Ammunition 13.2 VOTING and PROMO THREAD

OJA is seen entering the arena and staring down at the ring from the walkway...

Soon.. Soon this arena will be packed full of fans..fans who want to see the best that the Ammunition roster can offer, matches that will go down in the history books as legendary and names that will be made memorable as these fans scream their name over and over again. My third show and I am already set to face a champion. A champion who like others holds his title dear and will do everything in his power to defend it. Finally I am faced with my first real challenge since I showed up at the door steps of FMW.

OJA begins walking towards the ring..

I will walk down this entrance way prepared for battle, prepared to sacrifice my body and my soul for this victory. Like everyone else, David GS is assuming that I will lose quickly. That I will make multiple rookie mistakes and that he will kick my ass up and down and throughout this arena until my body is broken and laying in the middle of the ring. What they...and David GS do not know is the faith and power that I have to over come this ultimate opportunity that has presented itself. Like him I am ready to give my all to be able to hold that television title above my head, strap it around my waist and walk to the locker room with another victory for my streak.

OJA enters the ring, runs the ropes and stops staring back at the Ammunition banner above the walkway..

My time has come to show the FMW audience and bookers that John Andrews is ready to hold a title and is capable of accomplishing the goals that I have set out for myself. Some will say John it isn't a Pay Per View.. why put so much into it? Why put so much risk into trying to win? My answer to them is simple. If you can't treat every show like a Pay Per View and ya treat it just as a run of the mill house show then you don't have the heart and passion for this business and most importantly if you can't lace up your boots, walk down to the ring and give the fans what they want and not aim to win you should just call it quits and hang up your spurs because you aint man enough to be in this sport. David GS your time as champion has finally reached a crossroads.. the question is will you be able to choose the right path and still walk away with your precious title or will you just walk away empty handed. Ya see my time in the shadow of the crossroads is over. My path has been chosen. That title will be mine!
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Camera pans to OJA whom is awaiting his spot on a local North Carolina talk show...

Jim "Show Host": Good morning folks and welcome to the broadcast, today we have a treat for all of you wrestling fans. As most of you know Full Metal Wrestling will be performing a show at the Greensboro Coliseum, with us will be one of their newer wrestlers "Outlaw" John Andrews. Right now we're going to take a quick break and we will be back shortly.

Camera shows OJA preparing to make his entrance while his entrance song "Take Back The Fear" by Hail The Villain begins to play as the screen cuts to commercial..

Jim: And we're back folks. Without further delay lets get him out here. I have been waiting to conduct this interview for several days now... Ladies and gentlemen... Here he is. The Ragin Texan..Outlaw John Andrews!

OJA walks out and begins firing up the crowd amidst applause from the audience and shakes Jim's hand before sitting down..

Jim:Welcome John or do you prefer Outlaw? or Mr. Andrews?

OJA:Thank you. Let's just keep it simple Jim. You can call me Johnny.

Jim: Alrighty Johnny it is... Now just so you know you are the first wrestler we've had on the Fiasco so bare with us. Our producer Dave is a huge wrestling fan and has been following you ever since your debut at Mt. V. If you don't mind I would like to ask you a couple of questions about the business and well of course your upcoming match for the Television title.

OJA: Sounds good. Sounds good. Feel free to ask anything you want Jim I am an open book.

Jim: Ok Johnny, what exactly made you want to become a professional wrestler. I mean with the dangers you guys face every night you must be a little crazy to be doing this in the first place.

OJA: *OJA chuckles* I would say Jim, that I was drawn to this business after watching a show in my home town. I was about eight or nine years old and decided that "Hey I am going to become a legend at this..it looks awesome". I began training at the age of sixteen and actually started out as a manager for a friend of mine whom was doing a clown gimmick at the time.

Jim: Wait wait wait.. Did you say clown gimmick? Like a wrestling Bozo The Clown?

Audience Laughs

OJA: Yes exactly.. Minus the hair. He actually called himself the Hairless Bozo.

Jim: So a hairless Bozo The Clown?

OJA: Pretty much. Anyway I managed "The Hairless Bozo" as the "Ring Leader" until I was eighteen after which I signed on with a company in Florida known as Mid Florida Wrestling. I started there as a face...

Jim: Hang on Johnny I don't mean to interrupt but can you explain to us what exactly a Face is?

OJA: Certainly. You see for the most part there are two types of choices a wrestler can use for his gimmick and that is a Face and a Heel. If you're a face your typically a good guy, although there are some guys out there that like to push it border line. On the other hand you have the bad guys.. The heels as they're called.

Jim: That makes sense. Just like the comic books eh, good versus evil. And you started out as a good guy so I take it you went to the dark side huh.

OJA: Yeah mid way through my second year with MFW I had a tag partner with a guy named Flagerent Freddy. Long story short we had a shot at the MFW Tag Titles and he decided to not be dedicated enough to the match so I had to take care of it myself. I ended up giving my finisher to my own tag partner and still managed to get the victory over the other team. It was a short title reign as tag champions though due to our failure to see eye to eye. After that night I began my tenure as a heel.

Jim: So you took out your own partner, someone who was supposed to be on your side with your own finisher just to win the match. I guess you are ruthless when the opportunity calls for it. When we come back from commercial folks we will have more with FMW's "Outlaw".

Camera fades out and cuts to an FMW Ammunition 13.2 Promo..

Jim: Welcome back. For those of you that just joined us I have sitting beside me "Outlaw" John Andrews, a professional wrestler from Full Metal Wrestling's Ammunition roster. He is set to take on David GS for the Television Title at their next show. Speaking of which Johnny.. David GS what do you think of him as a champion?

OJA: Honestly Jim I think he is like any other ignorant egoistic champion whom thinks they can defeat anyone without actually having to wrestle them. He thinks he has me sized up as a Rook that he will have no problem in putting away. Mr. GS has several surprises waiting for him.

Jim: Surprises eh. Can you fill us in on what they may be?

OJA: I can tell you one Jim but for the other two you will have to watch the show. You see like everyone else, he thinks I am a push over. However I think my record speaks for itself. I am two and oh so far and already have a shot at a champion, something most rookies cannot accomplish. And that is exactly what everyone thinks Jim, that I am the normal average rookie when i'm not and I intend to prove that. You can climb a ladder two ways or you can fall off. I only intend on going up.

Jim: Very well said Johnny. You're definitely a man of passion.

OJA: Hey you have to have passion and heart for this business, you can't be completely crazy ya know.

Jim: I believe that is like anything you do in life John but even more so for you boys that put their bodies on the line each night to give the audience their moneys worth. So Johnny in closing, how do you plan to put Mr. GS away? I know you have several signature moves but I am just curious as to what we will see that will get you the pin fall.

OJA: I think everyone's going to see a Ghost Rider in the Sky Jim.. I've been wanting to seal a victory with it. It provides a great photo op for the fans.

Jim: A Ghost Rider in the Sky eh. Well I wish you the best of luck Johnny and I expect to have you back on here soon.

OJA: Thanks for having me Jim. It's been fun.

OJA shakes hands with Jim and stands up to walk to the back amidst applause from the audience as the camera fades out
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"You like to think the worst is over now, but you cant breathe at all. You like to think you’re owed a favor now, man you’ve seen it all..."

The words speak for themselves David... However the worst hasn't even begun. Tonight will be the battle of your career this I promise. I will surpass the standards you have set for me. Failure is not an option. It is time to go big or go home and I am not ready to pack my suitcase and head back to the farm. These fans will see what true professional wrestling is, they will witness a rebirth of what professional wrestling used to be they will watch a champion fall and a challenger rise. You see David you can talk all you want and tell your fans and inner circle false statements of how I am going to lose and I won't be able to last five minutes in the ring with you. Be ready to eat them words junior cause I am not worried about how long I will last, in fact you are the one that should be more worried...I after all have nothing to lose, only to gain.
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"I am the shadow, and the smoke in your eyes, I am the ghost, that hides in the night.."

It must be nice just running off with your mouth saying "Oh I am the Champion I will win..I am the Champion I can defeat anyone that stands before me, especially some rook looking to make a name for himself" but yet again it's just another pompous ass trying to toot his own horn and make himself seem worthy to be in MY ring. Ya'll city slickers are only hearing Mr. GS run off with his mouth and make promises he won't be able to keep.

There is one thing more then a shot at a championship and that is a challenge. Tonight I am surely in for one hell of a battle but I will give my all for my fans whether it means working the ropes or adding in more technical style moves to my arsenal of tactics. David, you will be overwhelmed and will not be able to survive what I have in store for you. I have studied your tactics, your move sets. I have studied your wins and your loses. I know your strengths and your weaknesses I know you like the back of my hand. The mind games have begun Mr. GS. You've already lost. Check mate, the game is over!

Fuck mornings...

You know, I really need to go to bed earlier. It's about six a.m. and I click on the TV to watch some Sportscenter, well TSN or whatever it's called in Canada.

When the hell can I see a damned Joe Pavelski highlight, hmm? I know my San Jose Sharks are doing great but damn, no highlights to show for it? Speak of the devil, in comes Alex O'Rion all bushy-eyed while Jessica follows behind. They’re ready to be productive and I’m actually taking the day off.

I don't like his ‘new leaf’. It makes me feel weird.

“Morning, bye," he says in his trademark way. You can figure out what that is. I grunt at him, clearly not in the mood. "I take it the Pens won again? They got a shot to win it all," Jessica says, appealing to the Penguins fan in Alex O. Yeah, a Canadian doesn’t even cheer for a native team in his national sport. Well, he likes Ottawa but they barely count.

At least he’s not a Blackhawks fan, even if the bastard rooted for them last year. Jessica continues, “All the same, Sedin from the Canucks is going to run away with the Hart Trophy.” So not only is she a teacher, she's a closet nympho and she has working knowledge of sports.

Why the fuck didn't I see her first?

"She's awesome isn't she," Alex says. "I bet you wish you saw her first." This mother fucker is in my head. I miss the slacker Alex O right about now. "Aw, you know I like the rough and tumble guys, babe," Jessica says playfully. "He's from California, probably not rugged enough."

Well if it isn't just shit on Chris Austin day.

I guess she forgot about me saving her ass the way I did the other night. Furthermore, I’m a damn Army veteran for your information, Jessica. Things like this make you wonder why I even want to team with Alex, eh? Well, you know, I can’t really answer that. “Fuck Philly,” Alex grunts with a smirk.

Before I was so rudely interrupted by Alex's irrational hate of a team that he has no ties to, Karma shuffles in and offers a hug to the Canuck, everyone always hugs him for some reason. She greets Jessica, they seem chummy. Karma looks my way, grins and then offers me a instigating "Hey Chris, how's the kegel exercises I suggested going for you?”

You know, I'd rather be watching season one of Gossip Girl than dealing with this.

…Shut up.

I’m gonna watch TV and think about what I want for breakfast. I walk away to what sounds like an agonizingly annoying cackle from three witches that seem to be watching me, waiting for me to slip up or something. I catch a glimpse of Karma, what the…

“Where did you get those,” I ask. Karma boldly lies to me, “What do you mean?”

“Why are you wearing my boardshorts?”

“They’re comfortable and since you left them in the den, I figured they’re fair game,” she retorts. I grunt and leave, noting that I won my first Hayabusa Cup in those boardshorts and now they’re pretty much her house shorts.

They look much better on her, actually.

She's a girl, Chris, remember that. Alright look, ever since she moved in, we've had disagreements, we've had our rifts. We even had our laughs. OK look, it's no secret I'm a deviant. But Karma’s a 5'10, attractive, Amazon with some of the most inviting legs and glutes I've ever seen and…

She’s Alex’s niece.

Does the fact I look at her like that make me a bad person? Yep.

But this is for the team so I can’t go that far. Not an adult, or a child. She’s Alex’s niece. Remember that, Chris. She's Alex’s niece.

I curse to myself as I grab my Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the top of the fridge and start munching on them right out of the box, thinking about how she really needs to stop wearing my clothes.

Fuck mornings.


“I don’t know your name, you don’t know mine, but for the next eight minutes it’s me and you in this bathroom stall.”

That’s all I remember her saying to me.

I sit up in a bed that’s not mine, beside a broad that I don’t know. Alex would be so proud. I don’t think she was all there mentally though.

Judging by the wrappers on the floor, I used at least two condoms. I still feel dirty.

“Get out while you still can,” I say to myself. With the quickness of a cottonmouth, I put my clothes and gather my shit before bolting out the door, taking the power-walk of shame to my ’67 Impala and jumping in. I’m going to have to get tested, most likely; won’t be the first time. She barely gets a C-minus, if only because of her oral presentation.

Not like that was anything to write home about.

The aggressive roar of American Muscle comforts me a little bit, sounds like freedom. I pull out of the driveway to her apartment as the ping-pang of gravel bounces off of various surroundings; the tires scream, leaving their mark on the asphalt as I can’t get home fast enough.

The lesson here is that pussy, no matter what, is only for being fucked.

Then again she was picked up from some seedy bar and with her having an Aussie accent I didn’t have the highest of expectations. My head is killing me and wrestling is nowhere on my mind. Damn this hangover and damn the things you do to end dry spells. I’m probably not going out alone for a while.

Still, she’s probably not going to walk for days.

Fuck mornings.


“So you like beating up Canadians, hm?”

This is the first thing I say to Jessica when I get her alone. Ever since Alex told me what happened to him, well let’s just say I’m not happy. Honestly, I think Alex is lying but you can’t be too sure; then again nothing’s too far-fetched when it comes to mishaps and Alex O’Rion. Besides, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t take him seriously.

“What do you mean,” she says. Obviously she’s confused.

“Alex says you’re why he looks like shit.”

“I have no idea what he’s talking about, honestly,” Jessica chuckles out. “I think you do,” I coldly state.

“Do you really think that I could do that to him? He’s been working with me so I can defend myself, but no I’m not capable of doing that kind of number.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Start talking.”

“Dammit bye must you be such a wound-up asshat?”

Alex O’Rion eavesdrops his way into this formerly A-B conversation. He has that devilish smirk on his face, like he does when he’s being mischievous. He places his arm around Jessica and pecks her on the cheek before frowning up when he realizes I’m serious. He knows I don’t like to play games often so when he pulls this kind of shit, I get the urge to kick him in the face. Nevertheless, Alex sighs and continues, “OK, I knew you were a little off-kilter, but really bye? You actually bought it?”

“This had something to do with the other night, didn’t it?” Alex’s eyebrows rise in curiosity as he asks, “What are you on about?”

“I know Jessica told you what happened, don’t bullshit me. Did you get beat down by the rest of those bitches that tried to hassle Jessica?”

“First of all, hassle wasn’t the word for it and I’m sure they won’t be bothering her anymore, Chris.”

“Where’s headquarters for them?”

“What happens if I tell you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll tell you,” Jessica says. Alex and I look towards her surprised. She harbors some ill-will towards them, for sure. I don’t know the true extent of her past but to my knowledge whatever relationship they had was forced, unwanted, and it involved her turning tricks.

“No baby, I’ll tell him,” Alex says regretfully. He shouldn’t have regrets, but those Mambas are a different story. Yeah, I already knew, but I figured I’d give him a chance to be straight up with me. He was, by the way.

I’ll save you the trouble and sum up what happened next. I tracked him down and of course he’s in a secret area of what’s left of his hangout, nurses on call and all of that. I asked why he was bothering Alex O. He said something along the lines of “Jessica needs to come back where she belongs.”

So I told him, “Nothing’s left of his shit hole.”

His eyes grew wide and he tried to jump out of the bed at me, but he forgot that Alex busted his kneecaps. He grimaced as I leaned in close, and told him that the last person he saw and the only one that gets to make Alex O’s life a living hell was one in the same.

He tried to call for assistance but I covered his mouth with my gloved hand. I grabbed the back of his head as his eyes widened even more and seemingly tried to call for help. No one heard him. I slowly turned his jaw to the right and then yanked back to the left as my other hand went right.

That’s the second time I’ve done that and each time I felt no remorse. His chest ceased rising as blood began to seep from his neck, where the vertebrae punctured the skin.

And then I took his muffin that some uggo maid brought him and left to go on my morning jog.

Fuck mornings.


The sun is an inconsiderate, crafty bastard. It peeks right between that little opening in the curtains and blasts me in the face, waking me up. I look around and feel something on my chest… Karma…

"Karma, wake up. We need to talk," I stammer out. Look I like the girl, I care about her well-being but Alex O... I don’t even know who she even ended up in my bed to start with. Nightmare maybe?

"Fuck me," I mutter to myself. Apparently Karma overheard. "Wha?" she says in a half-sleep voice. "Nothing," I say.

Then the door opens and shit on Chris Austin week keeps getting worse. "What the fuck is this shyte," Alex venomously utters. "It's not what it looks like," I say. I silently hope that she doesn't take the covers. I know you’re embarrassed Karma, I know it’s in front of your ‘uncle’, but…

Oh, OK she’s still clothed.

And so this ends with me, in pajama pants in front of my increasingly murder-eyed tag team partner, de facto best friend and ‘brother’ after he believes I took the ‘virginity’ of his 'niece', who is clearly embarrassed among other things.

Judging by Karma wearing a ‘feminized’ RCA T-shirt and her own pajama pants, Alex’s fears aren’t confirmed. Still, we’re very much in trouble.

Feels good to be King.

If you didn't catch the sarcasm there, kill yourself.

Fuck mornings…





I’m done. I’m done trying to carry Alex O’Rion, I’m done with all of this extra-curricular bullshit.

I found out at Mount V that I have a tag team partner that can’t even be bothered to try and win about 75 percent of his matches, including the match for the ‘one title he always wanted’. Let’s face it, I’m good, damn good. But really Alex?

Not to mention, I lost to SPARTA. FUCKING SPARTA.

Mount Vesuvius is a bad day. It’s a Moment of Clarity honestly.

Fuck Alex O’Rion. Fuck him for not showing up at Mount V. Fuck him for being an inconsistent tag partner, fuck him for being an inconsistent friend. Fuck Alexander Keith O’Rion.

Fuck Mornings.


“So what have we got, Nicole?”

“Well so far, the murder weapon in question is not a baton. Cause of death is a broken neck. Judging by bone damage, someone did with by their bare hands.”

Well, when one door closes, another opens. After canvassing the crime scene in question here, I have to say…whoever pulled this off has to be trained in some sort of martial arts. The perp or more likely perps absolutely wrecked these guys.

One had his neck almost ripped off his shoulders. Another guy had his head completely cratered. How the other guy only made it out with a shattered ankle and a couple of facial lacerations surprises me.

The problem is that the way things are looking…it seems like one guy was responsible for much of the damage. Nothing’s too out of place, not much signs of gang war. Scene looks as precise as a melee that leaves three thugs wasted could ever look. Wait a second…

“John, get over here!”

He comes running as something spots my eye. I reach down with tweezers and pick up a long strand of blond hair. We’ve got something here…

“Make sure this gets to the lab, quick,” I say before putting it in an evidence bag.

“Got it.”

Some days, the gods smile on the Halifax Police Department. Now we still have to pay a visit to the this Jessica woman. But first I need to get a statement from the lone survivor willing to talk and the head honcho. He’s probably gonna try to cut a deal, we’ve got a load of charges against him.

Hope he has a leg to stand on in this incident…

Eh, it’s a bad joke but it gets me through the day. My phone rings, I answer it…

“Hunter.”

“Detective, we’ve got a situation.”

“What happened?”

“The leader of the Black Mambas... he’s dead, neck nearly snapped off.”

You have got to be shitting me, and seemingly the exact same way as one of the other bodies, might have a M.O. now. “I’m on the way.” I hang up.

“John, we’ve got to go to the hospital. Things just took a turn.”

Fuck mornings.


“Karma, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.”

Alex, I’ve had it with your shit. I have had it with busting my ass for nothing. I have had it with this self-deprivation crap. It’s time I tell Karma what’s what.

And by what’s what, you know what I mean.

Karma sits down on my bed, looking towards me as I pace to compose my thoughts. Well in all honesty I don’t want her to see this devious look on my face. “What’s up,” she asks . She is Dante’s kid after all, even though he has lost a lot of my respect. Eh, let’s just get it over with.

“Karma, we’re friends right?”

“Uh…yeah?”

“OK, so we’ve known each other for a few months right and we talk and stuff like that. Well, I want to tell you something that I haven’t been able to open up about for a long time now, and I figure you’re the best person to hear it.”

“Even ahead of Uncle Alex?”

“Especially before him. We don’t see eye to eye right now and I don’t think this’ll help matters.”

I can see the gears turning in her mind. She knows what I am going to say before I even say it. Her face, which was all warm and friendly, morphs into a ‘Please don’t say this, Chris.’

“Dude, you can’t be serious. Don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

Fuck it, here goes.

“I want to pursue a relationship with you, I think we have a lot in common and I want to see where it goes.”

Karma massages her forehead as I rest on the dresser. That’s not a good sign for her to be honest. She sighs and mutters, “Not only would it be a bad idea, it’s completely tasteless given the situation and my past. This is something I’d never expect from you. I thought we were friends and to be frank, I’m perfectly fine with it staying that way. Well I was until you pulled this crap,” She snaps. I’m speechless until she angrily asks:

“What the hell is wrong with you, Chris?”

You know, I expected something a bit more positive. Instead, I get shot down by someone who I see from time to time as a little sister… How did that not gross me out?

I’m fucking sick. This proves it, I’m fucking sick. I need some help or something.

But furthermore I’m pissed the hell off. I’m fucking angry, feel like a switch flipped off on me. I feel like I once again lost out on the one thing I wanted. This is like Jamie, Kylie…James.

My son becoming my brother that I never get to see or hold, never get to spend time with… all over again.

She can’t do this to me. All of this shit I put up with from Alex O. All of the various sarcastic arguments, all of the times she bothered my shit, all the time I spent respecting her, trying not to give in and this is what happens?

If there was a rational side of me it would completely understand, but I am not rational. I want to win.

I want to win.

So, my head rises up as she glares at me. She sees my jaw clench as my hair shrouds my vision like I’m a troubled loner prone to violent outbursts. My fists follow suit with my jaw. The temperature in the room rises. Her hands curl into fists, she’s preparing to defend herself.

I tackle her to the bed. I am frantically beaten about the back and head as Karma desperately tries to defend herself. I think to myself that Dante taught her well.

I try to hold her down but even with me toying with her, she’s surprisingly strong, particularly in the lower body. I block a guillotine choke attempt by lifting her and ramming her against the wall. I fall back on the bed on top of her and then I see her kick me away as I am stunned by the impact of my back to my dresser. She jumps to her feet and goes for the door as I compose myself.

So I cross that line and strike her with just enough force to let her know that this isn’t a game. She refuses to be deterred, striking me across the face with a few jabs. They have little effect, I’m gone to another place.

Therefore, I hit her again, this time an uppercut to the gut and an haymaker to the face. It drops her to a seated position near my bed. I grab her by the head, snatch her up to her feet and forcefully bash her into my headboard repeatedly. She goes weak. I snatch her from where she is and rag-doll her onto her stomach. I lean in close and utter the following:

“I’m tired of being told no, Karma; by you, FMW…everyone.”

I’m not going to get into what happened next, but Karma is now beyond scarred for life and honestly, I felt terrible remorse about it.

Thankfully I come back to reality and find that I am standing right where I left off. I still have the look on my face and she’s still expecting a confrontation. I exhale deeply, doing all I can to calm down. I don’t want to lose her as a friend. I don’t want to lose Alex O as a friend or a tag…well he seems like he’ll never be of optimal use to me anyway.

“Can we at least still be friends?”

“That’s not a good idea,” she says before rolling her eyes and taking her leave.

FUCK. MY. LIFE.

I’m fucking tired of being told no when I want things that matter most. I’m not going to ask anymore, but rather take them.

Fuck mornings.

It’s sunny today. I can tell from the light streaming in through the sides of my curtains.

I’m lying in bed with some blonde chick I must have picked up last night. She’s lying with her back to me so I have no idea what she looks like. This is worrying; I’m even taking long deep breaths in and out to try and sooth myself. I remember drinking multiple glasses of VRB (Vodka Red Bull) last night but little else. That would explain the pounding headache. I desperately rack my brain for some idea of the appearence of this woman, some recollection of the previous evening’s activities but there’s nothing but a void of emptiness in my memory.

With a glance to the alarm clock on my right, I see the time – 9:20 – and realise I have somewhere to be at 11. The appointment is an important one, my future is at stake here. With this in mind, I make my way to the bathroom, shower, shave and then return to check on the woman in my bed – still softly sleeping.

While chuckling to myself, I turn my stereo up to maximum volume – Faith No More – and stroll away to make some breakfast. With the agony of a headache, the blaring music only intensifies the pain but it’s worth it when I hear her cries of protest. Within fifteen seconds or so, the music’s off and she’s shouting something that I choose to ignore.

Unfortunately I can’t do this for much longer as she storms into the kitchen, my bathrobe draped over her toned tanned physique. Her face is only flawed though - cheeks too chubby, teeth not white enough and a nose slightly bigger than average - and as I glance across the room at this slut, I feel a pang of disappointment in myself.

“What the fuck did you do that for?!” she squawks to my back as I continue to butter toast. “Hello?!” she screeches, even louder now. Her voice alone makes me want to fucking strangle this whore. I sigh heavily and turn to face her, smirking slightly.

“I like some morning music. Don’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, “not that loud and this early, god.”

With a knife tightly in my hand, I briefly imagine plunging it into her supple neck, gouging roughly, moving jaggedly along her throat. Although my little daydream is sadly unrealistic – this knife is far too blunt for the damage on my mind.

“Anyway, you should leave,” I say calmly, returning to my toast.

“Huh?”

“I said you should leave,” I pause, sighing a little with increasing irritation, “right now.”

“What the fuck, James? I thought-” she starts before I turn to face her, moving forward into her personal space with the sole purpose of intimidation. She looks up at my snarling face with a furrowed brow.

“James? Come on, that doesn’t even start with the same letter, you stupid bitch,” I snap.

“Wow, someone got up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

“Get out,” I urge her again, motioning towards the main door to my apartment. She opens her mouth to speak but I put one finger to her lips and lean in, whispering quietly, “If you don’t leave now, I will gut you like a fucking fish and play around with your blood.” Her eyes widen and she stumbles backward, looking at me for a sign this is all some kind of joke.

But it’s not, my leering expression confirms this well enough. Thankfully for her spleen, she’s gone shortly after and I enjoy breakfast in peace.

________________________

“So, Matthew-”

“Just call me Matt,” I say casually with a smile.

Sat in front of me is a blonde hardbody who can’t be any older than thirty and some old bastard in a cheap suit. The former introduced herself as part of Full Metal Wrestling’s legal team but I was too distracted by her tits to catch her name. As for the old bastard, well he’s a psychologist and as he sits there, watching me with squinting eyes, I feel a sense of uneasiness wash over me.

“Basically, we’re here to assess your mental condition and determine whether you fill the necessary requirements to join the FMW roster,” she says matter-of-factly. I chuckle to myself a little so she attempts to reassure me, adding “its standard procedure.”

“Is that so?” I reply in a mocking tone, thinking of all the psychopathic FMW alumni.

As if she can read my mind; “It’s a recently introduced program. FMW has been through a lot of... controversy lately and so we now check all new recruits to ensure they won’t later be a liability. Okay?” I sense irritation in her voice, like she’s faced scrutiny from other tested rookies.

She takes a few seconds to look down at her paperwork while my eyes flicker round the room. The walls are lifeless white but it’s the lighting that annoys me; harsh and blaring. My gaze returns to the old bastard, still studying me closely. My eyes narrow in response before the hardbody clears her throat.

“Okay so you have a criminal record,” she says firmly.

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell us about that?”

“Sure,” I reply cheerily. “The offence was minor drug possession. I was just experimenting with marijuana – like a lot of kids do.” I laugh but both their faces remain emotionless. “As for the assault charge, I just roughed this guy up really-”

“You broke his left orbital bone,” she interrupts tonelessly.

“Hey, he was beating his wife,” I lie convincingly, with a sigh of frustration. Too hammy?

“There’s no mention of that here.”

“His wife was too scared to give testimony. I was an old friend of hers – from school.”

“I see,” she says with definite scepticism. Fuck. “Speaking of school, why don’t you talk about your experience there? It seems there were some... difficulties for you with staff, pupils...” she trails off.

I swallow a little, stalling to compose my thoughts. The hardbody looks at me blankly and then wets her lips, distracting my focus from the topic at hand. She says something else, probably a repeat of her previous sentences but I just hear unintelligible noise, my mind filled with explicit scenes like something out of a hardcore porno flick.

Suddenly I snap out of it, turning to the old bastard at her side. “How come he never speaks? Isn’t he the psychologist?”

“Psychiatrist,” she corrects me. I feel my fists clench tightly.

“Right,” I choke as the old bastard re-adjusts his seating position, his eyes never leaving me.

“I’m sure Bill will have some questions to ask you shortly,” she states as she glances at Bill, who nods once in response. I find myself staring at his tie in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. Over a hideous shade of red, some kind of fucking Disney cartoon character is grinning like a simpleton.

“So... school,” she reminds me.

“Ah. Yes.” I try to formulate something worthwhile to say about those tedious wasted years but all I can think about is how much I loathe that tie and the faggot wearing it. “School was a difficult time for me... I suppose I was a little rebellious, but that immaturity was just a phase,” I say with another warm smile, “I’m all grown up now”.

“Right,” she says dubiously.

I assume she wants more so I clear my throat and continue calmly, “Academically, school was never really much of a challenge for me and I suppose this caused me to...” I stop, vision honing on Bill’s tie with such obvious contempt in my expression that it causes them both to stare back quizzically.

“Is there something wrong?” the bitch asks.

“No, I...” struggling for words, nothing else matters but “wh-where did you get that tie?”

Bill glances down and mutters “I can’t remember” without any thought whatsoever.

“Are you sure about that?” I ask patronizingly.

He pauses and runs a finger down the fabric of the tie, still staring at me. “I think my daughter got it for me,” he says with a shrug. I nod a little, acting like I don’t really care.

“Are you ready to continue now?” she says oh so condescending.

“Yep.”

“One of your old teachers, Miss...” she stops to check her paperwork, “Wilson.”

Miss Wilson, she taught me around age fourteen and I loathed that dumb bitch. The mere thought of her makes me feel a little queasy. Her porcine face, blotchy skin, yellow stained teeth, bloated stomach – ugh.

“She says in this school report that you are-”

“Were,” I interrupt with a smile, “I’ve matured so much since then.”

“Yes, well, she says you were a cynical malicious teenager with seemingly zero empathy and a concerning superiority complex,” she says curtly. I cock an eyebrow in response, laughing off this harsh but probably accurate description.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say Miss Wilson had some issues of her own.”

“Oh?”

Without knowing what I’m about to say is actually true or not, I reply solemnly “Yes, she had quite serious depression. I remember her taking a lot of time off to deal with it all.” I nod to emphasize my statement, trying my hardest to remain cool and collected.

Inside, I’m a state of pure... disarray.

“Why do you think Miss Wilson described you that way?” Bill asks and I’m instantly envisioning my boot making impact with his sagging ugly face, bones caving in due to the force, thick blood flowing freely down his tasteless suit.

“Well, Bill, I think I just said some stuff to look cool back then – like a rebel,” I chuckle.

“I see... do you think you perhaps... went too far?”

I nod in the affirmative, still grinning like an idiot, hoping a merry demeanour will get me through this bullshit. A silence ensues as Bill jots some things down on a pad. I try to read what he’s scrawling but the distance is too great and the hardbody is staring right at me.

“Matt, to what extent do you think your circumstance at home affected your behaviour at school?” Bill looks up from his pad as he finishes the question and as his eyes lock onto mine, I feel a churning in the pit of my stomach. Why does this old piece of shit unnerve me?

“I guess it did a little,” I shrug, playing down the influence of my up-bringing. Beads of sweat trickle down my cheek so I put a hand to my brow and find it unpleasantly moist. I took a couple Xanax pills this morning with buttered toast and a cool glass of OJ – but I’m still not relaxed.

“Are you okay?” someone asks with what sounds like genuine concern.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I mumble while getting to my feet, my mouth unbearably dry. The bitch nods for me to go and I walk gingerly across the room, one hand already grasping a couple vials within my coat pocket.

Ten minutes later I return to the room having snorted god knows how much cocaine. The rest of the interview is a blur but I reckon I did okay. The results will be back soon but it’s probably pretty easy to pass anyway. It would be kinda hypocritical for them to turn away a guy like me when Jaro’s behind the CEO desk... right?

________________________

I’m the American dream gone wrong. Somewhere, the system failed and the result is this distorted version of normality. On the surface – which is of the utmost importance in these shallow times – there’s nothing “wrong” in the conventional sense of the word but scratch beneath just a little and it’s a very different matter.

Sometimes this city is suffocating. The reaching skyscrapers feel like prison walls and the constant pollution sucks the life from me like a leech. From my apartment window I watch as people scatter like vermin and when I walk through the streets myself, I feel only pity and revulsion.

I wonder if they notice me but chances are they see nothing at all.

In a world of synthetics, I find myself in a match with three faceless opponents. Nothing really distinguishes one from another; just another product that has met and then exceeded demand.

What are their hopes? What are their dreams?

More importantly; who even cares?

The crowd only want bloodshed – and I won’t disappoint.

Chapter 3:
What’s The Opposite of the Shit Hitting The Fan?

“...I can’t escape this hell
So many times I’ve tried
But I’m still caged inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I CAN’T CONTROL MYSELF...”

We find Anwyl waiting in his hotel room in Halifax, Nova Scotia only days away from his match at Ammunition 13.2. Anwyl has moved up in FMW already only a month into his second run in the Canadian promotion, the FMW staff have given Anwyl his own hotel room, although it isn’t the greatest it still has everything he needs, well until he finds a house of course. Anwyl opens up his laptop and heads straight for the emails. He quickly scrolls through the list passing over money making tips, penis enlargements and how to get Viagra. As Anwyl is about to exit Outlook Express a message shows up on Anwyl’s screen

To: janwar_fmw41@hotmail.com
CC:________________________
Subject: Documentary on Wrestling Life
From: ethanchambers_agent@chambersagents.com
Dear Anwyl,
We have received word about a Hollywood film crew wanting to do a documentary on a life of a wrestler they want you in Los Angeles for an interview. From what I have heard they will follow you around for a week to understand what your life involves (i.e. Training, Press Conferences and anything you might do etc.) As well as gaining an understanding of the history of the wrestler they are following. Production was meant to have started months ago but their subject, one Skyler Striker was admitted to a drug rehabilitation clinic. This could be a fast track to the main event scene for yourself which means more exposure, which mean popularity, which means product sales, which means profit, which makes you a rich man. Give me a call if you want to do this

From Ethan Chambers
Sporting Agent
Chambers Agents™

Anwyl looks at the screen and stares, thinking about the money, the respect and the Full Metal Championship.

Anwyl- This could be my big break, I will no longer be dwelling at the bottom of the food chain.

Anwyl leans over the desk grabbing his phone quickly pressing the keys before holding the phone to his ear

Groggy Voice- Hello, Ethan Chambers, the best sporting agent at Chambers Agents.

Anwyl- Hey man, its Anwyl, I got your email.

Ethan begins to talk with a little more excitement and anticipation

Chambers- So what do we think, am I great or am I great!?

Anwyl laughs

Anwyl- Mate, this is the greatest. They went for Skyler then myself, I must be doing something right. I mean this is the greatest thing to happen to me in the last few weeks.

Chambers- Great, great. Now, I have already been talking to them and they said if you were up to it they wanted to start filming straight away

Anwyl- So I don’t have to go in for an interview

Chambers-They are just stoked that they have someone to start filming with in such short notice.

Anwyl- GREAT! Alright send them over to Hailfax I will email you the details of the next week or so to pass on to them.

Chambers- You’re a smart man Mr. Anwyl. We are going to go places now

“...I’m gunna fight ‘em all
A seven nation army couldn’t hold me back
They’re gunna rip it off
Taking their time right behind my back
And I’m talking to myself at night because I can’t forget...”

So as this story continues we find Anwyl at the FMW gym, which is often unused as everyone likes to train at their own gyms. Anwyl and an FMW trainer are working on some basic moves as a film crew watches closely.

Anwyl turns to the camera and smiles with a cheesy grin and whispers

Anwyl- Watch this one...

Anwyl moves in quickly taking down the trainer. The trainer quickly counters and lifts Anwyl off his feet, slamming him hard into the mat. The film crew quietly laugh. Anwyl rubs his back and gets to his feet, the trainer smiles at Anwyl as he charges. The trainer hits a drop toe hold, sending Anwyl through the second rope and to the safety mat below. The crew member’s laughs get louder

Anwyl- COME ON, WRESTLE PROPERLY

Anwyl gets back into the ring, the trainer hops around the ring as Anwyl charges. The Trainer dodges and sends Anwyl into the corner. Anwyl watches on as the FMW trainer moves to the opposite corner as. Anwyl quickly moves to the left and jumps onto the ropes hitting a springboard moonsult. The Trainer is hit but Anwyl’s face connects with his knee knocking Anwyl out...

"...Shoot me down, raise my head
Walk my field of dreams instead
Because there’s no way you’ll march on top
That’s not how it’s going to be... "

Anwyl opens his eyes and climbs to his feet, everything feels a little different a little bit dreamy as Anwyl trys to regain composure. The trainer calls it a night sending the crew and Anwyl home for the night. Anwyl gingerly moves towards the ropes and climbs out of the ring to address the film crew.

Director- So what have we done tonight Anwyl?

Anwyl- So I just finished basic, low tempo training. Just to gain an understanding of any new moves I want to use, and to expand my already awesome talents. So I am going to head off to the showers and we’ll hit the town hey.

Director- CUT!!! That’s a wrap, guys. Well done today, everyone. We’ll send crew alpha to follow Anwyl around tonight. So George, Ben and Janet you need to make sure you get EVERYTHING! Do you understand?

Crew Alpha- Yes, sir!

Director- Anwyl, come here.

The director throws his arm around Anwyl’s neck and walks with him towards the other side of the gym.

Director- You need to something outrageous, so do something Jackass-ish. Make sure my crew have a hard time following you. We want wows Anwyl!

The director reaches to his pocket

Director- Here, take this. It should help!

Anwyl receives a small clear pouch with a white powder inside.

Anwyl- Nah, Nah, Nah, I can’t relapse mate; I can’t go through with rehab again.

Director- Do you think I would give you enough to get addicted again, huh? Seriously have a good time.

Anwyl- I suppose not, alright I’ll have it

Anwyl looks at the white powder again, then proceeds to tuck the bag in his trunks before heading to the locker rooms.

So the night wears on and Anwyl has been to almost every major night spot under the influence of mind altering drugs. Anwyl's 'handlers' are losing control of him but they still manage to film Anwyl going crazy. George pulls the film crews van up outside another night club as Anwyl staggers out towards the door. As the bouncer looks at Anwyl’s face he notices he has a bloody nose, a tooth missing and one eye is swollen.

Bouncer- You aren’t getting in here tonight

Anwyl yells gibberish at the bouncer before throwing his right hand into the side of the bouncers face. The bouncer retaliates with a massive uppercut jarring the big man’s hand. Anwyl goes down hard only to be caught by Ben and George who has come to the rescue of Anwyl. Anwyl can still hear the voices of those who are saving him, but his hearing slowly slips in and out,

Bouncer- I advise that you take your friend to a hospital, or I’ll send him six feet und...

Ben and George nod without saying a word and drag Anwyl back into the film crews van, George starts the van and begins to drive leaving the nightclub in his wake. Janet with a concerned look on her face begins to talk

Janet- He needs to go to a hospital guys, this is....

Anwyl blacks out for a moment

Janet- ...He is unconscious and doesn’t look like he will wake...

Everything goes silent for a second; Anwyl continues to slip in and out of consciousness

Ben- ...he done already tonight to get this messed up?

George- Well, we went to the pub for...

Slience

George- ...and came back with a bloody nose, after that we went to every nightclub... Anwyl was partying with any wack job that came his way...

Silence fills the van again

Ben- ...Even that Axel and Trey thought Anwyl was out of...

Anwyl can't stay awake properly

Janet- But we were powerless... I can’t believe the director made us choose between.... well-being of a fellow human... ridiculous guys...

The Alpha Crew pull out the front of the emergency ward and dump the body of Anwyl on the front step. Anwyl feebly yells out

Anwyl- HELP... Please... Someone

Anwyl slowly closes his eyes, and rest’s his head on the icy cold concrete.

“...I’ve spent a lot of time working over the pass years
Turning sober, bourbon over the last beer
Intoxicated, contemplating a conversation
Losing my feet, chopping, changing my occupation...”

Mysterious Voice- Wake up Anwyl

Anwyl opens his eyes to the voice, he still can’t see properly only the outline of a body shaped figure. Anwyl listens to the voice again, it sound familiar but he can’t quite get who it is.

Mysterious Voice- Anwyl, get the fuck up right now!!!

Anwyl pulls himself out of the bed into a seated position, he is gradually is gaining his eye sight back. Anwyl can see the figure much more clearly now and understands who is talking to him.

Anwyl- Sorry Mr. Smitten, what are you doing here? Why are you in my hotel room? Wait where am I? WHAT HAPPENED? Am I dead?

Christian G. Smitten- Anwyl, you aren’t in the best condition, you aren’t in your hotel room, you are in hospital, and you did not die! But you did break the stipulations in your contract.

Anwyl- Is this because I took you out in the Mount V match? I mean seriously mate.

Smitten- No Anwyl, you have been found to have been using illicit drugs. Under the FMW Wellness Program it states that “...any performer wrestling under the FMW banner may not take part in usage of illegal drugs (under Canadian Law) and the list of banned substances under the FMW Wellness Program...” You have broken the law Anwyl.

Anwyl- I don’t even remember going out last night, seriously mate. I went to training at the FMW Gym last night, with the film crew watching me. I swear that’s all I remember.

Anwyl- Why else would you be here Anwyl if you hadn’t been out? You have been drug tested; we have no choice to eliminate you Anwyl!!

Anwyl begins to freak out trying to get out of the bed, but he is stuck! Smitten slowly moves closer to Anwyl pulling out a hand gun out of his suit jacket.

Smitten- Time to meet your maker!

Smitten takes a step forward, leaning over and asserting his authority over Anwyl before squeezing the trigger letting shots ring out, a flurry of bullets rip and tear Anwyl apart leaving him lifeless on the hospital bed...

Darkness fills the room... Was this the end?

“...kills, thrills and Sunday pills
I’m on a mission to kill, steal
Because nothing thrills...”

But Anwyl is able to open his eyes, finding himself lying down on the concrete. Anwyl still couldn’t move but again Anwyl calls out feebly

Anwyl- Only dreams, nightmares... Help...

Anwyl’s head hurts, especially his jaw, the concrete still feels like ice on his skin but he doesn’t care. Minutes pass before Anwyl pulls himself to his feet

Anwyl- Ah, THIS IS FUCKED!!

Anwyl looks around; he is still in the hospital car park. Anwyl continues to peer into the darkness before seeing a figure moving towards him.

Anwyl- HEY, HEY WHERE AM I. CAN YOU HELP ME!!!

The dark figure continues to move forwards toward Anwyl. Anwyl positions himself into a fighting stance as he sees who the figure is. The figure has his hood up.

Anwyl- Are you Nick, Nick Bryson? If it is you Nick, what are you doing here man?

The dark figure doesn’t reply, and continues to move closer only stoping centimetres away from Anwyl. Anwyl trys to sound upbeat and gives a forced smile as he asks

Anwyl- Bryson, what’s up?

Dark Figure- Good guess Anwyl

Bryson removes his hood to reveal his face from the shadows

Bryson- I have a few things to tell you so listen, We at FMW feel as though you had promise son, you could have made it. FMW was your oyster son. I wanted to take you under my wing but look where you are now.

Anwyl- Yeah, I can’t remember anything after training. I just woke up over there and now I just want to get back to my hotel room.

Bryson- You don’t understand do you?

Anwyl- Yeah, you have a car that can take... we aren’t going to the hotel room are we?

Bryson- Anwyl, you have almost thrown away your career and your life. Please follow me

Bryson walks towards the doors of the hospital, Anwyl stands in the middle of the car park waiting. Bryson stops and turns towards Anwyl.

Bryson- It’s best if you follow me Anwyl.

Anwyl nods and starts to move through the hospital with Bryson. Anwyl doesn’t step away from Bryson as he casually walks through the various doors, before finally reaching Room 218.

Anwyl- Where are we Bryson!

Bryson- Anwyl, we are at your hospital room. This is what you have done to yourself; man I thought you were better than this. You could have been a superstar, a legend, a hero to some. But you just threw it away, we gave you respect and you repaid us by spitting in our faces.

Anwyl- I swear I didn’t think I would end up here, I swear I just wanted fun.

Bryson shakes his head; he pushes the door open and reveals Anwyl’s family and friends crowding a young man. Anwyl pushes past to reveal that he is looking right back at himself. Anwyl looks around the room; his father stands in the corner looking out the window to a dim lit street light. His mother sits close to the hospital bed, tears in her eyes she prays. Wesley Hollywood (Anwyl's close friend, DAMN!! pay attention to the promo before last, he was that guy Anwyl stayed with in the begining... Ignore last promo, BAD!!! VERY BAD!!! Anyway back to the story.) slowly paces around the room.

Bryson- You turned your back on these people and they wait with you, they pray for you. Each in their own methods they want you to be alright. The respect I talked about before, it applies to these people as well. Your friends and family gave you respect.

Anwyl bows his head, and looks at the ground.

Bryson- DON’T FEEL SORRY FOR YOURSELF ANWYL. You were warned, you were warned many times. Now you have a chance to change what happens. This is a second chance.

Anwyl- Wait, what?

Bryson- Change, Anwyl... Anwyl...

Anwyl closes his eyes and collapses; he feels the force of someone shaking him. The voice is familiar

Trainer- ...Anwyl...Anwyl...Anwyl wake up pal...

Anwyl- What, where am I?

Trainer- You attempted a springboard moonsult and smashed your head against my knee. We need to work on that

Anwyl- Nah, I am in hospital. No, No I’m in a car park. Wait, what about the night club.

Trainer- Anwyl, you need to take it easy for a moment.

Several minutes pass as Anwyl rises to his feet and begins to head to the locker room.

Director- So what have we done tonight Anwyl?

Anwyl- So I just finished basic, low tempo training. Just to gain an understanding of any new moves I want to use, and to expand my already awesome talents. So I am going to head off to the showers and we’ll hit the town hey.

Director- CUT!!! Well done today, everyone. Ben, your crew and yourself need to make sure you get EVERYTHING when you follow Anwyl tonight! Do you understand?

Ben- Yes, sir!

Director- Anwyl, come here.

The director throws his arm around Anwyl’s neck and walks with him towards the other side of the gym. Anwyl looks stunned as he walks through the jungle of weight machines.

Director- You need to something outrageous, so do something Jackass-ish. Make sure my crew have a hard time following you. We want wows Anwyl!

The director reaches to his pocket.

Director- Here, take this. It should help!

Anwyl receives a small clear pouch with a white powder inside.

Anwyl- No way man, I don’t want any part of that shit

Director- Really, are you going to refuse? I mean I wouldn’t give you enough to get addicted again, now would I?

Anwyl- I suppose not, alright just give to me then

Anwyl walks with the pouch to the locker room, he stands there with a towel around his waist and the powder in his hands. Contemplating is what Anwyl is doing, the decision isn’t easy

Anwyl- What do I do?

Bryson- Don’t do it!!

Bryson laughs as he walks into the locker room.

Bryson- Don’t even think about dropping that towel while I’m in here

Anwyl lets off a fake laugh before walking to one of the cubicles and flushing that problem away. Anwyl quickly throws on some clothes and proceeds to leave the locker room. As Anwyl reaches the door, he turns to Bryson

Anwyl- Thanks man

Anwyl shakes Bryson’s hand, Nick is stunned as he doesn’t know what Anwyl is thanking him for. Bryson stares at Anwyl, a soul piercing death stare that sends a chill up his spine. If it was anyone else Anwyl would have asked what their problem is but Anwyl nods

Anwyl- Umm...

Bryson continues to stare at Anwyl as he leaves the softly, slowly and without a word. Maybe he learnt something. Bryson shouldn’t be thanked nor should Anwyl be angry or vengeful towards Smitten for “eliminating” him. Anwyl’s mind created this; his thoughts and imagination were telling him the dangers of his actions. Anwyl now has the choice, whether to continue with a life not worth living or to make something out of this.

“...when I got money I got high ‘cause I’m a junkie
I never used to do it
But I like it ‘cause it numbs me
I’ve barely made four dollars today
But I need your help I want to escape...”

We cut to a dark room, in this room there is minimal light but there is a faint outline of a man sitting down

Voiceover Man- Welcome, Anwyl as taken sometime out of his busy filming shcedule to address his fans with a few words.

The lights flash on and off before flooding the room with a bright white, it takes a second for the cameras to adjust to the new light. Anwyl is seen sitting behind the desk.

Anwyl- Welcome all to my favorite part of my pre-match preperations. A hard hitting segement shown exclusivly on FMW.com known as "Ask the Anvil" where fans write in and ask me questions.

Anwyl ruffles some papers and picks up a sheet of white paper.

Anwyl- Our first letter is from Ray, from Memphis. Ray asks "What are your thoughs on taking on Ashburn, Dream and Atlas Adams at Ammunition?"

Anwyl pauses for a second and thinks about it

Anwyl- I don't think, I do. I am going to prove tonight why I deserve a rematch for that Television Title. I went toe to toe with a superstar of this game. So Ashburn, Dream and Atlas better watch out, better keep clear because I am going to roll through at 13.2 take the win and head towards my goal of become TELEVISION CHAMPION!!!

Anwyl shuffles through the papers grabbing a few papers and flicks through them.

Anwyl- Ah here's a good one. David, via e-mail asks "Why do you think you deserve another shot at the TV title?" well David, I deserve another shot because I am the top rookie at the moment. I look at what is infront of me, and I am just not there yet, people like David GS etc. are that inch above me. The television title is a stepping song to the big leagues. I look at what is behing be, aka Ashburn, Dream, Pheonix, OJA etc. and I tell myself I'm better than that. Because I am

Anwyl looks at another piece of paper.

Anwyl- Last question comes from Jacob via e-mail he asks "Why are you so great?" That is because I am an Anwyl, an Anwyl's are great! So that wraps up "Ask the Anvil" with me, your favorite Anti-Hero ANWYL

Anwyl gets up from his chair and leans down to grab a container of fluid. Anwyl starts pouring the fluid around the room and empties the jerry can all over the rest of the room. Anwyl grabs what looks to be a packet of matches from the inside of his jacket, he flicks on stick except it breaks, Anwyl re-hits the box of matches giving a spark followed by a small glowing red flame. Anwyl throws the match igniting the room, before turning towards the door, he starts to whistle an upbeat tune slamming the pine door shut.

Camera crews are shouting as the main camera is knocked over showing people trying to escape the flames, lights fall in the backdrop as someone falls onto the camera shattering the lens before the camera is englufed in flames sending static out towards the viewers watching the live stream on FMW.com.

The scene opens backstage the night of Ammunition 13.1 during the Leviticus/Bryson match. Matt Dunn, Jeff Whitt and J. Wroland Williams are watching proceedings on a monitor.

Matt Dunn does not look impressed.

Sound: Who the hell is this asshole!?

Hostyle: THAT’S CRUSOE! HE’S A GSW REPRESENTATIVE! HE’S GOT STORM AND A NEW MAN WITH HIM!

Sound: I think that’s one of the men GSW has alluded to having in FMW!

Hostyle: Yes! That’s Osiris! What are they doing out here!

Sound: Obviously trying to rob Bryson of his comeback! The ref is now yelling at them to go away!

Hostyle: As he should! This is outrageous!

Sound: When will the mob take things fairly! For people who preach about how bad things are here, they seem to try to do worse!

Hostyle: Look! Bryson is to his feet! BRYSON IS STAGGERING BACKWARDS! THE REF WAS RIGHT BEHIND THEM! BRYSON SLAMS THE REF INTO THE TURNBUCKLE WITH LEVITICUS’ BODY! THE REF IS OUT! BRYSON FLIPS LEVITICUS OVER HIS SHOULDER NOW AND SENDS HIM OUTSIDE!

Sound: Except that’s the window they needed! That crusty bastard Crusoe just sicked the dogs on Bryson! Storm and Osiris are running to the ring!

Hostyle: Bryson has little time to catch his breath! Both men slide in the ring! They immediately pounce on Bryson wailing on him!

Sound: Oh, and of course nobody is there to see it happen if mister referee doesn’t.

Hostyle: Both men lift Bryson now. Toss off the ropes- NO! DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE FROM BRYSON!

Sound: GET THAT WEAK STUFF OUT OF HERE!

Hostyle: Bryson is over to Storm first! He whips him into a corner! Running elbow! Osiris charges Bryson now- NO! BRYSON THROWS OSIRIS INTO STORM! OSIRIS STAGGERS BACK! SICKLE TOUCH!

Sound: This is amazing, Hostyle. Look at our number one contender!

Hostyle: Crusoe is yelling at Storm to attack! Storm charges forward! BRYSON DUCKS! HE CATCHES STORM! SICKLE TOUCH FOR STORM!

Sound: GSW is laid out but it looks like they bought Leviticus enough time! He slides back in the ring!


Dunn: Whose bright fucking idea was that then?

Williams: Now Matthew...

Dunn: No, don't 'Now Matthew...' me, with one stupid decision, we've pissed it all up the fucking wall. Do you think people are going to listen to the men who beat Butters and Damien Inferno then immediately get stomped out by Bryson only a few matches later?

Whitt: What if Levi had won though?

Dunn: Guess we'll never fucking know now.

Williams: Matthew, that is enough! You will remember who has given you this opportunity!

Dunn: I'm fully aware of who gave me the opportunity. I'm done with this conversation, boss. I don't want to see this shit again. It doesn't make your company look anymore credible, it doesn't help my agenda, Levi's agenda, anyones fucking agenda apart from Jason Roy, and the head bookers. I can only Save so many people; it doesn't help when they're marched out to be buried.

Matt Dunn storms out, leaving an irritated looking J. Wroland Williams and a shocked Jeff Whitt. The scene fades to black.

Bryson: Once upon a time I was a different kind of hero. I was a more obvious one. One that people instantly recognized. Simple. The thing is that once you abandon that simplicity and take on a goal more complex, you’re a ‘bad guy’ because the idiots are too stupid to realize what a good thing they have in front of their faces. Once upon a time they cheered me because I fought for them. Now I’m scorned for doing the same thing.

Doesn’t matter to me. They’ll see their mistake one day and mouth breathers and ingrates will all come running back, my name dripping from their mouths like the drool that usually is the only thing coming from it.

Bryson spoke over the black. Slowly an image fades in as Bryson, dressed in a nice suit, sits in a comfortable leather chair, motionless, as if he‘s on pause. Thousands of books line shelves as a backdrop for the setting. As the image fully takes up the screen Bryson becomes animated once again.

Voice Offscreen: And what about security? Clearly the-

Bryson: Let me cut in right here, and I don’t mean to be rude and cut you off, but we’re in a profession that is dangerous and clearly its not just in the ring. I know nobody in this company, nor do I believe anyone attending the event, blamed a lack of security for the efforts of a crazed madman. This is not the standard of our events and gatherings. Before that incident there were families there, happy to see their favorite stars. Before that incident there were countless smiles, laughter, and joy. After that incident I’ve seen happy families. I’ve seen smiling faces. I’ve seen joy. We’ve always prided ourselves on being a safe environment for our fans and that isn’t something that will change.

The footage is following the Mount Vesuvius Tyrant had won, during Nick Bryson’s previous championship reign. He was seated here now giving an interview for the network television show 60 minutes.

At a fan event prior to the event, a crazed fan had brought a gun to the venue. With the barrel squarely pointed at Billy McKenzie, alias Tyrant, after opening fire on his daughter Faith, the crowd panicked. They began to disperse as he prepared to pull the trigger and Nick Bryson charged forward, tackling the gunman and subduing him, saving Tyrant and Faith from fatal wounds.

Bryson sat in the chair for a few seconds of silence, thinking deeply about the man in question.

Voice Offscreen: So, tell us. With the recent events happening, you know, the shooting and such, how has your relationship changed with Tyrant?

Bryson looks almost taken aback by the question. He seems to be searching, perhaps reaching, for an answer.

Voice Offscreen: I mean, you saved him. You saved his daughter. You saved their lives.Tyrant has been perceived, both as a character and as a man, as a grizzled heel. You’re obviously the face of a company, doing charity work, I mean you’re the person we contacted for an interview. Has that dynamic, you two almost being complete opposites, changed? Has the relationship between the two of you changed?

Bryson: Uh, no. That’s something you wouldn’t, um, understand. No, you wouldn’t- No. It hasn’t.

The footage pauses once again and focuses on Bryson. His look is perplexed. Was he right? Would people understand that the then beloved Bryson would have such respect, perhaps a love, for a man who would become one of the most hated men in their profession. Ironic perhaps Bryson would also follow suit.

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

The image fades out to black and then once again comes back in. This time, Bryson sits in the back seat of a taxi. The skyline of a downtown city in Japan scrolling through the reflective window. Unlit neon signs and billboards with images he didn’t understand and text he couldn’t read. He rested his head against the window and then against the back headrest as the driver continued to take them to their destination. With a final right turn through a chain link gate, Bryson looked up as he approached the large metal garage door to the arena. He grabbed the duffel bag he had brought and pulled out an envelope. He handed the taxi driver money he never planned on using again and knocked three times on the side door. An Asian security guard looked at him through the small window and opened the door.

Bryson slung the bag over his shoulder as he proceeded down the hallway, passing people who greeted him in a language he didn’t speak. He eventually reached the large double doors to the communal locker room, where local Japanese wrestlers sat with the foreign Gaijins, eating local foods, stretching, going over holds, and preparing for the event ahead.

Bryson, however, continued a long the hallway. Bumping into someone he hoped was a talent he stumbled for words.

Bryson: Oh, ah, shit was was the term. Ah…fuck it- Restroom?

The Japanese man looked at him for a moment.

Bryson: Rest-room?

Bryson clearly saw that he didn’t understand. He motioned like he would unzip his pants and gestured urinating. The man then pointed at a red sign with japanese lettering on the wall and an arrow pointing in a direction. Bryson bowed his head forward slightly as the man ignored his gesture and continued toward the locker room.

Bryson was still new to the country, and still much newer to the SJ Federation. He had spent a short amount of time working for smaller promotions shedding sweat and blood in dingier towns in front of packed houses of 50 people. The SJ Federation was almost a blessing for Bryson. He didn’t have to live in a communal home with some of the local wrestlers anymore. Not having to listen to continual bickering in Japanese was a blessing in itself. At least now Bryson had a hotel room with a bed to lay on too.

Fucking blessing.

Bryson had only worked a few matches since his arrival. He was good enough at warming up the crowd, Japanese audiences were like indy audiences in the states. They appreciated the technical showings and solidly worked matches. At least enough to warrant some response to a nobody. Everyone has to start somewhere.

With the state of wrestling the was it was back home in the States, Bryson was considerably lucky to land a job with the SJF. The recent influx of foreign wrestlers had oversaturated the market, and locals and foreign vets who were here before hand didn’t appreciate it much.

Man’s Voice: Heeeey!

Bryson was startled out of his lull as he almost bumped into another wrestler.

Bryson: Sorry. Sorry.

The wrestler continued to scold Bryson as he continued past. The bathroom seemingly had to be placed on the opposite side of the goddamn arena. Bryson slowed as he walked past a door, slightly ajar.

Males Voice: Have you gone completely mad?

Bryson slowed to a halt and approached the door. He tried to remain as silent as possible while attempting to peek in and get a look at what was going on.

Mans Voice: He’s too green. What are fans going to-

His voce faded as the door was closed silently. Bryson looked up at the door, marked Kenji Kovacs, and pressed his ear to the door again. Unable to hear anything, he looked to the wall. Here he saw the card for the event, Bryson’s name penned in for a tag match during the second bout on the card.

Bryson continued along. He figured out why the boss had his room stationed where it was. Through the clutter, Bryson could see the entrance to the restroom.

Bryson: Genius.

As Bryson shifted through the narrowing passageway he stumbled. Reaching out to stabilize himself he grabbed the nearest object. It was cold, metal. As Bryson scooted forward he realized that he had saved himself on the pieces of a large metal cage. He set his bag down and reached out with his other hand, linking his fingers through the holes in the chain.

Suddenly, the arena fades. At least, in Bryson’s mind. The spotlights are shining bright on him and he reaches up. There’s blood on his face, just a trickle, as he places his foot on the chain. His opponent is behind him, left for dead on the mat. Flashbulbs are blinding him as he reaches up again, pulling himself towards the top of the cage. The fans high pitched chants filled the arena as he placed his hand atop the cage:

“Bry-san! Bry-san! Bry-san!”

Yelling Voice: FUCK! YOU HAVE TO BE DICKING ME!

The grizzled voice shook Bryson from his dream state as he looked over at the collection of wrestlers centered around a man placing a piece of paper on the wall.. The large, blond American pushed some of the smaller men out of the way, clearly pissed off. Bryson let himself go from the cage and dropped down to the floor. He picked up his bags and walked over to the group. As they dispersed Bryson inched closer to the paper, pinned over the original card.


Bryson looked around as the other wrestlers had left. He leaned forward against the wall, his eyes closed. A smile creeps over his face as he turns and leans back against the wall. Bryson throws a fist up in the air and beings what becomes almost a full on sprint to the locker room. Bryson came to a running halt just at the corner of the hallway, pausing to regain his composure. He turned again into the room and suddenly, if only briefly, found himself the center of attention. He walked in through the bodies and found himself sitting next to a man considered an icon in the industry, and certainly an inspiration to Bryson. Billy McKenzie, also known as the Tyrant.

Tyrant didn’t look up as Bryson took his seat next to him on the bench. It was probably pure coincidence that their lockers were next to each other. Bryson stared at the legend as he was lacing up his boots. Tyrant stood and removed his shirt, putting on his character piece and taping his wrists.

Tyrant: Ah’ see y’er in the co-Main Event.

Bryson: Oh, yeah. I’m really excited. I-

Bryson is cut off as Tyrant closes his locker.

Tyrant: Must’ah done somethin’ right.

Bryson: I thought I heard someone mention my name to Kenji. I was on my way to the bathroom and, well, I just didn’t know it was-

Bryson looked at Tyrant as he walked off. He sat for a moment, basking in what Bryson assumed was as close to a compliment as he’d ever get from the icon before he stood up. Bryson peeled off his shirt and turned to face his duffel bag when he was immediately thrust up against his locker by the blond American who clearly was not too pleased with him.

His name was Arthur Kessler, though in the ring in Japan they called him Buzzsaw. He was large, oversized, probably from the steroids he took in. He now had is oversized arms across Bryson’s neck, pushing him up against his locker. His feet hanging a few inches off the ground.

Kessler: That should be my spot, you fuck. What makes you so much better than me.

Bryson: Probably my good looks and witty charm.

Bryson struggled to get out the words as Kessler pushed harder.

Kessler: You got some fuckin nerve, dipshit. You listen here and you listen good. I don’t know what you did or who you paid off to get whats rightfully mine, but you’d better watch your fucking back. The second, and I mean the SECOND, you slip up I’ll be there to take back what’s owed.

Bryson stared at the monster for a few seconds, his face growing red, before Kessler let him go. The man left Bryson at his locker to gasp for breath. Bryson stared at him until he exited the locker room then leaned back against the metal door. He began to chuckle to himself as he continued to get ready.

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

Bryson paced around behind the curtain as the previous combatants exited the stage area and came back. The stagehands shot past Bryson with pieces of the cage and tools, putting together the pieces of his soon to be push. Bryson tried to jump in place to relieve some tension, but he was unable to control himself. He looked up as a large Japanese man approached him, belt slung over his shoulder..

Bryson: Hey Tanker.

The man looked at him silently.

Bryson: Good luck.

The man looked forward at the curtain and adjusted his wrestling tights, ignoring or not understanding the words. Bryson bent down to touch his toes. Looking through his legs he saw Buzzsaw standing by. He folded his arms as he glared at Bryson. The bell rang and the crowd ignited as music began to play. An announcer spoke in japanese as the music overtook the arena, though he announced Bryson‘s name in english, his accent was thick.

Announcer: COMBATANT! NIIIIIIIIICK BRYYYYYSOOOOON!

Bryson received a fairly warm reaction as he entered through the curtain. He jumped up and down to get the crowd pumping with him, giving high fives and warm greetings to the fans along the entrance ramp. Upon reaching the ring, he climbed up part of the cage, enticing the fans to cheer him on. The music changed, however, and the wrestler known as Tanker entered the arena, his title shining in the spotlight. Bryson got down and entered the cage through the door.

Announcer: COMBATANT! TAAAAAAAAAAAAAANKAAAAAAH!

The crowd shot to their feet to boo the oncoming champion. He ignored them much like he ignored Bryson, walking forward and staring at his opponent coldly. He handed the belt to the ring hand and entered the cage through the door.

Bryson stares at his opponent as they begin to circle one another.

You’ve got this. This is it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.

The two men lock up center ring. Right away Tanker pushes Bryson’s arms out of the way and lands vicious chops that Japanese fans have grown to love. The sound of the chops echo through the arena, accompanied by the cheers of the fans and the cries of pain from Bryson.

Tanker pushes Bryson back up against the cage and tosses him to whip Bryson. He doesn’t release, however, and pulls Bryson back into the cage violently.

Bryson: AH!

Bryson is slow to get up, clutching his shoulder. As soon as he is able to lift his head, however, Tanker is in with a vicious running dropkick. Bryson’s jaw seems to almost dislocate as he drops back to the ring again. Tanker climbs up the cage-

Ok, turn, turn. He’s moving quickly. You need to keep up.

Bryson turns and looks at Tanker, who stops his climb halfway to look back at Bryson. He bends his knees and throws himself back off the cage, landing a large splash that crushes Bryson’s ribs. He struggles to get his breath back as Tanker lifts him again and grabs him by the hair, throwing him face first into the cage.

Bryson: Oomph!

Bryson lands hard back on the unforgiving ring again. Apparently that’s one way to save money. Bryson can barely hear the announce team over the din of the crowd as they boo Tanker as he taunts them, trying to get more heat.

Tanker then walks over to Bryson once again and lifts him to a sitting position. He pulls back and lands a stiff kick-

Ho-oh-oly shit. Shit!

Tanker continues to land kicks and after the fourth he lands one more dropkick to Bryson’s face.

Oh god… ok, test time is over. If I could just reconnect my jaw…

Tanker taunts the crowd once again before he steps on the ropes and reaches up to catch the cage. Bryson pulls himself up, trying to adjust his jaw, as he charges forward, shaking the cage and dropping Tanker back to the ring. Tanker throws a blow to Bryson, who ducks, and tries to land a blow of his own. Tanker takes the shot clean, but shows no sign of slowing down. He continues to strike at Bryson, landing repeated blows to his head.

Bryson tries to power out of the position he’s in, his back to the cage, but Tanker refuses to let up.

Bryson: Lets go! Turn the match!

Tanker again throws Bryson back and lands a blow to the head. Bryson drops to one knee and tries to push his attacker back.

Bryson: Did you not hear the call!?

Bryson is taken aback as Tanker punches him stiffly in the face and thrusts Bryson’s face in the cage. He begins grinding his face in the steel, trying to cut him open. Bryson is quick to realize-

I’m fucked.

Tanker leans in to Bryson, pushing his face into the cage harder. He whispers in his thick japanese accent.

Tanker: You no win tonight.

Bryson’s eyes open wide as he realizes he’s now in a shoot. Blood and sweat begin to mix on his head as he continues to be forced into the steel. Trying to think quickly, Bryson shoots out an elbow into Tankers face. Stunning his opponent Bryson shoots back with a donkey kick to opponents testicles. The crowd begins to cheer as Bryson attempts to make his comeback, not knowing the danger he is in.

Come on you big fuck.

Bryson begins to throw punches at his assailant, landing solid blows to the mans temple. Tanker drops to the ground and Bryson begins to lay the boots to him. Trying to keep his opponent off guard, Bryson lifts him and tosses him into the cage. On the rebound Bryson strains his back as he throws Tanker in a german suplex, the man landing square on his neck. The crowd lets out an “Ooh” as he crumples. Bryson, wiping the blood from his eyes, walks over only to have his feet swept out from under him.

Tanker immediately thumbs Bryson in the eye and lifts him from the mat. He knees him in the gut and steps up on the bottom turnbuckle. Tanker then spins him, putting Bryson set up for a piledriver. Tanker places a foot on the base of Bryson’s skull, his foot covering almost his entire jaw line. He steps forward, crushing Bryson in a piledriver under his foot.

An audible snap can be heard just before the audience’s shriek. Tears swelled up in Bryson’s eyes as he lay in a pool of his blood. Tanker stares at the carnage for a few seconds before beginning his climb again. The veteran struggles to keep his grip as Bryson’s blood makes him gripping the cage difficult.

Go. They’re taking this from you. Go.

Bryson tries to push himself off the mat. Blood dripping from his face. He slips and drops back down to the mat again.

Bad fucking time to bitch out, Bryson. Get it together.

With one last lift, Bryson is able to reach a knee. The crowd becomes ecstatic as Tanker, halfway up the cage, looks back down at the now rising Bryson.

Bryson stands and spits blood out of his mouth. His jaw misaligned, the skin near his cut hangs off his flesh. He grabs a hold of the ropes and climbs to the top turnbuckle. Bryson leaps up and grabs near the top of the cage. Tanker desperately tries to pull himself over the cage and end the match, but Bryson is able to grab hold of his leg and pull him, crotch first, into the top of the cage.

Fun time’s over cocksucker.

As Tanker winces in pain Bryson hooks him over his shoulder. He tries to lift Tanker in a suplex. He is able to lift him and roll back off the top of the cage. Both men fall as the flashbulbs go off. Bryson painfully rotates himself and places his knees on the chest of his opponent. Both men crash down to the mat from the top of the cage. Tanker rolls over in pain, Bryson’s blood dripped over his face. Bryson tries to stand, but falls as he clutches one of his knees.

He pulls himself over to the corner turnbuckle. He pushes on the door as the referee outside unlocks the chain around it. Bryson dips under the top rope and touches the mats atop the floor. The crowd erupts as the ring hands rush over and hand Bryson the belt. He lifts himself up and pushes them away.

Bryson: I don’t need your help. Please. I’m ok.

The referee helps Bryson put the championship around his waist. He explodes with joy as the crowd continues to cheer him on.

Walking up the ramp Bryson is accepted by the fans. They pull him over the guard rail and shower him with praise as they reach out to touch him. Bryson is finally released by the fans and he continues back to the curtain, looking at his attacker left in the ring, the ref and other ring hands attending him. Bryson once again spits out blood and raises his arms in victory.

Bryson: Thank you. Thank you.

He stares once again at the flashbulbs and then turns to exit the curtain.

Immediately, Bryson is set upon by the roster, lead by Buzzsaw.

Bryson, the belt still wrapped around his waist, raises his fists. A look of fear in his eye as he realizes he is hopelessly outnumbered.

Buzzsaw: You’ve gone and fucked up now, Bryson. You went out of your way to hurt someone respected. You’re absolutely fucked.

I’m fucked.

Bryson stepped towards the crowd as they began to move towards him. If he was going to go down, he’s going down swinging.

However, from the shadows a man stepped in front of him. The rest of the roster stepped back as he wrung the night stick he carried in his hands. He put one hand back to push Bryson behind him.

Buzzsaw: Out of the way, McKenzie, you know the rules.

Tyrant: Ah’ think yer mistaken.

Buzzsaw: I’m gonna-

Tyrant: Take one step forwar’ an’ see what happens.

Males Voice: What the hell is going on here!

The group looked as Koji Kovacs stepped forward from the direction of his office. Bryson eased up as Tyrant continued to glare at the rest of the roster.

Kenji Kovacs: What the hell is going on here!?

Buzzsaw stares at Tyrant as most of the men behind him turn and go back to the locker room.

Buzzsaw: Just wanted to greet the new champ.

Tyrant: How nice.

Kenji stares at Buzzsaw. The man eventually backs down and heads towards the locker room. He then stares at Tyrant.

Kenji Kovacs: I assume everything is on the up and up here?

Tyrant: Seems ter be.

Kenji Kovacs: Well, move along then. Bryson, go get your face checked out.

The boss moves back to his office. Bryson looks to Tyrant as if to thank him, but Tyrant doesn’t notice as he continues on. Bryson stands alone at the curtain and sighs, putting all he can into it. The scene fades to black.

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TyranT: Jesus H Christ. What the hell happened to yer’ over these few years? Ya’ damn well changed.

Bryson: Perhaps, but success was guaranteed from the start.

A silence clung to the air, one that had the very atmosphere in the room feel like more of a burdening weight. TyranT stared on at Nick, his face void of expression as Nick bore a deep stare into his own eyes upon the reflection of the old warhorses’ sunglasses. A moment passed in this frozen state, a moment that soon came to pass when Nick and TyranT could hold their composure no more. Laughter escaped from the two warriors, diminishing a once severe ambience to a more friendly tone. Nick motioned for the old timer to take a seat by a lavish glass table, taking a chair of his own opposite as TyranT seated himself with little graceA silence clung to the air, one that had the very atmosphere in the room feel like more of a burdening weight. TyranT stared on at Nick, his face void of expression as Nick bore a deep stare into his own eyes upon the reflection of the old warhorses’ sunglasses. A moment passed in this frozen state, a moment that soon came to pass when Nick and TyranT could hold their composure no more. Laughter escaped from the two warriors, diminishing a once severe ambience to a more friendly tone. Nick motioned for the old timer to take a seat by a lavish glass table, taking a chair of his own opposite as TyranT seated himself with little grace.

Bryson: I know we laugh about it now, but you can’t help but feel there’s some truth to the words. Look where I am now and what I’ve managed to accomplish. I sometimes wonder if you had any hand in that, the first time we met all those years ago.

TyranT: Ya’ didn’t bring me all the way up here just to ask dumb questions ‘bout the past did ya’?

Bryson laughs again as he reaches for a glass and a bottle.

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TyranT: Not even been ten years an’ yer’ already workin’ on that second Heavyweight title.

Bryson: What?

The night was still young, the stars barely visible upon the void that slowly swallowed the open sky. Nothing more was left of the day than a dim carroty glow that remained beyond the horizon man had shaped through many generations with skyscrapers. Soon even that small amount of light would diminish like a dying flame, dancing in its final moments on an exhausted candle. Nick Bryson turned slowly towards the origins of a voice he knew well, adjusting the tie at his collar. Bryson since his ascension to number one contender had certainly left an impact on the demeanour of the man himself. Not only was he a top level wrestler in the FMW, but now he was a rising film actor with success most could only dream of. He stood wearing an expensive full tailored suit, black with faint greyish pinstripes, whilst a crimson shirt and black tie complimented the exquisite wear with a red napkin blossoming out from his jacket pocket. He stood within a tall hotel, a location that was nothing more than a small part to an empire he had begun building long before he even claimed victory when his hands curved around the brilliant torch on Mount Vesuvius. The view he had of the city as the darkness begun to take the skies was near overwhelming, the city lights near taking a life of their own. A true penthouse view, which some would say was worth every cent of the seemingly extortionate price one would have to pay to grace such a location. Money was no longer the obstacle it had been, the luxurious penthouse could attest to that as Nick stood with hands collapsed gently behind the small of his back. He managed a wry smile, turning to greet a man he had crossed paths with on numerous occasions, though not once in the ring.

Bryson: Oh. McKenzie. It’s been a while.

Bryson spoke, holding a little edge of a British amongst his native accent. It was no surprise as he had to master the accent for his latest role in the film industry. He was to star as Henry Cooper after all, a motion picture that was highly anticipated now that Nick Bryson had signed up to play the leading role. Whilst Nick Bryson in his current attire and posture painted the image of a sharp successful man, the image of TyranT was something completely diverse. The aged warhorse stood slightly hunched, clad in a long grey coat that was stained with age and worn in several places. Though he was suited himself, TyranT barely paid over one hundred dollars for the cheap darkened material that pretended to be an exquisite suit. He wore no tie, opting to have his collar unbuttoned, giving the aging wrestler a very unkempt image, like some washed up detective from a greyscale sixties movie. His hands were hidden deep within his pockets, no doubt gloved as always, like some thief looking to cover his tracks, whilst mirrored glasses reflected Nick Bryson and the night sky just beyond him out of the open window. Bryson knew more than anyone that to take TyranT on base value from his image would be a grave error, though not well presented, the scruffy attire hid a powerful frame of an old warhorse that could still stand toe to toe with the best of them. Deception had certainly profited the aged warrior for quite some time in these twilight years of his career.

TyranT: Ah’ thought you an’ Ah’ had a nice little unspoken agreement goin’. Ah’ don’t mess with yer’ shit and ya’ don’t mess with mine. Ah’ve done all Ah’ can to steer clear of ya’ path, an’ now you go and drag us into a mess anyways.

Bryson: Such a silent agreement hasn’t technically been broken. It’s not like we’re facing each other at Ammunition. We simply have two separate enemies of ours whom have been drawn together for us both to face. All we have to do is defeat them and things can go back to the way they were. I’ll retake the Heavyweight Championship whilst you deal with Drew Michaels. Ammunition 13.2 will serve as quite the mark for things to come when Ultimatum finally arrives.

TyranT: Jesus H Christ. What the hell happened to yer’ over these few years? Ya’ damn well changed.

Bryson: Perhaps, but success was always guaranteed from the start.

A silence clung to the air, one that had the very atmosphere in the room feel like more of a burdening weight. TyranT stared on at Nick, his face void of expression as Nick bore a deep stare into his own eyes upon the reflection of the old warhorses’ sunglasses. A moment passed in this frozen state, a moment that soon came to pass when Nick and TyranT could hold their composure no more. Laughter escaped from the two warriors, diminishing a once severe ambience to a more friendly tone. Nick motioned for the old timer to take a seat by a lavish glass table, taking a chair of his own opposite as TyranT seated himself with little grace.

Bryson: I know we laugh about it now, but you can’t help but feel there’s some truth to the words. Look where I am now and what I’ve managed to accomplish. I sometimes wonder if you had any hand in that, the first time we met all those years ago.

TyranT: Ya’ didn’t bring me all the way up here just to ask dumb questions ‘bout the past did ya’?

Bryson laughs again as he reaches for a glass and a bottle, resting neatly upon its own reflection.[/i]

Bryson: I wanted to talk strategy; a team cannot be really called a team without one. I will admit though, there is something I wanted to confirm before we tend to business in the ring. I did hope to enquire about if you set certain paths in motion all those years ago when we first met. I was young, green behind the ears and I certainly didn’t offer you the thanks I should have at the time, but I wonder if you had more involvement behind the opportunities I was offered long before the FMW was even a concept.

TyranT: Ah’ was just in the right place at the right time for ya’. Ah’ did nuthin’ more then drive off a couple of no good PunK’s... that’s all.

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Manager: So let me get this straight. You want me to take a chance on a rookie? Have you gone completely mad? He’s too green. What are the fans going to think when we send a nobody out there to take on Tanker? It’s supposed to be a co main event, main events are for somebody’s, this guy your putting forward is a damn nobody!

Kenji Kovacs, a man of considerable wealth. His business knowhow and his talent for booking was the driving force behind the SJ Federation, a foreign wrestling organization which hailed from the land of the rising sun. The federation had long been riding on a decade of success, moving strongly through the millennium with a wealth of talent and fans. It was on the demand on the viewers that the SJF had finally went on tour to the western world, having just finished a visit in the United States, only to just return home to Japan with some new roster members and a new found fan base. Kenji was a clever man, both Japanese and American in decent. When offered a tough choice by the nation of Japan to either be a civilian of their country or an American, Kenji went with his father’s side and made himself into a man of Japan. Whatever nationality he decided, his fate would most likely still have led to some form of success given his talents. He was a surprisingly tall man, near 6’4 in height with some past wrestling experience of his own. He was well built enough, though age was starting to show signs of wear and tear upon his flesh, and where there had once been a chiselled chest in his youth was a slow development of fat. The balding man sat back on his chair, leaning until the front legs lifted from the fabrics of the office carpet. He twiddled his fingers against a pen he often fondled when it came to talking business with his employees, and TyranT whilst only a wrestler on official contract, had been around long enough to offer sound advice on wrestlers.

The aging TyranT, still holding most of his prime, sat opposite the Asian businessman, wearing a dark bikers T with a long scruffy coat, finishing the look with jeans and a pair of dark sunglasses. His hair was still dark, holding a fine crew cut as a well trimmed goatee was still considered a fresh look for the veteran. The old wrestler had been in the business for decades, working towards a rematch with Road Pigg, an event that was highly anticipated in some months to come. The man in question was supposed to compete tonight against Tanker, though a minor injury had put the highly respected wrestler on the side lines. A replacement was needed, but TyranT was already booked in the following Main Event. He was here to try and help come up with a solution, but he was not without a risky suggestion for a suitable replacement for his rival. His idea was to bring in a rookie, new to the game with lots of promise. There was something about him that had reminded TyranT of his earlier years, like he had been looking at himself in his own youth, holding so much potential. TyranT wasted a lot of his own, he did not wish to see it happen to someone else, and this seemed like a good opportunity for the youngster to make a name for himself amongst the fans and the tycoons of a growing sports business.

TyranT: Kids name is Nick Bryson. Yeah, Ah’ know he’s a freshmen to the business but Ah’ll vouch for him. Ah’ve seen him in the ring, the kids got a lot of moves and a lot of promise half your roster won’t even reach in their damn prime. When the fans see him go to work they’ll be as won over as I was when Ah’ first saw him. C’mon Kenji, you need a replacement for Road Pigg, this guy has got the talent and the charisma, he’s a damn champion in the makin’.

Manager: I’ve trusted your judgement before, and yes alright, it did pay off more than one occasion, but throwing a kid against Tanker... you’re taking this a step too far, I mean take a moment to listen to yourself. I’ve taken risks before, but what you’re suggesting is bordering plain stupidity.

TyranT: Ah’ dunno what else to tell ya’. The kids the best option ya’ have left. Road Pigg is down an’ out for a lil’ while and the rest of the goons worth half a damn are booked up. This Nick Bryson, Ah’ can guarantee yer’ the fans will be impressed, he’s somethin’ fresh, somethin’ a lil’ new, puttin’ him against Tanker will be a surprise, but bah’ the end Ah’ know those fans will be cheerin’ over him. Ah’ seen what this kid can do, ya’ should really trust me on this.

Manager: You know what’s going to happen don’t you?

TyranT smiled, a wry smile that remained mostly unchanged since his first days stepping into the ring, despite the showing of his years slowly catching up with him. He knew he had Kenji, the poor man just did not know it yet as doubtful eyes looked upon the roster he had available. The options he had were few, the wrestlers available not exactly the cream of the crop to throw into a main event against an established heavy hitter.

Manager: I will tell you this now. If I book Bryson vs Tanker and it completely bombs, I’ll know you did it just to make yourself look good in the main event. I will personally fry your ass if that is the case. There will be repercussions to this Billy, even if it works, I’m going to have a lot of shit from some of the roster that have been asking me for a push up the ladder for months. When they come crying to me I’m gonna point them in your direction and let you explain to them why Nick Bryson is getting an opportunity over them, are we clear?

TyranT: Kenji Kovacs, yer’ always were one helluva’ good business man. The kid won’t let ya’ down, Ah’ tell ya’ this now, the kid’s smart, innovative, and definitely a true talent in the makin’.

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


TyranT: Jezus fuckin’ Chirst Nick ya’ dumb ass fuckin’ prick!

TyranT pinched at his temple hard as the audience watching all around him jumped up to their feet, creating a wave of glory for Nick Bryson to bask in as he stood outside of the ring, beyond the steel walls he had to scale before the finishing move was landed to earn him freedom from the prison within, a worried look upon his face as he had his arm held up by the referee in triumph before the title he had earned was wrapped around his waist. His concerns were not unfounded as Tanker was stretchered off by paramedics, his face a bloody mess along with some severe damage left to his ribs by Nick in what had otherwise been a spectacular match. The fans who stood in delight did not know how much trouble the youngster had landed himself in as TyranT rubbed his face in frustration, seeing Tanker being taken out in such a manner. Nick had gone too far, and now the SJ Federation was down a top wrestler. Kenji could not deny how spectacular the finish had been when Nick suplexed Tanker from the cage. TyranT couldn’t tell if Nick had deliberately landed upon him, or if it had just been a terrible botch. Whatever the circumstances, TyranT was left cursing out loud as he stood on the edge of the audience, his voice mostly drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. TyranT felt a jab against his arm, one that left a numbing sensation on his bicep from the point of impact. TyranT turned to see his teenage daughter Faith, wearing a frown and a look of sheer disapproval. She always came to the shows, the rare kind of person who had the heart to support him, though right now she did not seem pleased with her father’s language, though such curses were certainly not unfounded.

TyranT: Sorry Faith, ya’ ol’ man didn’t mean to swear. Jus’ that dumb PunK is gonna’ ‘cause me more hassle than he’s worth. God dammit...

Another jab came from Faith in response to the curse, harder than the last one, leaving a sting to graze the flesh of his arm as TyranT winced and rubbed his arm, signalling for his daughter to stop beating him. For such a thin little girl she had surprising strength even at her young age, a McKenzie trait that would no doubt help her in her future. TyranT complained silently, knowing he was in the wrong as he rubbed his arm, his brow still furrowed as he watched Nick make his way back towards the arena. It wouldn’t be long before it was TyranT’s turn to walk into the squared circle, but he had some time whilst a few of the newer faces cut some promo’s whilst they dissembled the cage. He needed to see Nick right now, whilst the kid certainly impressed within the ring, whilst Kenji would no doubt praise the risky decision TyranT convinced him to make, as the old Japanese man warned, there would be repercussions. Tanker was a much respected man amongst his peers. A fair amount of roster members were already heating up the locker rooms with their anxiety over Kenji’s seemingly rash decision and Tanker’s injury by the hands of the rookie would set them off like a volcanic disaster. Nick would be the one they burn in their rage.

TyranT: Stay here Faith. Just gonna’ get ready for mah’ match. Ah’ll see ya’ later after mah’ fight alright? Ya’ keep supportin’ ya’ old man now ya’ hear me?

TyranT spoke with a soft smile only his daughter would ever witness. She managed a pleasant smile for him, kissing her fingers before placing them lightly on the forehead of TyranT. That was her blessing, all that the old timer needed when he had to face the rage of the crowd. He wouldn’t be using that blessing for the match tonight though; he needed all the help he could get for the next couple of minutes. His walk towards the locker room was mostly uneventful past getting an update that Tankers multiple broken ribs would take him out of action for the rest of the year. The news just kept on getting better and better. With Faith no longer within earshot, TyranT was letting his mouth go, each step within the placid corridors having a new curse along the lines of fuck, shithead and damn PunK. The calm before the storm always brought a dread, whilst some things always changed with time, that same feeling of dread was always the same, the only thing that never changed in your life, until as his old man told him, the day you die.

Eventually he reached his locker room. Whilst getting changed he noticed the young man getting ready, having his locker besides his own. It had been a good means to check on the rookie, to see if the man could control his nerves and live up to everything TyranT had assumed him to be. Nick would be there, wearing his wounds like armour and treasuring his first earned piece of gold, but he also knew Buzzsaw would not be far, the rising talent would not accept Bryson the moment he arrived on the scene. TyranT had to power his way into the locker room when he saw all the roster members gathered around Nick, Buzzsaw being the one to lead the enraged famer like clan with their imaginary pitchforks. A fair few of them were half of TyranT’s age, though only a very select few could stand up to TyranT, with Buzzsaw not even being amongst them. That fact alone gave TyranT a lot of power, and it was power he was not afraid to use as he rushed in to save the investment he placed a lot of faith in.

Buzzsaw: You’ve gone and fucked up now, Bryson. You went out of your way to hurt someone respected. You’re absolutely fucked.

TyranT was just in time when he saw the crowd about to descend upon one man who was already spent from the previous battle. Though his attempts to take on the crowd were admirable, TyranT felt it was as stupid notion... still admirable though, and not unlike himself in the youth of his career. It would not happen today though, and TyranT was quick to stand before Nick, a nightstick in hand as mirrored glasses stared down deep into Kessler.

Buzzsaw: Out of the way, McKenzie, you know the rules.

TyranT: Ah’ think yer mistaken.

Buzzsaw: I’m gonna-

TyranT: Take one step forward’ an’ see what happens.

The rest of the dispute is history you’re already aware of.

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


Hours have passed since his match, and Nick finds himself sitting alone in the locker room, the adrenalin long worn off, leaving nothing but pain from the intense match, a match like he had never experienced before. The rookie could not help but question if the pain and suffering he had to endure was worth the gold he earned, as he stared at the plating, wondering if Buzzsaw had some truth to his words, if he had received this opportunity far too early. The locker room was mostly empty, as Kenji had sent most of the roster home in the wake of the near confrontation. Echoes of ghosts could be heard from the corridors, signalling the main event had come to an end. Nick simply remained seated; a wet towel was over his shoulders as he leaned his elbows against his knees, letting the stillness of the locker room clear his thoughts. Nick wondered if he could stay here with so many enemies made in one day, in a country that was so foreign to him.

TyranT: Ya’ nearly made me look like a fool today.

A voice spoke, the unmistakable tone of the TyranT. Nick looked up, seeing the man stand at the doorway, blood coating half his face and attire, cuts and bruises all over his arms as in his gloved hand was the hand of his daughter Faith, the young girl who stood with a smile on her lips. Her expression told of TyranT’s victory tonight.

TyranT: Wait outside girl, Ah’ just gotta’ talk to the young man for a moment.

The mute girl nodded, walking from the room as TyranT approached his locker, opening it up to gather his belongings. Nick sat up, breathing deeply, each pain bringing pain to his chest from when Tanker came crashing down against him during the match. He would recover no doubt, but he never remembered being tested so much before in his career.

TyranT: Tanker is a decent friend of mine. He’ll act an asshole in the ring, only ‘cause he wants to bring out the best in ya’. Should go an apologize to him when ya’ get the chance, ya’ went a little too hard on the big bastard, he was only roughin’ ya up to make the fight look good. With luck it might keep Kessler off ya’ back if ya’ get things straight with Tanker, but that man Buzzsaw is an asshole, so Ah’ can’t guarantee that.

Bryson: I didn’t get a chance to thank you.

TyranT: To thank me? What in the hell for. Ah’ didn’t do a damn thing.

TyranT spoke, not once making eye contact with Nick Bryson as he grabbed his bag and some personal belongings, heading towards the locker room exit. He was half way through the door when he stopped, truning to look upon Nick who held his first title within his hands.

TyranT: For what it’s worth though. Ya’ impressed Kenji, and ya’ damn well pleased the fuckin’ Japs. Ah’ think yer’ will do alright here once yer’ accept yer’ will never understand a fuckin’ word they say.

Nick nodded, managing a weak smile.

Bryson: I owe you one.

He spoke, but the aged veteran was no longer there to hear it.

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


TyranT: Ah’ wonder sometimes if ya’ had your hand in a twist of events mah’self. For one, Ah’ never really got the chance to thank ya’.

TyranT spoke, adjusting his coat as he sat slumped on a chair, his hair all the more thinner with more age, his goatee lighter, threatened with greying hairs as Nick poured the contents of the bottle into two shot glasses laid out carefully, the two taking in the city view as the lights burned bright, lighting the dark.

Bryson: Thank me? What for?

TyranT tilted his head, pulling a face before he knocked back the auburn shot, letting the liquid burn all the way down his throat as he shook his head to the side as the kick hit hard. Nick followed suit, seeing TyranT’s hesitance to answer the question as TyranT signalled for Nick to pour out another.

TyranT: For what happened... before Circus Maximus.

A silence returned, though there was no pretence of malice this time. The silence felt much lighter, having no burden, but more of an unspoken moment of friendship, one that was rarely shared between two fighters, fighters that had hardly met each other despite how their fates constantly seemed to cross one and other. Nick didn’t make eye contact; he knew what TyranT spoke of as he poured another round, making this one a double for the moment.

TyranT: Ah’ don’t care much for mah’self. Ah’ can’t really thank ya’ for savin’ mah’ life ‘cause there ain’t that much to it... but yer’ did save mah’ daughter. Stupid girl was ready to throw her life away for some ol’ fossil who still had a bit of flare left within him. She moved quicker than Ah’ could, and she almost paid a price Ah’ never wudda’ forgiven mah’self...

Bryson: Enough with the flattery you old fool. As you said yourself we are not here to talk about the past, but the future and more success. Let’s drink not to what was or what could have been, but to what is and what will be when we take down Michaels and Frost both here and when Ultimatum finally comes.

TyranT managed a wry smile, holding up his refilled glass, before draining it back like the first. Nick followed by example, knocking back the drink and enduring the sharp kick that soon followed. He recalled his respect for the veteran, even during the days when their paths had been so far apart from each others. He found a means to return a favour he felt he truly owed. It was often funny how the times could find a means to repeat itself, but always holding a little difference from the first times.

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


Jaro: I always thought the NEW was a damn waste of resources, but there’s one or two talents there that we might be able to salvage from the mess.

Board Members: The FMW is growing much faster than we anticipated, but much of the ilk of the NEW does not pass for the standard we require for our shows.

Bryson: So why is SPARTA here than?

Drew: That’s a question of concern that I share with my partner.

The late afternoon held an unmistakable presence, casting a deep ginger glare through the open blinds of the board room to the most powerful board members with share holds and interest in the FMW. It was hard to see the men and woman as they sat on their chair, covered in beams of natural light, making them appear as nothing more than dark silhouettes as the CEO of the FMW rested his elbows against the mahogany table amongst his colleagues who held the FMW’s interest close to their wallets. Documents of profiled wrestlers lay scattered before the members, the fates of many wrestlers hanging in the balance in the wake of the first Ultimatum. Powers were beginning to shift; much like when the moon would replace the sun in the sky, casting a gloom over the world instead of the light of the sun. Such a time was already coming as the sun edged in its decent, signalling for darker times to rise.

Jaro: Well that’s just exactly it; you’re here to help us decide who is worth keeping or not out of that shit list of the NEW. You two are talented are you not? I thought you would both have a keen eye on who might at least make half a name for themselves here, there is a new brand forming up called Anxiety and I need pieces of meat to fill some of the extra slots we have, but I want some good quality meat here, not the shit you find in McDonalds alright? I know you two were keeping an eye on the new guys at Ultimatum, so I want you to help me determine who stays and who goes.

Drew: I’ll talk to these guys and help out, but I’m not saying anything to you Jaro.

Drew Michaels spoke defiantly. He was still one half of SPARTA back then, along side of Nick Bryson, neither man anticipating the fates that awaited them years after now. Jaro swore under his breath, tensions still high in the aftermath of Ultimatum. Jaro seemed to retreat into the darkness, as the board members took control, holding Drew in high regard after his victory over the dominant Ethan Black, the beginning of what essentially would be a crushing fall for the once unstoppable champion. Drew set it all in motion back then, with Nick Bryson by his side. The two were considered the driving force of the FMW, and naturally their opinions were valued over the self centered individuals under Blacks rule.

Board Members: What of Bonsai Magpie?

Bryson: Can’t say the kid had any promise. NEW was good for him but I don’t think he’ll cut it.

Drew: Ethan Black will see them as meat, they’ll have to join him or get torn apart. I don’t think Magpie can take that.

Board Members: Very well, the fans were not so keen on his deformity either. What of Skyler Striker’s team following Ultimatum?

Drew: I think we can all agree Skyler proved himself out there in the ring against TyranT. I think he will make a mark here but the rest of the team I can’t really vouch for. As for TyranT, heh, he was good back in the day and he fought quite well at Ultimatum but I think it’s a waste of time investing in someone whose career is nearly over. We need more young talent and not old.

Board Members: We already agreed on TyranT’s fate, we intend to send notice of his release quite soon.

Nick frowned, leaning forwards in his chair in regards to TyranT.

Bryson: Hey, wait a minute. You’re going to write off TyranT? The man was a god damn legend in his day.

Drew: In his day yeah, but it’s not his day anymore.

Bryson: He’s past his prime and he’s getting on a bit, but he still has it. He’s what... in his late forties? He still worked the crowd better than anyone in that match, and the old bastard can still move. I think we should take advantage of his talents whilst he’s still got them, think of it money wise. He has a fan base we can introduce to the FMW.

Board Members: TyranT? Giving him a full contract would pose as a significant risk if it doesn’t work.

Bryson: I can vouch for him...

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


Billy: Ah’ need that raise boss. Ah’m fallin’ behind on mah’ bills. Ah’ can’t keep payin’ for Faith’s treatment with the money Ah’m on.

Warden: I’m sorry McKenzie. We can’t afford it, this place is struggling enough as it is with paying staff. There is simply nothing I can do.

The Warden spoke, a burly man with square glasses, clad in a brown suit as he spoke directly to McKenzie. Billy’s head dropped down to the ground as he realized it was hopeless. He returned to the asylum with the untimely demise of NEW, out of work when a contract was not renewed. He sat in a security room, watching over the patients rooms, his eyes mostly watching his daughter as she sat in a straight jacket, hoping to one day be able to afford the treatments she needed to get her head straight. The warden’s news was another heavy blow as he realized he could no longer pay for Faith’s current treatments and the facilities of the asylum. He needed more money, and not enough was coming from the wages as a guard of this madhouse. The warden left Billy to his sorrows as he turned to look upon the camera’s again, seeing his daughter's room as the young woman was rocking slightly as she sat on the floor, lost in her own world. That girl had spent too long in this place, in that small box room of solitude like some prisoner. McKenzie slammed his hand down hard against the table in frustration, splitting the flesh on the bottom of his hand, causing a small stain of blood to be engrained upon the plastic table. Where did he go wrong? He did everything right in the ring during his time in the NEW and in Ultimatum. The old timer did not know what he was going to do.

Bryson: This a bad time? They told me I might find you here?

Billy: Ah’ know that voice.

A familiar voice made Billy turn on his chair with a frown. There stood Nick Bryson, clad in casual clothing with a SPARTA hoodie predominately coating over his torso. He was more powerfully built since Billy had last seen him, wearing a confidence within his eyes that was yet to materialize back in the SJF some years ago. He held an envelope in his hand, passing it towards McKenzie. The name TyranT was written upon in fine writing.

Bryson: We’re keeping you on. This is your new contract. They'll be expecting to see you ready for next show, you're being entered into a tournament for a new title.

Billy frowned; opening up the envelope as inside was a folded contract for TyranT to wrestle on a year trail deal. It only needed to be signed, and the money would be more than enough to cover the expenses of treating Faith here in the asylum. Billy swallowed, feeling his stomach turn as his lip quivered. It was everything he needed, a chance to return to the ring, a chance to help his daughter be restored to the girl he remembered.

Billy: Nick... I... I don’t know how to thank you.

Billy spoke, but when he looked up, there was no sign of the man; he had already walked away, like TyranT once had for him all those years ago.

TyranT: I owe you one...

The scene opens on a dark room, filled with an eerie silence. The only movement in the shadows is that of a small animal, most likely a cat as it stealthily prowls the basement looking for food scraps, rodents or anything else it can make a meal of.

With a start the cat scuttles out of the open, its bony frame silhouetted in the shot as a garage door opens behind it. Two blazing eyes light up the room from beyond the door as the gentle hum of a perfectly tuned engine permeates though the still night air.

The cat does its best to hide in the elative safety of another car’s shadow as the two eyes dim and roll on toward the far end of the basement. The car swings in to an empty bay and, with a clunk, the driver’s door swings open, almost before the wheels have finished turning.

SLAM, SLAm, SLam, Slam, slam.

As the echo fades away the basement is once again returned to quiet for a few moments until the rhythmic slap of leather on concrete beats out as the car’s driver begins moving toward the only source of light remaining in the room. The green glow of the EXIT sign above the basement’s entrance casts an ominous aura about the man as the camera follows him toward the door.

Suddenly the man spins on one heel, fists raised and ready, to be greeted by two giant green eyes bearing down on him at great speed.

PrrRrr, PrrRrr

Abel Steele: Piss off cat.

The cat was a stray, but it had been floating around the basement of Abel’s building for some time now. Most nights Abel had brought home a bit of chicken or fish, or had some left over morsel from whatever food he had managed to find after training himself into the wee hours of the night. The cat had soon learned it’s meal ticket and was doing its best to edge its way into Abel’s life as a pet.

Abel Steele: I said piss off!

With a yelp the cat blasted across the basement floor somehow, as cats always seem to, finding its feet before it crashed to the concrete. It skittered away under another car, tail swishing too and fro in a mix of fear and anger.

After a short moment two green eyes appeared in the darkness under the car, staring hauntingly out at Abel.

Abel Steele: What the hell are you looking at?

The green globes disappeared from view and Abel knew the cat would not be back to await his arrival tomorrow night.

A flicker of movement in the darkness caught Abel’s attention.

Damn cat’s more persistent than I gave it credit for.

Abel turned away from the cat and moved purposefully toward the exit. It was late and he was still in his training gear. He was looking forward to a shower and a drink before hitting the hay. Tomorrow, after all, would be another full day in his unrelenting training schedule.

The sound of rushing foot steps was the only warning Abel received of the attack. He only had time enough to turn as a sack was thrown over his head. He tried his best to fight his way out but found himself grabbed by strong hands on both sides.

A grunt as one of the men went down was satisfying but as the panic rose in him Abel felt another set of firm hands take over from the fallen man and heard voices behind shouting to another man to grab him.

???: Don’t struggle Abel. Don’t make this any more painful than it has to be ok?

Despite every instinct pushing him to fight on Abel resisted. He might be able to land a few more blows now but inevitably would find himself beaten into submission by weight of numbers.Begrudgingly he allows his wrists to be tied up.

???: That’s better. After all, we are only here to help you Abel.


Director: Aaaaaaaand CUT!

As if jolted to life by the director’s words a team of staff rush forward onto the set. Abel Steele waits patiently as one of the young stage hands does her best to unravel the mess of knots that have been made around his wrists.

Steele:[/b] Listen sweey how about you forget the ropes for a minute and get this damn sack from off my face? I’m suffocating in here!

The young lady is too nervous to say anything, instead letting out a small squeak before whipping the sack off.

Steele: Thanks….

Abel’s face smarted from the friction burn of the hessian sack. The young girl squeaked again and went back to untying the knots around his wrists.

Steele: Relax, you’re doing fine.

The young girl smiled up at Abel in appreciation of the kind words then, seeing the director approaching, quickly ducked her head back down to study the tangle of rope before her.

Director: Okay Abel, I think that went pretty well. I’m just going to review the tape but I think we might not even have to do a second take.

Steele:That’s good news!

Director: I liked how you handled the cat, I think it will make the scene. Still, when I find out whose job it was to clear this set this morning I’m going to tear ‘em a new one.

Abel knew immediately whose job it had been. The sudden tightening of the rope around his wrists was all the clue he needed.

Steele: Don’t waste your time Leo, like you said it worked perfectly. Why don’t we just put out a general memo about the importance of securing the set properly when we are shooting on location.

The director’s face said he was looking forward to chewing someone out, but a blank stare from Abel was enough to make him think better of it.

Leo: Sure Abel, I’ve got a lot to get trough today as it is. I think I have to be on the other side of town to shoot something for David GS

Finally the first of the knots came free and the young stage hand released one of Abel’s hands while continuing to work on freeing the other.

Steele: I’m sure you’ll nail it Leo, you always do mate.

The director flashed a cheesy grin. In Abel’s opinion if there was one thing you could ALWAYS count on from showbiz people it was an insatiable appetite for compliments.

Leo: Thanks Abel, remember you have tomorrow off and then we finish your promo in the studio first thing the next morning, OK?

A thumbs up with his free hand was all the answer Abel gave as the director walked away to go and make someone else’s life a misery.

Girl: Thanks.

Abel looked down ant the young woman struggling with the knot still tied about his wrist. He reached his other hand out and took a hold of both of hers in it.
As she looked up into his eyes Abel smiled down at her, but the young lady quickly averted her gaze.

Steele:I don’t bite you know.

The girl’s eyes flash wide at this and she snatches her hands back out of Abel’s grasp.

Girl: Let me get that rope for you Mr. Steele.

Steele:Forget the rope

Girl: But it’s my jo…..

The sound of rope snapping brings the young woman to a stop. As the rope drops to the floor in a neat coil.

Girl: Thanks.

She said flatly, as Abel took a bottle of mineral water from a passing refreshments cart.

Steele:You want anything?

Girl: Uhh, I’m not allowed to Mr Steele.

Steele:Maybe not, but I am. How about some of that nut slice? It’s pretty good.

A quick shake of the head was all the response Abel got and, not wanting to press the point any further, he waved the cart away.

Girl: Are you okay here now Mr. Steele, because I have to get to the next shoot or I’ll lose my internship?

Steele: I’m all good thanks uhhhh, what did you say your name was again?

Girl: I didn’t.

Steele: Right…….

Girl: It’s Amy.

Steele: Well thanks Amy.

With a perfunctory smile Amy backed away and went about her business of getting things ready to travel to the next shoot..

Abel made his way over to where Leo was sitting watching the tape from his scene and nodding along in approval.

Leo: You’re all ready to go for a big climax tomorrow Abel. This promo is gonna be a killer.

Steele:Cheers mate, how could I miss with you behind the camera.

Leo shrugged and mouthed the words “I really don’t know” while continuing to watch the tape.

Steele: Say uh, you know I had some ideas for the next piece and I was wondering if I could borrow Amy to help me set some stuff up.

Leo: Who?

Steele:The new intern.

Abel pointed back in the general direction he had just come from. Leo squinted over his shoulder but came up blank.

Leo: Who??

Steele: Amy.

Leo looked around until finally he noticed the young girl who had been untying the knots around Abel’s wrists.

Leo: Uhhh, yeh sure take her along if you like.

A sly wink from Leo told Abel that the director had already decided why Abel wanted her help and it wasn’t going to be setting up a shoot.

Leo:Just make sure you get her to fill in a timesheet for me. Jean in admin has been busting my balls all week over paperwork.

Steele:One more thing….

Leo raised one eyebrow inquiringly, indicating Abel should continue.

Steele: Make it sound like it was your idea.

Abel clapped Leo on the shoulder and walked away as the director turned back to the tape.

********

[i]Silence.

Nearly the entire trip from the location shoot to the studio where Abel had his next scene to shoot for Ammunition 13.2 was made in deathly silence.

It had started out with Abel trying to get a conversation going. He had tried all the usual niceties, weather, current events and fashion. Hell he had even resorted to pop music in an attempt to get something out of Amy but the young lady had to this point displayed no interest in saying anymore than she absolutely had to.

Steele:Okay, what’s with the cold shoulder?

Amy: I beg you pardon?

Amy withered under Abel’s unfaltering stare.

Amy: It’s…….the cat.

Steele:I don’t have a cat.

Amy: On the set.

Steele:Oh that cat. You mean the one I saved you from being fired over?

Instantly Abel wished he could have the words back as Amy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Steele: I’m sorry, what about the cat, was it yours?

Girl: No it wasn’t my cat. It was just that… well

Abel reached out with what was meant to be a reassuring hand. Unfortunately Amy swerved violently resulting in the cup of coffee Abel was holding between his legs spilling and the hot contents pouring all over his groin.

Amy: Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Please don’t fire me, please don’t hurt me!

Steele: Whoa, I’m not going to have you fired and I’m not going to hurt you.

Amy: Really?

Steele: Of course not, I’m not like that. Just bloody pull over, this is burning.

Amy pulled the car onto the shoulder and Abel stepped out to dry his pants as best he could with a handful of serviettes. The slowing down of a passing vehicle caght his attention and Abel looked up.

Steele: Hey mate, we’re ok.

Driver: Ok, hey wait a minute, you’re Abel Steele aren’t ya?!

Abel flashed him the same grin he gave to all his fans. It had taken a while of being in FMW to get used to, the fans in the boxing world were not nearly so enthusiastic.

Driver: Don’t you smile at me you dirty bastard.

Before Abel could react a thick shake slammed into his chest, ice cream running down his shirt and into his undone pants.

Driver: That was for dock you piece of shit. I hope you get your head caved in by those Gold standard guys.

With a shower of rocks as he sped away from the scene the man was gone, leaving Abel a sticky cold mess.

Amy: Are you okay Mr. Steele?

Abel was too dumbfounded to speak. In all his time he had never had a fan speak to him that way. He was used to little kids running up and wanting his autographs as proud parents beamed in the background.

Amy: Mr Steele?

Steele:Huh? Oh yeah I’ll be fine, might have to lose the shirt and pants though. He motioned Amy back to the car and whipped off his pants and shirt, leaving him only in boxer shorts. He quickly threw the soiled clothes in the trunk and then jumped into the car.

Steele: At least the ice cream was cold after the coffee.

Amy smiled at that.

Steele: Can you believe that guy?

Amy kept on driving

Steele: I mean don’t people realise I’m just playing a character? The Abel Steele they see on screen is only for show.

Amy: Is he?

Steele: What’s that supposed to mean?

Amy: Nothing, forget it.

Steele: No tell me.

Amy sighed deeply to herself, looked Abel up and down sitting in his boxer’s and then. Seeming to reach some sort of decision in her head she finally spoke out.

Amy: That cat…..

Steele: Oh my god that bloody cat.

Amy: It’s just that you kicked that poor thing so hard and I know that wasn’t in the script. I just figured that is what you actually are like that.

Steele: Are you serious. I was in character; I reacted the way I thought “Abel Steele” should react.

Amy looked at him sceptically.

Steele: I thought someone in the industry would know better.

Amy blushed heavily.

Amy: I’ve been on this internship less than a fortnight.

Steele: And you haven’t figured out that we are acting yet. Telling a story for our fans?

Amy: I know that. But most of the guys I’ve worked with so far were bigger assholes off screen than on. Some of those “good guys” are real pricks behind the scenes. Even the rookies act like they are better than anyone else.

Steele: Well I’m not arguing that.

Amy: And when I saw you kick that poor cat I figured you were just like all of them.

Steele: I see.

Abel sat silently for a while as Amy continued driving toward the studio. Eventually he spoke again.

Steele: I think you’d better pull up at a shopping center somewhere. I can’t turn up at the studio in just my boxer’s.

Amy: Sure…..you know Abel?

Steele: Hmmm?

Amy: When I saw you kick that cat I did think you were just like all the rest of the guys.

Abel sat silently as Amy pulled into a car park.

Amy: But after seeing how you stood up for me with Leo and then how you reacted to the coffee and the thick shake….. well…… I….., I don’t think that anymore.

Steele: well that’s something. Now would you mind grabbing me some shorts and a shirt to wear

Abel handed here a $100 bill and watched as she went into the store.

She might not be too bright, but the girl’s got a bit of spirit at least.




Abel fell more than sat into a cold steel chair. His head was still covered and his wrists bound tightly. His captors were giving him a lot of respect, he had counted at least 7 voices, which means they transported him in a van or bus of some sort by his guess.

Steele:I hope you guys know what you’re doing.

A fist to the chin was all the answer Abel got and he snapped his head back in shock. As he did so another man grabbed the sack from the top of his head and pulled it off roughly.

???: Abel we are here to save you.

Steele: From what?

???: Yourself.

Steele: Thanks, but I’m all good.

Another blow to the jaw answered. This time able could see his attacker and winked at him.

Steele: That’s two I owe you mate.

???: Abel I have decided you needed an intervention.

The man stepped forward and Abel realised it was one of the doctors who had recently been treating him for his dementia pugilistica.

Doctor: I monitored your behaviour through your treatment. You have shown massive personality changes, made irrational decisions and become physically violent towards those who seem to care about you.

Steele: You mean the doctor I threatened to stuff in a MRI machine? The guy was getting in my way

Doctor: And your treatment of John Derrick.

Steele: He was getting in my way too!

Abel leaned forward in his chair, looking incredibly threatening even with both wrists bound on his lap.

Steele: I don’t want your damn help mate.

Doctor: Abel, you need to be saved. It is clear you are on drugs, it is the only explanation for your rapid personality shift.

Steele:Drugs? Drugs… hahahaha. You are bloody joking right? You think I am so bloody weak I need to resort to drugs. I assure you I am fully aware of my actions.

Abel stood up in his chair and towered over the doctor who remained calm knowing that Abel was well bound and he had several men ready to push him back down.

Steele: I didn’t need drugs to push me. The god damned world did that all on it’s own and when I got pushed too far something…

SNAP

The ropes binding Abel’s wrists suddenly snapped and he delivered one swift blow to the head of the doctor. Turning quickly Abel dropped the first two men before the rest of them had even noticed.

Steele:You all have the opportunity to walk away. I don’t know what he paid you but you have to ask yourself, will it cover the bloody medical bills?

The men paused and then after a few moments three of them turned and fled into the night. The fourth man heard the steps of the others and thought better of it himself.

Thug: Let’s get out of here Joey

With that he too turned and fled, the last man moving to follow him before suddenly jerking backwards and crumpling to the floor.

Abel wandered over to stand over the top of him, polishing his brass knuckles on his fist.

Steele: Now that’s one….

With a smack of metal on bone Abel sent the man into unconsciousness.

Steele: And that makes two, mate.

Abel stood up from the man and moved over to the doctor who was huddled on the floor nursing a broken nose.

Steele: I don’t bloody recall anyone asking for your help Doc. You can’t save someone that doesn’t want to be saved.

With that Abel slammed his head down into the floorboards and stormed out of the room.





Steele: Leo are you sure this bad guy thing is gonna be good for my character?

Leo: Sure Abel, why wouldn’t it be. Everyone is talking about you now aren’t they?

Steele: Yeh, it’s just well, this guy the other day threw some stuff at me. And the kids don’t wanna come near me anymore. I just….. I liked being the good guy so much more.

Leo:Abel we’d all like to be the good guy but believe me, this is going to push you up to the top of FMW.

Steele:Well if you say so. I just wish I could associate with this new character a bit more.

Leo: It’s brand new Abel, it’ll come. Speaking of, have you come up with a name for that new finisher of your’s yet? I know the creative guys were keen to have the commentators wok it in for the next show.

Steele: I was thinking the victimiser,.

Leo: Yeh ok. It sounds a bit too bad guy to me. Remember you want to be the good guy who got pushed into this, not the guy who just want’s to hurt people for fun.

Abel paused in thought for a moment.

Steele: How about “The Stainless Steele Finish”?

Leo: Better! Let’s go with that ok.

Steele: OK Thanks Leo. Listen are we done here? I’ve got a ton of training to do. I have to push my boxer thing a bit while trying to show I can compete in C-4 rules.

Leo: You bet your ass we are. Mr. One take does it again. Do we have you scheduled for a segment piece this show?

Steele: Not at this stage. Creative were gonna get back to me on that though.

Leo: OK Then, well I guess I’ll just see you after the show then.

Steele: Thanks mate.

You Can't Save Them



The shadows dominating the sixteen by sixteen concrete room were warbled, distorted, as Hannibal Frost hit the unforgiving floor with a thud. If the one light in the room even illuminated anything, the downed FMW Champion couldn't tell. Everything was hazy, like a thin film of dust had coated his eyes.

The cold surface of the concrete floor kept Frost from passing out... again, maybe? Deep within the recesses of his memory, there were no clues to mine. Not even the faintest image of what had happened or where he was. It was like Frost had just... appeared in this room.

Of course, that notion was quickly thrown out the window as the steady heel-toe cadence of a rhythmic gait echoed within the empty, dark room. Frost instinctively jerked for his chest holster, but only found the fabric of his charcoal gray shirt. He could still feel the weight of his black duster clinging to his body, but the Champion was unarmed nonetheless.

"The Champion of Earth, and the prophet of Salvation..."

The voice was light, almost completely lacking of testosterone. Sounded like a teenager, just barely out of high school.

He spoke again, affirming Frost's guess.

"If I hadn't been cursed with this eternal teenage angst, I'd be honored."

A hundred possible scenarios darted through Frost's mind, each one lending a bit of credence to Frost's current situation. But, he finally settled on one word: Vampire.

Still, Frost wouldn't speak just yet. A little dry wit certainly wouldn't diffuse this kind of situation.

"How does it feel, old man? Being called a hero, a champion?"

That stung. Frost wasn't too keen on being labeled as aged. He might've been in his late... late twenties, but to now be an old man, just wasn't fair. Damn teenagers.

"Hey, old man, I'm talking to you."

Another sting, but Frost ignored it yet. He had to put the puzzle pieces into place first. He couldn't just fire off one liners all willy nilly like without at least being a step ahead of their game.

And yet... no piece fell into place. Hell, Frost wasn't even sure he had any of the pieces.

"Listen, you old mother fucker, I said-"

A sharp tinge of anger hit Frost, bringing his gaze up to find a hazy figure leaning against the wall just a few feet away.

"I'm not old."

Frost sprang up, his actions a bit sloppier than intended, and swung at the figure before him. The strike missed by leaps and bounds though, leaving Frost open for a sharp punch that doubled him over.

Falling to his knees, Frost found himself in no mood to be cooperative.

"Why am I here, you diapered little shit?"

Two new voices echoed about the room, the laughter indicating it. But before Frost could place the sources, everything became silent.

Quickly, the vampire teenager brought the focus back to himself.

"I've been around for two hundred years, old man. They didn't have Huggies in my day."

Frost smirked, the motion feeling sluggish. "I remember asking a question, you walking contradiction."

The quip brought forth a slight laugh from the boy, evil in its intent. "Ah yes, why you're here..."

Frost scowled as the vampire replied with a practice aloofness. The bastard was confident, and felt completely in control of the situation.

Frost used that to his advantage.

He sprung up again, this time lashing out with a stiff elbow. The strike connected with the vampire's abdomen, the surface almost as hard as rock. And when nothing happened, Frost felt a lead weight drop into the pit of his stomach.

"Poor Champion..." The vampire whispered, before backhanding Frost to the floor.

The hit left Frost dazed and with a fevered pain clawing at his jaw.

"What... do you want?" Frost asked, the question sounding more resigned than anything. That last hit, and the two other vampires in the room, left him with the feeling of hopelessness.

"Only to play a game, old man."

Call me old one more time, you little cocksucker...

"And what game would that be?" Frost asked, his gruff voice lacking its usual edge.

"One where we prove just how grand of a champion you really are."

Frost let his head thunk back onto the concrete, really regretting his decision to ask about this little "game". But before Frost could say anything, the teenage vampire went on to explain.

"You see, I've been watching you. From the rooftops, from the shadows. I've witnessed every move you've made since slaying the daughter of Anubis."

"Good times," Frost let slip with a sigh.

"Your negativity is not appreciated."

Frost smiled, finally content with his situation. He'd listen, he'd do what they wanted, but he'd give 'em hell in the mean time. "It's hard to take you seriously with that pint sized voice of yours."

"Fine, straight to the point then."

Frost cracked his neck, trying to relieve some of the pressure in his jaw. "And here I was thinking you'd never get to it."

An angry growl, lacking any semblance of patience, accompanied the explanation of the point. "Under orders of Anubis, you shall undergo the Champion's Rite."

Of course the almighty Egyptian God, and first Vampire, Anubis was pulling the strings here. The man did say that he'd be paying Frost back for killing his one and only child. At least by birth, anyway. All of these vampires were his children. Each one, indirectly, was a member of his line.

"The Rite you face is a series of challenges. And since your future is inexorably linked with your current profession, those challenges will be inexorably linked with you."

Frost groaned as the mention of, what had to be, Full Metal Wrestling filled the room. Of course, it most likely made sense. Long gone were the days of fighting in the pits for blood and glory. The closest resemblance to the coliseums of yore just happened to be the same blood sport that Frost found himself champion of. Kinda' funny how that works out, eh?

"But, there will be consequences for your failures."

Frost, his vision finally beginning to clear, watched as the teenage vampire motioned to someone behind him. The sound of a door opening was instantly drowned out by feminine sobs and a fright induced begging for mercy.

Eyes wide open now, Frost hit Hero Mode with a vengeance and launched himself up. Only, within seconds, Frost was back to the floor with a new pain snaking its way through his chest.

"This is Megan..." The vampire said, whilst holding the bound girl in his place by her blond hair. Her cheeks were stained with mascara, while her innocent eyes were rimmed with red. "She's just now enjoying her first year in college, and hopes to graduate with a masters degree in medicine. She could save lives one day..."

A flash of pale flesh snatched at the girl's throat, and in just a split second, half of her neck was just a mess of blood and tissue. On her knees, Megan gasped for air, but nothing was sating her need for it.

And Hannibal Frost couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

"You see, this is what the Rite is designed to do. Its sole purpose is to remind the Champion that no one is above Anubis, and the true Gods that pull the strings here."

As the vampire spoke, the girl continued to gag and choke on her own blood. Agonizingly, Frost watched as the life drained from her eyes and she fell face first onto the floor.

"You might think you're a hero, a champion, but really... you're just another puppet that dances to our tune. Just another cog in the machine that will finally bring this world to its knees. You are a false idol, one which will inspire the masses to find salvation..."

Frost tried to slow his breathing, tried to unclinch his fists... anything to stop the anger seeping into every pore. Not now. Can't win this one...

"Only, they won't find it. Instead, this hope you've given them will only serve to make their fall that much harder. You can't win, and we will prove it. Two more fights and then your title as Champion will be on the line, yes?"

Frost didn't answer any of it. He couldn't. He'd have to save his strength, his words, and use them another day.

"Well, lose the first and we take three completely innocent individuals from this world. Lose the second, and we take ten. Lose your title as Champion... and we will take more lives than any Hannibal Frost could save in a lifetime."

Frost shut his eyes, trying to keep at bay the pressure and fear that had just been thrust upon him. But, he'd save them, and he'd show everyone that each path was their own. No one could be controlled like this, and no one deserved to. "I won't lose."

A high pitched cackle fell from the vampire's lips, which were twisted into a sick smile. "You. Will. Lose."

Frost snarled, but that was as much as he dared to do. He wouldn't put it past the vampire to break something important before this "Rite" even began.

"This was meant to be, Frost. You, as Champion, only happened because we wanted it to."

Then the vampire moved off the wall, stepping over Megan's lifeless body in the process, and bent down to whisper in Frost's ear.

"You can't save them. You can't save anyone."

Shows just what the fuck you know.

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina


Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

Leviticus lie there in the darkness as his mind raced with memories. He remembered Tyrell standing there in front of him with a knife in his hand. He remembered seeing the smile on Tyrell’s face as he drove that knife right into his guts. He remembered the horrible burning sensation that he felt his insides being exposed to the outside air. He remembered falling to the concrete. He remembered lying there trying his best to come to grips with his situation while Tyrell watched him bleed. Most of all he remembered dying.

Leviticus’s eyes slowly came open and as they did they were flooded with light. The light was pure white and almost blinding and he had to hold his hand up to shield himself from the intensity of it. He stood there with his hand against his forehead serving as a shield against the brightness until his eyes adjusted. Somewhere in the midst of all that light he saw something. What he saw was a shadowed figure that stood before him as though they had been delivered from the light it’s self. Slowly the light subsided and the identity of the figure became clear. The man in front of him wore a long white robe that was trimmed in gold and his head was covered by a mask.

Masked Man: Hello Leviticus.

Leviticus blinked his eyes once or twice to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was.

Leviticus: Aren’t you…

The masked man nodded.

Masked Man: My name is Exodus and I have come to be your guide.

Leviticus shook his head.

Leviticus: I know that you used to be called Exodus, Drew. If you want to trick me you’re going to have to try harder than that.

Exodus shook his head.

Exodus: You are only half right Leviticus. Drew Michaels did indeed wear the guise of Exodus at one point. However, he only adopted the mantle, he is not the being. You see Exodus is an ideal, a symbol if you will, a theatrical representation of all that is good and right.

Leviticus cocked his head to the side and stared in disbelief at the masked man in front of him.

Leviticus: Are you saying you’re some kind of superhero?

Exodus chuckled and nodded.

Exodus: In a manner of speaking yes, I suppose you could say that.

Leviticus closed his eyes and shook his head.

Leviticus: So I died and wound up in Gotham City. Great, just great.

Exodus crossed his arms.

Exodus: Who says you died?

Leviticus narrowed his eyes and looked at the masked man.

Leviticus: Tyrell and his knife.

Exodus shook his head and held out his hands as though he were waving of Leviticus’s statement.

Exodus: No, Leviticus, you will live through this. You still have too much to accomplish.

Leviticus’s eyes widened. He wasn’t dead? He had too much to accomplish? What in the world was Exodus talking about?

Leviticus: Then why am I here?

Exodus turned his back to Leviticus and began to walk away.

Exodus: So that you may be prepared for that which is to come.

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

Been to hell!
I can show you the devil!
Down you fell
Can't hold yourself together
Soul to sell
Down here you live forever
Welcome to a world where dreams become nightmares!

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

When Leviticus had first met Exodus they stood in an expansive field with white flowers as far as the eye could see. Where they were now though was some place quite different. Leviticus’s eyes were wide as he looked out at the broken wasteland in front of him. Where there had once been great towers and cities of splendor there now stood only fire, chaos and death.

Leviticus: What is this place?

Exodus looked back at Leviticus and raised a solitary finger to the place where his mouth was under the mask. When the masked man spoke it was in a low voice, just slightly above a whisper.

Exodus: We must be careful lest they discover us. As to what this is, it was once a great and mighty empire.

Leviticus crept up beside Exodus and shook his head.

Leviticus: Not anymore.

Exodus nodded.

Exodus: When the Emperor first founded this empire it was meant to be a place of hope. A place where people could find freedom from the crushing tyranny of the kingdom they had all fled from. Eventually though the Emperor became even worse then the leaders of the other nation.

Something that sounded very much like a building crumbling cut Exodus’s explanation short. Both men stood there, absolutely still, trying their best to see what made the noise. They wouldn’t have to wait long.

A mass of twisted jagged steel that had been formed into a sort of mechanized monstrosity stepped out from behind the rubble of one of the fallen towers. The thing stopped and scanned the streets in front of it giving Leviticus an even clearer view of it. Its twisted metal frame was rusted and stained by blood. Its pilot wasn’t even visible there was so much mass to the thing.

Leviticus was frozen in horror but managed to get out a whispered statement.

Leviticus: What is that thing?

Exodus wasted no time in responding.

Exodus: It is an organ grinder. Its sole purpose is to collect the dead and broken so that they may be fed into the machines that power the city.

Suddenly the thing jerked to life. Leviticus was startled but had to move forward to see what was going to happen next. On the road below Leviticus could see someone running. As he focused more on the person who was running he could see that it was an older man in a cowboy hat. The man looked back behind him as he continued to run. The machine lurched to life with brutal efficiency. Fire spewed from where its face should have been taking the running man down in a blaze. The man in the cowboy hat lies there on the road, his entire body covered in burns, trying his best to crawl away from the machine. Leviticus felt everything in his being demanding that he go help the man, but Exodus grabbed his arm and stopped him.

Exodus: It’s too late.

Leviticus was going to object when the sound of the organ grinder moving forward snapped his attention back to the grisly scene unfolding before him. The man in the cowboy hat had rolled over onto his back and was holding his hands up toward the machine.

Doc: Please… No…

The cowboy’s pleas fell on deaf ears as the machine drove one of its jagged metal arms straight through his broken body. Leviticus closed his eyes as he heard the machine walk away. He knew what the fate of the cowboy was to be from what Exodus had told him and he couldn’t watch that.

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

Been to hell!
I can show you the devil!
Down you fell
Can't hold yourself together
Soul to sell
Down here you live forever
Welcome to a world where dreams become nightmares!

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

Leviticus felt Exodus’s hand on his shoulder, which made him open his eyes. He could barely see the masked man through the tears that were still flowing for the fallen cowboy.

Leviticus: How could they do that?

Exodus lowered his head.

Exodus: It is the nature of the beast.

Leviticus sprung up to his feat as fury filled him.

Leviticus: Then it’s a beast that deserves to be slain!

Exodus slowly came to his feet as well.

Exodus: And that is exactly what you will do Leviticus. You will stand against them. You will fight for that which is right against a great and mighty evil.

Leviticus nodded. Suddenly a noise from behind them caused the two men to spin around. As soon as they did they found themselves face to face with three men who wore black uniforms. Leviticus recognized them immediately.

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

Been to hell!
I can show you the devil!
Down you fell
Can't hold yourself together
Soul to sell
Down here you live forever
Welcome to a world where dreams become nightmares!

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

Butters: Hello Levi.

Butters voice dripped with malice as he led the other two men toward Leviticus and Exodus. Leviticus looked at the three men who were stalking toward him and his masked friend and smirked.

Leviticus: I was expecting something a little better than you three.

Butters stopped and held his hand up to signal the others to stop as well.

Butters: And just what does that mean?

Leviticus’s smirk became a full blown smile of cockiness.

Leviticus: I’m guessing you work for the man responsible for all of this.

Leviticus gestured behind him to the wasteland.

Butters: We are among the most loyal soldiers of the Emperor!

Leviticus began to laugh.

Leviticus: You mean to tell me he is going to send a fraud, a never was and a broken man to take me out?

Leviticus stopped laughing and instead glared at the three men.

Leviticus: You can tell him I’m insulted.

Butters roared and charged toward Leviticus. Leviticus was ready for him; he wasn’t ready for the other two though. The numbers advantage quickly took the advantage away from Leviticus. Leviticus didn’t stop trying to fight back though; in fact he only fought harder. Between all the punches and kicks raining down on him he heard Exodus shout something.

Exodus: Seek Justus!

Leviticus didn’t have time to make any sense of the statement before a boot to the head sent him straight into darkness.

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

Leviticus sat up in the hospital bed. His skin was covered in sweat and his breaths were short. His eyes were wide and darted back and forth. He felt a hand on his arm which caused him to jump.

Whitt: Easy Levi. It’s me Jeff.

Leviticus closed his eyes and took a moment to compose himself.

Leviticus: Where am I?

He could hear Whitt take a step back away from the bed.

Whitt: The hospital. We found you passed out outside the O2.

Leviticus shook his head. It was all starting to come together. He knew what he had to do.

Leviticus: Where is my Bible?

Whitt quickly went over to the hospital room’s closet and pulled Leviticus’s Bible and brought it to him. As soon as he had the Bible in his hands he began to flip through the pages desperately searching for something. As soon as he found it he read it out loud.

Philippians 3:2
Watch out for those dogs, those men who do evil, those mutilators of the flesh.

Whitt stood there looking at Leviticus waiting for an explanation as to what the verse meant. Leviticus wasted no time in giving Whitt what he was waiting for.

Leviticus: FMW is a machine. They are the dogs. They are the ones who do evil. They destroy bodies simply for their own amusement. The mutilate the flesh of others. Dunn is right. FMW exists only as Jaro’s plaything to destroy the lives of those trapped with in it. We must save those we can from it. People like Drew.

Whitt held up his hand and shook his head.

Whitt: What does Drew have to do with any of this?

Leviticus took a deep breath and lowered his head.

Leviticus: It’s a long story Jeff. I just need you to trust me on this one.

Whitt thought about it for a moment before finally nodding. Leviticus smiled and began to climb out of his bed.

Leviticus: What did the doctor say was wrong with me anyway?

Whitt crossed his arms.

Whitt: As far as they could tell you collapsed out of exhaustion. They advised you take it easy. I’m going to make sure you do.

Leviticus stopped cold. Exhaustion? He looked down the neck of his hospital gown and saw that there was not a single stab wound on his body except for the IV in his arm. He quickly looked up at the ceiling with a huge smile on his face.

Leviticus: Thank you.

Leviticus jumped off the bed onto the floor. He wasted no time in walking across the room toward the closet Whitt had pulled his Bible out of. As he gathered his clothes he looked back toward his fellow Gold Standard Wrestler.

Leviticus: Tell the nurse I’m ready to check out.

Whitt shook his head.

Whitt: Take it easy, remember?

Leviticus smirked.

Leviticus: Come on Jeff. I’m just wanting to catch up with the others.

Whitt rolled his eyes and shook his head before walking out of the hospital room. Leviticus couldn’t help but smile. Things were finally starting to come together for him and apparently there were much bigger things in store for him that were a part of that. He already knew that he had a few things to say next time he was on FMW television, he even knew who he was supposed to face. Now all he had to do was figure out how he was supposed to seek justice.

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

In the belly of the beast, I'm a wolf amongst sheep
At the bottom of the hill, but at the top of the street
Above the boulevard, schoolyard, victim of deceit
And your running hard, but this wolf it's always at your feet
Ya you've seen it all before, but the wolf's outside your door
And you're old enough to run, you ain't hiding anymore
Another victim of the star spangled banner of the street
Now you're in the world of the wolves
And we welcome all you sheep.

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina


Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

PLUS: The future of the FMW Tag Titles and MORE!

^ Do want!

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina


Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

What must one do to be taken seriously in the professional wrestling industry?

What must one do to be considered a threat inside the squared circle?

My name is David Gideon Smith. I'm a professional wrestler, currently competing on Full Metal Wrestling's Ammunition brand. I'm proud of what I do - entertaining the fans, putting my body on the line, striving to be the very best in my line of work, et cetera. It's what my career and my life have always been centered on, and in all honesty I couldn't imagine myself being happy doing anything else, being anything else. Is a little respect to go along with my love of this sport too much to ask?

I'd like to think I've earned it.

I've been here in FMW for a little over a year, a tenure that has, in my opinion, gone rather well. My current win/loss/draw record is 11-3-0, none of those losses having come from singles competition. I've won contests against newbies like Anwyl and Leviticus and veterans like Chris Austin and Alex O'Rion. I'm the current Television Champion, a proud member of the Sons of Attrition, and I won the award for the 2010 Rookie of the Year. All in all, not a bad list of accomplishments.

So it begs the question: why is it that everyone I go up against, everyone who looks at a card sees their name across from mine, passes me off as nothing more than some hotshot rook who's managed to rack up a couple lucky breaks?

Really? Fucking REALLY?! What the hell else do I have to prove to you people, huh? What more do I have to do to get you all to take me seriously?

What?



David had planned on doing some major working out today, although in a different manner than the one he was most used to / most comfortable with.

BAM

BAM-BAM

BAM

BA-BAM BAM

A couple of days prior, he'd been browsing a couple wrestling smark websites out of boredom and had stumbled across a thread pertaining to him on a message board somewhere. Apparently, to his surprise and mild delight, he'd become something of a hot topic in the online wrestling community due to, to his further delight, what was widely regarded as inordinate in-ring talent.

At least, that was the general opinion - as with any competitor in the wrestling industry, there are bound to be complaints and/or criticisms of the way he or she does his or her job. The most common one David found leveled at his body of in-ring work was that it was too grapple-heavy. He relied too much on throws and slams, many said, and his general lack of a competent striking game left him vulnerable to opponents more proficient in that area.

That meant brawlers. That meant John Andrews.

BAM-BAM

BAM-BAM BAM

BAM

BA-BA-BAM

David stepped back and stood with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. The black punching bag hung in front of him like a specter, swaying back and forth with annoying slightness from the force of his blows. It seemed like it was mocking him, its movements purposefully subtle in order to make him appear weaker than he actually was.

"Asshole," he muttered, going over to the nearby wall where his water bottle sat.

As he unscrewed the cap, lifted it to his lips, and began to drink, he gradually became aware of a strong, deep-seated smarting in his knuckles. David lowered the water bottle and glanced at the back of his empty hand: it was beet-red, and there were even a few speckles of crimson on the knuckles of his index, middle, and ring fingers where contact with the bag had perforated the skin and blood had welled to the surface. He grimaced and shook his hand, lowering it and wiping the blood off on his basketball shorts.

It hurt; the chick at the front desk had told him that going at it bareknuckled was a bad idea, but he hadn't listened to her. He didn't wear gloves when he wrestled, and he wasn't about to start just because he'd decided to work a few punches into his game.

David gave his hand another shake. It did hurt, though - there was no denying that.

He set the water bottle back down over beside the wall, and was just getting ready to go another round with the punching bag when he heard the door that separated the gym's main workout area from the punching bag enclosure open and close behind him.

"You almost done in here?"

David turned to see Anna standing in the doorway in a pair of tight black workout pants and black pink midriff top, her hair tied back into a long ponytail.

"Uh..." He looked back at the punching bag and, after a moment's indecision, decided to call it quits for the day.

"Yeah," he said. "Gimme just a sec, I'll be right out." Fuck bleeding knuckles.

Anna smiled and nodded, taking her leave and pulling the door shut.

David went over to the punching bag, wrapping one arm around its prodigious girth and reaching up to unhook it from its chain with the other. He opened the carabiner holding it in place and gave a loud grunt of exertion as its full weight dropped into his arms. Waddling over to the room's back wall, he let it drop down to the floor with a heavy THUD and pushed it into the corner. It was no wonder his blows hadn't been able to move it very far; the damn thing had to weigh at least as much as he did.

Snatching up his water bottle on the way out, David exited the punching bag enclosure to find Anna waiting for him near the stairs that led down to the workout facility's ground floor, dabbing at her forehead with a handtowel.

"Ready?" she asked as he approached.

"Yeah," he answered, and they started down the stairs. "Okay," he continued as they reached the bottom and headed for their respective genders' locker rooms. "Today's my day to buy lunch - anywhere sound good to you?"

"Hmm..." Anna tapped at her chin with her index finger; David found it oddly endearing. "I could go for either Chinese or Greek," she said finally.

They stopped outside the locker room doors. "Greek...as in, the Greek Islands?" David asked, referencing a popular local restaurant a few blocks from the workout center. "'Cause I could definitely go for a gyro and some baklava."

She laughed a little at his eagerness. "All right," she affirmed, turning to go into the women's locker room "Greek it is. I'll meet you out at the car, okay?"

"Sounds good," David said. He watched until she disappeared into the locker room, and then turned and made his way into the men's.

Greek for lunch. Damned if he wasn't excited.



"Gawd," David muttered, drawing the word out in a droning manner. "I love Baklava..."

Anna put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. "...really?" she asked, still giggling a little bit in spite of herself. "I hadn't noticed."

David's chin was resting on the white tablecloth, and his eyes were locked, unblinkingly, on the plate of the delicious Greek dessert pastry their waiter had just set in front of him.

"Look at it," he said in awe, moving his head around to examine it from every angle. "It looks just like the pictures they have on the menu...y'know, the fake ones that the real food never ends up looking like."

"So you're saying it's fake?" Anna asked.

David looked up to see her smiling playfully down at him, her chin resting on steepled fingers. She'd come to expect such strangely reverent behavior towards food from him; the two of them, David Gideon Smith and Anna Esperanza Ortega, had become good friends in a mere couple of weeks and had fallen into an almost daily routine of going to the gym together and getting lunch afterwards. It was an arrangement David thoroughly enjoyed - with Rachel busy with work, Steven off in Iowa, and his best friend Kyle on vacation with his girlfriend in the Bahamas, his days had been rather lonely before he'd met Anna. In her he had someone to talk to - at least until Rachel got off from work - and realistically, he couldn't have imagined someone he'd rather spend his days with. Anna was smart, cultured, kind, and a real pleasure to have a conversation with...and the facts that she was smoking hot and a total tomboy didn't hurt, either.

"Well...no," David replied, his gaze returning to the baklava. "I mean, at least...I don't think so."

"Only one way to find out," she told him.

David glanced up at her, eyes narrowed quizzically, and then a smile broke out on his face. "You're right," he said, pointing at her with the fork in his hand. "I like the way you think."

She said nothing, opting instead to just smile at him, and a beautiful smile it was.

David readied his fork to dig in, and -



David jumped a mile, his fork flying out of his hand and clattering to the floor; Anna gave a startled yelp and immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. The two of them looked around the restaurant with wide eyes; all activity had stopped, and patrons and employees alike were staring hard at the two of them, clearly annoyed at having had their meal or work interrupted.



"Uh, sorry," David said, addressing the entire restaurant as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. "That's, uh, my bad."

After a few more seconds of deafening, torturously unpleasant silence, the Greek Islands returned to a semblance of its former activity. David's shoulders sagged; he looked back at Anna, and they both breathed sighs of relief mixed with nervous laughter as he answered his phone and held it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby."

David's smile vanished from his face, and his blood turned to icewater in his veins. Rachel. Dear God, he hadn't told Rachel that he'd been spending so much time with Anna over the past several weeks. Anna noticed the sudden change in his facial expression and leaned forward in her seat, concerned.

"What's wrong?" she asked, but David waved her off.

"Heeeyyyy, Rayche," he said, trying to sound casual and, in his mind, failing miserably. "What's...uh, what's up?"

"Not a whole lot. What're you doing?"

He inwardly cringed. Dammit, that was the one question, the ONE QUESTION that he hadn't wanted her to ask.

"Um..." He glanced over at Anna again; she was looking at him quizzically, wondering what was going on. "Um...just...y'know, having lunch."

"Where at?"

"The Greek Islands," he said casually, and then mentally slapped himself.

"Really? A nice place like that, all by yourself?"

"I'm, uh," David stuttered, struggling valiantly against the rising lump in his throat, "I'm not by myself." There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, as though his wife were processing all the possible implications of what he'd just said.

"...who are you with?"

Okay, crunch time. He couldn't lie to her; that was one thing he could never do, under any circumstances whatsoever. But the only other alternative - telling her, his wife, that he'd been spending every single day of the past few weeks with another woman behind her back - didn't exactly strike David as the greatest way to go about it.

But it was the only way to go about it.

"Okay," he said into the phone. "Do you know Anna Ortega?"

"...who?"

"You probably do," David continued. "She lives in our building...latina? Tall? Long hair?"

There was more silence at Rachel's end. Anna leaned in a little further, intrigued to know that husband and wife were talking about her.

"...oh!"

David furrowed his brow in surprise. She didn't sound suspicious or pissed. She sounded...pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah, I know her! She lives a couple floors below us - we talk on the elevator sometimes. She's really nice. How do the two of you know each other?"

David didn't say anything right off the bat; truth be told, he'd been stricken dumb. Had there been any reason for him to have been worried? Should he have expected this? Anna had told him that she and Rachel often spoke to one another in passing...had these exchanges really been that friendly?

"Oh, um...well, I ran into her at the gym the other day," he said, downplaying the amount of time he and Anna had already spent together. "We recognized one another from the apartment building and went out for lunch afterwards. We've actually done that a couple times, now - gives me someone to talk to while you're at work."

"Oh, well that's great!"

David blinked. "It...it is?"

"Yeah! I think it's great that you've found someone to keep you company while I'm gone; with Steven and Kyle both out of town, I bet it gets kinda lonely during the day, huh?"

David laughed and scratched at the back of his neck, embarrassed. Though she didn't know why he was doing it, the act made Anna smile. "Yeah," he said, "a little bit."

"Well, that's great. I'll go ahead and let you get back to your meal - I was just calling to say that I have to stay here and help Mrs. Farley draw up next month's lesson plans tonight and won't be home until pretty late."

"Oh," David replied, oddly put-off by what he'd just heard. "Okay. How late?"

"Probably after midnight; I'll see ya then, okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yes...yeah - love you too, babe. All right - bye." He lowered the phone from his ear, clicked the 'End' button, and slipped it back into the pocket of his jeans. He picked up his fork and began eating the baklava, his demeanor lacking its former brightness and enthusiasm.

"Was that Rachel?" Anna asked.

David nodded, not speaking and keeping his eyes down, locked onto his plate. He hadn't expected her to acquiese so easily. It was what he'd wanted - after all, it wasn't like he was cheating on Rachel or anything - but the fact that he hadn't had to prove his devotion to her made him feel as though said devotion didn't really matter all that much to her.

Anna's facial expression became one of concern. "What did she want?" she pressed.

David popped a bite of baklava into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before speaking. "She's, uh...she's gotta work late tonight," he said dejectedly. "Won't be home til like midnight, maybe later."

"Oh..." Anna leaned back in her chair, thinking, and watched as David continued to eat the dessert he'd been so excited about in a subdued, downtrodden manner. "...did the two of you have something planned for tonight?" she asked.

"Not really," he said, shaking his head. "Probably would've just stayed in, ordered out to eat, watched a movie...something like that."

"Hmm...so you're free tonight, then?"

The sudden injection of interest in her voice made David look up. Anna was leaning forward in her chair again, staring at him with eyes that were intent and hopeful and glittering a bright shade of emerald green.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "I guess I am."

Anna smiled. "Wanna catch a movie, then?"

David didn't respond right away; he instead kept looking at her, reading her face, studying it. He glanced back down at his plate, thinking; after a few seconds, he looked back up, meeting her hopeful smile with one of his own. "What movie did you have in mind?"



At a little after ten that night, a taxi cab pulled up in front of the apartment building where David and Anna made their respective abodes. The back door opened onto the sidewalk; David stepped out onto the pavement and turned, reaching to grasp the delicate hand that emerged from the cab and helping Anna out onto the sidewalk.

The wind had picked up considerably as it grew dark; as David paid the cabby, Anna stood huddled on the sidewalk next to him, shivering in clothing that was not appropriate for an late April night that felt like one out of early February. David noticed this and, after paying the cabby and in spite of the fact that he was quivering from the wind himself, encircled his arm around her shoulders as they made their way up the front steps and into the apartment building's front foyer.

"You okay?" he asked as they crossed the lobby, nodding to the doorman as they made their way towards the bank of elevators at the back.

"Y-y-yeah," Anna answered, still shivering slightly. "But I'd really like it to be Spring now, if Mother Nature wouldn't mind."

David laughed out loud at this, and as they arrived at the bank of elevators, he removed his arm from around her shoulders to thumb the 'Up' button and call the elevator. An uncomfortable silence descended on the pair as they waited; Anna began toying with a lock of her hair, and David soon started to fidget nervously.

The elevator arrived; the doors swung open, and they stepped inside. As the car began to rise, David finally broke the silence.

"So," he asked tentatively, glancing sidelong at Anna. "Did you have a good time?"

She turned to look at him, and a smile of incredible warmth spread over her face. "I oughta be asking you that question," she replied. "Did you have a good time tonight? Was I an adequate substitute for your wife?"

David snorted out a laugh and looked down at his feet. "...yeah," he said after a few seconds. "Yeah, you're - " He stopped cold, realizing with no small measure of abject horror what he had just been about to say.

She was an adequate substitute for his wife? Really?

"What?"

David blinked, and turned his head to the right to see her looking at him curiously.

"I'm what?" she repeated, this time a bit more forcefully.

"You're..." David trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

This was bad. This was really bad.

"...you're great," he finally finished, managing to plaster a fake and forced-feeling smile on his face. "Really, you are, Anna - I can't tell you how glad I am that we met."

She bought it, or seemed to. Anna's smile returned to her face just in time for the elevator car to stop on her floor, and as the doors opened, she suddenly lunged forward, wrapping her arms around David and pulling him into a tight embrace. He was acutely aware of her as they hugged: the sweet, tropical scent that wafted from her hair; the smooth texture of her arms and hands and fingers as they intertwined against the back of his neck; the round, firm press of her bosom against his chest as she reduced the distance between them to almost nothing.

"I'm happy we met too," she said into his ear, more softly than (David hoped) she'd intended. "I'll see you at the gym tomorrow, okay?"

Then, quicker than David could register, she had broken the hug and was out the door and down the hall.

He watched her go as the doors slid shut, and when they finally closed and the car resumed its ascent, he let himself fall against the back wall of the elevator with a deep sigh of relief. This was bad. Boy, oh boy, was this bad.

Rachel hadn't seemed too worried about him seeing Anna so often. She'd just assumed that they were friends, and hadn't asked for proof to negate anything to the contrary.

David ran a nervous, shaking hand through his hair.

Maybe she should've.



In the practice of law, there are two sides to every issue. One of these sides is endowed with the benefit of assumption; the other - that is, the side making the charges - is forced to endure the hefty weight of the burden of proof.

In the context of law, the burden of proof simply states that the accuser must provide substantial and relevant evidence to prove that the accused is guilty of the the crime they have allegedly committed; meanwhile, the benefit of assumption states that the accused is innocent until substantial and relevant evidence can be provided to prove them guilty.

At this point in my FMW career, I find myself weighted down by the burden of proof.

I have asserted that I am a force to be reckoned with, someone who is to be taken seriously, someone who is to be considered a legitimate threat to any and all who step into the ring with him. Meanwhile, there are others who have argued the contrary - that I'm a flash in the pan, a rookie on a hot streak, an inevitable afterthought in the grand scheme of Full Metal Wrestling Lore - and continue to do so.

They have the benefit of assumption - after all, most rookies do eventually phase out and become footnotes in the annals of this company's history.

Not me, though. I'm different. And I've got evidence to prove it. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, if you'll kindly indulge me:


This is the body of evidence. These are the reasons why I am not one to be taken lightly, the reasons why I deserve EVERY SINGLE OUNCE of my hype. This is the body of evidence, and it will continue to grow as I continue to win, continue to blaze my trail, continue to take pretenders like Anwyl and John Andrews and break them over my knee like pieces of dry kindling.

My name is David Gideon Smith. You will all take me seriously.

And if you give me the chance, I'll prove it to you.

Kyrian's team are sitting around playing poker after Craig has gone to bed. While waiting for the next hand, Kyrian and Angel have an argument.

Kyrian: What?

Angel: I'm just saying, how do we know we can trust him?

Kyrian: We don't. We never trust anyone, you know that.

Jason: He'd have to be stupid to double-cross us, since there are a whole lot more of us, and we have guns.

Angel: Still, this guy smells like trouble. I don't care how much he's paying us, I think we should back out.

Panther: No. We took the job, that means we finish the job.

Thomas: Question, how do you “finish” a protection detail?

Jason: Well, dipshit, either the contract ends or the client dies.

Angel: We normally prefer the former, I'm not so sure in this case though.

Kyrian: Ok Angel, tell me. What is your issue with Mr. Ryans?

Angel: Everyone here, for all our various pasts and crimes, are united in one thing. We all have a line that we simply will not cross, Craig Ryans does not. Tell me Kyrian, what will you do if he orders you to do something that breaks your code?

Kyrian: I will refuse.

Angel: And you think Craig will simply accept that?

Kyrian: He'd better. If he doesn't, we'll walk out. It's just that simple.

Angel: I know people like him, and I know you do too. People like that don't just let you walk away.

Thomas: Well sure they do, they just shoot you when your back is turned.

Jason: That's not helping.

Angel: He's right though. We're backed into a corner, thanks to you and your pride-

Angel's voice cuts off, as Kyrian grabs him by the throat.

Kyrian: Do not question me! Don't forget to whom you owe your life.

****

Eight years earlier

The sun is just setting over a nearby hill as several men gather in an abandoned parking lot. While each of them is a large man, the smallest is still over six feet, one still towers over the others. Kyrian rallys the others around him, encouraging them. Suddenly, over a dozen men charge into the lot, led by a large white man with a claymore. Armed with chains and knives, they tear into Kyrian's bikers. Quickly overcoming his surprise, Kyrian pulls a shotgun out of his saddlebag and starts shooting. When he runs out of ammunition he charges directly at them, smashing them aside with pure force. His men quickly recover and it isn't long before all of their opponents left standing have fled. One of the bikers, Tommy, spots their leader lying on the ground, and as he draws his blade to finish him off, Kyrian stops him.

Kyrian: He's beaten Tommy, we don't kill a man when he's down.

Thomas: Yes boss.

Kyrian heads over to the man, and lifts him off the ground.

Kyrian: Come on, we'll get you fixed up. What's your name kid?

???: The name's Angel, but why are you helping me? I tried to kill you?

Kyrian: Yeah, but you failed. And now that I'm in the position of power, we do things my way, and I never fight a man who can't defend himself.

Angel: You're a nice guy, for a gang captain that is. You'd better make sure no one takes advantage of that.

Kyrian: Ha, let them try.

Laying Angel on the back of his motorcycle, Kyrian drives him to the hospital.

*******

Angel: I still say you should've killed me, but that's not important right now. The point is that I've been with you since the beginning, I know you.You have that gleam in your eyes, the same one you had when you first started this company. You have something you want, and there won't be anything the world can do to stop you. So tell me, what is it?

Kyrian: I rose up from nothing, I built my reputation from the ground up and turned a two-man smuggling ring into the largest criminal enterprise on the east coast. I saw what I wanted, and I took it. I became the biggest criminal in the world, and I was bored. Now I have something else to focus on. When Craig came into my office, talking about this, this, Full Metal Wrestling company I knew that I'd found my new life. I'm going to become the best wrestler they've ever seen, and I'll be damned if I let them stop me.

Angel: So that's it? We're working for an egomaniac because you want to achieve perfection? You have great wealth, unimaginable power, you can snap your fingers and get anything you desire, but you
want this. Fine. I'll work with Mr. Ryans, but I'm keeping one eye open and one hand on my gun.

Kyrian: Deal.

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina


Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina

Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter

Fatal Four Way
Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm

C-4 Rules Match
Abel Steele

TV Title Match
DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT

SUBJECT TO CHANGE.

I don't want to use it yet. I wanted to wait, as long as I possibly could. But now...it looks like I won't have a choice.

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

– –

The woman came into my office a little before lunch. Bags under her eyes, slouching to the side like she didn't have the energy to stay on her feet. Looked like a wreck. When I offered her a seat she practically crashed into it. Poor chair. Before I could get the first question, the one of why she was here in my office instead of sleeping like a normal person, she started talking. Her husband, Frank, was missing. Well, that's what she called it. Sounded more to me like he ran off. He was a gambler, and had bet all of their savings on card games, and lost big. The police apparently had agreed with me, deciding not to look for him, which brought her to me as a last chance. I was about to decline, to tell her it'd be a better idea to get a divorce lawyer and get rid of any ties to the guy...but I looked into her eyes.

There was something in them. A deep sadness, almost filling the whole thing, except for a little bit. A little glimmer of hope at the bottom of the sadness. A little glimmer shining at me, and only me, if I don't help, the glimmer would snap, and only that deep sadness would be left.

My palm starts to burn.

I agree to help, and that little glimmer I see gets a bit bigger.

– –

It was lunchtime, and the cafe was full of people trying to get fed and enjoy some sunlight at the same time. Wish I could say I was there enjoying a bagel and coffee, but no, I was there talking to an...”informant.” Though I use that term very loosely. As I'm sure someone said at SOME point, no one normal becomes an informant.

He's a scrawny guy, more twig then man, with glasses he doesn't actually need and a beret to go with it. It'd only look more hipster if he was wearing a Scott Pilgrim shirt. And three guesses as to what he was wearing, and the first two are null. Don't know his name, or care, so I just call him Hippy. I'm very funny, I know.

“So, have you read that book I told you about? The one exploring the author's post-modern look into the collective experiences of every insect that's ever, like, creeped someone out and how that makes them sad?”

I wish every day for someone else. Anyone. Even a crazy man in a Santa costume would be better then this guy. But sadly, because there are no such crazy men around (Or Bill Goldberg for that matter), I'm left with him.

“No, I haven't. I had better things to do, like popping my fingernails off and pouring hot wax onto the exposed flesh. I'm not here to get book recommendations.”

“Fine, fine. So, what was it again? A gambler?”

“Yeah. I don't recall any casinos being open here.”

“We~ell, that's because there aren't any. At least, not of the big bright shiny Vegas variety. There IS one. It's just small, tucked away, private...”

“And illegal?”

“Didn't hear that from me. You know the fast food place that got burned down a few months back?”

“Yeah, little family owned place. Heard good things.”

“Well, I heard some things too. Like how it got burned up 'cause soooomeone there bet more then they had and couldn't pay up.”

Oh, joy.

“Lovely. Where can I find the place?”

“Well, if you go down past the courthouse and take a right, it'll be a house advertising psychic readings. Though, OBVIOUSLY, no one ever gets read.”

“'Course. Thanks, Hippy.”

“My name, for your information, is-”

I threw a ten onto the table as I got up and interrupt him. “Keep the change, have a latte or whatever the hell is popular now. I've got some cards to shuffle.”

Perhaps I need to work on my hardboiled one-liners.

– –

Hippy wasn't lying, there was indeed a sign on the porch of the house advertising psychic readings. Was that suppose to be a clever cover or something? If I was a cop I'd check this place first due to how suspicious that was. Whoever was in there, they were probably very stupid. And I was right.

Second I walked through the door, a guy about my height walked up, looking smug as he told me there weren't any readings today. I told him I was referred to the place by Frank, to come there if I wanted to win some big money. Apparently the guy hadn't gotten the memo about Frank, as he let me by and directed me to the basement. Y'ever go into a place and wonder how it fit in the outside you just saw? The TARDIS effect, I guess. This basement was like that. It had to have been extended beyond it's original confines, as it had to be wider then the house above's width. City probably hadn't heard about this. There were about 20 tables, with people huddled around all of them as people in red vests threw out cards. Blackjack, Poker, hell there was probably a game or two of Go Fish being played for cash. And sitting at a desk at the very back was some prick in a suit. He practically gave off waves of smugness and “I think I'm better then you”ness. And standing next to him was a tall guy in full biker regalia. Looked like he didn't have more then two brain cells for himself and wouldn't know how to shit if the prick didn't tell him how.

The big guy, who from now on I will call “Fuckhead”, moved into my path as I had started walking to the desk. I pulled a photo of Frank out that the woman gave me and held it up.

“You seen him?”

“Grunt.”

Oh yes, because my day hadn't been good enough, apparently the two brain cells was a generous estimation. I looked past Fuckhead and held it up so Prick could see it.

“You seen him?”

I make a wonderful broken record sometimes.

“And who are you, sir?”

“Name's Gray, I'm a Detective. Trying to find this guy.”

The guy smiled at me. One of those fake smiles where they try too hard and it's too big, making you see all of the guy's teeth at once. This one had just a dash of “I know more then you, and thus am better” to it too, for flavor. I'd have to remember to kick it out of him sometime. My palm started to itch.

“Sorry Mr. ...Ghey, was it? I haven't seen Frank in my establishment since he bet the last of his funds on a last chance game of cards. That was over a week ago.”

“And I'm sure that was a friendly game, huh?”

“Mr. Ghey, I assure you, we are a completely legitimate establishment.”

“I'm sure. And it's Gray. Y'know, like your poodle here's brain. Just a lot of gray sludge.”

My palm started to warm up as Fuckhead growled at me. Something's odd here.

I started to walk out, figuring I wasn't getting anything out of here except my palm acting up and a Fuckhead growling at me like a little poodle. But Prick called out to me.

“You know, Mr. Gray...you're not the only one looking for him.”

I stopped and looked back at him.

“Yeah, he owes you money, huh? Probably why he's hiding.”

“No, no, Mr. Gray. Someone else is looking for him.”

I arched an eyebrow at him, but he didn't say anything else, just kept that same fake “look at all my teeth” smile on his face.

I walked out, my palm starting to cool as I got further away from it, and I was confused as hell.

– –

It was dinnertime by the time I started walking back to my office. The sun was starting to set, making everything around me dimmer as I walked in the shadows of buildings, thinking about the case. Why had my palm started to act up? Who else was supposedly looking for Frank? Where the hell WAS this guy?

I was about two blocks from my office when I heard the shouting.

I ran over to a hot dog stand, finding a woman yelling after someone.

“Hey, lady, what happened?”

“This guy came up, and he just ripped the register open and took all the money!”

“Ripped it open?”

“Yeah, just grabbed it and pulled it open. He was a short guy, brown hair, mustache...oh, a little scar on his chin.”

Shit. Frank.

The girl pointed me down an alleyway, and I ran after him. Took about three minutes to catch up with him. He was limping, dragging one leg behind him as he carried the money with him.

“Frank!”

He turned and looked at me. Our eyes connected. And my palm started to burn. Made me break my sight of him and look at my gloved hand. Felt like a circle of fire on my palm. Didn't need to see under the glove to know what was happening. And it all clicked. Why my palm was bothering me in the basement, what happened to Frank...and who else was looking for him. I cursed out loud as I started to bring my hand down looking for it, but a moment's hesitation hit me. Could I use it?

Frank interrupted my moment of wondering, as he slung his arm at me, the arm lengthening and getting wider as it slammed into me, throwing me into the brick wall of the alley, and a few trashcans. As I slid down onto the ground, coughing in pain, Frank growled at me before starting to limp off again. Only things I could heard in the alley was his steps, my coughing...and someone crying.

– –

So it's come to this already. I didn't expect this to happen so quickly. I thought I would have more time to prepare. I thought they'd wait longer. Looks like I was wrong. I'm going to have to use it.

And that scares me.

– –

He stood perched on the rooftop, looking down at the alley. He watched as Gray came into contact with the one he created. Truth was, he had wanted to wait as well. It seemed the logical thing to do, to ascertain Gray's position before beginning, but the others had pushed him to create one sooner. Oh well, it had paid off. It had created a fair enough amount of energy, and proved that the place was a valid grounds to create more of them. And it meant he'd be the first to see it.

“Show me, Gray...” he said to himself, grinning.

Standing in the middle of a street, we see a figure holding and looking down at Storm's mask. This figure is wearing a typical business suit and trousers with dark shades on covering up his eyes so that we cannot gage who this figure really is. His hair is black but cut short with a little fringe near the front, just overlapping to the left. All of the sudden, we hear voices saying repeatedly...

“My name is...”
“My name is...”
“My name is...”

The figure then spoke “I do not know what my real name is. This mask I'm holding symbolises my childhood. It was given to me by my father who sadly passed away just before I enrolled into Full Metal Wrestling.”

We now know from his voice that this figure's name is Storm, the luchadore that you see wrestling every week on FMW Ammunition.

“This mask is also my pride of the sport that I compete in.”

Slowly but surely, it starts to rain which is then followed up by thunder. Storm remains still and doesn't seem to care if it's raining or not.

“Ever since I came to Full Metal Wrestling, I won on my debut against a guy who I consider to be a nobody. A dead man (quite literally) who is apparently known as Alexander Cystro. I then enrolled myself into the Hayabusa Cup for 2010. That was a joke, I was fucking robbed.”

A man walks towards Storm with authority. Storm notices this and raises up his head to look at this man. He holds up an FBI badge and shows it towards Storm.

“I know who you are now what do you want?”

Silence then followed. Both Storm and this FBI guy decide to stare at each other for a bit until...

“We have your father alive in a holding cell back in my office.” The FBI guy was quite frank with his statement regarding Storm's father, which shocked Storm to say the least.

“Is he alright?” Replied Storm.

“Yes and he's healthy. We think we was on the run from Chinese Mobs.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah but it seems that we're glad that he's still alive. Do you want to meet him tonight or after your match tomorrow?”

Storm thought about it for a few seconds then turned his back to look at his mask again.

“Is your wrestling career really that more important than saving your father Ace?”

Storm looked at the FBI with confusion shown on his face.

“How the fuck do you know my real name?” replied Storm.

“That is your name isn't it?” said the FBI agent. “Ace Storm? We have spies all over the place Ace. We know everything, even your minor role with the so-called GSW fraction over at FMW.”

Silence fell upon Ace Storm. Why would this guy know his full name? 'He's the FBI, they know this shit' said Ace to himself pretty much.

“Again you have two choices, save your father or save your career.” stated the FBI agent.

“Why are you insisting that I save my career?” shouted Ace “My father and my career is what is most important to me now if you will excuse me I got a match and a team to go to.”

And with that, Ace Storm places his mask over his head then walks away, leaving the FBI agent looking smug and full of himself. From out of nowhere, we see the Saviour Matt Dunn and Leviticus walking towards Storm.

“What was that about?” asked Dunn.

“Nothing.” Ace replied “Gets haul ass and get a taxi.”

“I like your thinking.” Said Leviticus.

And with that, all three men of the Gold Standard Wrestling walk away to hail for a taxi, which will hopefully be bound for Greensboro, North Carolina. Their taxi fare will be very expensive through.

“Let's hope that the fucking taxi fare won't be that expensive guys.” shouted Ace.

Fin.
~~~~~
Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt

TV Title Match
DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin

Main Event: Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT

Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina


Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

-Ammunition 13.2-
Live from the Greensboro Coliseum Complex in Greensboro, North Carolina


Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

(The two tag matches, LMS, and FourWay are pending other promos)

Ammunition 13.2

Tag Match
The Craig Ryans and Kyrian Hunter vs. Eddie Chamberlain and Nick Gray

Fatal Four Way
Anwyl vs Nick Dream vs Atlas Adams vs Matt Ashburn

Six Man Tag Match
Leviticus, Matt Dunn, and Storm vs Damien Inferno, Christopher McEllens, and Butters (w/ Slegnadamus)

C-4 Rules Match
Jeff Whitt vs Abel Steele

TV Title Match
"Outlaw" John Andrews vs DGS(c)

Last Man Standing
Chris Austin vs Alex O'Rion

Main Event:
Tag Team Match
Nick Bryson and TyranT vs. Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost

I wont vote against a no-showing tag partner so votes may be adjusted if I see a new promo