FMW presents CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

I normally dig Butters work, but I think Riddle edged him here.

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

Every rose has it's thorn...and Team Distortion scores the deuce on the win here.

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Marky if you don't show I'm going to gullet punch you.

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

WINNAR IS DAVID GS

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

Wooh hooh go Levitijustus.

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Skyler vs TyranT is always the epic, and I believe the Skyler just barely got the victory over a very good TyranT Champion.

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

I love me more than I love Drew and Bryson. The end.

-FMW presents Catalyst LIVE from Chicago, Illinois-
Tonight's Card:

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle


Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto
MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose


* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament


No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam


Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament


Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament


MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

*****Votes subject to change

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament[/color]



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

This was so close when I originally voted between Sleg & Kaoru, now throw DGS in and it is the tightest match on the card.

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament


ALSO... we join Jason Roy and Celeste Rousseau in holy matrimony!

NOTE: This is a direct continuation of the storyline set up in DGS' 11.2 promo.



After his matches with Spruance and Krow, he had come straight back to his locker room. He wouldn't kid himself, couldn't kid himself - he had been off his game tonight. Spruance was a joke in the ring; his offense consisted of little more than striking and the odd technical maneuver, and his only real big hit was that T-Bone Suplex. The fact that Trey had actually come close to making him tap spoke more of his own detachment than the Dude's actual ability, but David had nontheless paid the price: his left leg was REALLY starting to hurt.

He sat in the center of the locker room, leaned back in a steel folding chair with a wet towel draped over his head and his Figure-Four Leglocked leg resting on another chair. A small bag of ice balanced precariously on the elevated knee, doing little to ease the rhythmic throbbing that had taken up residence there. David sighed deeply, staring up at the overhead flourescents through the thin, sopping-wet fabric of the towel.

He missed Rachel. A lot.

Before coming to Cleveland, he had shipped her, along with Kyle and his girlfriend Nikki, off to Seattle to stay with her parents. It had cost him a pretty penny, but it was a pretty penny worth spending; after their little encounter with the criminal organization David had come to call the Midwestern Mafia, who had actually had the gall to kidnap he and Rachel in their own home, he had been vehemently opposed to leaving the three of them in Omaha, unprotected.

Hey now, they would've been protected.

Oh yeah? By who?

Steve was there, he would've--

Bull-fucking-shit.

David's brow furrowed beneath the towel, and the corners of his mouth curled slowly downward. Yes, it was true, his younger brother had been in Omaha when he had left for 11.2. And yes, it was true, his younger brother had been the one who had rescued he and Rachel from the clutches of the Midwestern Mafia and returned them safely home. And yes, it was true, his brother possessed more than enough experience in dealing with thieves and rapists and murders to have kept Rachel, Kyle, and Nikki safe from harm.

But he wouldn't have.

Yes he would. For his brother's wife and friends, he would.

No. You're wrong. He would've bailed at the first sign of trouble.

Why? What makes you so sure?

David sighed again. Beneath the towel, his frown deepened.

Because that's just the kinda guy he is.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNN
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNN

The loud noise startled David out of his internal conflict; he jumped, almost falling out of his chair in the process. Lifting the still-dripping towel from his head, he turned to see his phone vibrating across the table next to where he sat. David grabbed it and lifted it to his eyes, reading the display to discover that he was receiving a text from a number he didn't recognize.

He flipped it open and read:



David didn't say or do anything. There wasn't anything to say or do.

See? I toldja so.

Okay, okay, I get it. Damn.



In all honesty, seeing Steven sitting in his locker room, watching the in-process Distortion 11.3 on a small TV that was situated in the corner, had been the absolute LAST thing David had expected to see upon opening the door. The first thing he'd expected to find was nothing; the second was Matt Ford, ready to blindside him in retribution for the pain and humiliation David had visited upon him earlier in the night; the third was one of his opponents from the Gold Card, likely Apathy or Calvin X. Carter.

Wonders never cease, though, and instead of any of those first three scenarios, David found himself faced with his ever-elusive younger brother.

The sound of the door opening got Steven's attention, and he swiveled around in his seat to see David standing in the doorway, gawking at him. "Ah," he said amicably, "just the guy I wanted to see." Steven got up and circled around his chair, draping an arm over his older brother's shoulder and not noticing how rigid David's body had gone. "How's it goin', man? Miss me?"

When David didn't say anything, didn't give the slightest indication that he'd even heard Steven other than the cold stare he was giving him, the younger Smith brother took a step back and looked hard into his eyes. "Dave?" he asked. "You all right, man?"

"Yeah," David replied, his voice curiously low and unpleasant. "I'm fine. You should sit down, though...we're gonna have to get you some ice for that nose."

Steven blinked. "Ice? Why would I need ice for my--"



The sickening crunch of bone breaking was immediate, as was the squirt of arterial red that accompanied it. Steven staggered backwards, and although both his hands suddenly flew to his face, their intertwined fingers did nothing to stifle the infuriated howl of pain and rage that exploded up and out of his diaphragm. David, meanwhile, remained rooted to his spot just inside the doorway, fist still hovering in front of him like a spectre.

That's right, you weasel...bleed.

"AAARGH!" Steven raged, tilting his head backwards and removing both hands from his face to examine them. Although he was at an odd angle to see, David could easily tell both palms were coated in blood. "...the FUCK, man!"

"Don't tilt your head back," David said calmly, stepping towards his brother, putting one hand behind his head, and gently guiding it forwards. "The blood'll go down your throat. Take a seat and keep your head forward; I'll get you some kleenex." He went over to the single locker that stood bolted to one wall; as he pulled it open and began rooting around inside, he heard Steven moan from behind him:

"Dude, you fuckin' broke my nose..."

David didn't say anything.

You're damn right I did, you ungrateful little shit.

He found the box of tissues, closed the locker door, and turned around. Steven was slumped forwards in the chair, sulking; blood dripped from the spaces between his fingers, and David could see hints of a crimson trail running from his nostrils down to his chin. He looked up as David approached, crouched down, and held out the box of tissues like an olive branch, but hesitated to take them. David waited patiently - after all, he had just broken the guy's nose.

After several seconds, Steven finally snatched a kleenex out of the box and stuffed it into his left nostril. "Why--"

"No." David shook his head curtly. "You know why, and if you say you don't, I swear to God I'll hit you again." He watched as his little brother tried to meet his eyes with a defiant stare, failed, and ultimately hung his head in shame. A brief flash of pity sparked in his heart, but David quickly and forcefully stomped it down. Would he allow himself to feel love for Steve? Yes. Compassion? Yes. But not pity; not after all that Steve had done to David and the rest of their family.

Not yet.

David grabbed another nearby chair, dragged it across the linoleum floor, and plopped down in it directly opposite his brother. "Okay," he said, dropping his deadly-serious tone for something a bit more practical. "Spill it. Why'd you come up here?"

Steven just stared at him. David could still see the sense of hurt, of shame, in his brother's face; neither fully went away, but they were both soon overtaken by the realization that this particular issue, regardless of how far it had driven a wedge in between the two brothers, was being dropped for now in lieu of more pressing matters. "I'm here," Steven finally said, "to help you. And to help Rachel."

"And to help yourself."

Steven blinked, but David's gaze held his own in a vice. "Might as well admit it," the older Smith continued. "I don't have the slightest idea who those goons you saved us from are, and I don't know what they want, but I do know that no matter how badly they want me, no matter how badly they want Rachel, they wanna get their hands on you a thousand times worse."

Steven appeared to wrestle with this fact (for fact it most definitely was) for a moment before finally nodding in hesitant confirmation. "Yeah," he said reluctantly, "you're right. They've been after me for the better part of two years now, and I'm damn tired of it Dave, so sue me."

David was silent; he looked Steve dead in the eyes, looked at him long and hard, studying him, looking for a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, his little brother could be redeemed. Steven squirmed beneath his penetrating gaze, but didn't dare say anything for fear of his older brother, whom both knew (though perhaps not acknowledged) to be stronger and faster, lashing out at him again. After what seemed like an eternity, David's gaze flickered over to his locker. He got up from the chair and went over to it, pulling the door open and throwing things into the black duffel bag inside.

"I assume you drove here," he said.

"Yeah. Car's out back."

"Well okay, then," David said, zipping the duffel bag shut and looping the strap over his shoulder. "Let's go; I'll drive, but you're gonna have to fill me in on everything, got it?"

Steven got to his feet and fell into step beside David, still holding the kleenex to his nose. "Okay," he said resignedly, "but there's a whole lot to tell."

***

Steve hadn't been kidding; there had been a lot to tell.

After a brief stopover at a hospital to get Steve's nose patched up, they were about two hours gone from Detroit; night had long since fallen, and the headlights on Steve's Mustang did very little to cut through the encroaching darkness that now consumed the interstate. The Brothers Smith sat in silence; David couldn't speak on behalf of Steve, but he was too busy trying to keep straight all of the information he'd just received to think about much else.

They - that is, the criminal organization that had kidnapped David and Rachel and wanted Steve's head on a stick - called themselves the Locusts. David supposed it was fitting enough - from what he'd been told, their size and actions were both comparable to those of a locust swarm. They existed across six different states - Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, Missouri, and Kansas - and had at least one foot in the door of every criminal act that the United States of America had a law for. Steve had specifically named arms dealing, drug smuggling, counterfieting, and human trafficking, but the look on his face as he'd spoke told David that their crimes ran much, much deeper.

Steve had then told him, with more than a hint of shame in his voice, that he had gotten involved with the Locusts for a several-month period, ended up not liking how they did things, and finally split with a few illegally-acquired firearms and several-thousand dollars in counterfeit hundreds.

"And that brings us to now," he had finished. "They sent Mike and his boys to your place to try and get to me; that backfired, and you and Rachel are now targets."

"They wanna kill us for escaping?" David had asked, not quite understanding.

"If escaping had been all you two did, then no," Steven replied, his expression turning abruptly stony. "I'd been watching that warehouse for a long time before I came in to get you guys out, Dave...I saw you kill that guy."

David was silent for several minutes, merely staring out the windshield, his knuckles going white as they gripped the steering wheel. "...what about Rachel?" he had finally asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

"Your wife is beautiful beyond comprehension," Steve said grimly. "She'd make them a pretty penny."

That, that single sentence, had been all David needed to hear. Since leaving the arena in Detroit, he'd been harboring the secret fear that this would come down to yet another murder, that no matter what he and Steven did, the Locusts wouldn't leave them alone until they killed someone high up enough in the general heirarchy to make them take notice. But if what Steve said was true - if they really intended to make a corner walker out of Rachel - David would kill whoever he needed to, in most gruesome fashion.

"She won't," he said quietly.

That had been about an hour ago; neither of them had spoken since then.

"So..."

David blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and glanced over to see Steve twiddling his thumbs uncomfortably. "Hmm?"

"This, uh, Golden Ticket thing..."

After a brief moment of confusion, David inwardly chuckled as he realized that Steve was making an attempt at small talk. "Gold Card," he corrected his brother, allowing himself to crack a smile. "Not Golden Ticket."

"Right, right." David didn't glance over again, but he could hear Steve start to relax. "The whole thing must be a pretty big deal if it's being held on pay-per-view. What's it all about, anyway?" David's smile widened a bit; Steve wasn't trying to make small talk - he was legitimately curious about the goings-on in David's life.

There may be some hope for you, after all...

"You know what a Gauntlet Match is?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Well," David replied, "it's one of those. The winner gets the Gold Card - a contract for an FMW World Heavyweight Championship match that can be enacted anytime, anywhere, without notifying the current Champion." He heard his brother suck in a surprised breath; even though Steve wasn't exactly a religious follower of professional wrestling, he knew enough to understand the implications of the Gold Card Gauntlet.

"Wow," the younger Smith said simply. "That's heavy."

"No kidding."

"Can you win it? I hear there are gonna be some real heavy-hitters in there with you."

David didn't answer right away. "Yeah...I can win. I'm not sure if I will, but I can."

"Sweet."

"Yep."

"How many other guys are there? In the match, I mean."

"Five," David answered. Then, in anticipation of his brother's next question: "I'm only really worried about three of them, though."

"Yeah?"

David nodded. "Yeah. One of them's a Yakuza strongarm or something, another guy thinks he's Leonidas from 300, and the third's this freak from down south who likes gettin' kinky with his neice...at least, that's what the rumor is."

"Yeesh! Y'got some crazy characters in this business, huh?"

"Haha! Yeah," David laughed, "you don't know the half of it. Trust me; if you think THOSE three are weird, wait'll you see this guy called Dunnwood."

He glanced over to see Steve tug at his collar. "No thanks," he replied disdainfully. "What about the other two in the match? You not worried about them?"

"Nah," David replied flatly. "They're just...well, they aren't worth the stress that would come from worrying about them."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve nod in what appeared to be approval. Although his brother was staring straight ahead, David thought he could see something he liked: a genuine smile, not the fake, serpetine grins Steven was famous for. "Nice, man," he said. "Very nice."

They drove for a long time after that. No more words were exchanged, but that small smile of David's - the smile of a man who's just been reunited with a long-lost relative - remained on his face until they reached their destination, checked into a nearby motel, and fell asleep for the night.



"Okay," David said, pulling the driver's side door shut and fastening his seatbelt. "Game plan: what is it?" The Super-8's parking lot was, for reasons he wasn't aware of, nearing capacity; he wanted to figure out where they were going, why they were going there, and how to get there before the Mustang got boxed in by mini-vans and coupes.

Steve sat in the passenger's seat, examining a map of the northern Midwest and scratching absently at the dressing on his nose.

David frowned at his brother's lack of an answer. "Well?"

"...just gimme a sec, okay?!"

David jumped, startled at his brother's outburst.

"If we want to get the Locusts to leave us alone," Steve said, "we need to get someone fairly high up in their ranks to give the order."

"Okay," David said slowly. "And how are we going to do that?"

Steven waved a nonchalant hand through the air. "Gun to his head, knife to his throat...something along those lines."

David blinked.

I coulda thought of that.

"The trick," Steve continued, "is to find someone worth holding at gun-slash-knifepoint. The Locusts are nearly ten-thousand strong...and to my knowledge, there are only nine of them with the authority to grant me, you, and your wife pardon."

"NINE?!" David exclaimed, incredulous.

Steve nodded, not taking his eyes off the map. "Six that oversee operations on a state level - one for each state, that is - and a triumverate above them."

David fell back in his seat, staring straight ahead but no longer seeing the view beyond the Mustang's windshield. His mind rolled helplessly, running in endless circles. Only nine? How in the HELL were the two of them supposed to pick one out of nine out of ten thousand? No doubt they would each have an endless supply of protection; David was willing to kill in order to free Rachel and himself from being hunted by the Locusts, but getting to the top nine of a ten-thousand man machine seemed to be an impossibility.

"How..." he asked nobody in particular, his voice heavy with despair.

"It'll be a lot easier than it sounds," Steven answered, apparently hearing only the question and not the hoplelessness behind it. "All we have to do is extract the information we need from a Locust high enough on the ladder to know where one of the nine would be located."

David turned his head to look over at Steve. "Do you know anyone who fits that description?"

"Yeah, and so do you."

"Who?"

It was only now that the younger Smith looked up from the map. His eyes met David's and held them, forming a bond of wicked, malicious intent even as a sickly violent grin that made David shudder spread across his face. "Start driving," he said. "We're goin' to see Mikey."



Mike's throat had been sore all day, and he couldn't begin to describe how good the ice water felt as it ran down from his mouth into his stomach, cooling and soothing and numbing the whole trip. He set the tall, narrow glass he had been brought down on its coaster and shooed the nameless grunt who had presented him with both away. The kid was new; that was the extent of Mike's knowledge on him. He was, however, a good Locust: not curious, not idealistic, and most importantly, not overly-talkative. Mike frowned.

Paul was overly-talkative. He didn't like Paul.

Useless tub of lard...

He supposed he had NEVER really liked the overweight bastard, but he had become far more open in his dislike over the past few weeks.

Ever since those Smith boys got away.

Since then, his temperament had taken an all-around nosedive, and who could blame him? He'd been doggedly pursuing that Steve fucker for months now, and to not only have failed to capture him, but his brother and sister-in-law as well, was enough to make Mike want to grab his nearest underling and rip his Adam's Apple out of his neck. That the three of them were managing to stay hidden was mind-boggling; the older brother made regular appearances on international television, for Christ's sake!

Swiveling around in his desk chair, Mike turned from his mahogany desk and stared out the window at the back of his office, taking in the skyline of downtown Omaha, Nebraska. Moving in hadn't been too hard, he reflected; acquiring this little abode at the top of an Old Market office building had been a simple matter of strongarming the previous owner out of town and into the river. Putting his underlings up in apartments around the metro area had been similarly simple, and now, if either of those three showed their faces anywhere within the city limits, there would be a full three-hundred Locusts ready to nab them.

And nab them they surely would; Mike would take great pleasure in beating the tar out of the Brothers Smith this time around. And as for that lovely little wife of David's...

KNOCK
KNOCK

Mike swiveled back around to face the heavy wooden door on the far side of his office. "Come in."

There seemed to be a brief moment of hesitation on the part of whoever was outside the door. The ornately-crafted handle eventually turned, however, and the door swung lazily open to reveal Big Fat Paulie standing there, wringing his hands and looking quite nervous.

That's right - look scared, you stupid fat cock-mongler.

"What is it, Paul?"

"Well," Paul said, taking a step over the threshold and into the room, "I, uh, I got some good news for ya, Mike."

Mike inwardly smiled; he didn't even almost call him 'Mikey' this time. "Yeah?" he asked, seriously doubting the legitimacy of whatever Paul had to tell him.

"Well," the fat man answered, "we just got a call from two of our guys stationed at the Nebraska-Iowa border. They say they saw a Black Mustang go by about ten minutes ago; there were two males in the driver and passenger seats, both mid-twenties."

"And you think they're..." Mike started, instinctively leaning forward over the desk.

Paul nodded. "Yup. Not really sure why, though."

Mike frowned, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers in thought. The fat sack was right; there was no reason for David and Steven to come back to their hometown, especially given the fact that they HAD to know the Locusts had set up shop there.

So why? Why the fuck are you two running right into our hands?

"Keep track of 'em," Mike said detachedly, no longer looking directly at Paul. "I wanna know where they go and what they do there; avoid nabbing them for now."

Paul gave a brief nod. "Right."

Mike barely noticed his fat underling leave. The gears in his head had begun to turn furiously, examining this wholly unexpected turn of events from every angle in an attempt to figure out what was going on in the minds of his prey.

He could not.



Seven blocks west and three south of there, David and Steven Smith sat in a near-empty fifties-style diner, watching two suspicious-looking characters across the street through the window.

"You sure they're Locusts?" David asked quietly, casting another furtive glance at the pair.

Steven nodded, keeping his eyes on the plate of chili cheese fries in front of him. "Yeah, without a doubt...for God's sake, Dave, quit lookin' at 'em! Them knowing we're back in town is bad enough, but if they know that we know that they know..."

David got the hint and quickly shifted his eyes down to the tabletop. "You think they're here to get us?" he asked.

"Nah. If they were here for that, there'd be at least ten of them...granted, there may be that many and we just can't see them, but I'm guessing those two are just surveillance. Mike wants to see what we're doing here before making a definitive move."

"Okay," David said, plucking a fry from his brother's plate and popping it into his mouth. "That makes sense. But if they're watching us, how are we supposed to get to Mike?"

"That," Steve replied, "is an easy one." Steven got up from the table, beckoning for David to do likewise. He led his older brother towards the back of the diner, to and through a swinging metal door that led to the kitchen.

"Uh, Steve?" David asked. "I don't think we're allowed back here."

"Relax, dude - it's fine. Hey, Jack," Steven greeted a heavyset man who David guessed to be the cook. "What's up?"

David blinked, not quite sure what to make of it, as the cook set down the frying pan he was holding to shake his brother's hand.

"Steve Smith! Man, how long's it been?" the cook named Jack asked.

"Too long. Hey, listen," Steven said, "I don't really have time to talk, but here's the deal: two guys are gonna come through here in a few minutes, looking for us. If they ask you where we went, just point 'em towards the back door, all right?"

Jack shrugged. "Okay, if you say so."

"Thanks, Jack." Steven then headed through the kitchen and out the diner's back door, into an alleyway that appeared to be empty save for an old, beaten-up clunker of a car, David at his heels the whole way.

"Okay," the older Smith said cautiously, "so they wonder where we went, and follow us back here. Then what?"

Steven didn't answer right away. He looked around the alleyway, eyes roving, until they eventually landed on an old four-foot 2x4 propped against the back wall of the diner. He went over to it and picked it up, testing its weight, before finally tossing it to David, who fumbled with it for a second before securely catching it. David glanced at the board in his hands and then at Steve, who was now examining a discarded segment of lead pipe.

"Oh my Gawd," he admonished Steven. "You gotta be kidding me."

Steve tightened his grip around the pipe and shot a mischevous smile in his brother's direction. "Batter up."



Night had fallen. Mike sat in his desk chair, reading over a set of financial reports for eastern Nebraska (his area of jurisdiction within the Locusts' area of operation). Everything - every number, every decimal point, every single use of ink on the reports - had to be spot-on before he forwarded them on to his superiors; if anything was off by even the smallest margin, the Brothers Smith would be the very least of his problems.

He set the top sheet of the last report off to the side and began reading through its contents.

...good, that shipment made it. Had me worried for a bit, there.



Mike looked up briefly, and then back down at the report. "Come in."



"What are you, deaf?" Mike asked the closed office door, clearly becoming irritated. "I said come in!"



Mike looked up at the door again, something closer to amazement than anger written across his face, as if he was legitimately surprised that one of the men serving under him would have the audacity to waste his time in such a juvenile manner. "You wanna play that game?" he asked aloud, pushing back from his desk and rising to his feet. "Fine; let's play."

Of course, there's no way you can win...but that's what makes it fun.

He went over to the door, set his hand upon the handle, and turned...



As soon as he fully turned the handle, the door exploded inwards, smashing Mike in the bridge of the nose and sending him sprawling across the office's faded green carpeting. His vision went swimmy, his surroundings reduced to a collection of amorphous blurs; he was vaguely aware of the door shutting again, carpet-muffled footsteps and a pair of hushed voices, and--



--the press of a cold metallic cylinder against his temple. Mike went completely still in the center of the floor, waiting for his vision to come back into focus. When it did, he saw none other than Steven Smith standing with his back to the office door, one ear pressed against the wood, listening. He opened his mouth to yell for help, but the gunbarrel pressed harder against the side of his head, silencing him.

"If you say anything," the voice of David Smith murmured softly into his ear, "regardless of volume, it'll be the last words that come out of your mouth."

"And yes," Steven added from his place at the door, "we know that a gunshot will bring the rest of the swarm running. But there won't be a gunshot unless you try anything funny, and having worked with you for a few months, I can say with a degree of certainty that that's all the incentive you need to cooperate with us."

Mike remained silent, not even bothering to physically articulate an answer. They were right; there were a great many things he didn't want to experience in the world, and death ranked at the very tippy-top of the list. So he sat there, at gunpoint, in the middle of the floor in his own motherfucking office.

Steven stayed at the door for a moment longer; when he was confident that no Locusts had heard their forced entry, he turned the deadbolt, circled around behind Mike's desk, and returned to where Mike and David sat with a notepad and pen. Mike stared at the two objects for a moment, and then looked at the younger Smith brother with a combination of hatred and confusion.

"You're mute now," he said contemptuously, holding out the pen and pad. "This is how mutes who don't know sign language answer questions."

Mike bared his teeth in a silent snarl, but a more-than-convincing press from the barrel of David's gun got him to take the pen and pad and immediately start writing.



David snorted out a laugh. "In order: one, we beat the location out of the two goons you sent to tail us, and two, we're both actually ninjas." He laughed again, taking great delight in the look of disbelief on Mike's face.

"Now," Steven started, "we have a couple of questions we'd like to ask you. First thing's first: where is Nebraska's Boss?"

Mike's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He stared at Steve for a few seconds, blatant shock etched into his face. Then, slowly, a wicked sneer came into being there. Mike bent down, writing on the notepad in sharp, crisp strokes. He then set the pen aside and held the pad up, sign-like, for Steven and David to look at:


Steven frowned, and a low growl emanated from deep within David's diaphragm as Mike started to write again, still smiling at the brothers' less-than-amused reaction. Steven twisted his head around to read, and David peered over Mike's shoulder as the Locust's words began to take form:



David glanced up at Steve, worry clear in his eyes. Steve gave him a look that said 'don't worry, I got this', and looked back down at Mike.

"If that's the case," he said quietly, "then tell us where he is so we can get gunned down trying to get to him."

David blinked.

What the fuck?

Mike sneered again, ripped the top page off of the notepad, and resumed writing.



David's eyes went wide, and though he didn't see it, he heard Steven suck in a sharp breath. He was here. In Omaha. The same city that he and Rachel had been living in for almost a year.

Holy shit.

"That...that can't be," Steven stuttered. "Why here? Why not in Lincoln?"



Mike paused, tittering, before finishing his thought.



The Brothers Smith shared a look; something unspoken passed between them, and they got to their feet, David hauling Mike to his. Steven circled back around behind the desk, and when he returned, Mike's cruel sneer was replaced by a frown when he saw the roll of duct tape in his hands.

"Don't worry, Mike," Steven said, peeling off a strip of tape. "We'll leave the office door unlocked."



Neither of them spoke for a long time, not until they were clear of Omaha, the Missouri River, and the majority of the state of Iowa.

"I can't believe it," Steve said quietly, staring at the footspace under the Mustang's passenger seat. "All this time, and one of the Locust Kingpins was in our own backyard. Jesus, who knows how much of the crime in Omaha was his doing?"

"This changes things," David replied flatly.

Steven turned to look at him. "How so?"

"We thought that when we did this, we'd be walking into his yard," David said, keeping his eyes on the darkened road ahead of them. "And we will be; but it won't just be HIS yard. We grew up on those streets, Steve - it'll be our yard, too."

After thinking this over for a moment, Steve nodded. He didn't smile - he just nodded. "When do you want to go back?" he asked.

"After Catalyst. That'll give us time to prepare."

"Okay," Steven said, settling down in his seat. "So...to Chicago, then?"

"Yeah," David replied, pressing down a bit harder on the gas pedal. "To Chicago."

One day all of us are going to be gone, all of this will be nothing but a hazy memory. It will take us a second to remember everyone’s names we faced. Some of us will struggle to remember what matches we wrestled, the titles we won or didn’t win.

But life only really has one beginning and one end, and the rest is just a whole lot of middle. So who cares what happens when we are in our last match, when the getting there was so much fun.

And if this is only about winning, if it is the only deciding factor on how well we’ve done, then I’m sorry for letting my team down, I should just go home because it means I’ve already cost us too much, without a win in the whole of War Games I’m just not worth it.

But that doesn’t mean its over now, that victory is beyond reach, NO! As we have a secret something that the other groups don’t, a mouth that can never shut up, a bowler hat and an abundance of spilt personalities.

So who will remember the haze of us reaching Catalyst, when it will all be decided now.





It had been awhile since serenity had rested into Leon’s mind. It had been even longer since his heart had pumped anything but anger. But now, something was changing. His mind had rebooted, there was no question of that. The cloud of hatred that once pleased him, could now no longer been able to stimulate his broken mind. Like an addiction he sunk lower and lower into degeneracy, wanting more and more pain to be felt. Needing more blood, more agony to even begin to appease himself.

Yet he could feel a small corner of his mind struggling. Somewhere deep inside, a part of him was rejecting the poison he was filling his body with. Some part of him hated it. It hated it with the same passion, the exact hatred that Leon convinced himself never to show. And Leon loved that small corner of his mind for it. No matter what good it sought to do, it carried with it the passion to keep fighting. That for every day that Leon’s mind remained entangled in despair, it would continue to try and bring a sense of remembrance to the surface, as it wanted to be free once again.

They say home is where your heart lies and for the longest time Leon agreed with that saying. But recently things had changed. His heart was perturbed, and home had been cloaked in the darkness of uncertainty for far too long. The characters that normally inhabited Leon’s warming household had long since slept or ate in its boundaries, it was slowly becoming obsolete. Yet in turn Leon was finally renewing his vigor. Resting to bed the set back from the loss at the hands of Jaro, he began to change his game, increasing his faith in his own abilities, becoming more spontaneous and unpredictable. He had even gone so far as to rent out his household, opting for an apartment block closer to the medical facility Sarah was in. Yet truly it was a subtle hint that the house in which his heart lay had now changed, he had now truly changed.

Through the abasement of his recent family history and the continuance of defeat in FMW, a new Leon emerged. More consolidated, more determined in his faith, a Leon more passive and methodical by his growing nature. It was this renewed Leon that now stood in front of a small medical facility. Nestled safely in a valley surrounded by the peace of untouched nature in the form of sizable, aged maple trees and a large peaceful park, it was here that Leon could view the location where his wife would be resting. Since the operation weeks ago, Sarah was moved to the rehabilitation facility. It was a move that Leon granted, however little did he know that the new location would not only play a location in Sarah’s recovery, but it would be the location where he would tune himself to finally find peace within himself. As it was in these dormant halls of healing that Leon finally was healed. There was no more pain, no more sorrow, and no more anger. He was free.

Moisture marred the large cold metal rungs that adorned the untainted glass doors. It was an early chilled morning as Leon approached the medical facility, the temperature dropped to as low as two degrees Celsius that night, a seemingly minor note, but it in turn explained why Leon would arrive in a pair of thick blue jeans and an oversized grey parker. The frost had already liquefied as the cold metal pushed through the cotton gloves that gripped them, swinging them open, allowing the warmer cycles of air to gush through the open doorway and into the pale-skinned face of Leon, which alone was inviting enough to enter the facility. Leon eyed the structure he was about to step into, giving it an all around approving nod before he stepped into the building and let the final strands of chilled air seep through the doorway behind him, until the glass doors firmly closed shut.

The lights above pierced any clots of darkness on the plastic floor around Leon as he strode into the building. He hurriedly unzipped his parker before continuing up the familiar hallway, allowing his body to feel the warmth of the heated hall. To his left side he marveled at a dozen roughly layered paintings. The elaborate art work seemed to favor to the brightest colors, allowing the lights above to create a more natural appeal. As Leon strode further down the hallway, observing every painting that seemed a meter apart he eventually halted in front of one. Tilting his head to the side and gradually twisting his body to the same direction he stood in stillness, observing the simplest painting so far. There for all eyes to see was a whitened painting of a crown of thorns, black in color and seemingly sharp as could be, however in the upper left section of the crown, it had shattered, with pieces of thorn flowing to the corner of the painting and the aura of light trapped inside the crown flowing freely out of it. Observing it further the different layers of shading became more and more evident as more attention was paid, it truly was a masterpiece. It was moments later when Leon would finally remove his gaze from the fascinating painting and direct himself further down the hallway, although now keeping his head straight, seemingly still fixated on the hallowed painting behind him.

Eventually he arrived at the plainly white painted door with the temporary plark of Sarah’s name, which now was the only thing separating himself from his darling wife. With little hesitation he reached down and grasped the warm metal handle, tilting it slightly to hear the lock slip out of its resting place and allowing the door to freely sway. The dampness in his gloves from passing through the first door seemingly allowed him a moment to pause before pushing past the door and into the sight of his wife. Feeling the skin of his fingers gradually heat up he eventually pressed against the bland door and as expected into the sight of his beautiful wife. Yet hers weren’t the only eyes he drew while entering the room.

There cradled in her arms, clothed in a small white blanket was a baby, her baby, their baby. It was a wonder to behold, to finally see the eyes of his daughter staring obliviously at him. To him it was a moment that summed up his change of character. He was now a daddy.

Leon continued to gradually pass through the doorway and gently press the door back into its closed position, removing his hand from the door to the sound of the latch sliding back into place, even though he couldn’t take his eyes off of her to check if it was successfully locked. It wasn’t a trick, she wasn’t adopted, and she managed to fight her way through the adversity and now was a miracle in physical form. Although she was still nameless, with the days of yesterday having Sarah under so much post-op drugs that she couldn’t think clearly, and Leon not wanting to rush it. Yet with everything that had happened so far, this was the one think that could wait.

But what to call her, what name could sum up everything that she had been through, to show her fighting spirit, to show her willingness to come into this world. Truly they were nervous thoughts, idly floating in Leon’s mind as he finally reached the soft white bed in which his family was lying in. With a moment to position himself onto the side of the bed, allowing his eyes and body to face his lovely wife and amazing daughter he couldn’t help but concede a broad smile to cover his face as his eyes followed suit and glassed over with pure joy.

HE WAS A FATHER!!

The smile continued to widen as he eventually found the first words to say, emitting them with a sudden gasp of air, displaying just how much his joy had overcome his natural human features.

Leon: Hey sweetie.

Sarah: Hey.

Sarah would lift her head once more to speak her replying words, allowing Leon’s evident smile to link to her lips. It was contagious.

Leon: So how are you?

Sarah: I’m fine now. They stopped giving me all the drugs today, so it seems like it’s almost over.

Whether it was the relief of her words or just the change in her attitude from holding her own baby, a life she moulded within herself, her words were no longer coated in misery.

Leon: So your all clear now?

Sarah:I just need to rest and let my body readjust, but they say there was no more complications.

Both Leon and Sarah were now beginning to build an enthusiasm between themselves. For to long it had been misery and uncertainty. But right now it was all clear, Sarah was fine the baby was ok and life was gently easing its pressures.

Leon: And how is she going, no problems yet?

Sarah: She’s doing fine, the doctors can’t find a fault in her.

It may have seemed like Leon was asking so many questions to tire his wife out, but under the circumstances it was understandable. Little over a week ago, on the eve of Corruption he was told by every doctor on call “to expect the worst”, that there was little chance of her surviving, and even more so, a smaller chance of her living a normal life. Yet it seems like she was born to defy, rebellious from her first breath. As here she laid, as a living, breathing 7 pounds 8 ounce bundle of delight. And delightful she truly was.

Leon: Great…

A slight pause would enter the room as both Leon and Sarah would change their gazes from each other to their child below, and accordingly it wasn’t long before Sarah asked the inevitable question.

Sarah: So there is one thing I think we need to do. She needs a name.

It was true and it finally forced the moment to arrive, Sarah was finally fit to talk, and the baby needed a name. A name that optimized her will to fight and bring happiness.

Leon: Jasmine?

Sarah: Mmmmm, no.

Leon: Mary?

Sarah: To old fashion.

Leon: Rachael?

Sarah: To common.

None of the names really fitted, sure they would bring to light her positively but they weren’t big enough. Her name needed to be more pure, more direct, more loving.

Sarah: How about Joy?

It was a past modern name and it didn’t ring familiarity into Leon’s mind, however it was strong, it said exactly what he felt for her, almost if they did chose it, he would utter his love for her at every passing mention of her name.

Leon: Joy. I love it.

It seemed decided. Both Leon and Sarah lifted their heads from the buddle of happiness below and starred deeply into each others eyes, allowing the other to see that their was no doubt in their mind, that Joy was the right name.

Leon: Now what about a middle name, would you want to carry yours across?

Sarah’s middle name was Lee, and uttering it below his breath Leon believed it fitted perfectly. Joy Lee Caprice. It was perfect.

Sarah: I like it, but is that what you want too?

Leon: Yeah. Joy Lee Caprice, that’s it.

They both continued to look deeply into each others eyes, feeding off of each others affection and contentment. Nothing could ruin them now, the pain and waiting was over, now they could finally be a family. They could finally be a mother, father and daughter, a loving wife, a committed husband and a newborn baby.

How great is God.

Minutes passed as both Leon and Sarah exchanged glances while also fixation their attention to Joy. She almost screamed for all the attention without saying a word, and every fidget brought a wider smile to both Mum and Dad.

Sarah: Do you want to hold her?

He hadn’t been able to hold Joy yet, with the on-duty doctors persisting she be under observation for a few days afterwards. He wasn’t to touch her until they gave the all clear, and now it seemed that he finally could hold his daughter and let the transformation from a man to a father complete itself.

Leon: Sure.

To accompany his words, Leon outstretched his arms and slid himself further up the bed to allow Sarah to lay Joy easily into his arms, with little discrepancy in the suitable position Leon was now able to establish his longing connection with his daughter as she softly rested in his fatherly arms. She had her mothers deep brown eyes, which couldn’t stop staring at him. It was a mutual action though as Leon couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Gently he lowered his right hand across to the left hand fingers of Joy, allowing his pointy finger to rest in between Joy’s small clutches. Observing this Sarah couldn’t keep a dry eye as her eyes quickly glassed over, she also clutched her hands together firmly, it was a beautiful sight. Yet at that moment, the smallest fingers in the room grasped the finger that lay in between them. And with their sights still entangled both Leon and Joy had a connection. That in that moment Leon’s fatherly characteristics were arising, that no longer was this baby just blessed to be alive and wondrous to observe, but now it was truly loved, it was now to be eternally cared for.

Because now Leon would step up, he would finally see the direction of his future. That his purpose was now to also support his family, which was more than loving his wife unconditionally. It was now protecting his family, against any and all attacks, whether financially, mindfully, physically or emotionally, that he would be there to be the rock to take the burden of it all. Whether the determination in his mind of this was from a lack of having his own father to support him, reminiscing over what he missed growing up, or what he desired and never got, he was going to make her life better. Making sure, it wouldn’t happen to Joy, she deserved the world and he was going to give it to her.

Although, observing the deeds he was writing in his heart, Leon eventually realised that there was no honest, gratifying father he knew to base his lifestyle on. The fathers in FMW were all corrupt. Tyrant was a monster to Faith, Skyler turned his back onto his family, and Smitten couldn’t keep himself in check to support Kelsey. Leon needed to be different, he needed to set a standard, a pathway to righteousness through being a great father. Sure, eventually as years would roll over, Joy would grow up and shape herself to test her boundaries, but with the combination of Leon and Sarah, how could wrongful doings come near to her.

She was loved. She is now loved and she will be eternally loved.

That was a pact Leon sent to his heart, that no matter what, he wouldn’t fall from grace into corruption, he wouldn’t be equipped with anger towards his daughter, that no matter what, he would show the love he received, and he would never stop smiling.





The scene opens to the sound and vision of heels of shoes clicking against the clouded black concrete flooring. The shined black shoes clicked across the flooring, keeping the fabric of the dress pants flowing with the man’s stride. The man’s pace was brisk but he kept his peaceful stride with no added labor to his movement. Rounding the corner of the hall the man reached with one hand to straighten his tie ever so slightly before running his hand through his shortened black hair and gradually through an open doorway.

???: Look what the cat dragged in, another religious zealot. Just what I needed.

Leon: Great to see you to Seth.

The sarcasm of Omega had risen of late, almost as if the title win had bolstered his ability to be more of a pompous arse. He must have realised it though, the change in his character, it’s not like it was unbeknown to the locker room, news of Seth’s victory traveled quicker than the news of Leon’s baby girl, but that was hardly an accomplishment. Already there was news of new Omega franchises, new shirts, stubby holders and the likes, all promoting his new championship position. It almost seemed desperate.

Omega: So what the fuck do you want?

The brashness of Seth’s vocabulary took Leon back, something had indeed changed.

Leon: I wanted to say something to you, make sure you’re seeing clearly what’s around you and not ignorantly blissful of victory.

Omega: Go ahead and speak your mind, just make sure you remember your place on this team is below me, just like it’s always been.

The essence of temptation slowly crept around Leon as he quickly solidified himself to keep his cool. He had just reassured himself that he wouldn’t fall back into those habits, that he would steer clear of the common anger. And with that all he could muster was a sympathetic smile.

Leon: What is floating in your head? Do you believe winning a piece of metal really makes you that much better?

Omega: Piece of metal? Is that what you consider this? What did you call your Tag Belt? Don’t you see things clearly yet? The ones with the belts are the ones that are most powerful.

The self proclamination stank out the room, was Seth really that desperate, that delusional to believe his own words.

Leon: You’re not powerful because you’re the champ; you’re powerful because you truly believed in yourself. So don’t fool yourself, don’t fall for your own deluded words, you have to keep fighting, keep believing you can go higher.

Omega: Yeah, Full Metal Championship next...who knows, maybe I’ll bust Harley up for that UV Belt too.

It seemed like nothing would get through, that every attempt to bring clarity was met by a corresponding egotistical comment. Yet in some ways it wasn’t the first person Leon had come across to suddenly change his prospective to himself.

Leon: Baby steps Seth, one day you’ll definitely get there, but-

Omega: There are no buts Leon. You should know me better than anyone, you should know that under my leadership I am going to take you to the promise land. Under my leadership I am going to soundly destroy Ammunition and Corruption, and under my leadership I am going to make damn sure you don’t choke anymore.

Leon: *And people say I resembled Skyler*.

The words were uttered under Leon’s breath, taking no attention from Seth as he was too intoxicated in his prophesized victory. Truly taking the time to analyse the circumstance, it wasn’t too far of a jump to call Seth a Skyler wannabee as it wasn’t so long ago that Skyler gave up all attachments to focus on his rise to the top tier. And here was Seth trying to follow. It was pathetic.

Omega: I did my research on the other teams and they all have their weaknesses. As long as Dunnwood can keep a single tracked mind, Dunn can stay in the game, you can stop from cutting yourself and Frost can wake up from his coma my team will win easily.

Leon: You’re like a walking contradiction.

Did he even listen to himself? Was he too consumed in his own presence that he failed to hear himself declared victory for Distortion while downplaying every team member of “his” team? How could he speak without deflating his own ego? Well it wasn’t Leon’s place to be the man to change him; he had already tried that once to no avail. Now it was just making sure Omega was ready, that he would be unified in the team, that he would stick to Distortion.

Omega: If your head was any farther up your ass you’d be able to see Skyler’s semen.

Leon: WHA…Whatever Seth, listen just make sure you’re going to be part of ‘the team’. That although you’ve just become the champ and are now the captain that you’ll keep a level head, that you won’t let your pride clothe yourself.

Omega: Part of the team? I am the fucking team.

Leon: Seth, just listen, are you going to help out there, or are you in it for the individual win?

Omega: I'd love to help you out, you see that wooden door there? That’s the exit. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out. God knows I’d hate for you to get a headache.

Seth would point pass Leon as the sarcasm in his words would gradually take residence in his outward expressions. By now it was obvious that nothing could be said to encourage Seth to act accordingly. He was a wild dog, with an unpredictable bite. All Leon could do is take faith that Seth would conclude to himself that he would need four other men to win, four men that are willing to fight for a purpose, whatever twisted motive it could be.

Leon: Ok well just put some thought and time into it Omega, the last thing your reputation would want is a successful pin against you in the center of the ring. Just keep what I said in mind.

Leon knew that Seth’s mouth would once again retort with a sarcastic comeback so with little warning or hesitation he swiftly turned his back on his recently declared captain and hurriedly left the room with only Seth’s inaudible sigh as the reply he predicted.

Leaving the room to Seth’s own narcissistic opinion seem to be an act of writing him off, it wasn’t worth the time to argue his stance on what a team is. Because deep down nothing would change him. That although Leon’s words may have rung some chimes inside of his mind, Seth would tomorrow lift his head from his pillow and remember none but his own words. It was a short-sighted view which didn’t demand much attention, but it worked for him. Maybe it’s his way of thinking that allowed him to win the title, against the same opponent Leon lost to. It was a hard sight to see, a golden piece of history locked behind a pompous disturbance, but maybe that would be what was required for a team effort. Holding Seth out like the meat on a string and guide the rest of the team to fight for the right to rip into the bloodied and fresh piece of meat.

It’s so crazy it might work, as it’s not like the rest of the team are of sound mind.

It was quite true though. Having both Dunn and Dunnwood on team Distortion really did epitomize the team name, both with uncontrollable split personalities and sadistic thoughts how could this team function?

The more Leon would dwell on this, the more it seemed right. Like the team wasn’t acting as a characteristic team, but they were following their team banner. To be distorted, mixed in attitudes, chained in falsification and spontaneously demonic, it was perfectly sought.

But did that mean Leon was out of place, that he was the odd one out, even Frost had his demons within. Maybe that’s why Leon was originally picked, while he fought despair and depression, he was perfect for the team, but now he was seeing things for what they truly were.

Distorted…

While his mind had drifted into revelatory ideals, his feet had stridden him into the furthest corner of the backstage arena, darkened by its lack of attention and worthlessness the location was perfect for the essence of hatred. Now regained in thought and regrouped in body, Leon would stand motionless, almost as an invitation for the darkness presence to take hold once more, to once again leech into a living body. But it wasn’t waiting for the darkness to take hold that stopped Leon still; it was the faint muttering of another being close by.

With his movement halted and his body still, he begun to sharpen his hearing, trying to pinpoint the location of the sound.

???: Nine…Three…Two…Four…One…

The murmurings were numbers, in no order and in no timely manner, sounding as if they were compulsively and convulsingly spoken.

???: Nine…Six…Three…Six…One…Three

The numbers would continue to utter through the darkened end of the backstage arena, yet the more Leon focused on the tone of voice, the more he realised where they were coming from and from whom.

???: Six…One…Two…Five…Three…Six…One

Stepping further into the darkness, Leon eventually came across the source of the noise, as there sitting amongst the pile of empty crates was none other than Jack Eastwood. The highly confusing and complex mind of formerly know Eastwood. With the characters of Eastwood, Dunnwood and Dunn within himself, every breath was cloaked in darkness. And every sideways glance having the magnitude of a death stare.

Leon: Ahh Eastwood?

A small chuckle escaped the lips of Dunnwood, whether amused at the sudden appearance of Leon or the fact that his mind was so twisted, it was simply his greeting.

Dunnwood: Glad to see the stench of ignorance and misplacement continues to follow you around.

An off guard reaction was all that Leon could muster to Dunnwood’s audible words. However hearing the tone of voice and the lack of his strong British accent, it had to be the personality of Dunn that had arisen.

Leon: What are you doing down here.

It was an obvious question to ask, why before one of the biggest matches of his career was he cloaking himself in darkness, why now would he hide to the darkest corner.

Dunnwood: You are so feeble minded Leon, unable to grasp what is truly the greater picture of this. But have no fear dear partner; Dunn will open your eyes.

The simple words of a sadistic man wanting to help a free-minded man was something to behold, that although Leon would not agree with Dunn over methods of clarity, each to his own, And for the body of Dunnwood, it meant the solitude of darkness and listening to what the shadows spoke of.

Leon: There is only one greater picture right now, and that’s this match. Now call it divine guidance or extreme luck, but it isn’t a co-incident that I come to a halt in the one location where you resides. So with your hatred aside, with your twisting of words and riddles, simply answer me this… Are you ready for this?

Again the nerving chuckle of Dunnwood echoes through the backstage area, giving little reassurance to Leon as he observed the sudden change in expression on Dunnwood’s face, almost as if the bone structure of his face had twisted around and revealed a new side.

Dunnwood: I think I migh’ be able to ‘elp ye.

The sudden expression shown in his face now made sense, it was Eastwood who now resided in the prominent position, facing Leon with a slightly sadistic smile crossing his lips.

Leon: Oh really, and what can you bring to the table, other than another move set and accent?

The words rolled off Leon’s tongue with almost a brashness to them, a note that Eastwood saw and allowed to fuel his anger.

Dunnwood: Ye don’ ken me Leon, ye ain’ me left leg, an’ I ain’ gonna spill for ye.

Leon: No I don’t know you, but right now I just need to settle with trusting you, is that even possible?

A fair comment by Leon as his words resonated within the mind of Dunnwood, almost as if taking it to suggestion in his entangled mind.

Dunnwood: Ye can trust me as much as ye could trust good ol’ Skyler. ‘Cause I wan’ t’is fer me, an’ ye’ll play t’e roll of the punchin bag, get ye nice ‘n tender.

Well at least he was ready to fight and wanting to win. Those aspects alone put him in a place of strength, amongst the confusion and uncertainty surrounding him. However at no stretch of imagination, Dunnwood wouldn’t be there for the team or to defend the division. He wanted only his victory, his glory, his reign to begin.

Leon: Well if you’re just in it for yourself don’t ruin it for the team. I know you haven’t had the best track record with title matches or big matches for that matter, but know that when it gets tough, you’ll have 4 other guys there to back you up… We want you to win Jack, so let’s work as a team.

The words seemed to come straight from Leon’s heart as he poured a sense of comradery onto Dunnwood, although from a physical stand-point nothing would change, the firm and hate-filled expression continued unchanged, however deeper, past the different personalities, there was still a heart. And all that heart would need is one reason to start fighting and his level of commitment and strength would rise exponentially.

But until that would happen, until Dunnwood would step out of the darkened corners, he would be alone. No-one to hold, no-one but himself to truly interact with, maybe that’s why Dunn found it so easy to possess Eastwood, the depression of loneliness took all of Eastwood’s fight away. So that when Leon stared into the shadowed and corrupted eyes of his team member, he would be able to see a hint of something brighter past the shadows.

That Jack Eastwood would be free once again.



I am purely evil;
I long for pain and sorrow;
I fight for me;
I live for Destruction;
I am the cancer;
No laughter! No regret! No remorse!
I am Matt P Dunn…


I am purely faithful;
I long for salvation and repentance;
I fight for God;
I live for healing;
I am the cure;
Held in faith, hope & love;
I am Leon Caprice…

Yet together, we still have one purpose, as one team, to represent one division.

We are Team Distortion, pain will be delivered, only for true salvation to be sought.

I am the Cancer, I am the Healer, and truly this war has begun.




The rain-swept streets hid their true colors on that night, no longer bathed in the blood of battles once fought, they now looked strangely renewed, as if the rain had just washed it all away, all the history, everything that had transpired on those busy streets. On this night, as the rain pelted down upon everything in its sights, a man would be seen, walking beneath the sapphire blue lights, his entire body covered in shadows, disguising his identity.

The black attire the man was dressed in was entirely appropriate for the situation, as, the entire city was in silence, for the sorrow of the almighty father dampened the city’s activity. The lights were shaded in the darkness of the rain, giving little light for our figure to stay within, keeping his head down and body hunched over he continued forward. The city seemed drawn back in its enthusiasm, as its hero had been struck down. The women and children shed their tears for his motionless state, yet, at the same time, his state was only temporary, and little was known of how their hero was. Slowly the city was dying.

The darkened figure’s movements were fast, yet staggered, like a wounded wolf making his way back to the pack. But there was no pack, not anymore; he was alone in the world, for the hero had been injured and the rest of the pack disbanded as individuals. He would move quickly down the street, his feet splashing against the puddles upon the curb, while more rain pelted upon his back. His lungs, exploding, his breaths, labored, the man would come to a pause bending down and clutching at his chest, as if to concede, to give up, to merely drop down and let the worlds evils embrace him. But then, he would stand back up, shake the drops off his back and continue running into the night.

Leon: My entire life has been a marathon, in that I’ve always been running. Right now, I’m on my last legs, my strength has been drained and it looks as if the end is near, so, I write you this, I leave this story to you all. This is how the hero almost died.

For the last few days I’ve been running. I’ve confronted death, I’ve seen all the horrors the world can turn at you, I’ve had everything I’ve ever believed in be destroyed in front of my eyes.

Yet still, I run.

It’s like I’ve become some sort of divine joke to the powers that be, it’s as if they’ve implanted within me this inability to stop running, this inability to give up, and at the same time, they’ve piled boulders on top of me, just to see me crawl back out and ask for a second helping.

But now, they’ve hit me where it truly hurts, I’m being crushed, and I just can’t get out, not this time. This time, they didn’t hurt me, they hurt the hero, and now, they expect me to take his place.

To step up.

To grow up.

To be the New Hannibal Frost.

In a world, fuelled by the evil, I am expected to act as the beacon of light, a man, not deterred by mortal traps of lust and greed.

They expect me to act like the hero.

To be Enduringly Strong.

To be Entirely Sincere.

To be Eternally Steadfast.

To be the all sufficient Savior.

Until the hero finally returns and takes back what is rightfully his.



The final scene opens to the current state of Leon, thinking heavily about what is happening around him and who is struggling to realize themselves. The quickly fading shot captures the facial expression of Leon as he dwells over his final thoughts, as a narration of the promo rings through the scene.

Why should we care what anyone else thinks.

The scene flashes to the location of Matthew. P. Dunn, who gives nothing more than a darkened sadistic grin as the narration continues.

Shouldn’t we just look into our hearts and do whatever the hell makes us happy.

The next flash opens to Seth Omega resting within his locker room, grasping his new abandoned title with both hands as he purposefully looks down upon it.

Because when we do what makes us happy things have a way of working out.

The scene turns into the darkened location of Dunnwood, still located within the darkened area of the backstage arena, yet strangely seeming to have a lighter sense of evil, as if dwelling over his confrontation with Leon.

But it also occurs to us that you can have the best intentions but still fall back into old habits.

The final scene slowly fades into a shadowed hospital room, lightened by only a similar bedside lamp, however resting motionless was Hannibal Frost.

So I guess the real answer is there is no easy answer, you just have to go for it or not.

With the final narration echoing through the vision of the coma-induced Frost, the angle of the final shot tilts up to the face of the fallen hero, selling his current state to all the viewers, however as the scene would slowly fade to black, so would the eyelids of Hannibal Frost gradually rise, to the point that the final shot was that of a wide-eyed Hero.

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament[/color]



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament[/color]



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament
DAMN this was hard to choose from. Major props to David GS and Kaoru, and while I love Distortion to bits, I think Kaoru may have edged this one ever so slightly.

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle*

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament[/color]



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament
Need some more time for this bad boy

And they were driving down the highway in an August night that was soon to turn into September; the rains had come already and they were crying down hard on the street, coating everything – the street, the grass by the side of the road, the black Rolls-Royce Phantom and its clear windshield being furiously swept by wiper blades - in a damp sheen that glittered with the diffused light of the streetlamps. Suffice it to say, it was a dark and stormy night.

This car contained Romeo and Tiberius, who were carrying on a conversation, although one that was mostly on the latter now, as Romeo was slowly falling to the temptations of drowsiness.

“You have to take it seriously now, Tiberius,” Romeo said, speaking quietly as he kept his eyes shut. “The plan will push through anytime soon. You did well on Ammunition.”

“I still don’t know if I want to do this, boss,” Tiberius replied, keeping himself focused on his driving.

“What’s the problem? Money? I will give you a raise, as I promised,” Romeo continued, slightly slurring, not due to alcohol, but the heavy burden on his energy. “That is no object to me. I will need you more out there.”

“Not money, boss,” Tiberius answered. “I just don’t know if this… if this is me.”

“It is you,” Romeo told him. “When I was watching you lay Leviticus out, I saw that it was you just fine. You fit it very well.”

“I don’t know.”

“And we’ll need every weapon we can use in war.”

“Oh, I’ll be there. But I don’t know if I can do what you want me to do.”

“Just continue it, and the drive will take care… will take care of the rest.”

Tiberius looked over to Romeo, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. His elbow was on the window, and his head was leaning on it.

“Go to sleep, boss.”

Romeo just grunted softly. Tiberius drove the car fast, and the driver cared not for the danger which presented from the state of the road they were driving on. His passenger, though, did.

“Slow down, Tiberius,” Romeo cautioned Tiberius, his lieutenant, enforcer, bodyguard, sidekick, and now driver, speaking in a heavily sleepy haze. “It’s raining.”

“I know what I’m doing, boss,” Tiberius answered, without taking his eyes off of the road, as if he can see much through the heavy rain anyway. “Go to sleep.”

“Very well,” Romeo mumbled, letting himself drift away again.

The two were on their way back to Romeo’s estate in rural New York, the same house which he had seized from one of Irish mob’s bosses. Tiberius had on the radio a local station that was playing some quiet storm at this hour, and even though the genre was naturally quiet and soothing, Tiberius kept the volume dial low just in case Romeo could hear the music through his sleep and find that he didn’t like it.

The road was quiet at this time of the night, save for the sound of the rain beating down heavily, and that gave Tiberius enough license to drive the car as though he were racing at Indianapolis. He had been driving miles without anyone in his way, so he was certainly surprised when two headlights suddenly appeared from behind the wet haze.

Tiberius had been conquering both lanes, and he was taken by surprise at the truck’s sudden emergence on its proper lane. He swerved to the right, and he was able to clear the honking truck just fine, but the car spun on itself in the middle of the road. As the car skidded to a brake so that Tiberius can maneuver it and continue to drive on (a little more carefully this time), he let out a small sigh of relief and looked to his side, where his boss was, strangely, still sound asleep. They were, for the moment, safe from harm.

However, another blaring horn brought them back to reality, and another truck, coming from the same direction they were traveling, crashed into the car on Romeo’s side.

Romeo never saw it coming, nor did he ever feel it happen, for he was still lost in the seas and waves of sleep.


Romeo awoke, but not in the middle of the road in the rain where the accident was. Nowhere near it, in fact. He was actually safe in a warm, white bed, not completely all right, however, but very heavily bandaged. There was pain in his entire body, but he knew he’d taken worse inside and just outside of a wrestling ring. He was lucid, he quickly processed his surroundings, but he did not know what it was or where it was or why he was there, lying in pain. He felt like he was being born again. His mind was blank. He had his memory, he knew who he was and what he did for a living, but he simply did not know.

“Where… where am I?” he said to no one in particular. And that no one managed to answer back.

“You’re in the hospital, silly,” a voice suddenly says from beside him. He was shocked, for he never expected a reply because there was no one else in the room, or so he thought. “Can’t you tell?”

Romeo looks in the direction of the voice, to find Michael James, reading a newspaper, much to his shock. Romeo can hardly believe it, for Michael James has been dead for quite some time now. He couldn’t bring himself to speak his name, in utter disbelief.

“Look at this! A cop holding a tourist bus hostage!” he said. “What is the world coming to, Romes?”

Romeo finally managed to blurt something out amidst his shock. “M…Michael?”

He looked up from the newspaper. “Oh, good, you still remember my name.”

“What… what’s going on? What happened… what happened to me? Where’s Tiberius?”

Michael went back to his newspaper. “Your monkey? He was driving like an idiot and he crashed the car. Or, rather, a truck crashed into your side of the car. You’re lucky you can talk. Much luckier than Tiberius.” He spoke the name as though he ate something bad.

“…What?”

Michael sighed, and closed the newspaper. “Tiberius is dead, Romeo. Just like me.” He gave off a little chuckle after the last phrase.

“But… how?”

“It was an accident. He died. Plain and simple,” Michael said. “Oh, since you’re talking to me and I’m dead, I guess you want to see him?”

“No… no… I’m hallucinating…”

“Maybe you are,” Michael said, walking over to the foot of the hospital bed. “Or maybe you’re not. Why don’t we check?”

Michael reached down and grabbed Romeo’s foot. The phantom touch was cold to the skin, and Romeo reflexively drew his foot back.

“So, does that feel like a hallucination?” Michael asked, mockingly.

“But… why? What…”

“What am I doing here?” Michael finished. “I dunno, it’s been a while since we last saw each other, right? I think it’s been a year, or so? Besides, I died in this hospital, and you’re here, thought it was kinda like the stars aligning, so here I am…”

“Please, Mike, stop fooling around.”

Another voice suddenly cut in, but this time from the other side of Romeo. Romeo strained to look up in his position, and he saw who the new visitor was. This time, however, he wasn’t that shocked.

“Aw, come on, Rob, I was just having fun with him,” Michael said. “Look at him – look at him! He’s shaken. I couldn’t resist fucking around!”

“R-Robert…” Romeo stammered, weakly. After talking with Michael, he was not at all shocked to see Robert Pearson standing before him now – in fact, he had expected it. Michael and Robert were somewhat inseparable.

“Hello, Romeo,” he greeted, as though they were merely meeting at a restaurant for lunch. “It has been a while.”

“Tell me… what… what’s going on?”

“Mike has already said it, didn’t he?” Robert said. “You got into an accident. Your Tiberius is dead.”

“Am I…?”

“Going to die?” Michael finished, again. “Weeell, your chances aren’t really good…”

“Enough, Mike, let me handle this,” Robert chastised him. “Romeo, we can’t tell you exactly why all of this is happening. Not yet.”

“Oh, and don’t be expecting us to call you ‘boss’,” Michael added. “Since we’re dead and all, we no longer work for you.”

Romeo did not answer. He just closed his eyes, because of the pain of his injuries and the suddenness of all of this – this accident he never saw nor felt, and these two ghosts suddenly appearing and talking to him, playing with his psyche. Was he going insane? He was sure these two were just figments of the imagination. Perhaps if I sleep now, he thought, I’ll wake up and these two will be-

“That’s right, just close your eyes,” Robert said, cutting into Romeo’s train of thought. For some reason, Romeo had a feeling that the both of them could decipher what he was thinking.

“You’re not going to sleep,” Michael said, vaguely confirming that he can see into Romeo’s thoughts. “And when you open your eyes again, we’ll still be here.” That confirmed it.

And then Romeo could do nothing but surrender his consciousness and sanity in the ethereal hands of these two apparitions – so he closed his eyes.


Romeo opened his eyes, and he saw that they were peering through a window from the outside. His pain wasn’t there, for some reason. He can see a team of people dressed in white – white shirts, white pants, and white latex gloves on their hands. They were all huddled in the middle, where they were furiously working on a man lying down on a stretcher. It took Romeo a few more moments to realize what he was looking at; those in white were EMTs, and the man they were working so hard to save was none other than Tiberius.

“Tiberius…”

And then he realized that he was looking through the window of a moving ambulance. How was this possible? How did he get there? How, where-

“We’re here,” Michael said. “Do you see what’s happening?”

“Yes,” Romeo answered quietly.

“Tiberius is dying,” Mike continued. “They’re trying to save him, but they can’t.”

“Well, thank you for the play-by-play, John,” Robert answered suddenly. “We can see that.”

“Go to hell,” Mike told him. “See what I did there?”

“Very classy.”

Romeo did not answer nor even pay attention to the two partners’ bickering. He was fixed on the paramedics’ attempt to save Tiberius. They were charging the defibrillators, and pumping shocks of electricity into his heart. Nothing worked. The heart meter was still flat and beeping, without even the smallest spike to indicate some sign of life still left floating within the big man’s husk, no matter how many volts were injected into Tiberius.

In his fixation on the scene, Romeo did not notice that Mike and Robert had stopped arguing.

“Romeo,” Robert began. Romeo did not answer, but looked up – a sign that he was listening. “What did you do when we died?”

Romeo looked into the distance, before looking down. “I… I don’t remember.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mike quietly said. Robert thrown him a look which he never saw.

“Tell me,” Robert continued, looking back through the window. The paramedics have ceased their futile efforts to save Tiberius. One of them was looking at his watch while saying something, a sound which the window has blocked. “Did you ever consider us as… your friends? I know we were all associates and allies, but…”

Romeo did not answer immediately. He didn’t even look at them; he was still looking through the window, but he was not watching what was going on inside.

“I… I don’t know either.”

Mike didn’t say anything, but there was a glint in his eyes that seemed to express that he was right in something.

“Then there isn’t anything left to say,” Robert said.

Romeo then looked at them, beside him. “I’m sorry to change the topic, but tell me something,” he said. “Do you know what’s really happened here?”

“What do you want to know?” Mike asked, with the slightest hint of venom in his voice that may have gone over Romeo’s head.

“Is this all… real? Is Tiberius… really dead?”

“Why?” Mike answered. “Don’t you trust what you see?”

“How can this be real?” Romeo retorted. “We’re looking in on a moving ambulance.”

“So what, we’ve spirited you away from your hospital bed,” Mike said, “and shown you what happened while you were out cold. Trust me, the means may not be real in the physical sense, but you can’t prove that it didn’t happen. Especially when we bring you back to the real time.”

Romeo could not answer. Somewhere in his logical mind he knew that that made zero sense at all, but the grief in his heart, the confusion in his mind, and the pain in his body that he knew he should be feeling right now have blocked all but the most basic sense of rationality in Romeo’s thinking. He was convinced, but barely.

And all of a sudden Romeo felt faint, even though he knew he was in some sort of ethereal form. But he felt faint anyway, and he took a moment to close and rest his eyes, to recoup his strength. However, he would never realize it, but he would not open them the moment after.


The first thing he was aware of was the pain; it had come back, coursing through his veins, making itself known again. Where was he now? His own body, he presumed. Romeo opened his eyes, and again he sees the drab walls of the hospital.

And he was feeling the pain from his injuries, and he felt he needed somebody to talk to. He looked around as much as he can, but his phantom companions were not there.

“Looking for someone?” says a voice from nowhere in particular. It was not Michael’s nor Robert’s.

“Wha... where are you?”

“Right here, Romeo,” said the voice. A figure had just appeared at Romeo’s bedside. Romeo looked over at his new visitor. Again he was surprised not at the appearance of the apparition, but its identity.

“You...!” Romeo said weakly.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it, Romeo?” Vengeance said, standing over Romeo and looking down at him. “My, my... you have changed so much.” Romeo’s old ally did not appear as he had died; beaten, battered and bloodied in the ring. He was still wearing his trademark red mask, but with normal clothes on.

“What... what do you want from me...”

Vengeance strode over to the foot of the bed. “It’s not what you can do for me, Romeo, I’m no longer of this world,” he said. “It’s what I can do for you.”

“What...”

Vengeance pulled a chair from the wall that Romeo was sure that it wasn’t there before, or maybe it was the morphine acting up, and sat on it.

“You’ve had quite a night, old friend,” Vengeance said. “What have you learned from your short time with Michael and Robert?”

“Nothing,” Romeo said, eyes closed. “I learned that Tiberius is dead. That’s it.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“I... don’t know...”

“Does it make you feel powerless? Emasculated? Weak?”

“I don’t know...”

“Of course you know, but you’re not going to tell me. You can make excuses about being delirious, but I know.”

“No...”

“Your newest ally is dead and gone, Romeo. Have you noticed a trend? Michael. Robert. Me. And now, your Tiberius. All dead. Tell me, where were you coming from earlier?”

Romeo strained to recall. “A... a friend... a gunsmith...”

“See,” Vengeance said, sitting straight. “War.”

“What...”

“War. We were all casualties of war, Romeo. All your allies,” Vengeance said, without emotion. “I was killed by the Cancer. Your Pistols were killed by HavOc.”

“No...” Romeo said. “Tiberius didn’t die like that... it was an accident...”

“An accident that would never have happened if you didn’t go out shopping for guns,” Vengeance answered.

“And... you fought Original Sin with me...” Romeo argued. “And the Pistols fought HavOc on their own...”

“Does it matter whether we willed to fight or not?” Vengeance said. “All that matters is that we died in war. All your allies. And now... you are powerless without us.”

“...Powerless?”

“We have always been the true source of your strength,” Vengeance said. “Have you ever asked yourself why you always surround yourself with peers in that ring? The Resistance... the Silver Pistols... the Broken Saints... Tiberius. You have no innate power, Romeo.”

“...No! That’s a lie!”

“Without us, you could have never achieved your success, for we are the reinforcements that you have always needed, not just in action, but in spirit and in support,” Vengeance said, leaning forward from his seat. “And you have wasted all our efforts, by choosing to wage war.”

“...No! You... you fought on your own will!”

“And you never saved us,” Vengeance continued. “We all went to war by our own accord, but you were never there to save us. Not me, not Michael nor Robert, and not Tiberius. You never saved us.”

“...No... I tried... I tried to save you! You... you know that!”

“You were never strong enough to save me that night,” Vengeance said. “And you never cared to save your Pistols. You never cared. You knew they were going to die, but you were not there for them.”

“But... they couldn’t have been... no! None of this... none of it is my fault!”

“And now you were unconscious to guide Tiberius. Look what has happened.”

“But... but... no!”

“And now we are all gone, and you are powerless once more. Perhaps you may die soon, perhaps not. But know this... unless you change, Romeo Vizzini... unless you stop playing your games... you will die alone.”

“But none of it... is my fault! ...I couldn’t save any of you! ...I tried!”

But it was as though Vengeance never heard Romeo’s words. “Do you want to know a secret, Romeo?”

“...Wha... what?”

Vengeance stood up, and leaned over, his hands on the bed.

“It’s time to wake up.”


Romeo awoke with a start, completely taken by surprise at the warmth. He was in the car again, it was still running down the road, and it was still raining. Most importantly, Tiberius was still beside him, driving. In his utter shock, Romeo was panting and sweating, despite being in a well-ventilated vehicle in a rather cold and rainy early autumn night. Tiberius, ever observant, noticed this.

“What’s wrong, boss?” he asked. “Nightmare?”

It took Romeo a few moments to catch his breath. “Oh, oh, God,” he panted. “You- you’re still alive.”

“What? Of course I am,” Tiberius replied. “Relax, boss, looks like you had a nightmare. Here, drink.” He reached in the backseat without looking to open a compartment in the middle, which also doubled as a cooler, and pulled out a cold bottle of mineral water. Romeo took it and drank steadily for a few seconds.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Tiberius said, returning to concentrate on the road.

Romeo took a few seconds. “No,” he finally said. “It’s nothing.”

Tiberius gave a little shrug. “All right, then. But I guess you probably don’t wanna go back to sleep just yet, huh.”

“Perhaps,” Romeo answered. “I’m fine. Continue driving. And be careful.”

“All right, boss.”

“How far along are we?”

“We’ll be home in 30 minutes, tops.”

“Very well,” Romeo said. “There’s no need to rush.”

“Noted.”

And Romeo looked out the window, trying to make sense of the evening countryside lit by the orange streetlights through the drops of water that covered the glass. He was also trying to make sense of what he had seen that evening in what was apparently his own subconscious. He spent the rest of the night trying to both justify it as more than just a dream or a vision, and to debunk it as well, so as to not seem foolish in attempting to place much weight on what he had seen in a dimension that isn’t exactly reality.

But the question was, however, how was he so sure that it wasn’t real? How was he so sure that the ghosts he had talked to were not just figments of his own subconscious, or conscience?

Eventually, though, he had to rid himself of the debate in his mind. There were other things to prepare for. Deep within himself, Romeo apologized to Vengeance’s spirit.

He must go to war. If at least for the very last time.

-FMW presents Catalyst LIVE from Chicago, Illinois-
Tonight's Card:

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *
* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament
For so long I thought I was gonna go with Mike, but then Axel just knocked this one outta the park in my opinion. Great work Axel.


No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament
I know Kaoru will more than likely get the win, but I at least wanted to give myself a fighting change because I put a lot of work into this one.

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)
I am totally loving how things are playing out between the two of them, but I still don't think the prissy chick is gonna beat Leviticus.

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

A blue-gray haze appears on screen, just the bottom half, a fibrous fuzzy blur. Focusing, the image is define as the plushness of a luxury bathmat, at a hotel suite, the logo monogrammed in gold and unintelligible in profile. The shot tracks along the floor to show the blurry figure of a man's face, unshaven and streaked with red, as the first strains of the song begins to play.

say hello to the rug's topography
it holds quite a lot of interest with your face down on it

The man's face comes into the field of view, the sunken, drawn and darkened face of John Derrick. One eye opens, red, bleary and dehydrated. His hand reaches up onto the counter next to him, searching for a point to grip on, he feels around until he gets to a glass tumbler, feels the bottom is dry and moves on. It comes upon a bottle, with a white label and the name of some long-dead moonshiner. He pulls it off and rolls over, trying to pour the contents into his mouth, but nothing comes out.

say hello to the shrinking in your head
you cant see it but you know its there, so don't neglect it

Another hotel room, another time and Skyler Striker walks in, with a woman he's made no promises to, the same he's had for weeks now. White cocktail dress and silk stalkings to match, and he walks in after her. He takes a detour to the bathroom, inside he finds a graveyard of clear orange fallen soldiers, white labels and caps as the uniform. Only a single one as a few white pills inside.

I'm taking her home with me, all dressed in white
she's got everything i need; pharmacy keys

Back in the room, she sits on the edge of the bed, watching the door with a confused look of longing, concern and excitement. She pulls on the garter, tight on the supple flesh of her thighs. He comes out the door with a change in his gait and a loss of focus in his eyes, both looking numb and out of place. A lie.

she's fallen hard for me; i can see it in her eyes
she acts just like a nurse with all the other guys

Across the hall, or across the town in a suite much nicer and yet strangely stark, nothing much out of place but a pile of photos and papers on the floor. Pictures of Faith McKenzie being rifled through, in her youth and as the Faith of pictures grows in a punctuated, stuttering timelapse, her father Billy, looking very much like the TyranT looks on dispassionately.

say hello to all the apples on the ground
they were once in your eyes but you sneezed them out while sleeping

In some other time and place, a woman is asleep next to a pair of bassinets, the young siblings slumbering fitfully. Tears roll down from the woman's eyes subconsciously, the blind Leah Striker still retaining that function for her impaired organ.

say hello to everything you've left behind
its even more a part of your life now that you cant touch it

The real Faith walks down the hall of the venue she just conquered her mentor, wearing a white T-shirt , stained with blood that isn't her own. She looks on as her... the wordless Faith wouldn't be able come up with word for their relationship if she chose to speak, unflinchingly has a massive gash on his head sown up. The wound her father gave him, and as he looks up he a coldness is in his gaze that hadn't been there before, but looks down as if he's caught in a memory.

I'm taking her home with me, all dressed in white
she's got everything i need; some pills in a little cup

The next transition is abrupt, the visuals turn from professional to degraded, amateur and timestamped, raw footage from a VHS. A woman in a white lab-coat comes in, feeling her way with a long cane, as man, face obscured by the layout of the shot, seemingly deliberately fidgets as she walks in.

she's fallen hard for me; I can see it in her eyes
she acts just like a nurse with all the other guys

Back in the present, as John Derrick looks up at Faith, and there is silence, deliberate on both accounts. Across town and across time, her father looks down at the discarded collage, and lights a match, just staring at the flame. Skyler Striker sits on the end of bed, rubbing his injured arm, expecting to feel something. Leah, in another room, missing his touch, is holding the tiny hands of her children.

she's got everything I need; pharmacy keys
she acts just like a nurse with all the other guys

In the moments after 11.3, Doc and Faith lock eyes, and he looks he has something to say, and as he stands up, his knees buckle and he falls to the ground.


But he doesn't land on cold concrete of the corridor, but the plush, luxury bathmat, as the last word of the song fade like regret in a drunken haze.

say hello to the rug's topography

Staying in the present, just after the show, and Doc collects himself to stand up. Faith offers a hand up but pride or something more selfish keeps him from accepting. She needs no words to express her concern about him, it's written on her face with words that speak loud enough. Not because of the severity of the wound on his forehead or the glaze over his eyes, but the deadness of his smile. The slow easy smile that stirred in her a vulnerability that only he'd seen, but now it was gone, his face gray and hale like a headstone. What happened to him this night stole something that she was just beginning to value.

She reaches out to touch his shoulder, to give him some closeness, to let him know that she hurt for him too, but she hesitates, it's not something she's even had any comfort with. The debt she owed him, compelled her on, her hand landing softly on his bruised arm. He winces. Not just from the pain, but the intimacy was unwelcome as grabs her wrist, but doesn't throw it off. He looks at her, with eyes that didn't burn with his usual fire, but smouldered with an old pain resurrected. He speaks slowly, and deliberately.

Doc: What do you want from me?

The look on her face showed that this was the last thing she expected him to say.

Faith: …

Doc: I mean it. What are you trying to get out of this? I can't...

Faith: ...

Doc: Is it all about him? Am I just something you found to get over your issues with him?

She looks at him shocked at his sudden brutal directness, his charm is gone, his voice the sound of a wounded old dog.

Faith: ...

He turns away from her, and stands up on weak knees, that only pride keeps up, from behind on his bare torso, the zipper of an only month's old scar traces the bottom of spine.

Doc: I don't know why I did it either. Maybe I am just an old bastard, and I did to get in your old man's head, or may I can't help to fix every broken wing and every thorn in a paw. I just... I just... I am so fucking sick of this!

Suddenly he kicks the chair from where he'd been sitting, the act of sudden violence puts a look a concern, that masks real fear on Faith's face.

Doc: I'm fucking tired of this, somehow I become the dumping ground for everyone's emotional garbage! Most of the time it's my own damn fault, but what about me attracts everyone's hurt feelings and Daddy issues? People don't like the system, they point at me; then expect to fucking fix it when they can't; people can't live up to their responsibilities and I've gotta fix them, I got to teach them how be decent then they resent me for my imperfections, like I claimed to be a fucking Saint, unlike half the goddamn roster! Why do have to be the reservoir the all the gunk and grime of their souls?

Anytime I try to reach out all I get left with is the god damned check.

Faith looks at him with pale shell-shocked face.

Faith: …

Doc: …

What.. do... you... WANT FROM ME? Lady, you don't come with fucking subtitles, you gotta give me something, for chrissakes! WHAT IS IT!?

She looks at him in horror, then twinges in hurt rage, before wheeling a blow to his wounded forehead, busting the stitches. The sting of the blow keeps him from seeing the look of immediate regret and worry on her face, but as he lifts his head up she can't stand to find out his reaction and she walks off quickly turning into a run. On his face, however isn't a hint of anger but a look of resigned sadness of a man confronted with an inevitable ugly truth, the conscious dreamer who left behind the beautiful dream for the horrible truth. He collapses into a seated position and looks at his bag, he unzips it, and looks rifles through the bag to find a bottle of Jim Beam. A cheap bottle to use in a spot, a prop, nothing more.

He twists off the cap, and pours the burning amber liquid down his throat. Focusing on the label, the camera fades into the present. The bottle lies empty, at his side now on the floor of his hotel suite. He pulls himself up to the counter and looks in the mirror. The wound on his forehead, opened by Bill McKenzie and reopened by his daughter drips blood down his face. He runs warm water and wipes it clean, disinfecting it with the only unconsumed alcohol in the vicinity, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some swabs. He bandages it with gauze and looks down at the small clock radio on the counter. Only 12:30 am.

He stares at the himself reflected to compose himself, and hides with wound with his Stetson and gets dressed. The man carries a fifth like most carry a light beer as he leaves the hotel.

It resumes at a some nameless place that'd claim the distinction of “dive” as a badge of honor and marked improvement. He bellies up to the bar, and without words points at bottle of conspicuously expensive The Glenlivet Archive 21. The barkeep goes to open the bottle with a spotted glass tumbler, but is stopped by Doc.

Doc: No. The Bottle. And clean the fucking glass.

He drops three of Franklin's portraits and goes and finds himself a dimly lit booth, as the song Neon Moon plays in the background. At the bar, a waitress picks up a tray with the bottle, glass and a pitcher of water, when a woman dressed sharply in a tailored blue-gray skirt suit, stops her. She hands the barkeep and the waitress a few more green faces of dead patriots.

“And another clean glass.”

She takes the tray to the despondent contender and sits down with him. It's the woman, Elanor Carmichael who just a mere six weeks ago found a foundering John Derrick in his home town of Phoenix. The woman who started all of this in motion, a fact that registers on his face only briefly before he just derisively grunts at her.

Doc: Will you be my server this evening?

Elanor: No, Mr. Derrick, it's me Elanor...

Doc: …Carmichael, yeah, I know. Don't condescend to me, and know that “Elanor Carmichael” is as real as “John Derrick”.

Elanor: Fine then, Jonah.

The use of his birth name elicits little more than a narrowing of his eyes as he stares at the still empty glass.

Doc: Are you going to pour or what?

Elanor: In a minute. So the use of that name doesn't surprise you?

Doc: Nothing surprises me. Hell, it ain't like it's a secret. A person like you'd have to know that much.

Elanor: Like me? And what do you think I'm like?

Doc: Connected. Manipulative. Corporate. Whatever. I knew you weren't who you said when I got a title shot booked without a single match. It's more the labyrinthine power games that plague this fucking place. Thanks, though for making me a target.

Elanor: You're right on two of the three, I'm afraid. Sorry, for the manipulations, but it's not time for you to know the whole story, you have your own narratives to close.

Doc: And what's that story?

She undoes the seal of the bottle; and pours them both a glass and pours a little water into each. She lifts the glass to her nose, and breathes in.

Elanor: What do you know about entomology? The study of insects. A fascinating field of biology, perhaps the most diverse of all Animalia, of particular interest to me is the sub-order Apocrita. Do you know what I'm talking about.

Doc just sips from his drink.

Elanor: Ants. Bees. Hornets. Wasps. The most fascinating are the Parasitoid Wasps, there are many species that developed this particular adaption. The female, laden with eggs will hunt, stun and implant it's clutch in the nervous system of another species larva, say a Caterpillar. The eggs will take over the mind of the larva, force it to eat and keep it from metamorphosing, when the eggs are ready they hatch and eat the host larva.

Doc: I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with anything? Some sort of allegory for addiction, some pep-talk to get me to beat some sense to Skyler or what?

Elanor: Since you brought it up, why haven't you gone to see your God-children?

Doc: Don't change the subject.

This time she dismissively focuses on her drink.

Elanor: I'm sorry you don't get to play it that way, you realize that you are the only one that is asking question you don't already know the answer to.

Clearly out maneuvered Doc looks down at his drink again.

Doc: I don't think I can help him. I don't think I can help anyone, and I'm tired of everyone leaning on me. I look at them, and I see clearly what is at stake if I can't fix this. Hell, why is always my responsibility?

Elanor: Don't deflect, you're better than that.
Doc: Fine! I know it's my fault! All of it! I change my name, become a new person leave everything that bastard did to me behind, but in the end I'll be just as bad as he is. I introduced him to Leah, they never would've met if it weren't for me, I have a hand in bringing them into the world, and I see them headed into a hell as bad as I came from. I see them with a Father that is going become a monster just like him, like that old bastard. And Faith... all I did is make a bad situation worse.

John Derrick? He never existed. He's a lie, a fable I created so I didn't have to live a fucked up kid, it doesn't matter how many lives I live, how many families I make, how many jobs, identities, purposes for being I write, the story ends in misery. The are no second acts, what is done is done and no new life can change that. I bring nothing but pain, and I can't do it anymore.

Hell, I'm no damn better than Skyler. I'm an alcoholic, do you know why? I'm allergic to Codeine. I was born unable to process opiates. I can't take narcotics, but I have to find a way to manage the pain. I'm just as pathetic. He's right, I don't even know what he is going through, I can name off chemical receptors and terms, but I have no idea what is happening to him. It's why I got off with being beaten and drowned by the Old Man, and my brother became a lab rat. All this hedonism, every indulgence it's the same damn thing, I escape into endorphins and adrenaline. I just find mine in a bottle and a bedsheet.

The words almost well into his eyes, but he winces and composes him self, swallow the black ball of pitch and bile again. Many seconds of long silence go by as the woman looks on him with real concern.

Elanor: No. It's not all your fault. You can't control how people act and react to you, and you never act out of malice. You take upon yourself to fix everything, because you care, you care about people. What happened to you, it gave you empathy; it should have made you a monster, but you are very special. Even what happened with Faith tonight was an act of kindness; you push people away because you can stand that people would suffer on your behalf.

It's not your fault. You don't have to bare it alone. The fact that you want is what makes you a good man. Don't ever doubt that. It's why you're the only who can do what we need done. You've never claimed you were a hero, which is what makes you one. Even Drew Michaels, who is by no means a bad person does what he does because he believes he has a special destiny. You know that you don't and that's far more special.

The unexpected warmth of this woman, whose true name he doesn't even know ring true in his ears, but no tears come, instead he begins to feel a resolution inside himself.

Doc: What is it that I'm supposed to do?

Elanor: What you've always done, what you believe is right, what you came here to do. So, what is that you need to do?

Doc: I've got to stop Skyler. I've got to defeat TyranT. I came here to be a champion, I've got to...

He begins to feel dizziness, and his vision blurs.

Elanor: First, you have to sleep.

Doc: Wait... how I do find you again...?

Elanor: I gave you my card. When you look upon it, in the clear light of reason, you'll know how to find me.

Doc slumps over on the bar. His head fills with dreams he'll never recall, other than a warmth and a feeling of peace that he hasn't know save for but a few times in his life. One he will remember vividly, the faces of people he's lost, for the first time looking on him with forgiveness.

He wakes up, in his own hotel room with a shockingly clear head, and a sense of real purpose for the first time since he stepped into mouth of Vesuvius the very first time. Between the fog of half remembered dreams and haze of a blackout he can hardly remember if what happened is real. Then recalls the card he was given months ago, by the mysterious woman. He notices a watermark.

“Obses Per Venia”

The white paper of the card, transition to the white of clouds racing in the background, the mid morning sun peering through the feathered edges. In his car a Dodge Charger convertible, Doc is cruising across the road. Even through his shades, his eyes project a sense of purpose that he'd been missing for so long. In the open expanse of highway, he dials his phone.

Doc: Listen... Faith, I know you do the text thing for obvious reasons, but I want you to hear this with my voice. I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry and I wish I can take them back, but that's not how things work. I don't deserve the chance to explain myself, and I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't know exactly what we have, I'm not sure we can go back. I made my choice and I can live with; I want you to know that what I first told you remains true. No matter what, if you need me, I will be there for you, I promise. Maybe we can't be together, maybe we can't make that work, but I will never give up on you. I said you were my friend, and I never give up on a friend.

Doc drives off and into the horizon, the hours falling away from the sky until the night comes and under the same canopy of stars miles away he finds his destination. The Caprice home, where Leah Striker and her children as well as their half-sister stay. John Derrick, the man who gave his name to the boy child, and delivered the both of them, he has not seen their faces since that day one year past. He's come to accept his responsibilities, the only thing he can do.

He knocks on the door. On the other side is a woman, not Leah, but the now adolescent Jade Striker, who has grown so much, Doc can't help but smile.

Jade: John?

Doc: May I come in?

Jade: Sure, sure... we weren't expecting you. Why are you here?

Doc: I came to see them, I came to check in on you guys.

Jade: Well, I think she's trying to put them down, but I can get you some tea while you wait for Leah.

Doc: That'd be nice.

They come into the parlor, Jade goes into the kitchen and the shuffling of cups and the buzz and beeping of the microwave can be heard. In a few moments, she comes out with a coffee mug with a string dangling from the side, steam rising from the top. She hands him the cup.

Doc: How is she?

Jade: She's taken everything pretty hard, but she's never stopped being an amazing Mom.

Doc: I always knew she'd be.

Jade: How did you meet her, anyway?

Doc: Six years ago, she did her internship at the Hospital I worked at, she was specializing clinical Psychotherapist, so she needed she a rotation under a neurologist and neuropharmacologist, which was what I was; Asst. Chief of Neurology. Turns out she did more to help me...

Jade's eyes are downcast, looking into her on cup.

Jade: Is... my dad going to be okay?

Doc lets out a heavy sigh, and stands up putting his hand on her shoulder.

Doc: I wish I could tell you. I don't know, the only one who can make Skyler better, is Skyler. The truth is, that only the feeling of that bottom rushing towards you can force the choice. Some people choose to die for their disease. If any of your dad is still in him, then he'll choose life.

Jade: Is... it my fault? I... faked my own death to give him resolve, to make him stronger, now all he cares about is his strength, and he... is... I helped Leah...and....

John picks up her face by the chin and stares her in the eyes.

Doc: Don't blame yourself. Don't ever blame yourself, once you accept blame for other people's mistakes, you lose yourself. You can't control people's reactions to the choices you make, you can only make the choice that you think is right. Everything you've done has been out of love for your Dad, and there's nothing about that can make anything but a good person.

He hears the creaking of the floorboards under feet, and he looks up to see Leah standing the doorway with a weak smile on her face, face more lined with care than he'd ever known.

Leah: Hi Jonathan.

Doc: Hello, Leah. Are they asleep?

Leah. Yeah, but you can see them if you want.

He comes up to meet her, and she grabs his arm as they walk down the hall, to the nursery. In the darkened room, he sees the two young twins, April and Jonathan. They've grown so much since that night. He walks over silently and looks upon the two infants, swaddled, comfortable and in peace despite the turmoil of their first years. Slowly, he reaches into the crib, he brushes a few strands of hair from both their heads, April stirs a little while Jonathan reaches up, and grabs his pinky reflexively. Feeling the tiny, yet surprising strength of the boy, he suddenly is back seven years ago, on the night of his own son's birth. The power of the sudden connection to this boy, to his sister, almost knocks him back. He steps back out and into the hallway. Their mother stands in the hall, and he looks at her, with a sudden pity and guilt.

Doc: He's so strong.

Leah: Just like his namesake, and his dad. John... what am I going to do without him?

She falls into his chest, and he just lets the soft weeping pour into his chest for a few moments.

Doc: What you've seen, that's not him. It's the disease. It's wearing his skin and defiling his memory to keep itself alive. If there's a way to bring him back, I'll do anything in my power. I can't force him, though, he'll only resent you, me and everyone more.

Leah: … you're up to something. I can always tell when you're not telling the whole truth.

Doc: That you could. Do you still have the tapes? He needs to know the truth.

Suddenly a look of confusion and worry twists across her face. The shot pans towards the crib and we fade to black.

The screen fills with black, and the camera moves to reveal the darkness is the side of a baby Grand Piano in the hotel lobby, the luxury accommodations of Billy McKenzie. The man himself walks down the concierge desk. In the background the piano player stops for a moment and in silhouette the change in shifts. Suddenly the classical nocturne changes to the sound of another classic, the opening bars of “Let's Spend the Night Together”

My, My, My, My
Don't you worry 'bout what's on your mind (Oh my)
I'm in no hurry I can take my time (Oh my)
I'm going red and my tongue's getting tied (tongues's getting tied)
I'm off my head and my mouth's getting dry.
I'm high, But I try, try, try (Oh my)
I spent the night with Ty's daughter
Now I need her more than ever....

Suddenly the champion comes barrelling toward Doc, whose song is interrupted by the sound of the piano's cover slamming down. The man is snorting, breathing fire, his disdain for the player magnifies ten-fold when he sees John Derrick's easy smirk staring at him from the bench.

Doc: Take it you don't like my cover version.

TyranT: The hell ah' do, yer fixin' to taste mah' boot leather a few nights early, are yer?

Doc: Nope. I figure that that you've got enough motivation, beyond the fact that I defiled your daughter, you know sexually. I came to tell you, exactly why I'm gonna leave Catalyst with your belt. I

TyranT: Ah' ain't hearin' a reason ah' shouldn't cave yer teeth in.

Doc: You're not gonna. It ain't worth the effort, considering all you'll get is a suspension for ruining the main-even of PPV. Regardless of the facts vis a vis the status of mine and your precious baby girl's decision to let's just call it “make banana splits”.

…

You know, by fucking each other.

Billy McKenzie stares him down, his face red and his eyes boring a hole in Doc's forehead.

TyranT: Say that one mer' time, and Ah'll feed that belt to yer'.

Doc: See, now that's what I really wanted to ask you Billy, how can you be concerned with the pure image of your daughter, and use her as a pawn? Oh, no that, was you, uh, “protecting” her. My bad, but then it still doesn't make sense that you then try to torture her using me as a proxy? Maybe that's you just teaching her the importance of safe sex. Hell, I don't know. I can't guess as to what your purpose is but I can tell you this.

It doesn't matter anymore what you do. The truth is, you've been using her as an excuse to get to where you are now. Every sin, every immoral choice just pushed that conceit further from the reality of the situation. It was never about her, it's always been about you. Do you want to know why she's so broken inside, because every choice you made put the pressure of you decision on her. She's responsible in part for shit heel thing you've done. Put to the test, you bear out this hypothesis, by choosing that belt over her.

You're a coward, who needed an excuse to take the shortcut, and you put that on your own child. But a man, a real man; lives with his decisions, and takes the burden of choice on himself.

I can tell you for a fact, I'll be the only one in that ring come Catalyst, that can say that.

TyranT: If yer make it that fer'.

Before getting up from the piano, Doc pulls back his coat, revealing on his hip a Colt Peacemaker, Ivory handled, Nickel plated.

Doc: I ain't stupid, and Doc Holliday isn't my role model for nothing. Now, got any requests?

TyranT glares at him, and suddenly smiles, with the sudden recollection of the impending match up. As he walks away, Doc opens up the the piano again, plays the opening bars of “Let's Spend the Night Together”, which causes a hitch in TyranT's step. As the song plays the scene transitions to from the ebony wood to another kind of blackness.

The dark, still air of an empty hotel room is broken by the cracking of door and a sliver of light coming through. We return to the room of one Skyler Striker, as the man himself crosses the threshold. He wanders in, slightly hazy from his habit, when he see on the bed, a brown paper envelope. No name or marking on the outside, he looks in to see the contents, a VHS tape, to be specific an adapter for a mini-cam tape for a VHS player. He looks at the entertainment center to see a VHS player has been setup on the TV. The label only says Watch Me. A look of skepticism crosses his face before he puts the tape in.

The quality is mediocre, the date stamp has it at 2004 Dec. A man walks into an office, but his face cannot be seen, from behind and as he gets seated; a lamp deliberately placed obscures his features above the neck. His leg is in a brace, neck in collar and he walks with a cane and a pronounced limp. In comes a woman, and Skyler's heart must have jumped to see his estranged wife, much younger, dressed in scrubs and a lab coat, her hair done up in a bun. The man, his voice hoarse from the neck injury begins to speak.

Patient: I'm not sure what the point of this is. I was in a car accident, what's the point of the shrink sessions.

Leah: The arrogance of you internists and physicians is astounding. It doesn't matter how much science is done, how much the discoveries of our field benefit your own, you seem to look down on my field. Why is that?

Patient: The answer your trying to get out of me is that “I'm afraid that you'll uncover uncomfortable truth about my scarred psyche.” I hit a damned tree, I don't need feel-good platitudes to fix herniated discs and a broken femur.

The man shifts his weight uncomfortably, the leg seeming to bother him more as he talks.

Leah: That's one way to look at it. Another way is to say that you drove yourself into that glade on purpose. Yet another would be to point out that you had a few drinks as well. Not enough to impair your judgment but enough to muster the courage, or foolish determination to maim yourself, and that you had no reason to be in that part of the state, which was sparsely populated for the most part.

Patient: You still think that I was trying to kill myself? By wrecking my car? If I wanted to off myself, a trained Doctor, I know a thousand was more efficient and sure fire, that doesn't make sense. I guess I should expect that kind of specious reasoning from an intern.

Leah: You requested me, and Dr. Milligan approved of your request because he's your colleague, and because you are doing invaluable research for the hospital, it's my job to do my job, and that's to evaluate if your are mentally sound to return. Denigrate my abilities all you like, but it was your choice.

Patient: I did because I know I can't be pressured by someone just got their Doctorate. I did it because you'll be a pushover. You may be determined because your disabilities, but I think it just makes you more vulnerable under it all.

The man leans forward as he unleashes his venom, but the young doctor doesn't flinch.

Leah: I have an alternate theory. I think you're doing it because I remind you of Elena. I know that your wife was killed in an accident, that you promised to drive her to that appointment with the OB/GYN. I think that you intended to commit suicide as punishment, and that since you failed to die; I'm here to take her place, as to scold you for not being responsible for her.

I've talked to your friends and colleagues. They say the resemblance is striking, of course I wouldn't know, so I'll trust them. I think you want me to punish you somehow as a proxy. Well, I'm not going to do that; because I'm not going indulge your masochism. You're not that weak, so stop pretending like it.

What happened isn't your fault, but you have to come to terms with it, Jonathan.

The man stands up and can be seen clearly as a younger, cleaner shaver, short-cropped and clearly bruised John Derrick.

John: You don't know that. Why else I am the only one left?! Why did she leave me to try and survive? If it's not punishment from God, then what the hell else am I supposed to do.

Leah: You can start by giving me the flask in your jacket, and taking your rehabilitation seriously.

John: How did you...?

Leah: I could hear it hit your cane as you walked in. John, it doesn't matter how much you try and numb the pain, it's not going to go away, it's something you have to live with.

John: That sounds so much easier that it is.

He reaches into his pocket and hands her the flask, which she immediately throws it out the window.

John: Hey, that was a gift!

Leah: I promise to get you another when you get better.

She puts her hand on his face, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

John: What was that for?

Leah: You'll have to keep up the sessions to find out.

The video cuts off after that. Immediately after, a message appears on the screen.


Skyler looks perplexed as he turns the TV off, he sees that the time is 11:30. The camera pans out the window onto the stars, then down, as in the distance, twelve bells ring in the distance and we pan two the park mentioned in the video. On a bench, John Derrick sits leaning back on with his arms over the back. Skyler ambles into frame, looking on his old friend with a look of quizzical scorn..

Doc: Kick back, Sky, it's a lovely night.

Skyler: Tell me what the hell you want.

Doc: Just sit, kid.

Skyler: Fine, fine, we'll do it your way.

He sits next to him, far as he can on the bench.

Skyler: What the hell was that tape?

Doc: Since she's blind, Leah would tape the session and have her colleagues help to interpret body language.

Skyler: Why the hell did you show me that?

Doc: You need to know, why she matters to me personally. You need to know why I can't let anything come to harm her.

Skyler: So she was your therapist, who cares.

Doc: No, she's my friend, someone I owe a lot to. It's why you and her met, and you should understand that; the night you met, she had come to see me. She found you instead.

Skyler: Well, then I suppose this is all your fault after all.

Doc just snorts at his comment and looks out at the stars.

Doc: Did I ever tell you how my wife died?

Skyler: Some car accident. That you should've been driving, apparently.

Doc: I used to tell myself that, too. Until I met Leah, I suppose. No. She died because of complications in surgery. She was 27 weeks pregnant. The accident perforated her kidney, pancress, lung and liver. She was wrecked inside, but she might've stood a chance if the let the baby die. I can still remember her telling me, half drugged that she wanted the baby to live.

I couldn't defy he wishes. She bleed out, and my son was born via c-section. Unfortunately, his heart wasn't strong enough yet, and he died at three weeks old.

Skyler: Sad story, I'll just go and reconcile with that bitch and beg forgiveness for her trying to ruin my career, seriously, I'm crying here.

Doc: Yeah, I figured. I told you, because I want to let you know, I understand exactly how you feel. I loved my wife, more than anything and the thought of becoming a father scared the hell out of me. I'd rather have lived my whole life with just her. That wasn't her plan, so, well I did what she wanted. When the accident happened and she chose the baby, over living with me, I resented her so much. She chose to leave me, with my grief, and with a kid that every day would remind me of her. I was so angry with her, for choosing this kid, who was a stranger over me.

When I first saw him, I was still so mad, he was sickly and it was such a struggle on top of my life being destroyed, I almost wished he'd never had been. It changed when I first touched his hand, I knew that she didn't do this for her, that she loved our child more than me, she did because she loved him, and that becoming a father was really the only thing I wanted, what I really needed more than anything. I felt so unworthy of her.

I know what it feels like to feel betrayed by someone you love, but if they truly love you then they did it for you.

Skyler: That doesn't change anything, she tried to destroy everything I worked for! I don't care if she did it for me, it's my damn life.

Doc: No, it ain't just your life! That's what the fuck wrong with you! It ain't all about you! Why the hell are doing this, if you're going to live alone, it's all fucking meaningless then!

Skyler: That's bullshit, you of all people should know that, no one becomes champion other than selfish desire and drive! It's all about the gold, and the glory, it's all that mattered.

Doc: Let's examine that claim, let's look at the champions of this company, Ethan Black, insane murderer, Drew Michaels; life is a complete fucking mess, Eric Scorpio: retired at 29, Nick Bryson on as jihad against his family, Hostyle: wash out; Alex O'Rion; just now putting the pieces of his fucked up life back together. TyranT? Became champion at the expense of the only person in the world that he cared about, and the only person that cared about him!

And me? Do you want to know about me? I pour my life into this, everything I have only to lose it a month later, and it's fixed nothing. I'm still who I was before, the belt can't save you. If you put it before all else, all you'll find is that the your still the same fucked up person, and every day you live with you have done to get there. It doesn't fix the whatever hole inside you drove you to strive for it. If you aren't resolved with yourself when you win it, you'll eat yourself alive.

Skyler: So why do you want it now?

Doc: I ain't got nothing left to sacrifice for it. I've got nothing more to take. Which means if I fail, then I die, and everything I've been fades from memory. I got no other legacy, you have a chance to live a real life. You know, what happens between the moments that never come.

Skyler: I really don't care about your life lessons anymore. I'll make my own choices, and everyone who tries to get in my way will burn.

Doc stands up and pulls out his revolver.

Doc: Si usted no me puede entender, entonces no voy a hablar su idioma. Si usted viene cerca de ellos, te mataré, hijo de la chingada!

Skyler: What the fuck?!

Doc shoots just to the left of his head into a tree.

Skyler: You're fucking insane! What do you think I'm scared? You're not going to do it. This doesn't change anything.

Skyler gets up, pushing the gun barrel aside. Doc lets him get up and leave. He holsters the gun, and begins to walk away in the direction.

He gets down the way a few feet down the way, before he's confronted by Leah, who is with Jade who is just stunned at what happened.

Leah: Did you really think I'd not find out what you were doing with that tape? What have you done? You have no right to do this!

Doc: I don't have the right, but I have the responsibility.

She slaps him as hard she can, and Doc takes it without flinching, blood trickling from his lip as Leah walks away helped by her step-daughter.

Doc: Lady, you're wrong. It's is my burden, and I can take it alone.

Doc looks up at the stars, and unbeknownst to him the woman he speaks of “Elanor” can hear him, as she watches on a monitor, tapped into the camera system in the park. She sits at her computer, as a phone rings.

"Elanor": Hello. Yes, he's on the right track now.... I do not care for your insinuations, I've already lost Mark Saint on this operation, so I know what's at stake my personal connections do not comprise my decisions....

Does he know who I am?


….

No. Not yet.

She hangs up the phone and it cuts to black.

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford)

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Butters

Ripper

Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose

-

Cactus Sam

David GS

Leviticus (c)

TyranT (c)

Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood

-FMW presents Catalyst LIVE from Chicago, Illinois-
Tonight's Card:

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

-FMW presents Catalyst LIVE from Chicago, Illinois-
Tonight's Card:

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

-FMW presents Catalyst LIVE from Chicago, Illinois-
Tonight's Card:

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament


No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam
You're my hero here.

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament
I'll get back to this

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament
So close between Doc and TyranT...so close. Skyler I kinda feel let down

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Cactus Sam

Slegna

Leviticus

TyranT

Team Distortion

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle


Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto
MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose


* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament


No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam


Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament


Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament


MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

_________________

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters vs. Alistair Wolfe vs. Norman Riddle *

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Ripper vs. Alexander Crysto

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Team Ford (Matt Ford and Harrison Ford) vs. Mike Cage and Nicolas Cage vs. Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Mark Johansson vs. Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru vs. Slegnadamus vs. MASS Caesar vs. Christian Moore vs. Apathy vs. David GS
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament
So I had to re-read these promos and gosh, closer than I though. Slegna deserves a vote because not only did he show, but he put a great effort in, two things which alone deserve a win for him. DGS was late, but dude, he cracked a whip and produced a killer, definitely a close contender to win it if votes are close. Then there was Kaoru, definitely the best promo in terms of build up and dude you did that well, but I think he suffered by not mentioning the past promos in this for the wider audience to see the key parts, but as someone who has read them all, Kaoru deserves my vote.

Lastly to Moore, you seemed rushed and still opting for rather short promos, so if need be look me up on AIM and I can give you some direct feedback and hopefully give you some hints on what could get you higher.

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c) vs. Lady (w/ X and St. Michael Dreamkiller)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c) vs. Skyler Striker vs. John "Doc" Derrick
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin) vs. Team Corruption (Harley Quint, PX, The Celt, Nick Bryson, and Calvin X. Carter) vs. Team Distortion (Seth Omega, Hannibal Frost, Leon Caprice, Matt Dunn, and Dunnwood)
* Worth 10 points in the FMW Games Tournament
All I will say on this is that the people that showed did bring it, whether in quality or quantity (Damn you Bryson, hate being a slow reader). Anyway I don’t care who wins or loses this, its just great to see that there is still a quality being upheld and that by no means will this be the end of division rivalries.

(The scene opens to Dunnwood and his two other personalities standing on a makeshift rostrum at the back of the First Church, addressing both the entirety of his congregation and the several cameras that are dotted around the dilapidated building. He wears the robes of an art house director, on a rare occasion smiling.

”Ladies and gentlemen, it is both an honour and a privilege for we to welcome you to our hand-written production, the world premiere of Dunnwood – The Musical! Now, members of the congregation, for the past month you have been practising your vocalisation, acting skills and other miscellaneous dramatic-related activities. I thank you for your efforts and patience. Sadly, there can only be twenty-one roles in the production, so Matt, Jack and myself have each selected a rough shortlist of seven to nine of you to participate. Matt?”

”Thanks. I pick 36, 144, 181, 9, 81, 16 and 25.”

”And Jack?”

”Do I ‘ave to?”

”Jack, this is a project we agreed to work upon together. I know that you think that musicals are a waste of your time and largely... how do I put this?”

”They’re fuckin’ gay!”

”Even so. Just declare your numbers.”

”40... oh... 64, 3, 24, 196, 44, 149 an’ 64.”

”You said 64 twice.”

”I did?”

”Yep. Idiot.”

”In any case, Jack provided seven unique numbers and I have seven of mine own. They are... ninety-three, twenty-four, nineteen, sixty-three, six, one hundred and thirty-six, one hundred and twenty-five, thirty-six and one.”

”Dude.”

”Not cool.”

”Was it something I said?”

”I got 36.”

”I go’ 24!”

”One can only assume that the bleeding of our personalities led us to the same conclusion. That, and it tells us that thirty-six should play you, Matt, and you, Jack, should be portrayed by twenty-four.”

The twenty-one individuals make their way to the sides of the rostrum, unasked, and to the back of the curtain to get changed into their outfits.)


Standing on centre stage is one of the congregation players, dressed as Dunnwood. Flanking him stage right is another with the straight hair and thick facial hair of the former Jack Eastwood, and on the left is a white-hooded man portraying Matt Dunn. All three have microphones on headsets as the first song immediately starts up.


(The audience spark up into rapturous applause as the song dies down. Dunnwood – the real one, that is – leans across to Matt and whispers in his ear.

”How did you manage to get the place so organised?”

”Called up Tubby, told him we needed to discuss strategy and that he should get his fat arse down here. He crossed himself at the door like he did last time and it made him hallucinate and easy to manipulate. Then it was a simple case of getting him to wreck shop.”)

Dunnwood and Dunn leave the stage as Jack sits on the floor, cross-legged, like an obedient child. Two cast members, dressed as Jack’s parents, enter the stage and stand behind him, placing a hand on each shoulder and looking at him lovingly.


Jack’s parents leave the stage and a woman approaches, wrapping Eastwood in a delicate embrace. She kisses his neck and he smiles back at her, wordlessly. From the back three masked, hooded men come on, standing abreast of Jack. In one motion, they push back their robes, revealing Harlequin, Hannibal Frost and O’Rion. The spotlights swirl on them, though Jack’s voice can still be heard from the darkness.

It's something, alright? Sorry Seth, but I'm fucking knackered.
The music cuts suddenly. Dunn’s voice – the real, real Dunn – echoes around the room. Those followers loyal to Dunn collapse to the ground, heads writhing and bleeding.

Pre-Show:

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, #1 Contender to FMW Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Butters

Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion Triple Threat Match:
Jeff Whitt

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Corruption vs. Distortion, Celebrity Guest Triple Threat Tag Team Match:
Axel Van Osbourne and Axl Rose *

* Worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament



No Holds Barred:
Cactus Sam

Gold Card Gauntlet:
Kaoru
* Worth 3 points in the FMW Games Tournament

Light-Heavyweight Championship:
Leviticus (c)

FMW World Heavyweight Championship:
TyranT (c)
* Worth 5 points in the FMW Games Tournament

MAIN EVENT, War Games:
Team Ammunition (Drew Michaels, Romeo, Gabriel Crow, Alex O'Rion, and Chris Austin)

In the time since Alistair Wolfe's disappearance...

A dozen people are sitting around a long table. Most are men, with the exception of a few women. These are the most powerful vampires in the world. They don't trust each other particularly much, but they have come together to partake in discussions that concern the entire vampire world.

???: The time has come. We should no longer have to hide in the shadows, praying that we are not given away. We need to RISE UP, AND TAKE BACK THIS EARTH WE ONCE WALKED SO PROUDLY!!

Another vampire stands, and points a bony finger at the speaker.

???: You are a fool. Coexistence is possible. We can all be peaceful. No one has to fight.

Yet another vampire stands up, and addresses the group.

???: Are you both insane? Humanity can barely survive amongst themselves, revealing ourselves will only cause more problems. We need to stay hidden, it's all about survival, announcing our presence will lower our chances. The Weres do fine by themselves, as do the Mawji and the Rishi. Revealing ourselves would be suicide!

The entire tables breaks into a riot of shouting and fist shaking and finger pointing. Suddenly, someone clears their throat, and the entire table falls silent. The figure stands up, and looks every person at the table right in the eye before speaking.

Head Speaker: We will take a vote. Note, this vote and its result is final. If the answer is yes, then there will be no going back. All in favor of revealing our race to the human world, raise your hand.

A slew of hands goes up, and the speaker takes less then a minute to tally.

Head Speaker: Now, all in favor of remaining a hidden race, raise your hands.

Another slew of hands goes up, almost equal to the prior. The speaker again takes less then a minute to tally.

Head Speaker: We have... a tie.

The entire room erupts again, as voices attempt to shout over each other. As the fighting continues, a door creaks, and everyone falls silent as a solemn trio enter the room. The head speaker eyes them before speaking.

Head Speaker: Who are you?

The leader of the trio looks around, before removing the hood of his robe. The black, flowing hair of Alistair Wolfe appears in a wet scraggle.

Alistair: I am Alistair Wolfe, the leader of the south west. These are my Lieutenants, Rita and Riley. I am sorry for my tardiness.

Head Speaker: As you should be. We need you to break a tie in the vote.

Alistair: The vote TIED?

Head Speaker: Yes. Cast your vote now, it is almost daylight. Do you, or do you not, want to reveal our presence to humanity?

Alistair: ... ... Aye.

LOCKED. Thanks for participating!