FMW 12.1 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

Introduction - Noun
1. Explanatory section at beginning
2. Something giving basic facts

Good evening ladies and gentlemen. By now I am sure several of you are aware of who I am. However for the uninitiated, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Leviticus Gibbons. I am several things, a man of God, a competitor on the FMW television show Ammunition, a member of the Broken Saints, and the current FMW Light Heavyweight Champion. However, to the majority of FMW I am looked at as something else.

Joke -Noun
Something inadequate

The more time I spend here in FMW the more apparent it becomes to me just how many members of the locker room look at me. They don’t see me as a threat, or even a peer. No, they see me as some wannabe punk who isn’t even worthy of speaking to unless they are trying to beat me senseless in the ring or some other place.

Quote :

Corruption 11.2
Outside the ring Calvin X. Carter Irish whips Leviticus into the barrier.

Quote :

Corruption 11.2
X drags Leviticus through the hallway until he finds a table. With a look at Lady and a wink from his new associate, X chokeslams the Broken Saint through the table!

Quote :

Ammunition 11.3
Tiberius mounts the significantly smaller man and rains down blows of granite as Romeo surveys the damage. Tiberius snatches Levi to his feet, feints and Irish Whip and cuts him in half with a Short-Arm Spear!

In fact as evidenced by that last piece of footage even my own teammates look at me this way. That leads me to my next point.

Drew Michaels
Romeo
Seth Omega
Apostasy
Mark Johansson
Leviticus

These men make up the faction known as the Broken Saints. At least that is what people say. Let’s take a closer look though.

Drew Michaels - Our leader, and the visionary behind our mission. Upright and honorable in all he does. I hold nothing but respect for Drew and will gladly stand by him through any battle. I am proud to call him my Brother.

Apostasy - An enigma of an individual who seems to be just as loyal to Drew’s cause as I am. While I don’t know much of him personally Drew trusts him and that is good enough for me.

Mark Johansson - What was once here now is gone. Hopefully we will get the chance to stand together again in the future.

Romeo - Now this man is different than the others. He is an egomaniac who pursues no goals but his own. Drew sees him as a “necessary evil”. That’s the problem though; a necessary evil is still an evil. Romeo has somehow managed to pull the wool over the eyes of several people here in FMW with his charade of goodness and nobility. That isn’t what I see when I look at him though, I see a liar and a coward.

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Our scene opens on Leviticus sitting in the Broken Saints locker room in the United Center. Most of the others on the FMW roster have already left the arena; Leviticus though was still sitting there looking down at his Light Heavyweight Championship which was currently lying across his lap.

Leviticus: To think that there are people in this company who don’t want this here.

Leviticus shook his head and slung the belt up over his shoulder. As the leather and metal slapped down on his shoulder Leviticus couldn’t help but smile. He had been victorious out there tonight in the face of so much adversity. He had done himself, Ammunition, and the Broken Saints proud. Well most of them anyway. His smile faded in to a frown as his mind went back to the beat down he had suffered at the hands of Romeo’s assistant Tiberius Jefferson. It didn’t matter how many blows Tiberius landed, none of them hurt as much as the seeming betrayal of Romeo. Leviticus looked towards his cell phone sitting on the bench from where he had called Tony earlier. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was only one way to handle this and that was head on. He picked the phone up and punched in a series of numbers before placing it to his ear.

Romeo: What do you want?

Leviticus winced at Romeo’s tone.

Leviticus: I just have to know why.

Romeo: Why I had Tiberius handle you? Because you weren’t worth getting my hands dirty.

Leviticus closed his eyes.

Leviticus: Come on Ro, don’t be like that.

Romeo quickly snapped back.

Romeo: No! Maybe you just don’t get it. You aren’t worthy of calling yourself my associate. You are a no one, a nothing, and a failure. And, failures deserve to be punished.

Leviticus could feel the frustration building up inside of him as he fought back the tears that were stinging his eyes.

Leviticus: I didn’t fail Ro. I just messed up.

Romeo laughed.

Romeo: That’s right you did mess up. You messed up when decided to meddle in my affairs.

Leviticus took a deep breath and tried to hold back his anger.

Romeo: So do us both a favor, go find somewhere else to fail.

Something inside Leviticus snapped. His whole body began to shake and his eyes began to burn not from tears but from pure, unadulterated anger.

Leviticus: No Ro, I didn’t fail. You did. You failed at trying to convince me that you are a good and decent person. You failed at defeating Tyrant. You failed in the War Games. In fact you’ve failed so much you had to get yourself an assistant help you keep track of all of your failures. I didn’t fail though. Sure there were some rough spots, but come next Ammunition it will be me who will walk in to that ring as a champion with my head held high while you have to watch from the sidelines because you can’t even get in to that ring. Now if you will excuse me, this conversation is over. Besides I am sure I am keeping you from failing at something.

Without any more words Leviticus shut his phone. He knew that that wasn’t the wisest choice he could have made, but it felt good none the less. He stood up and looked back down at his title and smiled. He would walk in to the next Ammunition as a champion. Then he would show the whole world what he was a capable of.

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Now it goes without saying that Romeo and I have our issues, but I am willing to move past all that and do my part to see the mission through. I may have to avoid him to do so though. However I needed to talk to someone who understood me. Someone who had been through a similar past but rose above it to become something better. While Drew understands me as a warrior of the light he doesn’t understand the life I used to live. So that led me to one man.

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Leviticus sat there at a table in the place Seth had agreed to meet him at. While a bar wasn’t his first choice of meeting place that was what Seth had chose so that was where Leviticus headed. A waitress came over and smiled sweetly at him while pointing at his cup.

Waitress: More Coke hun?

Leviticus nodded and the waitress picked up his cup and took it away. He scanned over the crowded bar looking for Seth. Lucky for him he didn’t have to look too hard because Seth was head towards the table at that very moment. The bigger man took a seat and looked at Leviticus.

Seth: You needed to talk?

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: Yeah. Seth, man, it seems to me that you are one of the few people in FMW who understand the kind of things I’ve risen above to get to where I am. You’ve done well for yourself, Abandoned Champion, Hardcore Champion over in that other place, and who knows what else.

Seth grinned as the waitress returned with Leviticus’s Coke. She also sat down a pitcher and a glass for Seth. Seth nodded as the waitress winked. As soon as the waitress sashayed away from the table Seth turned his attention back towards Leviticus.

Seth: Yeah, I’m not doing too bad for myself.

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: That is why I wanted to ask you a question. How did you get them to take you seriously instead of looking at you as just another thug trying to turn over a new leaf?

Seth poured himself a glass of beer from the pitcher and took a big drink which emptied half the glass.

Seth: You really want to know?

Leviticus nodded again.

Seth: When I first started people did look at me like they look at you now. They pushed, and pushed, and pushed hoping I would break and go away. So do you know what I did?

Leviticus sat there in anticipation of Seth’s answer.

Seth: I pushed back. Hard. Every time someone would doubt me I would fight even harder. Every time someone would underestimate me I would destroy them. Truth is though; there are still some people in FMW that look at me as some thug. Those people just fuel me though. They make me fight harder so that they have to notice me.

Leviticus: What about the Saints though?

Seth finished his beer and began to pour himself another one.

Seth: Is this about that thing with Romeo?

Leviticus looked down at the table.

Seth: Look, don’t worry about him. There is always going to be someone who thinks they are better than you. Right now Ro just happens to be that guy. He will either come around or you will kick his teeth down his throat. Simple as that.

Leviticus smiled as he looked back up at Seth.

Leviticus: Thank you friend.

Seth nodded.

Seth: No problem. Now get out of here before you offend your Sunday School teacher or something.

Leviticus laughed as he stood up. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Seth held up his hand.

Seth: No, I got this. I just want you to do me one favor.

Leviticus: Name it.

Seth grinned sadistically.

Seth: Push back.

Leviticus nodded and then turned and left the bar.

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Seth Omega - A man I have several similarities with yet a man who is almost my polar opposite. While we may disagree on personal matters we stand together on the battle field. Woe be it to FMW should we ever decide to combine our strengths and challenge the tag team division.

Now as you can clearly see each of these men are very different. Yet, they bear one sad similarity.

Broken - Adjective
1. No longer whole
2. Out of order
3. Not kept
4. Weakened
5. Destroyed by adversity
6. Split apart
7. Incomplete
8. Disorganized

Out of all six of us who call ourselves Broken Saints we lack one crucial key to accomplishing our goals, unity. When Romeo was trading blows with Gabriel Crow, where were the others? When X was busting furniture with my body, where were the ones who should have run him off? When Drew was almost killed because of the actions of a power hungry madman and his attack dogs, where was the cavalry to rush in and make the save?

The answer: Somewhere else.

You see the biggest weakness the Broken Saints possess is we have no unity. There is no brotherhood, there is no solidarity. Sure there are those of us who still fight for a common goal but only in the vaguest of terms. For the most part the majority of us are after our own goals and agendas and the bigger picture is secondary. In short, Jesus said it best:

Mark 3:25
And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot, stand.

So with our house divided against itself that leaves us at a crossroads. Do we come together and fight for a common goal, or do we call it done and go about doing things our own way. We can not attempt to do both any longer.

Saint - Noun
Virtuous person

Should we stand together the road will be long and filled with hazards but the destination will be worth everything that will be encountered in our travels. If we can put or issues, differences, and personal goals to the side just long enough to accomplish the goal of saving FMW than we will become the force we should be not the sham we are now. Granted there will be those who will oppose us, those who seek our fall. However if we stand truly united then we will endure. Our bond will become stronger, and our strength more focused. Please consider what I am saying here for this could be the last chance for this to be said. If we will stand together than we shall be purified and strengthened by the fire of combat.

Do you know what else is purified and strengthened by fire?

Gold - Noun
1. Yellow metallic element
2. Things made of gold

That’s right, gold. Gold like my Light Heavyweight Championship. Now there are those in FMW who would like you to think that this title means nothing and no one wants it here. I know different though. If no one wanted it here than the board wouldn’t have reinstated it. If no one wanted it here than I wouldn’t be riding a wave of momentum from a successful defense of said title at Catalyst, which the fans cheered for might I add. And, if it means nothing than Norman Riddle wouldn’t want it. Now I’ve heard some things about Norman Riddle. I’ve heard he is a genius. I’ve heard he’s insane. I’ve even heard he’s lives in a fantasy world where he believes his arch enemy wears a cape and cowl while patrolling the streets of Gotham City. That is part of the reason I’ve been using so many definitions in my message. I want the “Smartest man in FMW” to clearly understand just where it is I’m coming from. When we step in to that ring Riddle won’t be facing the Leviticus who is eager to please, or the Leviticus who wants to be everyone’s friend. No, when he steps in to that ring he will be facing a Leviticus I don’t think he’s going to be ready for. This Leviticus is a man with a purpose. This Leviticus is a man with something to prove. This Leviticus is a man who is about to push back. Hard.

You see Riddle; it’s unfortunate for you that you won the right to face me for my title because what I’m sure you think is a golden opportunity is going to turn out to be the worst night of your life. You won’t beat me, I won’t allow it. See, while you may be some kind of genius, I know a thing or two myself. I know that the 7th Sign is capable of ripping your arm right out of it’s socket. I know that the Tribute packs enough force to leave you in an unconscious heap on the mat. I know that I will win. So I suppose that just leaves us with one question. So, riddle me this smart guy. What good is that head of yours going to do when I separate it from your shoulders?

NOTE: The following event takes place after Drew Michaels’ actions in his 10.2 promo where he ambushed and threatened Austin’s well-being.

Austin lifts himself from the ground, confused. Adrenaline shoots through his body, forcing his heart to pump with visceral force. Sitting up, he watches the shadowy figure back away, point having been made. Remembering looking into the eyes with slight panic and seeing sadness despite the cold words spoken, the mind of a Radical begins to contemplate. Commitment has been quite a problem for Austin, and to see someone else share that same vice when threatening his life is not only pointless, but completely indefensible. As his callous hand touches his neck, fingers feel the warmth of blood cascading from a cut, and with stubble offering a stinging reminder as it enters the wound with each press, his body begins to fill with a increasingly warm sensation of fury. The hero inside hopes it’s a dream, but the hands of the villian betray him without a second though. He pulls himself up slowly, standing up as if he has morphed into an even colder machine and begins to pace.

YOU put...YOU PUT YOUR DISGUSTINGLY GRUBBY HANDS ON ME YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Austin spits roughly to the side as he quickly spies an unassuming cleaning lady making her nightly rounds. Her life, as her body language shows is quite mundane, and he quickly darts into the shadows, deducing that she could use some excitement in her life. Just before she sees her maker, his head darts back out of view like a conniving snake, eyes stalking after the woman with a sick combination of hatred and desire while she sighs, oblivious to the threat and dreading her next stop. From behind a wall as the prey passes by, she's clubbed down with a granite-sculpted forearm to the back of her head. She falls limp with a helpless whimper while the serene atmosphere changes with an uncaring seethe in anger. Dragging her to a nearby closet by the hair...he opens the door and tosses her in.

A terrible shriek of fright, and then eternity passes as Austin, ever the detail-oriented assassin, caresses his newfound prize. Wooziness prevent her from an instant act of defense or cry for help, while he makes a mental note of how soft, yet tense her smooth skin feels to the touch. Then, in a stark contrast to that hideous tenderness, fists rain down…harder, faster, stronger with each passing second. Her muscles tragically relax as the heinous beating renders her unable to defend. He viciously stomps her head and face, obliterating with each blow; then nothing at all. Austin steps out some time after, fists clenched with a handful of hair in his hands, and a scene that is grossly horrifying, fitting of a horror film. The pieces of scalp drip with blood and possibly brain matter as he tosses it away, and a slight breeze from the central air vents lift up his would be souvenir, sending it dancing about as he stares on mesmorized. We fade away from the cry of death that comforts the savagely calculating Ronin.

Then his eyes frantically shoot open, seeing the same cleaning lady in his illusion of sorts and stands up slowly, contemplating whether or not to act out the desires. But she didn’t do anything wrong. Drew Michaels did. Austin silently vows to see to Michaels comeuppance one day. One last look back precedes his disappearance down the hall, a soul remains pure while the man who saves them does not.

Inside of the mind of a knocked-loopy Austin, Present Day…

We fade in to the melodic voice of birds as the orange burn of a majestic calm spreads across desolation, reinvigorating life with each passing second. As our view fades into a home, we are immediately gripped by the eeriness of its inviting allure. Our view slowly peers into this home; we hear the background noise of SportsCenter cut its way through the serene scene that is the den. No one is there. Cut around the corner there he stands. With a trained eye, one would see a heroic soul…mummified inside of the corpse of a calculating cobra of a man constantly tortured by supreme talent without supreme reward. To others, he’s just Chris Austin, a choke artist. He stares at a wall, specifically his mantle. Besides a picture of young James and some San Jose Sharks paraphernalia, nothing of note stands out. Austin stares above, looking into empty glass casings big enough to hold championship titles. Granted, he’s having one made for his new tag team title, but the ones already there are long overdue. Austin leaves streaks in the dust as he rubs his hand over a case, suffering from the same emptiness as his heart. Austin’s gaze doesn’t break as he wonders what should have been.

Will MY time ever come?

But the bigger question would be the consequences of Austin’s time finally arriving. Would Austin fall apart and reveal his latest crusade as a fatal farce? Or would it only fuel him even more? “Moment of Clarity” by Jay-Z alerts Austin of a text message. He slowly grabs his phone, his gaze still entranced. If one didn’t know any better, it could be said that Austin was starting at a championship of his own. He holds up the phone to his eyes…he reads the message and his phone falls to the ground, as if he’s crashing back to reality. He trudges back to his couch and collapses down…

His face shows a panic usually felt by a college student before his D-plus average is eradicated by a pop quiz in inorganic chemistry. He looks down and back up, his eyes look more soulless than before and the facial expression shows that he might be one meltdown from massacring his whole block. Austin raises up and grabs a box filled with DVDs; he lifts one up and reads the label: “Drew Michaels versus Ethan Black, Death Row 2006”, Drew Michaels’ first FMW loss, before putting it in the player.

Of course, he would rather have grabbed “Bobino and Majin vs. Headbanger and Stevie Richards V2” since that was his first match and loss in the relevant portions of his career, but that happened in PWA, now LPW and there is a MARKED difference than LPW Drew Michaels and FMW Drew Michaels. LPW’s is more fun, happy-go-lucky. FMW’s is more intense, arrogant, and focused on being the best. And that’s the one Chris Austin wants to emasculate.

If I want to beat him in FMW, I’ve got to start from the beginning. I can’t fail again. I CAN NOT FAIL AGAIN.

Class is now in session…


Ughhh....what the…

The camera shakes gently as the first person view struggles to come into focus, looking maddeningly around the room as a heartbeat pounds in rhythm. As the vision slowly clears…a Hayabusa Cup, a Mount Vesuvius Torch, and a FMW Championship belt replica comes into focus.

RCA: This isn’t my house…

???: No, no it isn’t.

Alex O’Rion walks into view with a slow, ill-intentioned pace about him. With his trusty baseball bat over the shoulder and a longneck of brew in the other, Alex is clearly in his comfort zone. As we discover that we shared Chris Austin’s view, we also see Alex shake his head in disappointment. Austin’s head drops as a constant grinding pain introduces itself to Austin’s upper back. Austin sighs before raising his head with a grimace. He tries to stand unsuccessfully…Austin is bound to a wooden chair.

RCA: You know, this ‘day starts with me tied up’ shit is getting really fucking old. I didn’t even do anything this time. If anyone should be tied up, it’s you for that pitiful excuse of an effort at Catalyst.

O’Rion: Yeah, yeah I fucked up. It’s what I do, my bad, now shut it bye. This is an intervention.

An intervention is for addicts, drug addicts in particular. Chris Austin may not be addicted to drugs, but an addict he is. You see, for those who haven’t heard, Austin was an All-American hero in waiting that suffered an introverted homicide. Having a son be a brother, an ex a slut, a father a backstabber and a best friend a rapist does that. But all of this was brought about by his occasional ineptitude, despite the rarity of it. Since then, he’s been trying to dig his own grave with misogynistic outbursts, which in reality aren’t done with full effort, that are always quelled by Alex O’Rion before his inner demons would lead him to an untimely demise. Addiction is a terribly delectable vice. That first hit, that first taste envelops your senses, everything seems clear and you feel so, so good. Chris Austin is addicted to the female flesh, knowledge and desires of greatness but none of that tells us who Chris Austin is.

RCA: Is this about Karma? I haven’t touched her.

O’Rion: I saw that look you gave her, Austin and I’ll be damned if you hurt her. You’ll see, bye…this is for your own good.

Austin groans, clearly annoyed as O’Rion looks off to the side and motions for someone to enter. In walks Dr. Smith, Alex O’Rion’s psychologist. Austin looks on quizzically as Dr. Smith sits down nonchalantly, studying his notepad before raising his head to address Austin.

Dr. Smith: Christopher, good morning. Alexander has told me so much about you…

RCA: Don’t call me Christopher.

O’Rion: He’s having issues with a co-worker who calls him that, sorry.

Dr. Smith: OK, Mr. Austin then?

Austin stares, not offering resistance. Dr. Smith continues.

Dr. Smith: Now, how are things going for you lately?

RCA: You tell me. Last thing I remember is getting dropped on the back of my head by Hannibal Frost.

Dr. Smith: I meant outside of the ring.

RCA: None of your business, shrink.

Dr. Smith: It’s Alexander’s business, and he’s taken it upon himself to make his business, mine.

Austin glares at Dr. Smith as he stares right back, unflinching. Alex places his bat onto his shoulder before taking a seat beside Austin, staring him in the face.

O’Rion: Austin, look at me. What the hell are you doing to yourself? You know as well as I do that this isn’t the real you, and you’re not gonna solve your problems if you approach everything with this mindset. Have you ever thought about the people you could hurt with your actions?

RCA: Why exactly are we doing this again?

O’Rion: Because bye, it’s a fuckin’ mistake!

Dr. Smith: Alexander, let me interject.

O’Rion: By all means.

Dr. Smith: Mr. Austin, how long has your behavior been this way?

RCA: You say that as if I have a problem.

Dr. Smith: According to Alexander, you weren’t always like this. You supposedly were a man of honor and integrity.

RCA: I still am.

Dr. Smith: Alexander, your lessons have not stuck…odd given his ‘studious’ approach to the ‘craft’ of pro wrestling.

Austin angrily bucks up in an attempt to attack Dr. Smith but only succeeds in tightening the bounds around his body tighter, the chair shaking with his movements.

Dr. Smith: Mr. Austin. Your aggression will not help you. Keep in mind that you are in a safe place and everyone here only wants to help you. We want what’s best for you.

O’Rion: He’s right bye. Look, I can’t let you follow my path. I know the frustration you’re feeling. That “punch ‘em in the face” look in your eye? I’ve had it and much worse looks. If there’s anything you want to take from me, take this…don’t be like me. You’re better than that.

Dr. Smith: You truly are, Mr. Austin. Based on what Alexander and others have told me about your sudden transformation, you have shown instances of indecisiveness. You seem to doubt your place in the grand scheme of things, despite having substantial amounts of ability as well as related factors and ever since that event involving your younger brother…

RCA: You’re wasting my time. Besides, I don’t feel like discussing it.

Dr. Smith: Well I do.

O’Rion holds his hand up to silence the prying psychologist. Austin’s breathing has grown heavier, O’Rion can sense Austin growing upset.

O’Rion: You need to get over that, bye. I know it’s fucked up what happened, but you have a brother and…

RCA: He’s my son.

Dr. Smith raises an eyebrow to that comment before jotting down notes.

O’Rion: Brother, son, whatever. Whether you like it or not, that kid is gonna look up to you. Let go of that anger. It’s eating you up, Austin. You’ve got shyte all screwed up, you think I’m your brother, you think your brother is your son.

RCA: He is.

O’Rion: Alright then, since he’s your son, I want you to tell him to his face why you’ve become what you have.

RCA: We’ve already talked it over.

O’Rion: I don’t think you told him the truth. So, here’s your chance.

O’Rion rises up as Austin’s gaze strains to follow O’Rion…O’Rion leaves and quickly returns holding a baby carrier. Inside of it lies the sleeping James. Austin tries once again to free himself, thinking that James is in danger. Alex gently places James on a coffee table in front of Austin, Austin stares at the resting boy and warmth fills his heart and eyes. Alex notices this, sitting down with a little less authority.

There’s hope for the asshat yet.

O’Rion: Well, tell him.

Dr. Smith: Yes, tell your ‘son’ why you’ve become so volatile. Tell him why you feel that the only way to provide for him is to bring about suffering and agony. Tell this young one…why you even deserve to call him your son. Tell him why.

RCA: Why what? Why I’ve finally begun putting it together?

Dr. Smith: Still running from the problem. Alexander said that you used to face hardship head on. What changed between then and now? Has the folding in pressure-situations at the workplace carried over?

I’ll kill this mother fucker…if I can just get loose.

O’Rion: The kid doesn’t know it yet, Austin, but you’re going to be his hero. You’ll break his heart by continuing down my beaten path. Do you want him to be like you?

RCA: No, of course not.

O’Rion: Why not?

RCA: I want him to be better than me, as a loving parent with faith in his child should.

O’Rion: You want him to be better because you know you’re wrong. You know you’re hurting people and either you don’t care or you can’t see an alternative that would make you stop this fucking bullshit.

RCA: Hero is not a good color on you.

O’Rion strikes Austin in the jaw before standing up to compose himself. Austin’s neck remains bent, facing the ground as he spits blood-tainted saliva. O’Rion tries to remain calm as he speaks again.

O’Rion: Dammit, bye, open your fucking eyes to this shyte. This isn’t about me being some hero, I’m trying to help you and you won’t listen. I didn’t want to do this, I really didn’t but maybe if I do this you’ll pay attention. Kylie, come in here.

As Kylie walks in from the back, Austin’s face shows contempt not seen before. Kylie walks over to Austin, whose eyes have not left her body. She hugs and kisses him and he reacts as if her touch is acidic. O’Rion stares on, a little uneasy as Dr. Smith gives O’Rion a “Are you sure about this?” look. Kylie goes to kiss her nephew as Austin’s veins begin to protrude from his body in furious protest.

Kylie: Hey there…

Austin’s eyes close for a split second as he relives the actions of Kylie. He seems as if he’s trying to actually stare daggers into someone. If looks could kill, Austin could make the Holocaust irrelevant but this is how you look at your addiction upon understanding the negative effects of it. You realize what she has cost you and she’ll always own you. But you’ve made a dark peace with that because no matter how much you hate her…no one can do the things she does to you.

This is why no matter what, at his lowest point he’ll probably find her waiting for him to come back to her warm, soft embrace and Chris knows what will happen when he falls into the arms of someone who understands and comforts him, even when he’s wrong. Thus Chris Austin is weak, but it is at his personal weakest when he is his professional strongest so she must die, even if it kills him to do it.

Kylie: Why are you doing this to yourself, honey? Why are you hurting the ones that love you and wants what’s best for you? I never wanted things to be like this.

O’Rion: Crazy as this broad is, she makes sense. The more we reach out, the harder you push back…is it that you don’t want us to lord your mistakes over you like you think others would?

RCA stares at Kylie…no words spoken. Kylie offers a smile in his vicinity, O’Rion looks to his doctor, who scribbles away.

If I can just get loose…I’ll throttle that slut.

O’Rion: Look, bye. I know what she did was fucked up. I know it…there’s no justification for it but-

Kylie: You push me away when I was always there for you to confide in. I was there to listen to you vent when work was becoming too much of a burden. I was there when Jaime and Mr. Austin stressed you out. I was there when you needed a shoulder to lean on, a mind to understand, and a body to please you.

O’Rion: Let’s try to stay away from the carnality shyte, K? I don’t want to hear it.

Kylie: Sorry…

let me kill her…

Dr. Smith: Mr. Austin, I must say that combined with her young age, this woman’s comment suggest not only a need for therapy but clearly you had a profound effect on her. Honestly, in my opinion she shows signs of Histrionic Personality Disorder.

Kylie: Exactly what is that?

Dr. Smith: HPD is an psychological disorder characterized by excess instances of highly emotional or dramatic behavior to seek attention.

Kylie: Trust me, I’m not an attention whore.

Dr. Smith: Yet you sexually assaulted the last person to show genuine care and affection towards you for an extended period of time after he pushed you away.

Kylie glares a hole into Dr. Smith. Austin’s eyes have grown colder. Alex O sees this, and keeps a close eye on Austin. He is missing the subtle tearing and ripping of the binds that imprison him. It’s hard to keep an addict from his drug of choice, especially when it’s Chris Austin trying to kick the habit.

I need to let her know EXACTLY how I feel about what she did.

Kylie: He brought it on himself.

Dr. Smith: No one brings that sort of action on themselves. I deduce that you have always held an interest in Mr. Austin, long before your desires and feeling manifested themselves. See, while his heart may have belonged to another, he always used to go out of his way to say hi, or just check in to see how you were doing. Probably was the most amount of genuine affection you received.

Kylie: And what’s that supposed to mean?

O’Rion: Doc, we’re here for Chris, remember?

Dr. Smith: I know. I want him to know exactly how deep his actions go. He gave a clear message to Kylie. He wanted what he couldn’t have so she wanted what she could not have. But despite his efforts, plans, and the like someone was always there as a lifeline. No one was that person for Kylie because her lifeline was Mr. Austin, who pushed her away. I do believe genuine affection lied beneath her actions. She wanted Austin’s attention so she got it the only way he showed as effective

O’Rion: And you’re sure about that?

Dr. Smith: It’s a theory that I would be more likely to place confidence in than another.

Kylie: He shouldn’t have led me on like that; he can’t just drop me and move on, but when I finally try to move on he flashes me the broken heart look? No, it’s not fair.

O’Rion: Austin, what is she talking about?

Kylie: He saw me with some other guy and gave me the sad eyes. Last time I saw him he pretty much said he hated my guts and now he wants to act all hurt.

Why hasn’t he called me, anyway? He said he had a good time…

heh-heh-heh-heh…

Kylie looks to Austin, a mildly off-putting look in her eyes. That look quickly changes to care as she addresses Austin, who still hasn’t taken his eyes away from her.

Kylie: I know that your career was stressing you, but I was able to help you deal with that and anything else…you needed me for that, babe. But while I still love you, I won’t be your little toy.

Austin slowly begins to stand just so. Alex O looks on, gripping his baseball bat tightly as Kylie watches young James sleep soundly. She mouths to him “I’m sorry, sweetie.” Austin begins to tremble in restrained, blind fury. His knuckles lose their color as his face shows that a sudden nosebleed has started.

Bitch...

I want it back…

took everything from me…

He’s snapping, gotta do something quick…NO BYE!

I trusted you…and you stabbed me in the back…

No more…

You were all I had to believe in and you failed me...

I’ve got you…give in to me…

…raped...

I need it back…

Never been so humiliated, never felt so stupid

You’re sick…I can help you...

It’s your turn...

I can’t do it by myself…

I’m begging you…

…control…victory…

Ahhhhh…

Austin rips his arms from the chair…and he immediately slugged out Dr. Smith. Alex quickly went into action, using a slight physical advantage to try and hold back the ball of anger as Kylie moved James to a safer area. Alex almost got the better of the situation, until Austin kicked Alex in the groin. Austin chased down the now empty handed Kylie rather quickly. No one is around as he has her by her neck, while her hands quickly guard her midsection for some reason. His face shows nothing but a sense of diabolical calm as he exists in this moment to destroy for one last caress of his addiction.

Kylie mattered to Austin. Maybe not how she wanted, but she had his attention now. As his grip grew tighter, tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t free herself. As it were, he stared into her eyes as his nostrils didn’t flare, yet they bawled streams of crimson despite having never been struck…He had his own tears, but unlike the past no sign of residual love was given to her. She had to suffer. A quick snap of his arm sends her flying back into a wall of the den. She tried to get to her feet as he slithered after her.

Don’t do this…a part of you lives in me…

Kylie: CB NO! YOU CAN’T…YOU’LL HARM OUR BA…

She is silenced with a slap to the face. O’Rion began to come to, noticing that Austin moved like a chillingly efficient machine. Noticing this tempered O’Rion’s anger with intimidation. With one big swing of Austin’s foot, the air rushed out of her body, as her arms blocked most of it. She shrieked in pain and Austin didn’t care. He yanked her up; she flailed about. He drew back his fist and cocked his elbow, aiming for the temple, a sure kill given the intent behind it. As Kylie silently begged him to reconsider, he went to swing but Austin fell down as a hard forearm rattled his cranium. His eyes glazed over as Kylie fell to the floor, her life re-entering her body with each panicked gasp.

O’Rion: GET OUT OF HERE…NOW! TAKE THE KID!

Kylie then began to retreat having been freed from Austin’s death grip. Austin laid on the floor a broken mess, feeling nothing. He reached towards her as O’Rion rained down blows like lightning, with the powerful force of a jackhammer splitting earth. Austin’s eyes never closed. He just stared on, numb to O’Rion’s attacks. He felt no pain in his anger, he felt nothing at all, but darkness eventually enveloped him just as it did this scene.

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

We fade in a few hours later. Alex O’Rion sits beside Chris Austin, who lies sprawled about on the couch. O’Rion drinks a beer, wincing in pain as he uses the cool beverage to ice his bloody knuckles, split open from his recent assault on Austin’s skull. Quickly, Austin’s eyes open. He sits up and stares at O’Rion, who clenches his fist as a curved laceration begins to seep blood. Austin’s eyes roll as he swings his feet onto the floor and stands up, showing no real after effects after his beating at the hands of O’Rion save for visual wounds, which surprises O’Rion. He slowly walks around the couch, looks to the countertop…something’s missing.

RCA: Where are my keys?

O’Rion: Why do you want to know?

RCA: I have somewhere to go.

O’Rion: You can crash on the couch, don’t need to be driving anyway. Besides, I know what you want to do and you can’t go, Austin. I won’t allow it.

RCA: You really don’t have any say it. Give me my keys.

O’Rion: I’m not going to let you throw your life away. I stopped you once, I’ll do it again.

RCA: You’ll have to kill me and I know you don’t have it in you to kill…again.

O’Rion: Murder and Assault are two different things.

Austin turns around as O’Rion stands, ready to defend himself. Austin slowly approaches O’Rion, whose determined gaze doesn’t waver. Austin looks away and then back to O’Rion.

RCA: I will be damned if Captain Canada tells me that I can’t have my keys, and take my ass down to California so I can kill that bitch.

O’Rion: You listen to me, you fuckin’ asshat. I don’t care what you call me. I don’t care what you say to me. I don’t care what you do to me...

RCA: You should know better…you should know why.

O’Rion: Why what? Why you want to kill her? FUCK NO BYE! Murder is never the answer and if you follow through it’ll tear at your insides till the day you die. You don't want that and that aside I won't let you kill anyone, regardless. No one has the right to end another life not you, not me, not Jesus Drew…

RCA: This cunt raped me, Alex. R-A-P-E-D. Do you not get how embarrassing that is?

O’Rion: Yet you want to get your jollies off doing the same thing. So does this mean that Shelia Blige deserves to have a swipe at you?

RCA: I never finished the job.

O’Rion is shoved by Austin. Austin’s eyes give no hint of predictability, O’Rion stands up, using his baseball bat to brace himself.

O’Rion: Alright then, idiot. How far do you go before retribution is allowed? When it goes in? When you try? When you throw her into the car? Where’s the fuckin’ line then, bye?

RCA: So I owe you payback? I wasn’t told that I’d be playing the nWo to your Crow Sting.

O’Rion: Well take your shot.

RCA: No. You can see me coming and that’s not the advantage I gave you.

O’Rion: I said I was here to help so if this is what you need so be it, I won’t stop you and it beats you going out and doing it to some random lass. You can hit a woman, you can hit me.

O’Rion drops his bat and turns away from Austin. Austin scoffs, hearing a slight jingle as Alex turns his back. Austin quickly advances onto O’Rion and says with a venomous tone.

RCA: I could hit you, but I won’t. Because you’d rather me hit you than some bitch who doesn't know her role, it would hurt you more.

Austin with a quick snap of his hands pilfers his keys from O’Rion and walks away. O’Rion is quick to grab Austin by the back of his collar, but Austin is in no mood as he whips around and thrusts O’Rion into a wall.

RCA: What is your malfunction, bro? I don’t think you understand the ramifications…

O’Rion whips around, Austin is forcefully pinned against the wall now.

O’Rion: I will keep fighting, I will keep shoving my foot in your ass until you realize how wrong you are!

RCA: How wrong I am? How wrong I am? Listen to yourself. I’m wrong because I want to avenge my rape. I’m wrong because I want to do something that you didn’t have the balls to do.

O’Rion: What the hell you mean, bye?

RCA: Do you know what she took from me, Alex? She took my pride, my job. She took my fucking control. She’s got my brother; she’s got everything that matters to me.

O’Rion: I thought he was your son…

RCA: I’m just like you, Alex…but I will learn from your mistakes. ESPECIALLY the one you made with Theresa.

O’Rion: Watch it, Austin.

RCA: Watch what? She’s fucking dead, right? Do you know whose fault that is, Alex? Yours. You used to be one of those honorable types, give your life to help anyone in need and then Ethan Black…

O’Rion: I’m warning you...

RCA: Ethan Black got his claws into her. He manipulated her, brainwashed her and he destroyed you. He broke you. He used her like a fucking slut, got into your head and then handed her off to the little brother that couldn’t even though he should have, like a damn joint. Your princess, your queen became sloppy seconds. Original Sin’s original whore.

Austin shows no glee in this. He says it with growing contempt as O’Rion’s temper flares, his grips grows stronger as his forearm is pressing against Austin’s chest.

RCA: Shit, when it came time for your so-called redemption you lost. So Drew took your place as hero, the one thing you had to fall back on. Yet, you have the gall to tell me I can’t take my life back? I would have never said that to you.

O’Rion: You don’t get it, bye…

RCA: Really? If Ethan Black was here right now, you’d take your revenge, wouldn’t you?

O’Rion: Fuck no because he didn’t push me off the fucking edge!

RCA: That’s a pussy move, bro.

O’Rion: Doesn’t matter what you think of it. I jumped. He led me to the water, but I made myself take that fucking drink. That’s the difference between me and you. You’re bringing yourself to your own downfall and I’m trying to help you before you jump like I did.

RCA: Do you really want me to get help?

O’Rion: With every fiber of my being.

RCA: I have to kill her then, there’s no other way.

O’Rion: There’s always another way…the right way.

Austin stares, nothing is registering. O’Rion sees it in Austin’s eyes. Deep down Austin is lost. Deep down nothing is left of Austin instead of pure, unadulterated talent that is misguided…talent that doesn’t know what its owner is striving for. Talent that is bred to kill, but oblivious to whom it kills or why it kills so nothing is safe. The most dangerous kind of talent there is. O’Rion steps away as Austin glares on. O’Rion’s voice cracks a little before he speaks, resigned.

Call his bluff…it might work.

O’Rion: Alright then…go ahead.

Austin goes to the door. He opens it but O’Rion stops him.

O’Rion: But I say this to you now, Christopher. If you leave, don’t ever come back. May God have mercy on your soul.

Austin exhales, his head drops as he speaks, looking out to the rest of the world.

RCA: If He did, none of this would have happened.

Austin slams the door as O’Rion sits down. He runs his hands through his hair, completely frustrated. Karma walks out her room, cautiously eyeing the pacing O’Rion.

O’Rion: FUCK!

Karma: Are you OK, Uncle Alex?

O’Rion: No…

Karma: If he wants to stew in his sorrow, let him.

O’Rion: I can’t. He won’t say it but I’m all he’s got. I can’t quit on him.

Karma: It’ll be alright, Uncle Alex. I’ll help you figure something out if need be.

Our visage turns from O’Rion to the car. Austin sits. His hands haven’t moved and the car isn’t cranked up. He slowly places the keys in and twists. He cranks it, and it roars like a lion. O’Rion, inside the house, drops his head in defeat. He hears screeching and acceleration as O’Rion, clearly upset, is comforted by Karma as we fade away.

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

He’s right.

RCA: No he’s not.

Can’t argue with factual logic. He’s right.

RCA: No.

Who’s to blame, Chris?

RCA: Her.

Don’t be blind. Who made the first move? Who confided in her? Who befriended her? Who fucked her?

RCA: Had nothing to do with it.

I had everything…accountability is a lost art. It’s your fault.

RCA: No.

Be accountable.

RCA: Fuck off, Chris.

Austin slams on brakes and pulls to the side of the road, about 2-3 miles from the U.S. border. He looks into his mirror. He sees himself becoming a hypocrite. He must admit that he’s wrong, for the man who can admit his limitations comes closest to perfection. Granted, he’s not seeking that but still, it’s more than some people are capable of. Yet, all Austin has is his balls and truthfully, what he’s about to do takes more balls than what he wanted to do. He turns around the car and heads back to Canada. As said earlier, she didn’t do it and can you blame her for falling for such a devastating package of good looks, ability, charm and ambition?

Chris Austin brought this on himself. He did it. He can finally be honest to himself, in a sense. He grips the wheel tightly as he speeds back. Some time after this, O’Rion is stirred from his slumber on the couch as lights shine into the house. He hears a door slam as he pops up, grabbing his bat and ready to defend. Austin enters and immediately falls to his ass as his back pushes the door closed. Alex hits the lights, drawing back to swing before he sees Austin. He drops his bat as he goes to walk away.

O’Rion: Wasn’t gone long, eh? Well I hope you’re happy because you have about five minutes before I throw you the fuck out, bye.

Austin says nothing, pulling himself up. He retreats to the kitchen counter, where his laptop sits. After pressing some keys, he slowly stands up. He utters one thing that freezes O’Rion in his tracks as he approaches him.

RCA: You were right…

O’Rion stares on shocked, as Austin looks resigned to the fact. He goes to the guest room and sometime after, Buster Cherry is heard saying “The following contest is an I QUIT match and the winner will face Eric Scorpio for the Full Metal Wrestling Heavyweight Championship!” followed by cheers and “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” by Johnny Cash. Alex laughs at that bittersweet reminder as he heads off to bed, having accomplished one more thing that Drew Michaels couldn’t. He got through to Chris Austin. Something landed. He doesn’t know how, why, or what…but it landed and that’s all that matters.

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

Fade in to Ammunition 12.1. Austin, of course is very punctual. He stands in the ring, surrounded by an empty arena and standing besides a double-sided chalkboard. After writing on it, he turns back to face the camera.

RCA: Good Morning, class. Today’s lecture will cover heroism. Allow me to pose this question to you.




RCA: Is it someone that shows up when you don’t have to ask? Maybe it’s someone who knows you’re in trouble without you telling them. Is a hero truly braver than us, is he human? Should it be someone we can identify with? What a hero is, is completely dependent on who you ask to define it, that I can confidently say. But allow me to share with you what a hero is in my eyes. Before I begin, let it be said that when you look at a hero, know that he is brave. You see, bravery is a must have for a hero. Heroes can’t be cowards and you know? Stupidity and bravery goes hand in hand.

So, with all of that said, what makes a hero, what he is, is the sheer liberal risking of his own life, according to one of my consultants, Professor (of Journalism) Moran. You see, before I do my lectures I like to run things by members of academia to make sure my information is at least plausible and thus of use to my students. I digress. Back on what makes someone a hero is blatant disregard for his own life. This also shows that heroes in general are not the brightest of people. In fact, they’re quite stupid. It’s why I personally quit being one. Anyway, since a smart hero, when taken with “Occam’s Razor”, is one who wouldn’t risk his own life to save someone, I am forced to question why FMW wants stupid people to be heroes. With this established and enough time on one’s hands, Seth Omega could be made into a hero. That alone should discredit what it means to be a hero.

Austin writes, then sighs before continuing.




RCA: But, does a hero criticize and demean a former friend in Skyler Striker because he fell victim to addiction? Wouldn’t a hero get help, even if the addict doesn’t want it? Despite the hero’s personal feelings, God said to judge not lest ye be judged first and Jesus Himself said he who is without sin may cast the first stone, did He not? A hero that God ‘picks’ doesn’t throw stones at people who isn’t there for families when he’s had trouble being there for his own. He doesn’t ostracize his friends and families because something they said in a time of stress. If all of these things is what it means to be a hero, then I gracefully bow out. It sounds more like hypocrisy to me.

With all of these things being hidden by our resident holier-than-thou asshole, I am led to believe that either he believes he’s God or he’s not the hero he claims to be. As arrogant as he can be at times, he can’t really believe he’s God so this means he isn’t the hero he claims to be. And guess what? Doc saved FMW in its darkest hour, not Drew. Drew allowed himself to look as if he screwed over his ‘friend’ Alex in order to add to accomplishments, the list of which and the desire to add to them has superseded his chief mission of redeeming us all. Michaels, despite your shortcomings I know the good outweighs the bad. I know you will always be FMW’s hero. I understand that. Despite failing at Lethal Injection and Doc succeeding in your place, despite failing with Harley, failing with me, failing with the Broken Saints, YOU are the hero FMW has always wanted so congratulations.

Austin turns back to his board, erasing his previous writing and replacing it with the following:




RCA: But that C-4 Heavyweight Championship is another story. Michaels, contrary to yours and FMW’s beliefs I don’t need the C-4 Heavyweight Wrestling Championship to know that I am the better wrestler. As an all-time great coach Pat Riley once said, a champion needs motivation above and beyond winning and you lost sight of the greater motivation you had. FMW knows I am faster, stronger, more technically sound, talented, athletic. I have won the tag belts. You haven’t. I was the last man standing for Team Ammunition. You weren’t, captain. They know that I am more C-4 material. The main thing you’ve got is that you’re a fighter and intangible attributes that I can and will equal you in. That’s why you are champion. It’s all you care about; the title, to hell with everyone else.

You think I’ve forgotten VCW? How you tried to take my promising yet dull career away from me under a mask and alias named Exodus? You think I forgot how you turned your back on me in favor of a helpless group that isn’t competent enough to piss in the Pacific Ocean if they aimed for water? You think I forgot how stupid you made me look, how inferior? You think I forget all of your accomplishments that you rub in my faces every waking moment just by being you? No, I never forgot any of that. However, this isn’t about the accomplishment for me.

I’d rather defeat you than become the champion, because with the new rules, I don’t need to really beat you to be the champion, you can be counted out or disqualified. But I want to beat you. You just want to be THE champion. Hell, without the belt, your name can garner a world title shot since that’s how FMW does things so I’m doing you a favor whether you like it or not. Michaels…bring hell with you because ANYTHING less than that will see me embarrass yet another of FMW’s “great hopes”. If I walk away without bleeding I’ll be disappointed but if you escape with your life while having lost, you’ll be lucky.

Austin scribbles furiously, and reveals his baton-slash-pointer. He raps on the board to bring attention to the following:




RCA: However, while I will be winning this match, Ammunition’s class deals with a greater matter. It will be as long as it takes for FMW to see you were a bigger threat than everyone you crusade against. Drew no matter what you do, say, accomplish or save…You can’t fool the Student of the Game and I will beat that fact into you. I need to smash you into oblivion in order to educate, learn and prove a point. You need to win to keep your waist warm at night because Juliet clearly doesn’t spend enough time there…If only you’d stop fucking her with the damn belt on, not like she’s getting pregnant anyway.

Drew, it’s time to break this cycle and show you as the fallen angel you are, as I may be. It’s time for an intervention, Drew Michaels. You’re addicted to your delusions of grandeur and God needs you healed so who am I to deny the LORD? YOU? Ha. After all, I am His punishment for you and you’ve earned every bit of it. Never fear for your tutor’s here. It’s time to open your mind for your lesson, Drew and to do this I’ll relieve you of the C-4 Heavyweight Championship. Class, I want you to take notes here, this might be on a test later. I tried to warn Michaels about your little band of Saints. I tried to help him avoid making the same mistake I did by trusting too blindly. I tried to teach him the right way. Michaels didn’t listen; he can’t admit I was right in the fashion warranted. Thus Michaels is not teachable. Write that down.




RCA: FMW has no use for people too prideful to admit their mistakes yet still be seen as the beacon we should strive for. But also, class, I want you to note that Drew Michaels IS in fact, the hero he claims to be because he did not listen to the intelligent reason of Chris Austin. Michaels’ impending defeat is good for FMW. Deep down he NEEDS me to win and here’s why. I’ve studied that Drew wants to save FMW, and that he apparently can’t do it unless he’s the FMW Champion. Well, I have it on good authority from Smitten that as long as Michaels is C-4 Heavyweight Champion he will never SNIFF the FMW title.

Take into account all of Drew’s failures masked as moral successes. He failed to save FMW at Lethal Injection when Doc won the final fall. He failed to save me, but I didn’t give him a chance, in truth. He failed to save FMW when he failed to save his formerly merry band of faggotry-filled Saints. Almost every time FMW has needed him to be a hero most, he failed her. Now he’s got another chance, class. It’s fool proof. All he has to do is take this impending title loss like a man. Then he can truly save her. Otherwise you become the same selfish, FMW-harming hypocrite that you crusade against. You don’t want that do you? No, I’m sure you don’t.




RCA: At Ammunition 12.1, Drew…you have a chance to be the Hero. Be the Hero, Drew. Be the hero and lose this match, make a real sacrifice for FMW. I have no issue MAKING you do it if you aren’t honorable enough to do it of your own free will, and oddly, the stupid thing to do is for Drew to lay down and hand me the title. But he knows full well that I will take liberties with him if he does that, so the “smart” thing to do then would be fight back. But by fighting back, he proves himself smart, and thus not a hero and as we’ve established, heroes are stupid, as if spelling “C-4” ‘D-R-E-W’ wasn’t asinine enough. I digress.




RCA: Class, I want you to ask yourself if Drew Michaels will be the Hero that truly brings about change that FMW needs. Will he be the person that I failed to be? If he does then I will be proven right, as I have been all along. I reiterate that Drew Michaels will always be the Hero here. But here’s the thing about heroes…they have to be willing to give their lives for something bigger than themselves. I was willing to do that at one point and I will do the same when I face you for the greater good, the lesson my students must learn. I know you’ve done it before, and you must do it again. I want you to take away one thing from this, students. Sooner or later, all of you will have to learn the responsibility that comes with your titles. Michaels will be the first example of that as a change FMW have begged for will come. At least this time, Michaels will have succeeded as long as you allow him to. Do not fail him as he failed you. Maybe you’ll be heroes yourselves, the good kind that is. But at what personal cost to Michaels? Well, you’ll have to ponder that.

Class Dismissed.

The Melbourne Town Hall is sold out for the Melbourne show of FMW 12.1. The problems tonight have really engaged this crowd, and every single member of the audience is standing on their feet in excitement after the blockbuster action we’ve already seen tonight. The hardcore FMW Correction fans have really supported the show, vowing there’s no way that Addition and Division would ever be able to compete with what we’ve seen tonight.

On the stage, standing in between the two large blackboards stands the Master of Ceremonies for FMW Correction, Sheila Blige, with a man in a referee shirt. Off to the side, sitting behind a desk, sit Jack Boice and Flare, the voices of FMW Correction.

Boice: Well Flare, what an action packed evening we’ve had so far!

Flare: It’s just looked like Jizz over a blackboard to me at times, but these guys knew what they were doing.

Boice: That’s an... interesting analogy Flare. But never fear, the hardest maths race is about to commence, between two men who are very well versed and well travelled in Fractionalised Mathletic World. Plus tonight, in this very next match up, we will see the return to the blackboard of former FMW Champion, and the Commissioner of our Maths world, Christian G. Smitten, from retirement.

Flare: I just hope The Celt is up to the challenge really. He’s faced some big guns recently, but none more cunning or devious than Smitten.

A whistle blows out over the Melbourne Town Hall, as “Friend Like Me”, as performed by Wayne Bergeron plays over the speakers. From stage right, Christian G. Smitten walks out, dressed in his best suit, with a piece of chalk in his hands.

Blige: The following contest is scheduled for one equation. Introducing first, weighing in at 290 pounds, from Salt Lake City, Utah in the USA, he is the FMW Commissioner. He is Christian G. Smitten!!!

Boice: Don’t forget folks, the winner of this equation will go on to lock horns with a yet un-named opponent for the vacant FMW Ultra-Fraction Championship.

Flare: It’s a prize that The Celt has wanted for a while, and has been really hungry for in the last few years. But Smitten claim’s he’s the only man noble enough to tackle the lengthy algarisms and workload that comes with it. We’ll soon find out who’s climbing the tree of woe to get to that match.

As Smitten walks to his blackboard, he leans in and shakes the hand of the referee. As the pair chat, “The Warrior’s Code” by Drop Kick Murphy’s begins to play. Wearing a turtle neck, and thick black glasses, The Celt walks out to an amazing reception.

Blige: And his opponent, from Castlebar in Ireland, weighing in at 215 pounds, he is The Celt!!!

Boice: Celt’s got an impressive record against some of our top Mathletes. He’s defeated Harlequin in competition and gone toe to toe with Jaro many a time. But can he match it with the commissioner? Even after his months away from competition?

Flare: I have my doubts. Celt’s been very limp lately. Hasn’t been blowing them out like he used to. Hopefully he can get it up tonight and get in there for a win.

Celt says something to the referee, along the lines of stop being so chummy, and Smitten and the Referee end their conversation there. Sheila Blige comes over and hands both men their equation. Celt’s eyes widen as he can hardly believe the difficulty of this problem. Smitten just looks at it, not pulling any faces. The referee puts a whistle to his mouth and gives it a big blast.

Boice: And we’re underway here in Melbourne for the main event of FMW Correction 12.1. Smitten and Flare race to the blackboards and start their work. It’s neck and neck here early.

Flare: Celt seems to have thrown away his pre-match inhibitions about his task, and is diving in like all hell. He’s definitely got it up.

Boice: But Smitten seems to be gaining an advantage. He’s powering on ahead. And look at Celt. He’s actually slowing down.

Flare: not slowing down Boice, stopping.

The Celt just stops, and stares deeply at the piece of paper in his hand, trying to work out the next move he should make. Smitten notices this, and notices he’s not paying attention to his work on the board. He leans over to Celt’s board, and hastily rubs out a four, and turns it into a 7 on his final line of the equation.

Boice: LOW BLOW BY SMITTEN!!!!

Flare: It’s all legal. This is FMW Correction! There’s no rules in terms of what you can and can’t do to your opponent’s work. That’s perfectly legal.

Boice: But it’s not in good competition.

Flare: I like to think Smitten was just trying to point Flare in the right direction.

Boice: Celt’s getting really frustrated now. He tries to make his next move, but Smitten’s blocked it. He can’t see where the mistake is.

Flare: he’s got to fix it though. This isn’t like FMW Addition, where you only get to fix your mistake once, or FMW Division, where you can use gimmics to help you. This is Correction! It’s anything goes, and close enough is not good enough!

Boice: Smitten’s racing a head. He almost looks done. WHAT’S THIS?!?! Celt’s had enough and HE’S PICKED UP A CHAIR!!!! HE’S SITTING ON IT!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!

Flare: Smitten doesn’t care. He know’s Celt likes to use chairs, it helps him think, BUT SMITTEN’S COUNTERED THE CHAIR MOVE!!!

Boice: SMITTEN’S LINING UP FOR THE FINAL BLOW!! COULD IT BE?!?! YES!!! THAT CHALK-MAN SHIP ON THE FINAL LINE’S THE COURTROOM ASSAULT!!!! THIS COULD BE IT!!! REFEREE’S GIVING IT THE THREE POINT CHECK...1...2...3!!!!! IT’S ALL OVER!!!!

Flare: Smitten’s just sucked that out of thin air! That was a masterclass of Mathletics!

Blige: Here is your winner... CHRISTIAN G. SMITTEN!!!

The Melbourne crowd boo the hell out of Smitten, who shrugs off the responce as the referee holds up his hand. The Celt slumps down to his knees, almost in disbelief at what he’s seen.

Boice: That was brilliance personified! Christian G. Smitten, our FMW Commissioner, showing us again why he will be remembered as one of the greats.

Flare: The unique way he added that formula to the exponential expansion was... wow. You’ll never see anything like that from anyone else.



We’re at Billboards Nightclub in the Melbourne CBD, where the edgy, underground cult sensation of Funky Merman Wingman, Collection, is having their Melbourne show. Standing outside the nightclub are the commentators for the Collection Brand, Jack Boice and Flare. With microphones in hand, they begin to speak.

Boice: Welcome back to FMW Collection, where the people we dress up as Mermen are some of the most attractive to ladies around. It’s amazing really how this show has done 101 shows to date, not including this edition.

Flare: It surprised even me.

Boice: Well, our feature battle tonight is between the Commissioner, Christian G. Smitten, and The Law, The Celt.

Flare: If you’re tuning in for the first time, the rules are simple. The principle for all of FMW is the same. You go into a night club, and as your wingman, you have a hired model, dressed as a seductive merman, one which is almost irresistible to the ladies. The objective is to pick up a woman against the odds with this useless wingman.

Boice: The one who picks up first between The Celt and Smitten will move on to do battle for the vacant Ultra-Sexy Championship. I hear their opponent will be really tough to beat.

Flare: Well, I’ll please them by coming out right now, and saying it will not be me.

Boice: Let’s have a look at some of the highlights so far...

We cut to a screen of footage of what’s already happened in this match. The footage seems to be from a combination of security cameras, and secret cameras hidden within the clothes of the patrons. The first one is of Christian G. Smitten, talking to a sexy young vixen.

Boice: Smitten’s been out of the game for a very long time, he’s retired from the sport a while ago, but had the itch to compete again once he realised the quality of the opponents wishing to challenge for the Ultra-Sexy Championship. He claims to be the only one virile enough to hold the title.

Flare: He’s a former FMW Champion, he knows how to win belts. And he gets off on the right foot here, but as you see, his wingman is getting all the attention. So much so that the girl moves away from Smitten.... NOW, to chat up his wingman.

Boice: This is a disturbing piece of footage right here people. The Celt has wound up on the dance floor, and is busting into some hardcore Irish moves. There’s a handful of people admiring him for it, but the majority are getting out of the way. It’s not a very effective approach from him.

Flare: Irish dancing is good for one thing, and one thing only Jack. Watching the chest of a woman.

Boice: Really, you had to go there?

Flare: Come on, we’re not exactly a classy outfit here.

Boice: Well, perhaps you can explain this one. This doesn’t seem fair to me, Flare.

Flare: This is a perfectly legal move by Smitten here. He’s come over, and is talking to the bouncers. They then walk over, and escort his merman wingman out.

Boice: That’s not playing by the rules.

Flare: Hey! There are no rules man. This is anything goes to pick up the lady on Collection. Don’t compare us with the restrictive rules of Assumption, or the gimmick themes of Degeneration. This is go whatever it takes to get that lady into bed.

Boice: I can think of a number of ways to speed this up then.

Flare: Come on Jack. Leave the innuendos to me.

Boice: Well, let’s look at this final piece of action here, and it’s a puzzling one. Smitten’s actually buying drinks for Celt’s wingman, and letting him keep the change.

Flare: That’s a move I can’t work out. There has to be an ulterior motive to this. He can’t be just being friendly. That’s not his style. Hold on!!

The shot changes back to Boice and Flare, where a commotion has started outside the nightclub behind them. Trading blow for blow are The Celt and his Wingman. It seems the Wingman is doing all the provoking, swinging wildly and ineffectively.

Boice: A FIGHT!!! A FIGHT HAS BROKEN OUT!!! OH MY GOD, Do you think that’s what Smitten was doing, convincing the wingman to fight with The Celt.

Flare: it must be, because here comes Smitten, with a lovely woman on his arm! This one’s all over. Brilliance by Smitten. Taking the Celt out of the equation like that and then swooping in for the submission kill. Brilliance.

Boice: Textbook display of how to do it on the home of getting it done decisively. Smitten will move on to next week’s championship match, if we’ve still got a license to do this.

Flare: Of course we’ll still have a license. Who doesn’t want to watch this?



Smitten and The Celt sit quietly in room, where nobody else is. Both of them have a giant “Where’s Waldo” poster in front of them. Both of them are pictures of concentration, scanning it for any sign of that elusive Waldo. Suddenly Smitten stands up, slowly, and walks to the poster with a definite sense of purpose. He points to a spot where he believes Waldo to be.

Smitten: Found him.

The Celt walks up to where Smitten’s pointing and looks very closely. Suddenly, he drops to his knees, exhausted from the concentration. He shakes his head furiously.

Celt: I was looking right there too...

Boice: OH MY GOD!!! SMITTEN’S JUST DELIVERED THE KNOCK OUT BLOW!!! THAT TAKES HIS TOTAL TO...1...2...3!!! HE’S WON IT!!! SMITTEN MOVES ON TO NEXT WEEK’S ULTRA-WALDO BOUT!!!

Flare: This is lame. I hate it.



Sitting behind two computers in a very bland and boring room are The Celt and Christian G. Smitten. The pair are not saying anything verbally to each other, but are typing furiously. Beeps, resembling the new message notifications on AIM are frequently heard from both computers. In the corner sit Jack Boice and Janus Flare.

Boice: Welcome back to FMW Capital Letters, the best damn brand of Full Metal Writing.

Flare: Much better than Articulate Spelling, or Demonic Punctuation.

Boice: The feature bout of this week’s write off is slowly coming to a close. The Commissioner, Christian G. Smitten, has returned from retirement in an attempt to make it to the FMW Ultra-shocking twist championship match in about a months time.

Flare: The other man who wishes to get there is The Celt, one of FMW’s finest writers, but he seems to have struggled a bit as of late. Almost as if he’s lost his spark.

Boice: Both these competitors have put forward some excellent works for the judging panel to read, and the general public seems to have taken their works under some serious consideration.

Flare: It’s a very even contest, and it could go either way. I have a feeling it will come down to a vote difference, either way, to determine a winner.

Boice: Let’s talk through these efforts we’ve seen. First off, let’s start with The Celt’s.

Flare: The Celt is always a solid product, and gives tremendous length to many of his works. Many people love to go for length, including many of the females who come across great length. Males generally wish they have the length others might, but The Celt, he can stiffen up and blow us away with amazing length at times.

Jack Boice puts his head in his hands, almost disgusted by what he’s heard his broadcast partner say. He lifts his head up and turns to his partner with an almost disbelieving look on his face. Flare stares right back at him, before cracking a wide smile.

Boice: That’s probably some of the bluntest Penis analogies you’ve used in a while.

Flare: I don’t care.

Boice: Well then, tell us, what did you think of the Celt’s work.

Flare: To be honest, I haven’t read it yet.

Boice: You haven’t? But... that’s unprofessional of you? How can you talk about his work if you haven’t read it?

Flare: Well... I won’t. Simple as that Jack. It’s not like you can talk, you haven’t read it yet either.

Boice: I’ll get around to it. I’m sure whatever work The Celt has put forward is utter brilliance. He has blown me away in the past, and I’d expect nothing less from him this week.

Flare: That’s a cop out.

Boice: Well, I’m not going to talk about his promo until after the deadline for the voting to stop has passed. I might as well fudge something in here so he knows his work is appreciated.

Flare: Well Mr. Talking Dick, tell me about Smitten’s writings.

Boice: Why does everyone think I have a talking cock? I’m not that Jack Boice.

Flare: Sure you’re not.

Boice: Being professional, I’ll move along. Smitten, normally one to write dark, gritty works based upon some guy in Australia who plays Trombone for a living, did something completely different, and wrote something humoresque.

Flare: Really? Tell me about it.

Boice: It was good, wasn’t it?

Flare: No, really. Tell me about it. I haven’t read it. Red Tube was much more interesting.

Boice turns to Flare again, with a furious look on his face. Flare looks back at him, and shrugs his shoulders.

Flare: What?

Boice: If you’d been doing your job properly instead of watching porn all the time, you’d know that Smitten wrote a piece of work discussing what FMW might be if FMW didn’t stand for Fully Metallic Writing. He discussed a number of possibilities, posing FMW as almost a Japanese dating game show, a maths challenge, and even a game of Where’s Waldo.

Flare: I saw something like that last night actually. It was kinky, but at the same time, I didn’t get as excited as I would have liked over that.

Boice: BUT, the most interesting of them was where he discussed FMW as a wrestling federation, called Full Metal Wrestling, and he pitted himself in a wrestling match against The Celt. He basically said that the Celt wouldn’t be a terribly difficult opponent for him, and that his technical prowess and amazing power would be able to win him the match.

Flare: Really?

Boice: Yes, and he also discussed, assuming our history was also an accurate result of how wrestling matches would have gone, that The Celt’s record with things being on the line are poor. In particular, he eluded to The Celt’s attempts to capture the FMW Ultra-Shocking Twist championship, which he called in the federation the Ultraviolent championship...

Flare: Ultraviolent Championship? Really? He had so many more uses for the word violent in a wrestling sense, and he chose “Ultraviolent”? How amateurish.

Boice: I quite liked it, but he did highlight that the Celt’s had a number of chances to capture the “Ultraviolent Championship”, but has never been able to capitalise on these chances. He also discussed that he’s worked with some of FMW’s finest men, defeating men like John Derrick, and teaming with Jaro, both who have held this title before. In essence, he came out and declared a man more fit to be the champion than The Celt, or anyone he could possibly face next week.

Flare: I’m not sure I like the idea behind the work. It seems a little... not his style.

Boice: I think it’s quite good actually. It’s not something you’d expect to see from Smitten, but he’s tried something new, and I think he’s pulled it off. And it’s not like you can really comment on it, you haven’t even read it yet.

Flare: Oh boo hoo.

Boice: So, we’re in the last 30 seconds of the time limit. Votes are still being cast, and they can be cast right up until the very last second... AND THAT’S IT!!! IT’S ALL OVER!!!!

Flare: Great. I’ll just go collect my pay check and go home.

Boice: Folks, that’s it, it’s now a waiting game until the results start coming out to us. And when the results are finalised, we’ll be here to bring them to you. This is Jack Boice, for Janus Flare, saying, I hope you’re wearing your waiting pants. Thank you, and GOOD NIGHT from FMW, Capital Letters.

October 2006 – a fresh faced Celt sits awkwardly on a strikingly uncomfortable nouveau modern designed chair, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. Wearing a smart maroon shirt and black tie with a hint of gel in his hair even a stranger could probably tell he’s out of his comfort zone.

“Care for some water?” asks the mousy brown haired secretary, staring down at him from behind thick framed yet stylish black framed glasses.

“Uh, Sure” answers Celt, who reaches out and accepts the Evian bottle with a humble nod, all the while high conscious that his movements cause the leather of the chair to squeal out in disapproval. As Celt unscrews the cap and gently sips the refreshing water he struggles to take in the sur-reality of simply being in Full Metal Wrestling’s headquarters. It’d always been his dream to be part of a company like this, but the idea that he could actually achieve it had always seemed so far away, so distant. Yet he was, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He could actually feel a massive lump in his throat, he was sure of it, that as making it increasingly difficult to speak.

“Trust me, I don’t want be here all day either, this is all really just a formality” says Jaro, revealing himself from behind a huge custom swivel chair, “But then again, I suppose it’s a chance to see what mutants Ekstreme has plucked out his ass to develop...no offence Irish”. The legend beamed a smirk, clearly enjoying his own brand of charm.

“Sure” murmurs Celt, the word barely escaping from his mouth. Of course he wasn’t going to admit it, but he was intimated by the former World Champion, and his “hands-on” business approach. He never imagined even meeting the most charismatic man in the industry, never mind doing business with him.

“Wow...with a vocabulary like that you’re just going to get over like wildfire aren’t ya? Hahaha”.

Celt doesn’t really know how to response outside delivering a rather sour expression.

“Look, don’t worry about it kid, you’ll do fine, why the fuck else would we be hiring you? Now cheer up, you’re about to score the job of a lifetime” says Jaro as he coyly mock-punches Celt in blood chair barbed wire sharp cruel pain choking on my own blood the arm. Reaching into a drawer underneath his desk, Jaro pulls out a contract and pen which he leaves in-front of Celt. Wide-eyed Celt scans the contents of the contract, almost unable to believe the offer on hand; it’s not long before Celt’s hand is reaching for the pen.

The urge to commit is overwhelming, however as Celt grips the pen in an almost shaking hand he glances at Jaro, who responses with a reassuring nod. With a deep inhale Celt scrawls his signature onto the paper in the highlighted areas, entrusting his career to Full Metal Wrestling. “Welcome abroad kid” Jaro says as he simultaneously claps.

“Thanks sir...you won’t regret this” Celt pips out. “I know I won’t” Jaro says extending his hand, and as the two shake pain pain pain hate pain Celt sails through the air down fifty feet fear suffering loathing you’re an evil bastard Jaro, all you touch turns to shit you’re a cancer hurting us all hands Celt feels a sense of relief flood over him. Finally he achieved what he’d worked so hard broken bones hospital beds scars scars scars betrayal must protect the weak and the manipulable cold darkness can’t sleep. “We’re still getting things together but we’re hoping to have you working in the next couple of months as we recruit a few more rookies as well, definitely by December anyway” said Jaro supportively vomit sham wedding power mad motherfucker hate don’t trust, never trust bastard, bastard! “I think we’ve a lot to offer each other Celt...let’s make this work”.

“Absolutely, I’m ready to make this work Sir” says Celt. “But ah, listen...I’m not just going to be an island out there will I? I’ll have support right, people to lean on?”

Jaro stares at Celt for moment, seemingly taken off guard on the comment or simply at a momentary loss for words.

“I’m the owner of this company...I’ll always do what’s in its best interests” said lied Jaro.


November 2006 – "I’m so proud of you” read the text. It was strange to read, despite its endearing quality .Celt knew that PX meant every word of it, but at the same time there was always that lingering suspicion that maybe it wasn’t. Call it what you will; jealously or envy, but there always existed a sibling rivalry between the two. While they were family, brothers, the bonds that held them together sometimes served to pull them apart as well. Neither of them could say from where it stemmed but it always seemed like there was always something between them that would spur on conflict betrayal war how can you do this to me? Shock horror sadness sorrow alone alone alone I’m not strong enough to hate you completely come back come back hope I know you best trust in me. Perhaps it came from their naturally competitive tendencies, or their antagonistic personalities, neither could rightly say. Then again, sometimes it worked in their advantage, pushing them to work harder for everything they want.

“Thanks” Celt texted back. While he knew they’d always have minor conflicts, he also knew nothing would ever tear them apart.

"I hope you make it too"

Celt meant it

August 2007 – Anarchy 4.1 Celt felt electric, as if he’d been hooked up to a power generator. He was feeling a buzz unlike anything he’d ever known. Literally just minutes ago he’d scored the pin in his first ever match as a true FMW roster member, and he could be any happier. It was everything he ever dreamed of: ten minutes of wild, care-free action that had thrilled and entertained the crowd. It’d been a “drunken rules” match, the hilarious creation of one James McDaygo, known to the fans as “the Bar-room Hero”. As Celt and McDaygo sat backstage depleting an ice-cooler full of beers the party atmosphere was in full effect. The two joke around with backstage stage, enjoying the night now free of any responsibilities.

“Life is good man” toasts Celt to McDaygo, a mile-wide smile covering his face.

“Sure is” replies McDaygo before lashing into a hefty pint of free Guinness.

Whether it had been by hook or by crook, James McDaygo had setup possible the greatest business ever struck in Full Metal Wrestling history: He’d managed to get Guinness, the world famous Irish brewers of the darkest stout known to man, to sponsor him and use him as a spokesman. Not only did Guinness send him as much of their product as the man could enjoy, they’d even commissioned their own championship belt for him to carry around. Many might have hesitated to call James McDaygo an intelligent man, but none could say he wasn’t “glic”, that is to say sly in Gaelic.

Wiping some sweat from his brow with a towel, Celt shot Nick Bryson a wave as he passed by having just finished his warm-up. Bryson replied with a wink, happy to see one of his rookies enjoying the highs of main roster life. Bryson didn’t like to speak about it much, but he was heavily involved in the behind the scene workings of New Era Wrestling, the development territory that had moulded Celt into a complete worker. But that was Bryson to a tee, humble as pie.

Not everyone in the locker-room was quite a jovial. The solemn, hulking figure of Sockoman seemed to haunt the far reaches of the backstage area. With a grim look etched on his face he shadow boxs, squats, and general does all he could to prepare for his match with Christen G. Smitten hypocrite liar scum bastard kidnapper just minutes away. Sockoman was a good creature, but he was becoming increasing more isolated from everyone else in the company as his personal life began to spiral out of control. The word on the grape vine was that the government was trying to take his daughter Kelsey away from him, claiming there was no way he could be a single father and a professional wrestler at the same time. To add more fuel to the fire Smitten, the newly certified manipulator lawyer was beginning to take an interest in the case, much to the chagrin of Sockoman.

Smitten; a name that left a bitter taste in the Celt’s mouth. It’d literally only been weeks since Smitten had been a name the Celt respected, back when Smitten was known to the public only as CGS; an Australian biker with a keen sense of ethics. But suddenly a stark change had come over the big man, coincidently just as his views where now backed up by the legitimacy of his profession. Ever increasingly Smitten was using his knowledge of the law to defend any personal view bare-faced liar deceit bullshitting trickster that took his fancy. As a highly talented C-4 Division competitor Smitten was highly respected within the FMW, and that made his word dangerous contamination pollution of the mind.

“Smitten; what a mockery of what the word “Law” means; I wish someone would shut him up already...” thinks Celt quietly to himself.


“Mind throwing one of those my way?” asked the swaggering John Derrick. “Doc” might have been a gentleman with the ladies but even as McDaygo waved approval “Doc” had already a firm grasp around a cold one. It was fine though, no-one was going to miss it.

“I love this man...there’s something special here” said Celt, almost dreamily.

“Guinness is quite the drink” chuckles McDaygo.

“Nah, I mean Anarchy; it’s unique, there’s nothing like this in the world man. It’s got this free spirit man...I think I’m going to love here.” states Celt.

“Hmm...Celt, you’ve either had too much to drink and yer gettin’ a bit emotional or you’re a passionate man ha ha.” says McDaygo.

“Hey, McDaygo! Can we get in on that stash?”

Celt and McDaygo turn to see the appearance of non-other than Commedia Dell'Arte, Alchemy’s resident prankster raw evil tag team. The two were always noted for their infectious evil mind games fun loving ways and innate charisma. They could be juvenile at times but everyone seemed to a plague on us all like them. While the two seemed to like Celt, it was Mercutio fire scars mocking sexual deviant who had christened Celt “Leprecan’t”. Although Celt didn’t find the moniker all that biting it did still manage to annoy him from time to time.

“Howarya lads, yeah that’s plenty there if ya want some” said McDaygo, opening up the cooler.

“Nice, cheers guys” says Mercutio, plucking a Guinness out of the ice. Looking up at him, Celt looks into his soulless damned eyes and felt a shutter down his spine, as if a coldness had suddenly been thrust upon him.

“So...what brings ye to our neck of the woods?” asks Celt, somewhat cautiously

“Oh, just look for some mayhem fun, you know it’s something to do...coming to destroy see Anarchy” answer Harlequin staple gun maniac.

As Celt takes a causal sip of his Guinness he suddenly notices his palms have become incredibly moist.

“Is getting warm in here or something?” asks Celt. The rest of the group seems somewhat befuddled by the statement.

“Um, we’re sitting beside a cooler full of ice you fucking moron” says Mercutio, one eyebrow cocked

“Uh, Whatchu say to me?” asks Celt sharply.

“I think the kid has had too much to drink boys” chuckles McDaygo.

“Yeah, I think he just might have” laughs Harlequin


Celt stares in amazement at the sound of such a horrid cackle, yet no else seems to care. A clown’s face paint streams down Harlequin’s face while Mercutio’s skin crackles and burns, becomes ash-like and black in places such as around his face.

“Jesus, don’t look so freaked Celt, we’re just kidding around with ya” lies from the mouth of devils says Mercutio, looking at Celt concerned.

“Uh, sorry...yeah, um, yeah I think I better stop drinking. I think I’m letting the excitement of the night get to me” says Celt apologetically follow your instinct the enemy is at hand!

“Stupid fucking drunks” comments Syanide, making his presence felt. Leaning against a wall, his presence immediately dampens the moods of everyone else. “But what else do you expect from their kind” says Syanide, finishing his sentiment.

Celt stares almost blankly into the dark eyes of the monstrous Aryan death mask glass blood racist shame.

“Don’t eye-fuck me Paddy” says Syanide in a raised voice, offended by Celt’s gaze, but Celt doesn’t move, he doesn’t even blink. He seems completely zoned all of sudden now that he’s the unholy trinity before him, the bane of FMW as we knew it.

“I said don’t eye-fuck me Paddy” repeats Syanide, this time sterner and in a more threatening way. But once again Celt is unable to look away knowing the truth behind the lies. He sees beyond the crumbling facade and on into the deadly future that belies FMW, Anarchy and Corruption. He sees the monsters for what they are and knows the war he’ll have to wage into order to stop them. His heart pounds but his lip stiffens as he balls his hands into fists.

And as Syanide beginning to countdown from three he lunges head on into the enemy...


Oh wouldn’t that be nice? Huh? Wouldn’t that be great? Me, having the foresight to see the future. To be able to know, not just predict, but know all the actions I need to do in order to protect everyone. It’d be magnificent. And oh how I wish that was possible. To be able to make every single right move needed, and have a prefect, happy life?

But it’s not. It’s a lie. It’s fantasy.

None of us can rewrite our past; a true “clean slate” is beyond all of us.

The “celebrated” former commissioner of FMW, one Christian G. Smitten, has informed me I’m not “suitable” to be number one contender for the Ultraviolent Championship, never-mind the holder. Apparently I don’t have the “will to win”. Oh Brother you must not know me...I’ve got more strength of will than I need. See, I think the problem here is Smitten is that you’ve confused the issue. I don’t think it’s because you think I don’t have the “will to win” necessary, no I think it’s just you don’t think I’m successful enough to beat you.

I mean, how could I possibly be in you league? You, the mighty former World Champion, crossing paths with me, the lowly defender of the red brand, who’s never even held one single title? This is going to be a cake-walk right?

I can’t change my past Smitten, not even to suit you. I’ve never been successful in the way you’d define it. But that’s not a reason to write me off. Oh no.

See, you think you can come in here and sweep by me Smitten, oh yes you do.

But here’s something you don’t understand Smitten, and this is what going to tie it all together: My career so far, all my experiences and tribulations...no, they’ve never brought me gold. But they have done something else, perhaps something far better:

They’ve moulded me into the perfect candidate for UV Champion.

All the wars, all the pain, all the suffering, the desire and the heartache...all of it, it’s twisted me like steel into someone PREFECT for that belt. I’ve always had the desire Smitten, always had “the will to win”, I just didn’t have the experience, the knowledge of how to win.

But after FOUR whole years of bitter battles and wars I know. Every moment pushed towards a harder, tougher fighter. Being put through glass tables? Made me tougher. The torture in the insane asylum? Made me stronger. Diving 50 feet off the METALtron? Made me better.
I’m at that prefect point, that edge between Insanity and morality to take that belt Smitten, I’m at that incredible spot between obsession and devotion to bring it all home.

You know a wise man once said “If you want to protect the flock from the wolves you can’t be a sheep”. Now, that doesn’t mean I’ve become a wolf like you Smitten, but all these years of battle have twisted me into another creature, one who LIVES to fight guys like you.
The will, the skill and the experience...I’m the consummate Corruption creature Smitten, the prefect beast to bear the title.

I eat Corruption, I breathe Corruption and I even occasionally sleep Corruption. Honestly Smitten, if I’m not fit to be Ultraviolent Champion, no-one is.

TyranT could not recall what had happened. His memory failed him, no matter how hard and how deep he delved into his own mind. He looked for something… anything that might explain the situation he found himself in. A bar perhaps, maybe some kind of confrontation. No, this was something more. A searing pain throbbed within the back of his head the moment his eyes opened. The pain wasn’t caused by physical trauma, it was something else, a drug perhaps. Why would anyone drug the TyranT? What purpose did it achieve other then to anger the old giant. Once more, memory failed to serve TyranT as he tried to think and compose his thoughts. Though his eyes were open, he could not see, all was as black as pitch. He could feel his own breathe reaching upwards to brush over his own face with each laboured intake of air, reflected by a material that coated his face and entire head. The large man sat slumped, trying to shift, trying to move. A thud sounded loudly, echoing between walls as heavy tight knit linen clashed against steel, wrists bound by ropes as they clashed against the metal frame of the chair he rested upon when he tried to move. He was restrained, blind to the world, but not deaf.

TyranT: Agh… Hello? What the fuck is goin’ on ‘ere!

A fair question that received no answer much to the dismay of the old timer. TyranT could feel the material clinging to his face, drenched in his own sweat due to the humidity within his present location. Heavy rope clashed against steel once more, a familiar song with no satisfying end as TyranT continued to test his restraints. Only his wrists were bound, prompting TyranT to try and stand. He only lifted upwards a little before the chair prevented his rise. It remained statuesque in place, possibly bolted to the floor to restrict his movements. It did not cause the TyranT to cease his actions, grunting loudly, the old wrestler continued to try and stand, pulling against the ropes that held him prisoner, believing himself powerful enough to tear the material. He roared out in frustration, causing more pain to develop in his head, like a hammer was driving a nail into the back of his head.

???: Sit down.

All at once there was silence. TyranT froze in place, half standing and awkwardly positioned in mid struggle. He couldn’t make out where the voice had come from, hearing no breathe, no sign of movement apart from his own, all there had been was a whisper. The voice itself was somewhat muffled and distorted.

TyranT: Who’s there! Who the hell is there! Ah’m literally gonna’ kill whoever the hell ya’ are if ya’ don’t let me outta’ this fuckin’ chair! Do you know who the hell ya’ messin’ with?!

???: The old war horse, as defiant as ever, even when the situation is so hopeless. Of course I know who you are. The question is, do you know who I am?

TyranT: When Ah’ get outta’ this fuckin’ chair Ah’ promise ya’! Ah’ll find out for mah’self!

???: If you want me to remove the sack from your head you will shut up and sit down… more importantly… you will listen.

Another pause. TyranT remained frozen in place as he tried to assess the situation. He began to try and figure out the voice, though only a whisper there was something familiar about it. It was someone he knew that had done this, it had to be. That notion made him smile unseen behind the sack. Though still boiling with rage, he complied with the request, offering little complaint. He wanted to see the face of his assailant after all. His heart was racing, thumping against the inside of his chest when he finally sat himself down. It was more through rage then fear, the feeling of being detained triggering off an animal instinct. He sat waiting, his breathe heavy and still humid against his own flesh as it had little place to escape from the sack.

Footsteps sounded, getting closer with each step. It was hard to determine if they were in front of him, besides or behind. There was an unusual echo within the room causing a distortion of sound. TyranT couldn’t help but wonder where the hell he might be, but most of his thoughts were on the individual who dared to put him in this place. Some respite was finally offered when he felt the sack loosen from around his neck, allowing air to rush upwards, somewhat cooler and so forth somewhat relieving to feel against his flesh. Only a moment later, and the sack was peel from his face. TyranT could only wince, coughing a little as his strained eyes were quick to adjust to the darkened room around him.

The floor was tiled, discoloured, chipped and stained with dry congealed blood, no doubt from some kind of earlier session with someone else in the chair perhaps. The walls were closed in, giving only a few metres of space around TyranT at either side of him. A bare lightbulb dangled just above, casting eerie shadows. TyranT looked down at himself, noticing he was still clad in his FMW attire. A black Kevlar like vest over a dark T, combat pants with thick military like boots. He could feel the material over his hands suggesting he was wearing his gloves still. All that was missing was his freedom and a nightstick to put the man before him in his place. TyranT could see him now as he lay slumped in the chair, staring with defiance. Though mostly a sillouette, he was clad in somewhat casual clothing. Jeans, a black T not too unlike his own. What set him apart from the norm was the heavy black coat he wore, and an unusual black mask he seemed to use to conceal his face. The sight of him was enough to bring TyranT into cynical laughter.

TyranT: Black Marcus?! Really? Ah’ thought you died or something’, what the fuck do ya’ think yer’ playin’ at?!

Mask: I assure you that I am not Black Marcus. I am someone else.

TyranT: Dunn? Nah, yer’ much bigger then Dunn. Too small and too American to be the big Japanese bastard Korou or Kuni or whoever the hell he calls himself. Mask ain’t Doc’s style, doesn’t fit for Striker either.

The masked figure responded to the interrogation with a sharp backhand, causing TyranT to shift to the side, nearly falling from the chair if it wasn’t for the ropes keeping his wrists in place. It was all TyranT could do but spit a little blood across the tiled floor before he shifted himself back into place, a sly smile spread across his lips as he watched the man circle around him.

TyranT: Ah’ know ya’… Ah’ve heard that voice before. Ya’ve really gone an’ put ya’self in some deep shit now boy! Do ya’ even realize what ya’ have done wrong?!

Mask: We are not here to talk about what wrong I have done to you TyranT. We’re here to talk about what wrong you have done to yourself, the people around you and the one you supposedly care for. The mess you are in right now has all been caused by you.

TyranT: Ya’ don’t know anythin’. Ya’ talkin’ nuttin’ but shit! Now let me the hell outta’ this chair, Ah’m givin’ ya’ one more chance to do the right thing!

Another strike, this time a clenched fist that caught TyranT square on the jaw. The strike was commendable, nearly causing TyranT’s jaw to break as his head snapped to the side with a small goblet of blood escaping from his open lips. His jaw felt mostly numb, all feeling reserved for the pain that now grew as he felt his jaw click a little as he tried to favour the damage, only for his wrists to stop again as the ropes tightened. It didn’t stop him from pulling however as he glared towards the masked man.

Mask: The right thing? You dare to speak to me about doing the right thing?! You betrayed your little girl of what was the greatest opportunity of her life. That title that you hold so dear to yourself, that corrupted belt that makes you think you’re a champion, it has made you commit terrible travesties against your own flesh and blood!

TyranT: Fuck… so this is what this is all ‘bout. Really? Ya’ go through all this effort for some damn lecture on some crap that ain’t got nuttin’ to do with ya’?!

Mask: It has everything to do with me, and everything to do with you!

A slight tear in the ropes. TyranT felt it as he pulled with his wrists. Though the ropes were strong, he too was as strong as they come. He shifted his wrists, wearing the rope against the steel, knowing with enough time and effort he might be able to weaken the restraints. If he could get free… he just needed time. Such a thing was easy given his captor was some Faith obsessed freak. It was possible he was dealing with another Terry Williams, a man who tried to take his life before the second Mt. V… though TyranT still swore to himself that he knew the voice as it continued to speak in a low manner, almost a whisper.

TyranT: Alright… Ah’ll humour you. Ya’ wanna’ know ‘bout Faith?! Girl’s a fuckin’ prodigy. Ah’ won’t deny it, she is one of the best, quite a thing to say since she’s a woman, but she can hold her own against the paramount of fighters the FMW has. She’s good enough to stand toe to toe with anyone… but Ah’ say this now what Ah’ve been tellin’ everyone since Ah’ took her chance at the title. SHE WASN’T READY FOR IT!!!

Mask: Perhaps you used to believe such actions by your part were true. Maybe somewhere in your mind, even back at Deathrow, you thought in the back of your head that what you were doing was the right thing, that Faith wasn’t ready to hold the belt. But let’s be honest… that thought long diminished the moment you realized how false it was.

TyranT: What the hell has everyone got against me?! Ah’ did what Ah’ did with the best intentions at heart! Ah’ step on a few people, no more then anyone else in the FMW, an’ all of a sudden Ah’m FMW’s most wanted! You know what this is all ‘bout? Everyone wants the belt… but when someone has had the FMW Championship, they’ve all had walls to hide behind. Previous champions had someone behind their back to protect ’em to scare off the wanna‘ be champions, makin‘ em‘ think twice to challenge for the belt! Management, men an’ women with power… Stables an’ friends and all kinds of shit is what previous champions had behind em! Now the TyranT? Heh, well… he’s a loner. He achieved his victory all bah’ himself! They all think ‘cause Ah’m a loner, that the belt will be easy pickin’s for the first time in FMW history, that Ah’ got no one behind mah’ back to protect me when it all goes down!

Ah’ proved em’ wrong over an’ over, yet they still think ‘cause Ah’m all on mah’ lonesome, it’s the best chance anyone has ever had at pickin’ up the belt! They all just use Faith as an excuse to get at me, to try and make themselves justified in their own selfish ambitions to claim what is now mah‘n! Anyone of them would do the same fuckin’ thing Ah’ did! All of ‘em would step over Faith in a heartbeat if it meant grabbin’ that title! That belt makes people show their true colours! All their fake moral shit, all their pointin’ fingers, they all go outta‘ the window! The only difference between me an’ them is that Ah’ did it to family… But Ah’ stand by mah’ point when Ah’ say I did it for her own good! The rest of those losers who get behind Faith to mask their own lil’ quest to take me on? Ah’ shit on em’ boy… Ah’ shit on em’ all!

Another strike, this one hurting a lot more when added to the damage he had already received. TyranT coughed a little, grunting as he tried to endure the sharp sting of pain that continued to drive into the back of his skull, now added with a new string as he felt a wetness down the side of his lip were the masked man’s knuckle had split some of his flesh. Through all of this, TyranT continued to pull on the ropes, feeling the strands loosen very gradually. He smiled, looking up at the masked figure, ever so curious to know who he was, what his story was in all of this and why he would even get involved in affairs that were not his own… less he was an FMW wrestler himself.

Mask: We are not here to feed your ego or delusions TyranT.

TyranT: No… seems we’re ‘ere to talk about how sorry we feel for mah’ poor lil’ girl ain’t we?

Mask: Do you want to know what I think of you when it comes to your daughter? When it comes to the many times you have kicked her away every time she has a chance at something in the FMW, every time she tries to come to you, knowing that you’re her father and that you should know best… do you want to hear my thoughts?… Thoughts that are the truth you’ll try and deny…

TyranT: Humour me…

Mask: It’s simple, jealousy.

TyranT: Thirty years in the business. SJF Tournament Semi-Finalist, New Era Championship winner, Abandoned Champion, Mount Vesuvius winner, FMW Champion with a chance at becoming the best champion this federation has seen, ya’ think Ah’m jealous?!

Mask: The fact that you listed your achievements against Faith’s, and the fact that you did so with so much anxiety within your tone confirms it.

TyranT: Ya’ve spoke nuttin’ but shit since ya’ took the sack off mah’ head boy.

Mask: Thirty years you’ve been wrestling, and only in the twilight of your career are you really seeing success. You’re an old man now TyranT, and whilst its commendable that you have gained the title at such an old age, it still took you thirty years, your whole life as a wrestler to get what you always wanted. Faith on the other hand…

TyranT: Shut the fuck up…

Mask: Faith rightfully earned her title shot within weeks of starting her career. The mute is already better then you were in your prime, and has already achieved more then you could when you first started. She defeated a former champion in Smitten and went on to earn a place to claim the greatest title. Having defeated such prestigious fighters in the tournament and even claiming the Hayabusa, everyone knew Faith was going to win the Championship, yourself included.

TyranT: Ya’ don’t know what yer’ talkin’ ‘bout!

Mask: You were proud, that I know, I’ve always known it. But you were also angry, jealous. Faith was ready to surpass you in history. Whilst the TyranT held moderate success and domination in his time in the FMW, it wouldn’t compare to being the youngest and quickest wrestler to be crowned a champion. All that the TyranT is would have faded away in the background, whilst Faith would be instantly cemented into history. You couldn’t let that happen could you?

TyranT: …

Mask: You couldn’t let Faith become a World Champion before her father… that’s why you came out of retirement, that’s why you took Faith’s shot away and that is why you’ve been holding her back all this time. You just had to get there before her didn’t you? You just couldn’t help yourself!

TyranT: Shut up! What the hell do yer’ know?! Ah’ tried for years and years to get to the top an’ Ah’ never made it! It took me thirty years to get a fuckin’ sniff at the top of the ladder… a god damn fuckin’ sniff! Ah’ finally had it when Ah’ won the Mt. V, when Ah’ grabbed that torch! TyranT after thirty years was finally gonna’ become a champion! An’ then some nigger took it away from me! Some black bastard put his worthless career on the line against mah’ will and took it! Thirty years gone! An’ then Faith comes along… mah’ own daughter! She walks into this federation and she gets a title shot as if it was a walk in the park! Of course Ah’ had to take it from her! She had to know how it feels to be robbed, she had to experience the worse feelin’ this business can give you, and that’s havin’ something special taken away from you!

Faith had to feel that… she had to feel it as soon as possible in her career so that it didn’t happen to her when it happened to me….

Mask: You took advantage of your own daughter’s success and turned it into your own! No amount of reasoning or lies will change that fact TyranT! You did it all because you couldn’t accept that Faith was better then you! You couldn’t let her best you! You can’t get weasel your way from the truth with deceit! You can’t lie to me because I know you better then you know yourself!

TyranT remained silent, leaning forward as his weary eyes glared towards the dark mask of his assailant. He needed only another moment, he could feel the threads of the rope slowly tearing one by one as his wrists pulled. Already he could imagine what he would be doing in the next couple of minutes. The first would be tearing that mask off the face of this deluded fool. Finally revealing who he was. He would be detained no longer… nor would he take anymore of his talking. For now he sat silent, just staring at the masked man, leaning forward a little as he pulled with hits wrists. It was the only clue the masked man would receive of what TyranT was up to… but it seemed he was oblivious.

Mask: Do you really have nothing to say for yourself? Do you really have no remorse over your actions, over what you’ve done to your own flesh and blood.

TyranT: Oh… Ah’ do have one thing Ah’d like to say. Though Ah’m not sure Ah’ can really say it. The language Ah’ want to speak right now can’t really be expressed in words. It needs somethin’ more, something Ah’m sure yer’ll come to understand in just a moment.

Mask: What do you mean by such a statement?

The answer came the moment he stopped whispering in his muffled voice. He watched as the ropes restraining TyranT’s wrists seem to fall from behind him, slumping down like some lifeless serpent on the broken tiled ground. The reactions of the masked man were pitiful at best as he tried to make a move against TyranT, sensing the immediate threat. What TyranT would have given to see the reaction on his face if it wasn’t for the mask. Though old and off his game, TyranT if anything had always been resilient and tough. The old timer met the advancing masked figure with a powerful shoulder tackle, a sudden reminder of his days in colleague in the old football team. When his shoulder made contact with the masked man, it felt as if he had rushed into a brick wall. He was deceptively heavy, his frame concealed by the heavy coat, but he fell all the same under the strength of the TyranT. A struggle ensued, though there was little grace to it.

TyranT felt a gloved hand grasp at his face, the index finger dangerously close to his eye as he felt the man try and shove him away. TyranT had the leverage, it was all he needed, and so he was able to shrug away his hand, before receiving a heavy punch against the side of his head. The strike hit hard, shaking TyranT a little, but it wasn’t enough to shift him from the assailant as TyranT shifted into a mount. A second strike, even harder then the last, this time TyranT returned the favour, and followed up with several more. Though the masked figure squirmed, struggled and struck for a while, eventually he was worn out as TyranT ran his knuckles into his temple and face with each strike, landing in more then the masked figure could as the seconds rolled on. In such a fight with no rules or restraint, fights never went on much longer then a couple of seconds.

TyranT felt a wetness down his nose and mouth, as a taste of copper touched his tongue, causing him to spit out a grotesque glob of phlegm and blood. Though the victor, he still received considerable damage in the turmoil of the fight. The FMW Champion grasped the masked figure by the throat with one hand, clenching tightly until he heard the man below him choke. With his other hand he grasped at the mask, his breathing heavy and laboured from the struggle as his mind still raced with adrenaline and rage. Many questions were still in his mind, were the hell was he, how did he even get into such a place with no memory of the day before. The main question in his head however was about to be answered.

TyranT: Who the hell are ya, ya‘ son of a bitch?!

TyranT addressed, more to himself then anyone else. He peeled the mask away, allowing for blood to escape from the damaged face below of the man that dared to try and hold him captive. Despite the bruises, despite all the blood and all the damage that he left on the face of the previously masked man, he knew instantly who it was, and that alone caused his heart to freeze as the mask dropped from his hand. It didn’t make any sense. Laughter sounded out, loud and grotesque, the kind of laugh only the TyranT might have been able to muster during his terrible reign as a champion. Such a laugh did not come from TyranT however as he stared dumbfounded at the man below him, but in some small sense, the laugh did come from him.

TyranT: What the fuck?!

Below him, was himself. All bloody and bruised, just as old as TyranT was when he last looked in the mirror. He watched himself laugh out loud despite the clear pain his other self was in.

Billy: Sooner or later the world is gonna’ come crashin’ down on ya’. Ya’ gonna’ lose everythin’ TyranT. Yer’ already losin’ ya’ daughter over some trash piece of metal ya’ can barely fit ‘round yer’ waist… yer’ already losin’ ya’ ya’self and soon…

TyranT: SHUT UP!

TyranT shouted out, both hands now around the throat of the man below him, the man that had his own face, his own voice. He squeezed tightly, but Billy McKenzie simply kept on laughing no matter how hard he tried to choke the life from him. The laughter ran in his ears, piercing his very core, bringing out a beast within as TyranT shouted out in rage. His face turned a bright shade of pink as his arms tensed up, allowing for his fingers to curl tighter around the throat of the impostor, the nightmare that was just below him.

The laughter soon turned into screaming, not the sound of Billy McKenzie screaming, but the scream of a woman before the sound was choked out.

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

Billy opened his eyes wide, the room was not as it was. There was light from a window as the sun crept up the sky just beyond, barely visible between the half drawn curtains. The walls were no longer bare and now spread outwards in a spacious manner, holding design and paintings in frames of exquisite design. Below him was a bed as the silk sheets were piled up in a mess around him. Where he had felt cold there was only warmth now. His hands were wrapped around something soft as he felt something tugging at his wrists. In panic, TyranT looked down, seeing not the impostor just a moment ago, but a naked woman. She was in her late twenties, blonde with curls and a body that would allow her to go far in life with any man she wanted. Her eyes were blue yet wide, her chest heaving as her mouth was open, gagging as she tried to draw in breathe. Billy noticed that his hands were clenched tightly around her neck, squeezing the life from her.

All at once he released her, backing away as the woman jolted upwards, coughing violently before sucking in as much air as her lungs would allow. She turned onto her side curling up, coughing some more as Billy looked around, still trying to comprehend the situation. A dream, the whole thing had just been some stupid dream. Billy pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling the familiar throbbing in his head that had been present throughout the whole experience. The old timer had went out on a heavy session the previous night, all filled with nothing but beer, women and the gold that he earned after his great defence at Catalyst. Empty beer bottles and shot glasses littered the grounds of his rented apartment in a top hotel, they were even amongst the sheets of the bed he lay in.

Woman: What… the fuck is wrong with you!

The naked blonde spoke out between violent coughing, gathering the sheets as she tried to flee. Billy grasped her ankle, pulling her back towards him as she screamed out in panic, trying to lash out at him, no doubt fearing for her life after enduring his crushing grip only a moment ago. Billy seized her, firmly placing his hand over her mouth to silence the woman as he glared into her eyes, seeing nothing but fear he had become all too familiar with in the eyes of those that crossed him.

Billy: Shut the fuck up a minute and gimme’ a chance to fuckin’ apologize! Now Ah’ know Ah’ did wrong, too much tequila an’ cheese. Was just a fucked up dream Ah’ had alright? Ah’ ain’t some fuckin’ weirdo with a chokin’ fetish or somethin’ alright? Ah’ got a shit load of cash in the top draw over there. Ah’m gonna’ let go of ya’, yer’ gonna keep quiet now, get ya’ stuff, open the draw, take the cash and then fuck off! That apology enough for ya?!

Billy let go of the woman the moment he stopped speaking. The look on her face was one of disapproval to mask the horror that still lingered within those perfect eyes of hers. She let her thoughts be known as she slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave a numbness at the cheek as Billy‘s head jolted to the side. He turned to look at the woman with a raised eyebrow, gently rubbing the side of his jaw in a feeble attempt to sooth the pain.

Woman: Asshole!

With that out of the way, she gathered her belongings, grabbed her cash and made an uneventful departure. Once the door was closed, Billy fell back against the bed, grasping the sides of his temple as he felt his head giving him a world of trouble, a reminder of what happens when an old man tries to live the nightlife like an adolescent. It was only now as he lay naked and alone on a bed that wasn’t his own that TyranT began to reflect on the dream he had. In all honesty, it shook the man to his core. Very rarely did he dream, and when he did, it was never anything as vivid as what he experienced. A lot had happened since Catalyst, and TyranT recalled drinking a considerable amount even before the match. Whilst his courage and wits were still in tact, he did things he regretted, namely turning on Faith. He recalled striking her, something he had never done in his entire life, something he promised himself he would never do. The strike wasn’t hard, it probably wouldn’t have hurt a six year old… but it wasn’t the point. Whilst it didn’t physically damage, TyranT was certain it mentally damaged his daughter. Perhaps his thoughts on that had caused the dreams… whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

Gathering himself and putting on some boxer shorts, Billy stumbled from his bed towards the bathroom. Alcohol was still within his system, making him walk almost uneven as his head began to spin.
He tried to ease the heavy mood that wore him down by laughing to himself, thinking on how he awoke choking the life out of some bitch. It was a shame, the woman had a fine figure. By the time Billy got into the bathroom, it was all he could do to hold in what had steadily and slyly been rising up from his throat. In a moment the old man was on his hands and knees, redecorating the inside of the toilet, bringing up last nights late meal and more all in one session. A flush of the chain later and McKenzie pulled himself upwards, noticing there was a leaflet besides the toilet for the next card of FMW.

A quick flick through saw that the champion had earned a rest from his defence at Catalyst. Billy didn’t mind that, there was still bruises on his old body that needed to heal. Instead his daughter was on the card, up against Skyler’s old disciple, Leon Caprice. McKenzie cast the leaflet away, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself. On the edge of the bath besides him he noticed his mobile phone. With shaking hands, caused by the quantity of alcohol abuse, McKenzie picked up the mobile phone, looking through the contacts to find Faith’s name. He contemplated sending a text, trying to find a way to speak to her, to apologize for his actions at Catalyst. What could he say though? What could he possibly do at this point to assure his daughter that her father still loved her. Words wouldn’t do it, only actions, and Billy had become more then aware of what Faith wanted from him.

He caught a glimmer of a reflection as he sat, looking towards the lavish sink and mirror just opposite of where he sat. There rested the FMW Championship, the root of everything that had happened between him and Faith. It rested, almost a marvel to behold despite all the pain, blood, sweat and tears it had a history of shedding between the champions it switched hands from. For a long time it had TyranT’s name written across the plaque, Billy wondered how much longer it would remain there with all the men that were coming after him. It was that title that Faith wanted him to give up. She wanted him to lose it, so things might go back to the way they were again. Billy won the title with the best intention for his daughter… but even now he was beginning to see it, he could even feel it.

The belt was starting to change him, not just as the TyranT, but as Billy McKenzie.

Billy: Ah’m sorry Faith… forgive ya’ ol’ man, but Ah’ can’t stop what Ah’m doin’…

Billy could only whisper with dread, suddenly looking his age all at once as he put the phone down without touching another button. Instead he moved from his place, grasping the FMW Championship as if from some great pedestal. He looked over the gold plating, barely able to see the broken image of himself within. He couldn’t trade the belt in now, he was in too deep. The dream came back to him all at once, the accusations that the masked man, what some kind of form of himself made against him. It was all just some dream caused by the wild night he had, but it still left a grim realization within his heart when he looked back to what was said, so many fresh words still ringing in his aching mind.

The TyranT couldn’t force himself to lose the title… not even for the love of his own daughter. Whilst he still possessed it, as far as TyranT was concerned, Faith was on her own…

Prologue

The scene opens to a rundown dive bar in Middle America. The patrons of the establishment are the lowest form of human being, the type who seek to drown their sorrows on a constant basis. As the bartender pours a shot of some brown, putrid liquor on the far side of the bar; a new man seats himself at the bar and motions to the bartender to come to his end of the bar. The bartender is a skinny blonde; she looks as if her better days were a decade or so behind her but still has a fire in her eyes. As she slips up to the man in front of her, he smiles a devious smile that sucks her in almost immediately.

Bartender: Haven’t seen you around here before.

Man: New in town, thought I would check out the local watering hole.

Bartender: Well, you obviously picked the finest one of the pack.

The man laughs. It is a fake laugh, one easily filled with pretension and mockery but she swallows it whole.

Man: I guess it just appealed to me more. Heard there was quite a beauty working the bar here.

The woman blushes.

Bartender: Oh you did, did you?

Man: Yes but believe me, they understated their case by miles. You are quite definitely beyond being just a beauty.

Bartender (Still blushing): Well what can I get you to drink?

Man: How about a glass of your finest red wine?

Bartender: We don’t serve wine here…

Man: Well then, how about you join me for that glass of wine at my hotel room?

Bartender: Bit forward, aren’t you?

Man: Depends, is it working?

The bartender giggles.

Bartender: It might be.

Man: Then that is all that matters.

Bartender: Well can I at least ask who you are?

Man: Who I am? Well my lovely, I am a man of wealth and taste…

And with that, we fade to black…


The scene reopens to the same dive bar, this time much better lit and the very obvious addition of yellow police tape all over the establishment. Standing in the middle of the room, shaking his head in disbelief, is investigator Chris Adams. Adams is a specialist is extraordinary cases, called in by local police units in order to explain what is considered the unexplainable. Adams is pacing back and forth, staring at a wall covered with a large black tarp. He seems to be checking his watch from time to the time as he walks, shaking his head in disbelief.

Adams: He better be on the way…

Michaels (Behind Adams): Already here actually, I have been checking out the building for the last thirty minutes. No one else is around.

Adams: I sent the boys in blue home for the day, there is nothing they can do here of any use right now. Besides, I needed to get an unlicensed specialist in here and most cops just do not understand that need.

Michaels (Steps forward): Yeah, cops can be such sticklers for rules. So what do we have here that you felt warranted calling me in? No offense Chris but you are one of the best in the country and I am, regrettably so, a semi-professional part time private investigator who has solved maybe half a case at best. Man, you can do better.

Adams: This one fits your expertise perfectly though.

Michaels: Meaning.

Adams: Cryptic crazy shit.

Michaels (Sighs): Oh how I love that stuff. ..

Adams: Do you want me to explain it to you or just show you the scene?

Michaels: I guess we should just dive in head first. Show me the scene man.

Adams: You asked for it…

Chris reaches up and pulls down the black tarp from the wall. He steps back as the tarp falls and Drew audibly gasps at the horror in front of him. On the wall is the head of an older blonde woman, stapled violently and carelessly to the wall upside down. Around the head are seven mysterious characters drawn in what can only be blood, each one pointed you by a clump of the woman’s blood covered hair. The body, tied to the wall to the left of the head, looks to have been staked through the neck with a large wooden pole and one of her legs is missing, making an eerily similar shape to a cross thanks to the remaining leg having been broken and pulled to the right. A book looks to have been burned and the remains of the pages are at the ground. All and all, the horrific scene is a sight unlike any Drew has ever been forced to see and he just stares in shock before speaking again slowly.

Michaels: Who is she?

Adams: Susan Griffin, the forty-five year-old bartender on duty last night in this hellhole. She’s a local girl with a few old drug convictions and one more recent assault charge stemming from a customer complaint, nothing extremely major overall. She had been working here for a couple years now, likely because she couldn’t find much else and knew most of the patrons.

Michaels: I imagine so, probably the same types she ran with in her younger days. So we are assuming this is not drug related?

Adams: She passed a drug test two days ago after a meeting with her probation officer.

Michaels: She could have cleaned her system out a hundred different ways. Believe me; I know I probably tried about fifty of them when I was younger.

Adams: That would be a decent guess if she had not tested completely and totally clean when they arrested her for assault a couple months back. No way could she have known she was going to be tested anytime soon when the assault was a random occurrence.

Michaels: So probably not drugs. Anyone see her after work last night?

Adams: Boss said she took off early with a customer.

Michaels: Someone he knows?

Adams: Actually, no. He said it was someone from out of town.

Michaels: Does not seem like the place someone from out of town would openly wander into and be welcomed.

Adams: Strangely enough, none of the normal patrons remember seeing him at all. In fact, when pressed the owner doesn’t remember even seeing him at all until she mentioned something about him. You know, like he didn’t exist unless he wanted you to know he did…

Chris lets the sentence trail off, hoping Drew will pick it up.

Michaels: It is possible; certain magicks would allow the user to be hidden from total view. Sounds like an East Asian spell most likely.

Adams: Really?

Michaels: I am bullshitting you man, what the Hell do you think I am? The master of all creepy and weird things?

Adams: Possibly…

Michaels (Thinks for a minute): Fair enough.

Drew steps towards the symbols and stares at them intently, trying to decipher them in any way possible. As he moves from symbol to symbol, Drew suddenly freezes on the fifth one. He analyzes it for a period of time that seems like forever to Chris before pulling out what looks to be a small, molded stone from his left pocket and comparing it to the symbol.

Adams: They…they match.

Michaels (Steps back and stares): Yeah, yeah they do.

Adams: Is that a bad thing?

Michaels: Very possibly, yes.

Adams: Why?

Michaels: That… (Points at the symbol) That is the symbol of the ancient beast Leviathan, one of the seven Princes of Hell. If I had to guess, the other six symbols are for the remaining Princes.

Adams: So this is something closer to your line of work.

Michaels: It seems so. (Reaches down to pick up a burnt page and jerks away as soon as he touches it) Have you examined any of the book pages for prints or anything?

Adams: We have one at the forensics office.

Drew stares at the pages with a fearful, knowing look before nodding.

Michaels: I want it. I want them all. It is of utmost importance I get those pages as soon as possible.

Adams: I…I’m not sure if I can get you evidence.

Michaels: I need it Chris, I have a disgusting fear I know exactly what this is and I am quite terrified right now.

Adams: Will it reveal who killed her?

Michaels: If we are lucky that is all it will reveal…

Drew sighs as our scene fades to black around Chris’s tired and confused face…


Lee, how have you been? We haven’t talked in a while.

My Dad took me with him to see some wrestling at this LPW place where he works sometimes. It was so cool but then a guy like exploding and it was crazy and Daddy got hurt but he’s totally okay now and we watched cartoons all day yesterday. It was great!

So you’ve been busy? Too busy for your old friend?

I’m just spending time with my Dad. I’m super sorry…

So where is your Dad now?

Miss Juliet said he had to go help a friend do something good for someone who got hurt; his friend is some kind of super awesome policeman.

So he left you. Pity. Don’t worry though, I am here for you Lee, always here for you…


The scene reopens to the woods outside of the unmentioned city. A small group is moving slowly and discreetly through these woods towards an opening, an opening they have frequented day after day for years now. This group, three young men, are outcasts among their peers. They are ostracized from society as a whole due to their looks, their beliefs, their ideas, their morality. Only together have their found acceptance and together they plan to change the world.

And together they have been hunted for the last two hours step for step.

As they finally step into the clearing, their hunter makes his move. Drew lunges out of the woods behind the largest one, solely in width however. The rotund young man goes down quickly at Drew’s hands due to a well applied chokehold from behind as the other two turn quickly towards the disturbance made by his falling to the Earth. The next closest one reacts quickly, trying to avenge his friend’s failings. Drew, however, topples him quickly with a chop to the throat followed by a solid blow to the back of his head which drops the amateur without even causing Drew to break a sweat. The third man freezes in his tracks as Drew just smiles at him before diving forward again to take him down quickly and efficiently.

Michaels: What the holy fuck have you done!?

Boy: We…WE’RE JUST KIDS!

Michaels: Kids my ass, you are immature teenagers who fell into too much power for your mind you comprehend.

Boy: I…I don’t know what you’re talking about!

The boy is obviously near tears as Drew has him pinned on the ground, unable to escape his grasp. Drew has no sympathy at all however and just stares back with a look of utter scorn on his face.

Michaels: You unleashed a monster.

Boy: What do you mean?

Michaels: The Darkhold kid, you had the Darkhold!

Boy: W-W-What?

Drew stares in disbelief at the teenager in front of him, unable to comprehend what he is hearing.

Michaels: You are telling me you unleashed a Prince of Hell and have no damn clue how you did it?

Boy: A Prince of Hell? We…WE DID IT! YES! THAT’LL SHOW THOSE BASTARDS!

Drew slaps the boy, hoping to shut him up.

Michaels: What the Hell are you going on about?

Boy: The…the people of this town. They call us freaks and losers and all of that but we released a demon to serve US! We are more powerful then you can ever imagine! We are the hands of the Great One!

Michaels: No…just no. You are a confused, stupid child who found one of the most powerful artifacts in demonology and were used by it to release one of the greatest evils Creation has ever known. I studied the legend of the Darkhold during my training at the island of Patmos; I always assumed it was just a legend used to scare monks into making sure they catalogued every book to come through the monastery. But when I saw those pages…dear God the evil that radiated off of them, my soul may never be clean after that. And you…you used it to release a horror unknown to modern times.

Boy: You…you’re a monk?

Michaels: No…no. I am the Hand of God reaching down to touch you, learn you, and then judge you. Do you have anything to confess before your judgment comes?

Boy: You…you’re bluffing. There is no God.

Michaels: Do you really believe that kid?

Boy (Weakly): Yes…

Michaels: If there is no God then how did you raise a demon from the depths? And more importantly, if there is no God, could I do this?

Drew points at the branch of a nearby tree and wave his hand. On cue, a massive crack is heard and the branch collapses to the ground. Drew just smiles as he turns back to the now obviously terrified teenager he has pinned against the ground.

Michaels: Now…talk.

And talk he did.

Boy: It was Trevor’s idea; he said we should use that new book we found at the used bookstore Jason’s mom runs to raise a demon so we could get back at the bullies who picked on us in high school. He said they totally deserved it and I mean, who was I to disagree after what those airhead jocks did to us for years? Before this we had just done little stuff, made jars light up and set fires with no fuel and small time magick like that. We thought we could control him when he arrived…

Michaels: Who is he?

Boy: I don’t know, the book is written in some weird language; it’s like if Latin and Chinese had a baby or something. But Trevor, Trevor knew exactly how to read it. Like without a doubt he just dived right in and started going to town reading this weird stuff. It was kind of scary, neither of us could understand him for the most part but sometimes he would say something in normal English telling us what to do and stuff and we just did it. I mean, he seemed what he was doing. I’m so, so, so, so sorry…

Michaels (Coldly): Did not seem that way a minute ago. Now what happened?

Boy: This…This…This thing appeared.

Michaels: What did it look like?

Boy: A goat. A man-goat. Yeah, it was like if it was part man and part goat. And its eyes…they were the eyes of pure fire. When he looked at me I nearly shit myself in fear.

Michaels: And then he disappeared?

Boy: Sprinted off into the night. Trevor claimed he was off to take our vengeance out upon our enemies but I…I don’t know. We hadn’t talked again since that night until yesterday when Trevor said he thought it would return.

Michaels: Return? Return here?

Boy: That’s what he said.

Michaels: Fucking Hell…

Boy: Wh-

The boy is cut off as Drew jerks him up off the ground only to slam the back of his head down quickly and violently, knocking him out. Rolling to his feet, he yells out into the darkness.

Michaels: CHRIS! CHRIS! GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!

Slowly and hesitantly about two minutes later, Chris Adams makes his way out of the brush with a smile on his face.

Adams: You’re welcome on that shooting down the tree branch thing by the way. Scared the piss out of that kid it seems. How long did you know I had been following you?

Michaels (Frantically): About an hour ago when we first entered the woods. Listen, we HAVE to get you out of here, there is a definite chance things could get incredibly bad around here and you CANNOT be here when they do.

Adams: Listen, I am a trained officer of the law Drew…

Michaels: And he is a demon of the highest order. Chris, we are not dealing with a simple mute spirit or even a rhyming demon of the third circle. This is Satan, the darkest of the dark.

Adams: Wait what? The devil killed this girl?

Michaels: Depending on your interpretation on who the devil actually is, yes. Satan is the Prince of Lies and he is the vilest being confined to the depths of Hell. The fact that he walks this Earth scares me pissless and I do not need your blood on my conscience in all of this.

Adams: I won’t leave you.

Michaels: Bullshit you will not. GO!

Drew’s yell echoes through the forest. Birds fly away from the sound; deer flee quickly from its source. Chris stares intently at Drew, determined to remain in his spot but eventually gives in, slowly backing away. However, this lasts only a second until he trips and stumbles to the ground. As he rolls over to his knees to climb to his feet, he sees the cause of his predicament; a small stone not unlike the one Drew possessed and showed him earlier. Inscribed deeply on it, as one would expect, is another of the familiar symbols seen at the crime scene. Chris scoops it up and jumps to his feet as Drew watches on curiously.

Adams: Drew, I found something…

Chris holds up the stone and Drew reaches out for it slowly and cautiously. He examines it for a minute, turning it over and over in his hand with a suspicious look plastered upon his face.

Michaels: Someone powerful did this.

Adams: Satan?

Michaels: No…this IS Satan. Someone more powerful than him is at work here.

Adams: That’s…terrifying.

Michaels: Very.

Adams: What’s the plan?

Michaels: We find out who and why, possibly not in that order.

Adams: How?

Michaels: Good question…

Drew sighs as the scene fades to black around him and Chris…


The scene reopens to a well decorated room, perhaps an office of some sort. Seated in the middle of the room is a relatively large man with an even larger man standing to his left. The man in the middle of the room has a dark aura about him; the word “sinister” would describe it perfectly. He sits patiently in the middle of the room, sipping a glass of red wine, looking as if he has been waiting forever and is willing to wait for an eternity more. However, it seems like his wait is coming to an end as a door on the other side of the room slides open and through it steps a familiar figure, one Drew Michaels. Drew looks around quickly with confusion plastered all over his face.

Michaels: The fuck...?

The man in the middle of the room stands up and motions silently for Drew to join him. Drew just stares at him with confusion still covering his face.

Michaels: Where the Hell am I? I opened my hotel room’s front door and ended up here. Care to explain that to me random people in the middle of the room.

Mobius: “The Hell?” Such an oddly appropriate choice of words Andrew...

Michaels: Who are you?

Mobius: Me? Well good sir, please allow me to introduce myself. See, I am a man of wealth and taste.

Michaels: Nah, I have met that guy, he is a touch taller.

Mobius: You mean the 'Ethan Black' form? That was so last week Andrew, times are a-changing.

Michaels: So you really expect me to believe you are the devil? (Motions to the other man) So am I supposed to assume he is who, a demon bodyguard?

Mobius: Oh, him. I forgot he was here. You may leave now Eric, I no longer need your company at this time.

The other man nods as he exits the room through a previously unseen back door as Mobius pours another glass of wine and again motions for Drew to join him.

Mobius: Please Michaels, join me. I have a half-finished bottle of Merlot and a longing for some intelligent conversation.

Michaels: I do not drink.

Mobius (Smiling): I know this you incredible bore. But really, what kind of great tempter would I be if I did not at least offer a recovering alcoholic a drink? Please, at least have a seat.

Drew eyes the door and steps back a bit instead of towards Mobius which causes him to laugh strongly.

Mobius: I would not advise it Drew. Stepping back through that door right now will just lead you back through that door and I really do not want to have to go through the mindfuck of you being in two places at once if you say only lean through or something. Now please, I insist you seat yourself and indulge my need for conversation.

Michaels: Seems I do not have many other options, huh?

Mobius: No, it seems you do not.

Drew sighs and walks over to seat himself across from Mobius. Mobius playfully offers him the glass of wine again but the look on Drew's face is all the answer he needs as he pulls it back towards his lips and takes a drink.

Michaels: So you claim to be Lucifer. Funny thing that is, I almost met Satan the other day myself.

Mobius: Lucifer? That was my name once upon a time but now...now I go by something else. I think...Jacob Mobius. That sounds like a good name for now. I have had plenty over the years, you met the Ethan Black persona of course but there were others before that.

Michaels: If you are, well were, Ethan Black; why are you being so civil to me? He and I never had the...best relationship before his death.

Mobius: Oh yes, my death. What was the official cause, overdose?

Michaels: I think so, yes.

Mobius: Don't lie to me Drew, you still have that newspaper in your bedroom and read it every day just to remind yourself that the bastard is gone. But yes, you and I had a rocky relationship but much of that is due to the nature of my game.

Michaels: More Rolling Stones quotes? Really?

Mobius: I enjoy Mick Jagger's work so fucking humor me. Anyway, for years I have had possessed the opportunity to walk among the mortals wearing flesh from time to time however one condition of that gift was that I could never remember my past lives. Once I came into this world, I was a new being with none of my old experience. While I loved the thrill of the Earth under my feet, one could see how constant amnesia could get old and in fact I would attribute much of my very cranky attitude to that fact. Luckily, for myself and for the world as a whole, those days are in the past.

Michaels: And why is that exactly?

Mobius: A disagreement caused old acquaintances to cross the line and make a horrible mistake.

Michaels: I can only guess you are referring to the other Princes of Hell.

Mobius (Surprised):[/b] So our little Andrew has done his homework.

Michaels: More than that actually...

Drew reaches into his pocket and pulls out two small stones, one with a snake carved into it and the other a goat’s head. Mobius reaches out to touch them but Drew pulls it back quickly and shakes his head.

Michaels: That is for looking, not touching.

Mobius: So you have tackled the Leviathan. Well played Andrew, well played. I am somewhat impressed. Or, you know, I would be if the Leviathan was not a mindless force of nature.

Michaels: All I heard is that you admit to the fact I am powerful enough to control nature itself.

Mobius: Good job finding the positive in this, that optimism is what I love so much about you.

Michaels: You do not even seem to think twice about the other stone.

Mobius: Satan, correct?

Michaels: I can only assume so.

Mobius: Stop assuming, I can tell you for sure. Yes, that is Satan’s stone. Old Scratch was interfering in my affairs once again and I took care of him for you. I figured if I let you take the reward you would be less inclined to try to bash my skull in once I arranged a meeting between us.

Michaels: And that leads to the looming question of what happened between you and the other princes to lead to this state of affairs?

Mobius: Well...

Quote :

The scene fades into another, this time one of much greater magnificence. Standing alone is an angel, his wings shriveled and weak looking but his angelic qualities still without doubt. Across from him is a collection of six other demons, from the serpent monster Leviathan to the well known goat-like form of Satan himself.

Lucifer: And what can I attribute this meeting of the minds to exactly?

Satan: We tire of you Morningstar, of your dominion over our realm when you are not even one of us. We no longer desire Heaven's influence in our affairs.

Lucifer: Even if that influence is from one who may never see Heaven again?

Satan: Even then.

Lucifer: And what is your plan exactly? You are all powerful but not one of you as powerful as I, the first among equals. Rebellion is all Hell has ever known for the entirety of Creation so no move you can make will change the status quo.

Satan: Actually, an...old friend has tipped the scales Lucifer. He has given us something...special to take care of you with.

Lucifer: And this friend would be whom exactly? No rational being in all of Creation would dare call the demons of Hell his allies.

Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, flutters forward and smiles a crooked smile at Lucifer. As the monster Behemoth growls to his left, Beelzebub pulls a small feather out of a bag on his waist. Lucifer's calm attitude instantly changes as he stares at the feather before him.

Beelzebub: Gabriel sends his best.

The Lord of the Flies drops the feather into the waiting mouth of the Behemoth and the monster devours it quickly. Lucifer crashes to the ground in pain, grasping his side.

Lucifer: YOU BASTARDS!

Lucifer's form falls apart as he continues to grasp his side until eventually he is no more and we fade out and back in to the scene between Drew and Jacob.

Michaels: And what was the feather?

Mobius: Excuse me?

Michaels: The feather they destroyed, why did it harm you so?

Mobius (Sighs): When I was cast out, a piece of me remained behind; one tiny feather off my left wing. This feather remained in touch with the divine in Heaven and thus allowed me to retain my form and, in fact, my existence. Angels are being entirely made of divine presence and without the touch of the divine they normally would just cease to be. It was a last gift from a Father I had no right to ask anything of at the time.

Michaels: You sound much more respectable of the Creator then you have ever been given credit for before.

Mobius: Time has a tendency to heal all wounds and glaze over most grievances. As I said before, much of my previous behavior was due to my old curse associated with the gift of flesh. Now, I can look with a clear mind and see that God truly does love me despite my flaws and believe me, there are many. Just as I love Him despite His.

Michaels: And now back to the blasphemous...

Mobius: No, believe me; I respect the station of God. It takes a ton of dedication and self-control to accept that position.

Michaels: The station of God?

Mobius: Yes, the position of God; the decision to transcend to the standard by which all is measured.

Michaels: You are losing me Jacob, why do you refer to God as a position and not a person?

Mobius: You...you mean you do not know?

Michaels: Know what?

Mobius (Shocked): Well damn me all over again, you do not know the big secret. I figured sharing a brain with Exodus would have revealed it all to you. Or that whole affair with Gabriel seizing power. In fact, all I can assume is you are dense.

Michaels: What do you mean when Gabriel seized power? He failed; I stopped him with the help of the Presence.

Mobius: Drew...you lost.

Michaels: Excuse me?

Mobius: You failed against Gabriel, he transcended to the position of God until reality was reset within the Citadel.

Michaels: I am so lost right now.

Mobius thinks for a minute and pours himself another glass of wine, staring at Drew intently. He sips the wine slowly and lowers the glass, a smile growing on his face.

Mobius: It was hidden from you, it was hidden away to protect your mortal mind from the greatest secret of all time.

Michaels: Which is...?

Mobius: Andrew, this isn't the first Earth. In fact, this is not even the first “Creation”.

Michaels: Excuse me?

Mobius: This is the Fourth World. The First World died in flames and became Hell as we know it. The Second was perfection and has been locked away; no being knows what has happened to it. The Third was the world of mythology, a world where men were gods. This world crossed over with the next before being locked away in Limbo. And now we have the Fourth, the last world of the flesh.

Michaels: That is...

Mobius: Incredible? Unbelievable? Insane? I'll easily agree with all of the above but believe me Andrew; I have no reason to lie to you.

Michaels: Says the Prince of Lies.

Mobius: That is Satan and I am honestly tired of getting the bum rap for that sociopath. I promise you this Andrew, I will only ever lie to you once and you will know as soon as I do that it was a lie.

Michaels: How do I know that is not the lie?

Mobius: Do you believe it is?

Michaels (Thinks for a minute): No...

Mobius: Then the answer is obvious. Now, back to the lesson at hand. When the first world came about, it was not at the hands of the being you now call God. No, it was created by the universe itself.

Michaels (Skeptical): The universe created itself.

Mobius: Well of course. After all, where else would everything come from when there was but nothingness?

Michaels: That...I guess that has to make sense...

Mobius: Let me ask you something. The typical understanding of the Christian faith is that the universe was created in its entirety by the being you call God. Correct.

Michaels: Yeah...

Mobius: Then, in that understanding, where does God come from?

Michaels: I...I...I guess I have never really thought about it.

Mobius: God would have had to come from nothingness, just like Eternity did.

Michaels: Unless something predated God.

Mobius: If something predates God and creates God, would God still be omnipotent?

Michaels (Thinks for a minute): ...Potentially.

Mobius: What do you mean?

Michaels: Like in a science fiction story, sometimes AI can advance itself to the point where it grows past its creator. In a similar idea, it is as if someone has learned all they can from the masters of various crafts, putting themselves above any of the individual masters due to their own mastery of multiple disciplines.

Mobius: Impressive...I see why you are the Chosen One of this generation. Very, very impressive indeed Michaels. You lead brilliantly into my next point, the idea of another being as God. When the universe created itself, it fell into chaos. That was the First World that died in flames. You see, nature loves order but is entirely irrational in concept. Thus, a physical manifestation of the universe developed from the nothingness.

Michaels: And this manifestation was God.

Mobius: Gaea, the world itself to be exact. And thus Gaea, Eternity's manifestation in the physical realm of the divine, crafted the Second World.

Michaels: The one that was some kind of super success.

Mobius: More than any currently living being will ever know for no being that exists now; from the lowliest demon to the highest angel; existed during the Second World. What is known is that the Second World was sealed away and a Third World was attempted, a world of greater wonder and magnificence.

Michaels: The world of the gods created by God.

Mobius: And that God is Jehovah. At least that was name He possessed as an archangel of the highest rank during Gaea's time. When Gaea moved on with the Second World, Jehovah rose to power almost instantaneously and sought to create something better, something different than the Second World and with that came the Third. The Third World is the world of stories, of legends, of champions.

Michaels: What happened to it?

Mobius: The same thing that happens anytime you give mortals a bit of power, they believe themselves to be above and beyond their Creator.

Michaels: And thus it failed?

Mobius: To a point. When it became obvious the children of the Third World were going to place themselves on a pedestal, the time came for a Fourth World to arise underneath them. Thus humanity got their chance and I lost mine.

Michaels: Your fall from grace for refusing to bow before the Father's newest creation.

Mobius: Looking back, despite knowing my fate today and forever...I still do not think I could bring myself to bow before them. Perhaps it is due to my current knowledge of the world your kind has crafted for themselves or perhaps it is still the initial reason I refused still raising its ugly head.

Michaels: Your pride.

Mobius (Laughs): You know, like the whole “getting blamed for Satan's bullshit” thing, I really get tired of that misconception. It was not my pride, well not entirely. I saw what treating the mortals with such importance would get us with the Third World and now I am supposed to do it with the less powerful?

Michaels: And what about waging war on Heaven?

Mobius (Nods slowly): That part...that was entirely my pride. I can admit that. We all have our flaws and all possess our mistakes and that is mine. And if pride is to be my greatest sin, at least I am in good company.

Michaels: You mean me.

Mobius: How could I not?

Drew is obviously growing uncomfortable and angry in the conversation due to Mobius’s comparison of the two as he stands up and turns away from Mobius.

Michaels: Are we done yet?

Mobius: Why are you in such a hurry to leave Andrew?

Michaels: I have things to attend to, major things.

Mobius: You mean Gabriel making moves to take over Creation again? Or the remaining four Princes of Hell being loose in your world? Or the fact that all of the supernatural forces are starting to align as this War for Creation looms?

Michaels: Or, you know, I have a family to spend time with and a career to worry about.

Mobius: All viable options.

Michaels: So can I leave now or are we still holding court?

Mobius: Listen to me Andrew…be careful. I captured Satan because he interfered in an affair of mine and hurt someone just to get to me. That doesn’t mean I will always be there to protect you. Watch your back out there.

Drew thinks for a minute as he steps towards the door and suddenly stops.

Michaels: Someone close to you…the girl. You knew the girl who was killed, Susan.

Mobius: I am the regretful cause of her death. I was looking for a little…company the other night. I went in the bar hoping to find a manly gentleman to break under my thumb as I so love to do sometimes then I saw that experienced looking female who just looked like she need a good time for once. So I gave it to her and Satan targeted her for it. And for that I eliminated him from the playing field entirely.

Michaels: That…that is unexpectedly decent of you.

Mobius: I try to change with the times Andrew, I just hope it is not too late for that with you.

Drew begins to speak and just shakes his head and steps out of the door he entered, finding himself back in his hotel room once again as the scene fades to black…


…And then there was Chris Austin.

Chris Austin, the supposed number one contender to the Full Metal Wrestling C-4 Division Championship.

Chris Austin, the supposed Radical.

Chris Austin, the supposed Rapist.

Chris Austin, the supposed Wayward Son.

Chris Austin, the supposed everything that is truly NOTHING.

Chris Austin has claimed to be a lot of things in his FMW run but there is only one thing he has ever truly been…an annoyance. Chris Austin is a lot like a yappy little dog, full of barks and snarls but as soon as the shoe drops he breaks down and tucks his tail between his legs to run away from whatever scares him.

In this case, it is true success.

Christopher is afraid of success. He is afraid of how it can change his world, how it can raise expectations, how it can make him a different man then he is today. He whines about not being taken seriously but then goes out of his way to sabotage all attempts on his end to make him WORTH taking seriously.

And he does so by taking everything in the world so damn seriously.

Every competitor in this company knows why I am talking about. When we are sitting around in the back, talking shit to each other, trash-talking as some would call it. Christopher somehow transforms into a more eloquent version of Seth Omega, running off at the mouth at anyone who will walk near him in an attempt to create a personal drama with each one of them.

Because then, this way, it is not his fault.

It is not his fault when he falters in the ring when he should instead be succeeding above and beyond his wildest expectations.

It is not his fault when he chokes in every single one of his big singles matches.

It is not his fault he claims to be athletically superior but turns out to be completely and totally inferior in every definition of the word.

Chris lives in a world looking for things that are not his fault.

And thus, I have decided that I am going into this match with one goal in mind, to keep this entirely professional. This has nothing to do with anything going on in my life and I have struggled to keep it that way. Christopher Austin is NOT WORTH taking time out of my personal life to address. Going into the ring with him is one thing and one thing only…

Business.

If I pin him against the mat, it is all business.

If I make him tap out, it is all business.

WHEN I knock him the fuck out with knees to the head, it is all business.

I go into this match as champion and I shall not leave it without my title not because I have some kind of personal attachment to the title but because IT IS GOOD BUSINESS.

Chris Austin does not understand that term.

Chris Austin will rage against that term.

Chris Austin will claim I cannot dare evoke that term.

Chris Austin will claim we have some kind of deep, entrenched history that he has fabricated in his mind so this match will be anything but what it is…

Business.

And when I knock you out, the business will be complete and you can crawl back into whatever hole you want to sulk, to cry, to whine. You can cry foul, you can claim you were cheated, you can bitch and moan to whoever will listen and I will sleep just fine knowing I did none of those things for this match had no meaning to me besides one…

Business.

As a student of the game Chris, you should be proud because this is exactly what it is all supposed to be about. I am going to get in the ring, take you down with my superior skills, embarrass you because I truly am the greatest of all time, and then knock you the fuck out. End of story. So I have just one piece of advice for you…

ENJOY YOUR NAP ASSHOLE

Clink. Clunk. Clank.

*static*

???: Alright Mr. Corleone, we’re going to need you to remain still for the next 15 minutes so we can take an accurate picture of your brain.

Omega: Whatever.

Bright lights flash all around Seth, blinding him in the process. If it weren’t for the nerve pill he was forced to take he might have been struggling to get out. But for now, he just laid there and he slowly faded away.

It had been a week. I remembered it just like yesterday, and for good reason. It isn’t often you end up in the office of Christian G. Smitten, normally if I was in that office it was because I wanted a pay raise. I got my pay raise alright, and now I was living comfortably. But this...this was for a different reason.

One week ago on the day.


Seth Omega is seen walking down a hallway when he hastily grabs the door knob and pushes the door open, as the door smacks into the wall the Honorable Christian G. Smitten barely glances up from his desk.

Smitten: If you keep slamming my door like that I might just have to un retire and humble you.

Omega: Get bent prick.

Smitten: That’s one hell of a way to talk to the man who signs your paychecks now is it?

Omega: Depends, is that anyway to talk to one of your champions?

Smitten: That title has the smell of Skyler stink all over it, now I suggest you sit down so we can get this over with.

Seth turns around and shuts the door before taking a seat right in front of Smitten’s desk.

Omega: Do you mind telling me why the hell I’m sitting in front of you when I have to take a flight to the Land of Roos in about an hour and a half?

Smitten smiles an arrogant grin and shakes his head.

Smitten: You’re not going to leave for over a week.

Seth stands up and bangs his fist on the Commissioner’s desk.

Omega: Why? I have a fucking title defense and you’re going to send me down there late?

Smitten: You’re not medically cleared to wrestle right now, and you’re going to see a doctor for your condition.

Omega: What are you talking about, my hand was taken out of the cast weeks ago!

Smitten: I’m talking about your brain, or lack thereof. Management has decided to have you sent for a mental evaluation, we have decided that due to your drunken state whenever you normally come in and a series of failed drug tests that we want your brain to be checked out for stress related brain damage and possibly other types of brain damage.

Omega: You’re fucking kidding me...

Smitten: We have the right to do so, it even says so in your contract.

Omega: You’re a fucking prick...go to hell.

Smitten: See you in a week, champ.

Outside the MRI Machine, this time inside the doctors office.

Seth Omega is sitting alone on the examination table, the sound of silence fills the room with exception of the giant metal clock on the wall. Finally the sound of the door opening as a man of small stature walks in holding a clipboard and wearing a white lab coat, even before he said a word Seth could tell the man was foreign.

Doctor: Hello buddy, I am Doctor Singh and I have the results of your brain scan.

Omega: What are my results?

Doctor: Well they are not good buddy. You have high amounts of THC in your brain, outside of that you’ve got a severe amount of damaged brain cells from blunt trauma from unidentified objects.

Omega: Such as steel chairs?

Doctor: Exactly. Now I’m going to give you a patch, much like a nicotine patch. It is going to slowly withdrawal the THC from your brain one patch at a time, meanwhile I’m going to write you an excuse from work for at least 6 months.

Omega: I can’t do that doc, I have titles to defend.

Doctor: What’s more important, your titles and your paycheck or your life?

Omega: Let me explain something to you Doc, I lost the one girl I cared about, my best friend is gone and where he went I don’t even know, and now you’re asking me to give up the only thing I really have to live for?

Doctor: When you put it like that I guess I can’t stop you, but be well advised you’re walking into a deathtrap. These random scenarios are going to continue, and to be honest having random thoughts of killing coworkers and being in movies as yourself isn’t healthy. I think you might possibly have stress related injuries, combine that with the THC and you’re dealing with a lethal combo. You do what you want, but at this rate you don’t have more than 10 years left.

Omega: Then so be it, now if you don’t mind doc I have places to be.

Doctor: Of course, I’d still recommend wearing the patch. Check back in 3 months and we will check your progress.

I wasn’t coming back, he knew it, I knew it, and anyone with half a fucking brain knew it. If I had it my way, then I would keep wrestling for the next 10 years and if I died then I died and if I didn’t then I would keep doing what I do to make an honest buck. Besides, it really isn’t like I have much to live for anymore. Every since Mark has disappeared I haven’t been able to think straight, as weird as this may sound but without Mark in my life I’ve been off balanced. I always seemed to have one friend in the wrestling business, someone to watch my back, someone to travel with, someone to talk to. Now...well now I am just alone...exiled from everything that provided me comfort, a very very cold feeling. Now here I am, about to make my way to Australia for the first time, about to defend my title for the first time, and I’m about to prove why I am the champion to begin with.

One Week Later, Queensland, Australia.


I was fortunate that Smitten pulled me off all the house show schedules, it gave me plenty of time to clear my head and prepare for my match. It isn’t often that you get a chance to electrocute the man who swears he killed your true love, but it isn’t just about electrocuting Matt Dunn it’s about punishing him for what he’s put me through, he’s turned me into this monster that can barely separate reality from fantasy, the good news is thanks to these patches reality is seeming more surreal to me, now I’m starting to feel more like my old self...starting to feel like the true Abandoned Champion. Now there was only one thing left to do.

In a random barn, also in Queensland, Australia.

Drew Michaels slowly opens the door, and a loud creak fills the otherwise empty barn. Of course it wasn’t empty, Drew knew that. Outside of leftover hay and an old feedsack hanging from the top of the barn he felt the presence that only one man could make him feel.

Drew: If you’re planning an ambush on me Seth it isn’t going to work, now I suggest you tell me what you want.

Omega didn’t come out of the shadows, but instead allowed his voice to be projected onto Drew.

Omega: I want to apologize.

Drew: I am not going to forgive you Seth, the actions you committed were terrible and simply unforgivable. You call yourself champion and all you did was pick at the scraps of an injured man.

Omega: I did...but I wasn’t in my right mind.

Drew: No, because you felt the need get high after all the work you have done to keep clean.

Omega: I swear Drew, it wasn’t my fault...I don’t know how the THC cravings came back, I really don’t.

Drew: It doesn’t matter Seth, you might as well be dead to me...I don’t forgive you, and I probably never will. But I hope you get your life straight, if you do then maybe just maybe I’ll think about talking to you again. Until then, good bye old friend.

With that Drew walked away from the barn leaving Omega alone in the darkness.

Omega: I am sorry you feel that way Drew...

A hard fist slams into the bag of feed hanging from the pillar. It goes flying off and splits open spreading corn kernel all over the dirt and hay in the barn.

Omega: If you won’t forgive me for something that is not my fault, then I will give you a reason to hate me prick.

Back before 11.2...


Seth Omega is lying flat on the floor, out cold from a high powered hallucinogens. Trinity stands over his prone body with another syringe in her hand, smiling from ear to ear she pushes it deep into the neck of Seth and injects all of the fluid into his bloodstream. She backs away slowly and grabs her bag before turning around and running out the door. She slams the door shut and quickly runs down the stairwell along the way bypassing Mark Johansson. As Trinity gets in the car and speeds away Mark pulls out his cell phone and calls Omega’s phone. After nobody answers Mark quickly runs up the stairs and uses his spare key to open Seth’s door. After bursting through the door he sees Seth flat on the floor and immediately checks his pulse. While he checks his pulse Omega snaps up and grabs his arm locking it in a kimura and bending it back.

Omega: Go to hell Jarosaw!

Mark: Ah fuck, Seth let me go it’s me Mark!

Seth loosens up the hold when he realizes that it was Mark that he had a hold of, once he lets go he stands up and tries to shake it off.

Omega: Fuck Mark, I’m sorry bro...I don’t know what came over me.

Mark: Don’t worry about it, now tell me who that girl was that just left your place?

Omega: What girl?

Mark: Long blonde hair, kinda grungy, looked like a crack whore.

Omega: You mean that wasn’t a dream?

Mark: What the hell is wrong with you Seth? Your eyes are glazed over and you have no memory of anything.

Omega: I don’t know what the hell is going one...all I can remember is Matt Dunn and Jarosaw...and..

Mark: Matt Dunn? Jarosaw? What in the hell?

Omega: And you were there, and Heath, and Aidan...all of you.

Mark: I think you need to lay down, you look like you’re about to be sick.


Back to the present, still in Australia.

It had been 18 days since I last saw Mark, in the world or paranoid illusions I kind of lost track of everything. Lost track of what was fake, what was real, and what didn’t exist anymore. Part of me had a feeling it had something to do with Trinity, but realizing that everything I had been doing up to this point was just a fantasy made me question everything. I am not a superhero, I am not a supervillian, I am a wrestler, a fighter, and just a human. Not supernatural, not superstrong, not superfast, just a regular guy...maybe more pissed off then other people. But people don’t see that, people see Seth Omega as the bad guy...when in reality, I’m just an asshole. And now...now my own blood has abandoned me...boy I’d hate to be Matthew Dunn right about now.

Seth Omega stands tall against the edge of the cage in a small bar in Queensland, the lights are dimmed and several pissed off Australian Army men are in attendance, most looking to unwind, others looking to whoop some ass, and all of them half past the wind drunk. Seth hammered four shots of Jack and now he was in the cage awaiting to take on the next Army asshole who thought he was hot shit. Of course he wasn’t aware of who exactly he was getting in the ring with.

Ref: Alright boys, I’ve explained the rules when an opponent is down flat on his back he’s out, no verbal submission the only way to quit is to tap out or pass out, not punching to the nuts and the winner get 500 bucks and all the beer he can drink. Are we clear?

Australian Man: Crikey clear mate.

Omega: Not a problem.

Ref: Now bump fists and let us get this brawl on the road lads.

The two men bump fists and the bell rings. The crowd begins to eagerly chant in anticipation for someone to go down. Quickly the Australian man swings a wild right hand that catches Omega in the jaw. Seth falls to his knees and quickly spits out blood onto the canvas, he could feel the man coming with a knee so he quickly dodged out of the way. As he rolled to the side and back onto his feet something funny started happening, and he began to shake his head. The Australian Man was called off by the ref while the ref looked at Omega.

Ref: Are you okay?

Omega: I am fine now move!

The ref gets out of the way as the Aussie begins to tee off on Seth’s face, a small cut comes below his eye, and it begins to bleed as the man knocks him hard into the cage. The cocky soldier takes a moment to pose for his friends with camera phones when something weird happens, the face of the man turns into the face of Matthew Dunn, and Omega reflects on all the things that Dunn has done or said, including the JPG he sent of a girl who looked similar to Annalisa. Seth’s blood began to boil as he awaited the man to turn around, when the Aussie turned around Omega locked him into a Muay Thai clinch and began hitting several brutal strikes to the face, the man goes limp into Seth’s arms and blood begins to drip onto the previously white mat. Omega keeps going even after the referee calls for the bell, shot after shot the man’s head bounces off the knee and blood flies through the air. The man’s military buddies begin to come in as the ref tries to interfere.

Ref: That’s bloody enough, you’re gonna kill em!

Omega: I WILL KILL YOU MATT DUNN, YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD TO ME!

Just then the army guys tackle Seth to the ground as multiple bouncers come in, they quickly gather Omega up as he tries to attack the military man again. The bouncers drag Seth to the door where they throw him out into the parking lot, hard onto the asphalt. As the door slams behind him, Seth finally gets a hold of himself and stands up. He begins walking away back to the bus stop on his way back to the motel.

In a world where things are never what they seem, a land of the distorted, a land of the disoriented, a land of the confused I am the king. How fitting that I would become delusional at the hands of a man who has been my rival since I came to Full Metal Wrestling. He can wait, he's on the back burner for now...now it's just Omega vs Dunn. This is the big chance for me to prove that I am not the flash in the pan everyone thinks I am, that I am the true Abandoned Champion and I am not going anywhere for a while. Matthew Dunn has crossed a very sacred line, a line so sacred he must be punished...sadly for him the only way he can be punished is by strapping you into a chair and electrocuting you into oblivion. You better hit me with all you have, because I am going to hit you ten times harder than I did before...and this time I'm going to enjoy destroying you bit by bit. See you soon Matt.

We fade into backstage in Storm's locker room for Ammunition 12.1 where we see the back of his head. We places his mask over his head and tightens it securely before turning to face the camera.

Storm: You guys don't know who your dealing with? My name is Storm. Your only hope.

You see when I made my debut at 11.3 I was focused I was determined to get myself off to the right foot. In fact, I hope that you fuckers know what you are dealing with?

This promo isn't a full blown storyline of my life because quite frankly I want to keep it a mystery to you all. I am unique and I am your fucking worst nightmare.

I am a submission specialist and I will show you why?

The Ammunition logo briefly appears then disappears as we see a video footage from Distortion 11.3 where we see Storm setting up his finisher, the Anaconda Vice.

Storm: I hope this picture is giving you some nightmares because I will sure damn well be using that move in my rookies tag team matchup later on tonight, which begs the question? Why am I rookie?

The scene changes back to Storm's dressing room where at the same time we see a white board with the word "ROOKIE" written in black permanent ink. Storm is standing right next to it.

Storm: A rookie is someone who never has been there before. A rookie is someone who never has set foot into any wrestling federations including this one. A rookie is not a returning legend or a returning wrestler who was injured so in my personal opinion, Jeff Watson, Jeff Whitt and Axel Osbourne are returning legends from other federations which I am forbidden to promote but however...

Storm reaches for the blackboard wiper and wipes off the word "ROOKIE". He then reaches for a red marker and writes the word "TEAMMATE" in capitals.

Storm: I can't really complain because I am glad that I am the only true rookie to represent this matchup. The Truly Talented Jeff Whitt is simply just talented and I hope that we work well together to completely destroy our pathetic excuse of a team on the other side of the ring.

Offscreen booming Voice: Very interesting Mr Storm.

Storm looks around the entire room to find the source of the voice but to no avail

Storm: Show yourself.

Booming Voice: In due time Mr Storm, in due time. I have an offer that you will not refuse. Win at Ammunition 12.1 and I may give you something of value for yourself. A new mask.

Storm: Why the fuck do I need a new mask? I am quite happy with this one thank you very much.

Booming Voice: Because I feel that you need a completely different mask to wear everytime you enter the ring. That one your currently wearing is boring as fuck.

Storm: Fuck off, your interrupting my lecture at the same time. No I will not take up your offer of a new mask, I am quite happy with mine thank you very much.

Booming Voice: If you insist...

We hear wind blowing through the room as the booming voice disappears through a bizarre echo. The cameraman shooting this promo asks Storm "What was that all about?" and Storm just simply shakes his head.

Storm: It was nothing now where was I and how long have I got to finish off this shit?

Cameraman: 20 seconds

Storm: Fuck this, I got a match to be in, I'll finish this off later.

Storm turns and shakes his head in disgust as he exits. The scene fades to black and we head over to our narrator to sum up this short promo.

Narrator: So as Storm leaves to compete in a Rookie 6 on 6 tag team matchup with his teammates Jeff Whitt and Wayland Price, a voice haunts him even to this day...wait...

We hear shufflings of paper then laugher

Narrator: This sounds silly...a voice is haunting him even to this day...who writes this shit. Anyway as I was saying...*coughs*...A voice haunts him even to this very day but who is this mysterious voice? Was it the hooded man from his dreams or merely a fragments of his imagination?

Tune in to find out. This shit is getting strange by the minute.

It is a warm, and beautiful morning as we open up the scene in Miami, Florida. A few people can be seen working out on the beach, because the morning is the time where you won’t be disturbed. Suddenly we shift the focus to a lavish mansion in north Miami, and it turns out that it’s the home of debuting FMW wrestler Jeff Watson. He hopes to become the best in the FMW, but it won’t be easy for him. We go inside where it happens to be filled with very expensive furniture along with other expensive items, but we go up a winding staircase to the master bedroom where we find Jeff in bed with a woman that he picked up at the club the night before. She is fast asleep, but we see him starting to wake up to his cell going off.

Jeff: Who in the fuck would be waking me up at 8:30 in the morning?

He checks the message on his phone, and it turns out to be from FMW management. And they are calling him to say that he has been booked for his first match at Ammunition 12.1 which starts to get him interested. A couple of minutes pass by before he decides to wake the woman who he slept with last night, and getting her out of the house so that he can focus on training.

Jeff: Hey Carmen don’t you need to get up, and head to the hospital?

Carmen: What time is it sweetie?

Jeff: It’s 8:30 in the morning, but I’ve got a lot of things to do today. Also I’ve been signed by FMW, and I’ve got to start training for my first match in Australia.

Carmen: Thank you so much for waking me up, because I’ve got a huge shift at the hospital today. (She starts to get dressed in the clothes that she was wearing last night, but then turns her attention back to him.) Maybe we could do something when you get back, but have a good time in Sydney.

A few minutes pass by before we see him walking Carmen out to her car, and she gives him a passionate kiss good luck before pulling out of the driveway. He heads back inside, and makes his way towards the kitchen so that he can fix himself something to eat for breakfast. Suddenly he hears a loud knocking noise at the door, and he walks over to see who it is. He opens the door, and it turns out that his beautiful agent has decided to pay him a visit.

Jeff: I’m guessing that this must be important, because you never want to make the drive towards my house. So Alexis you know that I got the call, and that I’ll be heading to Sydney for my first Ammunition show.

Alexis: Actually this doesn’t have to do with your wrestling career, but your name has come up for some acting roles. (She pulls out about five or six scripts, and sets them down on the counter.) Also I got a call from Robert Downey JR, and he wants to work with you on a movie together.

He takes a few bites out of the meal that he made as he thinks about what she just said, because this could be a big opportunity once his wrestling career is over. Then he returns his focus back to Alexis, and they talk about what movies would be right for him.

Jeff: I would love to talk with you some more about this, but I realized that I’ve got to make it over to the gym.

Alexis: Will you at least look the scripts over, and see which movie would you want to do.

Jeff: I’ll take them with me, and look them over while I’m on tour in Australia. And I promise to let you know when I get back, but I really have to start training for the six-man tag match.

They head towards the front door, and he wishes her luck before heading upstairs towards his bathroom. He enters the bathroom, and turns on the shower for a moment before looking at himself in the sink. Finally he gets into the shower, and lets the water run all over his body as he thinks about what all of the other wrestlers in FMW can bring to the table. About twenty minutes pass by before we see him leaving the house, and getting into his 2011 Ferrari 612 Scaglietti which happens to be one of a collection of expensive luxury cars before making the drive over to his private gym.

Jeff: I’m actually making great time, because normally this is when traffic starts to pick up here in town. Maybe if I’m lucky I can get a good training session in, because I’ve got to catch a flight to Sydney for the show.

It takes about twenty minutes, but we focus in on a MMA training center which happens to be owned by Jeff Watson, and we see him pulling into the parking lot so that he can get this session started. Before he can get out of the car, his cell starts to go off and he answers it to see who it is. It turned out that it was someone who can talk later, and he walks into the gym so that he can get warmed up on the treadmill.

Mike: I thought you weren’t going to show up today, because you had a hell of a night yesterday.

Jeff: Don’t you know that I can come from partying the night before, and have a good training session. We’ve been friends for years, and you’re still shocked about some of the stuff in my life.

He keeps running on the treadmill for a little over five minutes , but then he gets off and makes his way over to the heavy bag. Inside he is thinking about what his opponents could possibly do in the ring, and it’s starts to motivate him in throwing some heavy punches. With every punch the bag starts to move in the direction of the punches being thrown, but then suddenly he stops so that he can head over to the cage to work on his submission wrestling.

Mike: I forgot to ask this, but who are you facing at your debut show for FMW?

Jeff: I’m in the rookie six-man tag match, and my team will be facing Storm, Jeff Whitt and Wayland Price. Is it normal to be this nervous before a match where lots of people will be watching?

Before he could answer one of Jeff’s training partners is ready, and he starts to work on his ground game. He is busy trying to avoid, and counter his opponents takedowns because it is a huge part in setting up his submission attempts. Suddenly he manages to get his opponent down on the mat, and works him into a guillotine choke where the opponent taps out quickly. Both of them stand up, and catch their breaths for a quick moment before going into a sparring session.

Coach: I figure that we will do some sparring, and I want you guys to go hard at each other like it's a real fight. But don't get too crazy, because we don't need you injured before the big match coming up.

Suddenly we hear a horn going off, and Jeff starts kicking at the leg of his sparring partner in a attempt to create a opening. He manages to duck a right cross, and takes his opponent down so that he can work into a submission. His partner is trying to cover up, but Jeff manages to break through with hammer fists to the face. About thirty minutes pass by, and we see everyone taking a needed break after a very physical training session.

Coach: Hey Jeff I need to talk to you for a moment please?

Jeff: So what do you need to see me about coach? Haven't I been doing a good job working in the offense you teach me?

Coach: You happen to be one of the best fighters that I have had the fortune to train. No the reason why I asked to talk to you is that are you mentally ready for the big match at 12.1?

Jeff: Actually I happen to be really nervous about this match, and I haven't been this nervous since I was wrestling for New Japan. Maybe when I get to Sydney my nerves will calm down, but thank you for getting me prepared for the upcoming match.

He heads to the locker room so that he can get changed, and enjoy the rest of his day. About fifteen minutes pass by before we see him leaving the gym, and trying to make his way towards the car. Suddenly he spots a beautiful woman who is trying to get his attention, and he makes his way to her so that he can introduce himself.

Woman: I've been watching you work out, and from my point of view you have got to be one of the best wrestlers that I have ever seen. Oh the name is Mandy, but you don't have to introduce yourself to me.

Jeff: Thank you so much for the compliment, and you don't look bad yourself.

Mandy: So what does a good looking guy like yourself have planned for the rest of the day?

Jeff: Actually the rest of my day is open, because I don't have to catch my flight until later on this afternoon. So do you wanna spend some time with me today?

She gives him directions to her house, and waits for him to get in the car. Once he is in the car she pulls out of the parking lot, and allows him to follow behind her. It takes about twenty minutes, but they pull up in front of her condo which overlooks the beach. They head up to her condo, and he is amazed at how good it looks. He takes a seat on the couch, and waits for her to come out of her bedroom.

Jeff: So i'm guessing that you must have a really great job to be able to get a place like this?

Mandy: I happen to be an actress, and also happen to model for some big companies as well. But there is something that I have to come clean with you right now.

Jeff: You aren't one of those crazy stalkers who happen to be nice at first, but then change their behavior if they happen to be in a relationship with them.

Mandy: No I'm not one of those crazy bitches, but ever since I saw you walk into the gym the first time, I started to have a crush on you. I'll understand if you think i'm crazy, but seeing you has created some feelings deep inside of me. So why don't we go out to lunch, and maybe we could get to know each other.

He starts to think about what she just said, and that is making him even more tense before his debut match at Ammunition 12.1 in Sydney. Suddenly they make their way back to where his car is parked, and she gets in first before he makes his way over to the driver side. The scene starts to fade out with the Ferrari making it's way through traffic towards a fancy restaurant where they hope to spend some time together. About twenty minutes later we see him pulling into the parking lot, and they start to make their way into the restaurant as the scene fades to black.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of days have passed, and now we open up the scene in Sydney Austraila where FMW Ammunition 12.1 is taking place tonight. It happens to be a beautiful spring day as we focus in on the Park Hyatt Sydney hotel, and we happen to see Jeff Watson leaving the hotel to make his way towards the arena for the show. About ten minutes pass before a black limo pulls up, and he gets inside so that they can make the way towards the arena for the show. He is wearing a fancy suite, and pouring a glass of wine so that he can get relaxed before the show.

Jeff: I sure hope that Alexander and Axel don't try to fuck with me tonight. Tonight is a night to prove myself to the whole world, and everybody in the locker room that I plan on being the best that FMW has to offer.

Suddenly we shift the focus towards the arena where Ammunition will be taking place, and we see both Axel Van Osbourne along with Alexander Crysto waiting for him to show up. They are busy planning out the strategy for the match when Jeff's limo pulls into the entrance of the arena, and he steps out to see where his partners are. He goes over to introduce himself to them, and they head towards Jeff's personal locker room where bottles of champaign are on ice.

Axel: I'm guessing that your reputation of a high-roller happens to be true, but can you manage to check your ego when it comes time for our match.

Jeff: It is my first show, and I can already tell that I'm not going to like you at all. Just don't worry about my ego, because I will be ready to go when the match starts. Once it's over Axel, then we can settle any problems that you would have, but can we at least get along during the match.

They continue to talk some strategy as it regards to keep one of their opponents closer to our corner, and make frequent tags between us. Suddenly a production assistant comes in to inform Jeff about an interview that he can do to promote the show, and introduce himself to the fans of FMW. He leaves the locker room, and makes his way over to the interview set where the beautiful Veronica Cherrywood is waiting for him. He introduces himself to her, and she tries not to blush as the crew is getting everything set up. She gets the signal and welcomes everyone to this special interview.

Veronica: We've got a special FMW.COM exclusive interview live from Sydney, and my guest is making his debut in the rookies six-man tag match tonight at Ammunition 12.1. He has also been on People magazines list of the world's sexiest men, and I am pleased to introduce Jeff Watson. Jeff it is a pleasure having you here, and welcome to FMW.

Jeff: It is a honor to be here in a great company such as FMW, and also It's a pleasure to be standing next to a beautiful woman such as yourself. So what is the first question that you, and the FMW fans want to know about me?

Veronica: What do you think about teaming up with a man like Axel Van Osbourne who has been on a roll lately?

Jeff: I haven't seen much of him in the ring, but I'm willing to trust both him and Alexander Crysto out there tonight. If all three of us can get along, then the other team has no chance against us tonight.

A brief moment is taken so that he can continue to flirt with Veronica, and she seems to get interested by the things that Jeff is saying. Finally the director gets their attention, and she starts to ask about what is his plans not only for the match but for his career here in FMW.

Jeff: Tonight is the first step in proving to everyone that I intend to be the best that FMW has ever seen. Storm you and your partners are just a stepping stone in my quest for greatness, and nobody is going to stop me from achieving that goal. You guys along with everyone else will find that out in the ring tonight, but what do you have planned for later on tonight Veronica?

And the scene starts to fade out with Veronica telling the fans to tune in, and see what Jeff will bring to everyone in FMW. Once the cameras go off he gives her his hotel information, and heads back to his locker room so that he can get ready for the match tonight. The scene fades to black with Jeff, Axel, and Alexander planning a perfect strategy for beating the other team tonight.

--Fin'--

Preliminary Voting (votes may change as more promos roll in):

-Ammunition 12.1-
Live from Sydney, Australia

Rookies 6-Man Tag Team Match
Storm, Jeff Whitt, and Wayland Price vs. Alexander Crysto, Jeff Watson, and Axel van Osbourne

Light Heavyweight Championship Match
Leviticus (c) vs. Norman Riddle

Grudge Match
Alex O'Rion vs. Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo)

C-4 Championship Match
Drew Michaels (c) vs. Chris Austin

-Corruption 12.1-
Live from Melbourne, Australia

Alistair Wolfe vs. Panzer

Ripper vs. Cliff Carson

Tag Team Thumbtack Kickpads Match
Burning Insanity (Christian Moore and Cole Dragos) vs. The Comeback Kids (Slegnadamus and Butters)

Ultraviolent Championship #1 Contender's Match
The Celt vs. Christian G. Smitten

-Distortion 12.1-
Live from Perth, Australia

Television Championship Match
PX (c) vs. David GS

Abel Steele vs. John "Doc" Derrick

Leon Caprice vs. Faith

Main Event Abandoned Championship Electric Chair Match
Seth Omega (c) vs. Matthew P. Dunn

ALSO, Harley Quint vacates the UV title, Hannibal Frost comments on his big win and states his official challenge, and the Road to Mt. V begins!

PROMO ONLY until 11:59 PM EST Tuesday, Oct. 26. VOTING AND PROMO (without penalty) until 11:59 PM EST Friday, Oct 29.

“This is the beginning of the end”

Scattered before PX are three photographs. Each photograph is a passport-style photo taken of three men. These three men are, of course, very familiar now to PX. They are his three pursuers; Allen, Davis, Matsu. These men have had little success, and have almost become the ones being chased instead. They’re minds have certainly been tested. PX hovers over these three photos, with a wicked smile firmly in place.

“Look at me Eric, I’m grinning like an idiot, but I cannot help it. I can see it all in my mind. The end is in sight. It’s all working so perfectly, I just can’t get over this feeling running through me, this pure joy I feel!”

PX’s hand floats towards the picture of Matsu, and raises it gently, bringing it towards him. He lightly strokes it as he stares into its eyes.

“This man is the key. I have just one small step to execute, and then all will be ready, and I will know that I have won! It is exciting times, Eric! I can’t hide my anticipation for tonight, where the final piece will be put in place! Can you feel the excitement?”

Eric seems less interested in the mad ramblings he can hear and more with a little toy in his possession. He spins a spinning top on the wooden floor, and it drills out a dull noise. His eyes are fixated at the wonders of the toy. It spins perfectly, without shimmer or imbalance.

“And what if one little thing goes wrong? What then? Does your whole plot unravel?”

Eric was always the more pessimistic one, never getting over excited. He breaks his trance for a moment to look at PX with dead eyes. It almost sucks the enthusiasm from him.

“If all goes well tonight, it cannot fail. I’ve planned this so carefully, it will not fail. I assure you. Our target, he is young, he is inexperienced, and he is scared. His mind is corruptible. We will not leave room for error. We’re so close now, only the worst can stop me now.”

With a flick of the wrist, PX drew a small knife. In that same movement he threw it down, piercing the photo of Allen, hitting with a thud.

“Your time is running up, Major.”

His arm flies across the table, whisking up the photo of Matsu, and he looks at it briefly with delight, and then slipping it into his pocket.

“Oh Eric, it’s so exciting, I never thought it would be this much fun. I will eradicate these men, and I will vanquish my brother, and victory will be mine to savour, and it will all be because of my own doing! I have masterminded the perfect plan, and I am getting giddy now that it’s coming to the fore!”

The top starts slowing in speed, and as it slows it begins creating circles, before falling off its axis, onto its side. Eric picks it up once more, but PX grabs his arm before he can spin it again.

“Come, Eric! We have much to prepare for this night.”

These nights are long. These nights are painful. These nights are necessary. Every night we sit here, we must work, and work hard, but in sitting here, it is a hard thing to do. We cannot help being reminded of what has happened to our colleagues. I sit here with five seats in front of me, but only two occupied. I’ve been doing this so long, seen many people die, but this, to lose three friends to the man you’re chasing, it hurts. Every day that passes, knowing he’s not in my grasp, pains me. I know what he has done, and I cannot find him. I’m running low on options, and I’m afraid of the last resort I may have to take…

Matt and Takashi both look at me; their faces tell two different stories. They’re both feeling the pain, but it’s Matt who’s bearing the brunt; he looks somewhat calm, ready to work, ready to do what we must. Matsu is a picture of distress. He is so young; I cannot imagine what this is doing to his nerves, watching his colleagues vanish in front of him. I doubt he’s sleeping well. But then, who is with that man roaming the streets…

“Forgive me for sounding somewhat rude in asking sir, but why… Why do we not have more officers working with us? With the three of us, this is getting very difficult.”

Matt made a fair point, but I only have an unfair answer for him.

“We cannot get any more, Davis. Nobody is willing to take this on with officers on the case dropping dead. This is a difficult task, and it looks as if we may have to act quickly to have any chance now.”

“Nobody wants to help us?”

“I’m sorry Matt, that’s just how it is. It’s down to us now, and drastic action looks necessary, I just don’t know what yet. I was hoping one of you would have an idea.”

I looked over to Matsu. He hasn’t said anything yet, and has looked on the verge of breakdown. He can’t hide the little shakes radiating from his arms that lay in front of him.

“Matsu, you don’t look so well. How are you feeling?”

He makes eye contact with me, but his mouth looks dry as he peels apart his lips. He struggles to force out an answer.

“I… I… I’m not sleeping well, sir. This case… It’s taking a toll on me… Not to mention we’re terribly shorthanded…”

“I understand Matsu, but these are the conditions we must work in. This was never going to be easy…”

Matsu’s fist thumps the table powerfully, his fist remaining tightly clenched. His teeth are gritted, and his eyes are open, it’s like he’s been injected with adrenaline, his body is coming alive.

“Aaah, why?! If six of us couldn’t catch him how can three?! It’s not fair! Our lives are at risk and instead of getting closer, we’re getting further away from catching this monster! God, I bet I’m next! He’s probably holding you guys ‘til last!”

In traditional adrenaline-rush fashion, Matsu’s heart rate has increased, and he’s breathing heavier. He stood up in his outburst, and now he looks more distressed than ever. I hate to see this. He’s suffering underneath me. I have to make a decision, but I just don’t know what to do yet. The kid needs rest. We can’t draw up a full plan with him in this state. Matsu hasn’t moved yet, and Davis hasn’t said anything, leaving it to me to break the silence and wrap this up.

“Matsu, you need rest. Go home and sleep. I’m calling it in tonight for the night. We will meet again tomorrow afternoon, but right now I want everyone to have a good night’s sleep, so we’ll all have clear minds tomorrow. We WILL make a decision on this tomorrow night.”

Matsu sighs, and falls back into his seat. Davis stuffs a couple of pages into a folder he brought with him.

“Very well sir. Until tomorrow. Good Night.”

Matt grabs his folder and leaves his seat, heading for the exit. I follow suit, standing up from my seat. Matsu remains seated, and he looks as if he’s returning to the shell he had been in earlier.

“Matsu, are you coming?”

“If you don’t mind sir, I’d like to stay here for the night. I’m… I’m a little scared to walk home, knowing what could happen… I know it’s me next…”

“If you wish. Just get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we are going to take action. This is coming to an end.”

I can only hope. I pat Matsu on the back as I walk past, hoping to pass some sort of reassurance. Matsu’s only young, he’s not very experienced. Maybe I’ve thrown him into the deep end with this one. I believe he’s a good officer, and a good kid, but this is really testing his mettle like nothing else. Tomorrow will be the deciding day I guess. If he can’t handle this, I may have to take him off the case. I have to hope he can regroup, and sleep tonight. Tomorrow’s the big day…

Matsu remained in that seat for another while, contemplating the possibility of his death, of catching the man they’re chasing. Soon though, the drowsiness kicked in, and sleep came knocking. He dragged himself from his seat, and walked out of the office, and into a waiting room, where he could sprawl himself out on a couch. He simply flopped downwards on it, hitting hard into the cushiony softness.

Inside was the one place he felt safe. The others had been killed on the streets, and Matsu felt that staying indoors at night was the best form of action he could take. Every sound, every light flickering, every bird flying by sent his heart racing when he walked home before. He just doesn’t feel safe anymore. But here, slipping out of consciousness on a couch where he works, there is nothing to fear…

Or so it would seem. As Matsu allowed his eyelids to fall, so too did a small flowerpot across the room from him, colliding with the floor, and shattering, spraying porcelain and soil across the floor. Matsu shot upright. A million thoughts raced through his mind all at once. None of them were the thought he needed to keep him safe however. If anything, it would have been the last thought to go through his head that as a pot fell and smashed on the floor, that a man was waiting behind the couch where he was seated, waiting to grab him.

This idea, if ever thought, certainly didn’t click fast enough, as a hand raised from behind him, wrapping itself around his mouth, the other hand raised a small and deadly weapon. This weapon helped Matsu’s brain reach the thought to stop resisting and kicking out much faster. Matsu did not identify his attacker immediately because his eyes had become fixated on the little blade hovering close to his facial features.

His eyes, in their natural curiosity, fluttered away from the blade and towards a moving object that had caught into their sites. A man had emerged from the wreckage of the flower pot, and not just any man, but the man of all his nightmares. He walked with a casual swagger, clearly beaming and overjoyed with himself. His cockiness is almost suffocating.

“What did I tell you, Eric? The old diversion trick, works every time!”

Matsu could feel his bodily energy drain from him. He is staring at the man who’s become the focus of his entire life; the villain he must apprehend, the demon he fears, the source of his livelihood.

“I know you are probably speechless right now, a cat strangling your tongue as we speak, but do not worry. You don’t have to say anything. You just need to listen. I am not here to take your life. Instead, I’m going to ask you to a favour for me, and I won’t kill you in exchange. Does this seem fair?”

Matsu stares blankly, probably unable to nod if he even wanted to attempt it. PX walks close to him, and crouches to meet him at eye level.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do…”

PX was dying to speak these words all day, to unhinge the next part of his plan, so his disappointment is understandable when he gets cruelly interrupted. The noise from behind is almost identical to the one just moments ago, another pot falling, leaving PX to think first and foremost why they are left in such places for them to fall and break, rather than why it fell. That thought soon followed though, and the answer clicked with it. He looked Eric in the eyes to see if they were thinking the same thing, and it was clear they were. They both had somewhat glum looks on their faces; neither was excited to see who they expected to see.

“Not her… Not now… I should have known. Just a minute, Matsu.”

PX rises slowly, and turns, his eyes scanning the room quickly. He dared not venture far from Matsu if he truly wanted him alive. She only ever has one purpose when she’s around. PX should have foreseen this straight away. He had left out a major factor when adding up his equation. She has a habit of causing a lot more trouble than he’d like. For someone who aims to please, she does a poor job of it. If she really wanted to keep PX happy, she’d stay out of his business. But of course, “love” makes people do stupid things. This was definitely a stupid thing. PX readied himself to catch her.

“I know you’re here, you can come out.”

The shadows giggled at him. PX could not pinpoint the sound of it. In the blink of PX’s eye, she made her move. She leaped from her place of hiding, and darted straight for Matsu at immense speed. She moved in near silence in her pointe shoes, but she was not to get the better of PX today, not with so much at stake. His arm flew out almost in instinct, and his body followed, tackling her to the floor.

“Not today!”

PX pinned her to the floor, and a simple twitch of the eyebrows summed up her thoughts of the situation.

“You really need to learn to stay out of my business! You might have got the jump on us last time, but you’re not killing this one behind out backs! I’ve got you where I can see you this time. If you really want to help me, you’ll get out of here.”

She flashes a confused look, and PX pulls her to her feet. For Matsu meanwhile, his ears are now burning. A whole new look on this case has opened up. Another murderer? They had never considered the possibility! But who is she? Is she a conspirator? They seem to know each other at least. There are so many questions burning inside him. Matsu is feeling excited, even in the midst of the situation he is in.

“Please, all I ask of you is to leave this place now. Please…”

She giggles once more, and runs off in a flash, out of sight almost in an instant. PX sighs in relief. He spins around, turning his attention back to its original place. PX puts his smile back on, and re-approaches Matsu.

“I am sorry about that… Distraction, but I’d like to get back on track. You see, I’ve come with a simple proposal for Allen, and I just want you to forward it to him. That’s not too much to ask, is it? I had to take these measures to protect myself of course, you know how it is.

Now, here’s what I want you to do. I know that you, Davis and Allen are running short on ideas, so I bring you this one. I want us all to meet up.”

PX’s smile rises as Matsu’s falls. Matsu doesn’t understand why, and can’t get his head around it.

“It’s simple really. We’ll pick somewhere nice, and a few days from now, we’ll all meet up there, and work out our differences, reach some kind of arrangement. I want you to relay this to Allen. He’ll know how to find me. Got it? If you do, I have nothing more to say, and we’ll leave you be to get some rest.”

And with that, PX walks away. Eric releases him from behind, and he follows PX. Matsu is a little shell shocked. He watches them walk away, and his arm darts south to his holster, only to find it empty.

“Oh yes. You can have this back.”

PX tosses a gun to the floor as he exits, the one Matsu is missing.

“Yes, this is it. The beginning of the end.”

-Ammunition 12.1-
Live from Sydney, Australia

Rookies 6-Man Tag Team Match
Storm, Jeff Whitt, and Wayland Price vs. Alexander Crysto, Jeff Watson, and Axel van Osbourne

Light Heavyweight Championship Match
Leviticus (c) vs. Norman Riddle

Grudge Match
Alex O'Rion vs. Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo)

C-4 Championship Match
Chris Austin

-Corruption 12.1-
Live from Melbourne, Australia

Alistair Wolfe vs. Panzer

Ripper vs. Cliff Carson

Tag Team Thumbtack Kickpads Match
Burning Insanity (Christian Moore and Cole Dragos) vs. The Comeback Kids (Slegnadamus and Butters)

Ultraviolent Championship #1 Contender's Match
The Celt

-Distortion 12.1-
Live from Perth, Australia

Television Championship Match
PX (c)

Abel Steele vs. John "Doc" Derrick

Leon Caprice vs. Faith

Main Event Abandoned Championship Electric Chair Match
Seth Omega (c) vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 12.1-
Live from Sydney, Australia

Rookies 6-Man Tag Team Match
Storm, Jeff Whitt, and Wayland Price vs. Alexander Crysto, Jeff Watson, and Axel van Osbourne

Light Heavyweight Championship Match
Leviticus (c) vs. Norman Riddle

Grudge Match
Alex O'Rion vs. Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo)

C-4 Championship Match
Drew Michaels (c) vs. Chris Austin

-Corruption 12.1-
Live from Melbourne, Australia

Alistair Wolfe vs. Panzer

Ripper vs. Cliff Carson

Tag Team Thumbtack Kickpads Match
Burning Insanity (Christian Moore and Cole Dragos) vs. The Comeback Kids (Slegnadamus and Butters)

Ultraviolent Championship #1 Contender's Match
The Celt vs. Christian G. Smitten

-Distortion 12.1-
Live from Perth, Australia

Television Championship Match
PX (c) vs. David GS

Abel Steele vs. John "Doc" Derrick

Leon Caprice vs. Faith

Main Event Abandoned Championship Electric Chair Match
Seth Omega (c) vs. Matthew P. Dunn

“Alex O’Rion is washed up, he just can’t go like he used to which is kind of sad for a twenty five year o....”

Click

“Used to be a hero in this city, but what kind of mother wants her kid idolizing a felone...”

Click

“Don’t even know why he still has a job”

Click

“Hack”

Click

“Carry job”

Click

“Failure”

Click

The large HD television in Alex O’Rions living room shuts off leaving the room in a soft darkness, the only light the streetlamp outside filtering in through the partially closed windows. O’Rion himself is in his lazy chair drinking what looks to be one in a long line of Keith’s, a clock nearby showing the time, three in the morning.

Taking another drink he turns his head to the door of his bedroom where Jessica his girlfriend is standing, television remote in her hand. A light from the room silhouettes her and shows she’s not the same beaten girl he had saved from a gang a few months back. Her figure has filled back out into that of the beautiful woman she is, her dark hair cascading down to her night robe clad shoulders as she looks concerned at the wrestler.

“You should come to bed” she says quietly as he blinks bleary eyes.

“Can’t sleep.”

“You don’t have to, but staying in front of the Television all night isn’t going to help you.”

“Sure it will” he slurs “Let’s me know what a joke I am.”

“You’re not a joke Alex” she says as she moves from the door to sit on the arm of the chair. His arm instinctively wraps around her waist as she leans against him.

“Sure am, turns out everything I’ve ever been good at I really suck at.”

“You don’t su..”

“Yes I do” he cuts her off firmly “I was a world champion, mastermind, hero. Now I can’t even predict a guy with a history of back stabbing people is going to smash me in the back of the head, letting me fail my team yet again, and lose another big match. I can’t out think my opponents, and now I can’t even out wrestle them. I suck.”

“You’re drunk”

“You’re sexy.”

Alex’s head seems to loll to one side after his drunken pronouncement leaving Jessica to roll her eyes. Alex O’Rion may have saved her life, but some day she’d get him to cut down on the drinking, she has standards after all. Seeing that Alex hasn’t really nodded off, but was continuing his drunken mopping.

“Baby” she whispers into his ear “I know something you don’t suck at....and maybe if you’re good I will.”

His eyes widen as the drunken man launches himself from the chair, taking the woman into his arms and rushing towards the bedroom. The two share a passionate kiss as drunken and sure hands try to remove articles of clothe before...

This isn’t a Chris Austin promo, you want porn go look it up yourself.


“Another night, another dollar” Alex says to himself as he lifts one of the last chairs off the floor of the Peddlers Pub and grabs the broom to sweep under it. The doors had closed an hour ago and he’d sent the last of the help home shortly after. Patrick O’Rion never needed anyone to clean and close his bar and that’s a tradition his son likes to keep intact when he’s in town. Besides Peddlers is the closest thing he has to a home really, only place that reminds him of family. As he wipes down the bar and puts away the empties he can’t help but smile as he remembers his pops serving drinks and wise cracks to family and friends while the three brothers pick another fight because they were bored.

Looking up at the clock he quickens his pace.

“Shit, Jess’ll be here in thirty minutes, I better hurry the fuck up if I’m gonna get done.” He says looking around the empty room.

“Who the fuck am I talking to?” he laughs as he goes back to stocking the fridge for tomorrow nights festivities. As he loads up the last of the moose piss, ie Canadian, he hears the door chime and stands up with a smile to greet Jessica. The smile fades quickly as he sees what stands there.

“We’re closed byes, you have to leave” he says as he steps around the bar to stand in front of the three drunks that just walked in. All three are holding half finished beers and angry expressions as they stare down the owner. Two of them men stand an easy couple inches above Alex, while the third looks older and more weathered.

“Ah common” the older one slurs as he takes a step forward “We used to be regulars back when Patrick ran this joint”

“Yeah, well the bars still closed, I’m gonna have to ask you three to leave.”

“AH FUCK YOU” the large one closest to the door yells as he throws his beer at Alex’s head. The wrestler steps out of the way easily but doesn’t see the other large man running across the room until he tackles Alex to the ground. As soon as they hit the ground instinct kicks in and Alex rolls, putting himself in a mount above the man. He lands two quick rights bloodying the mans nose before jumping up to face the other two. The older one hasn’t moved, just stands smirking as his other compatriot comes towards Alex, more cautiously than the last one. He throws a feint to the right and nails Alex with a sharp left hook.

Alex stumbles back a bit and spits out some blood before looking back up smiling.

“Fuck byes, been too long since I had a good fight.”

He launches himself at the man, ducking under his haymaker and catching him with a wicked uppercut, smashing the mans teeth together with a sick click. Before he can catch his breath though the one that had tackled him smashes his fist hard into O’Rions side knocking the air from his lungs with a gasp. Falling sideways Alex uses his momentum to sweep the mans feet and try to struggle back to his own.

The two large men get back up as well, all three bloodied but the drunks looks happy to go for another round, while Alex can taste blood with every breath. But this is what he lives for, he can’t back down now.

“Come on byes, you know who I am? You really think three drunks punks like you can beat me?”

“Yes.” The older one says, sounding a lot less drunk than he had before. He makes a wave with his hand and the other two advance again. Alex lowers his center of gravity and gets ready for them. The one throws a jab which Alex dodges, but before he can counter he has to step backwards to avoid a kick from the other. It goes this way for a moment with Alex throwing the occasional punch but despite all his training and experience he is backed up until he runs into the bar and has no where to go. Blood runs freely from a cut over his eye and his breath is coming in ragged gasps. The two drunks look worse for the wear, but much better than the wrestler.

“I’ll maker you fuckers pay for this!” Alex roars as he tries one last time to get free, maybe attack the older guy at the back and wipe that fucking smile from his face. The two drunks grab him by the throat and slam him to the floor, pinning him there as the older man walks over to stand above them.

“Why, because you’re Alex O’Rion?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes.” Alex gasps out.

“Who gives a shit.” The older man says before kicking the downed man in the stomach. Alex curls up to protect himself as the two drunks stand up to help lay the boots to him. Alex tries to get up, grab a foot, crawl away, anything. But everytime he does he is met with another kick, another punch, another pain. Until finally one foot gets past his arms and smashes him dead in the side of then head, and he slumps to the floor unconscious.

The three men stop kicking and head for the door, leaving the broken O’Rion bleeding on the floor surrounded by broken furniture and bottles. As the three leave the bar, the two drunks using hoodies to cover their faces they walk past Jessica on the sidewalk. She heads into the bar and her scream echoes out into the night.

The two large drunks break off and head down an alley while the older man pulls out a cell phone and dials. After a few seconds someone on the other end answers.

“It’s me.”

....

“Yeah, it’s done.”

....

“We beat his ass good, but nothing too damaging like you said, oh and passed along the message.”

....

“Long as we get paid, still kind of weird you’d want this done to him.”

....

“I know, just you’re supposed to be his...”

....

“Right, right. I’ll be in touch.”

Click

“Bunch of fuckin’ weirdos, the lot of them.” The elder man mumbles as he trudges off into the night.


Beep.....Beep.....Beep.....

The sound of the heart monitor is oddly comforting to Alex O’Rion as he wakes up. It’s a noise he’s gotten used to hearing, he’s been attached to enough or seen his friends and family hooked up often enough to know the brand used at Halifax General Hospital beeps every three point seven seconds.

The warm feeling of Jessica holding his hand brings a smile to his lips as he opens his eyes, the right one not opening all the way. He looks up through blurry vision to see Jess’s worried face she leans in for a closer look.

“Bout time you woke up.” She says, smiling.

“What happened?” he asks, he remembers being beaten but nothing after that.

“Someone tried to rob the bar, the police say the register was ransacked after they....after they did this to you. When I got there you were bleeding near the back, you didn’t even wake up when the EMT’s loaded you into the ambulance, you had me worried.”

“Shhh” he says soothingly, bringing the hand without the IV in it up to caress her face “I’m fine see, be out of here in no time.”

“The doctors say...”

“Doctors are overrated.” A voice cuts in from the doorway, the two turn to see Chris Austin standing there.

“Well they say he’s going to be here for a few weeks at least!” she snaps at Austin.

“Not what they told me, he’s being released tomorrow.” He says back, ignoring her outburst.

“But....” she starts to continue before Alex puts a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay Jess, I promise. I need to have a quick chat with my partner here, could you go tell the doctors I’m awake please?” he pleads. She stares at him for a moment before sighing and getting up. She heads out the door, giving a glare to Austin on her way, leaving the two alone.

“You look like shit” Austin says as he walks into the room and pulls up a chair by the bed.

“Thanks bye, love you too.”

“Well it’s true.”

The two sit for a moment in silence, not awkward, just there before Austin speaks again.

“So what happened?”

“I got the shit kicked out of me by two drunks robbing my bar.”

“Are you serious?”

“No, Godzilla stepped on me. Of course I’m fuckin’ serious bye.” Alex snaps causing Austin to raise his hands for calm.

“I wasn’t doubting that. Just surprised you were beaten by two normal drunks, I’ve seen you take chair shots to the back of the head and keep fighting.”

“I know.”

“I mean you’ve been a world champion, been in some of the most hellacious matches in Full Metal history and this lays you up?”

“I know bye.”

“You are a tag team champion and you couldn’t even handle two drunks?”

“I SAID I FUCKING KNOW BYE!” Alex roars, the beeps on his monitor speeding up for a moment before resuming its regular pace as the two sit in the aftermath of his outburst.

“So what happened?”

“I got cocky alright? I didn’t think three damned drunks could cause me a problem, let alone beat me up. I’m fucking Alex O’Rion, I wrestle for a living, I should have fuckin’ won.”

“You should have won because your Alex O’Rion?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Not lately.”

“What the hells that supposed to mean bye?”

“Exactly how it sounds, you haven’t tried in our last couple matches, you’ve phoned it in, you aren’t the man you used to be.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, he just looks at Austin for a moment before turning away and looking out the window, brooding. Austins sits for another moment waiting for Alex to say something, anything, before he gets up and heads for the door.

“Smitten pulled some strings so you’re cleared to compete this week. Try to at least show up this time will you?” he says as he heads through the threshold, lingering just long enough to see Alex’s head snap around in anger before he’s gone.

“Class dismissed.” The younger Wayward Son says as he heads for the exit, a little smile on his face.


Alex O’Rion

Hayabusa Cup Champion, Alchemy Superstar of the Year, Mount Vesuvius Torch Champion, Full Metal Champion, Full Metal Tag Team Champion.

It’s a pretty impressive list of accolades isn’t it? Hell some people are lucky to ever win one of those, let alone multiple, and yet Alex O’Rions done that and more for this federation.

Alexander O’Rion, not me.

See for the longest time I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, constantly switching between hero and villain, loner and social butterfly, friend and enemy. All because I don’t know who I am, who I want to be, anything.

I knew I was Alexander O’Rion though.

I was wrong.

See Alexander O’Rion was a hungry young wrestler, desperate to do anything he could to win the match, make himself a star. He never gave in to anyone, never gave up, and even if he lost he always gave it his all. He was a loving man, a kind man, someone people could look up to for more than what he’s done, but for the way he acted.

Me.

I’m the shell that’s been using his name. Since I won the title and had my brief little reign I have thrown around my name like currency. Using it to get me matches I hadn’t earned, being held at a certain standard despite not living up that standard myself. I did phone nights in, I took my position for granted and look where it got me. I tarnished not only myself, but the name I spent years building because I used it for greed instead of just being the man I was supposed to be.

You see Romeo you’re just like me. You had some accomplishments and now you are simply drifting along on the basis of your name, hell using it to force a new puppet down our throats.

Just like your puppet I’m hungry to prove myself again. I’m not Drew Michaels or John Derrick, I don’t deserve to be handed a damned thing simply because I was good a while back, they earned that I haven’t. So I start all over again, if that means I spend the next few cycles facing rookies and earning my place, so be it, but the time of hand me outs is done.

I’m sick of mediocrity.

You’re not going to see Alexander O’Rion in the ring.

You’re going to see a man aspiring to be him.

Tonight I take one small step towards the right to being called one of the best in the world, and there isn’t anything you or your pet Pinnochio can do about it.

See you real soon byes.

Oh and Romeo, don’t wheel away too fast after I finish beating Tiberius into another member of your paraplegic club, me and you need to discuss what happened at War Games.

I’m fuckin’ sick of people blindsiding me and getting away with it.

Fucking chickens.

“ ….And as we go out into the world, let us not forget the lessons that were instilled in us here. Let all of our successes be taken graciously and all of our failures with dignity. We may not be ready for this journey we are about to embark on, but I for one can't wait to find out. Congratulations Class of 2005! We did it!”

Wayland never heard the valedictorians words that day. While the rest of his classmates were celebrating their new found freedom after four excruciatingly long years of high school, Wayland Price was busy packing his things and preparing to leave home. While from the outside it would appear that he had the perfect life, he most certainly knew different.

You see, behind the Cleaver-like family exterior his family had the same problems as everyone else. Waylands' father just had the money to hide those things from anyone who might want to know. Rather than be subject to his alcoholic fathers rules and whim, Wayland had decided to make his own way in life. Sure he could have stayed and made his money easily, working at his fathers mega financial firm. But no, he would not accept a handout from that man. Plus, Wayland always was smart. How could things not go well?

To this point, all had not gone well. It had been years since he had been home and now, laying in bed while his lover slept next to him, Wayland thought about his family. It had been so long and he had been through so much while absent from them he could nary remember their faces. When he tried to think back on the memories he had,the family vacations, the family dinners, hell the fights with his father even, his whole family was replaced by shadows.

Wayland was shaken from his thoughts by a loud cracking sound from the other side of the door. He shook Jalen awake.

(From the other side of the door)

“This is the police. You got five fucking minutes to get out of there. If you aren't all gone by the time I get back I come in cracking fucking skulls! God damned squatters.”

The pair looked at each other panicked. The two hadn't much to grab. A change of clothes and the little money they had. It was going to be a long day. The pair walked out of the shanty quickly and got in their beat up Buick. The seats were badly torn and stained and the car was roughly the color of rust but it was the last thing his parents had given him. A graduation present. He didn't know why he kept the damn thing but it still ran and it got him from A to B.

Jalen: Were we going babe?

Wayland: Well we got money for the gym and a bite to eat so I figure we can go get breakfast and then rent the ring out a little bit. Then we figure where to hang our hats for the night.

Jalen groaned. He was starting to itch again. Getting his tick back.

Jalen. Way I need my fix today. Its starting to hurt something fierce again babe.

Shit, Wayland thought thought to himself. That rock was taking over both of their lives now. Jalen was hooked and as a result Wayland got to deal with the consequences.

Wayland: Maybe its time we get you into detox or something. Stuff is gonna eat you alive J. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Jalen scratched his neck absentmindedly.

Jalen: Don't gimme that shit Way I am good as gold. I just need a little somethin'. A pick me up to get me through the day. Just a taste. Please baby? You know I love you.

Jalen gave him those eyes. The begging ones that tell you that they need you to make it better. The ones you remember after you say no and they make you feel about an inch tall. Wayland sighed.

Wayland: Alright.

Jalen: God thank you baby.

Jalen kissed him softly on the cheek.

Jalen: Cop Scam?

Wayland: We have used that three times in the last two weeks. We need to change it up.

Jalen: Come on, I got a good feeling about it.

Wayland: If we do it your way you got to wait till after we train to shoot. That cool.

Jalen: Ice baby, ice.

Wayland: Fine lets go hit up Little Nate's crew. Maybe we don't got to do this again for a few weeks. They always hold heavy weight.

The pair hit the concrete jungle fast and hard. They drove up Volstead till they got to Decker and hung a right. They pulled up to the curb across the street from some mean looking thugs talking shop on a stoop.

Jalen: There go that shorty from around the way. Five to ten says he be holdin'.

Wayland rolled his eyes, half ashamed for doing this again and half disappointed that they were about to rob a fourteen year old so Jalen could get his fix.

Wayland: Go do your thing. Be safe baby.

Jalen: Always honey. You know me.

Jalen got out of the car and put his limp on, exaggerating it as he got closer. He was amazed that even crackheads bought into the stereotypes about themselves. He didn't need to act like a crackhead, he was one.

He watched as Jalen caught up to the kid in the alley. He started the car back up and crept over toward them. When he was safely nestled into the alley he got out of the car. Jalen already had the kid cuffed and looking at some of earths smaller creatures as they scurried about in the dirt in front of him.

Wayland: Pick the kid up Jones.

Jalen looked at Wayland and grinned.

Jalen: Sure thing officer Smith. This little scumbag was on his way back from the stash house. I'd say he has a few bricks worth in that duffel bag over there.

Kid: Man fuck you pigs. This is bullshit. You got nothin' on me man. Why you fools always got to be hasslin' a brother?

Jalen kicked him hard in the gut.

Jalen: Shut the fuck up punk. I'll tell you what we are gonna do, we gonna drive your hard ass out to the country. We gonna take you into the woods and cuff your arms around a tree. Then we gonna strip you naked. We gonna leave your ass till the wolves get hungry and chew you up. Maybe you get lucky and the mosquitoes just feast on you for a few days before someone finds you. What you think about that motherfucker?

Kid: Man we both know you just be talkin' shit. You can't do that garbage. You a cop.

Wayland walked over and picked the kids chin off the ground and looked into his eyes.

Wayland: No. No we aren't.



****

The sweat poured off Wayland as he finished running the ropes. The last four hours had been well spent, the burning in his calves told him that much. He grabbed the water bottle from Jalen who for the last half hour and been looking between him and the door, slowly shaking all the while. Wayland sighed audibly.

Wayland: Okay J, you can go do your thing.

Jalen: Nah it can wait, plus I didn't want to interrupt you in there but there is a dude looking for you. I think he's a cop man.

Wayland toweled his face and arms off and approached the man who Jalen had spoken of. From his perspective, there was no chance in hell that this was a cop. From his unkempt hair to his half zipped windbreaker and stained sweatpants Wayland pegged him for another user, someone who just happened to catch wind of Jalens score.

Wayland: What can I do for you?

Wayland sounded terse and short, giving the impression that this man had managed to offend him without so much as a word.
Man: Hi I'm Terrence Axelrod. And you are?

Wayland: Listen mister Axelrod, you wanted to talk to me not the other way around so why don't we get this over with. I got better shit to be doing right now.

Axelrod: Better then getting a spot on the next FMW Ammunition card?

Wayland's jaw hit the floor.

Wayland: Wait a minute, one more time?

Axelrod: I'm a talent scout for Full Metal Wrestling. We have a rookies match scheduled to open up the card and they sent me out to find a young unknown with talent. Well kid, I think you're it. But I guess if you are to busy I can just go find someone else who would be happy to sign a guaranteed contract with a billion dollar corporation.

Axelrod made it exactly three steps before Wayland stepped in front of him.

Wayland: hold on a minute. This isn't a joke? You really want me to join FMW? No one gets a shot like that before doing time in low level promotions.

Axelrod reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out a sheet of paper. He shoved it in front of Waylands face and smiled.

Axelrod: This look like a joke to you kid?

Wayland gave the contract a quick once over.

Wayland: Where do I sign?

Axelrod began to hand a pen to Wayland but Jalen had made his way across the room and interjected.

Jalen: Mind if I have a moment with my client?

Axelrod snickered but nodded his head.

One of the most amazing things about being a parent in today’s society is the adaptive mechanisms parents develop that center around the children in the home.

Suddenly new parents can get by on a fraction of the sleep they had previously thought was necessary for survival. Cold food no longer tastes all that bad. The messes they encounter – diapers delivered and otherwise – that would have turned them green with nausea just a few months earlier are suddenly bearable. Suddenly, sniffing a toddler’s backside in public isn’t beyond the pale of rational thought.

But one of the most amazing capabilities parents develop is the ability to hear their child’s cry above even the most clamorous din. Their ears become attuned to the unique sound of that cry of distress, whether they’re in a busy airport, a crowded shopping mall at Christmas time or their own basement, with the surround sound booming and the kids upstairs in bed. The ability to hear and identify such a cry is almost uncanny. Ask any parent about distinguishing the cry of their child in a crowd, and you’ll begin to understand the true gift of parenthood.

Like that of a loving parent described above, God hears you when you call. Out of all the chaos and confusion generated by billions of people, God hears your voice. He knows where you are and the source of your distress, and he stands ready to deliver you from your sins if you will cry out to him in repentance and belief. So as far as parents go, God is the ultimate father and blessed are we through having him.

But what does it really mean for us, being a parent doesn’t change us, right?

No it doesn’t, it’s the people or things that we parent that change us. And for Leon, that is the point dwelling in his mind. Who is he really a parent to? Who are symbolically his parents, what is God calling forth in his life now?

A new beginning and a new family…

And so this story will tell, Leon is not just a newly titled father to his daughter Joy, but a parent to a new dwelling in his heart, a new beginning in the grandest stage & a new force in FMW.



Stretched at ease upon a sofa, in gown and slippers, Leon Caprice smiled as he read the foregoing sentence in Sun tzu’s ‘The Art of War’._ "All warfare is based on deception." he read to himself, " Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him." A train of reflection followed, for by now the revelation that Leon was a man of thought was evident. Softly he lowered his book without altering the direction of his eyes. As soon as the book had gone below the line of sight, something in an obscure corner of the room recalled his attention to his surroundings. What he saw, in the shadow under his bed, was two small points of light, apparently about an inch apart. They might have been reflections of the ceiling globe above him, in metal nail heads; he gave them but little thought and resumed his reading.

A moment later something, some impulse which it did not occur to him to analyze, impelled him to lower the book again and seek for what he saw before. The points of light were still there. They seemed to have become brighter than before, shining with a greenish lustre that he had not at first observed. He thought, too, that they might have moved marginally, that they were now somewhat nearer. They were still too much in shadow, however, to reveal their nature and origin to an indolent attention, and again he resumed his reading.

Suddenly something in the text suggested a thought that made him start and drop the book for the third time to the side of the sofa, whence, escaping from his hand, it fell sprawling to the floor, back upward. Leon, half-risen, was staring intently into the obscurity beneath the bed, where the points of light shone with, it seemed to him, an added fire. His attention was now fully aroused, his gaze eager and imperative. It disclosed, almost directly under the foot-rail of the bed, the coils of a large serpent--the points of light were its eyes! Its horrible head, thrust flatly forth from the innermost coil and resting upon the outermost, was directed straight toward him, the definition of the wide, brutal jaw and the idiot-like forehead serving to show the direction of its malevolent gaze. The eyes were no longer merely luminous points; they looked into his own with a meaning, a malign significance.

A snake in a bedroom of a modern city dwelling for the better sort is happily not a common phenomenon as to make explanation altogether needless. Leon Caprice, a husband, a father, Christian and something of an investor, rich, popular and of sound health, had returned to Perth from all manner of remote and unfamiliar countries through his work. His reasoning for returning though, was one of relief, the pressures built up since Catalyst were beginning to take hold; There was all these demands of Leon suddenly, like under Seth Omega’s guidance, he achieved something, but it wasn’t Seth who was Leon’s liberator, he was only the snake under the bed, the real savior chose to stay hidden, wait his time, and would only appear when everything was in place, which he soon did.

It was in this place that Leon indulged the peaceful side of his profession, taking the time to become engaged in his interests and comforted by his tastes, it must be confessed though, that his newly born daughter was a huge influence in his sudden return. For one of the higher passions of his immediate circumstances was the recent berth of his daughter Joy, although she still resided in the recovery clinic with Leon’s wife, it still pulsed excitement into Leon’s body. Something that truly let him be free of the chains of his work, and it felt good…

Beyond a smart shock of surprise and a shudder of mere loathing Leon was not greatly affected. His first thought was to ring the local RSPCA and call out a snake-handler; but although the phone stand rested within easy reach he made no movement toward it; it had occurred to his mind that the act might subject him to the suspicion of fear, which he certainly did not feel. He was more keenly conscious of the incongruous nature of the situation than affected by its perils; it was revolting, but absurd.

The reptile was of a species with which Leon was unfamiliar. Its length he could only conjecture; the body at the largest visible part seemed about as thick as his forearm. In what way was it dangerous, if in any way? Was it venomous? Was it a constrictor? His knowledge of nature's danger signals did not enable him to say; he had never deciphered the code.

If not dangerous the creature was at least offensive. It was out of place, an impertinence being. The snake was unworthy of the setting. Even the barbarous taste of our time and country, which had loaded the walls of the room with pictures, the floor with furniture and the furniture with ornaments, had not quite fitted the place for this bit of the savage life of the jungle. Besides, insupportable thought! The exhalations of its breath mingled with the atmosphere which he himself was breathing.

These thoughts shaped themselves with greater or less definition in Leon's mind and begot action. The process is what we call consideration and decision. It is thus that we are wise and unwise. It is thus that the withered leaf in an autumn breeze shows greater or less intelligence than its fellows, falling upon the land or upon the lake. The secret of human action is an open one: something contracts our muscles. Does it matter if we give to the preparatory molecular changes the name of will?

Leon rose to his feet and prepared to back softly away from the snake, without disturbing it if possible, and through the door. Men retire so from the presence of the great, for greatness is power and power is a menace. He knew that he could walk backward without error. Should the monster follow, the taste which had plastered the walls with paintings had consistently supplied a rack of ancient samurai weapons from which he could snatch one to suit the occasion. In the mean time the snake's eyes burned with a more pitiless malevolence than before.

Leon lifted his right foot free of the floor to step backward. That moment he felt a strong aversion to doing so.

"I am now accounted as brave, so is bravery then, no more than pride? Because there is no-one to witness the shame I shall receive if I retreat?"

He was steadying himself with his right hand upon the back of a chair, his foot suspended.

Leon: No that isn’t right! I am not a coward, I‘m not scared or afraid.

He lifted the foot a little higher by slightly bending the knee and thrust it sharply to the floor, an inch in front of the other! He could not think how that occurred. A trial with the left foot had the same result; it was again in advance of the right. The hand upon the chair back was grasping it; the arm was straight, reaching somewhat backward. One might have said that he was reluctant to lose his hold. The snake's malignant head was still thrust forth from the inner coil as before, the neck level. It had not moved, but its eyes were now electric sparks, radiating an infinity of luminous needles.

The man had an ashy paleness. Again he took a step forward, and another, partly dragging the chair, which when finally released fell upon the floor with a crash. The man groaned; the snake made neither sound nor motion, but its eyes were two dazzling suns. The reptile itself was wholly concealed by them. They gave off enlarging rings of rich and vivid colors, which at their greatest expansion successively vanished like soap-bubbles; they seemed to approach his very face, and soon were an immeasurable distance away. Carefully and quivering in movement, Leon lowered his body to the cold wooden floor below, resting his chest and knees firmly against the lined wooden puzzle flooring and keeping his unmoving gaze upon the eyes of the serpent.

For a time he battled the fear of the confrontation, and laid there with closed eyes and his face against the floor. In a few moments he had recovered, and then knew that this fall, by withdrawing his eyes, had broken the spell that held him. He felt that now, by keeping his gaze averted, he would be able to retreat. But the thought of the serpent within a few feet of his head, yet unseen, perhaps in the very act of springing upon him and throwing its coils about his throat was too horrible! He lifted his head, stared again into those baleful eyes and was again in bondage.

The snake had not moved and appeared somewhat to have lost its power upon the imagination; the gorgeous illusions of a few moments before were not repeated. Beneath that flat and brainless brow its black, beady eyes simply glittered as at first with an expression unspeakably malignant. It was as if the creature, assured of its triumph, had determined to practice no more alluring wiles.

Now ensued a fearful scene. The man, prone upon the floor, within a meter of his enemy, raised the upper part of his body upon his elbows, his head thrown back, his legs extended to their full length.

He reached under the bed, grasping the throat of the snake and flung it, still coiled, to the center of the room, whence with a harsh, shuffling sound it slid across the polished floor till it eventually stopped by the wall, where it lay without motion. It was a stuffed snake; it’s eyes were two shoe buttons.




We all need a family, whether to be more direct and say to have parents or mentors, or those people who continue to push us even when we label ourselves defeated. Its these people in whom we trust our lives with, in these people we call our family.

But in terms of Leon, who is his symbolic family? Besides Sarah & Joy, who else could he trust in or look up to?

There use to be one name

Skyler Striker

So the question is, could he still be considered as family?

Possibly reasons: Former mentor, former tag partner & former friend.

Reasons for denial: Corrupted, without family values or visible morals & consumed in drug use and self-belief.

Final Opinion: Still remembering back to Lethal Injection I can remember as I fell, I began to see things; I saw something that I had far pushed out of my mind. I saw the villain in question, standing across from me, as I was held down and beaten by the thoughts who opposed me, each blow sending blood down my face, each blow putting me lower, lower, lower towards the ground, unable to fight back, unable to resist, all I could do is stand back and watch.

And then, I saw him standing there, I pleaded to him to help me, I pleaded for him to fight alongside me as we had done so many times before, but no help came, all that came was a sneer as he stepped back, his eyes filled with coldness, a gaze that could stare through me.

Everything about him was cold, suddenly; his true colors began to surface. His flaws. He drank, he womanized, I never saw these aspects until that moment when he finally betrayed us all.

It was in that moment that the light was drained from the world.

But I came and took his place.


Final Verdict: Skyler Striker is no longer considered a symbolic father nor friend. Abandonment recommended.




Over the last few months, the night had become his time of productivity. Like a creature of shadow, he would sleep in the daylight hours only to awaken at the break of dusk. Tonight seemed no different from the last when he awakened just in time to see the sun depart from the sky, escaping from view behind the horizon of the cityscape of Perth. The moment the warm glow in the sky faded to grey and darkness was the moment he began to set his plans into motion, plans that had come to fruition through a series of recent events. Hours had passed since his awakening, and from that moment much had happened, leading him to where he sat now, only awaiting upon the arrival of a man he was summoned by, the savior to his spiraling defeat, who had finally arranged a time to meet, a time to finally implement the plans hidden in the trails of victory at Catalyst.

The room set in sight was lit by a single lamp, resting on the table before him, the rays of light shone strongly onto the wooden surface of the table, but little light reflected onto the shoulders or face of Leon. The lighting by itself created an eerie scene within the boxed room as Leon occupied himself with his endless thoughts. It was an inquisitive moment for Leon as it seemed unquestionably out of tandem for this meeting to take place in ordinary circumstances, but this wasn’t something ordinary. It was about to form into something extraordinary.

Though people didn’t commonly realize it, he was a patient man; he could spend hours alone to his own thoughts, always having something to think about, something to connect purpose to meaning. Already he had endured what could have been an hour or two of waiting... many thoughts and plans had come to mind during the time that had incidentally been provided to him... for his guest was running late.

The wait gave him time to reflect on all that had happened in recent weeks, a certain event played through his head at most times like it did now. With thoughts of constant defeat lingering within his head, only comforted by the Catalyst victory he took a long and high stretch of his arms upwards to free his body of the stiffness that was building. A collection of losses was all it had taken to finally bring down the man of God, a dose that brought him to his knees. But what they failed to realize was that it wasn’t enough to destroy the saint or his resolve. Whilst he still drew breath, he would always rise back up again. But his resolve and desire would be battered by his circumstances, and in turn they were worse now then they were before. The godly man had tasted the opportunities to reach what he had desired and had it taken away from him. He had not yet finished what he had begun, it wasn’t its time to fall... not yet... The last match left the righteous man victorious, bemused, and strangely rejuvenated... more then what he previously had, more then slight grasp of a title shot. But in the aftermath of the saint’s fall, there were those who believed themselves capable of driving deeper the smell of defeat and anguish. Jaro, Syanide, Striker and many more, but today... he would meet one of those men, one that ultimately stood against him, but realistically stood beside him...

The low echo of a brass door bolt releasing flew through the house as the door to the small room slowly opened bringing in a fresh wave of light. A silhouette stood, basked in a light glow from the dull street lighting in the open yard behind him. The bowler hat casting shadows over his eyes made this silhouette nothing more then a shadow to his eyes, but he knew who it was from the shape, the very atmosphere that surrounded him... it was the very man he had been arranged to meet today, and to no great surprise it would seem he had kept true to his word despite the lateness. The new arrival seemed somewhat hesitant to enter when he reached to the side of the table, seeming glaring through the shadows covering his eyes, he showed his usual perplexing smile at the doorway, before entering the room to take the seat opposite Leon, a sturdy jarrah chair much like the one Leon resided in rested before him and with a moment of hesitance he lowered himself into it. A brief silence fell between the two, a silence that was broken only by the snatch of the bolt lock as the door slowly drew to a close, taking away most of the light to leave nothing but a glow within the void that was enough only to highlight the frames of either man. A moment passed... but finally the silence was broken.

Leon: You’re late…

Shadowed Man: Sorry, flight was delayed, I just want to talk...

Leon: Surely a phone call would have been suffice.

The shadowed man seemed somewhat surprised as he received a stone welcome from Leon, a man normally of welcoming nature. The man was seemingly given ample time to respond, with Leon hoping to get to the meaning of this unusual meeting. Curiosity seemed to flow within Leon as he patiently gave time to his guest, but with all the thoughts that rise in Leon’s mind, he was consumed in curiosity. The guest however, if given time to think upon such a matter, would come to understand this and correspondingly he allowed himself to delve deeper.

Shadowed Man: I wanted to talk to you in person about this, like civilized men.

Leon: Civilized? You call me out of the blue and ask to meet and then when you sit across from me with your hidden secrets, you ask me to be civilized. Maybe you should get to the point already.

A shrewd response seemed to be the only attitude the shadowed man was to receive tonight. The guest folded his arms, his patient aura already thinning within this meeting. He had a reason to travel across the world to meet with Leon, so whatever the reason it was blatantly obvious that his attitude would not rustle into a sense of annoyance. That much was obvious from the fortified expression stance.

Shadowed Man: I just want to talk... I understand you have got a lot going on, being a father now, congratulations with that too.

Leon: Thank you… So what is the urgent matter than has you flying out here?

Shadowed Man: Well that’s it isn’t it, Why am I here. Well I actually am seek your help.

Leon: You want my help?… with what?

Shadowed Man: Well I’m going to be frank with you. You see what I see. You have the ability to look into a crowd and see the evil desires and corruption in it. Now normally I’d acknowledge that and let you be, but times are changing and a resistance needs to be formed. I’ve had the privilege of seeing you fight when you were driven in passion as a fighter and I figured back then, that short while ago, there was something to you. But that something went dormant didn’t it? You reached a hurdle and then you suddenly tripped and landed face down in the dirt and became nothing but trash.

Leon slowly folded his arms as he leaned back on the aged chair. The small light that washed over his features revealed an expression that was not at all impressed with the man that sat opposite him. He sensed nothing more then a waste of time, some pointless ploy that involved mind games. Perhaps that’s all it was... perhaps there was more to it. Leon would endure for a little while longer at least.

Leon: If you're grand plan is to come here and ask something of me, you are quickly slimming your chances of me EVER saying yes. And who are you to say I don’t have a spark anymore?

Shadowed Man: I’m trying to say that you can’t be a friend to everyone and simply observe their chaos Leon. There is a time now where you need to stand up for what’s good and leave your sympathy behind. You need to let your sorrowing cases dissolve. Because what makes you think for one moment you can purge corruption and still hold people’s circumstances close, you need to be above it, beyond it.

Leon: Am I hearing you correct? Are you saying that I should just give up on people! Just let them deal with the remittance by themselves!? Maybe it has something to do with you not being here for so long that you’re failing to see the good in people, because there is goodness in their hearts, they are not beyond saving. Not yet!

Shadowed Man: Criminals thrive on society’s injustice Leon, understand that first and then observe with your biased view what is truly in these people. But I know the rage that drives you. That impossible anger strangling the grief, until the memory of your loved one is just poison in your veins. And one day, you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed so you'd be spared your pain.

Finally... our antagonist got the reaction he desired, hearing a soft thud as Leon hands tightly gripped, swiftly fell to table. He leant forward, highlighting his pale face in the dim light from the lamp as he glared beyond the darkness covering his guest’s identity. A smile remained upon the guest’s lips as he remained unusually calm, simply leaning back in his chair as a moment of silence fell between the two of them. Tension began to grow...

Shadowed Man: It was your falling out with Skyler that triggered your collapse, how you, a man solidified in his beliefs began to lower himself and his standards simply because you thought that corruption was surpassable. That your continual stance to support would be enough, that you could be his friend and liberator at the same time.

Leon: Shut it! Otherwise I’ll make sure you leave this place needing to schedule a meeting with your dentist.

Shadowed Man: Well I was amazed your anger didn’t consume you. For your anger gives you great power. But if you let it, it will destroy you...

Leon: Please don’t try and act like the high and mighty to me, you’re not the one who watched his own partner fall from grace, the one that watched his best friend die by no corruption. So don’t you dare try and put any misguided belief into me, I knew what I was doing, and it was righteous.

Leon simply slipped his hands behind his head, wearing what was strangely a forced smile. He’d laid down his hook, and it seemed his guest was pecking at it now. The acquaintance simply leaned forward, he began to laugh to himself, Leon’s words still lingering freshly in his mind. He wouldn’t deny that the words bothered him if asked, but he had his ways of concealing his feelings... did Leon?

Shadowed Man: The whole point of this meeting is to offer you a new way, a better way to handle this. To be united with others who seek to purge the tainted walls of society. But I’m not here to tell you to isolate yourself to deal with this Leon, I’m here to offer you a place amongst a family that will act upon this, a family of people that see this injustice and wish to act upon it rather than let it dwell.

Leon: I have a family already, and I’m doing pretty well on myself, so why do I need you!?

The guest let slip a slight grasping smile, containing a curious want to deliver a solid point, within his eyes like some saint risen in peace. It didn’t matter whether the guest’s words were true or not at this moment. Leon had only one moment to react, one chance to accept or deny the forthcoming offer, one single chance to face what he loathed the most head on. But he had previously spent that chance in a different manner, acting to save what was being lost, rather than purge what was taking the peace away. It was beginning to dwell heavily in Leon’s mind as his cloaked guest’s words no longer seemed driven to impact Leon, but rather to bring a coinciding understanding, and it was working.

Shadowed Man: Well your winning record of late speaks so much volume for you doesn’t it.

Leon:…

Shadowed Man: Well look at it this way, you won your last match, not because you took on 10 men and survived, but because you had a team, and that’s what I’m offering you now. To be part of a team of 4, inclusive of yourself, a symbolic family that will protect each others back, a family that will compulsively work together. A family built to purge the evil dwelling in our halls, a family to renew what is now lost.

The words seemed to echo within Leon’s mind as he paused to reply. Thinking deeply of the future plans that would entail from this, that from this point on, what would he be, who would he serve, what purpose would be his. The more he dwelled on it, the more it seems favourable, but he needed to be reassured. With any man fresh from a betrayal of trust and circumstance by a friend, he was hinder in accepting it. That if he committed to this, would it just happen all over again. He couldn’t stand to be abandoned again.

Shadowed Man: You know what I’ve been entrusted with, to continue the legacy passed onto me. And as much as I could fight this battle to the end of my days, I can’t hope to survive the attacks of havoc. I need assistance and you, you’re the cure to it all. You have the unwavering faith and hope, all I ask is for you to redirect it. Direct it not to what is lost, but to what is taking it away.

The guest’s words continued to carry an immense weight on Leon’s heart as he continued to dwell in his ideals on the matter at hand. While deep in thought, the guest before him settled himself in his position my reaching to his forehead and tilting the bowlers hat until it seemingly rolled off his forehead and with the strength in his palms, the familiar guest before him lowered his signature hat. Acknowledging that Leon was still thinking his proposal over, the guest made one more push before allowing Leon the time to reply in truth.

Shadowed Man: I know it’s got to be hard for you. With your life seemingly busy to no end and now with a baby its got to be cut even further, but don’t back away from this for some misplaced belief that you can’t help. We want to stand beside you on this, to make a better life for so many. But I need you to understand that I cannot offer you peace & prosperity through this, yes you will not be alone, but it won’t be only us close to you, you will come under attack from the very corruption we will face, and I need to know that you will not waver in belief or purpose.

The guest was beyond talking, as he now firmly rested himself back into the chair, clearly awaiting for Leon’s inevitable response. But for Leon there was still a judgment call to make. Whether to agree to this family of activists and join a movement that was set in purity or to deny it and continue to humbly walk his path of life, fighting the battles and falling constantly to overwhelming attacks. The more and more Leon dove into the though, the more he began to realize that he had already made his answer, that as long as his guests words were reliable and truthful, he would find contentment in this family.

Leon: So what is the overall goal then?

Shadowed Man: To do what is necessary to bring true justice to FMW, allowing it to be strong in its pre-standing codes rather than committed on corrupting itself. Much like when a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural. The movement back to harmony must be unstoppable this time.

Leon: And who are the other men in this family?

Shadowed Man: They are still to be approached, but needless to say they share the same vision as you and I. But I truly wanted to get you on board first, as I know simply having you on the same page as I would be a power to behold.

Leon: So to purge FMW of corruption and evil.

Shadowed Man: To defend justice and deny suffering.

There was a silence between the two men... nothing but heavy emphasis and understanding in their words and appreciation for each other. Although a strong past now laid behind them, a new chapter was to begin, a chapter when only good would reign and no more evil would penetrate.

Shadowed Man: So you now know the plan ahead of us and hopefully the difficulty of achieving success, but consider it important to guard the door to corruption now, so that when this family is formed completely, there is already something to stand behind.

Leon: And when will this family be fully formed?

Shadowed Man: By Circus Maximus. So that at the PPV we can instantly begin to purge the evil before us, and united we can stand against it.

Leon: So til then what do you want me to do?

The guest, now sensing that the meeting was slowly wrapping up lifted himself from the solid wooden chair, grasping his bowlers’ hat with two fingers and graciously placing it into its residing location on the tip of his head before beginning to slowly move towards the door beyond the shadows behind him. With a few steps to the door the cloaked figure tilted his head back slightly to give Leon his desired answer before gracefully leaving his presence.

Shadowed Man: Make yourself comfortable at my house; you’ve been there once before so I presume you know your way there. I’m pretty sure the basement is cleared out or the 2nd floor possibly, but either way find somewhere within to make your own and hopefully by the end of the month we can have this family residing there.

Curiosity had gotten the best of Leon, and now the cloaked figure had seen the reward he had just received by turning up. It was only because of the reputation of the former stable that little words were needed to persuade Leon, yet there was now a comforting feeling to the sight of both men in the same room, although the viewers could not see the cloaked man, the sight of his hat and speech would have been enough to throw the ball in the right direction. Much to the surprise of few, the alliance and eventual family seemed in all aspects a grand addition to FMW, that in the fall of havoc, a new resistance would rise to conquer the craving corruption and dissolve the distorted drones to receive the just rewards of their position. But in true conclusion of this meeting, FMW was now in store for a new revelation, that no longer would dissension be over looked or condescension be ignored.

Now fairly and justly a resistance would plant itself into the core of FMW and purge from the inside out. So that not only for now, but forever more, justice would be given and havoc would be dissolved. Leon watched as his new partner carefully navigated through the darkness to find the only door in and out of the box room. There was a loud creak as a small amount of light splashed in through the dim lit corridor, highlighting the satisfied grin upon the promoter’s face, whilst the rest of his form became nothing more then a shadow. A mist of low cloud became visible on the outside of the room as the door opened, creating a soothing yet perplexing scene beyond the cloaked man, which almost symbolically displayed the unknown circumstances beyond the cloaked man’s words and Leon now allied himself with him.

With a following creak, darkness fell upon Leon, leaving him on his own again. When the room was left only to the light of small lamp beside Leon it almost seemed symbolically correct of what he motioned to just moments before. How now he united himself with the light, however so marginally he was outnumbered by the darkness, that even though he would be a light within FMW he wouldn’t be able to reach every corner of the room, however much like its literal translation, if Leon did united with 3 others to form the family that would purge the darkness, if each man, each lamp was places in every corner of the room, there would be no room for darkness, no room for corruption.

For as it speaks in the book of Matthew: “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.”

So as it now stands, a new stable has formed.

A new beginning has emerged.

The savior has clutched Leon from his despair and renewed him with vigor.

So that now, FMW may be renewed also…

And above all,

That Justice would reign.

-Ammunition 12.1-
Live from Sydney, Australia

Rookies 6-Man Tag Team Match
Storm, Jeff Whitt, and Wayland Price vs. Alexander Crysto, Jeff Watson, and Axel van Osbourne

Light Heavyweight Championship Match
Leviticus (c) vs. Norman Riddle

Grudge Match
Alex O'Rion vs. Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo)

C-4 Championship Match
Drew Michaels (c) vs. Chris Austin

-Corruption 12.1-
Live from Melbourne, Australia

Alistair Wolfe vs. Panzer

Ripper vs. Cliff Carson

Tag Team Thumbtack Kickpads Match
Burning Insanity (Christian Moore and Cole Dragos) vs. The Comeback Kids (Slegnadamus and Butters)

Ultraviolent Championship #1 Contender's Match
The Celt vs. Christian G. Smitten

-Distortion 12.1-
Live from Perth, Australia

Television Championship Match
PX (c) vs. David GS

Abel Steele vs. John "Doc" Derrick

Leon Caprice vs. Faith

Main Event Abandoned Championship Electric Chair Match
Seth Omega (c) vs. Matthew P. Dunn

-Ammunition 12.1-
Live from Sydney, Australia

Rookies 6-Man Tag Team Match
Storm, Jeff Whitt, and Wayland Price vs. Alexander Crysto, Jeff Watson, and Axel van Osbourne

Light Heavyweight Championship Match
Leviticus (c)

Grudge Match
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo)

C-4 Championship Match
Chris Austin
I gotta go with the challenger on this one, but your promos were both too damn long.

-Corruption 12.1-
Live from Melbourne, Australia

Alistair Wolfe vs. Panzer

Cliff Carson

Tag Team Thumbtack Kickpads Match
Burning Insanity (Christian Moore and Cole Dragos) vs. The Comeback Kids (Slegnadamus and Butters)

Ultraviolent Championship #1 Contender's Match
Christian G. Smitten

-Distortion 12.1-
Live from Perth, Australia

Television Championship Match
David GS

Abel Steele

Leon Caprice

Main Event Abandoned Championship Electric Chair Match
Seth Omega (c)

Why so many people not shown yet? There's 16 Hours and 40 Minutes before Promo and Voting Closes. Lets get them in here peopl