone into its creation. He aims it at the man in the mirror, and imitates firing it.

“Bang, I’m dead. How simple a task Major Allen has.”

PX raised to his feet, having more pressing matters at hand than admiring himself. He pointed the firearm back at the wall riddled with bullets, both arms clasped around the weapon, hands lethally steady.

“Why do we have to do this?”

PX’s nostrils flare and he puffs out all the air of his lungs. The voice is not a strange one, but it is not a welcome one either.

“You know we have to do this. Now stay out of this. I don’t want to hear you”

The voice has already robbed PX’s attitude for some target practice. In a flash his arms drop down, PX pivots 90 degrees on the spot, and the weapon is raised instantly again, pointing directly at the mirror’s centre. Staring back at him is himself, but not in the replicated form one comes to expect from a mirror. The man standing in the mirror is indeed PX, but he is not standing in PX’s pose. His face and arms are covered in scars and bruises; he looks like he’s been beaten like a pound of meat. He appears violently injured, yet he just stands there, no sign of any of his bodily marks in his facial expression.

“Please, we don’t want this. It’s not too late to stop this.”

The mirror image of PX pleads out meekly; he is a shadow of the man standing opposite him.

“I hope you’re kidding, because that is ridiculous. You’re delusional”

PX spoke without a hint of irony, despite talking to, and pointing a weapon at, a mirror.

“Please listen to me. Our old life was so much better than this, so much easier. Look at us now. You’ve ruined us.”

“I’m helping us! I am doing what you could never do! I’m taking the steps you were NEVER willing to take. I’m getting us the credit we deserve! We are better now because me.”

“Oh yeah? And what about the cops? What about murdering one? What did that achieve? Nothing! You’re fuckin’ crazy!”

“All work and no play aint the way to get shit done. I need the fun to amuse myself. And Amuse it does. It’s the games that keep me sane.”

“Sane? This isn’t sanity...”

The man in the frame takes a step forward, as if it were possible for him to reach PX.

“Oh Really? And where did your methods get you, hmm? Don’t even pretend you even have a clue as to what’s best for us. Now, if you are done, I have more pressing matters.”

PX swings himself away from the mirror, no longer interested in it.

“We know we can’t compete with a man like Derrick.”

Silence. In that one moment, it is pure silence; a pin drop could be heard. In this moment, PX’s face stays blank. Then he cracks a smile, and it seems to smash the silence. He doesn’t turn around to face the man in the mirror.

“I think you’ve proven me right. You always were the naysayer. I Know what I can do. That old man won’t stop me. I know I can beat him, and I know you can’t. It’s because I’m the stronger of us.”

“Maybe we can, but you can’t. This is John Derrick, our icon.”

“Your Icon. I have nothing to attribute to him.”

“You know what he can do. You know you won’t best him...”

“I KNOW WHAT I CAN DO! I’ll show you! Derrick might be some kind of icon or god or whatever the fuck to you, but not me! To me he’s a frail aging man that doesn’t have it anymore and I’m going to fucking prove that one way or another.”

PX clutches his weapon, and spins its chamber and pulls back its hammer in one motion.

“You think you’re so fuckin’ smart? Think you know what’s best for us huh? Alright then, let’s decide right now who stays. Let’s play a game! Yeah, a game. I’ve got a gun, revolver, and one bullet, you know how this works!”

PX sticks the gun to the side of his head, and stares dementedly into the mirror. The beads of sweat drop, and with a big smile on his face, PX squeezes the trigger. The hammer clicks, the chamber moves, and nothing else happens.

“What are you doing?! You nut; you’ll have us both dead!”

“Nut huh? Crazy am I? It’s your fuckin’ head too remember, what does that make you?! HAHA! Your turn boyo!”

PX’s arm drops, aiming the weapon between the eyes of the man in the mirror. For a man with such a steady arm usually, his arm is shaking uncontrollably by his own standards. He pulls the trigger, and again there is nothing more than a click. PX is taking it all in his stride, and swings his arm back to his own head once more. The barrel is jammed firmly into the side of his head, and his sweat rolls down onto it. The man in the mirror is attempting to keep a brave face, but he’s growing more unsettled in every passing moment. His last chance now is to reason with him before the bullet flies.

“How long can this go on for? How long do you think you can honestly keep this up? Do you think you can always stay one step ahead? What happens when one of you plans fail? It’ll be the end!”

“Who says they will? I think through everything carefully, I know what I’m doing.”

“One day something’s going to go wrong! Then you’re done for! Every day, you’re fucking with cops, risking life for some cheap thrills? How long do you think you can play with police officers before your brought down?”

“If everything I set is done correctly, I’ll be just fine. That’s the purpose in planning, fool! You make sure you’re prepared for it, and I plan it all through. Things won’t go wrong.”

“See? You refuse to believe something can go wrong, that’s why you’ll be the death of us!”

“And why would something go wrong? If Eric does what I tell him, I have nothing to fear. Now where the fuck was I... Ah, my turn...”

He pulls the trigger again, and again he’s greeted with a click.

“You always were the insecure one, the one with no faith. But I believe in me, and I’ll show you just how much a damn icon is worth!”

“He’s not some old man! We aspired to him for a reason you know. Why can’t you admit that not everything runs according to you! You’re not some damn god!”

“And who says so? You? I’m whoever I say I am and whoever the fuck I want to be! I won’t let you or anyone fuckin’ stop me! I know who I am! You just have to LIVE with it!”

PX squeezes the trigger for the fourth and final time and the bullet runs through the barrel that’s pointing at the man opposite him. It collides with the glass of the mirror, and it shatters immediately, the pieces flying in every direction from the point of impact. His tormentor is gone. PX is left breathing heavily, in and out, clutching the weapon in his hand. He allows his arm to drop lifelessly to his sides. His energy has been sapped. His clutch on the weapon loosens, but the fingers maintain the slightest grasp so it doesn’t drop from his hand.

“...
Fucker...”

That man certainly knew how to get into his head. He WAS in his head after all. Just when you think you’ve given someone the slip, they always find a way back into your lives to piss you off. It’s a problem that won’t be shaken away any time soon either, but it can be kept at bay for now at least.

Something triggers in his mind. His head darts up, and his suspicions were correct. Eric is standing and staring at him. PX could only guess as to how long his loyal follower has been there. It’s the first time PX has appeared anything more than level headed to him. PX simply dusts himself, and straightens himself up.

“Eric. We have work to do.”

PX walks past Eric, who doesn’t respond. As he walks by PX nudges him, indicating to follow.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to destroy an icon. And everything will go as I say.”


The scene re-opens to a community hall, containing a few people. People can be seen exiting the building slowly, talking and chatting, laughing and smiling all the while. The tables in the community hall are covered in plates with crumbs on them and glasses scattered everywhere. Two people remain inside, chatting over a glass of their preferred drink. One of them is Major Marcus Allen, the man leading the charge of finding and convicting PX, and another, older officer. The other man is in good shape, with only his hair colour and wrinkles indicating his age. The two are chatting of old times, and other such banter.

“You know something Marcus, it’s been a great night, but I think I’ll call it a night. It’s gettin’ late, and everyone’s packin’ it in, and my weary bones are tired.”

“I hear you Lou. It’s been good talking. Enjoy your retirement. You’ve done a great service to the force.”

“Thanks Marc. I’ll make sure to catch up with you when I can.”

“Alright, take care. I’m gonna sort this place out then head home.”

Lou downs the remainder of his drink, and sets down his glass. He takes on last look at the banner bearing his name and wishing him a happy retirement before departing for the exit. It is late. Darkness has fallen, and the streets are quiet. The only prominent sounds that can be heard are Lou’s loafers against the footpath, as he goes in search of his car.

There is a colloquial chill in the air of the night that only long serving officers grow accustomed to. There is never a feeling of complete security, but that’s never something expected. As he walks, Lou fumbles around with a set of keys in his hand, trying to find the one that’ll open his car.

Lou swings by the corner of the street, only to be met by oncoming fist that was awaiting him. It catches him completely off guard, and soon a pointed elbow strikes him directly on the bridge of his nose, breaking it. Blood gushes from it immediately, as both his nostrils flare. His hands clutch at his nose as if they could somehow repair the damage caused. In his back peddling, he trips over his own feet, and falls backwards to the ground.

“Evenin’, Lou! How’s that retirement? It looks like you don’t have much left in you anymore! C’mon, get up!”

PX coxes Lou to put a fight he’s clearly not able for. He’s still clutching at his nose. His hands are now covered in his blood. PX chooses not to wait for him, and advances.

“Fight me! Your meant to be an icon in this city! Nobody crossed you! You were the MAN! Look at you!”

“Please, leave me be. I’m not the man now... I’m retired now, please.”

“Not that man, eh? Over the hill are we? Surely you’ve still got SOMETHING?!”

PX strikes him with the back of his hand across the face. Lou is unable to defend himself, he is hurt. Lou tries to escape, he tries getting back to his feet quickly and making a dash for it, but he is caught by PX, and shoved against the wall of a building. He hits hard with a thud, and collapses to the ground.

“Eric! Get the fuck over here!”

Eric appears from the shadows like he had been summoned from the earth, and glides over to PX. PX slips his hand into the pocket on the inside of his jacket, and withdraws a revolver. He points the handle at Eric.

“Dispose of him, right now.”

“What, Kill him? You want me to just shoot him?”

“Yes, preferably.”

Eric grabs the gun out of his hand, and points it directly at Lou, who is a bit dazed, and probably can’t see perfectly straight right now. Eric looks perfectly poised to kill him, but he seems to freeze in time with his arm arched out. His facial expression starts to quiver, and his arm starts to shake ever so slightly.

“Come on now Eric, I don’t want to be here all day.”

“Fuck... I...”

“Eric? Don’t you dare say anything, just do as I ask. This is a learning curve for you Eric. It’ll harden you up. Come on now.”

Eric is visibly more distressed.

“Eric! Fucking do it!”

“AAHH, FUCK! It’s hard!”

“Just fucking do IT!!”

Eric slams his eyelids shut. He grits his teeth, and a gunshot roars, and his eyes pop open. He looks at his weapon with a dumb look. It has no signs of being used, yet Lou has a bullet hole in his chest and blood pumping from it.

“What the FUCK?!”

PX’s heading is darting furiously from side to side, searching for the perpetrator. The shot from out of nowhere was absolutely stunning. PX finally spots a slender figure across the street. When Eric sees PX’s eyes have locked on to something, he spins around, weapon raised.

Standing across the street is a young woman. She has perfectly straight red hair, tied into two tails, and is wearing a white cotton shirt and a tartan skirt. Most noticeable of all perhaps is the weapon in her hand, still pleasantly smoking at the barrel. The revolver she holds happens to be the exact same as the one PX owns. For the first time in a long time, PX seems almost caught for words. His temper, which seemed to be reaching a boiling point, seemed to subside in that moment.

“...Who..?”

She lets slip a little giggle, and gives him a feminine wave. Eric half raises his arm before thinking better of it. She bats the lashes of one of her large blue eyes at him, and twirls the gun and her fingertip. Then she turns and flees, leaving the two men to stand and gawp.

“What... What just happened?”

Eric turns to PX, puzzled. PX is still staring into the space she had once occupied.

“Stupid, fucking, bitch. She’s just spoiled my night, I hope you know. Damn woman, I always knew at some point in my life some bitch would fuck with me. God damn it. C’mon, we have to get out of here.”

PX turns on the spot and marches away, head down. Eric follows, leaving Lou’s bloody body to itself.

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs.Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Slegnadamus

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs.Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Matthew P. Dunn

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru Hanayama

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker & Leon Caprice)


Ultraviolent Rules:
Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Slegnadamus

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion)


Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega

OOC: Read this promo as if the one I wrote for 11.1 never happened.


Thud. Thud. Thud. He was following them.

David had first spied the man standing on the street corner, his nose buried in a newspaper as he and Rachel had exited the cab. His arms were heavy with shopping bags - the result of him giving her a shopping spree for her twenty-third birthday, so he had had quite a time trying to negotiate his wallet out of his back pocket and give the cab driver his fare. That, combined with the fiasco that had been getting through their apartment building's oddly narrow front door, had evicted the man on the corner from David's mind.

However, as he and Rachel had started up the first flight of stairs, her incessant chatter about her upcoming birthday dinner with Kyle and Nikki reverberating in his ears, David heard the front door open and close again. He had turned at the top of the flight and there he was, standing on the 'Welcome' mat, tucking the now-folded paper under his arm and purposefully avoiding the Phenom's gaze.

David had looked up to see Rachel already headed for the bottom of the next flight; he followed her without delay, expecting and then hearing the steady 'thud, thud, thud' of the man from the corner as he started up the stairs after them.

He caught only the briefest glimpses of him during their ascent to the top of the fifteen-story apartment building: he was caucasian, with closely-cut black hair and dark, sunken-back eyes that seemed to roll independently of the head in which they sat. Dark-gray jeans and a black leather jacket completed the 'not-to-be-fucked-with' image, and the fact that he didn't enter a room or turn off down a hallway sent a nervous tremor through David's body.

He followed them up, and up, and up, all the way to the fifteenth floor, where David and Rachel made their humble abode in a penthouse suite.

"...I mean, their lobster IS incredible, but we just went there for your birthday, so I dunno if I want to eat there again so soon...David? Hey, David?" Rachel reached up and snapped her fingers in front of his face.

He gave a start and turned to look down at her. "Sorry, what?"

Rachel frowned at him as they walked. "You haven't said a word since we got out of the cab. Are you okay? Is something bothering you?"

"Well..." David swiveled his head around just in time to see the man from the corner turn off down a side hallway. He breathed an internal sigh of relief; the hallway they were currently traversing ended in the door to their apartment, with nowhere else to go. With the door locked and only twenty feet or so between the two of them and their apparent pursuer, David had all but convinced himself that he would have to drop the bags he was carrying and engage the man.

This thought had led to other, less-pleasant ones that included hidden weapons and bleeding out just outside of his apartment, among other things.

But he wasn't following them anymore. So it was okay.

"I'm fine, Rayche," David said dismissively. "Really."

She nodded slowly, but the concerned frown stayed etched into her face. "Okay..."

As they neared the end of the long hallway, David's mind turned again to the planning of his wife's birthday dinner.

Okay. The earrings are in your other jacket pocket, so don't go fucking everything up by wearing this one out to eat tonight. Wear that one, Dave - THAT. ONE. Once you get inside and get all of Rachel's stuff put away, you gotta call Kyle and Nikki and tell them where she picked to go eat...wait, where'd she say she wanted to eat again?

Fuck.

He turned to look at her, already dreading what she would do upon discovering that he hadn't been listening to her. "Uh, say, Rayche, where did you..."

Then, all of a sudden, Rachel came to a halt, gasped, and put a hand to her mouth.

David stopped alongside her. "Uh, Rayche?"

She didn't turn to look at him, and instead pointed straight ahead. "Look..."

He looked, and he didn't like what he saw.

Double-fuck.

The door to their apartment hung slightly ajar, so slightly that it wasn't noticeable unless you got up close to it. The doorknob and deadbolt, along with most of the wood surrounding them both, had been torn clean away, as if a crowbar had been sloppily used. Through the hole that had been made there, David could see a small swatch of the carpet just inside the door; why that, of all things, was the first thing he noticed, he wasn't sure, but he later assumed that it was because the big picture was too much for his mind to wrap itself around right away.

Someone had broken in.

Someone had robbed them.

On his wife's birthday.

David's hands opened and the shopping bags dropped to the carpet, falling over upon landing and spilling their contents out onto the scarlet carpet of the hallway. He took one long stride, easily closing the distance between himself and the door. He put his hand against it and gave a shove, sending it swinging inwards and banging against the wall. "Son of a--"

KA-CHIK

"--bitch." Were his reflexes any slower, David would have walked right into the .45's barrel. Eight years of semi-pro and then pro wrestling had honed them to a decent place, however, and he managed to stop just short of skin-on-metal contact.

He tried to tilt his head a few centimeters to the side, trying to see past the gun and get a look at whoever the hell was holding it. He found that he couldn't, though - whether its wielder was moving the weapon, keeping it centered on his forehead, or not, the steel-ringed abyss seemed to fill his vision, blocking out everything else.

David dimly heard his wife scream in fright. "Uh, Rachel," he uttered stupidly, struck dumb by the promise of death that was staring him in the face, "run."

There was a series of light taps at his back as she attempted to do just that. Three different sets of laughter - the gunman's, and two others - burst out from inside the apartment as the sounds of a struggle, punctuated by another shriek from Rachel, replaced it. Throughout the whole ordeal, though, David couldn't stop staring down the barrel of the gun.

Triple fuck.



The guy who tied him up had been a Boy Scout at some point or another; although he couldn't name it, David recognized the shape of the knot that held his wrists together behind the back of the wooden chair he now sat in. There were four of them in total, then; the the guy who had possessed the presence of mind to stand right inside the door, ready to point the gun at his head, two others, and the man from the street corner, who had been lying in wait just down the side hallway David had seen him turn down, ready to grab Rachel as she ran past.

She had been dragged back down the main hall, kicking and screaming and beating at her captor with her fists in a painful display of futility until she was forced down into one of her own dining room chairs and tied up tight. David, on the other hand, had needed far less coaxing - in that capacity, a .45 six-shooter was surprisingly effective.

The two of them now sat in the center of the floor, watching in stunned silence as the four crooks proceeded to ransack their home, no longer inhibited by the looming specter of the owners returning home.

As one of them - a short, stocky twenty-something with puglike features and short black hair that could only be described as greasy - walked past, he paused and squatted down in front of David, studying his face curiously. "Know what?" he asked his companions, his voice carrying a decidedly-Brooklyn accent. "I seen dis guy before."

The guy from the street corner laughed aloud from where he stood in the apartment's kitchenette. "Yeah?" he replied. "Where at? In a wet dream?"

"Shuttup! I dunno where, I just recognize 'im, is all. Hey, buddy," he said, cracking an irritated smile at David. "You ever been on TV or somethin'? 'Cuz I watch a lotta TV, and I KNOW I seen you somewhere before."

David said nothing and kept his face contorted into a hate-filled glare.

Untie me, you fat bastard, and I'll be the LAST thing you see.

"Man," the fat man said. "This is really gonna bug me, y'know? I SWEAR I seen this guy before. Mebbe if I knew his name or somethin'..."

"His name's David GS."

All eyes turned towards the gunman as he came out from David and Rachel's bedroom. David was convinced, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that this guy was the leader - he was dressed the nicest, he had the least facial hair, he appeared to be doing the least work, and his knowledge of David's ringname conveyed an obvious disparity in intelligence between him and his companions.

The fat, greasy slob rose back to his feet and stared at the gunman curiously. "How d'you know that, huh, Mikey?" he asked. "And what da hell kinda last name is Geeyes, anyway?"

Coming to a stop at David and Rachel's dinner table, the gunman briefly glanced at his watch before turning his annoyed stare on the fat man. "First of all, Paul, my name is Mike. M-I-K-E, you understand me? I've told you a million times not to call me 'Mikey', and if I hear you add the letter 'y' onto my name again, I'm gonna blow what little gray matter you have out the back of your skull, y'hear me?"

As the newly-christened Paul nodded quickly and stiffly, David smiled in spite of himself. He wasn't the only one who found the fat tub of lard annoying, then; perhaps, under different circumstances, he and Mike could've been friends.

"Secondly," Mike the Ringleader-slash-Gunman-slash-Kindred Spirit continued, "how in the HELL do you not recognize this guy? You've been watching him on Distortion since February, have you not?"

Paul stiffened suddenly, and he turned back to David with something like wonder in his eyes. "H-holy shit," he stuttered. "I know you! You're DGS, the wrestler! Holy SHIT!"

The guy from the street corner, whose name David still didn't know, laughed aloud; Mike only shook his head in bemused amazement, leaning on the edge of the dinner table as his presumably dimmest henchman fawned over the FMW Wrestler they had hostage. David glanced sideways and caught his wife's stare, which up until now had been directed at the floor. Not really knowing what else to do, he offered her a small smile that said don't worry, everything'll be okay. She seemed to accept it and smiled back, which made David himself feel a little bit better about the situation.

"--I mean, you kicked Alistair Wolfe's ass last week, so beating Jason Krow should be a no-brainer for you, right? Hey, Mi...Mike," Paul corrected himself, "mebbe we oughta let 'em go, huh? After all, they ain't gonna make it to Cleveland if we got 'em both tied up here."

Mike - a tall, lean caucasian man, whose sandy blond hair and brown eyes sharply contrasted the features of his henchmen - pushed off from the dinner table and came waltzing over. His overcoat shifted slightly as he walked, and David caught a foreboding glance of his .45, tucked away safely-yet-conveniently in a hip holster. "Y'make a good point, Paul," he said casually, not looking at the fat man but instead sizing David up. "But don't worry - they'll both make it to Cleveland in time, so long as they cooperate."

"Cooperate?" David asked, speaking for the first time since being bound. "What's there to cooperate with? You break in, do a bit of ransacking, tie us up at gunpoint when we get home, do a little more ransacking, clean us out, leave us with a death threat, and be on your merry way."

Laughter bubbled up from within Mike's diaphragm, and David didn't much care for the sinister undertone that it carried. "Were it that simple, then you'd be right," he said, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "However, unfortunately for the two of you, it's not that simple. See, folks," he said, squatting down in front of David, "we're not here for your money, and we're not here for your valuables, although you appear to have an abundance of both. Hell, all this...collateral damage--" He gestured around them at the trashed apartment. "--is just my way of rewarding my boys for a job well done. No, all we're here for is information - nothing more, nothing less."

David's brow furrowed, and he stared cautiously into Mike's eyes. "Information about what?"

Mike smiled then; it was a sick, predatory smile, the kind that a lion would crack upon finding a wildebeast with its leg broken. "Hey, Jack!" he called out, turning his head towards the slightly-ajar bedroom door. "You find it yet?!"

As if on cue, the door banged open. Mike's third flunkie, a well-built guy who struck David as the most savage and dangerous out of the four of them, sauntered out, carrying nothing but a small, rectangular piece of paper in his left thumb and forefinger. Mike got to his feet and met him halfway across the living room; as Jack handed over the small piece of paper, David saw that it was actually a photograph.

"Took me a while," Jack said casually as Mike examined the photo. "Found it tucked away in the back of the closet, under a hundred different kindsa crap."

Mike brought it back over, squatted down again, and held the photo up to David's face. "Recognize this guy?"

David's blood ran cold.

Oh, SHIT...

Behind the decade-old photo, Mike smiled. "Thought so." He got to his feet, tucking the picture into one of his jacket's inside pockets. "Little Brother's gotten himself in a bit of a bind, David...he's currently in possession of some money that isn't rightfully his, and instead of delivering said money to its proper owner, he's gone and run off with it."

David said nothing; he stared straight ahead, body tensed, eyes wide, mind working furiously.

Goddammit, Steve, what've you DONE?

"Now," Mike continued, pacing in a slow circle around the chair in which David sat, "normally, that wouldn't be a big deal. Y'see, Paul, Jack, Dom--"

--Dom, the guy from the street is Dom, must be short for Dominic--

"--and myself are a part of a fairly large group of guys: maybe five, six thousand. Without going into all the details, our operations take place over a wide area, so finding people doesn't typically pose too great a problem to us. This guy, though..." Mike smiled again, chuckling to himself. "Your little brother, he's a different story. I dunno what kind of fucked-up shit you two went through when you were kids, but that little bastard has given us the slip on five separate occasions. His last disappearing act was particularly impressive - he left us nothing to go on."

Mike came around in front of David, and tilted the Phenom's chin upwards to face him. "Can ya believe that?" he asked in amazement, and for the first time David could sense the purest form of fury simmering beneath his words. "Nothing."

"So why come here?" David asked slowly, his voice deadly even. "What makes you think I can help you?"

Mike's smile deepened, as did the malicious intent beneath it. "Because we need to know where his hiding places are, where we can look and have a chance at catching him. You, my good man, are one of a select few that would know these things."

For the first time, David returned the grin. "Well," he said flatly, "no dice, Mikey."

Mike's face changed right then. It was so quick and so total that it took David's brain a moment to actually differentiate between the deceptively calm smile that he had seen before and the murderous, death-to-all-existence snarl that he was faced with now.

"You FUCKING LIAR!"

David was powerless to block the punch, powerless to dodge it as it pistoned straight towards his face like a cruise missile; bombs and fireworks and supernovas all at once exploded in his skull cavity, and he felt himself fly backwards and land on the back of the chair that he was still attached to. The scream that issued forth from his wife's mouth did little to quell the white-hot spike of pain that had buried itself in his head, and when two of Mike's flunkies - Jack and Dom, he guessed, but couldn't quite be sure - hauled him and the chair back to an upright position, the sudden, jerking motion made his gorge want to rise.



Mike slapped him hard across the face; his left cheek stung. "WHERE is he?!" he spat, getting in David's face. When David's head slumped forward and he didn't answer, he slapped him again. "TELL ME!"

David's vision swam. He saw entire galaxies' worth of stars, and the voices of Mike and Rachel, who was now sobbing hysterically, blended together in a muddy mixture of sound that his trauma-inflicted brain couldn't make heads or tails of. He could tell that he was close to passing out, but he fought the encroaching darkness as best he could; God knows what they would do to Rachel if he were unconscious. There was a brief period where all he could hear was Rachel's panicked, frightened crying; then, Mike's voice rang out through the blur one last time.

"...tell me where your brother is, or you'll regret it..."

He smiled weakly. "I...don't..."

Something that wasn't a fist hit him in the back of the head, and everything went black.



"...so you hit him in the back of the head with a billy club? Are you fucking crazy?"

"Relax, I didn't hit him THAT hard. You think he'd still be alive if I did?"

"Heh, I guess that answers my question, don't it?"

David awoke to find himself slumped forward slightly and still tied to a chair. Pain assaulted his skull from all sides, courtesy of the oddly body part-specific beatdown that Mike and whichever one of his cronies (presumably Jack, from the sound of the second voice) had put on him back at the apartment. He could tell right away that they had been moved; the acoustics were different.

"Okay, so what's he thinkin'? Why'd he go ahead and cart 'em both all the way out here?"

"Man, I dunno anymore...he thinks that Steven guy's been keeping tabs on us or something, so holding the older brother and the sister-in-law hostage'll get him to show his face."

"That's fuckin' stupid."

"I know, right?"

Against his better judgment, David groaned and started to move around. All conversation stopped, and he opened his eyes a crack to see the two men standing a few yards in front of him. Both had turned to face him, and twin smiles graced the faces of his two guards. He had been correct in his assumption - one of them was indeed Jack, who was still twirling the billy club he had knocked David out with in his right hand. His smile was easily the more sadistic of the two; David knew right off the bat that he planned on inflicting more punishment, whether it was provoked or not. As the two men started towards him, he heard a whimper from his right, and swiveled his head around to see Rachel staring at the two of them, walleyed with fear of the darkest kind.

"Well, well, well," the unnamed man said. "Look who's awake, Jackie! Didja have a nice nap, honeybunch?"

Seeing as neither of them had a gun, David immediately began struggling against his bonds. Dom the Boy Scout had been the one to tie his hands together, and luckily for David, he could still recall a thing or two about how to UNTIE them. As Jack and the other man advanced on him, the former wielding his billy club, David felt the ropes binding his wrists fall away.

C'mere, honeybunch.

Suddenly, with quickness that can only be learned in a professional wrestling ring, David lashed out with both arms and grabbed the unnamed man by the front of his jacket. He pulled him close, bracing his knees against the man's midsection and at the same time throwing himself backwards. The motion upended the chair, and David tossed the man over his head and onto the concrete floor in a bizarre kind of monkey flip. David then drove both feet into Jack's gut, causing him to drop the billy club and stagger back and giving himself time to scramble to his feet. The unnamed man was on his knees, starting to get to his; David darted forward and caught him with a stiff punt to the temple, and he collapsed in a limp heap.

David turned to see Jack, still clutching his gut, start to reach for the billy club. He threw himself at the man, taking him to the floor and landing on top of him.

What immediately followed contained no trace of technique; there was no training visible in the way that David tore into one of the men that had ruined his beloved's birthday, no restraint or remorse in the way he brought his fists down on Jack's skull again and again and again, and certainly no humanity in the way that he refused to let up, even when the beloved in question cried out for him to stop.

No, he didn't bring an end to the massacre until the hands of Jack's companions descended upon him, dragged him away from the now-unconscious man with a barely-recognizable facial structure, and in a cruel twist of irony beat him into submission.

David was forced to his knees. A pair of feet stepped into his line of sight, and he looked up to find Mike staring down at him, shaking his head in disappointment. "Too bad," he said sadly. "And you were just so close, too."

David didn't bother struggling; there had to have been at least four guys holding him in place, and he wasn't delusional - not by a long shot. "He won't come, y'know," he said, grinning harshly up at Mike. "He's too smart to full for some bullshit trap like this."

"We'll see; you underestimate how important things like family are to some people." With that, Mike turned on his heel and started to walk away. "Tie him back up," he called over his shoulder. "And do a better job, this time, eh?"

Paul, the fat sack of...well, fat, was among the men who forced David back into his chair and held him in place while his hands were re-bound. "I'm sorry 'bout this," he said apologetically as David's arms were forced behind the chair. "Personally, I'd like t'see ya go to Cleveland and kick that Krow guy's ass."

"So how 'bout you do me a solid and let us go?" David asked hopelessly.

"Paul, you let him go and Mike'll mount your head on his wall," one of the other men holding David down warned.

The big guy seemed to believe it, because he fell silent and continued to hold David in place while his hands were tied in a new knot that David didn't recognize and therefore had little to no hope of getting out of. He had begun to take notice of his surroundings: they were in a dimly-lit warehouse, surrounded on all sides by those heavy, metallic crates that one often sees being transported on cargo ships. David couldn't see any of the building's outer walls, but judging by their position relative to the ceiling, he guessed they were somewhere near the center of the warehouse.

His heart sank. There would be guards stationed all around the perimeter, so the odds of anyone reaching the center of the building to save him and Rachel were almost nonexistent.



Paul, along with the three other men, straightened up. "What the fuck was that?"

David strained his ears, listening. It had come from a ways away, definitely inside the warehouse but probably closer to one of the outer walls. He could hear a multitude of footsteps from all around as members of Mike's posse moved in to investigate, likely leaving gaps in the building's perimeter.

Wow. Nice job, Steve-O.

"C'mon," the man who had re-tied David's hands said. "Let's go check it out." The four of them jogged around the corner of the nearest loading container, and David and Rachel were left alone.

"Dav--"

"Shhhh."

"But what do you--"

"SHHHHH."

Rachel fell resentfully silent, and it was right then that they heard it: footsteps, coming from the opposite direction. Rachel tensed, expecting it to be another one of Mike's henchmen, but David remained relaxed in his seat, a small smile spreading across his face. She knew what he was expecting, who he was expecting it to be: David thought that his little brother would be coming around the corner any second now, free them, and get them out of there without so much as running into another guard.

The man who came around the corner was tall and powerfully built, just like David; he had dark brown hair that was about the same length as David's, and his face wore an expression of calm, confident detachment that Rachel had seen on her husband's face more times than she could count.

Rachel didn't notice any of those things, though - all she noticed was the extended switchblade in his right hand.

She wanted to scream; she wanted to open her mouth and call for help; but she couldn't do either of those things. All she could do was watch helplessly as the man with the switchblade circled around behind her husband, adjust his grip on the switchblade, and cut David's bonds with a single precise stroke.

Wait...what?

The man with the dark hair smiled as David got to his feet, rubbing his wrists gingerly. "You're not very good at staying out of trouble," he asked slyly, "are you?"

David loosed a chuckle. "You," he replied firmly, "aren't allowed to say that. Ever. Not after all the shit I've had to get you out of." He gave his wrists one final examination and then made his way over to Rachel, holding out an open hand to the man Rachel was now two-hundred percent sure was his brother. "I assume you brought one for me."

Steven reached into one of the inner pockets of his jacket, produced a second, closed switchblade, and tossed it to David, who deftly caught it, opened it, and sliced through the ropes that bound his wife's wrists together. "This the wife?" he asked amicably, approaching as David helped Rachel to her feet and embraced her gently.

David nodded, smiling proudly in spite of the circumstances. "Yup, this is Rachel. Rayche, this is my little brother, Steven."

Steven extended his hand. "'Tis a pleasure, milady."

Rachel shook it numbly, unable to do much besides compare her husband and his brother. David was an inch or two taller, and perhaps the slightest bit more muscular; Steven appeared to be leaner, but was in no worse shape than his older brother. What truly amazed Rachel was the facial similarity - the two of them looked so much alike not in facial structure, but in their expressions, and in the tones of voice they took with one another, and in the ways the carried themselves.

They were brothers; that much was unmistakable.

David opened his mouth to speak, when all of a sudden Mike's infuriated voice rang out from the far side of the warehouse:

"YOU LEFT THEM ALONE?!" There was the faint sound of someone making an excuse, and then a gunshot rang out, clear as day. "THE REST OF YOU GET BACK THERE! NOW!!"

"Shit." / "Shit."

Rachel couldn't help but notice the odd synchronization of obscenities that the two brothers shared. It struck her as oddly funny.

"Probs we should get outta here," David said.

"Probs you're right. C'mon," Steven said. "The car's out back." He started off at a brisk clip through the maze of massive storage containers, David and Rachel hot on his heels. He led them definitively through the labyrinth, never once stopping or hesitating or second-guessing himself. As they went, the sound of voices at their backs seemed to grow in volume, until it was finally punctuated by a feral shriek from Mike.

"FIND THEM!!!"

Steven uttered a nervous laugh. "Time to pick up the pace." He led them around a few more corners, and they soon found themselves faced with an open door in the wall. "Right out here," he said.

David and Rachel followed him outside. Night had fallen, and clouds covered the stars and moon, leaving nearby streetlights as the only source of illumination. Steven quickly led them to a black Ford Mustang by the far curb, and circled around as David got into the passenger seat and, not bothering to move forward in order to allow Rachel access to the back, simply pulled her in onto his lap. "Let's go, let's go!" he urged, looking back at the open door of the warehouse.

Steven revved the motor, and then they were gone.

"Phew!" he chuckled as he settled into a lane and leaned back in the driver's seat. "Not bad as far as rescues go, huh?" Upon receiving no answer, he turned to the right to see David and Rachel both staring at him cautiously. His smile faded a bit, and he faced straight ahead once more. "I guess I have some explaining to do."

"Yeah," David said, any hint of brotherly love having been temporarily banished from his voice. "After I get back from Cleveland, yeah. You do."

Although the sun shines bright, sorrow and sadness carry heavy in the air, as if swept up and made louder by the gentle breeze. The contrast couldn’t be clearer; freshly cut green grass and a cloudless crystal blue sky that stretched for miles made each row of black wearing mourner look so out of place. Only the priest in his white frock seemed in any way appropriately attire for such a glorious day and yet such a sad day. There Celt sat, somewhere towards the back, in a sea of darkness all sitting on white wooden deck chairs, gazing up towards the solid wooden coffin. Just looking at the coffin made Celt’s skin crawl and his mind agitated. As if to create a visual response Celt’s right leg could nor would not stop bouncing up and down, as if it was trembling in anticipation of something. But critically the key moment had past and now a good man lay dead due to a totally preventable yet equally tragic death.

To make matters worse the gentle yet persistent sobbing of the mourners seemed to dig away at Celt’s mind. “None of these people would have to be here if I saved him” was a thought that kept playing over and over and over and over in his head. “Fucking Savana” was another. Despite the fact that it was Savana who mindlessly murder Ray Donavon in a sick attempt to draw attention to his debut match against Celt, the overwhelming sense of guilt could not be shook. Why? Because Savana had told Celt in black and white that he was going to do that horrible act, and this day, this moment was inevitable. Savana painted himself as only a man aboard the train of destiny, following tracks already well laid out. “Complete Bullshit” was of course Celt’s almost instinctual response.

Sleeping hadn’t been much easier with crushing weight of such a failure on his mind, and that was reflected in Celt’s face; big bloodshot eyes matched with dark rings around his eyes. An hour here, an hour there...just enough for a man to live on Celt supposed. During the last couple of days Celt had suffered occasional bouts of dizziness, but played it off as “having suffered worse”. There were too many important things going on anyways, no time to sleep.

Priest: In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother Ray Donovan and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.

All: Amen

Hearing the funeral goers speak in unison made locating the cops in attendance fairly easy, as their deep gruff voices seemed to cut through everyone else’s pitch, drawing the ear to the upper right hand rows of chairs. They all sat together, clad in their ceremonial dark navy uniforms, watching one of their brothers in arms being laid to rest. “They shouldn’t have to suffer this...” thinks Celt.

Watching the eulogies earlier had been painful. Donovan’s highly emotional mother had taken to the pulpit to speak, but broke down halfway through and truly had to struggle on from there. DC’s Police commissioner also gave a brief eulogy, praising Donovan’s commitment and dedication to the force, before promising to improve security and privacy for fellow officers, noting he had the mayor’s full support behind him. Too little too late instantly sprung to Celt’s mind, not that DC’s high official would give a damn what he thought.

As Celt casts his eye across those in attendance, the realisation of how horrible it was to attend this kind of funeral once again struck him; every face is a long one, every memory they have now of Ray Donavon a good one. Seemingly the open air aspect of the funeral hasn’t done too much to lessen the pain of the whole experience.

It’s not long before 4 sturdy men approach the coffin and begin roping it up in preparation for it to be lowered. And as the coffin becomes more and more ready to be never seen again Celt’s guilt is only furthered. Yes he’d done everything he could think of to protect Donavan’s life, but it wasn’t enough. Maybe if he’d stopped to think, maybe if he tried to strategise more, maybe if he used a different tack when dealing with DC’s officials, maybe maybe, maybe...this kind of thinking just never seems to end.

*Thud* *Thud* *Thud*

The coffin is lowered and now the sound of dirt hitting the coffin can be heard all around the graveyard. Some of those in attendance begin to file away to get away before the rush.

“That man is never coming back...” thinks Celt as he shakes his head in pity.

As Celt watches mourners pay their final respects, something in the distance catches his eye; an unusually large murder of crows perched all along the branches of an oak tree within the graveyard...staring directly at Celt. There’s something about these crows...each one seems unusually large as well as serenely calm. As if to respond to him, one of the crow hops forward along a branch, spread its wings and let’s out a large “CAW!”. Celt looks behind each shoulder as if to check if the Crow is looking at anything but him, but sees nothing of interest.

“CAW!”

Celt forcibly blinks his eyelids, each one so damn heavy.

“CAW!”

The Crow once again seems to squawk towards him while the others stare blankly at him. Celt looks to see if anyone else has taken note of this, but they all seem too interested in either the burial, shaking the hands of the Donavan family or leaving.

Cautious Celt begins walking towards the tree, which is beside a collection of graves further out then all the rest.

“Caw...Caw”

Celt can’t quite explain it, just the tree and Crows just seem to have a draw for him, as if they were sirens at sea, calling out to him. Closer and Closer Celt draws until he’s so close he’s now under the shade of the tree. Despite being this near to them, the murder remain silence and still, watching his ever advances. Celt can now see their eyes, dark and beady with a deadly hint of perception. In fact a dark aura seems to radiate from the Crows, as everything about them seems blacker than midnight. Each of their feathers seems to have a strangely greasy look to them, and their beaks look as sharp as knives.

“Creepy little fuckers aren’t ye?” says Celt, almost abstractly.

“You would say that”

Celt’s instinct was to swiftly turn around; however the presence of something decidedly sharp pressed against his back made him rethink that pretty damn fast. Instead Celt puts his hand out wide and slowly raises them up above his head, before slowly turning around.

“Morrígan?”

Looking at the woman in front of him, Celt is sure it is his lover...only that if it she is, she’s gone through something of a war-robe change to say the least...

The woman before has the exact features of Morrígan’s facial features and body, but every other aspect has changed. Gone is the trademark red, replaced with the darkest black, up to and including her beautiful locks. The gorgeous curls of red hair that had once fallen to her shoulders have been done away with in favour of short spiky jet black hair. Gold earrings with black crow feathers hang from her ears. And where the Morrígan Celt loved would rarely leave the comfort of a slim but fashionable red dress, the one before sports a heavy leather jacket with a hood that features crow feathers interwoven into the brim paired with what appear to be black dyed jeans. The hood is so heavily laden with crow feathers it resembles a Lion’s mane. Her hands are wrapped with fingerless gloves, with nimble fingers with black painted nails grasping a spear taller than the woman herself. The butt of the shaft is firmly planted in the ground while the tip is now firmly pressed against the Celt’s chest, over where his heart should be. But perhaps most striking of all Morrígan’s new features are the two giant Crow wing protruding out from her shoulder blades, giving her an Angelic figure.

“Out shopping much A Grá?”

Instantly Celt is made to regret his words as Morrígan applies more pressure to her Spear, jutting it harder against Celt, piecing his shirt. Now Celt can feels the cold Iron on his flesh.

“If figures the failure is a misogynist too.”

It is only Celt’s shock that holds his tongue. The matter-of-fact way in which she insults him takes him back a step or two. “Misogynist? What in the Gods’ name...”

There is a moment of silence as the befeathered one eyes up the Celt, appearing to silently judge him in a court of Crows.

Morrígan: “The Conquering Hero...huh!”

Never before had Celt heard a more sarcastic sounding sentence.

“I think the Dog who gets kick may be more correct”

“Oh Gods, that’s like something Apathy would sprout. I’m not in Kansas anymore Toto...” thinks Celt.

Celt: “And here I thought I was your Champion”

Morrígan: “No Champion of mine would proudly proclaim themselves the Law while fucking up so much...Celt”

“She speaks the name as if it were Acid, almost spitting it out as she says it...” thinks Celt.

“I’m sensing you’re displeased with me”

“Oh Wow, how perceptive of you” says Morrígan, rolling her eyes as she speaks. Once again her sarcasm laced words couldn’t be any clearer.

“A champion of mine would united, not divide. A champion of mine would have unquestioned respect, a champion of mine would win his battles; a champion of mine would be...a champion. A champion of this Goddess would not disappoint.”

Maybe it was just Celt imagining it, but he felt as if the Crows above him, watching from the branches, were nodding their approval.

Celt: “Mistress, how have I failed you, specifically?”

“This had run on for long enough, time to go on the offensive” thinks Celt.

“Perhaps your kin has that answer?” states Morrígan

Bewilderment stretches across the face of the Celt; that is until he turns his head towards the rustling of leaves, as PX steps from out behind the tree.

PX: “Hello Aidan”

Celt: “PX.”

Suddenly this all feels dangerous now, as if Celt is trapped or ambushed. At the very least the tension Celt feels now soars as PX positions himself beside Morrígan.

PX: “Perhaps I can cast some light on this situation...for you see Aidan; perhaps it was time the tables were turned. You call yourself Law in Full Metal Wrestling, but now it’s time to judge YOU for a change.”

Celt doesn’t even look at PX, instead focusing on Morrígan, who nods her head in agreement with everything PX says.

Morrígan: “You deem yourself a hero Celt, yet beside me stands your own blood, a man disgusted by you. You are the elder brother, the protector, the guide and guardian to your youngers, and yet for all your talk of doing right he now wallows in misery, and is a man corrupted.

PX: “You failed me Celt. When I needed you the most you weren’t there, and now look at me. Not even I know what I am. If you had been a better brother to me I’d be fine now. If only you’d won more, given me a better role model to follow, I could have been saved. I would never have had to turn to my methods of winning if you could have proved your way could work, but you didn’t. If you’d only won more-”

Morrígan: “Then we’d still have an upstanding son of Eire in our mist. But you failed him Celt”.
Celt: “You really think so PX?”

“It was equal to betrayal” says PX, quite blankly.

“You couldn’t get more crass right now...” thinks Celt.

“I’m afraid I remember events differently PX...see I remember the brother I love leaving me in the dust, yelling that he didn’t need me anymore. But I wouldn’t hear of it...I reached out and out and out...but every time I extended the hand of forgiveness and brotherhood you slapped it away.
But how about this...right here, right now; if I ever failed you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry a thousand times over.”

Celt looks PX deep in the eyes.

“Let’s forgive each other, and put things right. How ‘bout it?”

PX glances towards Morrígan before answering. Slowly, he begins shaking his head.

“It’s too late for me Celt...I’m, “broken” now. Can’t be fixed, I’m afraid, I’ve gone too far and past the point of no return.”

Celt looks at the ground before sighing

“And yet, how did I already know you’d say no...” says Celt quietly.

“How can you deem of any worth at all when not even your own kin think you’re worth the skin off their nose? Answer me that Lawman!” says Morrígan sharply[/color]

“Are you deaf? Are you blind? Can you not see I’d do anything to mend him? If I thought getting down on my hands and knees could bring him back, I would, I swear it I would...but he refuses everything I say and do! What more is there to do?

“Yeah Celt...just keep telling yourself that and maybe one day, hehe, it just might come true”

“NO.”

Celt almost freezes to the stop, unable to believe his ears. It can’t be.

“Guess who?”

“I was under the impression I was on holy ground, so what the fuck are you doing here; Roy”
Morrígan stretches out her free arm towards Jaro.

“Behold...your greatest ever foe. The man whom you waged your greatest ever war. All that anger, that hate, that commitment...but what did it ever amount to Celt? He doesn’t respect you at all Celt, not even a little bit. I mean, why should he?” says Morrígan, her accusations growing in confidence now.

“That man is incapable of respect” states Celt boldly.

“Ahh...but that’s not true Leprecan’t, that’s not true at all. I could have respected you. You had every chance to earn my respect, to earn your place among the greatest but you simply never took it” says Jaro smarmily

“He never did what was required of him” chips in PX

“You say you’re not a failure Celt, but I think you might be defying logic...here is one of your greatest failures in the flesh and bone, standing here taunting you to your face. Tell me now I’m wrong, tell me now you are nothing more than a lowly worm” says Morrígan, her words getting more and more biting.

Celt: “You think I’m a failure because I didn’t stop him...is that it?”

“Simple 2+2 logic Celt” says PX

Celt stares at this surreal gathering; Morrígan standing side by side with PX and Jaro, what kind of cruel nightmare is this?

“I...I am not a failure.”

Jaro turns and chuckles to PX

“I gave everything I had to give against that man, you know that. There wasn’t a ounce of my soul that didn’t go into fighting, not a cell in my body that didn’t hate, not drop of my blood I wouldn’t have split to stop that man! And that’s what I did, I went out there and I gave it my all! DOES THAT NOT MAKE ME WORTHY!? DOES THE MEASURE OF MAN NOT COUNT ANYMORE!?

Morrígan: “Admit, you WANTED that belt, you wanted the glory-“

Jaro: “The Power!”

PX: “-The Respect!”

Celt: “OF COURSE I FUCKING WANTED THAT BELT! Of course I wanted to be Champion! And the glory and respect BUT THAT’S NOT WHY I wanted Jaro! That was ONE percent of it. Ninety-Nine percent, the overwhelming part of my human desire was to stop that monster, that cruel and unjust and sick and twisted monster from getting his way! I fought him because he had to be fought, because he needed to be fought and because he should be fought!”

Celt can feel his blood rushing and his heart thumping now, his passion brought to bear on these accusations. For moment there is silence, a deathly cold silence that only a graveyard can provide.

“But. You. Failed.” Says Morrígan quietly.

“If you call giving the fight of your life, where your mind, body, heart and soul all work in unison against a common goal, then by that definition Phantom Queen, then label me a failure.”

It’s strange now, that’s electric feeling of a fight, that tense atmosphere of violence, he can feel it right now, flowing through his body, pulsating every second. This may be verbal, but it’s as aggressive as any of his matches.


“I will call one more witness against you now” proclaims Morrígan.

Celt gazed up into the branches of the giant oak tree. There must be hundreds of crows staring right back at him, watching him defend his honour against the person he loves the most.

“Oh, is that what this is woman? A trial? It is, isn’t it? You are the judge, these...(Celt gestures to the crows) your gallery, these pricks here your witnesses and me, silly me, the Law himself, the goddamn accused” [color=grey]asks Celt.[/grey]

“At least you can grasp that much” [color=grey]states Morrígan.[/grey]

“Well then perhaps as we wait for the final witness, you could tell me what I’m accused of” demands Celt.

Morrígan: “In light of the death of Ray Donavan, the man who should never have died...you are accused of...”

“Incompetence” smiles Jaro

“And something far greater...failure as a whole” adds PX.

“This...is a farce” declares Celt.

“This, this is due process”

Celt closes his heavy, heavy eyelids...now the nightmare is complete. Just when it couldn’t get any worse; it did.

“Apathy”

“The one and the same”

Celt clinches his fists so hard it hurts, his veins becoming highly visible.

“The first witness is was your kin, the second your nemesis...the final, the final is a follower of yours”.

“You have got to be joking me, that man is no follower of mine” says Celt blankly.

“Wrong again Browne” says Apathy, now in position beside Jaro and PX.

“How can you be any follower of mine? You’re sole reason to be in FMW is to hunt me” forwards Celt.

Apathy: “Celt, I was a follower of you, and you failed me”

“How in the Gods name is that true?” quizzes Celt.

“See Celt, all through my stint in prison I watched you, every match you had going back just about forever. Something about you caught my eye, the determination, the righteous fury, the bloody fights for good. In fact I was obsessed in some ways, always needing to know what happened next. I guess, maybe I didn’t like it, but I believed in you. I believed in your potential, I believed that one day you’d ascend to the highest level and prove those you called evil wrong...
But you never did. You stalled Aidan Browne; you stalled so badly I lost my faith in you. I didn’t like you, but I did believe in you...for a time. But your failures killed that. How can I believe in a defeated man?” finishes Apathy.

“Apathy, do you respect this man?” asks Morrígan.

“Maybe at one time I did, but once it became clear he was a good man, not a great man, fighting his own limitations more then those he pursed...I lost that respect. No your honour, this mongrel, this mutt is just a dog chasing cars. He thinks he’s they’re equal, but one day he’s going to find out the truth, and be killed by it. I don’t respect that.”

“Well....there you have it Celt. Three witnesses, representing three aspects of yourself, have all said you have failed them. Your kin says that, your Arch-Nemesis says that and your (former) follower has even given you the thumbs down. The evidence is truly mounting. I think I’m almost ready to make a judgement.

“Celt; As a result of the death of Ray Donavan, a preventable death, you have been charged with Incompetence and ultimately failure in your role as the Law. Here and now, I am going to give one final chance to prove to me you are innocent of these. You may address me.”

The Celt looks into the glaring eyes of PX, Jaro and Apathy, each of them willing him towards defeat and disgrace.

“Phff...alright; here I go.

And with that an exhausted Celt finishes.

“I’ve heard enough, let us end this” declares Morrígan “On the charge of Incompetence, Celt, I declare you...




NOT GUILTY”


Immediately all three witnesses cry out “No!” while all the crows let out a thunderous “CAW!” in unison. Quickly, they settle down for the next charge.



“On the charge of failure as the Law, in your career, in your responsibility to those around you...
I am post posting the decision. Time will help make that decision”


Another flutter goes up from the Crows


“Only time can decide whether you’re a failure or not Celt...Case dismissed”. Morrígan pulls back her Spear from Celt and brings it down on the soil to a loud THUMP!







Celt opens his eyes.

“Finally you’re awake” notes Seth Omega.

“The fuck just happen?”


“Um...you finally got some sleep after a week and half of not sleeping at all. It’s a good thing you finally got some rest...I was getting worried.”

“Where are we?”

“Man don’t you remember anything? We’re on a plane to the Midwest for the 11.2 shows, we took this after you went to that funeral back in DC. Wow you forget everything when you’re resting...”

“Some rest”

“I think you might need some more sleep dude”

“With sleep like I just had...I think I go with missing it for another while yet”

“By the way man...you’ve got a bit of a nose-bleed there...”

Celt presses his hand to his nose...and wonders.

“Well, he seems to be showing some effort, doesn't he, my lord?”

“Yes, it is nice that he stepped it up and actually made the fight competitive. Small steps and moral victories are a good start at rebuilding his confidence. Hoping it keeps his arrogance in check is another matter.”

“True, my lord. If he had a chance, he would try and slay you. Imagine the thought, trying to destroy a god?”

“Men have tried for centuries. Through actions, words on parchment, through some grand declaration that since they didn't get what they wanted, there is no divine being. I doubt a homicidal maniac is going to do any different than what others have tried for years.”

“What is next for Caesar, my lord Mars?”

“I believe he deserves some reward for doing so well. And gives me an opportunity to have some fun at either his or my dear brother Mercury's expense! But Caesar must also do more than a moral victory. He hasn't won since his mental breakdown. He must win. He must win!”

Caesar: I should have WON! That referee was blind or paid off!


We cut from the spirit realm to the earth realm (or is it?) in the living area of MASS Caesar. It has been a week since Caesar's spirited loss to FMW World Heavyweight Champion Tyrant, and he is still claiming a conspiracy. Judas and Mercury can only look on with indifference as Caesar rants.


Caesar: I am also getting disgusted of these living quarters! They do not suit a Caesar!

Mercury: Maybe if you didn't crucify two servants a day and have a mental breakdown when you had your villa, you wouldn't be where you are now. You have no one to blame for your current predicament but yourself. That includes your increasing amount of losses.

Caesar: What are you getting at?

Mercury: Yes, mighty Caesar, you fought well and had you best effort since returning from your breakdown. But since Guiomar...

Caesar: NEVER Mention that name in MY presence!

Mercury: Ever since he pierced you and left his mark on you...you haven't won since. Your attitude towards your opponents...


Before Mercury can finish, Caesar lunges toward his trusted servant, only to be held back by Judas de Dios. Caesar tries to break free from his new servant, but Judas' raw strength keeps Caesar at bay. Caesar stares into the young man's eyes and sees that there is no malice in his intentions. Caesar finally starts to calm down and walk to the roof of their home.


Caesar: I will be upstairs for a few moments. If you where a wise man Mercury, I would suggested the next time I see you is hours later or you apologizing with a bowl of that dessert that seems to be all the rage here. Iced Cream, was it?

Judas: Ice Cream, my lord.

Caesar: Yes, Yes, Yes. I must clear my mind. Judas, meet me upstairs later. I must have some sparring.


Caesar walks out as Judas walks over to Mercury. Mercury breaths slowly and looks toward Judas.


Mercury: Thank you friend. Lately my mouth keeps getting me into trouble. It doesn't really matter to me. But upsetting him isn't really helping him.

Judas: No, Mr. Mercury. It just drives him more insane and makes him think less clearly.

Mercury: Last week was a good result against one of the best. But this week he needs to win to add to that momentum. And if he keeps it up with this “those dirty Christian” rants that he has been yelling over the last week, he is going to lose again. Did you know that he tried to kill three Mormons and two Jehovah's Witnesses this week when he found out they where Christian?

Judas: Of course. I had to restrain him from beating up the Witnesses and had to subdue him from what he was doing to those Mormons. Shame what he did to that one Mormon though with his bicycle.

Mercury: He won't ever ride a bicycle the same again. Anyway, Something needs to be done to show Caesar that he needs to treat every person he fights as if it is the most terrifying opponent he has ever faced and go at him without holding back or making excuses at the end.

Judas: Oh, I found this at the door. It said on the front of it that it was for you to open it.

Mercury: How odd.


Mercury opens the letter and sees a seal with the initials TD on it with the picture of a friendly looking Demon on it. The letter reads...


Dear Mr. Mercury,

We know that you are the one that deals with your master's personal matters. We would like to help. We are an ancient society that upholds the creed of pillaging, unnecessary and ruthless slaughter, rape, pyromania, and all out good fun for all. And we do so together. We offer your master, and you and young Judas de Dios of course, the opportunity to come and be initiated into our brotherhood. The benefits include friendship with those who are like your master. Better than everyone else! MUHAHAHAHA! Just kidding on that (not really, half of us are as conceited as him)! We also promise benefits including medical, dental, and the Plausible Deniability Clause that allows for some of your masters costly rages or flights of fancy to be covered without any money coming out of your pockets. And did we mention that we would like to give you the fortune you lost after your unfortunate breakdown back? Please come to this address at 2:38 pm tomorrow. Bring punch and pie for others. And no blood pie please! Thank you all for your time.

Signed,
The Fraternal Brotherhood of the Together Demons, DDS, PHD, OMG, and OPP!

PS: It's a Man's Life in the Fraternal Brotherhood of the Together Demons

(Small Print: This is not a ripoff of the British Armies Slogan; It's a Dog's life...er, Man's Life in the Modern Army!”)


Mercury: Very peculiar. Why do I sense a trap or something that could go horribly wrong?

Judas: Because you have recently acquired a Spidey Sense?

Mercury: Funny! Should we even go?

Caesar (Yelling from the roof): You are damned right we are going! MONEY! Gorgeous Villa and tons of concubines here I come!

Mercury: I wish we had repaired that hole in the ceiling from earlier this week.

Judas: Who could have guessed that Caesar's crude catapult would actually work. I feel sorry for that nun though.


Caesar, Judas, and Mercury are in their car heading to the disclosed location. They are making good time and have 15 minutes to spare. Until, predictably, the car stalled and shut off. As Judas and Mercury try to figure things out calmly, Caesar starts to immediately get impatient and starts to threaten the car like he would threaten his horse in the past. When the calm but deadly threats don't work, Caesar's rage gets the better of him and he starts to make a scene.


Caesar: You damned bastard! You have inconvenienced us for the last TIME! If you don't start to work you will regret it! WORK! RIGHT! That is it! I am going to give you a DAMNED GOOD THRASHING!


Caesar runs away for a brief moment as Mercury and Judas have a puzzled look on there faces while trying to see what is wrong with the car. As they continue there work, they start to here loud bangs against the car. They raise there heads up and see Caesar pounding the sides of the car with a “Slow Children at Play” sign and the metal stick that keeps it in the ground. Judas runs to keep Caesar from bashing the car anymore as Mercury starts to work quickly. Flustered, Mercury cheats by using a summons spell he learned from the crone at the Renaissance Fair. As Caesar shoves Judas away and prepared to land another blow, the car starts to work again. Caesar throws the sign and smirks, thinking he motivated it to behave.


Caesar: Discipline always works, Mercury. Now let's move! We have four minutes to be there!

Judas: Mr. Mercury, how did you do that?

Mercury: I still don't fully know yet.

Caesar: Less talking and gawking like cattle and more running and driving to our location!


Moments later, we see all three men walking into an abandoned mansion. It has a very classical roman look and looks to be fully furnished. Caesar looks to be impressed with everything around him. Mercury on the other hand is uneasy at the silence of the house. Out of nowhere, a man in a robe is standing at the top of the staircase. He dramatically removes his hood and than takes off his sunglass like Horatio Cane and looks toward Caesar and his servants. He has a name tag on his hood that says “Grand Master Demon J”. Two more hooded men approach, with the name tag “Second Master Demon M” and “Gunner's First Mate Demon Phillip Slegworth” All three men step forward and walk right in front of Caesar and his servants. Caesar has a confident look to him. That quickly melts away as druids walk behind them with pitchforks and wiffleball bats.


Mercury: Wiffleball Bats?

GFM Phillip Slegworth: They hurt a lot!

SMD M: And SILENCE! Brother J must speak!

GMD J: Greetings! You have come before the Fraternal Brotherhood of the Together Demons and must be willing to do all that is necessary to become a member and reap the benefits of said brotherhood. We are an equal opportunity...

Caesar: Do you accept Arabs, Africans, Jews, and Greeks?

GMD J: If they are worthy, yes.

Caesar: Mercury, I will kill you for bringing me to this squalid hell hole. I would feel much cleaner in a brothel!

GMD J: SILENCE! Who do you think you are to interrupt me...

Caesar: Who do you think you are to speak in my presence...


Mercury nudges Caesar hard in the stomach, grumbling “money” to Caesar. Caesar misinterprets this as Mercury calling him honey and knocks him out with a punch to the temple. Before Caesar can continue, Judas interupts.


Judas: Forgive me, sir. May I talk with my master for a moment? We have had a hard journey and he is agitated.

GMD J: Very well. You have five minutes. But do hurry! The coconut custard pie is getting warm!

SMD M: Coconut Custard? SWEET!

GFMD Philip Slegworth: Coconut Custard? YUCK!


As the brotherhood pound Slegworth for not liking coconut custard, Judas stands before his master.


Judas: I have never opened my mouth or said anything negative towards you, sire. It is not my place. But your arrogance is going to cost you again.

Caesar: How so, peasant?

Judas: You allow yourself to believe victory is going to be yours, or that things are always going to fall in place because you are who you are. Have you not noticed that those things have not been working for you? Your over confidence is destroying your chances at doing anything that could get you the success, fame, and adoration you crave! If you went about things with a fraction of the effort and sense of urgency that you did against Tyrant, and even then you where already claiming victory, you would be back to where you where before your breakdown. Not winless and still looking for a reason to care.

Caesar: You do know I can bludgeon you...as soon as I can find a way to reach you.

Judas: I know, sire. I am just saying...if you treated all of your opponents and enemies as the greatest threat to all that you either hold dear or wish to attain, you would go farther than treating all as if you will defeat them by them laying down for you and losing to your greatness. What do you want to do with, Caesar?


Caesar ponders young Judas' words. Unlike Mercury, when Judas speaks, it is worthwhile. Caesar walks over to the Fraternal Brotherhood of the Together Demons and faces Grand Master Demon J.


Caesar: Grand Master, I would love nothing more than to join your brotherhood. I noticed that one of your hooded fiends seems to be a master of the Martial Arts and could use some extra training. May I volunteer my servant Mercury for the sparring session? It will give us some entertainment as we partake in the Coconut Custard and whores.

GMD J: Excellent Idea! Welcome to the brotherhood! BUSHIDO BROWN! FRONT AND CENTER FOR YOUR SPARRING SESSION!

Mercury: What? I didn't agree to this? And Bushido Brown?

Caesar: My servants are covered by this insurance plan correct?

GMD J: Yes!

SMD M: In case entertainment turns more brutal than intended.

GFMD Philip Slegworth: Can I open the box of Boston crème Pie?

GMD J: BOSTON?


Caesar laughs heartily as on one side of him, Mercury is getting pummeled by the Kung Fu mastery and elegance of Bushido Brown, while on his other side, poor Gunner's Mate Demon Philip Slegworth is getting beaten with folding chairs for mentioning Boston. Grand Master Demon J lets Second Master Demon M continue the pummeling, since he was born in New York, and walks over to Caesar.


GMD J: Here is your first check from the Fraternal Brotherhood of the Together Demons. And this abandoned mansion? Yours!


Caesar's eyes light up at the amount of zeros on the check. He looks at Grand Master Demon J and smiles.


Caesar: If I didn't think you would blackmail me, I would hug you. Now, let us have some pie and talk about this brotherhood!

“Do you think this is all a good idea, master Mars? Giving him all that money and home?”

“Maybe it will motivate him. That or maybe Judas' touching words cut through his heart.”

“You put those words in his mouth, didn't you?”

“I may have had a hand in it. But Caesar needs to be pushed. And I know he wouldn't listen to Mercury. Maybe the gentle approach will help from Judas. Whatever happens, Caesar needs to win! Hopefully last week's effort against Tyrant and Judas' words will move him to see his opponent as the greatest threat to him.”

“That and the reward of getting that Gold Card.”

“One step at a time. If we told Caesar about that part of it, he would think he had won the tournament already. No, just having him see Gabriel Crow as his next opponent is enough. But no moral moral victories. He must Win!”

Caesar (in earth realm): I must Win!

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
The Celt

Singles Match:
Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Slegnadamus

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X Carter

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs.Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs.Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs.Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs. Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs. Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament

-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters
I had to vote for myself ... plus I was getting disheartened by all the votes for Slegna

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs. Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs. Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament

-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters


Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs. Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs. Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

A sharply dressed man sits behind his fine oak desk with the Philadelphian city and it’s people cowering in the shadow of the building he made, the little light from the southern sun gives the office a darken look.

James: I guess the truth was bound to come out eventually. It is true that you are not on the payroll of this company. I did hire you, but for a different purpose. My friend a close friend is in trouble, it is your expertise that will allow me to help him out of it.

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

Seth: “Two men are responsible for saying nearly a dozen people from a fiery blaze downtown this past Tuesday evening. The men cannot be identified as they were wearing masks.”

Mark: That’s some press.

Seth Omega is sitting at Mark’s table reading from the newspaper.

Seth: It’s a tiny little footnote in the middle of the paper.

Seth throws the paper across the table, it slides off and crumples onto the floor.

Seth: Nobody reads that shit.

Mark: It’s something.

Seth: So is a strip show but it still leaves me with blue balls.

Mark: Wait, you got aroused by the newspaper?

Seth: What?! No…

Mark: From saving those people?

Seth: Mark?

Mark: Yes?

Seth: Shut up.

Mark sits down opposite Seth, cup of tea in hand. Seth leans forward placing both elbows on the table.

Seth: My point is, we need to go big. Go hard or go home.

Mark: That’s what she -

Seth: Don’t be crude.

Mark: I’m sorry Pot.

Mark leans down and picks the paper up and slides it over to Seth.

Mark: Fine then, whats front page?

Without looking at the paper Seth responds.

Seth: It’s all about that damn lawyer who raped that girl.

Mark: Ever thought about being a reporter?

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

James: We have a few things on our side. He wasn’t mirandized at the scene which is fantastic for us. The only problem is, he confessed. In court that is bad.

Standing up, James approaches his companion.

James: And this is what you are going to help us with.


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



Mark: When’s the trial?

Seth: Three days.

Mark: And he will be found not guilty?

Seth passes the newspaper over so Mark can read the details.

Seth: You’re the one who has been on that side of the law.

Mark calmly runs both hands through his hair, taking slight glances at the article.

Mark: Well he wasn’t read his rights, which never goes down well.

Again Mark glances down at the paper.

Mark: Hmm, yet he confessed…

Tossing away the paper, Mark starts to walk away.

Mark: It really is a coin toss.

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

Back with James and his colleague, the city landscape is starting to light up with the setting of the sun.

James: So, Miss Carson. I have done something for you.

The camera moves around to reveal James colleague as Mark Johansson’s ex-girlfriend Natalie.

Natalie: I don’t understand what you want me to do.

A piece of paper sits all alone on the massive oak desk.

James: I pulled strings and got your medical license back, now you need to use it.

Natalie stares at the piece of paper before giving James a puzzled look.

Natalie: I don’t -

James sits down angrily in his chair.

James: It’s very very simple, simple enough that a small child could follow through on it. My close friend is in trouble.

Natalie: Is he Phil Anderson?

James: Don’t interrupt me, Natalie. But yes, it is Phil Anderson.

Natalie tries to open her mouth but James sharply raises his voice and continues over her.

James: I don’t want his to see jail time, he doesn’t want to see jail time. And because you work for me, you don’t want him to see jail time.

Natalie: But -

James: Jesus Christ! Do you read the news?

Natalie has started to slink back into her chair at the verbal barrage she is encountering.

James: The biggest obstacle standing in our way is the fact that he confessed. In order to make that argument invalid we need to show some kind of mental illness that will make for an excuse about why he confessed to something he didn’t commit.

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

Mark is in his bathroom brushing his teeth, while Seth stands in the doorway newspaper in hand.

Seth: He confessed, isn’t that instant guilty.

Mark gives a mumbled “No” and continues to brush.

Seth: Well he will probably be given not guilty….

Seth trails off as he gets absorbed in reading the article.

Seth: Which means we need to take him down.

Mark spits out a gob of toothpaste.

Mark: Exactly but that means we have to wait til the trial is over.

Seth: We should get him now.

Mark exit’s the bathroom wiping his mouth with a face washer before tossing it back in the sinks general direction.

Mark: No. One, its broad daylight. Two, it will cause a mistrial. The whole incident is fresh on peoples minds, it has taken the oil spill off the front page, that’s impressive.

Mark looks directly at the camera.

Mark: Yes, even Mark Johansson promos are having some topical humour added to them. Also have you ever noticed that even though Mark is American he spells colour with a “u”?

Mark returns to chatting with Seth.

Seth: So we buy our time and wait for him to slip up?

Mark: Exactly.

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

Natalie and Mr. James are standing in front of the courthouse, James is smoking a cigarette while Natalie is nervously rubbing her hands together.

Natalie: I can’t do this. I just can’t.

James: I don’t see the issue.

James takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke into Natalie’s face.

James: Is it a moral issue? Sometimes you have to look past the morals that have been ingrained into your mind. You need to look at what you have to gain from this.

Natalie: I have nothing to gain!

Again James blows smoke into Natalie’s face, he doesn’t seem to care about doing so.

James: Not yet. A final test is needed before a reveal the greater picture.

Flicking the cigarette away James makes for the entrance to the courthouse, a large group have turned out to protest the likelihood of a not guilty decision. The pair make their way through to the correct courtroom, Natalie peeling off to sit in the viewing seats while James makes his way to sit beside the defendant.

Judge: Mr. James have you anyone else to call to the stand.

Mr. James stands up.

James: Yes your honour, I would like to call Doctor Natalie Carson to the stand.

The courtroom gives out a hushed murmur as Natalie takes a deep breath as she makes her way to the stand. All eyes watching her every step, she glances at James on her way through who gives her no reaction what so ever.

The Clerk of Arraigns approaches Natalie with bible in hand.

Clerk of Arraigns: Natalie Carson. The evidence you shall give to the Court shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God. Say “I swear”.

Natalie: I swear.

Natalie sits down as James approaches the stand, placing one arm on the stand so he is facing the courtroom, the judge, the jury and Natalie all at the same time.

James: Miss Carson, in what area of medicine to you practice?

Natalie: I specialize in psychiatry.

Natalie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as she starts to speak.

James: And how long have you practiced?

Natalie: 6 years.

James: In a single sentence can you describe the majority of your patients?

Natalie: They are either criminals or ex police.

James nods his head, before pointing towards Anderson.

James: You have studied the defendant, have you come up with a diagnosis?

Natalie: The defendant shows no emotion to the crime he has been accused of, he is emotionally indifferent towards the victim showing no signs of a relationship.

James: Relationship is an odd word to choose.

Natalie: The accused and the victim have shared some time together which means that he should have some kind of reaction when she is mentioned.

James: Yet he is completely apathetic towards her?

Natalie: Yes.

James: Does this have a wider meaning, did your studies find anything else?

Natalie: Yes, I looked at the family history of the defendant and saw that he had a family history of schizophrenia. I decided to test for it.

James: How did you go about testing?

Natalie: I studied the tapes from Mr. Anderson’s cell before he was granted bail, as well as seeing his behaviour while we had our appointments.

James: What were your findings?

Natalie: Mr. Anderson showed signs of being Catatonic.

James: For the jury can you briefly describe the syndrome.

Natalie: People with Catatonia will ignore external stimuli, which I noticed in the tapes of the defendant seemed to pay no attention to what was going on around him. Loud noises, even when an officer entered the cell he made no movement.

James: Does this have a broader meaning?

Natalie: Combined with the apathetic behaviour I believe that Mr. Anderson could be a schizophrenic.

The courtroom lets out a gasp while the plantiff starts to rant about the new “evidence”.

Judge: Order! Continue Mr. James.

James: Thankyou your honour. Miss Carson, would this explain why Mr. Anderson would of pleaded guilty even though there is little evidence that suggest he is guilty?

Lawyer: Objection your honour! Defaming the evidence.

Judge: Over ruled.

Natalie: I believe it to be so.

James: No further questions your honour.

Judge: Miss Carson you may step down.

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

It is the following day and Mark is eating breakfast alone when he hears a short rap on the door. Mark finishes his mouthful before just walking over and opening the door a crack.

Seth: Can’t be bother opening the door for me?!

Seth barges in with the paper under his arm, who throws it down on the counter away from Mark.

Seth: Not guilty!

Mark: I saw it on the news, some schizophrenia thing. Tough card to pull…

Seth: It could be true …

Mark: Doubt it. Pass the paper.

Seth: Why?

Seth is almost taken back by the question.

Mark: To read it…

Seth: You know the result, why do you need to read about it?

Mark: I heard it on the news, it was brief and didn’t give much detail. If we want to nail this guy we need to see if the psychiatrist who diagnosed him is dirty.

Seth: They’re not, I can vouch for that.

Mark: Just pass the paper.

Mark completely ignores his breakfast, turning his attention to Seth.

Seth: It’s an early edition, there isn’t much of a write up.

Mark stands up and heads towards the counter.

Mark: Bullshit Seth, just give me the paper.

Seth snatches it off the counter.

Mark: Stop being an asshole and give me the paper!

Mark lunges forward and manages to grasp the paper but Seth tries to tug it away, it begins to rip as the pair tug on either end. Seth begins to gain the upper hand but Mark digs his heel into one of Seth’s feet causing him to lose his grip.

Seth: You… lil… bitch…

Mark: Please. You know I fight dirty.

Mark reads the article on the front page, his eyes darting back and forth quickly scanning for a name, his eyes soon stop darting and open wide.

Mark: No…

Seth: Unfortuantly, yes.

Mark: She lost her license!

Seth: You’re angry that she is practising again?

Mark: No, I’m angry that her “evidence” let a guilty man walk free!

Seth: Let it go, she was probably paid to do it.

Mark: That’s not the point!

In anger Mark throws the paper towards the bin sending pages flying everywhere.

Mark: We gotta take down this guy. Now!

Seth: No.

Mark is in disbelief, he even takes a step back.

Mark: Pardon?

Seth: No, Mark. No.

Taking a few steps forward Mark tries to impose himself.

Seth: It’s a conflict of interest.

Mark: Seth, she is being blackmailed!

Seth: What are you basing this one!?

Mark: The woman I loved wouldn’t do this!

Seth: The woman YOU loved left you!

Mark pushes Seth away before retreating a few steps back.

Mark: Fuck you… fuck you.

Seth: Say what you want Mark but you know I’m right. We have to find someone else to go after.

Mark: No, this man averted the course of justice. That’s why we are doing this!

Seth: We are doing this to help those who can’t help themselves! To clean the streets up!

Mark: So what about the girls getting raped!? They can’t help themselves!

Seth: I’m sorry Mark but think about Natalie. This all affects her.

Mark thumps the doorframe in anger.

Mark: He has robbed Philadelphia of justice!

Seth: What is your obsession with justice? Your father wouldn’t want you to take down Anderson.

Mark: You wouldn’t know what he wanted, he would of wanted to take him down!

Seth rubs his palm over his forehead.

Seth: It’s not happening, you are not leaving here to go after him.

Mark: you’re going to stop me?

Mark laughs it off.

Seth: Yes.

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

Night has fallen and James and Natalie are standing on the top of the same building as earlier, only out in the courtyard. James has a cigar in his mouth and is grasping a small tumbler in his hand.

James: Well done Natalie. How do you feel?

Natalie: Dirty.

James: That will go away eventually.

Natalie: You said there would be something in it for me.

James: I did, check your bank account when you get home. The end of financial year has come early for you this year.

Natalie nods her heads before backing away towards the door.

James: Also Natalie, this is a common thing. You will be the psychiatrist for many of my clients. Yes, you will have to break the moral code once in a while but that means nothing.

Natalie: In all due respect I can’t -

James: Do it for a year and I will fully fund your own private practice. No strings attached.

Like a deer in the headlights Natalie stands awestruck by what she has just heard.

James: You can go now.

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

We are back at Mark who looks directly at the camera.

Mark: Promo is kinda all over the place ain’t it?

Mark is sitting alone in his car, his right eye becoming more black and blue by the minute, glancing out the door he sees an apartment block. Mark’s knuckles turn white.

Stepping out the car, Mark slides his mask over his face, he takes one step into the street before returning to the car pulling out a pair of brass knuckles from the glove compartment.

Striding across the road Mark quickly gets to the front door of the apartment, checking around to see that no one is watching he begins to pick the lock.

*Click*

Mark: Easy.

Mark pushes the door open and heads for the stairs, he knows what he is looking for. The place reeks of body odour and stale urine. Stale urine having a very distinct smell. Most of the hallway has its lights blown out, the few that work flicker.

Stopping at a door Mark leans in, he can hear the sobs of a young girl. Mark takes a step back, checking that he has everything.

Brass Knuckles. Check.

Handcuffs. Check.

Pistol. Check.

Mark: Just in case…

Taking a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. One more deep breath.

Mark kicks in the door. It smashes open, bouncing off its hinges, it crashes into Mark’s shoulder as he barges into the room filled with paraphernalia.

A young girl is weeping in the corner, rocking back and forth. Phil Anderson is sitting on the bed trying to entice the girl. He jumps and makes for the door. Mark cleans him up with an vicious elbow to the chin.

Anderson is lying on his back, knocked out cold. Mark takes this time to drag him into the middle of the room and handcuff him to a chair.

Mark’s eyes turn to the little girl, whose tears have momentarily stopped. He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket with the address written on it.

Mark: Take this note. Run home. Give it to mummy or daddy.

The little girl puts her arms around Mark’s neck, gripping tightly before bolting for the room.

Time is fleeting and Mark cannot wait for Anderson to regain consciousness on his own accord. He finds the mould ridden bathroom filling up a bucket with water.

The icy cold water awakes Anderson with a start.

Anderson: Who… who are you!?

Mark: Just your friendly neighbourhood watchman.

Mark smashes a large right into the face of Anderson.

Mark: You have the right to remain silent.

Mark attacks this time with a left hook.

Mark: Anything you say will be used against you.

Again with a right.

Mark: You have the right to an attorney.

Mark slips on the brass knuckles and attacks with the right.

Mark: If you cannot afford one!

A left-right one-two combination.

Mark: One will be appointed to you!

Another barrage rains down upon Anderson who has blood spilling from wounds across his face.

Mark: Do YOU understand these rights!?!?

Anderson has been once again knocked out cold, blood dripping from his chin.

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru

Singles Match:
Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Slegnadamus

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament



-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Matthew P. Dunn

(Still in the process of voting)

PROMO AND VOTING HAS BEEN EXTENDED UNTIL THURSDAY, JUNE 24 AT 11:59 PM EST.

IN THE INTEREST OF FAIRNESS HOWEVER, ANYONE WHO PROMOS AFTER THE ORIGINAL DEADLINE TONIGHT WILL HAVE A PENALTY OF -0.2.


SO WE DON'T GET SO BEHIND THOUGH, IF STAFF COULD START SENDING PROMO SCORES TOMORROW IT'D BE MUCH APPRECIATED.

The night is cold and the air is brisk in the winter time city, no snow on the ground, palo verde trees in the street medians, a desert city. The streets are lined with Christmas lights, bright white wrapped around palm trunks. The sidewalks are lined with people, it's a shopping district, the windows lined with tinsel and pine wreathes. A couple walks hand in had, the man in a leather jacket, the woman in fur-lined fleece, a white knit cap and a scarf, even here the winter is cold; each breath visible like a fleeting puff of smoke. Her arms is wrapped around his, so close to share their warmth, to feel each other's warmth. They seem to be laughing, talking, smiling; happy. On her hand is a shining diamond ring, ungloved as to admire it, despite the cold. We hear the topic of their idyllic chatter, from behind.

Man: … but I don't even know what “bunting” is! Why do I have to go with you two three different boutiques to see fifteen different kinds.

He complains in a plaintiff tone, more a tease than an actual grievance, and the woman responds in kind.

Woman: It's my privilege as a blushing Bride to torture the dashing groom with the inanities of wedding planning, for months, and months.

Man: True... true, I suppose, but still I'm not the kind of person who likes feeling useless and out of their element, I just don't know how to help you with these kind of decisions. I just have the answers, I don't know what tell you about which doily matches which flower arrangement, I just don't know...

That last bit of playful banter ends with his voice on somber note, a bit of insecurity bleeds through, she stops and the wind picks up the scarves and hair obscure their faces, still as she looks him in the eyes:

Woman: What I need is for you be there.. with me.

She brings him in close, and he opens his mouth to speak, but they are off by a sudden screeching sound, and a crash, the sound is deafening. Instinctively the man dives and pulls his fiancee down, as to protect her.

They look up and see the wreck, the same palo verde lined median is wrecked, an SUV skipped the curb and crashed sidelong into a luxury sedan. The shoppers and pedestrians crowd around, reaching for cell phones, trying to stop traffic; the SUV catches fire, seeing this the young man leaps into action not really thinking about himself.

He pulls open the door and looks inside the driver, a young woman is dead, the steering column pierced her heart, but in the back a small boy of 9 or so years is passed out in back. He reaches for a pocket knife and cuts the seat belt, and pulls the boy out. He lays him on the asphalt, as another on looker speaks up, a man in his late 60's.

Older Man: He's not breathing, somebody do something.

They look at the would be hero, who suddenly looks shocked as if he just realize what happened.

“John”: Don't look at me, I'm not a Doctor!

The camera pans across to reveal the face of young man that no one watching would recognize as the sound of ambulance sirens fills the air, the scene fades out, with the flashing lights.

The lights pick up moments later as the boy is wheeled off the ambo on a stretcher, nurses come out of the Emergency bay. They rush him inside as the paramedics relay the details;

Paramedic: Nine year old male, no I.d. yet, involved in a collision, we resuscitated him at the scene, but he's bleeding internally and his right lung is collapsed. Who's on call?

A man in navy scrubs,, dark brown hair with light gray strands scattered, a full beard that can be seen even from over his broad shoulders steps into frame. Looking over his shoulder he begins to bark orders.

ER Doctor: Nurse, you keep pressure on the wound in his abdomen.

He waves his pen light across the kid's irises.

Non-responsive, I'm going to evacuate the blood and re-inflate his lung and in him intubated, that get him stable enough for surgery to fix the bleeds. Nurse, large gauge syringe.

The nurse takes it out of the sterile package, hands it to the Doctor who stabs into his chest and pulls the plunger release blood into the tubing, he takes another and inflates the lung with air. He looks at his vitals.

Alright, O2 sat is stable now, get him prepped for surgery. When you get an ID let me know, I'll talk to the family.

The paramedic claps him on the back.

Paramedic: Good work, Doc, that looked bleak.

For the first time the ER Doctor turns into full view, revealing a haggard, aged face of John Derrick.

Derrick: I'm not doctor, I'm just an intern.

The scene fades to black and a title card comes up.

BACKTSTAGE AT ULTIMATUM II.

We return to see a view over those same shoulders, not in scrubs bared and flecked with small cuts and bruises, red for canvas burn. His hair is a shoulder-length pony tail, and the gray is all is dyed out but bleeding through slightly at he temples. He walks alone through backstage corridors, not taking his time but there's no sign of a hurry in his step. He walks through the door labeled FMW Superstars, hesitates to push the door, before leaning his weight in. Doc looks around in the locker room and sighs, before spotting something under the changing stall with his name.

Someone left a six-pack of Longhammer IPA, he picks it and smiles, reading the note.

“Best of Luck,

Skyler”

Without turning around he speaks.

Doc: Thanks for the going away present, kid.

Behind him is the man who left it there, the man who moments before pinned his shoulders to the mat in the last time John ever intended to step in the ring.

Sklyer: No hard feelings, right?

Doc turns around, smiling, but his eyes misting a little, beyond his control; his hand is extended before he even finishes the about face.

Doc: No... of course not. Thanks for the sixer. How'd choose this brand?

Sklyer: Considering it's your last night, I figured you'd want something harder than MGD. Just a hunch.

Doc: Good instincts. C'mon, have one with me!

Sklyer: John, you know I don't do that.

Doc: Just the one, hell, just a sip, for me, okay? You said it, this is my last night here, my last night backstage, and I need to drink to that, and you can't drink to something alone.

Skyler smirks at his sentimental logic.

Sklyer: Of course.

Doc: Alright, let's get ripped.... He feels Skyler frown... kidding, kidding!

Doc... John Derrick bends over to pick up the bottles from the case, one for himself and one for his friend, he goes to hand it off with his right hand but he drops it before he can get it into his hand. His hand is shaking, he pulls it back quickly, with a stunned look on his face, on the floor the bottle shatters and spills everywhere, Skyler steps back.

Sklyer: John... what was that, are you okay?

Doc: I'm fine... just tired. Maybe I pinched a nerve...

Sklyer: Well, your pinched nerve is gonna get me in the dog house, the twins aren't even a month old and I'm gonna come home reeking of beer. You certainly know how to bring me trouble, heh.

Skyler chuckles, and Doc does too, nervously, still looking at his hand, Skyler is concerned but he knows it's not his place, so he changes subjects, as he grabs a fresh bottle and twist off the cap.

Sklyer: Speaking of the old ball and chain, where is one Ms. Sarah Wilson?

This doesn't seem to settle John's nerves.

Doc: She's...uh...going to meet me at the hotel.

Sklyer: Oh, I'm sure that'll be fun. Well, I've got my own celebration to attend at home. I meant what the note said, Doc, I really did.

Doc is still rubbing his hand and looking at it, but the sudden goodbye snaps him out of it, he offers his hand again they shake, he looks into Skyler's eyes.

Doc: Thanks for everything, Skyler. I trust you to take care of this place, and take care of that family, you don't know how quickly you can lose them.

Sklyer: Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to my family, okay.

He turns around and walks out of Doc's life. Doc turns around and looks at his bag he takes a step but his foot does move the way he wants and he stumbles and has to catch himself on the dividers. He is breathing deep, in a cold sweat, as the camera fixes on his back again, and dissolves into the present.

Panning down something is different, a new scar, only a few months healed at the base of his spine, a flesh pink colored zipper, a surgery scar. The bearded, aged John pulls on a blue Arrow shirt, and begins buttoning it up. There is something in the back of the locker, that he looks at for a long moment, a silver flask, with a hole pierced in it, he's lost in the reflection of his face on that piece of memory until an abrupt interruption wakes him.

An orderly comes in and knocks on the door frame of the locker room.

Derrick: What is it?

His tone is short and annoyed.

Orderly: Yeah, John, there's a page for you at the nurse's station.

John's ears perk up for a second.

Derrick: Is it the kid's family?

Orderly: No, it's an outside call, says it's urgent.

He slams the locker door shut.

Derrick: Hmph. I don't care.

He walks out towards the door, the orderly is in his way, looking at him strangely.

Derrick: You're in my way.

Orderly: It could be an emergency, someone you care about could be hurt like that kid!

John just looks at him with an irate quizzical look.

Derrick: Who?

He pushes his way out, and the scene fades out, to John in his car, a non-descript, light blue Honda Accord from the mid nineties, the paint peeling and faded with the Phoenix heat and disrepair. He pulls into the spot marked for Unit. 215 at the Esplanade condos. He walks the short walk to his door, with a thin paper bag, barely concealing the shape of a bottle. He opens the door and walks in, not caring to shut it behind him, as he pulls out the bottle. Behind him he door way is darkened by a long shadow. He grips the bottle, whipping around with it at the ready like a club, to see...

A woman, tall, slender but in her early fifties; she is dressed in blue business dress, with a skirt that covers he knees, he hair is brown and her complexion is light with western European features. She walks in, with her business card in hand, not afraid his defensive gesturing, motions him to it take it with a surprisingly warm smile. He does, wearily, putting down the bottle of Jim Beam Rye. It reads

Elanor Carmichael, Human Resources, Cosmas, Anthony and Jude.

Elanor: Hello John.

She speaks with perfect diction, the kind that comes from years of second language training, the kind that hides an accent.

Derrick: Who are you?

Elanor: I'm a head hunter.

He looks at her, puzzled.

Elanor: One of the services my company offers is finding lost people, or people who don't wish to be found.

Derrick: Not interested.

Elanor: You haven't even heard who is looking for you yet?

Derrick: I know who it is. It's them, it's always gonna be them, it's the business. Frankly, I'm fucking sick of it, the mysterious strangers, the shady companies and layers of lies and deceit surrounding that fucking purple nightmare. I'm done with them. I retired for a reason.

Elanor: I think if you knew why they wanted you back, you'd hear me...

Derrick: OUT! NOW!

Again, a sincere look of concern and worry crosses her face.Doc:

Elanor: I'll talk to you again, one more time, just once more to convince you. In the mean time, I just have one question for you to think about. Are you sure you are where you need to be?

She leaves the scene fades out again to another title card.

THE NIGHT AFTER DISTORTION 11.1

We cut a familiar driveway, in the dark of night, in front of the home of Leon Caprice, another friend, former friend of Skyler Striker, and a car pulls up, a black, violet-striped 2010 Dodge Challenger. Out of it comes another iteration of John Derrick, the way he looks when he comes back just the previous night, his facial hair pared down to Imperial mustache and goatee, and wearing his trademark suit. He walks up the path and to the door.

He stares at the doorbell for a long moment. Finally he musters the courage, the lights turn on and a woman, a pregnant woman stands in the doorway.

Doc: Ah, Sarah, I'm sorry.. I'm just.. uh here...

As he says the name Sarah his mind goes to another with that name.

Sarah: Oh, yeah.... no worries, I'll get Leon.

She disappears into house and moments later Leon Caprice, half of the tag champions emerges.

Leon: Hey, John, I was surprised when you called me of all people last week, and then here you now. Let's talk on the porch, okay.

Doc: Sorry, to bother you but I just wanted to stop by and see...

Leon: Ah, the twins, Leah just put them down for the night, she's still in there, so now not exactly the time. They are safe, if that's what you're worried about.

Doc: Yeah, I was just hoping to see how much they've grown. I've barely seen them since I had to deliver them.

Leon: I wonder why that is.

The sudden harshness of his tone and reply disheartens Doc, but he just gives a sad smile.

Doc: Just me and my cowardice I suppose. I'm sorry to wake you.

He gets up and walks off before Leon stops him.

Leon: Are you really back to help him? I didn't know you well, but when you left you had the look of someone who never wanted to come back, and the best I can tell, is saving Skyler from himself is about the only thing that could motivate you to come back.

Doc: No, I'm not here for him. He's made his choice, and I can't change his mind. I don't want to, the only person that can save Skyler is Skyler. I'm back because I'm going to make sure the only thing he destroys is himself.

Leon: If that's not the case, then why are you here for Leah and the children?

Doc stops in his tracks. He turns around, pulls something out of his inner pocket, the same silver flask.

Doc: A week or two before my last match, I was in an accident, a car wreck. I flew off the road and plowed into an embankment. The steering column thrust out like a spear, but I was fine, not a scratch. I had this in my pocket, this flask. Leah gave it to me, as a thank you for being there for her while she was pregnant and helping her deliver.

Give this to her, and tell her; “Thank you for saving me.”

Doc walks off, Leon shouts after him.

Leon: Is the accident why you left?

Without breaking stride Doc replies.

Doc: No, I left because I was dying.

Doc gets in his car and pulls away, Leon is left with broken flask, through the hole he can see the bottom is engraved.

“For the one I threw away, from Leah”

The scenes fades out and back to another night, another life.

In the ICU, the John Derrick of winter '09 stands looking at the chart of the young boy. A nurse walks in behind him.

Nurse: We got his ID. His name is Jaime Watson, the woman driving the car wasn't his mother, it was his nanny, his parents were overseas in Zurich apparent. They're flying over as we speak. He's been alert since just after surgery, but was resting. Hmm.. Looks like he's waking up, John.

John rushes to the beside, and pushes the boys hair out his eyes. The boys wakes.

Jaime: D-daddy?

Derrick: No, I'm not your father, I'm a doctor my name is...

Jamie: John Derrick?

Derrick:... yeah. How did you know that?

Jamie: I used to see you on wrestling, then you left. Did you leave to be a real doctor again?

Derrick: No... I just ended up here.

Jamie: Why did you leave, weren't you happy?

Derrick: Sometimes, that's just not enough.

Jamie: Why?

John just sighs, and looks at him sadly.

Derrick: You should go back to sleep, your mom and dad will be here in the morning.

He leaves the room and heads to the waiting room where the woman, Elanor, from the other night is waiting, in no mood to fight about it, he follows her as she beckons, to the parking lot. Out there, they lean on the railing of a wheel chair ramp.

Derrick: Why do they want me back?

Elanor: That's not a good question, the question you should be asking is why do you need to be back.

Derrick: I don't need to be back there, I'm trying to get my life back together here. Are you going to tell me that I'm better off punching other men in the face then saving the lives of kids?

Elanor: Yes, that's why your here, it couldn't be that you have no where else to go, not after you pushed the only person who cared enough about you to stay without even without the fame? Did she not live up your late wife? Or are you just a coward?

He doesn't fight back. He doesn't reply.

Elanor: Did you just not want her to see you get sick? Yes, I suppose that's it. But you didn't and now all you have left is the dream of becoming the man you left behind four years ago.

Derrick: Who are you?

Elanor: Another question, one better suited for yourself. Sarah may have been the last person to who cared about you, but there are people you care about still, and they are in danger.

Derrick: What are you talking about?

Elanor: Have you been keeping up with Full Metal? No? Skyler isn't the man you left, and if you don't come back his disease, his addiction will consume him, and his family, Leah, Jade, April and little Jonathan. Your godchildren, the only family you have left.

The word 'addiction' turns his neck into ice, and heart drops through the floor.

Derrick:.....


When do they want me back?

We flash ahead again from there, just hours later, as John Derrick stares into a mirror, in his hand is a straight razor, he holds it slowly to his neck, for a long moment. He takes a deep breath, and then other hand lathers his face. He begins to scrape away the stubble and hair.

In another time, Doc walks into a stadium, and the image is subtitled PRESENT DAY.

John Derrick is shaving the right cheek.

Doc walks up to a white board, and follows the names, matchup for 11.2

John Derrick is shaving the left cheek

Doc finds his line, Doc vs. PX.

John Derrick finishes around his chin, leaving just a patch under the lip.

Doc smiles to himself, and says “Family is all that matters, eh?”

John Derrick smiles to himself, and says; “I'm back.”

Following Ammunition 11.1

“Let me tell you something…”

Backstage, FMW’s finest congregated in the loading bay of Baltimore’s First Mariner arena, grouping into their various factions as each awaited their car services and various means of conveyance. Butters and Slegnadamus cheerfully analyze their first victory, as Seth Omega and Mark Johansson trade words with the Wayward Sons over the legitimacy of their victory. Somewhere off in the distance, behind the skeletons and rubble of stage equipment, Nick Bryson watches intently.

Wiping sweat off the top of his glistening scalp, a tired smile blinked through the heavy breathing of Carter as he slowly turned to meet the beastly glare of FMW Commissioner Christian G. Smitten. Parting his suit at the belt buckle, he drew back his blazer to his sides like a peacock fanning his plumage resting his tight fists on his hips. His face twitched with restrained anger as Calvin simply gazed at the Commissioner impatiently. With a single outstretched digit, Smitten stabbed at Carter’s chest.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but the next time you wanna get wrapped up in World Championship affairs, you had better get yourself a lawyer.”

Looking down at the small divot left behind in his tank top by Smitten’s poking, Carter cleared his throat, eyeing his own clenched fist at his side. He couldn’t expect a fruitful career following a Commissioner beat down, as much as the arrogant rat had deserved it. ‘He’s just one’ Calvin thought, trying to soothe the rumbling orchestra in his head as Smitten’s grin widened, eagerly anticipating a reaction. ‘He’s just one of the many tiny men trying to put a nail in your tires.’

Dropping his duffle bag to the ground, Carter almost felt the anger surge past the brim. His biceps tightened familiarly, and the gears in his hips churned to the familiar fighting stance. At the last moment, however, before he could tie his career to a kite and watch it float away, a feeling at his fingertips quieted the raging trumpets. It was a feeling new to him on this night, the smooth metallic finish of the briefcase and the almost electric sensation that it had possessed. Those chilling distant words...'Attainable, it’s all attainable…'

Smitten’s fists fell from his hips, now awkwardly hanging between a boxing stance and a calm stand. Closing the distance between the men, Carter advanced, chest to chest with the Commissioner. He could smell the caviar and champagne on his breath, the diet of the complacent. Eyes on eyes, Carter’s fists unraveled.

“I'm not the one to fuck with, homeboy. The next time you snatch something out of my hands like a fucking child, you had better get yourself a gun.”

Calvin X. Carter
Proudly Presents

Changing Tides

Baltimore

Days Ago

Pain screamed like trumpets in the ears of Captain Vincent Bravka as he struggled to return upright. The rhythmic throbbing of his brain was thanks in part to a strike to the back of the head. Wheezing and whimpering, he tried to bring his hands around to his mouth to remove what seemed to be a fresh piece of duct tape. His wrists were knotted in a loose binding behind him, causing ropes around his abdomen to cinch tighter each time he fought to bring his arms in front of him. Standing was not an option, nor was moving. Breathing was luxury. The constricting ropes around his chest and stomach made inhalation a chore and forced a steady stream of blood to flow from the nickel sized puncture in his arm pit. As the blood flowed, it sputtered gasped, indicating the bullet to have gone pulmonary. From the looks of his surroundings, the Captain estimated that they were still in the home of David Harlow, Treasury Department head. The site of last episode's showdown. From nowhere in particular, a voice of stone called out.

Take it easy pal, you’re just going to work yourself to death…

Prison

A simple, nearly bare room replaced the scene. Towards the back of the room, a tall steel cabinet stocked with cotton swabs, bandages, tongue depressors, and stethoscopes sat between a plain sea foam green examination table and a homely wooden desk. The windows and doors, barred. The walls matched the sea foam green of the tables, cracked and peeling. From the ceiling, a pair of dingy, flickering fluorescent tubes shone an ugly white glow, causing occupants to squint uncomfortably.

Around the corner, a young, muscular figure leaned against the barred entrance of the prison’s medical ward, tapping a rolled up fifty dollar bill against the crossbars of the entrance. Covered head to toe in orange, segmented only by the white undershirt that extended below his waist and a pair of white tennis shoes, Calvin tapped the bill impatiently between his swollen knuckled against the sea foam green drywall until an occupant of the tiny ward appeared. A young man dressed in a white lab coat scrambled towards the door ignited by the sight of the man at the gate. Fiddling with the lock mechanism, he allowed Calvin passage, nearly forgetting the fifty dollar toll, which Calvin slipped into the young doctor’s chest pocket, as if by habit.

Around the corner, the wobbly, nervous frame of Jorge Molina paced anxiously. His usually noticeable girth had diminished in the recent days. His short crop of hair seemed to have been nervously clawed away. Catching a glimpse of his frantic reflection from the medical cabinet, Calvin drew his stride to a slow mosey just to watch Molina squirm impatiently.

Stepping out from the shadows, Calvin was nearly mugged by Molina.

“Took you long enough, homeboy. I’m bout to have an aneurysm.”

“Good seeing you too. You reach out to me for help and that’s the greeting I get?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not in the spot for cordial greetings, homes, I got a target on my back. Noriega won’t answer any of my send outs, the german’s locked up in solitary, I got nowhere else to go to and it’s making me a desperate man.”

“Alright, alright, calm down. We’ll get this figured out once and for all, but I don’t know you all that well, so you’re going to have to start from the beginning. Namely, who is this kid you’re protecting, what’s the story there.”

“Back when I got transferred here, I had been contacted by Senator Pat Geary, Senator from Maryland. He worked with my brother on some sort of extradition issue, so he had my number. He needed muscle to protect his little baby boy in lock up, just to make sure nothing went down. In return, I got accommodated, TV, bedding, wardrobe.”

“So none of that has anything to do with your recent good fortune?”

“If you’re talking about the car repairs and the taxes, I got no idea where those came from homes, they just got covered on their own. If anything, its somebody trying to set me up.”

“Basically, it’s looking like you turned stateside. Noriega’s thinking you’re cooperating too. He wants your blood, and I’m the only thing standing in between you and the gallows, mi amigo. I can help you make this right, but it’s gonna cost you.”

“So I’m here in dire straits and you’re solution is to strong arm me too?”

“It’s the cost of staying alive, hombre. You can either take the help I’m offering you or keep the luxuries even when you aren’t alive to enjoy them. It’s up to you, really.”

“I guess I really don’t have an option.”

“I want your government contacts; the senator, and his office. You’re going to introduce me as an outside partner with whom you’re going to split your accommodations. Whatever you need to say to make it sound gravy, say it. You’re dead to rights otherwise.”

“And what am I getting in return.”

“A couple of slants helped me get my hands on a brick of China white. You’re going to hand deliver it to Noriega as a token of peace. It’ll allow you a sit down for you to state your case. Even if he’s not the one that wants you dead, you’ll have the Maryland Grove, or at least what’s left of it watching your back.”

“Alright, I guess I can’t complain. But this has to guarantee a sit-down with Noriega ASAP. I can’t risk hitting the yard if I don’t have protection.”

“You’ll be fine. Once you give him the yay, you’ll be a made man. Now, about those contacts…”

“Here, his office is listed under ‘utilities.’ Tell him you’re from League of Mercy looking for donations, they’ll hard line you straight to his personal extension. Now where’s the coke?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Carter left the room, reaching down into a medical waste basket around the corner, as Molina continued to pace. It seemed like the troubles that weighed heavy on his mind would be taken care of, but the physical tire of stress had yet to dissipate.

Two loud shots rattle the room as Molina jets backwards into the glass display of the steel medical cabinets. Shards of glass and medical tools rain down Molina. His eyes bounce wildly in his sockets, caught completely off guard by the sudden blast. From his chest, a pair of purple-red punctures pour crimson dye from beneath his orange jumpsuit. Regaining what little composure he had left, he stared up at Carter, whose smoking barrel waited, still pointing at its former target, providing all the answer Molina needed. Collapsing under his own disbelief, Molina crumpled to a ball, sputtering blood, then died.

Carter retrieved Molina’s cell phone from the desk, and glanced at a number penned on his open palm. After dialing, he waited anxiously for an answer.

“Done.”

On the other end, he heard the phone drop to the ground, and what he assumed was Noriega stomping down on it with a single crunch, destroying the evidence of what had just taken place, the murder he had just ordered.

Stashing the phone into his pocket, Calvin carelessly tossed the pistol into the medical waste basket, and sauntered from the room.

Baltimore

The sound of pebbles grinding and crunching beneath rubber sounds throughout the near dawn as beige Buick rolls to a stop outside of a long abandoned gas station. Discarded cups emblazoned with fast food logos dance in the dirt alongside crumpled plastic bags and various items of soiled clothing. Beside the pumps, a wire wastebasket turned on its side by the wind spills its innards to the dusty urban world, used prophylactics flapping in the wind like dead party balloons.

From the driver side, and with visible difficulty, Captain Bravka emerged from the vehicle, crossing the parking lot to a shadowed figure beside the phone booth. Reaching under his arm, he felt the familiar pang of his fresh wound as he grasped at his side holster, letting his weapon float in its leather casing rather than sit idle. If it wasn’t the shrouded figure, the man with whom he was to rendezvous, then another unsavory character of this environment would be the death of him, he figured.

“Arms to your sides, vermin.”

A cold voice echoed from beneath the shroud, sounding as if it had been grated across a bed of pebbles. He made no motions following his order, as if waiting to strike should the Captain not comply. With a slow, easing breath, Bravka lowered his arms to his sides, waiting beneath the streetlight’s orange glow. From the heart of the shadows, sMiLeZ stepped forward. Hanging from his wide shoulders, a stained and tattered black duster covered the majority of his body, reaching down his arms to a pair of ill fitting garden gloves, stained bronze with decaying blood. Pinching the top of his head with his thumb and index finger, sMiLeZ remove his shroud. A black ski mask hid his features, plain on all sides, save for his face, which was screen printed with a wal-mart esque smiling yellow face icon.

“What do you want? I have a meeting with a councilman in the morning, I need some sleep.”


“Take McAllister off the case…He’s prying too near to my business interests.”

“I’m not going to be able to do that without raising some serious red flags. I’ve given him and Dominguez primary on this one.”

“Dominguez is still prying at my identity…a shell he’ll never crack. McAllister, however, is a bit preoccupied with the streets. His scout work is cutting into my real estate connections, which is cutting into my dividends. You can take him off the case, or I can send the Baltimore Sun a copy of our little ‘contract’. Remember? Partner?”

Realizing a battle lost, the Captain slowly nodded. If it wasn’t for the decorated ski mask, Bravka was sure he’d see a content grin carving its way across the psychopathic face of sMiLez. Contrary to the entirety of his life’s goals, he had found himself at the grips of another man’s agenda. Many men of the shield have gone similar ways, trading information to drug dealers for profit, letting people off for bribes, but such incidents were lapses in judgment; Bravka could only hope to have such luck. He found himself in the pocket of a murder for the simple act of trying to stop him on his own accord. His head swam with futile efforts to gain wiggle room as he climbed into his sedan, retreating into the darkness once again.


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

Trudging in from the morning fog, Bravka slammed his fist against the side of rusted microwave, knocking chunks of flaking white metal paint to the countertop. The break room was barren, everyone having been stretched so thin. Not only had the homicides taken chief interest at the station, but now a soon to be high school graduate from the suburbs, Mary Griswald, had been missing. Daughter of community philanthropist Desmond Griswald, Mary's disappearance was reaching national attention. The issue was also stirring controversy for allegedly gaining such attention due to the race and social standing of the family involved. All factors added to a thicker headache in the Bravka house each morning.

The sound of loafers clicking through the linoleum bullpen announced the arrival of Councilman Frank Lazzara. The councilman had been entrusted with the captaincy of the division during its revolving door days; three different captains had served within the span of a year. Lazzara utilized his purposefully short tenure in order to raise his profile in the community and continue his political career.

“I’ve spoken with other council members. They’re talking investigations if you don’t start producing, skipper.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

The slow twirl of his morning coffee was all it took to cool the temper of Vincent…for now.

“A lot of people feel like five months is plenty of time to have made a turn around, and I’m starting to agree. And now this missing girl? I’ve got supporters calling for my head ever since that late call on the Amber alert.”

“A teenager riding through the hood trying to score some weed doesn’t quite hit home like the a growing list of dead cops and informants. Since then, we’ve contacted her friends, classmates, even her family in Georgia, with no luck. And besides the homicides, we’ve brought crime to a plateau, something none of my predecessors can say. You’ve given me the bare minimum time to produce, and when we do, it’s not up to standard.”

The particular sting of the last retort was intentional. Bravka had no patience for anyone willing to tell him how the past five months should have been spent.

“I hope you aren’t referring to my tenure…Adjusted for length, my numbers faired adequately. I’m just handing you a word of advice, you should start preparing an exit strategy for this homicide investigation, it’s about to go federal.”

Bravka turned his back, pretending to fiddle with a pack of sugar, slurping his coffee through gritted teeth. He could sense just how much pleasure the councilman was wringing from this encounter.

“You know, you’re lucky this went on as long as it did with someone like McAllister on board. He hasn’t even been invited for the detective’s exam.”

“So that’s what this is about? You’re gonna micromanage the shit out of my unit to cover up for your laughable time at the helm?”

Frank coughed, smirking to hide the landed blow.

“You just won’t take help, will you? I guess if intervention is off the table, City Council will have to look into departmental renovation if need be. Have a nice afternoon, Vincent.”

Prison

“Molina’s out of the picture…”

Calvin’s cell had become a situation room of sorts, dedicated almost solely to the continuing survival of Calvin and his partner in crime, Theo.

“I heard. Lucky for you, it’s getting blamed on some internal Colombian feud. I don’t think we’re going to have this many calls go our way for very long, my man.”

Calvin couldn’t doubt the sincerity or the truth in Theo’s words. He was lucky to be alive after the riot that claimed the lives of numerous members of the Aryan Brotherhood months ago, not to mention mentally surviving the ensuing three month stint in solitary confinement. Even so, the duo had to take their breaks where they could get them.

“What’s the word on the Jamaicans?”

“They tell me that the Warden’s got personal surveillance and recording in his office.”

“Up on some Watergate shit?”

“Sounds like it…He’s been pretty much a ghost since you got out of the whole, restricting himself to private meetings with a handful of associates. We get our hands on those tapes and we’ve got ourselves a blueprint of everything the Warden and his staff have been up to and what they’ve got in the works.”

“You think if we spread enough wealth among the Rastas they can get a hold of those tapes?”

“My man Neville says he’s got one of the best attorney’s of ‘em all. Says with a little help he can get his lawyer to snag us them tapes.”

“Which can get us one step closer to getting the fuck out of here…”

“You know what this means right? Once we’re out of here, we can do whatever we want. We can have new lives, new paths, we can even be entirely different people, my man. It’s all out there, and it’s attainable…It’s all attainable.”

Baltimore

“I’m…uh…I’m gonna need you to step back…”

Planting his feet firmly, Captain Bravka pushed past the lump in his throat. Such an act of betrayal and deception should be reserved for one’s enemies. The fact that he had to betray someone who has been so good to him twisted his nerves.

“I can’t have you working on the sMiLez case right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

McAllister was almost shaking. His joints had tensed to a board’s stiffness, yet he still shook ever so slightly on his axis, tilting his head in disbelief. Each sign of McAllister’s astonishment dealt another blow to Bravka’s comfort

“Our lack of progress in the missing girl is stirring up a shit storm in the Chief’s office.”

“So you’re giving me up as the reason why it hasn’t come together?”

“The chief just wants me to do some fine tuning. It’s nothing permanent; I just need you to focus your time on tying up the loose ends in Mary’s case.”

“I’ve busted my ass for this case, most of it for your sake. What happened to you having my back?”

“I’m protecting the Chief’s interest in this case.”

“You’re protecting your own ass.”

“I’ve made sure we don’t lose the little momentum we’ve got. Councilman Lazzara has got it out for us and he’s got the Chief’s ear.”

“And you can’t stand up to him? Get some fucking balls, man.”

“…Don’t go making this personal.”

“What, soft spot? Sorry if I’m a little annoyed that our so-called fearless leader turns out to be a spineless puppet in the eleventh hour. I had your back covered whenever you needed because you made it about family, and now you’re benching me because a few Bureaucrats want moves made just for the sake of moving. Just tell me how the fuck this isn’t personal Vincent!?”

Speechless. Moments from blurting out the truth behind the situation, McAllister bolted towards the door. Swinging the door so hard that the knob left a indent in the drywall, the Irish cop stormed from the office, caring so little that he refrained from shutting the door behind him.

All Bravka could do was crumple behind his desk, pour himself a tall glass of filing cabinet vodka, and think himself into a coma. The haunting senses of that night still hung in his head like a bad headache; The taste of the duct tape, restricting any panicked hollars, the searing burn of his binds, the cold emotionless floor, it was all too real to him….

Baltimore

Three Days Before

He had traveled miles, leaving the wreckage of David Harlow’s home completely. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles were now between the Treasury Department head’s house and where Bravka found himself helplessly shifting on a dusty concrete floor. He could feel eyes on the back of him.

Gone were the buzzings and hummings of traffic control devices and honking motorists, chattering motorists, wailing sirens. The middle of nowhere was a virtual Broadway and 7th compared to the Captain’s current location. All that could be heard was the roaring of waves on rocks and the grating arguments of seafowl from beyond the walls of what could be a warehouse. Yet again, the strange feeling of supervision. A single crummy light hung above him, swinging with rafters of the building, preventing almost any viewing of surroundings.

Squinting furiously, the Captain could hardly make out a figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward him from a shadowed corner of the room. Unable to make out a face, he could see something large, about the height of a spray paint can, in the figures hand, raised and lowered to the face of the person. Echoes of an inhuman voice floated through the abandoned storage facility.
Finally, after what seemed like a decade’s time, the figure entered ring of light. The familiar wicked grin of the smiling ski mask looked down with humorous pity at the bound Captain. A rough tear sounded the violent ripping of the duct tape covering the captain’s mouth.

“Where has your heroism led you, Captain…well, I believe that is all too obvious.”


“You may be a sick-o, but you aren’t anywhere near ready for this kind of heat, tough guy.”

“Is it becoming evident to you yet? Maybe in the prairies of Indiana, or the suburbs of Georgia your services are in demand. But our people, my people, exist in this concrete jungle, bound by rules that mortals aren’t to enforce. Your labors put family men into cellblocks with murders, producing nothing but more human waste, while killers, rapists, and drug dealers peddle their filth with no hindrance. The Baltimore people came first, then the Baltimore police. You are a failed experiment, and I intend to put an end to you as such.”

“Do you have any idea how crazy you really are?”

“Ah yes, crazy. The nametag of society’s finest thinkers. You see, my good Captain, I am an artist…I have painted you a picture of our far Land of Mary without its boy king. Famine, disease, genocide…all of which are signs of a falling kingdom. It is I…I can restore our land to its former greatness…but I cannot do it alone…thus I have enlisted you. It is you who shall deliver me the exhiled boy king, Mr. Carter. Once I depose him, we shall all live in the land we were promised.”

The familiar cocking of a pistol snapped through the empty building. With his hands tied, he felt towards his side holster with the inside of his bicep. His issued side arm was missing. sMiLeZ drew the shadowed object Bravka had seen to the side of his head once again, revealing it to be a late 40’s walkie-talkie.

“But alas, I feel as though your faith in your future king is dwindling…it is with very little joy that I must garner your support in a different fashion. Oh, Salvador?”

Answering the call, the spherical frame of Sal Peterson emerged from the shadowed corners of the
building, as numerous lights began to illuminate the dusty warehouse. To his left, bound by the wrists, shrouded and being led by Peterson, a female figure carefully tiptoed, sobbing horribly.

Gripping the top of the hood, a visibly uncomfortable Peterson removed the black sheet, revealing the face of Mary Griswald, the kidnapped high school girl.

“You’ve allowed the disappearance of a beautiful young white girl take precedent over the daily slaughter of the urban community, not to mention the deaths of your own kind.”

A horrible, churning wave began to gather in Bravka's chest.

“She’s just a kid…”

“Yes, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

A thunderous boom rocked the foundations of the warehouse. Slamming his eyes shut couldn’t prevent the blinding golden light that blazed through the Captain’s eyelids as he heard something heavy collapse on the dusty concrete. The sound, the light, the jolt of surprise, it was sensory overload. He was completely unaware of the involuntary shout emitted by the horrific realization of what had occurred beyond his eyelids.

After a few seconds, the Captain reluctantly opened his eyes. A few feet before him, Mary Griswald lay. Her legs had bent under her weightless body, streaming out in different directions. Her chest arced upwards atop her bound arms, accentuating her young bosom to the appoint of appearing adult. Mary Griswald now lay dead before the Captain.

“A young missing girl, hope still remaining that she’s alive and well, found murdered by the bullets of Baltimore’s police captain."

"YOU PIECE OF LIVING SHIT! GODDAMNIT! GODDAMNIT NO!"

Placing a boot to the spine of the wriggling Captain, sMiLeZ ejected the spent shell casings from Bravka's departmental issue glock 9 millimeter to the floor.

"I’ll allow the media scoundrels to fill in the details there. That is, if you do not comply.”

“FUCKING RATS, I'LL MURDER YOU FUCKING MICE YOU DON'T KNOW WHO THE HELL YOU'RE FUCKING WITH, IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO, I'LL BURY YOU BOTH”

Through stinging tears, Bravka shot a hole through Sal Peterson, whose blubbery figure was nearly bouncing with tears at what he had just done. A sharp kick to the throat of the captain was all Sal needed to regain his tiny reserve of composure.

“I want Calvin X. Carter a free man, along with whatever requests I have to allow this transition of power to move smoothly. Your family and everyone you have ever known and loved will know you as a senseless killer otherwise.”

“Just like you, you spineless faggot.”

“That’s right, Vincent, just…like…me. I guess that makes us partners”

Following Ammunition 11.1

Back in the loading bay, not a single word was uttered. Focusing his eyes just a few paces ahead, Calvin continued onward, expecting somebody, anybody, in Calvin’s head at least, to be stupid enough to try and say something. No matter how hard he had tried, there had always been a higher crust who’d never pass their respects to Calvin. 22 years old, he thought to himself, plenty of time for these fools to take notice. Even so, things that had surprised himself had barely earned a batted eyelash from his peers.

This evening, however, he could feel it. Eyes skirting from his confrontational gaze, conversations dulling from a comfortable chatter, to a low whisper, to a complete stand still. It was tangible, the respect, it was tangible.

Standing now in the center of his silent peers, the garage door opening of the loading bay rose to the ceiling, exposing the wrestlers to the deafening frenzy of the fans gathered outside of the arena. Never had Calvin seen so many men, women, children, of all shapes and sizes screaming for him. His hometown crowd, begging the attention of their hero.

Calvin watched as his midnight black strolled coolly into view, parking before him. A young attendant hopped out, his orchestrated adult mannerisms betrayed by his blotchy orange freckles. Standing face to face with Carter, it was almost unbelievable that the two young men shared an age. Attempting to appear slick, the attendant spun Calvin’s keys on his index finger, dropping them to the ground. As the boy scrambled to retrieve the ring, Calvin reached deep into his duffle bag, removing a fine leather wallet. Fanning out a stack of bills, Carter felt a hand up his shoulder, assisted by a gruff, but calm voice.

“Allow me.”

In a snap, the upper half of Carter’s body snapped to see who had approached him. Calvin could already feel a rushing wave of regret for his foolishness, turning his back on a lockerroom of neutrals and enemies, especially in a time where the terms had become synonymous.

No strike or blow had rained down however. Only the figure of Jason Roy stood behind him, flanked by an audience of eyes. From his own jacket pocket, a crisp bill floated from Roy’s hand into the chest pocket of bumbling valet.


“How old are you, kid?”

The whistling, cringe inducing tones of youth emanated from the orange haired valet.

“21, sir.”

“Hmm. Maybe one day you’ll have your shit together like this guy right here. 22 years old and ahead of that number in every way. Until then, have fun scouting the classifieds. You’re fired.”

With a tender slap to the cheek, Jaro spun the young valet by the shoulder, placed his boot on the young man’s hind quarters and shoved. Turning back to Calvin, Jaro adjusted his suit before continuing. Calvin was speechless.

“Mr. Carter, I think you and I could have an interesting talk one of these days. If I ever come calling, I’d pencil me in if I were you. Something tells me you’re good for business.”

“I’m a man about the business.”

"Good Man"

Calvin reached for his car keys, now hanging from Jaro’s boney index, twirling rapidly.

“See, it’s cool when I do it.”

With a grin, he grasped the key ring and sent his Lincoln roaring to life. Basking in the disbelieving gazes of his peers, Calvin X. Carter put the pedal to the carpeted floors of his Lincoln Continental and exited the arena.

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs. Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs. Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)
* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs. Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs. Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 11.2 LIVE from Cincinnati, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Gabriel Crow vs. MASS Caesar

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Ammunition vs. Corruption Match:
Kaoru vs. The Celt

Singles Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller) vs. Romeo

MAIN EVENT, FMW World Tag Team Championship, Ammunition vs. Distortion *:
Crash Scene (Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice) (c) vs. The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Corruption 11.2 LIVE from Pittsburgh, Pennsylavnia-
Tonight's Card:

Ultraviolent Rules:
Ash Strife vs. Faith

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Christian Moore vs. Cole Dragos vs. Slegnadamus vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Corruption vs. Ammunition Match:
Calvin X. Carter vs. Leviticus

Special Attraction, Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
PX vs. John "Doc" Derrick

MAIN EVENT, 1st Ever Champion of Champions Match *:
Harley Quint (Ultraviolent Champion) vs. Hannibal Frost (Abandoned Champion) vs. Drew Michaels (C-4 Champion)

* This match is worth 3 points in the FMW Games tournament




-Distortion 11.2 LIVE from Cleveland, Ohio-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Dallas Roland

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
David GS vs. Jason Krow

Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying, Distortion vs. Corruption Match:
Mark Johansson vs. Apathy

Distortion vs. Corruption, Grudge Match:
Nick Bryson vs. Apostasy

MAIN EVENT, #1 Contender to Abandoned Championship Barbed Wire Cage Match:
Seth Omega vs. Dunnwood vs. Matthew P. Dunn

Low rent Mall
In
Cincy, Ohio.

Bryce: Who’s Next!

Sitting behind a folding table, the self proclaimed number one pick of Ammunition and the STAR of FMW, Bryce Thorne was signing autographs for ugly, pimply, redneck kids. As he looked up from his stack of 8 by 10’s, Bryce saw a rather obese teenager, with coke bottled framed glasses on, standing in front of him with his fat hand out.

Max: Hi, Mr. Thorne. I’m a big fan of yours.

Stretching to look around the kid’s massive size, Bryce saw with relief that the fat kid was the only one left. Grabbing some hand sanitizer, Bryce cleaned his hands and shook the kid’s hand.

Bryce: nice to meet ya kid. What was your favorite movie of mine? The Cage? The Villain? I really loved-

Max: Sir, I don’t like any of your movies. They suck.

Pushing out of his folding chair, Bryce’s fist became clenched but his voice was calm.

Bryce: Then why are you here, kid?

The kid was oblivious to Bryce’s clenched fist because he was already hurriedly explaining himself.

Max: I hate your movies but I love watching you wrestle.

Bryce: You do? I haven’t even won a match though.

Max: That doesn’t matter. You’re my favorite. Cam I have your autograph now?

Bryce: sure thing kid, no charge. This one is on the house.

Sitting back down, Bryce grabbed a sharpie and an 8 by 10 posed shot and looked up, smiling at the fat kid.

Bryce: What’s your name again? Do what a special message on it? Something like The Star Bryce Thorne or The best in the worl-

Max: My name is Max and how bout “The Best Jobber in FMW history” Bryce Thorne?

Later, Bryce would remember throwing his chair and flipping the table in anger but in that moment, he was fueled with rage and when he heard jobber, his whole face went red and he stared angrily up at the fat kid, who was still smirking like an idiot.

Bryce: Look here you fat fuck! I’m NOT a jobber! I’ve just had some bad luck. Unlike you though, I don’t let bad things keep happening to me. I don’t stay on my fat ass like you, watching men in tights roll around in the ring while jacking off to it. I work for everything I got; you probably have never worked in your life! I’m a big star, who has millions of dollars in the bank. You pay to see me! Probably using all of your allowance to do so. Your fat, pathetic mark, get the fuck outta my face!

The fat kid turned around but as Bryce was gathering his things, he heard the kid’s nasally voice again.

Max: at least I’m not a Jobber. I can’t want to watch Axel kick your—

The fat kid didn’t get his last word out because Bryce flipped the table and tackled the kid to the floor.

Hours later, witnesses said, they saw Bryce Thorne mounted on a fat kid, yelling in his ear that he wasn’t a jobber. Needless to say, Bryce Thorne was arrested for assaulting a minor and was sent to Jail for 72 hours. The problem for Bryce was not just the legal problems but the fact, that he had a match the next day in FMW against Axel van Osbourne. But as Bryce was sitting in the county jail, with his head down, crying, he wasn’t thinking about FMW at the moment.

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