AMMUNITION 12.3 VOTING AND PROMO

“My Favourite Mutiny” by The Coup plays as J.L Anwyl enters the arena through the falling sparks and throws his arms out to either side of his body before quickly moving them back to their original place, he moves forward a few paces and spins around then throwing his right arm into the air before walking down the ramp towards the ring, as Anwyl begins his strut down the entrance ramp he ignore the fans sitting ring side, many calling out to him. Anwyl pauses for a second at the foot of the ramp walks back a few paces before starting a sprint that leads to Anwyl diving into the ring. J.L lies on the ground looking around the ring with his stomach still connected to the ground only moving to the rhythm of breaths produced by Anwyl. He climbs to his feet moving swiftly around the ring adjusting his nice white suit with a crisp black shirt and bright red tie, he slowly begins to adjusts the tie and straighten the creases forming in various parts of the suit pants and jacket, Anwyl wipes his nose quickly with his thumb and stops in the middle of the ring, watching, waiting and listening to the buzz of the crowd, both boos and cheers are coming from the confused Full Metal Wrestling fans. J.L begins to move gingerly towards the one of the ring crew who is holding out a microphone at the corner of the ring, attempting to stay out of sight of the camera, Anwyl picks it up and looks at the device given to him, he inspects it for a few seconds before looking back towards the camera. Anwyl then raises the microphone towards his face, he slightly opens his mouth to speak but pulls away at the last second causing the already restless crowd to get louder and angrier. Anwyl brings the microphone to his mouth a second time but this time screams...

Anwyl- TONIGHT!!

With little white beads of spit coming out of his mouth, Anwyl begins to rant...

Anwyl- Tonight, I will face the man himself JEFF WATSON! Give a round of applause for J.W... Because tonight Jeff I am going to make sure your life a living hell. I mean seriously mate you wrestled Eddie “effin” CHAMBERLAIN,

Anwyl chuckles into to the mic, he smirks as he begins to continue his rant

Anwyl- Now that bloke is the biggest ruh-tard I have seen in decades. And, and the week before mate, you were in a tag team match and you got a win there as well, you haven’t faced true talent in the last two matches in FMW!! Now mate I am going to make sure J.L Anwyl is inscribed in FMW History tonight, I am making sure I finish you off quickly, sign the contract, pop the top of a beer, and grab some ladies. Because mate, seriously I am J.L Anwyl. Tonight is not a challenge, tonight is going to be an easyyyyy beginning into my FMW career. I mean seriously how is it a challenge when you know you’re going to win, just sayin’.

J.L brings the microphone back up to his face, this time with a serious look on his face.

Anwyl- But now I come into FMW and I tell people that “I was born with a golden spoon in my mouth, I have wore the finest clothes money could buy, the most expensive jewellery, driven in the biggest cars, flown in the massive airplanes. I mean, seriously how else could I afford to come to North America. But as we all know, everything I've ever wanted in life has been mine. But if I couldn’t buy it, I reiterated. I went out and snatched it, made sure it was mine; I even got a personal labeller to prove that it belonged to J... L...Anwyl. But there is something I can't buy; you folks want to know what it is.

Anwyl takes a pause and listens to the crowd, a short sharp “WHAT!!” is yelled in harmony by Full Metal fans, the “WHAT” is said similar to the crowds in other popular wrestling programming and some wrestling enthusiasts look pissed that the crowd has yelled WHAT to a rookie. Anwyl raises the microphone to his mouth but extends the pause, he begins to look at his feet as he paces the ring. A quick flick of the Bieber-styled hair and a hand to brush it back into place leaves Anwyl ready to roll...

Anwyl- What J.L Anwyl is missing is some type of shiny belt, “ooooh” shiny belt you say. This is what I want, all... I ...want... is... this, I need this and I am sick to death of seeing people around me parading it off in the locker room like they are something special, people like me are always missing out on title, untapped talents that are more exceptional than the established stars on the current programming and now this getting on my nerves.

Anwyl removes his suit jacket and throws it to the ground, he begins shouting...

Anwyl- I don't want the biggest gold of them all, I NEED THE BIGGEST GOLD OF ‘EM ALL, at the moment it's yours. I'm in Full Metal Wrestling mate, you line em' up and knock 'em down,

Anwyl punches his hand putting emphasis on the down

Anwyl- Then you’ll line ‘em up again and then...

Anwyl crouches down almost to the ground level and looks towards the crowd waiting for a select few to pay attention; Anwyl begins to punch the mat harder and harder every time he says down.

Anwyl- I will continue to knock them down and down and down and down and down and down and well I think you get the picture now.

Anwyl climbs back to his feet and gives a quick glance to the entrance ramp, then to the commentators and then slowly looks straight down the barrel of the camera. Anwyl, as serious as he can begins to talk in a sharp piercing tone in an effect to captivate the audience into what he is going to say.

Anwyl- I've said it a hundred times and I'll say it a hundred times more, if there’s a wrestler out there that thinks they are more deserving as me. They want to find out where he stands, where he ranks in professional wrestling, the greatest sport in the world today, and then he better get in the ring with J.L Anwyl because I am the greatest wrestler to walk into this goddamn ring and wrestle for peanuts. There are a lot of champions out there who think they should stay right where they are today and I will destroy that illusion, and I am going to shake the very foundations of this company. Just sign the goddamn contract mate and get in the goddamn ring.

“My Favourite Mutiny” By The Coup begins to play as Anwyl throws the mic at the mat letting off a static crackle through the arena, Anwyl drops to the mat and rolls out of the ring beginning the walk up the entrance ramp. Anwyl stops and turns to face the ring, he lifts up his arms above his and gives off a cheeky smirk. J.L turns and walks to the backstage area.

(OOC: Writer's Note: This promo is dedicated to my brother. His house recently burned down and his plans to join me in e-fedding were put on hold indefinitely. Max is his character and I am proud to be debuting him for you all to see. If you like him let me know and I'll pass word on to my brother. With that being said, on to the promo.)


Leviticus took a deep breath. He had been here before, backed in to a corner with his adversary coming to take him out. He had been here before, and he had overcome. His eyes looked toward the man who was currently running toward him. His name was Blynd Syde, the eccentric enigma. As Blynd Syde ran toward him the roar of the crowd filled Leviticus’s ears. Leviticus looked toward the face painted warrior and smirked. Blynd Syde leapt forward to deliver a drop kick that would drive Leviticus into the corner. Leviticus quickly slid under the ropes causing Blynd Syde to go crashing into the corner post. The crowd cheered loudly at this turning of events. Leviticus looked out at them and smiled before sliding back under the ropes. Blynd Syde lie there on his side clutching at his knee as Leviticus rose to his feet. Blynd Syde let out a groan as Leviticus drove his boot into his ribs. With the advantage clearly belonging to him Leviticus grabbed the top ropes and continued to drive a series of boots into the ribs of his downed opponent. Then suddenly, the action froze.

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Leviticus’s finger was still on the pause button as his head jerked toward the ringing phone.

Leviticus: I wonder who that could be.

He sat the remote down on the coffee table that was directly in front of him and walked across the room. He snatched the cordless phone out of its cradle and hit the talk button.

Leviticus: Hello?

A smile came across his face when he heard the voice.

Leviticus: Hey man.

The voice spoke again, as it did Leviticus’s smile grew even bigger.

Leviticus: Yeah sure, no problem. I’ll be there in about fifteen.

Leviticus nodded as the voice on the other end thanked him. As soon as the conversation ended his finger went up and hit the off button. He walked back across the room and picked the remote control back up. With a quick press of the TV button, followed by the power button the television screen went blank.

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Tyrell sat there in the conference room waiting for his “lawyer” to come and speak with him. He looked down at the handcuffs that bound his wrists and scowled.

Tyrell: Buncha bull…

The door opening cut Tyrell off. There in the door way stood B. Lyle in all his smirking glory.

B. Lyle: Hello Tyrell.

B. Lyle walked over to the table and sat his briefcase down. As his fingers swiftly dialed up the combination he continued.

B. Lyle: Now I would be willing to bet that you’d like some answers, as to just why I want to help you.

Tyrell leaned bank in his seat and examined the man across from him.

Tyrell: Yeah, you could say that.

One push of a button later and the briefcase popped open. B. Lyle smirked as he retrieved the contents that lie inside.

B. Lyle: I want to help you because it seems we have a common enemy.

B. Lyle held up a manila folder so that Tyrell could clearly see it. B. Lyle smirked.

B. Lyle: See, men like us, we tend to make enemies. I want to help you take out one of yours.

Tyrell narrowed his eyes. B. Lyle sat the folder down on the table and slid it across to Tyrell. Tyrell leaned forward and opened it and found a picture of Leviticus there to greet him.

B. Lyle: You see men like him make me sick. All their talk about redemption, and righteousness, the way they try to convince people that they change. People like you and me though we get it. We are what we are; we just have to learn how to make it work for us.

Tyrell shuffled through the file on Leviticus as his glare grew more intense.

Tyrell: I wanna kill him.

B. Lyle smirked.

B. Lyle: That’s what I like to hear. I intend to give you that chance Tyrell.

Tyrell’s head snapped up. He looked at B. Lyle in disbelief.

Tyrell: You playin me dawg?

B. Lyle chuckled.

B. Lyle: Not at all.

Tyrell glanced back down at the picture of Leviticus.

Tyrell: And whadda you want in return?

B. Lyle leaned into the table.

B. Lyle: Now we are talking business. I will give you your freedom and your chance at killing him. All I ask in return is your obedience.

Tyrell looked back up at B. Lyle. Normally he wouldn’t serve anyone, but he was being offered a chance he might not get any other way.

Tyrell: And just what does that mean?

B. Lyle reached into the briefcase again.

B. Lyle: You see Leviticus there isn’t a terribly unique individual; in fact there are others like him. They talk, and talk, and talk. I want them silenced.

Tyrell leaned back in the chair.

Tyrell: Smokin’ fools I can do. Leviticus and who else?

B. Lyle pulled out another folder and slid it across the table.

B. Lyle: First Leviticus. Then people like him.

Tyrell leaned forward and opened the folder. The face that greeted him this time was one that was painted like a clown.

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Leviticus smiled as he stepped into the gym. He always loved the sound that greeted him when he stepped in off the streets. Swinging bags, landing punches, groans of exercise, all of these made him feel at home. He made a quick scan of the gym. It didn’t take him long to find who he was looking for.

Leviticus: Max.

A man with long black hair who was hearing a pair of gym shorts stopped hitting a heavy bag and turned his attention to Leviticus. With a smile on his face he jogged toward his friend.

Max: Levi. It’s been to long man.

Leviticus sized up the young man in front of him. Max had been a friend of his for a while now and he was just as happy to see Leviticus as Leviticus was to see him.

Leviticus: Indeed it has. Looks like that knee is doing better.

Max smiled and snapped off a kick at the air.

Max: A little rehab, a whole lot of determination, and I’m good as new.

Leviticus chuckled.

Leviticus: I can see that bro. You didn’t call me all the way up here just to see you kick some air did you?

Max smirked.

Max: No way. I was hoping maybe you could help me knock off some ring rust. First though, I’ll show you just how much better my knee really is.

Leviticus slapped his hand down on Max’s shoulder and nodded with a smile. Max quickly turned and jogged back to the heavy bag. He took a deep breath before launching a kick that landed with a loud pop.

Leviticus: Ouch. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those.

Max smiled with satisfaction.

Max: Let’s just hope that the rest of my arsenal is as impressive.

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Tyrell made the slow walk back to his cell as an armed guard walked behind him ready to stop any violence that may occur. Tyrell though had no plans of being violent, at least not yet. Tyrell stopped in front of his cell and waited to hear the buzzing that meant the door was open. The cell door slid open and Tyrell stepped inside. He put his arms through the slot in the door and let the guard undo his handcuffs.

Guard: I don’t want to hear your name anymore toady Tyrell.

Tyrell just smirked as he remembered the conversation he and B. Lyle had.

Tyrell: Maybe you won’t be hearing my name today, but fore long, everyone gonna hear it.

The guard just shook his head and walked down the cell block. Tyrell went and lay down on his cot. He lie there for a moment listening to the guard’s footsteps fade. As soon as he couldn’t hear them anymore Tyrell reached up to his mouth and put his fingers down his throat. He sat up quickly as he felt the bile begin to rush toward his mouth. Several agonizing minutes later and Tyrell had thrown up on the cold concrete floor of his cell. That didn’t matter to him though. What mattered was that he had retrieved the cargo B. Lyle had placed inside him, a small knife duct taped in its sheath. Tyrell looked at the knife and smiled. He quickly stuck it under his pillow and lay back down on his bed.

Tyrell: Soon Levi, real soon.

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Leviticus and Max sat on a bench, both of them covered in small beads of sweat.

Max: Man that felt good.

Leviticus took a drink from his bottle of water.

Leviticus: What was that about ring rust?

Max smirked and Leviticus chuckled.

Max: Like riding a bike.

Leviticus playfully pushed Max. Max laughed before taking a drink from his water bottle.

Max: Saw your last match by the way.

Leviticus looked toward his friend.

Leviticus: Oh yeah? Which one?

Max shrugged.

Max: Both of them. That one with David GS was a shame. Hopefully someone was watching that match and you get a rematch real soon.

Leviticus shook his head at the mention of the match where he lost his Light Heavyweight Championship.

Leviticus: It’s all good. I’ll get my shot again, count on it.

Max nodded.

Max: That other one, against Blynd Syde, it was sick. I can’t believe that it was just the first match on the card.

Leviticus smiled at his friend’s praise.

Leviticus: Hey, the opening match sets the tone for the rest of the show. I just hope we set a good one.

Max nodded again.

Max: Saw what you did during the tag match to.

Leviticus turned his eyes away from his friend.

Leviticus: You did huh?

There was a long silence between the two. Then Max spoke.

Max: Are you sure this is the right thing to do?

Leviticus looked toward the floor.

Leviticus: I’m not proud of how I handled it. The message was sent though, even if they can’t understand it just yet.

Max took a drink of water.

Max: Hopefully they can understand quickly so you won’t have to do something like that again.


Leviticus closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Leviticus: It’s for the greater good…..

Max put his hand on Leviticus’s shoulder.

Max: I know. I just hope that everyone else understand that when the time comes. Once everything is set in motion you can go back to being you.

Leviticus lifted his head and looked at Max.

Leviticus: You got a lot of faith in me don’t you?

Max smiled and nodded.

Max: You’re a good guy Levi. Right now you are just getting your hands dirty to get things going. In the end you’ll make it right though.

Leviticus nodded and even managed a small smile.

Max: I just hope Storm is ready for you.

Leviticus’s small smile became a full fledged one as he thought of his upcoming match on Ammunition.

Leviticus: You know I saw a scripture this morning that gave me confidence that I am going to get the win in that match.

Max looked at Leviticus quizzically.

Max: What’s that?

Leviticus:
Psalm 107:29
He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed.

Max smiled.

Max: Sounds like a sign to me. Just do me one favor.

Leviticus smiled.

Leviticus: Name it.

Max patted his friend on the shoulder.

Max: Go out there and show them how good you really are.

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: Count on it.

The two men stood up and shook hands before pulling each other into a brotherly hug. After Max pulled away he looked at Leviticus.

Max: Hopefully we can do this again real soon. Don’t forget what you said by the way, I’ll be watching.

Leviticus smirked and nodded.

Leviticus: You better be.

Both men laughed. Max waved as he headed toward the showers. Leviticus shook his head and headed back toward his car. As he got in and started the car he smiled. Everything was going to be okay in the end; all that was left now was getting there.

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Hello FMW. I bet a lot of you are wondering why I did what I did during the main event at the last Ammunition. Trust me when I say the answer will become clear soon enough. As for you Butters, all I can say is this; you want to do something about it bring it. Before you do though, you may want to watch my match with Storm just so you know what it is you’re getting into. You may change your thinking after the match. As for Storm, I’ve been watching you. You are looking for the chance to grab someone’s attention just as badly as I am. At Ammunition, we both have something to prove; only one of us is going to prove it though. As much as you may not like it, that one is going to be me. As for the rest of FMW, consider yourself on notice because that sound you hear isn’t the hot air of Jaro rushing through the locker room. No, it’s the wind s of change. Right now it is a soft and gentle breeze, soon though it’s going to blow with hurricane force. So batten down the hatches and take cover, otherwise you may find yourself blown away. So when the winds start ripping up everything around you remember this, you were warned.

The scene starts inside a dark room with only a lampshade turned on. We see a hooded figure typing away on what appears to be his typewriter. His desk is littered with letters, typewriter ink and a batch of A4 pieces of papers so that he can quickly place another piece of paper in his typewriter for use. Next to him, we see a pile of letters addressed to Storm, we also see his Mask just sitting as if it was an antique. His window is open and we hear the buzzing activity of city life from the noise of horns and emergency sirens. We focus back onto Storm (the hooded figure in question) who is in the middle of writing a letter to someone, let's listen in then shall we?

Storm: To who it may concern,

I am writing this letter to respond back from your previous letter where you clearly state that I am not ready for a match at such a high level. I can reassure you with my full confidence that Leviticus will be taken care of without any problems or difficultly.

Furthermore, I find your accusation of my fitness levels rather bizarre stating that “because of my recent performances, you have been underachieving in your fitness levels.”

I have no idea what your trying to say but I must simply state in this letter to keep your nose out of things and focus on other matters at hand.

Storm takes a sip from his drink of Whiskey and places it next to his typewriter. Writing a letter can be such a chore at times.

Storm: Furthermore, I am also writing this letter to warn you that we might pull the plug if our agreement is not put in place.

Consider that as a formal warning.

Signed, Sealed and Delivered.

Storm.

Storm stopped typing and read the letter again for any mistakes. He removes the letter and places another piece of paper inside the typewriter and rewrites the letter again, sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. We hear footsteps as the camera slowly pans back and we see another dark figure heading towards Storm. Storm notices this but continues to write the letter again, not even looking at the figure approaching him.

Storm: You wanted to see me?

Figure: How did you know that it was me?

Storm turned around and faced the figure in question, he is wearing dark shades and a cowboy hat. His attire is a business like suit with a casual black tie loosely tightened to his neck. Grinning, Storm seems to know who this guy is.

Storm: You know me, I know everyone in this town. Did you post my letter yesterday?

Figure: Of course but I went to the Post Office this morning and the postmaster gave me this.

Storm looked confused and takes the letter without any hesitation. He takes his letter opener and opens the letter (well he would wouldn't he?). He takes one sniff of the letter and immediately pulls a funny face.

Storm: This is blood isn't it?

Storm pushes the letter towards the figure's nose (gross isn't it?) who in turn also pulls a funny face. The figure cannot recognise who's blood that is and just simply shakes his head.

Storm: Why would anyone write a letter in pure blood? They must be deranged.

Figure: Maybe, I don't dwell into this shit.

Storm: I think you should, it makes you a better person.

The figure glares at Storm then grunts in frustration.

Figure: Do you want me to read this out?

Storm: If you insist.

Figure: Storm,

If you are reading this letter, you must be aware by now the status of your father who seems to be placed into a coma.

Your father is stable and alive, pulling him out of the coma will just simply kill him.

Follow the instructions on this letter to find your father...

Storm gets up from his seat and snatches the letter to read it himself.

Storm: My father is still ALIVE!?!

Figure: It appears so.

Shrugging, the figure doesn't appear to show any remorse to Storm's personal life or care about the letter that he read out. Shrugging, he leaves Storm alone as he keeps reading the letter with interest.

Storm: Impossible.

Placing the letter in his back pocket, Storm turns and heads back to his desk. He places his letter that he just wrote earlier into an envelope and seals it by placing a red rubber wax stamp on the centre of the back of the envelope. He turns it over and writes “Dennis”. Taking off his hat, we see that Storm has short brunette hair, nothing really special yet we still do not know what he really looks like just yet (and you quite possibly won't even know at all). Storm picks up his mask and places it on his head, fastening the clips quickly and effectively. Storm turns around with his letter in hand and rushes out of the door, closing and locking it as the same time.

Outside, we see that the traffic has died down somewhat but there are still a few taxis driving around with the yellow “TAXI” lights switched on. Storm hails for one and gets inside without looking at the driver.

Storm: Headquarters please?

Driver: Sure do boss, you got another fight today?

Storm: Sure have, can't say much at this moment in time as I do not know who I will be facing?

Driver: Fair enough, I hope you win it.

Storm: Thanks.

Storm glazes out of the window and just simply daydreams. The night-life is buzzing and we see numerous shots of people walking on the pavement while the tax drives straight past them. We hear Storm's voice over this scene, pondering what actions he will implement in the next few coming days.

Storm: ((Voiceover)) The letter that was sent to me was believed to be from my father but he's dead. Furthermore, I have noticed that it was written in blood but whose blood was it written in?

Taxi Driver: Your destination sir, ten bucks please?

Storm gets out of the cab and pays the ten bucks (cheap git) then walks towards the entrance of the headquarters, above the building the FMW logo is hung proudly with the wind blowing against it. He gets greeted by a few colleagues as he enters, inside the reception desk is bland with only a vase of flowers just standing there right next to the receptionist who is sat typing away on her keyboard. She looks up and notices Storm, smiling.

Receptionist: Can I help you?

Storm: Yes you can post this letter for me as the Post Office is shut for today.

Receptionist: Not a problem Storm, anything else?

Storm: Yeah tell creative that I am here for a 1'O’clock appointment, I believe it's something to do with the taping tonight and my match.

Receptionist: Ah yes, bare with me.

As the Receptionist goes for the phone, Storm feels a tap on his shoulder and immediately turns around on the defensive, unaware of this the Receptionist continues to phone the creative team. Storm hesitates instead of attacking, which seems to be a good thing if you know who this stranger is tapping you on your right shoulder.

Storm: Oh, it's you.

Jeff: Who the heck did you think it was? Santa Claus?

Storm: Another one of those clever witty jokes Jeff? I tell you one of these days you should take up stand up comedy at this rate. It suits you.

Jeff: Hilarious. Listen when your finished with your little meeting with creative, come and see me. I have an offer that you will not refuse. I can't stay around much longer otherwise your boys will get a little bit funny, you know with me being with a rival firm and that. Here's my business card.

Storm nods and gracefully takes the business card off from Jeff. As Jeff leaves, we hear the Receptionist calling for Storm to approach the elevator straight ahead of him to take level 20 because it seems that his meeting is ready. As Storm steps foot inside the lift we end this scene with Jeff facing Storm, grinning. Storm notices this and presses the button to shut the lift door.

Jeff: ((Out of shot)) I know that you will do the right thing Storm, I just know it.
~-~-~-~-
We open up this incredibly short scene with Storm standing in front of the Ammunition logo, this scene was shot and recorded prior to the match with Leviticus to start. Storm takes a cough then reads the Autocue on the camera ((clearly written by himself)).

Storm: I [BEEP]ing hope you guys are glued onto your television monitors because I am about to cause a Storm here in FMW. After I am done with Leviticus, FMW will no doubt be placed onto a severe weather warning. At Ammunition, you better lock your lockers real nice and secure because Storm is about to blow the roof and doors off this place, something is going to happen that may just blow your socks off.

Some people may say that I was bitter when Mr Chris Austin stole my place in the final of the Hayabusa Cup, of course I was but there really is no point in crying over spilt milk now is there? No? No. Good now that is settled it's time to concentrate on other matters and that is my application to the Mount Vesuvius match. Yes I am really going for that. Some people would say “You must be mad?” I say “I'm taking an opportunity which is not to be missed!”

Storm walks across towards the torch, hooked on the wall, burning brightly with importance and significance. Admiring it for quite sometime, Storm faces the camera once again.

Storm: Beautiful isn't it? That my friend is my ticket to the match of my career, a match at Ultimatum 3. That my friend is something to achieve. Would it be a Main Event match or a title shot for a title of my choosing for any place at any time? Who knows, a Storm is brewing.

Storm grins then exits shot as we end this scene and ultimately, this promo.

The Broken Saints are dead.

The ideals have been forgotten, the brotherhood shredded, the revolution completely derailed. No more shall we be able to look over our shoulders and know there is a small army waiting to support our every move. Instead...

Instead, we have proven ourselves no better than those we once looked to remove from this company. We faltered in our struggle and I watched as those I once called ally one by one became my enemy until I stood alone with only Heath to my distant left. We were stranded apart from each other and apart from our base, only two men against a world of corruption. The battle was lost.

However, the war is not over; the fighting must rage on for the good of Full Metal Wrestling and all those who compete within and for her glory. The disease continues to spread, disguised as progress towards a supposedly better day. Villains continue to masquerade as heroes while good men bury their heads on the sand in an effort to avoid not only culpability but also the wrath of the ever fickle fanbase who seek so desperately to believe that the villains of the past may one day become the heroes of the present and future even if they have shown little to no attempt at rehabilitation.

It terrifies me.

It terrifies me mainly because I see so little change even after I have spent months railing on these points since returning from injury. It terrifies me because I have been proven right time and time again, particularly in the case of one Skyler Striker, yet I am still labeled as “bitter and angry”. It terrifies me because I know right from wrong yet so many do not even give the distinction a second thought when making even the simplest of decisions.

It terrifies me because I feel myself slipping closer to the edge every single fucking day.

I feel all my urges clawing at me, pulling me towards the ever expanding abyss that is the darkness within all of us. It would be so easy to give in and become the monster I have seen in so many before me, in the Ethans and the Hammonds of the world. I could surrender myself to the base desires that drive animals in their mechanical existences and just destroy all that is before me in my anger and despair. I could become a dog of war, demolish the world around me in order to create a perfect utopia for all I hold dear.

It sounds so easy when I put it like that...

But it is not ever that easy in life, is it? No, a surrender would not only destroy my morality that prevents me from doing such a thing and would obviously mean the destruction of my willpower but I would also lose my family, friends, and everything I could possibly hold dear in the ever fleeting structure around me. The acceptance of the darkness within myself would be the end of my crusade, a complete and total failure with no return from the edge possible. I would become a leper within my cause and a living dead man to the entire world.

No, I must stand strong. I must persevere through this roadblock and become better than I have ever been before. I will change my tactics, change my ways. The revolution has faltered but will never end.

Never...

The scene opens to a beautiful park somewhere on the nation of Australia. The trees are on full bloom as the warmer weather flourishes in the Southern Hemisphere. A young lady is walking through the park, lost in her vast thoughts when out of the shadows of the gargantuan vegetation steps a deviously grinning man.

Michaels: Hello Jade.

Jade Striker whips around, knowing the voice all too well. Her face is full of hatred, pure and complete. She eyes Drew with a look that would make a weaker man crumble in his steps but instead Drew stands strong, the grin only melting into a knowing smile.

Michaels: How have you been?

The anger fills the air as no words escape her mouth.

Michaels: Been a rough couple days I would assume, yes?

Jade: What do you want?

The words are uttered through her teeth and willed with enough malice to down a buffalo if it were tangible.

Michaels: I just wanted to check in on you. I was worried, you know, with all that is going on around you personally.

Jade: You mean my father finally admitting he is drug addict?

Michaels: That would be the meat of it, yes.

Jade: Well then Andrew, let me save you the trouble. I am just fine thank you and do not in any way, shape, or form need your help nor will I EVER need your help so you can just back off and crawl into a hole somewhere to die.

Drew nods slowly while still smiling.

Michaels: A little harsh but I get it; you are still mad.

Jade: YOU USED ME!

Michaels (Calmly): I never did such a thing.

Jade: You're a liar!

Michaels: Wish I could claim otherwise but that part sadly is true. However, I would argue it is true about every single one of us; regrettably that is a facet of the sinful nature humanity is cursed to endure for all of time.

Jade: Don't you of all people DARE preach at me!

Michaels: I was not preaching, just observing...

Jade: Semantics!

Jade huffs in anger and turns to walk away before Drew reaches out, catching her on her shoulder. She goes to scream but decides not to, knowing that despite her anger and her belief in his deceptions, he would not physically harm her.

Jade: Wh...What do you want Drew?

Michaels: I am done with you all.

Jade: What?

Michaels: It is over, the Striker family is free.

Jade: Why?

Michaels: I always said that if or when your father came to his senses and walked away, it was over. I would not pursue our battle further. I had one goal and one goal alone and it seems that Skyler has finally relinquished his hold on his career in Full Metal Wrestling in return for being there finally for his family. Thus, being a man of my word, Skyler is off my radar entirely. I wish your family strength and luck in the coming days.

Jade (Shocked): Thanks I guess...

Jade slips out of Drew's grasp and steps back slowly, staring intently at Drew with her eyes forming tiny slits covered with suspicion.

Jade: So you don't want anything from me? No invention, no investigation, no epic battle to wage against whatever forces of evil came along this week?

Michaels: Not this time Jade, not this time. For now, I am only here to offer my strength and relay my message. Nothing more, nothing less. Bye Jade Striker, I wish you the best in life.

Drew smiles as he steps away, leaving a confused Jade Striker in his wake. Drew walks about half a mile away before seating himself on a bench in the park and pulling a bag out of his pocket full of crumbs that he begins to toss to the birds. He does this extremely mundane activity for a couple minutes before a second man seats himself next to Drew.

Abraham: Is it done?

Michaels: Of course, do you think I am completely incompetent?

Abraham: Well...

Drew turns to look at his aide with a smile on his face. He remembers too easily the time not too long ago where Abraham presented himself as more of a subservient to Drew instead of the partner and friend he has evolved into over their time together. This friendly banter just further proved that point to the Chosen One.

Michaels: Do not worry, the girl is protected.

Abraham: I was not the one worried about her if I recall correctly.

It was true, Drew was worried night and day about the daughter of his past enemy Skyler Striker. He was worried that with the ever changing times in Heaven, Hell, and everything in between that an enemy of Drew's, someone like Gabriel or the Princes of Hell, would go after Jade due to his obvious and known affection for the child. So in order to combat that fear, Drew decided to put a bit of a precaution in place with a old magic spell he learned from a certain someone he met recently...

Someone with a very known penchant for wealth and taste.

Michaels: I transferred the spell through my touch, I think it will be enough to hide her from the evil spirits in the air.

Abraham: Spirits in the air?

Michaels: You cannot see them? Everywhere I look I can see spirits becoming more and more abundant. I feel that time is closing in on something big and the spirits know it. They are abandoning the supernatural and expanding into the mundane to hide. Or perhaps something more sinister than that...

Abraham: Such as playing one of the sides.

Michaels: Exactly. The Princes of Hell are well known to use spirits for their purposes on Earth and I can only assume Gabriel would do the same since he has shown his willingness to cross any and every line, particularly in his grab to obtain Excalibur. I mean, what kind of monster murders angels? Plus, who knows what other beings are playing this dangerous game?

Abraham: Such as Mikaboshi or perhaps the Pantheons. The question is though, are we sure this spell can be trusted? After all, you got it from...him.

Abraham shudders at the mere mention of the Morningstar; the first and most recognized of those Fallen from His grace. Drew remains unphased.

Michaels: I dissected Mobius's spell from start to finish; ripping it down to nothing but wild energy and rebuilding it myself in order to catch any possible traps or flaws. It is perfect for what we need in order to protect those around us such as Jade or Juliet.

Abraham: What about Lee?

Michaels: No good, his Anak heritage dampens a strong portion of the magic as it often does. We will have to use our resources within the Masonic order and the Templars to keep a watch over him.

Abraham: Do you really think it is that serious?

Drew takes a deep breath before shaking his head.

Michaels: Abraham old friend...I fear it already is.

Drew tosses the remainder of his bread crumbs out of the bag and watches remorsefully as instead the birds scatter, not even batting an eyelash when three of the five drop dead immediately as our scene fades to black...


They are watching us Lee, it worries me.

They're just friends of Dad's. He wants me to be safe.

Or he wants to control you.

Well, he is my Dad. He's supposed to be in charge and stuff.

Do not be foolish Lee, you can easily go without him. You did before in the past when you were with your mother and you can do it again. After all, the only thing you need in the world is me.

But I love my Dad...

But you love me more, you HAVE to. After all, he is always gone and me...I will ALWAYS be here for you. Always...


The scene reopens again to a tiny village on the outskirts of modern civilization still within the nation of Australia. Within that village are the two men from the previous scene; the Chosen One Drew Michaels and his best friend Abraham. Drew is walking confidently through the Aboriginal village as Abraham looks around anxiously, unsure of his environment. Drew instead pushes forward before reaching an elder man sitting in front of really the only stereotypical tent in the village. Abraham leans forward to whisper to his friend.

Abraham: Why are we here exactly?

Michaels: To talk to him.

Abraham: And who is he?

Michaels: The elder.

Abraham: The elder what?

Michaels: Just the elder. We met once years ago when I first obtained my position and abilities in order to deal with my fear of heights. I have decided to consult him on our difficulties and upcoming struggles.

Abraham had never taken his eyes off the old man during their entire exchange and, despite Drew talking in his normal confident and loud voice, the man has not reacted once. Not a twitch, not a blink, not even a lift of his chest to signify breath. The only thing more motionless than he is the air and environment near him. No wind blows, no animals step near him, no sounds even seem to penetrate his invisible shell. He is his own ecosystem, his own total existence.

Michaels: Elder, I have returned to you for guidance. Please heed my plea.

The Elder does not move and neither do the eyes of Abraham. He is entirely transfixed on the man before him.

Michaels: Elder, I fear for the safety of not only my world but also the world of the Dreaming. Please heed my plea.

No movement.

Michaels: Elder, the world is in grave danger. You MUST heed my plea.

Drew's fingers tighten into a fist on his left hand. As if in reaction, the Elder's eyes shift from straight forward then back towards Drew.

Elder: Welcome back child of Heaven.

Michaels: Good to return Elder. I need your guidance.

Elder: So I have heard. War is brewing in the sky and in the dirt.

Michaels: And I feel it shall spread to the Earth.

Elder: Escalations are occurring on all fronts it seems.

The Elder reaches down and pulls up a piece of glass lying on the ground next to him. He looks deep within it and grunts before passing it off to Abraham. Abraham looks into the mirror and jumps back in shock, dropping the mirror which is saved only by the surprisingly quick hands of the Elder himself. Abraham, still shaking looks at Drew as the Elder offers him the mirror.

Michaels: No...no thanks. I will pass this time.

Elder: Only a truly troubled man refuses a look into his own soul.

Michaels: Or a man who has seen it too many times to the point that he can pick out every flaw.

Elder: So the escalation strikes.

Abraham (Concerned): What is he talking about Drew?

Michaels: When...when I look at people I see their nature. Their TRUE nature. I see their soul, their sins, their failures, their mistakes. I see their vices and their thoughts. I know every sin a person's soul carries around from petty white lies to the breaking of the commandments.

Abraham: So every time you look at me you see that...thing I saw?

Drew reaches up slowly, placing his left hand on Abraham's shoulder in an attempt to comfort his friend.

Michaels: Your soul is no more tainted than any of ours. I promise.

Abraham (Thinking out loud): And that...that is why all the mirrors are gone from your office. You don't want to see yourself.

Michaels: It terrifies me to see what is within.

Elder: It terrifies most when really the only terrifying part is those who let it all out for the world to see freely.

Michaels: What does all this prove Elder?

Elder: We must be prepared to face ourselves before we face the Dreaming.

Abraham: What is the Dreaming?

Elder: The Dreaming is all yet nothing. It is eternity within the limits of a nutshell. It is a world entirely crafted by contradictions and beauty.

Michaels: It is the world of our dreams all mashed together into a solitary existence quite beyond the total understanding of a human mind. In other words, it is somewhere we should be able to see everything at once, hopefully in particular with regards to the war over Creation.

Elder: You seek to use it for knowledge and the sake of knowledge alone?

Michaels: Yes Elder, only knowledge can be gained from the collective of knowledge eternal.

Elder (Allowing a smile to slowly cross his face): You remember my teachings too well Chosen One. It warms a very old man's heart.

Michaels: Thank you Elder.

Elder: So are you both going?

Abraham looks at Drew silently, obviously wondering the same thing. Drew answers without hesitation.

Michaels: Of course Elder, we are one in our pursuit of knowledge.

Elder: Then we shall prepare to begin. Clear your minds as shall clear my own. I shall be the pathway you take to this enlightenment and I shall guide you towards the Dreaming. You shall call it home eternal if only for seconds at a time. Prepare for there is no going back.

Prepare for the time has come.

And without warning, there is black...

And then a radiating red...

And then an omnipresent orange...

And then a young yellow...

And then a greedy green...

And then a bountiful blue...

And then a intriguing indigo...

And then a violent violet...

And then an explosive white, a white that burns in how pure and ever present it truly can be, followed by the ever returning black...


Abraham: What are we?

Michaels: Funny that you did not ask where.

Abraham: Doesn't seem like a question that can really be answered properly right now...

The scene reopens to an array of colors, constantly changing shape, size, form, and shade. The color makes up the entirety of this realm, nothing else can take form long enough to seem to matter though much does try in vain. Thoughts take shape, hold their form for microseconds, and then dissolve again into the spectrum to be rebuilt all over again when another stray thought decides to become more than just an idea.

This is the Dreaming and it knows no bounds.

Abraham: Is this how you remember it?

Michaels: I am not sure if one can actually remember the Dreaming just as one does not truly remember a dream. You just recollect them.

Abraham: Fine then, is this how you recollect it?

Drew looks around for a moment.

Michaels: No, no not at all. Something is wrong here.

Abraham: But what?

Michaels: That is a very good question...

Drew closes his eyes to think hard, he attempts to recall all his knowledge of the Dreaming and the mythology surrounding this realm. Abraham is spending his time looking around, taking in the incredible scene around him when suddenly, a snake appears before his eyes, hisses at him, and then dissolves back into the array causing Abraham to yell out in fear.

Michaels: What!?

Abraham: A snake!

Michaels: Of course! You are a genius Abraham!

Drew reaches over and pats his longtime friend on the back as Abraham stares at him with a quizzical look plastered upon his face.

Abraham: I like the compliment but what?

Michaels: The Rainbow Serpent, the physical manifestation of the Dreaming. He must be here somewhere and in pain. That would explain the array of colors.

Abraham (Shocked): It's his blood...

Michaels: Perhaps...perhaps. Now concentrate on the snake you saw, return it to form if only for a second. We just need enough time to use it to track the location of the Serpent as a whole.

Abraham: I...I'll try.

Abraham closes his eyes and focuses as hard as possible on the snake that had appeared before him minutes earlier. The colors between him and Drew begin to swirl and a snake's head does indeed raise itself out of the mixture and Drew's hand, somehow quicker than the proverbial snake, snatches out to wrap his fingers around its head and pulls. By pulling in the snake, it instinctively snaps back, pulling Drew and Abraham into the mixture of color. Within that mixture they find a much larger snake, wounded on the ground, color pouring out of an open wound on its side.

It is the Rainbow Serpent, protector of the Dreaming and the people who connect to it through the dream lines and it is dying.

Floating above the wounded reptile is a humanoid figure, covered in a robe. The being within the robe is entirely black, the color of the abyss. It is darkness, it is evil, it is the foul Mikaboshi, he who came before. Drew had encountered this being once before in his travels to Japan and vanquished him with the help of an old enemy's sacrifice, giving Drew the power he needed to overcome the threat before all threats.

He does not have that pleasure this time.

Michaels: Stand down demon!

Abraham: Shit, shit, shit...

Mikaboshi laughs and turns around, a blade revealed in his hand. It is oddly enough made entirely of paper mache, a seemingly impractical weapon for any type of battle.

Mikaboshi: Chosen One, you once again fall into my affairs.

Michaels: What is this Mikaboshi!? What right do you have in this realm?

Mikaboshi: I come as an emissary of another, one who has promised me another whole eternity of emptiness if I simply stand by him in this special little war that is waging so stand I shall.

Michaels: The darkness cannot return Mikaboshi, not like it once was. Creation has occurred and Creation shall persist.

Mikaboshi: Not if you destroy it all piece by piece and destroy we shall Say goodbye to your dreams humans.

Mikaboshi pulls the sword into the air and drives it down again into the Rainbow Serpent. The beast lets loose a violent cry of pain as the paper blade drives deep into his skin. Abraham turns to Drew with worry in his eyes.

Abraham: How do we stop him?

Michaels: Improvise. Cover me.

Drew rushes forward towards the scene before him, jumping on the tail of the Serpent and rushes up his back, reaching Mikaboshi in seconds. The foul being notices Drew's presence quickly, ripping the blade out the Serpent's back and brings it up to catch Drew in his stride, slicing his side with a grazing blow. Drew, surprised by the cut, stumbles to the ground and finds himself unable to return to his feet.

Michaels: What...what is that thing?

Mikaboshi: A wordsword, created from the blessed pages of spell books. Due to the angel blood in your veins, it works miracles against you. It also is one of many ways one can kill what some would consider a god.

As Mikaboshi finishes that statement, he motions to the wounded beast before him; a beast once so proud but now left in a crippled and dying state. Drew continues to try to push himself back to his feet but the burning pain in his side, even though only from such a small cut from the blade, leaves him completely drained and unable to take his feet.

Michaels: You cannot destroy the Dreaming...

Mikaboshi: You can destroy anything Andrew if you only put yourself to the task. I know nothingness Andrew, I AM nothingness, and I know that there is always a possibility to return to that state again. That perfect, beautiful state of absolutely nothing...

Mikaboshi floats over to Drew and raises the blade into the air, ready to plunge it into Drew as he did the Rainbow Serpent when...

Abraham: NO!

Suddenly, Abraham rushes into the scene and tackles Mikaboshi to the ground, throwing his entire body into the blow. Instinctively, the demon swings the blade and it simply crushes against his body while Drew, observing the entire scene, laughs.

Michaels: Your wordsword does not effect him demon for he is but a man. A pure, mundane man. Hurts does it not?

Mikaboshi: I will crush you both!

Michaels: Likely story. Abraham, let us end this.

Drew stretches out his left arm and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus the entirety of his abilities into his hand. He imagines with his entire might and slowly, a sword materializes in his hand where before there had been none. The sword glowed with holy light and it empowered Drew to pull himself to his feet despite his wound from the wordsword. Planting his feet, Drew pulls the blade up to his eye level and grips the handle with both hands staring down Mikaboshi as the fell demon also bring himself to an upright position.

Mikaboshi: And what is this toy of yours?

Michaels: Nothing much, I personally like to call it Excalibur. I am sure you have heard of it.

Mikaboshi floats back in shock as Drew lunges forward, swinging the blade wildly slicing the kimona off his dark form. Mikaboshi snatches up the broken piece of the wordsword, smashed off to look more like a knife, and stabs forward, trying his best to stop Drew before the Chosen One can swing his weapon again. Drew steps to the side, just missing the stabbing blow and swings again but Mikaboshi tries in vain to stop the sword with the wordsword knife. When the two meet, an explosion rips through the air as the magic negating properties of the wordsword interacts with the completely unadulterated divinity of Excalibur and that explosion of energy consumes Drew and Mikaboshi. When the proverbial smoke clears, Drew stands tall without the sword in his hand over the still fallen body of the Rainbow Serpent. Mikaboshi is nowhere to be seen, only the remains of his wordsword sit where he once stood. Abraham pulls himself up next to Drew and looks down to the beat underneath them.

Abraham: Can we help him?

Michaels: I am not sure but dammit we have to try.

Drew steps over to the still open wound on the back of the Rainbow Serpent and drops to his knees quickly, pressing both of his hands over the wound. He falls into a trance-like state, again focusing his power into his hands in an effort to heal the damage done by the vanished enemy. Drew pours more and more energy into wound but it does not shrink. After a few minutes, Drew pulls back and stares at the injury with a confused look on his face.

Michaels: That should have worked...

Abraham: What if we dreamed it healed?

Michaels: What do you mean?

Abraham: Dreams take form here, right?

Michaels: Yes.

Abraham: And you were able to bring Excalibur to you through the power of the Dreaming despite it being firmly in Gabriel's possession. Right?

Michaels: It seems so, yes. I am just not sure if it will really work that way though...

Abraham: Why not?

Michaels: I...I do not know. (Sighs and looks down at the injured beast below him) Let us do it then.

Drew takes another deep breath and the two of them close their eyes as their imaginations run wild and the scene fades to black around them...


Lee, did you feel that?

I did, it hurt all of the sudden. What happened?

Something shook the world Lee, something huge. It was like a part of us died...

Do you...do you think my Dad is okay?

We can only pray Lee, we can only pray...


The scene reopens to the Philadelphia office of Drew Michaels, private investigator. Though the foot traffic through the office has dwindled down from very little to pretty much nothing in recent months Drew still keeps the office in order to have somewhere to escape to in order to not trouble his wife and child with his constant struggles and battles; both mental and physical. The windows in the room are all drawn, Drew's fear of seeing his reflection coming to the forefront. Drew ponders on the events within the Dreaming, particularly the battle with Mikaboshi. How did Mikaboshi survive? Who was he working with? It was obviously not Gabriel as Mikaboshi was not extremely shocked to see Excalibur which was and likely is back in the possession of Drew's rebel soul-father. Was it one of the remaining Princes of Hell? Or another party all together? Drew's mind rushes at a thousand miles an hour, unable to come to any type of viable conclusion when the sound of a trumpet echoes in the room. Drew jumps back from his desk in shock and looks up to see an angel, garbed in the most elegant and regal robes Drew has ever encountered.

Suriel: Son of Man, Son of God, Son of Angel; the courts of Heaven have word for you. The Metatron is dead and God is without a voice. The armies of Heaven have no leader and the angel of death has abandoned his position. Heaven is in disarray and to you a message has been stretched.

Drew wipes his eyes, unsure of the sight before him. Despite having encountered a number of angels in his duties, it never ceases to surprise and amaze him.

Michaels: What can I do?

Suriel: Prepare yourself.

Michaels: For what?

Suriel: The end.

Michaels: The end of...the war? The evil on Earth? My time as the Chosen One? You need to be more specific random angel guy.

Suriel: Of all things; past, present, or future.

Michaels: Huh. So like Armageddon?

Suriel: Yes.

Michaels: The Apocalypse?

Suriel: Yes.

Michaels: The end of the world as we know it?

Suriel: Yes.

Michaels: And I am supposed to feel fine, right?

Suriel: I...I do not understand what you are asking here.

Michaels: I did not think you would. Either way, you cannot possibly be serious about this.

Suriel: The word was handed down in the last spoken testament from the Metatron, translated directly from the lips of the Presence.

Michaels: So God is without a voice so suddenly, Creation is going to be wiped clean? Bullshit, I call bullshit.

Suriel: Do not sully my ears with your foul language mortal!

Michaels: Then do not treat me like some kind of ignorant child who just has to accept the words of those who claim to be above me. I am the Chosen One and I DEMAND answers!

Suriel: You have been warned.

And just like that, he is gone. Left behind is only an irate and confused Drew Michaels, trying his best to process the wave of information just poured upon him as the scene fades again to black...


Ever since becoming a father, I worry more. I worry about if Lee is happy, if he has everything he needs, if I can give him everything he wants. I worry that I am not that enough, I worry that those who would do me harm would inflict that pain upon him as well. I worry about his safety and his ability to make friends. But most of all, I worry about one thing...

The future.

I worry about the future. I worry about the opportunities he may have, the ones he will be denied, the ones I can do my best to give him now. I worry about what tomorrow will hold for him and what lessons I can teach him in order to make that tomorrow a better place.

I can teach him to be himself despite all obstacles. He needs to know to stand up for him own morals, his own values, his own beliefs if he is EVER to be considered a man. One cannot sell themselves out for anything, be it fame or money. If you sell your soul, you may never get it back and even if you do it is at a price greater than you initially received.

I can teach him the value of consistency, tackling every day as if it could be your last. Even the most menial of events need to be considered the most important thing in your life if that is your current goal and focus. One cannot take a day off in life because they will NEVER get it back despite hopes otherwise. When it is gone, it truly is gone forever.

I can teach him to not judge others with foolish preconceptions, that man is a the whole of all his parts; not only his most recent actions. One cannot and should not have only their most recent events looked at, the idea of “what have you done for me lately?” is disgustingly flawed and one that could have destroyed millions of potential friendships and alliances. Men must hold themselves to the same standard that hold others to and thus measure themselves and others but a total sum of all their actions.

But what good is all of this if the world ends tomorrow?

Truly, when one looks at it in that spectrum; it puts the totality of the events in my life right now in perspective. Heaven is prepared to wipe the board clean rather than allow Gabriel, the Princes of Hell, Mikaboshi, or any other sinister player involved in this terrible tragedy a chance at the power of the Almighty; showing the true magnitude of this war. This is a battle not for dominance but survival and I must begin to slide into the offensive or else all we know, all we cherish will be for naught.

So against Hell, I prepare.

So against Heaven, I prepare.

So against the void, I prepare.

So against it all, I prepare.

After all, when confronted with Armageddon; what is the worst that can happen?

I

Could this guy be any more annoying?

From his head to his toes David was about as dull a man to grace the planet, as there ever was. Monotone voice, blocky features and eyes that appeared to be focussed on nothing in particular were complimented by the cheap slate grey suit and matching tie.

Not much of a surprise though I suppose….

David: Mr Steele?......Mr Steele?!

Steele: What? Oh yeah mate I gotcha…. Carry on.

David: Mr Steele I asked if you had any idea of how poorly your business had been performing since the uhh….ownership restructure?

Ownership Restructure, well that’s one way to describe it I guess.

In his will Brian had asked that the gym be left to Abel. Actually he had specified everything was to go to Abel, it just happened that the gym was everything. Initially Abel had wanted to sell the building but, when he was told that the only offer to purchase the building had been made by a conglomerate backed by one Christian Gregory Smitten he had rethought the idea.

Steele: Oh, sorry mate. I was just a bit distracted

David: This is serious Mr. Steele.

Abel knew it was serious. He also knew that crunching numbers drove him to sleep better than anything else he had ever tried.

Steele: Maybe you could run it past me one more time?

The accountant didn’t even miss a beat, launching straight back into the eroding profit margins, declining membership and increased wages like clockwork

Why the hell can’t this bloke talk to me in English?

Something in Abel’s face must have given him away because the David stopped and put aside his presentation on the desk between them, arranging each item neatly into stacks before looking back to his client.

Even for an accountant this guy is anal.

David: Mr Steele let me put this bluntly.

Steele: Thank you mate.

David: This business is bleeding cash and lots of it. In fact if it weren’t for your substantial external income you would have been insolvent about a month ago

The accountant placed his hands on his lap and looked at Abel.

Steele: I figured as much mate. I may not understand all that mumbo jumbo you were just banging on about but don’t let that fool you. I can see the bank balance shrinking. What do you think it was stopping me from decking Jaro IN MY HOME TOWN of all places….. respect? HA!.

The accountant ran his hands through his greying hair, relief etched on his face now that his message had finally gotten through.

But, I wasn’t paying you to tell me what I already knew. Nor was I paying you to bring me a wad of graphs and spreadsheets as thick as my arm. What I want to know is how do we fix it?

David reached for his notes and began flicking through.

David: If you will refer to my annualised projections from page 107 in my report you will see that….

Abel’s hand reached out and gently, but firmly, he closed the report.

Steele: Just tell me how to fix it mate.

The accountant pulled his hand out from the middle of the report and gave it a shake. He pushed back his glasses from the end of his nose with the other hand and looked Able right in the eye.

David: You can’t.

Steele: What do you mean can’t? What the hell did I just pay you thousand’s of dollars to go through the business for?

David shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A man of his profession rarely had to deal with such heated confrontations.

David: I’m sorry Mr. Steele but Brian just had too much debt. The fact he made it work while he was alive is nothing short of a miracle in my expert opinion.

Abel was shocked. He knew that the business was suffering but never expected it to be this bad.

Steele: So what do I do then?

David: Mr. Steele I would strongly urge you to reconsider the offer from Mr Smitten’s corporation.

Steele: No way mate.

David: But Mr. Steele, it would eradicate all the debts and leave you with a tidy sum besides. In fact it is quite beyond me why they are willing to pay so far above market value… I suggest you take their offer.

Abel’s hand came down on the desk once more, somewhat more forcefully than the last time, causing David to jump back in fright.

Steele: I said NO FUCKING WAY mate.

David: Well in that case Mr. Steele…

David said, in a slightly shaky voice.

David: I suggest you keep on wrestling until the end of your days because this business is finished the day you are.

Abel reeled at that, he knew his time was limited. The doctors had made it abundantly clear that his body only had so many fights left in it before time caught up with him. If Abel suspected the accountant had any idea of that fact he would have punched him out right then and there too.

Steele: I’m sorry David, I shouldn’t have attacked you. Leave it with me for a few days will you and I will have a read through your report and get back to you.

David shrugged as if nothing had ever happened, packed up his briefcase and shook Abel’s hand as he left the room.



Abel left his meeting with David feeling completely at a loss. His business was hanging by a thread. A thread that was likely to break at any moment, leaving Abel with no alternative to sell out to one of the men he despised most in the entire world.

What a fucked up day this is.

Normally when Abel fell into this sort of a mood he usually found himself at the bottom of an empty glass. It seemed to work well for him and so it was that subconsciously Abel had been wandering the harbour district of Halifax looking for a watering hole.

How is it that with all the labourers from the docks about it’s so bloody hard to find a pub?

As if in answer to his question at the very next corner Abel spied a pub. It didn’t look like much to Abel, a sports bar most likely and judging by the four leaf clover in the window probably one with an Irish bend to it.

Peddler’s Pub. Why des that sound so familiar?

Abel barely gave it any thought. No doubt he had spent a night here drinking his way to happiness before or some such. After all he did have a slight fondness for beer…. And scotch…. And bourbon…. And well pretty much anything else.

A little bell chimed as Abel stepped through. He wandered slowly up to the bar, taking in the place.

Nope, definitely haven’t been here before.

As Abel reached the bar he looked about for somebody to poor him a beer but, seeing no one about, he turned to have a look at the selection of imported beers in the fridge behind the bar.

Steele: Oh mate….No way!

Barmaid: No way what?

Abel nearly fell backwards off his bar stool as a beautiful young barmaid popped up suddenly from behind the bar to answer his question.

Steele: Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack! What the bloody hell were you doing down there?

The barmaid smiled an impish little smile at Abel’s expense.

Barmaid: I spilled some beer nuts earlier, I was just cleaning them up.

Steele: Oh, right.

Barmaid: So…….?

Steele: So what mate?

The barmaid smiled again at Abel who looked completely baffled at her question.

Barmaid: So…..what were you saying “No way” to?

Steele: Oh that. I just saw you have Little Creatures Pale Ale. No bottle hop in the entire city has Little Creatures Pale Ale and……

Barmaid: and it’s your favourite beer?

Steele: Did my Australian accent give it away?

The barmaid flashed another one of those mesmerising smiles, although this tie it was that smile women are so good at that seems to say “I know more than you realise”

Barmaid; Not exactly Mr Steele…..

Steele: You know who I am?

Barmaid: I sure do. We’ve seen a few of you FMW guys in here over the years, not to mention that the boss is a bit of a fan and makes us show all of the matches on the big screen.

As the barmaid turned to grab a Little Creatures Pal Ale from the fridge she nodded to the other side of the pub, where a large screen was currently showing a baseball game.

Steele: Wow that’s some screen.

Barmaid: Yeah, the boss likes his sports Mr Steele.

Steele: Call me Abel uh…..what did you say your name was again?

Barmaid: I didn’t…..It’s Kristy.

Steele: Well Kristy, what are the chances of getting you to change the channel on that thing babe?

Kristy: You know I’d love to Abel, but you see that guy over there?

She nodded toward a man who was camped out at a table by himself. The table was directly beneath a skylight and it lit up the whole area like a beacon among the rest of the darkness.

Steele: Mate, how could I miss him?

Kristy smiled at that

Kristy: Well he comes here every day and watches the baseball. Anyone who tries to change the channel on him…..well…. let’s just say no one tries to change the channel on him anymore.

That piqued Abel’s interest, after all, the guy looked like such a bloody goody two shoes that he could hardly imagine him doing any harm.

Without realising it Abel had found himself up off his barstool and making his way over to the man’s table. Kristy was gesturing for him to come back to the bar but it was too late.

Steele: Hey there mate, how’s the game going?

The man barely looked away from the screen, so engrossed was he, and mumbled a response.

Steele: What was that mate?

Man: Tied up, bottom of the 8th.

Steele: Thanks mate…… say you know I was just thinking of changing the channel. ESPN 3 is showing the Ashes.

Man: What the fuck are the Ashes?

Steele: Only the greatest rivalry in world sport…..Cricket mate, Australia vs. England!

Man; I don’t think so.

Abel lifted up his left hand which was holding the remote control for the screen.

When did I pick that up?

Steele: You know…..

The giant screen flashed black a moment and then came up again showing the cricket broadcast live from Sydney.

Steele: I think I just did

Man: Give me that remote!

The man roared up out of his chair and reached for the remote, but Abel danced out of his reach. As the man chased after him he knocked chairs and tables flying and the few other patrons scattered from the area.

Kristy: Don’t you mess up my bar Abel….

Steele: Don’t worry, I wont.

With that Abel stepped inside the latest lunge from the man and uppercut him back into his original table. He landed on his back with arms flung out and legs dangling down, bathed in the sunlight.

Kristy: Jesus!

Steele: I don’t think so….

Abel placed the remote down next to the now unconscious man and went back to his bar stool.

Steele: So, Kristy, what time do you finish up here?

Kristy: Are you hitting on me Abel?

Steele: You better believe it….

Kristy: I knock off in about 5 minutes, but I’m not sure that the boss would like me going out with you very much.

Steele: Why? Who cares what your boss thinks anyway?

????: You should….

Abel turned around and suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks. The reason why Peddler’s Pub sounded familiar to him was standing alongside the unconscious man gently tapping his trusty baseball bat into the palm of his hand.

Steele: Listen Alex, I’m just trying to have a beer and talk to a pretty girl.

Alex: And attack my patrons?

Steele: He wouldn’t let me put the cricket on…..

Alex grabbed up the remote and flicked the channel back over to the baseball

Alex: The hockey is on after this game, I suggest you find someplace else to watch your pathetic cricket.

Abel didn’t really need much of an excuse to attack Alex O’Rion. They hadn’t exactly made friends since the man had come back to FMW. There was however the small matter of a well used baseball bat between him and the owner of Peddler’s Pub, so Abel thought better of it.

Steele: All right Alex, I’ll leave, I’ll be seeing you soon enough anyway. Do you mind if I get some take-aways first?

Alex looked none too pleased but nodded his ok and Abel turned back to Kristy behind the bar.

Steele: I’ll have a six pack of Little Creatures please.

Kristy reached into the fridge and handed a frosty six pack across to Abel and then stood back up at the bar.

Kristy: Anything else?

Steele: Yeah just one other thing…

Kristy: Oh, what’s that?

Abel reached over the bar and grabbed the petite girl around the waist, lifting her up over the bar and putting her on the floor beside him. She giggled at his brazenness and placed an arm across his shoulders as they walked out of the bar.

Steele: See you in Abu Dhabi.



FMW’s training facilities always seemed like a ghost town to Abel. The company goes out of it’s way to provide state of the art training facilities and yet so many members of the roster choose to train elsewhere.

I guess it would make for some colourful sparring sessions with all those egos in the one room.

Abel wasn’t here to train, sure he could use any edge he could get ahead of his upcoming match against some of Full Metal Wrestling’s elite, but today he had other business to be about.

Although a win against Michaels, O’Rion and the new guy Tiberius Jefferson would give me a nice income boost I am sure.

Abel wasn’t here about wrestling though. After taking the voracious Kristy home and spending the afternoon being entertained by her, Abel had spent the night brainstorming on ways to turn around his ailing business.

Steele: Ahhhh, Mr Vizini, good to see you.

Romeo Vizzini was the reason Abel had come to FMW headquarters today. For all his exploits in the ring Romeo was undoubtedly as successful outside of it, probably even more so.

Romeo: I got your message Mr Steele. I must say I am a little surprised; it’s not as if you and I have ever crossed paths before. To what do I owe the pleasure?

It was true enough, Abel had never had the opportunity to face Romeo in the ring, nor would he ever now that the man was wheelchair bound.

Steele: I’m here on business Rome….

Romeo: You can call me Mr. Vizzini

I wish I did get the chance to wipe the floor with your face though…

Steele: Uhhh, Mr Vizzini. I have a business proposition that I wanted to put to you..

Romeo: Really? I never placed you as the business man Mr Steele. You seem a little too…..skittish.

A bit harsh but I can’t really argue with that I suppose.

Steele: While I may appear a little bit all over the place, from time to time, I can assure you Mr Vizzini that is not the reality.

Romeo: If you say so.

Steele: Yes, I bloody well do.

Abel forcibly wound himself down. After all he was here to ask this man a favour and now here he was trying to pick a fight.

Steele: Mr. Vizzini what I want to propose to you is a new business venture.

Abel produced a bound copy of a report that he had had his accountant draw up last night. It was a business plan and SWOT analysis for a conceptual business.

Steele: What I am about to show you is something that is completely new.

Romeo spent a couple of minutes going through 6 page summary report at the front of the 237 page document before putting the report away in a briefcase.

Romeo: I don’t really like reports boy. Tell me what you want and my staff can go over the fine print later.

A man after my own heart

Steele: I want capital Mr. Vizzini. A loan really, but I am willing to offer you a partnership, if you prefer.

Romeo: How much?

Steele: Initially $3 million, after 12 months I may need another 2 million.

Romeo: OK

Steele: What? OK you’ll give me the money?

Romeo: Sure. I want 51 percent ownership and you pay back the capital within 5 years.

Abel winced, he knew Romeo’s terms would be steep. After all you didn’t make the kind of money he had by being generous.

Steele: 49 percent, no more.

Romeo: Good day to you then Mr Steele.

Steele: No wait…..50 percent, and I pay back the capital over 10 years…… AND you are a silent partner, I run the business my way.

Romeo paused in thought, carefully considering his decision.

Romeo: Done.

Abel stopped as a giant hand clasped down on his right shoulder, squeezing a little too firmly to be friendly.

Tiberius: Look what the cat dragged in.

Abel quaked at the man’s touch, he wasn’t even good with people he loved in his personal space.

Romeo: Stand aside Tiberius.

Tiberius: Don’t think so boss. See I told my boy here that if he got in my business again I’d tear his head off.

Abel saw stars as he felt the force of the larger man’s head crashing into his own. Out of instinct he wriggles his shoulder free of the bear paw that was holding him and dodged away, just in time to hear the next blow swing through the empty space where his head had been.

Steele: I’m not in your business. I am here to see Mr. Vizzini about money. As far as I’m concerned this is nothing to do with you and I’d prefer it if you weren’t even here.

Romeo: That makes two of us Tiberius, go hit the showers. We’re done for the day anyway.

Tiberius glared at Abel, his hands itching as he fought his impulse to attack.

Tiberius: Just remember that whatever reason it is that you came her for, you just made it my business, boy.

Steele: Thanks for the tip mate, I’ll be sure to remember that when I kick your ass all around that steel cage.

Tiberius stopped in his tracks and Abel readied himself for the onslaught, knowing full well that the man had a liking for hurting people.

Romeo: Go!

As, after a slight pause, Tiberius resumed his march toward the showers Abel couldn’t resist one last barb.

Steele: See you in Abu Dhabi….

The man’s fists clenched hard and his knuckles turned white but he did not look back before walking out of sight.

Steele: Where did you find that ape?

Romeo: One day you will learn the virtue of keeping your mouth shut Mr. Steele.

Steele: I doubt it.

Romeo: Perhaps….. and still it continues to cost you. I now have one more condition to agreeing to our business venture.

Abel looked askance at the wheelchair bound man, waiting for the bombshell to drop. He had expected this all along.

Steele: You want me to help Tiberius win the Race For the Torch don’t you?

Romeo scoffed loudly

Romeo: Hardly…. Mr Steele above all things I am a ruthless business man.

Steele: So I’ve heard

Romeo: I like to know that the men I am doing business with can be ruthless too.

Steele: Oh?

Romeo: I want you to punish that ape Mr Steele. I don’t care if you win or not but I want you to show Tiberius how far he is from the top.

Abel smiled from ear to ear.

Steele: That, Mr Vizzini, will be an absolute pleasure.

[/quote]

Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Singles Match
Storm

Contract on the Line **
J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match
Abel Steele

Ammunition 12.3-
LIVE from Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus vs. Storm

Contract on the Line **
Jeff Watson vs. J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
PX vs. David GS (c)

Both were incredible here it came down to just a lil here and a lil there --- I almost abstained the vote here

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo) vs. Alex O’Rion vs. Abel Steele vs. Drew Michaels

Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Singles Match
Storm

Contract on the Line **
J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match
Drew Michaels

-Ammunition 12.3-
LIVE from Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates

Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus vs. Storm

Contract on the Line **
Jeff Watson vs. J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
PX vs. David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo) vs. Alex O’Rion vs. Abel Steele vs. Drew Michaels

BANG

The bullet escaped the chamber, cutting through the air, and found its mark; dead centre of the target. The weapon stood in the firm hand of Eric, the bullet lay buried in the skull of a mannequin standing twenty feet from him. Eric is standing on the very ledge on the top of the building, with the mannequins set standing as far back as possible, on the other side of the roof.

BANG

The second bullet seared in the same direction, only lower this time, this time tearing through the mannequin’s thigh. The firm grip on the pistol minimised recoil to almost non-existence. His arm retracted to his side, allowing him to survey the damage. His face was a model of indifference, but this was counterbalance by the overly joyous PX standing next to him.

“Excellent, excellent! You are a sure shot Eric; I have all the faith in the world in you! Failure is not a possibility with you by my side”

“Have you really covered all the bases here? Is this truly the perfect plan?”

“Plan? HA! Eric you crack me up! What plan? This isn’t a plan, this is a pistol! The cops, the men who oppose us, I’m sure they’re swimming in plans and procedure right now, I have a whim and a handgun. I’m merely covering my bases right now. This isn’t a plan Eric, this is me placing a little luck in my favour on the scene.”

“You’re putting it all that faith in me. It’s a big responsibility, I could mess it up”

“Have no fears Eric, you are a fine marksman, much finer than me. There’s no pressure here. We’re here to have fun remember? That’s the key, don’t lose sight of it!”

PX danced chirpily away from Eric towards the door leading to the stairwell down into their little Headquarters.

“Eric, I’m going to pack a little lunch for the big trip, and leave you to practice a little longer, too much practice never hurt anyone! I hope I can control myself in front of our esteemed guests!”

And with a turn, a boot to the door and a hop, PX was out the door to prepare himself for the day he’s been waiting for seemingly his whole life, leaving Eric to his own devices. He extended his arm and took aim once more at another mannequin.

BANG

The bullet pierced through the air once more, crashing into the left side of the chest. The impact was sufficient to shake it from its base, and it slipped from its stand, spiralling of the edge of the building. Another killer blow.

Eric found himself feeling very alone all of a sudden. He just realised that it’s a rare thing for him to be left on his lonesome, especially with a weapon in hand. Eric’s thoughts started to swirl. He has always been a loyal servant to PX. He starts to think of the faithful day he committed himself to staying by PX’s side.

“I remember standing alone on a roof just like this, sick and tired with life. I was so alone; ready to throw it all away when he came. He appeared here like an angel and saved my life. I’ve followed him blindly ever since, always questioning his thoughts, but never his actions. Preparing for this ultimate deed is making me wonder. Am I making the right choice here?”

Eric was contemplating thoughts that had never crossed him before. He had never opposed or even considered turning away from PX. He’s almost never out of his company in fact. This time now, as he clenched the pistol he wields so amicably, is a rare insight into himself, he’s beginning to see a new thought process.

“It felt like Fate that day. I stand beside him because he is the reason I am still on this earth. Otherwise I’d be dead and gone. He is the reason I live, so I stand with him. But maybe that’s not my purpose in life. Maybe it was fate that brought us together, but I’m not meant to follow him. We could have been brought together because I’m meant to… To stop him…”

A chill ran through Eric’s spin. A huge idea had emerged in his head now. His whole philosophy stood now on the rocks. Eric looked at the pistol in his hand.

“This weapon… I’ve been blessed with a gift of an eagle eye with this. Was I meant to use it to help this man? Or to stop him? If I wanted I could go and shoot him right now…
I’m so confused…
God, show me the way, when the time is upon us, I beg you. I do not know what to do...”


“It is very important to stay to the plan gentlemen. There isn’t much to it, but a solid structure, a powerful base will keep us safe.”

Major Allen addressed his two colleagues. The three are standing in the car-park in front of the station, going over one final run-through of their plans. The plan is meagre but on such an important for all of them, Allen felt pressured to make sure the men understood their roles.

“Are you both armed?”

Both men clutched their respective holsters to confirm their weapons are where they’re meant to be.

“Good. Good.”

Allen draws a set of keys from his pocket, and tosses them to Matsu.

“I’m driving?”

“You’re riding in your own car, Matsu. Davis and I have decided for you not to enter the building with us. We want you to tail us, and wait outside the building and make sure there’s no escape, should he show up today.”

“What?! I’m not coming in?! But after all our preparation! When was this even decided?”

“Please Matsu; there isn’t any more time to discuss this. That’s why we’re telling you now. This is an order, you will not argue this any further with me. Matt, run shotgun with me.”

“And do I just sit around and watch the building?”

“Exactly Matsu. I’m glad you understand. Now let’s get moving.”

Allen proceeds to his car, leaving Matsu standing open mouthed for a moment, but he soon follows suit. Davis enters the passenger side of Allen’s vehicle.

“Matt, this is a big day for us. This menace has terrorised us, he’s taken friends from us, hurt innocent people. We can NOT make a mistake today; this MUST go according to plan. I’m putting a lot of faith in you, and in myself. We’re earning our badges today Matt. He cannot escape.”

Allen keys the ignition, and their journey to the home of their destiny begins. The two cars pull off, with the magnitude of the task resonating within them. Matsu’s stomach churned. The young officer hasn’t ever faced something so frightful or important in his career, and doesn’t have the experience of his counterparts. Now that the task was imminent, the pressure was beginning to mount, and understood now why Allen isn’t allowing him to come face to face with his demon. Even the thought of watching the building was now feeling like too much responsibility to be left in his quivering hands. The fate of this operation could fall right into his hands.

“The responsibility, the chance to end it all could be down to me, and I could fail, and have to live with it my whole life. Am I able to do this? Could I end this nightmare? I can only hope if it falls to me, I have the strength not to blow it…”


The scene is of a room, dimly lit and claustrophobic. The power of the dangling bulb has faded; it now gives an orange glow, giving an almost warm feel to the room. This room has no remarkable features beyond a wooden floor, and a large wooden dresser against the far wall, and the woman staring into its mirror. The frame of the mirror is decorated with newspaper cut-outs and photographs of a familiar man. One photo in particular, placed eye level with the woman, was a photo in black and white; a headshot of PX. The photo has a heart scribbled onto it.

The woman is grooming herself; trying to look her best for the big day. She ran her hand through her perfectly straight red hair, allowing it to flow down past her shoulders. She has donned a familiar attire of a white shirt and tartan skirt. Once satisfied with her appearance, she winks at the mirror, with a giggle escaping in the process.

She turned her attentions to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer. The drawer contains a dazzling collection of knives. Each one looked sharper than the last, and the set is arranged in size, from smallest to largest. With a clasp of her hands, she surveys her prize collection, her eyes locked in a powerful gaze.

Her hand slinks down into the drawer, her finger running down one the larger blades, before grasping its handle and lifting it. She raises it to examine it under the dim light with a mesmerizing look. With a tilt of her head and a frown, she places it back in the drawer. She turns her attention to the smaller blades, and draws out a blade smaller than her hand and examines it in a similar fashion. She touches its tip against her index finger, and it penetrates the skins immediately. A trickle of blood rolls down into the palm of her hand. Her eyes light up, and with a gleeful giggle holsters the blade in her belt. She grabs another blade identical to the first from her collection and holsters it on the other side of her belt. Her hand darts pack into the drawer, grabbing a third knife, this one the smallest in her collection. She places this one on the inside her sleeve, and shuts the drawer.

She skips over to the door of her compacted room and swings it open. She flicks her left wrist, and the small blade appears in her hand. Gleefully she places it back in its place and hops out the door, ready for her date with destiny, to encounter once more, the love of her life.


“I can’t believe it. I truly can’t.”

PX is standing outside a large warehouse, with Eric by his side. The scene is tranquil: The sky is a clear blue, and the grass is green. A truly beautiful day. The warehouse, worn and rusted, was an eyesore by comparison. Even so, PX, with his hands on his hips, marvelled at the building before him. Eric has donned an all-black attire, which also stands out in the colourful scenery.

“Here we are Eric. This moment is so magical that I could almost shed a tear right now. My life has been leading to this. This is so special; I wish I had prepared something to say.”

PX approached the large sliding door on the side of the building. His hand grasps the large handle.

“You know what to do Eric. You will not be seen, I assure you. You will be concealed in the shadows, and hidden behind the items inside. I will lure our guests into drawing their weapons first, knowing they are not as honest men as I am. When “she” arrives, they will be ready to deal accordingly, as I suspect they will. Either way, you will take down the victor of that skirmish, and we’ll all live happily ever after! Simple?”

Eric gives no response. PX is unconcerned with Eric’s idle mind however, and merely turns his attention back to the door in front of him.

“Showtime.”

With a powerful, PX slides open the door, ready for his date with destiny.

Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus vs. Storm

Contract on the Line **
Jeff Watson vs. J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
PX vs. David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo) vs. Alex O’Rion vs. Abel Steele vs. Drew Michaels

Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus vs. Storm

Contract on the Line **
Jeff Watson vs. J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
PX vs. David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo) vs. Alex O’Rion vs. Abel Steele vs. Drew Michaels

-Ammunition 12.3-
LIVE from Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates

Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus vs. Storm

Contract on the Line **
Jeff Watson vs. J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
PX vs. David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo) vs. Alex O’Rion vs. Abel Steele vs. Drew Michaels

Second chances. So rare, so few, so far-between.

And yet, they DO happen, don't they? Every now and then, we ARE given a chance at redemption, a chance to right our wrongs and to pay our dues and to fix that which we have broken or let break. Whether they are gifts - given by some benevolent force or individual - or made by our own toiling hands for our own selfish reasons, every person who walks this Earth, whether they know it or not, has been blessed with a Second Chance at some point.

But that isn't the issue - simply RECEIVING the second chance isn't the point of interest. What truly matters is what we do with that which we've been given, and as an extension of that, how we view a second chance in the first place.

That's the big question, isn't it? How do we - how SHOULD we - view opportunities at redemption?

Perhaps we should be grateful for them. After all, we fucked up, didn't we? Any opportunity to fix things should be looked upon as a blessing and taken full advantage of. We should thank our lucky stars that some higher power has seen us fall short in our endeavors or screw up in spite of our best intentions and has taken pity on our pathetic mortal selves. After all, second chances don't come every day - we oughta either be falling on our knees and thanking the powers that be, or patting the hell out of our own backs for doing so well as to create this golden opportunity.

OR...

Maybe we should feel hurt.

Ashamed.

Incompetent.

Unworthy.

Why the hell do we deserve a second chance, huh? What the hell makes us think that we deserve a chance to right our wrongs? If it was some higher power that bestowed this great and wondrous gift upon us, we should be utterly humiliated by the fact that they were forced to take pity on us and our failures. If we created the opportunity ourselves, then we should be kicking ourselves for just ASSUMING that we deserve to make things right.

We fucked up.

It's our own damn fault, and we should have to live with the consequences, right?

RIGHT?

Los Angeles
Embassy Suites Tower - 24th Floor
3:51:46 PM, January 10th, 2011

"So..."

David waited for the rest of the sentence to come. When it never did, he turned to see Steven leaned forward in his armchair, staring intently at the television instead of him. It was a coping mechanism, one that the younger Smith used whenever he was anxious about something and, as a result, one that David was intimately familiar with. "So...what?" he asked.

Still refusing to lock eyes with his older sibling, Steven pressed his lips together before saying, "So...are you gonna do it? Are you gonna meet him?"

The Undisputed King of FMW's Undercard breathed an exasperated sigh and turned back to watching their hotel room's sizable TV himself. Mythbusters was on - the one where they tested a bunch of skydiving myths from the movie "Point Break". They'd both seen it before - multiple times, in fact - but watched anyway, mainly because the only reasonable alternatives were TLC or MTV, both of which sucked ass.

"Don't know," David responded to his brother. "I might." When he heard Steven shift slightly in his chair, he glanced over at him again. "Why?"

Steven didn't reply right away, and that had a more profound effect on David than any words ever could have. Silence from the younger Smith brother only ever meant one thing and therefore COULD only mean one thing: he - Steve, that is - didn't know exactly why he was worried about David doing this. It was a bad feeling, a gut-instinct that something could go wrong, would go wrong. Thing is, his gut was normally right when it came to such things.

"...no reason," Steven replied after almost a full minute. "Just curious."

David nodded nonchalantly and turned back to the TV.

Fuck.

Getting up from his chair, he went over to the hotel room's relatively large kitchenette and began rummaging about in the fridge, eventually withdrawing a carton of orange juice. He opened one of the cabinets, pulled out a paper cup, and poured himself a glass.

FUCK.

Draining the juice in a few short gulps, he circled around the kitchen counter and into the bedroom, where they had both stashed their luggage. The hotel room was a damn nice one that could only have been reserved by the payrate of an FMW Titleholder. The only request David had made upon making the reservation was that there be two single beds instead of a double - both he and Steve were slightly homophobic.

He sat down on his bed and reached into the black Nike duffelbag that sat at the foot of the bed, pulling out the FMW Television Championship. Its metallic, silver-and-red faceplate was cool to the touch, and David smiled to himself as he bounced it up and down in his hands, testing the weight of it.

It felt light, burdenless - the way he imagined victory and dominance should feel.

F-U-C-K-F-U-C-K

FUCK-FUCK-FUCK-FUCK-FUCK-FUCK-FUCK!!!

He wanted more, that's what it was. Winning the TV Title was fine, and unifying it with the Light Heavyweight Belt was great, too. But it didn't satiate David; though it would no doubt take some time, he had every intention of turning the belt he held into the C4 Championship, and then maybe one of the Tag Team Titles, and ultimately - though likely more than a few years down the road - the FMW World Heavyweight Championship. This meeting he'd been invited to could possibly help facilitate that, maybe even accelerate him down the road. The man who'd contacted him certainly knew what he was doing, as did his associates - as someone who knew the value of good advice, a big part of David was loathe to even consider saying 'no' or not showing up.

In a way, his career depended on it.

But on the other hand...

"Hey."

He looked up to see Steven standing in the doorway, watching him with an expression on his face that was far too studious for David's liking. "Hey. Mythbusters over?"

Steve shook his head. "No, but, uh..." He took a brief pause and glanced down at his feet, as if searching for the right way to say what he wanted to say. "...I think we need to talk about this." He then seemed to tense up a little, as if he were expecting his older brother to become defensive or indignant or confrontational - God knows it had happened plenty of times before.

But David didn't do any of those things; he just pointed over at his little brother's bed and said, "Siddown."

He did so without hesitation, and the brothers looked at one another, long and hard.

"You don't think I should go," David said finally. "Why?"

Steven frowned, abandoning all intentions of maintaining the charade of indifference. "Because," he replied, "something bad'll happen. I can feel it. The Locusts have been in operation there for a while now, and if they get wind that you're in town, well..." His voice trailed off and he shrugged, leaving the thought hanging in the air, unfinished.

Not that it needed finishing; David hadn't been very well-acquainted with the concept of a near-death experience before this whole Locust fiasco had started. Now, after having had numerous encounters with the criminal organization, he was on the fast track to becoming an expert on the subject. He fell back onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair, digging into his scalp with his fingers and scratching anxiously. Steven presented a valid point; if he DID end up going to meet this man, and the Locusts DID make a move, he himself wouldn't be the only one in danger.


FFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU---


"But," Steven continued, derailing his train of thought and causing him to tilt his head up sharply, "I also think that this has the potential to be the start of something big for you - y'know, hands-on learning and all that."

"Okay," David said, sitting up more fully, "so what? You don't want me to go, but you think it would be good for me to go." He scowled at his younger brother. "Lotta help you are - seriously, man, pick a damn side."

"All right, all right!" Steve exclaimed, holding his hands up defensively. "Chill, dude. Seriously, I think..." He paused, scrunching up his face in a way that told David he was still internally struggling with the decision. "...I think you should go. But I'm going with you. After all, you might get another chance like this, and if I can help keep the Locusts from fucking it up, I will."

David nodded gratefully, cracking a small smile as they both rose to their feet and clasped hands. "Thanks, bro - I'm gonna go call him and tell him we're on." He replaced the TV Title belt in his duffel bag and headed for the door that led back out into the hotel room's main living area, where the phone was kept.

"Wait a sec."

He turned at the sound of his brother's voice, and turned to find Steve studying him again. "Yeah?"

"I wanna know one thing," the younger Smith said. "Why d'you care so much about my opinion on this? It's not like I'm Mom or anything - you're a big boy, you don't NEED my blessing to go and do this."

David stood in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest and thinking about it.

"You've got good instincts when it comes to stuff like this," he said finally. "And if you really didn't think I should go, then..." He shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't go." He turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom, not seeing the smile that passed over Steven's face.



The City
Winchester's Coffee Shop
4:31:02 PM, January 11th, 2011

David looked up the street, then down it, and then up again, beating his gloved hands together in an attempt to warm them up. Four-thirty PM; that's what he said. Meet him at four-thirty at...

He pulled out a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket, opened it, and glanced at the address. Yeah, this was the right place.

So where the hell was--

"Hey, there he is."

David turned at the sound of the voice to see Leon Caprice coming up to him, seemingly having materialized out of the thin January air. The boots of the Abandoned Number-One Contender were exceedingly loud as they crunched through the snow, something David couldn't help but notice as Leon came within arm's length of him and extended his hand.

"Welcome to The City, Mister S...S..." Leon blinked. "I'm...I'm sorry, but I don't know your last name."

David glanced down at Leon's hand, and then into his eyes, searching. "The 'S' in 'GS' stands for Smith," he said after a few seconds, taking Leon's hand and shaking it firmly. "But David works just fine."

Leon nodded. "David, then. Come," he said, gesturing to the coffee shop's front door. "Let's go inside."

A blast of frigid air announced their entry into the coffee shop, but the few patrons who were inside had enough common sense to avoid sitting near the door and therefore were relatively unaffected by it. David looked around as he followed Caprice, who was obviously more familiar with the place than he, up to the front counter; Winchester's had a new-agey, earthen-tone look to it that was all the rage with coffee shops these days, and to its credit, it pulled it off quite well. A radio station David didn't recognize was playing softly out of the overhead speakers, and upon straining his ears to hear the song, David recognized it as "Orange Crush" by R.E.M.

He liked R.E.M.

"...yes, I'll take a medium Iced Mocha with whipped cream."

"Very good, and for you, sir?"

David blinked, and realized that both Leon and the young, raven-haired cashier were both staring at him. "Oh," he said, mildly startled. "Yeah, I'll just have a, uh..." He glanced up at the menu over the front counter, trying to decide on the fly. "...an Expresso. Two creams, two sugars."

"All right; total comes to eleven, ninety-seven."

He reached into his coat packet, trying to fish out his wallet, when Leon stopped him and said, "Don't worry about it; this one's on me." David watched as Leon proceeded to pay for their drinks, and removed his hand from his pocket as a small smile began to form on his face.



"Okay," David said after they had gotten their drinks and found a table in the back corner of the coffee shop. "Start talking; you want me to join this little stable-thing that you, Frost, and the Celt are putting together, is that right?"

"The Sons of Attrition," Leon corrected. He took a sip of his beverage and nodded, swallowing before continuing. "But that's the general idea, yes."

"Then that brings me to my next question," David responded. "Why me? Why pick me when you have guys like Seth Omega, Chris Austin, Alex O'Rion, and Drew Michaels who you could've approached? What do I have to offer that they don't?"

Caprice set his iced coffee down and stared hard into David's eyes. "Seth Omega," he said, his voice dripping with conviction, "is unconcerned with anything that doesn't directly pertain to his career and his reign as the Abandoned Champion. Austin and O'Rion? Both worthy candidates from an in-ring perspective, but they're both lugging too much personal baggage for our tastes. We actually considered approaching Drew at one point, as he has many of the same ambitions that we do, but he's too big-picture, too..."

"Too religious?" David interjected.

Leon considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "If by that you mean he casts everything in a heaven-and-hell, light-and-dark, absolute sort of way, then yes. We don't want that sort of perspective blowing things out of proportion. All we want to do is clean up FMW, to purge it of the kind of corruption that got Celeste Rosseau-Roy murdered." He stopped, giving his words time to sink in, and then said, "Do you understand?"

David nodded. He understood easily enough - there was some fucked-up shit going down in FMW, even by professional wrestling standards. What he didn't understand, though, was how he fit into the equation Leon was talking about.

"What I don't understand, though," he said, "is how I fit into this equation you're talking about."

Leon cracked a grin. "You may not have been a part of FMW for very long," he answered, "but it doesn't take long for people to recognize what kind of person you are. We've seen how you operate, how you think, and it's clear to Frost, Celt, and myself that you have what it takes to help us make FMW a better place for everyone on both sides of the crowd barricade."

David leaned back in his seat, pondering what he'd been told. Part of him was loathe to join what would surely become a controversial force in Full Metal Wrestling; he'd always been one to keep himself, and he really had no desire to make headlines because of something other than his wrestling ability. In recent weeks, he'd seen the slowly-forming Sons of Attrition butt heads with the likes of Christian G. Smitten and Jaro, both of whom had it well-within their respective powers to make his life as an FMW employee very, very difficult.

Of course, there were also the possibilities to consider.

Hannibal Frost was the number-one contender to the FMW World Heavyweight Championship.

The Celt would soon be challenging for the Ultraviolent Championship.

And Leon Caprice, the man across from whom he now sat, was on the verge of becoming the Abandoned Champion.

If he did choose to become a Son of Attrition...

Cool name.

...he'd have access to a larger knowledge pool than any other rookie in recent FMW history. As someone who prided himself on knowing his way around the ring and how to deal with the majority of his opponents, the very idea of being able to pick the brains of not one, not two, but three seasoned vets brought David very close to salivating.

And on top of all that, there was the cause itself. What Leon said was true - FMW was all kinds of corrupt and getting worse, almost to the point where the fed's self-destruction was beginning to become a very real possibility. If David could help to eliminate some of that, whether it meant going against Smitten and Jaro or not, then, well...it would be helping out, something he was more than happy to do.

David tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.

Tough decision? Yeah, that was putting it lightly.

"So..."

David blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and returned his eyes to Leon.

"What're you thinking?" the Australian asked.

David sighed, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the tabletop. "I'm thinking..." he trailed off. "I'm thinking that I'm going to have to give this some major thought before making a decision. Understand, I'm not saying no, but I'm not quite ready to say yes just yet, either." He braced himself for a less-than-pleasant reaction, and was mildly surprised when he got none.

"Of course," Leon said, maintaining a smile on his face. "I understand, and I'm sure Frost and the Celt will, as well - take all the time you need to decide."

This time it was David who smiled, and it was a relieved and grateful one. "Thanks," he said, staying seated as Leon finished his coffee and got up from the table. "You heading out?"

"Yeah, I need to go meet with Frost." Leon extended his hand, and David got up to shake it. "It was good talking to you, David," he said. "And good luck against PX this week."

"Same to you," David replied, and he meant it.

He sat back down in his seat as Leon left through the front door and remained there for a long time, thinking and slowly finishing his expresso. Eventually, after nearly half an hour had passed, he got up and went over to the nearby trashcan, where he disposed of his cup. He donned his coat and went out the front door, hunching over as the twilight wind knifed through the garment with ease. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he crossed the street to the idling car that sat there, circled around to the passenger's side door, and got in.

"Cold?" Steven asked from the driver's seat, laughing as his older brother rubbed his upper arms furiously in an attempt to warm up.

"S-s-s-so...f-f-f-fucking...c-c-c-cold..."

"Well, don't get too warm," Steven said, his voice losing some of its lightheartedness. "The Locusts know you're here."

David turned to look at him, his shivering coming to an abrupt halt. "Yeah?"

Steven nodded. "Yeah. While you were in there, I saw the same two guys walk past the front of the place six or seven times."

David leaned forward, purposefully banging his head on the dashboard. Of course. Of course they were on to him. They couldn't have gotten in and out of the City without incident, they couldn't get in and out of anywhere without incident. It always had to turn into some big escape, or rescue, or brawl, or firefight or some shit.

David sighed, and when he spoke, his voice carried an air of resignation with it. "...what do we have to do?"

"Well," Steven said, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb, "here's what I'm thinking..."



The City
Embassy Suites, 8th Floor
9:09:44 PM, January 11th, 2011

"Yeah? Yeah, great, bring 'em right over. No - no, if you lose them, I swear to fucking GOD I will kill you myself. Get it? Got it? Bye."

Mike lowered the phone from his ear.

They got 'em. He couldn't fucking believe it.

It had been almost a year-and-a-half since he'd first run afoul of the treacherous, unpredictable Steven Smith, and coming up on a year since his bastard-brother David had been added to the mix, and now? Now they were caught. Both of them. Together. As Mike got his shoes on and prepared to leave his hotel room, he had to actively work to keep from dancing.

"Ho, I'm gonna kill 'em," he said aloud as he put on his overcoat. "I'm gonna kill 'em both, and I'm gonna take forever doin' it, and it's gonna oh-so sa-WEET."



The City
Undisclosed Location
9:37:16 PM, January 11th, 2011

Aaaaaaaand blindfolded. Great.

David sat in gag-induced silence, still trying to piece together what his brother had been thinking when he suggested that they let themselves get captured by the Locusts.

"It's the perfect plan," Steven had said. "We'll let them get us, walk right into their hands. Then, once they slip up and present us with an opening, we'll hit 'em hard and fast and make our escape. They'll be so disoriented that we'll be able to make it out of the City, no problem."

While he hated to admit it, at the time David had thought it sounded like a good idea.

Of course, now that he was gagged, blindfolded, and tied to a chair in an unknown location, his better judgment was beginning to challenge that notion.

Stupid Steve, with his fuckin'--

"Well, well, well, lookie what we have here!"

David's blood ran cold. It was Mike. Mike hadn't been part of Steven's plan, although it HAD involved one of the higher-ups in the Locust heirarchy. David couldn't exactly recall all of what his brother told him, but it involved robbing the higher-up of some sort of - what had Steven called it? - proof of status. David hadn't the slightest idea what he'd meant, but he'd gone along with it anyway.

Mike being the guy they had to rob threw a wrench into the whole machine. He hated them - him and Steven both - almost to the point of insanity. After stealing money from him or something (David couldn't recall what it was, specifically), Steven had managed to elude the man on multiple occasions. David himself getting involved had only enraged the Big Locust further, as it was he who had held a gun to Mike's head while his younger brother interrogated the man...in his own office, no less.

In other words, the guy didn't like 'em, and having been outsmarted by them more than once, would be extra-hard to pull one over on.

"Get those damn blindfolds off of 'em," Mike said. His voice came from somewhere at David's back. He didn't like not being able to see Mike. That particular fear was soon assauged, however, when the blindfold was ripped away from his eyes just as the Big Locust circled around and knelt down in front of Steven, who was similarly-bound in a chair next to David.

"Why, hello, Steven," he said lightheartedly, smiling a rather typical cat-caught-mouse smile. When the younger Smith didn't answer, Mike turned to the older.

"Heya, Dave," he said, smirking venemously. "How's it hangin'?"

David ignored him for the moment, instead taking the opportunity to find out where the two schmucks who'd 'caught' them had taken them. They were in some kind of warehouse; big, spacious, and empty were the first words that came to David's mind. There were large roll-up doors at either end of the massive building, along with a few smaller, man-sized entrances along the side walls. These smaller doors were heavy metal in nature, with unreinforced glass windows. David made note of these windows.

"Cold shoulder, eh?" Mike said, standing back up. "Well, that's fine - after I'm through with you, you'll both be cold all over."

David sniffed loudly.

Lame-ass threat.

"What were you two dumbfucks thinking, anyway?" Mike asked, beginning to pace back and forth in front of them. "I mean, from what my boys tell me, it was almost like you LET yourselves get caught! I mean, I suppose I can understand, what with us just having set up shop in this town a few months ago and all, but COME ON!" He knelt down again, this time in Steven's face, and laughed loudly. "You're David and Steven Smith! You've caused the Locusts more trouble than any other two guys EVER!"

"We're aware," Steven said calmly. "But just for kicks, Mike, what would you say if we told you we DID let ourselves get caught?"

A shadow of doubt passed over the Big Bug's face, but it was gone in an instant. "Heheh...yeah, right," he chuckled, standing up and taking a step back from the younger Smith. "And why in the hell would you two be stupid enough to do that?"

"Oh, I dunno," Steven said, rolling his eyes slowly. "Maybe for that red Locust Patch on your shoulder?"

Mike's eyes widened, and David noticed what Steven was referring to for the first time: the patch on the shoulder, the one that all Locusts wore. Mike's was red, as opposed to the usual green.

Then it all clicked together in his head.

Proof of Status. It was genius.

"You don't..." Mike stuttered, taking another step back. "You can't be serious. You don't really think that'll work, that THIS," he slapped a hand to the red patch, "will be enough to get you to the Nebraska Boss, do you?!"

Now it was Steven's turn to smile. "Bingo. That patch is coming with us."

"You...you........wait a sec, this patch isn't going anywhere, and neither are you!" Mike exclaimed, regaining some of his former boastfulness. "You're tied to those chairs with no way of getting out! My men searched you before they...before...they..." Mike's eyes widened when he saw the twin smirks that had grown on the faces of the Smith Brothers. "You searched them," he said frantically, looking at someone who was standing behind the chairs. "Please, for the love of GOD, TELL ME YOU SEARCHED--"

The switchblades they'd concealed inside their sleeves popped out, cutting their bonds with ease, and they were both up out of their chairs before Mike could even finish his sentence. Both brothers descended on Mike; Steven deftly cut the patch out of his coat shoulder, and David circled around behind the Big Bug and wrapped one muscular arm around his throat. His arm flew to the back of the waistband of his jeans, trading in the now-closed switchblade for the Glock that rested there, and he immediately opened fire on the seven Locust grunts who were advancing on them from the far end of the warehouse.

KLAM

KLAM

KLAM-KLAM-KLAM

KLAM

"We gotta get out of here!" David shouted to Steve, struggling to make himself heard over what had become a full-fledged shootout. Steve nodded his consent, and David let Mike go only to boot him hard in the back, sending him sprawling into one of the chairs. They then sprinted for the far end of the warehouse, ducking and weaving and firing over their shoulders as bullets wizzed by them and punched holes in the far wall.

They arrived at the roll-up door, and David stood back as Steven emptied his mag into the locking mechanism. The door swung up with a loud clatter, and the brothers darted out into the driving night wind. Pulling the door down again and glancing around frenziedly, David noticed in passing the jagged flap of fabric that his brother clutched tightly in his left hand.

"A car!" he shouted over the wind. "Find a car!"

They ran to the nearest corner of the building, peered around, and the car that they'd been stuffed into when they let themselves get captured. Running to it, Steven smashed in the driver's side window and opened the door, diving into the seat as David smashed out the other window.

"Can you hotwire it?" David asked.

Steven snorted as he popped off the ignition casing. "Hotwire it? What the hell do you think I'm trying to--ACK!!!"

It was Mike.

He'd beaten them out through one of the warehouse's side doors that David had noticed earlier. A jagged hole in his jacket, a bloody nose from being kicked into the chair, and eyes filled with greater rage than any man has ever before known signified his desperation as he clamped both hands down on Steven's throat. The younger Smith's hands clawed for purchase and beat at his attacker, but Mike refused to let go and continued to strangle.

"You die here," he snarled, his voice so low growling that it almost sounded demonic. "You son of a bitch, I'll be damned if I let you two get away again after what you've done to me. I'm gonna kill you both, and then your brother's wife, and then YOUR girlfriend, Steve-O, and then her little brat-son..."


Mike's head snapped back. His eyes glazed over as new blood began to trickle from the hole in the middle of his forehead, and he sagged limply against Steven, who threw him off into the snow with the disgusted kind of cry only uttered by those who have touched the dead.

He fell facedown, and the snow beneath his face began to darken, to turn red.

Steven turned to see David leaning in through the passenger's side window, the Glock still held in his hands. The two brothers stared at one another, neither speaking as the wind raged out outside the car, eerily silent in spite of its power.

Voices. There were voices in the distance.

David and Steven turned to see a few of the Locust grunts coming around the corner that they themselves, hollering and yelling. David dove in to the passenger's seat as Steven finished hotwiring the car, and the headlights of the BMW flared as the younger Smith revved the engine. The car blasted towards the goons, who shot first and then dove out of the way when they realized the futility of their actions. Steven swerved out into the empty parking lot in front of the warehouse, sped across it and into the City street on the other side.

Then they were gone.



Do we deserve second chances?

I suppose that depends on whether or not we're able to take advantage of them. After all, just because we RECEIVE a second chance doesn't mean we'll be able to right our wrongs, or take back what we lost, or exact vengeance upon our enemies, does it?

PX, listen to me.

At Ammunition 12.3, you get a chance at redemption, a chance to reclaim what you no doubt believe to be YOUR Television Championship. Do you deserve it? Have you earned another crack at me? Personally, I don't think so, but it's not up to me to decide. Whether or not you deserve this second chance will become apparent after you and I meet in the ring and a victor - along with a Television Champion - has been decided.

Will you prove yourself worthy of a second chance and defeat me, PX?

-Ammunition 12.3-
LIVE from Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus vs. Storm

Contract on the Line **
Jeff Watson vs. J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
PX vs. David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Tiberius Jefferson (with Romeo) vs. Alex O’Rion vs. Abel Steele vs. Drew Michaels

-Ammunition 12.3-
LIVE from Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
Contract on the Line Tag Team Match*
Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus

Contract on the Line **
J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Drew Michaels

Nate Stone & Liam McNalley vs. KC Hitmen (Blackjack & Jack Spade)

Leviticus

Contract on the Line **
J.L. Anwyl

Television Championship Match
David GS (c)

MAIN EVENT Race For the Torch Mount Vesuvius Preview Match***
Drew Michaels

We are locked and loaded. Thanks to all who showed up to compete. We'll have results out ASAP.