Ammunition 14.2 Voting and Promo Thread

I hate funerals.

I’ve never understood the point of “celebrating someone’s life” by dressing them up and throwing them in a box, propping them up for the visual appreciation for people that they don’t even know are watching them. Just putting them on display like some circus freak.

I didn’t like that shit when it happened to Mom and I REALLY don’t like it now. The sad thing is that it was my decision… at least I think it was, I barely remember.

Now, I’m seated off in the corner, observing everyone and everything. I don’t know most of these people. Sure, James is here, but of course that means Jaime is here too. Probably means Kylie is here too and if so, it could get ugly.

But again, I don’t care right now. I have heavier thoughts on my mind.

I’m exhausted, and I can’t get a moment to myself because being the “next of kin” every one and their mother wants to give me a hug and say something along the lines of “I’m sorry for your loss” or “My condolences” or “It’s going to be alright”.

Like that changes anything.

I just want this day to be over. I just need some time to myself. I spot James in the arms of his mother, Jaime, and decide that it’s OK that I step away for some fresh air. I feel a little light-headed, maybe the magnitude of the day’s happenings are starting to hit me.

I can feel my skin crawling, like hundreds of eyes are watching me, waiting, I hear them say “it hasn’t hit him yet” and that they’re not sure how I’m going to take it.

Fuck them. They don’t know shit.

The sunlight hits me in the face and I wince from the gentle rays that pierce my eyes. I look out towards the road, I see cars go by and my view darkens into a sickly green. I see them going by, kids bouncing around inside, people talking. None of them are where I am.

I then bury my head in my hands, realizing how much of a brat I am being. What happened isn’t their fault in any stretch. I should’ve been there, someone should have heard something. Just…

“Tough day, eh kid?”

I know that voice. I DESPISE that voice. Don’t look up, if I do I’ll hit him… he said he had washed his hands of me, maybe if I just ignore him he will go away.

“Chris. I know you hear me talking to you. Speak up.”

“Lay off him, Dante. He’s going through a lot.”

I look up and I see Dante, Alex O, and…

“How are you?”

“How do you think I am, Karma?”

“Pump your brakes. I know this is a rough day and all, but disrespect of my daughter won’t be tolerated.”

I stand up slowly, yet another obstacle in my way. A monster comprised of three of the most constant people in my recent livelihood. At least they dressed for the occasion. Honestly this is a confrontation that I did not expect nor prepare for.

“Alex… why are these two people even here?”

“B’ye, don’t be like that. You need all the support you can get. Besides, I didn’t invite them. You didn’t even invite me, remember?”

“I try to keep up with the happenings in the Bay Area, Chris. So a read of San Jose Mercury News online and boom, here I am. Maybe you should be grateful for once.”

Why Dante Jones even THINKS I give a shit about him being here is beyond me.

“I should be grateful that three people I did not ask to come, just crashed my father’s funeral.”

Honestly don’t mind that Alex showed up. Karma and I haven’t been on good terms since that thing, but I can barely stand Dante and he knows that. Karma looks towards her father, a bit concerned. Alex shakes his head.

“You see, this is that bratty behavior I keep talking about. You see, ever since that whole thing involving your younger brother…”

“Shut the hell up, Dante.”

“No, you need to hear this…”

“I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS PIECE OF SHIT!”

Emotion. Raw, unadulterated emotion… he hasn’t shown that in a long time.

Apparently putting bass in your voice can catch one of the more verbose and passionate people I’ve ever met off guard. I don’t even have anything else to add, I just slowly sit back down in a catatonic state. I’m not sure what I do next. Alex sits beside me, placing an arm around my shoulder.

“Look, Austin. We are not here to argue. The occasion is bad enough. I hate to say it, but I do have an idea of what you’re going through. We’re just here for support, b’ye, because I know it’ll hit you eventually and it’ll hit ya hard.”

“You did the same thing when I buried my brother, Chris. The least I could do is pay that same respect.”

The main difference was that Dante asked me to come. I didn’t want any of these people here. I don’t want anyone here. I can’t even complete my thoughts when Karma speaks to me. I’m surprised that she’s even being civil considering our last encounter. I’m sure Dante knows about that but I don’t really care.

“Look Chris, it may not mean much to you but it sucks losing a family member. We may not have been the best of friends but I really do offer my condolences. I’m really sorry.”

She then crouches down and hugs me. I’m not sure if Dante liked that. Alex stands up and pats me on the shoulder.

“Karma and I will be inside; Dante looks like he wants to have a minute alone with you. Don’t kill the kid, K, Dante? One funeral is bad enough.”

“You have nothing to worry about, ‘Lex. Not trying to start anything.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Come on, Karma.”

Alex and Karma then leave as Dante sits down where Alex was. I do all I can to keep it together. Dante will tell you himself that he may not be good at a lot of things but when it comes to getting under my skin, he’s top of the class. I focus my fury on the ground as Dante looks out to the street, sighing regretfully. Whatever it is, I hope he gets through it quickly and moves on, the stubborn bastard. I try to speed up the process.

“WHAT.”

“Give me a reprieve. I want to compose my thoughts and make sure that what I say doesn’t lead to anyone getting their ass kicked. So, I’ll ask you again to tell me what’s going through your mind.”

“Nothing that concerns you, Dante. Just go inside and sit down.”

“And as quickly as the raw emotion you once had appeared, it disappeared.”

“Doesn’t matter, none of this, between you and I? None of that matters.”

“Hmm… Look. Death is a tricky cunt, Chris. It has this innate ability to tear people apart and bring people together at the same time. When my brother died, it sent me back down this dark path. I was guided by the spicy allure of my demons… alcohol, most call it. I was just destroyed, bruh. Just about everyone I ever cared about, in the ground. The two people that tried to instill a sense of right and wrong in me, I failed them. I only had two people that my black ass had to protect. My daughter and my brother. You of ALL people know what happened to Karma, and you were there, watching me stain the carpet with my own bitter tears when the magnitude of my shortcomings manifested itself into realizing that I had taken my brother from me.”

Why is he trying to have a heart to heart with me? It doesn’t matter, it won’t change anything. Yet the urge to strangle him dissipates, and now I’m just there. Silent. Angry. Wounded.

“My largely useless crack whore of a mother was literally bone-dry when she passed, nothing but skin and bones, fuckin’ claws for hands and feet. My pops and I weren’t worst enemies, no, but I know for a fact that the relationship you had with your father was much more familial, at least most of the time. I can sit here and call you a spoiled brat, an immature pissant but this time, THIS TIME? Your irrationality is truly warranted. I know you don’t want to listen. I know that you’re fucked up inside, all funerals carry an element of melancholy and clearly it’s eating at you. But deep down, you know that this blind anger, woe is me and all that shit ain’t what your pops would’ve wanted. You told me yourself about how he was, the example he set for you.

I only met the guy once, when your brother was born. I could tell that you got a lot of his qualities. Stubborn, determined. Selfless when it comes to those you care for. I ain’t capable of just making you change overnight, hell if this abysmal excuse for life is what you want then I hate it for you but I won’t stand in the way of your self-destruction. But you need to take into account that you finally got something you wanted.”

“And what, do pray tell, would that be?”

“You’re the closest thing that the kid has to a father now. Might want to look into altering how you handle shit in your day-to-day.”

“I really don’t appreciate your attempt at reverse psychology.”

“Your incompetence grows daily, I swear.”

“My patience is thinning. Get the fuck away from me or I will make you.”

“You want to hit me don’t you?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Do you think that will just get rid of all the feelings, the emotion that swirls around in the pit of your stomach?”

“Not in the slightest. I just want you to keep your damn sermons to yourself. I’m tired of you preaching to any and everyone that you think gives a shit about anything you have to say. Yeah, you’ve seen more than you should’ve, you’re not exactly the person that other people wanted you to be, you’re someone that you can’t fucking stand the sight of. Who cares whether you can have people hang onto your every word? All of this bullshit about knowing people, I think that you don’t even know yourself.”

“That’s where you are hilariously wrong. I know the piece of shit I am and honestly, I don’t want your crab ass to end up like me. You’re already jaded, bitter...”

“So you know you’re a piece of shit, and you know the right thing yet continually shun it because you can’t beat your own demons, you suffer from the same mental fragility I allegedly do. You are a hypocrite and the only thing worse than that is a hypocrite who KNOWS he’s a hypocrite. You KNOW better and you can’t do better.”

“Alright, I deserve that. But, you’re this close from being a broken man. Seriously kid, has nothing I’ve said to you stuck?”

“Why would it? It didn’t come from my father, it came from a self-admitted failure.”

“You know what, fuck this. I really am sorry for your loss but it’s clear to see that you’re too stuck in your ways and you’re going to fuck around and lose sight of what’s really important. Yeah, he’s gone. Nothing can bring him back and that grim reality hasn’t hit you yet. I just hope that boy doesn’t have to suffer because of you being too pussified to actually let yourself grieve and move on. Instead you hold it in and let it devour you from the inside out and believe me, it will do just that and the remnants won’t be salvageable.”

“Well that shit isn’t your problem, now is it?”

“No, it’s yours. And right now, it looks like you can’t solve that shit to save your life. Grow up, Chris.”

“Go to hell, Dante.”




The funeral itself took forever. Seems like everyone wanted to speak on how my dad touched their lives, was this honest, upstanding individual that was dependable to a fault.

His former co-workers spoke about how he was so reliable; that he knew what to do, when to do it, and what to say if things began to look bad. They admitted that he had his faults, yes, but the general consensus was that they were proud to have known James Bradford Austin.

I chose not to speak. I felt it best considering that I may possibly tarnish his reputation.

What would I have said? That I resented that his job came first when I was a young kid? That I didn’t appreciate that he deep down harbored some resentment over what happened to Mom? That we weren’t as close as we could’ve been or should’ve been? Or that he’s a great father to the son I should have had?

Yeah, I think I made the right decision to stay quiet.

However the whole time I felt eyes watching me, thinking I’d weaken, break down or I’d say something. I am his son after all. But they don’t realize that I would never give them that satisfaction. Never.

The whole thing ended with people walking by the casket and paying their last respects. I decided to go last, with young James in my arms, since we’re family. I watched every one pass by.

His neighbors. His friends. Jaime, who seemed a bit upset. If anything she lost a good father to her son.

Then Kylie walked by, she mouthed something but it took everything in my power not to bust that bitch’s face wide open in public. Alex, Dante and Karma walked by. Dante only offered a nod as Alex sighed. Karma’s grip around her father grew tighter; I could tell it in her face and hands. She silently hoped to herself that this wouldn’t happen.

Lastly it was James and I, I stood over his lifeless form and just stared. James reached out to touch him and I held him back. I realized that I was depriving him of one last “embrace” of sorts with his father and changed my tune. As soon as James touched him, his face began to twist up in anguish. It was as if he knew something was off about the situation. He began to cry.

That bothered me, I wholly admit. That really bothered me.

“No, no, no…don’t cry, it’s going to be OK, he’s going to a better place.”

I walked away trying to calm my younger brother as most of the people in attendance began to feel sympathy for the boy’s plight. I then handed him back to Jaime, since I was a Pall Bearer for the occasion. Jaime studied my face, her face frowned as James began to calm slowly but clearly he was still upset.

“You OK, Chris?”

“Just calm James down.”

That was all that mattered. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I took my position, we all lifted and this particular moment ends with the casket of James Bradford Austin being carried away to his final resting place.




Cemeteries… Everything that’s there is silent, void of life. So long as you don’t believe in things like zombies or vengeful spirits, you can really come here, and really get things off your chest.

I figure this would be the best time to tell him my final goodbye, The sun’s beginning to set and as beautiful as it looks, I still have to get back on the road. I do have a match at Ammunition 14.2. A fucking match.

A fucking match may be the reason why he's in the fucking ground, maybe I could have done something if I put family first.

A fucking match that had the third-worst possible outcome imaginable. Pointless. I don’t give a shit about FMW right now, I don’t care about whoever this soon to be casualty is that's waiting for me at 14.2.

But when I near the fresh plot right beside my mother’s grave, I see a man there, staring silently. I don’t recall seeing him at the funeral. His head rises up as he says “Amen.” He then turns around to see me.

“You must be Christopher. Jay’s told me a lot about you.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Frank Douglas. I worked closely with your father.”

He outstretches his hand for me to shake. I decide to humor him.

“So you know my name, then I assume you know more.”

“True. I do know that you’re his oldest son and truthfully, if you’d cut your hair and such things you’d look just like him.”

“Why are you here? The funeral happened already.”

“Unfortunately I missed it. But like you, I’m here to pay my last respects. I’ve already said my piece, so go ahead. I’m not even here.”

I eye him suspiciously as I stand over my father’s grave. I know what I want to say but it won’t come out. Maybe it’s because, I don’t know, this was SUPPOSED to be a private moment but this… whoever this is seems to have ruined it.

In other news I haven’t worn this coat in years. Feels funny, don’t even remember when I bought the damn thing. I can’t bring myself to speak, Frank interrupts.

“Your father had that same issue with being emotional in front of people, ha-ha...”

He saved my life once, you know.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. Your father and I were close friends and in the field of battle, we faced some precarious situations. Some were closer calls than others.”

I keep hearing about field of battle, Special Forces and this and that. I realize that I don’t explicitly know what exactly my father did for a living, for the military.

“What exactly did you and him do?”

“We were part of an elite corps but I'm not at liberty to get into detail. Just know this, Christopher… your father truly loved you and Evelyn. I remember when we used to sit around, talking about what we’d do when all of this was over. He always said that he’d come home, hold you two tight and tell you that he loved you both dearly.”

He did that every time he came home.

“Now, knowing your father, I would like to believe that you received some of his best qualities and are a prime example of the kind of person Jay was. But I can tell by looking at you that you aren’t, at least not anymore.”

“Things happen; life changes and you change with it. I really don’t see how this is any of your business.”

“It isn’t and I didn’t ask you to explain. But you’re pretty much the sole representative of the Austin bloodline until his youngest son gets of age to do so himself. So if you look bad, then Jay looks bad and as a very good friend of his, I don’t want to see that happen. I can tell by the look on your face that you’ve heard this spiel before.”

“Every fucking day.”

“No need to become hostile. All I am saying is that you don’t need to harbor resent. I can see it in your eyes when you look towards his tombstone. I’m not going to sit here and preach to you. Eventually that wears thin and the message becomes confused with someone fussing because they think their wiser than you, so I’ll just cut to the quick.”

“OK, so what is it you want to say?”

“Christopher, what I want you to understand is that your father was and is a hero. I don’t expect you to live for him and I know you have fond memories of him. He may have passed away, but I hope that you don’t let his memory pass on too. Think well and be well, Christopher. If you’re ever in Huntington Beach and want to talk, just look me up. I’m listed.”

One pat on the shoulder later and he was gone just like that. He seemed rather sincere about the whole thing. With that I look to that fresh plot and I sit down between the tombstones of my parents. I think about what Frank said. I feel something pressing against my chest and I investigate…

They’re my father’s dogtags and there’s a note with them. I open the note and read it.

“Christopher-

Congratulations on being promoted to Corporal. Hope you like the coat. I also want you to have my old dogtags. You deserve them. I’m so proud of you and seeing you becoming your own man makes me honored to call you my son.”

I then remember when I got this coat. The day I was promoted to Corporal, the day where I could start telling other people what to do.

I look at the dogtags and a smile cross my face. I think about all the things he taught me: how to catch a football, swing a bat. He taught me how to be a better driver, taught me a bit about cars. Despite the fact that he seemed to be always gone… he always found time to teach me something I could use later in life.

I guess he was around a lot more than I thought. I just never focused on it.

I took our relationship for granted.

It hits me that he won’t see me compete on Ammunition 14.2. He won’t see me win the Full Metal Wrestling World Championship. He won’t see me get married; he won’t be present for the birth of his grandchildren. Neither of my parents will see these things.

My eyes begin to sting and burn. But for some reason my cheek feels wet.

My phone rings… I have a text message from someone at FMW to remind me about a flight I’m supposed to catch.

I glare at the phone and throw it somewhere. Though I can't be seen, that doesn't make the tears pouring from my face to my hands any less real. My body convulses and I’m audibly, savagely sobbing.

Nothing else matters at this point. Sitting between my parents' graves, with no one around... with a true, unfamiliar sense of confusion. I just... damn it.

I realize that my dad just died.

You can't change the past.

Everybody wishes they can, though.

Get a magical remote and press the rewind button. Freeze frame at the root of your problem. Think it through and then try again.

This time it'll be different.

This time I'll be prepared.

Only this time is actually that time.

That time you wish you can change.

That time you wish was different.

That time that is cemented in your memory as your 'never again' moment.

Never again...

But it's bullshit.

All of it.

You can cry and you can whine, but what's done is done.

The Dead are dead. The past is written. The Kings are gone.

So you try to bargain with a God you don't believe in.

And don't even realize that if he exists, he probably sees straight through your one sided plea deal.

You promise that this time it'll be different.

Only this time is still only that time.

***

"David GS def. Kayden Osiris and Ryu Quinn", I mouthed, shaking my head, which surprised me. I hadn't actually expected to feel disappointment. After all, this whole wrestling thing was just a way to blow off steam. To take out my angers and frustrations on some other guy who didn't mind getting beaten up. I had never expected it to be so... enthralling.

I guess I got caught up in it. It was incredible. The crowd, the chants, the flashing lights... I now understand why many choose this life. It's actually worth getting yourself injured over.

I had come so close to grabbing the victory. I had almost seen the headlines... 'Rookie sensation defeats David GS in spectacular debut' before the cold hard reality put me down in the form of a bone crunching spear.

If I was prone to swearing, I would probably do it right now. I balled up my fist and hit at the tiled wall...

...And I noticed 17 cracks forming, 10 vertical and 7 across...

...before pulling my hand back and marvelling at this primal, animalistic reaction. This wasn't right. I had joined this federation to have an outlet for this anger. To have something to unleash it onto. Not to enhance it.

"That didn't go entirely as planned", a familiar voice said, peering at me from the hallway.

I glanced over at Lexi. We had been dating for over a year, ever since the incident that made me quit Scotland Yard. I guess at that time I was just looking for some reminder of my humanity. She saw something in me that made me consider that redemption might truly exist.

"Not entirely", I replied, shaking my head. She waited, looking at me expectantly. She always knew when I hadn't finished.

"I defeated him, you know", I said, turning towards her. "Not tonight. Not in that ring. Not when it counted... But in my head. In my head, I just barely rolled out of the way. He ran into the ropes and I dropkicked him over. Osiris took the pinfall and there it was. The victory was mine. But it didn't happen like that."

"No, it didn't", she said.

"But it could have!" I said, almost shouting. "I saw it! I actually saw it happen when he was charging me. My brain did it's little 'Thousand Outcome Dance' and I saw all the possibilities. I just couldn't stop it, though. He was too fast for me."

"You didn't technically lose", Lexi said. "You almost had him."

"Oh, right, they should make me Almost champion", I quipped, almost immediately regretting snapping at her.

"Look, you can't win them all. You're a realist. You know this stuff, Ryu. Remember that saying? 'Life isn't fair, life isn't bliss. Life is just this. It's living.' That what it's all about. You've got to keep on living."

"I promise you a win in the next one, I said.

"Speaking of that... how much do you know about Gold Standard Wrestling? They're your opponents for the next show."

"Not much. But I can think of better things to do right now than research them", I said, smiling evilly at her. Picking her up, I spun around the room...

And noticed there were 80 tiles across the four walls, 23 of them containing traces of dust and two with the smeared blood where my fist had banged into the wall...

***

You have been invited to join the channel #GSWGonnagetgot

RyuQuinn666: We're actually a rather odd team, aren't we?

RydeHardNStrong: We're certainly not ordinary. Extraordinary, even.

RyuQuinn666: To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure how comfortable I am meeting like this.

RydeHardNStrong: Like what?

RyuQuinn666: Chat programs. I'm not big on the whole social media thing.

RydeHardNStrong: Say WHAT!?

RyuQuinn666: WHAT!?

RydeHardNStrong: Man, social media is awesome. It's the place you can express yourself with your words, using the medium of your choice.

RyuQuinn666: Fair enough, I suppose. So, what are we going to do about GSW?

RydeHardNStrong: We're going to crush them. #hideyawife, #hideyakids

RyuQuinn666: I have no idea what you are talking about.

RydeHardNStrong:

RyuQuinn666: How are you making those strange animations?

RydeHardNStrong:

RyuQuinn666: I think we're straying from the point here. What's our game plan for facing GSW?

RydeHardNStrong: Quite simple. I'm awesome. You're awesome. There's no stopping us.

RyuQuinn666: No, we're not awesome.

RydeHardNStrong: WHAT!?

RyuQuinn666: No. Because that only implies 'some awe'. We're awemuch.

RydeHardNStrong: LOL. Sounds like an ethnic group.

RyuQuinn666: It does, now that you mention it. Man, this conversation is fun, but we're not really accomplishing anything with it.

RydeHardNStrong: That's what the internet is for, man. You express yourself and have fun doing it.

RyuQuinn666: You really like your writing, don't you?

RydeHardNStrong: More than anything.

RyuQuinn666: Then I guess this is it for me, then. Talk to you later.

RydeHardNStrong: Later!

***

Gold Standard Wrestling.

The three words most recently introduced to me.

I found the notion rather intriguing, upon face value. I mean, it was all rather poetic.

A federation within a federation.

It could be brilliant, I thought. It could be a great angle. It could be fantastic.

Only it wasn't.

Gold Standard Wrestling was a simple attention grab. A marketing scheme almost. It was bursting at the seam with potential, promising to be so much more... Only it wasn't. It was an amalgamation of odd superstars who had nothing remotely in common... Who'se ideals and ideologies were all vastly different from each other, but somehow had to collate as a functioning team.

From Matt P. Dunn who was using it as a springboard to enforce his ideals on everyone once again...

To Levi who was most certainly the most talented and popular, reduced to an ignorant yes-man...

To the people like Kayden Osiris and Johnathan King who were only in it since they had nothing better to do.

The cracks were already showing in their organization.

I predict that they will fracture from within and soon at that. That their castle will crumble from within. The gates will fall by their enemies breaking them down...

Or they will crumble as someone breaks their way out...

***

The tea was over-sweetened, a common complaint I have had with everything so far in America. It was almost as if most of the establishments believed with utter conviction that over-indulgence was necessary to enjoyment.

It made me sick. Sometimes quite literally.

But I wasn't here for the tea, so I didn't protest - Vociferously or otherwise. I was here to play the marionette strings. I didn't enjoy manipulating events, but I often found it was a true and necessary evil. To control a situation was often the key to winning it.

I picked up my cellphone and dialled the number.

"Hello?" a rough voice answered.

"Johnathan King?" I asked, the modulator disguising my voice.

"Yes?"

"I would like to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" he shot back, his voice immediately containing suspicion.

"I have some information to sell you regarding Kayden Osiris and your other GSW... team-mates."

"Please elaborate."

"I think you understand that you cannot trust them completely. That something is amiss. That they are planning something against you. Meet me in half an hour at the FMW locker-room."

"Listen here you..." he began and I hung up. Doubt was like a plant. You only needed to plant the seed and eventually it would find nourishment and grow. I smiled a little at that. It reminded me of when I used to be a Detective. Nothing could be more pleasing than crumbling a criminal ring from within by targeting insecurities.

Disabling the voice modular, I dialled again.

"Hello?" a voice asked on the other end.

"Have you done it?"

"Yes, Mr. Quinn. I slipped him the key a half an hour ago. He has since collected the file from your locker."

"Excellent. Well done." I hung up.

Placing doubt on one person wasn't enough, though. The best kind of plans touch all bases. I had had various photographic evidence taken of GSW's latest activities and even had some of their conversations taped and placed in a large manila envelope. Cashing in on a favour an old con-man who was very adept at forgeries owed me, I had ordered him to mimic Johnathan King's handwriting, placing a note in the front 'As promised, JK'.

No doubt Kayden Osiris was even now looking at it.

If both of them bought into the doubt, then good for me since I have made them even less cohesive. If not, it's a win for me anyway, since I have made them a little more angry.

***

Bopping down the street to the techno beats flowing from his BOSE headphones, Ryder Strong is as jovial as ever. Every person he passes, he gives them the “hey, guy!” finger-gun-point and smile. For the most part, all of the reactions have been good. Most patrons smile or wave. Some (the younger generation) see the cameraman and automatically think they’re going to be involved on YouTube in some form or fashion. Ryder poses with the handful of people that recognize him from Full Metal Wrestling and signs a few autographs. As he gets closer to his destination, he retrieves his phone from his pocket. He types some words and hits send before walking through the doors of a hotel.

Ryder spots the front desk concierge and begins doing wave motions with his arms as he approaches the desk. The concierge, looking rightfully confused, forces a smile on her face.

Concierge: Welcome to the…

Ryder Strong sticks his hand in her face to stop her from speaking.

Ryder Strong: URRRPP! Pump ya brakes, sweetie. No need for the long introduction.

Concierge: Sorry, sir, I just…

Ryder Strong: ….JK, JK. Please. I’m not as cocky as some people would like to believe. Just wanted to see how you’d react. But, I’m looking to find out what room RRRRRRR-Yu Quinn is calling his casa.

Concierge: Ah. Mr. Quinn is in room…wait one moment. Is he expecting you? I am not at liberty to divulge room information to anyone not registered to that room.

Ryder Strong: I’m pretty sure he’s expecting me. You should be receiving a call right…

The room service line begins ringing as Ryder Strong’s toothy, white smile appears from behind his lips. The concierge speak sbreiefly with the person on the phone then smiles back at Ryder.

Concierge: Looks like you were correct, sir.

Ryder Strong: Thank ya, darlin’.

Concierge: Mr. Quinn is in room 213. Take the first right down the hallway and the elevators are on the left.

Ryder Strong: No prob. Hey, here’s my card.

Ryder presents her with his business card that has a big smiley face on it and all of his social media networking sites.

Concierge: Well…you’re really into this social media thing, huh, sir?

Ryder Strong: Are you kidding me? That’s what this generation is driven by: we no longer need to have classic verbiage and stinging wit in face to face conversations. Now? We just…send a little winky face. That says it all.

Concierge: Winky face?

Ryder Strong: Yes.

Ryder winks and gives two thumbs up at the Concierge.

Ryder Strong: A winky face.

Concierge: W…well, sir. That was…

Ryder Strong: Swagtastic,

Concierge: He…he…yeah. You have a good day, sir.

Ryder , with cameraman in tow, takes off skipping down the hall towards the elevator as the Concierge shakes her head at the oddest exchange she has ever had.








Ryu Quinn looks icy; his demeanor is very intense and focused. He thumbs through another book on his desk until there is a knock at his door. He looks through the peephole and all he sees is:



He takes a deep breath before opening the door.

Ryder Strong: HIIII!!!!!! How are ya, partner!?

Ryder goes to give Ryu a hug but Ryu backs off and instead, offers a handshake.

Ryu Quinn: Uh, pleased to meet you, Ryder. Please, come in and have a seat.

Ryder Strong: Do you have those bitchin’ nuts? Tell me you do.

Feeling even more uncomfortable, Ryu shakes his head.

Ryu Quinn: I’m sorry, do I have what?

Ryder Strong: You know. Those salty nuts. I know there’s a variety of them in here.

Ryder bends down by Ryu’s leg...

Ryu Quinn: What ARE YOU DOING!?

…and opens up the mini-fridge.

Ryder Strong: Here they are! Cashews, peanuts and walnuts. Yummy!

Ryu Quinn: Wh…I…

Ryder seizes this opportunity to flash Ryu the wink and two thumbs up which is met with overwhelming indifference.

Ryu Quinn: I don’t know what that means.

Ryder Strong: Winky face! Everything is said with a winky face. I’m pretty sure you know exactly what I mean. See, I figured, why give some long drawn out hullabaloo speech when the world operates on emoticons. You know exactly how someone is feeling by the emotions that come out of their keyboards.

Ryu Quinn: Or…you could just speak with them directly.

Ryder Strong: I…I don’t know what that means.

Ryu Quinn: So this is what I have as my new tag partner, huh?

Ryder Strong: Dude, don’t worry. I mean seem like a complete and utter buffoon but I’m probably one of the smartest men on this roster. Don’t let this cheery disposition fool you: when it’s time to go in that ring, I will be all over the so called “Gold Standards” of wrestling. They believe their own hype. I believe my own too. The only difference is…I’ve backed it up.

Ryu Quinn: True, however, you’ve only had one match and…

Ryder Strong: …I’m undefeated! Beep Bop Boop! Don’t worry about it, RRRRRR-Yu. We’ll be fine. As long as we stick together, work as one well oiled machine, we’ll succeed. Not to mention, I have my little dirt sheet minions getting me some dirt on those two guys. You know, inside information.

Ryu Quinn: If you work here, aren’t you already on the inside?

Ryder pulls out another card and flashes it to Ryu. It’s a sad face emoticon

Ryder Strong: You’re bumming me out, man. Loosen up a little. Think positive and yor wildest dreams will come true.

Ryu Quinn: Obviously you deal with a fantasy world. I live in reality. Pardon me for wanting to have a true plan of action so that we both don’t go out there and get defeated by substandard peons. I will not be embarrassed out there and if you want “this” to work, you’ll take this more seriously.

Ryder Strong: Bud, I’m just having a good time and if YOU stick around with ME, you’d realize that success will come with determination and a happy disposition. No one likes a Negative Nicholas.

Ryu Quinn: This is just too odd for me.

Ryder Strong: But together, we will make it work. Now come on, smile for me. Just a little bit.

Ryu Quinn: No.

Ryder Strong: Hmmm…that’s not encouraging. OK. You don’t have to smile. But, I took the liberty of making a Twitter page for you so that you can release all of that anger and all of your thoughts into a 140 character box. I know there are other people like you out there and I’m sure they need someone else to say what they cannot put into words. You’re more concerned with strength being powerful. My words…can illuminate even the darkest of corners.

Words. Powerful. Think about it.

Ryu Quinn: I’ve already told you I don’t do….excuse me, let me rephrase that. What is ths username?

Ryder Strong: R_UKidNMe.

Ryu Quinn: I don’t get it.

Ryder Strong: Didn’t think you would. Here’s the information. Use it. And I’ll see you out there, partner!

Ryder gives Ryu the winky face. Ryu, looks at Ryder and begins to raise one thumb up. That’s it.

Ryder Strong: Eh, I’ll take what I can get. BOOYAH!




BLOG!


What trumps gold? As RRRR-Yu has stated, platinum. Duh.

Platinum is so much shinier. Much more modern. Much more of the “now”. A precious metal that has swept the nation and has become the metal to symbolize success. People are going crazy with their platinum grills, “dubs”, jewelry, etc. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to see platinum contacts so you can stare at wealth all day and night. Even though gold will always make money, it has a stigma of being…cheap. To me, gold looks inferior when it is widely sported by hairy, overweight men and their cheap suits. What’s even worse is that these very same men have the audacity to pile 3 or 4 gaudy monstrosities around their neck. Ew. So cheap.

The “Gold Standards” really aren’t the standards anymore Times have changed. Do you still see people walking down the streets with their boomboxes planted on their shoulders? No. Do people still rock valour? Gosh, I hope not.

The point is, CULT, we are in a stage of advancement and all these people can do is live in the past. Gold may be what is valuable but it is not what the majority want. I’ve read your tweets. I’ve seen my Facebook wall flooded with questions such as “How are you going to compete with that slimy stable” and “You newbies are too new. What makes you think you can measure up to GSW?” Are you mofos on crack? We don’t need to measure up to anyone. Myself and RRRR-Yu (I love doing that lol) are already infinitely ahead of this crumbling stable.

Oh yes, I said crumbling. I know RRRRR-Yu touched on this subject earlier but my sources are saying something totally different. Here’s some inside information for ya: Kayden Osiris is looking to turn on Jonathan King tonight due to his realization that they both suck monster balls and the only way to save himself is to cut off the testicle that is the most diseased (Hm, there’s a visual for ya).

Tune into Ammunition this week, folks. R Squared (yay or nay on that name. Tweet me!) is going to rock the house, yo.

WINKY FACE!


Say WHAT!?!?
R.S.

Upon the demise of Storm, an alien life form not visible to the naked eye hovers above an alleyway, moving left and right without much care in the world. You suddenly see a figure running straight past you but you cannot seem to figure out who it really is. You also notice that the street light are barely lit properly but you can also notice that there are not many people walking down the alleyway at midnight on the eve of Christmas. You suddenly transform into Stormmaster and are walking freely through the alleyway, walking through any people that you stumble across. You can see them but they can't see you. It’s snowing but only lightly, your wind wipers suddenly activate as snow gets to your eyes, damaging some form of visual contact. The figure that you saw earlier stops at the end of the alleyway and looks around for an exit, your visuals improve and you see a luchadore under the alias of Storm who appears to be running away from something. You cannot see him but you try to holler to him, telling him to keep running but to no avail.

“Do you see him yet?”

“Who?”

“Him.”

“What in the blue hell are you going on about?”

You turn around to find out where these two voices are coming from and see two figures on the rooftops with sniper rifles trying to aim at Storm. Your zoom functions kick in and you see these two suspicious men quite clearly. Your scanners kick in but these men aren’t properly identified.

“Do you have the shot?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said do you have the fucking shot yet Reggie?”

“Let me get this thing up.”

“Fucking hell.”

With the voice clips registered into your system, we can safely that these two dodgy looking men are known as “Peyton Anderson” and “Reggie Gloat” but you do not know what purpose they have with the Luchadore. Suddenly we hear a shot being fired from somewhere but your satnav isn't working properly. How strange. You move swiftly towards a dead body, presuming that it's the dead Luchadore, you take no chance but to absorb the body, thus making the body savable. Suddenly you move your eyes and see Peyton and Reggie standing over you, you try to move but cannot as it seems that you have been shot in the neck. You get kicked by Reggie in the face and your vital signs are deceased. Life's a bitch isn't it?

“Is he alive?”

“How the fuck should I know? Your the one that shot the bastard.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I don't think Darth Vader saw it coming.”

The eyes of Stormmaster open up slowly but with purpose. Standing in front of Stormmaster is two dodgy blokes that we saw earlier in this promo. To clarify, the scruffy looking bastard wearing the grandfather sweatsuit is “Reggie Gloat” and the one wearing the suit and tie is “Peyton Anderson”. While holding a clipboard in his hand, we start to notice Stormmaster's hand flinching.

“Did you fucking turn him off?” asked Peyton with a slightly confused look on his face.

“Yes, why?” replied Reggie.

“He moved.”

“Fuck off.”

“I just saw him move you twat.”

Peyton pointed towards Stormmaster who remained motionless, lying on his back on the operating table. Reggie moves a little bit closer to Stormmaster and pokes his helmet.

With a slight confusion on his face, Peyton asked “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Poking his helmet.” replied Reggie.

“Yes I know that you fucking gimp, what the fuck are you doing poking his helmet?”

“He's alive isn't he?” Reggie asked.

“No he's dead, of course he's fucking alive. He's just turned off.”

“Man I don't think Darth Sidious would be happy if Vader was dead.”

“Did he give a fuck?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

Pacing up and down Stormmaster, Reggie tries to find a screwdriver.

“What are you doing?” asked Peyton.

“Looking for a screwdriver.”

“You don't need a screwdriver just yet Reggie, I need to write down a few things first before we open up his ass.”

An awkward pause occurred which is noticeable between both men. Suddenly the pause was disrupted by a small noise coming from Stormmaster's helmet. Both Peyton and Reggie stop their rituals to investigate where the noise is coming from.

Suddenly, Stormmaster jolts upright and sits there with his red eyes glowing on his mask. Surprised by this, Peyton and Reggie take a look at Stormmaster's back, trying to find any loose wires that may have been accidentally slipped out from his ass.

“I thought you said you turned him off.” said Peyton.

Before Reggie could even respond, Stormmaster suddenly spoke.

“The calm before the storm. Stormmaster and Son of Shark Boy will sail the seas and emerge as one of the greats that were before them. The Wayward Sons, Grey Inferno, The Comeback Kids, Gold Standard Wrestling, Your New Gods. All of these will be swept away by The Perfect Storm.”

Looking confused, Reggie goes to Stormmaster's ass, gets his screwdriver and goes to fix his...uh...motherboard we presume. Reggie goes to fix the motherboard but cannot seem to find it.

Frustrated, Reggie pops his head up and asks “Where the fuck is the god damn motherboard?”

While being slightly fascinated by Stormmaster's random outburst, we see Peyton taking down a few notes for the records. Stormmaster continues.

“The winds are changing Full Metal Wrestling. The winds are changing Full Metal Wrestling. The winds are changing Full Metal Wrestling...”

Peyton stops writing for a second and tries to find Reggie who is submerged in Stormmaster's ass.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing!” echoed Reggie who is still trying to fix the motherboard on Stormmaster. Suddenly, a fuse is blown from Stormmaster's ass and we can only presume that he has farted. Reggie immediately puts everything down and moves away from Stormmaster, holding his nose at the same time.

“Stinks doesn't it?” said Peyton.

Ignoring his partner, Reggie exits to get his breath back. Peyton meanwhile picks up his clipboard and reads it through carefully, noting every single moment that has just happened from Storm's capture to the birth of Stormmaster. Without hesitation, Peyton takes his cellphone from out of his pocket and starts dailing then places it against his ear. While waiting, Peyton goes through the notes again, making sure that he knows what he is doing.

“Linguist, hi it's Peyton...yes? Yes we may have a problem, can you and Son of Shark Boy meet up for coffee?”

Fading out of this promo, we leave Peyton talking on the phone to Son of Shark Boy's manager The Linguist, thus forming the partnership that would get any fanboys and fangirls screaming with glee.

The formation of Stormmaster and Son of Shark Boy has begun.

We set sail for what lies ahead. The winds will be choppy and the sails will be tested to the limit but ultimately the treasure lies ahead.

Motivation...

Quite literally, the thing that drives us all...

Some seek recognition, some are just having fun.

For me, it's always been about better myself, proving that I can be the best I possibly can.

I've dreamed of being in this place... in this business forever.

I'm living a dream...

My motivation hasn't changed...

I am better than I was... and not quite as good as I will be...

~*~

“Five minutes until air, Butters.” The voice chirps in from the doorway as Butters sits in gear going through is words for his pre-match interview.

He sits with a phone in is hand, staring at it, seemingly try to will it to life. Slowly shaking his head e takes a deep breath and opens it up dialing a number. After a few moments pass, a deep sigh is heard as Butters begins to speak.[/i]

“Hi Mom, it's Bobby... usually hear from you the day before matches... just wanted to say Happy Birthday... got to do another interview, hope to hear from you soon. Love you, and all me whenever.”

Butters closes his phone then shakes his head. He gathers his jacket and heads out the door, leaving his phone on the bench as he leaves the room.

~*~

“Hey everybody, I'm Veronica Cherrywoood, and I'm standing here with one half of the Comeback Kids, Butters!”

Butters steps in from the side of the screen, “Hey guys.”

“Now, Butters, you and Slegnadamus have been given a lot of big chances lately, and come up short on all of them. How do you bounce back?” She motions the microphone in front of Butters.

“It's not easy. Definitely not easy, but it's what we do. It starts with this match. It's not main event, it's not for a title, it's not the match of the century, but it's more important in someways than these past title shots have been. We need to make a stand. We need to prove we deserved those shots.”

“Strong words. You mentioned proving yourself. What do you say in response to people who think you've been given more shots than you deserve?”

Butters chuckles as he answers. “People like Rampage. Yes, just Rampage, I'm not yelling it like the stylized way he insists it gets printed everywhere. Rampage is as much of a joke as he claims me to be. He's done less than I have, and that's saying something, considering I haven't truly done anything of note in Full Metal Wrestling. I am coming out for this match to prove I belong here, prove that this is my calling and prove I'm not riding along. There are other people that think we've only gotten these chances because people like us... The burden now falls on us to prove like us because we earned it.”

Veronica looks a bit shocked. “Well, you obviously have strong feels towards one team in your match, but you do have four opponents. Son of Sharkboy and Shockmaster both have cult followings and could be quite a threat. Are you forgetting about them?”

Butters shakes his head. “In no way am I forgetting or overlooking Shark and Shock. These two remind me a lot of myself, nobody expects them to be anything... but they've proven to be a force to be respected. They are new, and maybe a bit eccentric... but they are good. You're right that I can't wait to beat some sense into Rampage, but when I'm against Son of Sharkboy or Shockmaster, I'll be on high alert.”

Veronica gives a smile as she closes, “Well, thanks for the words, Butters. Tune into Ammnition this week to see if the Comeback Kids can overcome the teams of Son of Sharkboy and Shockmaster as well as Seth Omega and Rampage.”

Butters smiles as the camera fades out.

~*~

Butters steps back into the locker room, tossing his jacket across the bench. He scoops his phone up, flipping it open. He shakes his head as he reads out loud, “No Missed Calls, No New Messages.”

He shrugs it off and packs his things, getting ready to head back to the hotel. Suddenly a light bulb goes off in his head, and he starts to press buttons on his phone. He smiles as he presses one last button, “...and send.”

He smiles as he gathers his bag and leaves the locker room, preparing for battle in just a short time.

~*~

Somewhere in Nashua, New Hampshire

The scene focuses on a silver older-style flip cell phone. The phone vibrates and flashes with a piture of an envelope above the words “Baby Boy”. The message is short enough to be read in the preview. “Plz call when you can.” The scene pulls out as we can see the phone sitting in the cup holder of what appears to be a small sedan. As the scene pulls out even farther, the sound of the car horn being held down can be heard and the exterior of the red Ford can be seen. The scene pulls back even farther, revealing only the back tire still on the road.

As the scene pulls to a full wide shot, we see the front of the car smashed into the front grill of a large eighteen-wheeler Mack Truck. The majority of the vehicle smashed and twisted. Glass pieces and shards of each vehicle are scattered across the street and the flashing red and blue lights of emergency vehicles can be seen in the distance. The scene fades out as the first ambulance arrives on scene and the flashing lights overtake the screen.

Get the Mask! Get the Mask!

Hey y’all! It’s your friendly neighborhood Son of Shark Boy here! It looks like the Linguist and I are going to be at Ammuntion this time around for a triple threat Tag Team Match. Don’t worry, Corruption brand… we’ll give Ammo your regards.

I was in the shower the other day, washing off the sweat of a long training session. Storm and I doubled our efforts in preparation for the teams of Seth Omega and RAMPAGE!, and Slegnadamus and Butters. After I thought I was alone, I removed my mask, and tossed it out to the other side of the corridor leading into the shower so I could wash my head. Little did I know that my sense of solitude was too hastily perceived.

Peyton: *whispering* What the fuck are we doing again?

Reggie: *whispering* Dude, we’re going to make sure that we can get a glimpse of that Fish Bitch’s face, and to do that we need to pocket his mask.

Peyton: *whispering* Isn’t this going to end up like Kakashi?

Reggie: *whispering* Who?

Peyton: *whispering* You know, Kakashi, the mask… they tried to get him to reveal his face, only to ultimately find out that he wore a mask over his mask.

The whispering stopped, as Reggie started to go on a tirade in his normal voice, and luckily for the both of them, the sound of the flow of steaming hot water had me oblivious to the bickering of StormMaster's managers.

Reggie: ... Dude, we need to cut your habit of watching Adult fucking Swim. Watching that would make you more of a nerdface than anything! And for that, you’ll have to go pocket his mask!

Peyton: What?! Are you shitfaced or something? It’ll be like ruining the mystique of the Luchador.

Reggie: …

Peyton: Reggie?

Reggie: Just get your fuckin' cunt ass over there and get the mask. And don’t spend time looking at him showering, bitch!

I didn’t notice them trying to get my mask, but like those who do have a voice above water, I got a bit too into being in the shower, so I silently sang a bit of a shanty I knew from my youth. Peyton was able to take it without me noticing, and luckily, the shower made the alcove fog up as if it was London, so no one got a glimpse of what my face looked like in the shower.

Meanwhile, StormMaster was idling like he usually was when not competing, as The Linguist was trying to converse with him about his managers. Somehow, I have a feeling that it was falling on deaf ears… or whatever is behind StormMaster’s mask. I always thought of him as weird. But then again, I was always perceived as weird, so who am I to judge? After a pause of awkward silence coming from both my manager and my tag team partner, Reggie came in with Peyton, waving my mask around him.

Reggie: Look, everyone, we got his mask!

The Linguist: WHAT?!

Reggie: Read ‘em and weep, Linguist! We both got a look of your client’s face behind the mask, and man that bitch is ugly!

Peyton: Yup.

My Manager of Many Dialects was shocked. He thought it was impossible for someone to take my mask. Heck, the last few people who tried to do it got kicked in the jaw for it.

The Linguist: Did you realize what you have done?

Peyton: No… what?

The Linguist: This soon before fighting two established tag teams on the Ammunition brand, and you take Son of Shark Boy’s mask! You broke a taboo. No one should see behind his mask, not even I. Even he takes the lifestyle of a Luchador enmascarado seriously. You’ve disgraced him by taking his mask while he was in the shower!

Reggie: Lucha-what?! We don’t understand as much lingo as you do Linguist.

Peyton: Yeah, we need a lesson!

The Linguist: Then, as Chris Austin would probably say… Class is in session. *brief pause* A Luchador enmascarado is a masked wrestler that adopted that lifestyle as their own. Their real identities shall not be revealed to the general public unless they remove their mask as part of a stipulation in a wrestling match. Someone taking or putting their hands on a luchador’s mask without it being put on the line is a taboo, and one of the most dishonorable tactic in lucha wrestling, and it has been a tradition for a very long time.

Reggie: Dude, chill. We’re not in Mexico, and we’re not breaking any taboos. We just wanna see what your client looks like under the mask.

The Linguist: He won’t like it one bit. He’ll come out in a towel hiding his face.

Peyton: Then Reg over here will unwrap him, we do need to see what he looks like behind that bag he uses as a mask!

Sure enough… I came out fully clothed, and with a towel over my head. I was totally a basket case, asking them if they’ve seen my mask. The Linguist managed to translate my rant for me.

Reggie: Bitch, we got yer mask. We'll give it back to ya, but all ya have to do is show us your face.

The Linguist: Reggie, don’t.

Peyton and Reggie both backed up to their charge and braced themselves.

Peyton: Shut it, Linguist! *attention on me* Come on… show us.

I decided to give in, and turned around. And pulled off my towel that was hiding my naked face… or so they thought. I turned around, and showed off my barely-used blue military camouflage mask! I loved seeing the shock on both Reggie and Peyton’s faces. They may have thought they were pulling a fast one on me. But they’ve got OWNED!

The Linguist: *smirk* There is one thing you need to know about my client. He always have an extra mask with him.

Feeling defeated, both Reggie and Peyton lowered their heads, feeling a bit defeated after I sported a great mask I rarely use.

Reggie/Peyton: We’ve been duped.

After they admitted that they were bested, StormMaster suddenly stood up and pushed both his managers aside, and got up. He sprung to life in an instant, as his eyes started to glow.

StormMaster: The Perfect Storm is forming. Son of Shark Boy has proven to be a worthy tag team partner. Slegnadamus and Butters, Seth Omega and RAMPAGE!, prepare to be blown away by the next wave.

As sudden as his movements, my tag team partner went back to being all Tin Man, and sat down on the ground, lifeless, and as unmoving as a Buddha statue. Reggie and Peyton were getting helped up by the both of us, their expressions like deer in the headlights. But regardless, I got my good ol’ mask back.

Peyton: StormMaster just talked!

Reggie: Yeah… his strength was almost… superhuman.

Well, they ended up apologizing, and promising not to take one of my masks without my knowledge again. It was good to have a safety policy just in case this happened… again. I’ll just remember to keep a spare mask with me wherever I go.

And StormMaster was right about what he said; a Perfect Storm is forming. Seth Omega and RAMPAGE! may be huge, but StormMaster is easily the best competition that they can have! And Slegnadamus and Butters have never met a better competition than Storm and I. We’ll see you in the ring, and when the storm calms down, Storm and I will be getting our hands raised in victory by the referee, with our opponents dizzy from our combinations.

See you at Ammunition, Shark Nation!

Ammunition 14.2
from the RBC Center in Raleigh, North Carolina

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion

Promo ONLY until Tuesday September 13th at 11:59pm EST. Voting and Promo until Thursday September 15th at 11:59pm EST

VOTES ONLY IN WHITE ARE BASED PURELY OFF OF OOC FACTORS

The door of a plain, uninteresting room swings wide open, and in bursts Christian G. Smitten. He looks ruff as anything, with his tie half done up, his collar undone, and his jacket unpressed. He looks the splitting image of a complete and utter slob. Holding a manila folder, he slams the cup of Starbucks coffee in his hand on the table situated in the middle of the room, as pulls back one of the chairs at it, never looking up.

Smitten: Sorry I’m la...

Stopping himself, he looks around to find the only life in the room, other than his, is the pot plant in the corner of the room. Even calling THAT alive would be both a stretch and an insult to the plant itself. The smug little plant which somehow claims to be alive almost stares back at Smitten, who completely ignores it, more focused on the lack of human life in the room. He pulls out his cell phone and dials a number.

Smitten: Carol? Yes Carol, its Christian here from legal, how are you dear?

Carol began talking. Man, she was a chatty receptionist. Smitten rolled his eyes, thinking to himself “shut up, I was only explaining pleasantries, I don’t REALLY care at all”. Finally, Carol is forced to stop and take a breath. Her lack of ability to survive without oxygen provides Smitten with the perfect opportunity to butt in.

Smitten: Carol, I’m in a real hurry here. My 10 O’Clock with Anwyl and O’Rion. Are either of those men here yet?

And there it was. A stark reminder of WHY Smitten never called Carol for anything. A simple “No, they haven’t turned up yet”, has turned into “No, but I think I saw Anwyl early on Monday morning. It was really early. I blah blah blah blah blah”. Smitten could almost feel the antagonising stare of the half dead pot plant, cutting him with a butter knife.

Smitten: Yes... yes... yes tha... thank... ahh to hell with it.

Rudely, Smitten hangs up the phone. He picks up the manila folder, and his coffee, before calmly walking out the door. With the pot plant now alone, it almost breathes a sigh of relief, as it’s ended the day fully in tact, and not with it’s pot in a million and one pieces like it is on most days when Smitten enters the room.

Smitten himself however, has found his way back to the office, which has much nicer, and happier pot plants sitting in it. He sits down at his desk, and opens the manila folder. He looks at the details on the first page, and picks up the receiver of the phone at his desk, and dials many numbers. After waiting a moment, he finally has a chance to say something.

Smitten: Mr. Anwyl?

...

Smitten: Well, obviously I realise you’re not going to be here for our 10 O’Clock.

...

Smitten: Yes, I was late this morning, what of it?

...

Smitten: No it’s not hypocritical. I’m the C-4 Champion. If I’m late, I wear the burden. If you’re late, you’re significantly impacting the chances of yourself getting the promotion to C-4 Champion. In fact, the later you are after 10, the chances of you getting the promotion go exponentially down. At the moment, you’re almost an impossible chance to win this position.

...

Smitten: Yes, I realise a chance is STILL a chance, you are right there. But if you’re not here at all, you’re not going to get a chance. I’ll retain my position as the C-4 Champion without a fight. Do you know how stupid that will make you look?

...

Smitten: Obviously you don’t care enough then. You haven’t bothered to show up on time, or at all at this stage. How does that show me, and the rest of this company, that you’d not only be a strong, but a believable FMW C-4 Champion? It doesn’t, does it?

...

Smitten: Yeah, you know I’m right.

...

Smitten: You’ve had a brilliant chance to make a huge bright start to your career here. This is your seventh moment in the sun. You’re going to blow it by not turning up?

...

Smitten: it’s not looking good for you Anwyl. If I don’t see you here soon, I’m going to have to do nothing other than recommend you as an unsuitable candidate. In fact, even if you do turn up, I’ll be pushing for that. It’s unacceptable that a person who would like to consider himself as champion, so early in his career, blows it by not turning up, or making a last minute, late showing.

...

Smitten: I’ve done the hard yards, I’ve pulled this company through deeper cestpools than you can imagine. People will forgive me for being late, but they can’t forgive a challenger. End of story.

...

Smitten: You know where I stand, and now you know where you stand. The onus is on you to fix this. Goodbye.

With that, Smitten hangs up the phone. At least he ended his phone call with Anwyl in a more polite manner than he did with Carol. He probably isn’t taking solice in the fact though. After all, he can’t do his job if the people who are trying to take his position are not around. It makes for being a very one dimensional C-4 Champion’s job.

Smitten flicks over a couple of pages in the folder, before stopping at one and slamming his fist down on it. Picking his fist up, he uses his other hand to scrape a now dead spider off his knuckles, and continues to flick. Finally, he gets to the page he wants, and picks up the receiver of his phone again, and dials.

As he waits on the line, he inspects his nails. Why? No reason. He was late getting to work today, so he hadn’t gone through his normal pre-day routine. His nails didn’t look too bad, but the suit he was wearing. Wow, what a mess. He thought to himself, “I can’t believe I’m presenting myself like this, all because I was late. I am, in layman’s terms, a fuck fight. Straighten the... oh, the line went dead...”

Smitten hangs up the phone, before standing up and leaving his office. He mutters to himself as he leaves the room, hoping someone, anyone, would hear.

Smitten: That’d be right. Alex O’Rion doesn’t have voice mail. That’s just like him...

[/quote]

Ammunition 14.2
from the RBC Center in Raleigh, North Carolina

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwylvs Alex O'Rrion

I think one or two of my teeth are missing. I think this because of the amazing pain in two separate spots in my mouth, corresponding with blood running down onto my tongue from the same spots.

This is the least of my worries.

What is the foremost of my worries is the fact that I think they scratched my bike.

The bastards.

–

Oh air conditioning, how I missed you and your ability to make me not be turned into an oven roasted turkey in my own office.

The money from the last few cases (that I kept trying to be a gentlemen and refuse, but they INSISTED, so oh well) was just enough for me to buy an air conditioner with enough left over to buy the cat some food, which is a good thing considering I'm quite certain he was starting to think my foot was a pork chop. Ow.

But, cat-inflicted foot wounds notwithstanding, the past few days had been nice and quiet. I'd been able to catch up on some books, and even been able to sleep for the recommended amount of hours.

So, when my cell phone started ringing, I knew it would be something that would end with me very likely in a large amount of pain. I was not disappointed.

Gray pulls the phone out from his pocket looking at the caller ID, “Hippy” displayed on the screen. He sighs and presses the answer button, bringing it up to his ear.

Gray: Hello?

Hippy: Gray? Hi. It's-

Gray: I have caller ID you know. You don't have to say who you are.

Hippy: Just listen!

Gray: Alright, alright, what is it?

An annoyed Hippy. That was a new one, and told me then and there what I was getting into. He was too into that zen shit to get above slightly worried normally. The last time I saw him like that was ages ago, in a different case. But that's for another time.

Hippy: Can you come to the cafe please? I have someone who needs to meet you.

Gray: And here I was hoping my mini-vacation would last a little longer.

Hippy: Just hurry up!

Before I could make a clever reply, he had hung up. He hung up on me. Yeah, this wasn't going to be a fun case.

Gray puts the phone into his pocket as he stands up. He walks over to a coat hanger, grabbing a dark blue suit jacket that matches his pants, and then grabs a matching fedora off the rack attached to the door as he walks out of his office.

–

I'm really getting tired of this cafe. The only people who eat here are people in wire-frame glasses whose favorite food is grass. Which, by the way, if you wear a t-shirt talking about saving the Earth, and then eat some grass for lunch I am legally allowed to call you a hypocrite.

Oh, and Hippy's at a table with a crying girl. That's probably important.

I sit down at the table across from them and wave. Hippy looks relieved to not have to bear the brunt of the girl's crying anymore.

Hippy: Gray, this is Sandra. It's her boyfriend.

Gray: Right. Hi, Sandra.

Sandra: Hi...

Gray: Tell me what's going on.

Sandra: Well, my boyfriend he hasn't come home in...in three days.

I'd ask if she called the police, but that's a stupid question given she's sitting in front of me sobbing. Why did this have to be in public.

Gray: What was he doing the last time you saw him?

Sandra: He was...going to work. He works at the library.

Gray: Has he been acting differently lately?

Sandra: Um...he's seemed a bit, I guess preoccupied? I kept asking him about it but he'd avoid the question...

Alright, we have a starting point.

I reach forward and put a hand on her shoulder, and smile.

Gray: It's alright. I'll bring him back.

The sad mask on her face cracks a bit, and a smile shows through. This is why I do this. I stand up, Hippy doing the same, and we start to walk back to the bike.

Gray: I'm going to go check at the library, see if I can maybe find out what he was so preoccupied with. Keep her company, alright?

Hippy: Don't worry. I'll make her some soup and plenty of good things to keep her happy.

I said keep her company not kill her.

Gray: Yeah, right, take care. I'll call you when I'm done.

Hippy waves to Gray as he puts the helmet on and rides off to the library.

–

What in the hell goes on in the heads of people who build libraries? I get it, Gothic Victorian whatever is”in” and shit, but just what drug do you have to be on to think“Hey, I got this library here. I'm going to put gnarled lion statues above the door, and have fucking angel statues on both sides on the inside of the door!”

I was a bit worried about looking away from them. I walk up to the front desk and smile at the girl behind it.

Gray: Hi. Can you help me out? I'm looking for Derek.

Librarian: Derek? Oh, I'm sorry, he hasn't come in to work for...two or three days now.

Gray: Ahhh, that's what I expected really. Do you mind if I ask how he was the last time you saw him?

Her face scrunched up just a tad in confusion. “Why is this amazingly handsome man in a kickass fedora asking a question like that?” went through her mind, I could tell. Well, paraphrased, but you get the idea. Luckily, I prepare for those kind of things.

Gray reaches up to his breast pocket, pulling out a small leather wallet. He quickly flips it open, just long enough for her eyes to register that it's a badge before flipping it back closed and pushing it back into his pocket. He smiles.

Gray: Just need to ask him a few questions, that's all.

The trick is to make it fast. Keep it out just long enough for the brain to register it, and not long enough for the eyes to realize it's something I got out of a 25cent vending machine (and even then I still think it's robbery.) To pull it off you'd need to be quick.

And I have some fast hands.

It takes a moment for her to connect badge with suit in her head, but I saw the confusion snap off of her face when it did. Bingo.

Librarian: Ohhh. Well...

She leans forward, as if we're in a spy movie about to share a secret that can shatter nations and bring politicians to their knees.

Pfft, I WISH I was James Bond.

I humor her though and lean forward as well.

Librarian: I saw him sneaking out of the Forbidden Room a few days ago.

Wait, the what.

Gray: The...Forbidden Room?

She nods.

Addendum. What the fuck is wrong with people who name parts of libraries.

Gray: I...don't...what is the Forbidden Room?

She seems confused, because that is apparently an odd reaction to the fucking Forbidden Room.

Gray: This is...my first time here.

Librarian: Ohh, I see. Well, it's where we keep record books for the city.

And it's called the Forbidden Room.

Gray: Of...course.

I quickly try to regain my composure, and lean forward a bit more, putting the smile back on. Charm on.

Gray: I don't suppose I could get a look around that...Forbidden Room could I, Miss?

Librarian: Eheh...sorry, but it's called the Forbidden Room for a reason.

Sigh. Saw it coming. I take a glance at the clock on the wall and shrug.

Gray: I expected that. But hey, can't fault a guy for trying huh? Thank you very much for your help, Miss.

I walk back out the doors, and hurry past the angels. I stop outside and look at the hours plastered on the sigh next to the doors and do a quick bit of math. I'm going to have plenty of time to hurry back and get my stuff. I'll just have to get a tour on my own.

The Forbidden Room. Christ.

–

It's a little after 10 when the last person walked out of the building, locking the door behind them. Thank ass for that, I was about to drop the rest of my marbles out of my ears from watching a building.

I gave it a few more minutes to make sure it's clear before “sneaking” (which is what I call crouching and moving fast in the bushes) up to the door. Now, smart people would break into a building via a window, or a side door. Or anywhere that's not the front door.

Well, fuck being smart.

Not that it particularly mattered. While in there I didn't see any security cameras, nor did I see any on my way in. Odd.

So, I got my trusty lockpick set out (which is really just two thin dental picks that if they were being put into my mouth I'd be scared would break off in my tooth) and got to work.

Push them in. Jiggle jiggle first up. Jiggle jiggle the second down. Jiggle jiggle the last one up and twist, door opened.

Wait.

Jiggle jiggle?

Seriously?

Addendum Two: What the fuck is wrong with my language center.

I pushed the door open and, despite it also not being the best plan during a breaking and entering, ran through the foyer, so as to avoid the Weeping Angels. I regret nothing.

Once I stepped into the library proper, I realize just how damned dark it is. I had seen the big windows while I was coming in, but despite it having been a full moon, barely any light was coming in, due to the bookshelves that stretch to the damned ceiling blocking it, casting shadows in the places where the moonlight still shows through. It occurred to me that libraries were “a bit” creepy at night. Yay.

I managed to fumble my way down the hall (just about breaking my foot on a door that had been left ajar. At least no one was around to hear me cursing. Finally, I got to the...sigh, Forbidden Room. Tried the door, and obviously it was locked. Luckily, I still had my two thin dental picks (which is really just my trusty lockpick set.)

I crouched down and started to push them into the lock when, of all things, a shock ran out from it into me. Needless to say, I cursed more.

Gray: Fucking cunt sucking twat son of a whore! God DAMN!

Very colorfully.

So, apparently there were no cameras because the “forbidden” things were protected by a fucking electricity-spewing lock. I was not even aware they made that sort of thing. Good to know. Well, since I couldn't just pick the lock, and I had already went in through the front door, I figured I might as well.

So, I smashed the window open with my elbow.

That hurt.

I need to think these things through. But at least I was in.

Gray steps into the room and looks around, looking up and down a bookshelf in the middle of the room. He then walks over to a desk that's against the wall, and begins pulling drawers open. The first two are only papers, but the third he finds a box. He reaches in and pulls it out. It's rectangular, long and black.

What the dick is this?

I grabbed the top of it and tried to pull it off, but that only made the whole thing lift off the desk. I flipped it around a few times looking over it, and I couldn't find anything that let me know how to open it. It's a heavy bastard too. Maybe it's a forbidden paperweight.

I opened another drawer and found a big book, old and weathered, the leather cover scratched and peeling. The spine of it read “History of Eternity City: 1888-1903” with the front cover saying the same in big gold letters. I looked back at the bookshelf, and notice that there's one missing from the middle row, which is full of old, weathered books bound in leather, except for one spot that's empty. Someone was doing some reading. I flipped the book open and started looking over the pages.

I blinked.

I flipped a few pages forward, and still the same. I reached up and rubbed my eyes, but there was no denying it.

There was nothing written in the book.

Okay, we have a forbidden room that apparently has empty record books, from which a man who is now missing was seen leaving. This is decidedly not normal. And at this point, I knew that not normal also meant them. Great.

I started to close the book, but something caught my eye. A piece of paper barely sticking out of the end of it. I pulled it out and found a sheet of paper, covered with confused writing.

“They say they can see it why can't I?”

“All of them are the same.”

“What's in the box?”

“They're coming.”

I could hear footsteps in the foyer.

Shit.

Maybe they weren't coming to here.

Voice: Come on rookie, I told you why we're here.

Voice 2: I just don't understand what the forbidden room is...

Voice: It's important, that's what you need to know.

Okay, this was bad, but easily taken care of. Just slip out a window and no one will know someone was in there.

Except for the front door having been unlocked. And the door to this room having it's window smashed .

God damn it why can't I stealth!?

Okay, there's no cameras, so I just had to get out, and I'd be fine. I dashed to the window and started pulling it open as I heard the footsteps coming down the hall. I stopped and looked back at the desk, at the empty book and the box. I needed to grab them, they were clues, but I heard one of the voices shush the other one as they got within view of the door. The smashed window was in view. Shit, had to hurry.

The door is opened as a police officer steps into the room, gun drawn, another younger officer behind him as they step into the room. The first officer sweeps around the room, finding the open record book and the box on the desk, but no one in the room. He walks over to the window and opens it, looking outside. All he sees is a moonlit parking lot. He looks around once more before closing the window. From behind a tree Gray peeks out, making sure the coast is clear before hurrying back to his bike.

–

I was only about two blocks from the office when I stopped on the side of the road to call Hippy. It was far past his bedtime, but he would have to get over it.

Hippy: hullo?

Gray: Hey, it's me.

Hippy: Graaaay, don't you know what time it is?

Gray: Time for me to not give a damn. Listen, I checked out the library.

Hippy: That took a while...you were suppose to go in the afternoon.

Gray: I did. But I couldn't get all the answers during open hours.

Hippy: ...did you break into the library!?

Gray: I prefer to call it “unlocking the door with my lock picking skills.”

Hippy: Oh, yes, you're just the master of unlocking.

Gray: Well that's what your sister told me.

There's silence on the other line. Sore spot. Whoops.

Gray: But listen, I did get some answers, kind of. Derek had gone into the...sigh, the Forbidden Room, a co-worker saw him leaving.

Hippy: The...what?

Gray: That's what I said! It's a room with records and shit. I went in there though and I found a few things. A box, which I couldn't get open, and one of the record books. And I know this sounds crazy, but I saw Derek's notes so I know it's not just me, but there was nothing written in those books.

A siren is suddenly sounding behind me. I look back and see a patrol car parking behind me. Shit.

Gray: I'm going to have to call you back.

I drop the phone from my ear, so I can't hear what he's saying as I press the disconnect button.

Hippy: That's not right, I went to an event that was showing them off, they're full!

I put the phone back in my pocket and pull the helmet off of my head as I stand up. Four officers have gotten out of the patrol car, and are walking toward me. Maybe there was a camera after all. Okay, all I have to do is lie like I normally do and I should be fine. I hold my hands up just to show them I'm harmless and smile.

Gray: Is there anything I can do for you officers tonigh-

Something's sprayed in my eyes, and it feels like they're on fire. I stumble back, and a fist is punched into my gut. I fall, knees hitting the pavement, and that's when I'm kicked in the chest. I fall backwards.

That's when they swarm on me.

Blows come from all sides. Feet repeatedly slamming into my legs and stomach, fists trying to punch through my torso and head. My arms slide up to protect my head, but there's only so much that can be done.

A rib cracks.

Blood is coughed out.

A voice demands to know what someone is doing, another voice tells the first to be quiet.

Black tugs at the edges of my vision.

Finally, it stops. They draw back.

A hand digs into my hair, and forces my head up so the officer the hand belongs to and I can look eye to eye.

Officer: Stay the hell out of our business. Got it?

Then he spit in my face, because just beating me isn't humiliating enough. He pushes my head to the ground, and I feel my head bounce on the pavement before blackness.

–

I don't know how long I was out. Feels like almost every bit of me is burning with pain. I twist onto my stomach and I see my bike knocked over onto it's side, a long scratch going across it.

Bastards.

I try to get back to my feet, and almost collapse, grabbing onto one of the Fireblade's handlebars to keep me “standing”, or this abomination that I'm calling standing. I try to pull the bike up, but my limbs scream at me and I nearly topple over. I'm close enough to the office that the bike will be safe. Who'd steal a scratched bike laying on the road next to bloodstains? Well probably someone would, but I'm in no mood to think of them. I start to hobble back to the office.

A missing man. A missing man seen leaving a forbidden room. A forbidden room full of record books that are empty. And apparently the cops are in on it. I can feel It's presence all over this. Not surprised.

As I stumble into the office I am forced to remember my thoughts from this morning, thinking the phone call would only lead to me in pain.

Gray: Fuckin' understatements...

I crash against the wall and slide down to the floor, staring out my window into the night.

This...presents a whole new level of problems.

And y'know what the truth is, while I'm slumped against the wall, beaten and bloodied (and with a face covered in spit, god fucking damn it)?

I'm too pissed off to give a shit about them right now. They spit on the wrong guy.

Bring it on.

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion

And for this purpose I was appointed a herald and an apostle—I am telling the truth, I am not lying—and a true and faithful teacher of the Gentiles.
1 Timothy 2:7


Leviticus sat up in his bed. His eyes were wide open and sweat beaded up on his skin. He barely heard the scream as it exited his mouth because the sounds from his dream were still echoing in his ears. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. As he did visions from the dream came rushing back.

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

The world around Leviticus exploded. He and the Flame had planned everything, yet they were still failing. Leviticus quickly turned his head. The Flame was lying there in the sand. It took Leviticus a moment to realize that the Flame was extinguished. It was an odd site to say the least. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to really think on how unusual the sight was because the massive shadow of what he knew to be an Organ Grinder fell over the Flame’s fallen form.

Seeing the shadow Leviticus knew what he had to do. He had to run. If he didn’t the rebellion would be crushed. Quickly scrambling to his feet Leviticus put his feet below him and began to race through the sand. Behind him he could hear the Organ Grinder lumbering toward the Flame. He wanted to look back but knew he couldn’t because if he did then he would race back to help his ally and then they would both fall. So Leviticus kept running. As he did though he could hear the Flame call from behind him.

The Flame: Seek Justus!

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

Leviticus opened his eyes and shook his head. These dreams he had been having had gotten bad lately. In fact they had become so bad they had been ravaging his sleep schedule. He knew that the dreams were trying to tell him something, he just wasn’t sure what. So he did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep, he went online.

Reading the dirt sheets always brought him a certain sort of solace. He got to read the fan’s point of view on his performances in the ring as well as their opinion on the whole GSW invasion. Lately they had less then flattering things to say. GSW had been called a joke, a time filler, and a ratings stunt. Rumors were running rampant about defections and the possibility of the whole thing being scraped. There were also the more personal comments about how Leviticus was too good to be associated with Gsw and that he should break away from them. He wanted to say so many things to them but he knew that it would just touch of an even greater flame war if he did. He knew the only way he could answer them was in the ring, and that was just what he planned on doing.

He waited a few seconds for the Lords Of Pain website to load. He knew that anything he would have to prove wrong would be found in one of their columns, probably one written by Hustle. As soon as the site was loaded he started to scroll down the page. It was then that a headline caught his eye.

LPW WRESTLER, JUSTUS, HOSPITALIZED

A shock went up Leviticus’s spine as he read the headline again. Was this what the dreams meant when they kept telling him to seek Justus?

He opened the article and quickly read it with a great deal of interest. It seemed that Justus was a Christian performer and he had been the victim of some kind of an assault at his home. Leviticus nodded as he read the words on his computer screen. These two men had so much in common that it was impossible to ignore. This had to be what the dreams were talking about. Leviticus opened another tab and punched in the URL for Google. He didn’t want to waste anymore time. He had to seek Justus.

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

Leviticus stood outside the door of Justus’s hospital room and took a deep breath. He had checked several websites and made even more phone calls to put him where he was now. This was it. He had sought Justus, and in just a few moments when he opened the door to the room in front of him he was going to find him.

Leviticus looked back at King who had already made himself comfortable in one of the chairs and was reaching for his cell phone. He was glad King had come with him. King was a newer addition to GSW but they had clicked almost immediately. King looked up at Leviticus and gave him a thumbs up. Leviticus returned the gesture and then turned back to the door. This was it. He slowly raised his hand and knocked on the door.

He stood there for what seemed like forever before he heard a voice from inside the room answer him.

Justus: Come in.

Leviticus couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the door open. As he stepped inside his mind raced with thoughts of what the man inside was going to be like. He had seen photos of him online of course. The photos portrayed him as a great warrior. Granted he was small in stature but his fighting spirit was clear in each one of the pictures. Leviticus stepped around the corner and much to his surprise the man lying there in the hospital bed was decidedly… human.

Leviticus smiled at this sudden revelation. He had been expecting to find some great, shining knight that battled the darkness back into the corners it had skulked out of but had found a man. This filled him with hope, after all if Justus was a man and could accomplish all he had that meant Leviticus could do the same. Knowing that he was already learning Leviticus spoke.

Leviticus: Hello sir, my name is Leviticus.

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

Leviticus was completely blown away by how normal Justus was. He had just welcomed him into his hospital room as though he were an old friend. They had sat there for the better part of ten minutes exchanging pleasantries when Justus said something that gave him a hint as to why Justus was so extraordinary.

Justus: I was wondering when we were finally going to meet.

This statement caught Leviticus off guard.

Leviticus: What do you mean?

Justus smirked as he looked at Leviticus.

Justus: I’ve seen you before in my dreams.

Leviticus’s eyes went wide as he took in the full depth of Justus’s statement. If Justus had seen him in his dreams and he had seen Justus then that meant there was something much greater at work. Leviticus couldn’t help but try to imagine what that greater thing might be but Justus called him back to the moment they were both in.

Justus: I know what you are thinking. You are trying to figure out what it is that ties us together. The answer is powers beyond this Earth. In fact the things that tie us together are decidedly more…. Celestial.

Leviticus’s mind went reeling at the possibilities Justus’s statement presented. God had always been a factor in his life, but the idea that there was something so much bigger planned for him was quite a bit to take in.

Leviticus: That is why I was led here.

Justus’s smirk became a full blown smile.

Justus: You’ve seen me in your dreams to, haven’t you?

Leviticus slowly nodded. He knew that something was leading him to meet Justus, he just had no idea it would be something this big. Suddenly it hit him. All those pictures he had seen of Justus showed him as a hero. That was all Leviticus really wanted was to be a hero, and now he was sitting there with a man who could tell him how.

Leviticus: I know about your reputation. I know that you are a hero. I know people look to you and find hope. I want to be that to.

Justus nodded and smiled. It wasn’t a cocky smile, or a smile that indicated he knew something no one else did. It was a smile of genuine approval.

Justus: That is an admirable goal Leviticus. The question is though, can you stand up to the forging process?

Leviticus cocked his head to the side He was glad that Justus approved but he wasn’t entirely certain he got the second part.

Leviticus: Forging process?

Justus nodded and placed his hands together.

Justus: Yes. You see, Leviticus, one doesn’t simply become a hero. They must be made. Do you know what makes a hero?

Leviticus sat there silent. He had some ideas of what the answer might be but he didn’t want to be wrong.

Justus: Heroes are formed through adversity. You see, it isn’t ones ability to stand that truly makes a hero. It is your ability to get back up after you have been knocked down. Most people when they are taken down stay down. A hero gets back up. No matter how many times they get knocked down, no matter how many setbacks they encounter, they get back up and press on. Do you understand?

Leviticus couldn’t help but smile. Justus was right. All his life he had been handed setback after setback and yet he kept pressing on. He was already on the right path he just never knew it.

Leviticus: I can get back up.

Justus held up his hand which caused Leviticus to go rigid. Was there something he was missing?

Justus: It isn’t just standing back up though. It is continuing to press on for what is right even at great cot to yourself. If you truly wish to be a hero you must not only stand, but you must stand against the world.

Leviticus though about what Justus said. So many things in his life were being brought into context by this moment. His time with the Bloods. The death of his father. His acceptance of the Lord. Him joining GSW. The whole invasion. Everything. He hadn’t ever really looked at it through the lens Justus was showing it to him before but now everything was so clear. He was destine for something greater then he knew. Now he just had to press forward to find out what it was he was supposed to be.

Leviticus: I must be an example.

Justus clapped his hands together and smiled broadly.

Justus: Exactly! You can’t just talk about being one either, you must truly be that difference. You must stand apart from everyone, even the other members of GSW you told me about.

Leviticus frowned.

Leviticus: They're like my family though.

Justus shook his head.

Justus: I am not saying cast them to the side. I am saying that you must be an example for them as well. You must lead them down the right path rather then leaving them to wander on their own.

Leviticus’s smile returned. Before he entered this hospital room all he knew about Justus was what he had found online. Now he knew something else though, he was wise.

Leviticus: Thank you for this.

Justus held out his hands and shook his head.

Justus: No, Leviticus, thank you. Thank you for being bold enough to want to make a difference.

Leviticus nodded.

Justus: Now there is only one thing left for you to do.

Leviticus stood up and looked at Justus.

Leviticus: And what’s that?

Justus smiled.

Justus: Go get to work.

Leviticus smiled and nodded.

Leviticus: You got it man.

Leviticus headed toward the door of the room. He was filled with so much hope after talking to Justus. So many things were different now and all it took was one conversation. Then he heard the footsteps of Justus behind him.

Justus: One more thing.

Leviticus didn’t hesitate. He quickly turned and faced Justus who had a very serious look on his face.

Justus: There is something I want you to keep in mind as you go back out into the world to take your stand.

Leviticus felt a little nervous as he looked at Justus.

Leviticus: What’s that?

A smile slowly came across Justus’s face.

Justus: You are a Watchman.

Leviticus felt a great joy rise up within him. He had read about the Watchmen and knew that not just anyone could be one. Haring Justus refer to him as a member of their elite ranks was both an honor and a privilege.

Leviticus: Thank you brother.

Justus nodded.

Justus: I am sure you will do us proud.

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: Count on it.

The two men shared a brotherly embrace before Leviticus headed toward the door again. He slowly pushed the door open and stepped out with Justus following closely behind him. A mountain of a man stood beside the door as Leviticus exited, but he paid him no mind. He was to busy thinking of everything Justus had just told him to wonder about who the man might be. Leviticus walked over toward King who was still sitting in the chair. Slowly King stood up.

Justus: Remember what I said.

Leviticus turned back toward Justus and nodded.

Leviticus: I will. God bless you brother.

Leviticus couldn’t help but smile.

Justus: God bless you to.

Leviticus looked back at King who looked very bored from all his waiting.

King: You ready to go Levi?

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: Yeah King, I’m ready.

The two men walked down the hallway toward the elevator.

King: You find out what you needed to know?

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: Yes I did. In fact, now I know exactly what I have to do.

King hit the down button on the elevator before he looked at Leviticus.

King: And, what’s that?

Leviticus smirked.

Leviticus: Be an example.

King narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side as he locked at Leviticus.

King: What does that mean?

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. As the two men stepped inside Leviticus answered his friend’s question.

Leviticus: You’ll see.

King shook his head as the elevator doors closed behind them.

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

AFTER AMMUNITION

Leviticus headed out toward his rental car with his gym bag over his shoulder, and a large smile on his face. Things had gone well tonight and he had taken the first step toward what he and Justus had talked about. Granted some people wouldn’t be happy with what was said and done tonight, but that was part of taking that stand. He wasn’t sure how the others in GSW felt about it, but he knew a big change was on the horizon. He fished around in his pocket for his car keys. It didn’t take long before he found them. As he went to pull them from his pocket he felt a sudden sharp burning pain in his neck. His hand instinctively went up to the source of the pain. What he felt there was disturbing to say the very least.

It was a syringe, and whatever it’s contents had been were now emptied into his bloodstream. He felt his knees begin to buckle, and his body grow heavy as he turned to see if the hand that guided the needle was still there. Much to his surprise they were.

A man in a dark trench coat stood there and watched Leviticus as he collapsed to the ground. Leviticus looked up at the man with a mixture of curiosity and fear in his eyes. He knew that he wasn’t going to be awake much longer so he tried to get some kind of an answer before he went out.

Leviticus: Why….

The man didn’t answer and instead pulled out his cell phone and hit a button. Leviticus could feel his eyes closing as he listened for what the man was going to say. Right before his eyes closed and everything went to black Leviticus heard one last thing.

Man: We got him sir.

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong

Singles Match
Chris Austin

Tag Match
Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c)

Ammunition 14.2
from the RBC Center in Raleigh, North Carolina

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion

Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong

Chris Austin

Butters and Slegnadamus

Leviticus

Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno)

Christian G. Smitten (c)

The quote of Anwyl’s scrolls down the screen, his disenchanting voice echoing through the ears of the viewers as the slow dramatic music plays softly in the background. As the quote makes it to the last few words, the screen slowly reveals the silhouette of man sitting on a chair, the man tiles his head upwards revealing Anwyl, with a grim look on his face the light dims and fades to black.

A FMW Production montage displaying the brand logos and previous videos and match footage produced rolls through, with the various commentators and infamous quotes from former stars fills our ears with an incoherent noise, the screen fades to black.

A montage of Anwyl's previous matches through his years of being in the business, His theme music blasting as it switches between the rises and falls of his career, before stopping at the same silhouette before "Anwyl, My Curse" title is displayed in the lower left corner.

Interviewer- So Anwyl, give us an insight into your life before wrestling.

Anwyl- Well I was born in Melbourne, Australia. My parents were young and reckless I guess and I was created while they were still young... They had a hard time bringing me up. I wasn't exactly the best child, often coming home in the back of the police car, mainly for petty crap.

Various photos of Anwyl at a young age are displayed on the screen; often he has a nice big grin.

Anwyl- My Dad was a cleaner, my mother didn't work. I guess the support from my family was there I just didn't think I needed them. I was a rebel without a cause I guess

Anwyl laughs

Anwyl- I had trouble at school, I wasn't a dumb kid. I just dumb things, sometimes I wish that I had stayed at school instead of being a sook and running away. Parties were my biggest problems, I couldn't stay away. Every weekend, rolled a joint, a six pack of stubbies, usually the cheapest beer and headed out.

Anwyl adjusts himself in his chair and gives a slight cough; his facial expression shows his struggle to hold it back

Anwyl- My love of wrestling began when I was about thirteen years old. A popular American promotion came to Australia and I was given free tickets because my dad's friend couldn't go. I loved it and wanted to be just like them. My brother and I wrestled in our garage on old mattresses and we used ladders as turnbuckles. Wrestling was banned shortly after.

Interviewer- So how did you get in to the wrestling business?

Anwyl- My friend Jerry Anderson approached me one day after school and asked if I wanted to go to some wrestling show in the city. We rolled on up and met some people, the late Earl Adams who was the promoter gave us the opportunity to train and I guess it went from strength to strength from there. We raised some funds and joined up with Vegas Championship Wrestling and Jerry and I started performing there... and that's where... that's where my life went downhill

Anwyl's voice starts to get a little chocked up as he tries to hold back the thoughts swirling in his head

Anwyl- A friend, and major star in the company decided that he, along with others were going to give us an initiation into the business. Daniel was quite a wealthy man, funding the business while running a casino and let us party really hard. Cocaine became our friend when Daniel was around. When VCW folded and I went to other various promotions, the cough syrup and a joint were the next best thing.

Anwyl bows his head in shame

Anwyl- On the 24th of June 2009, I was found in my apartment building passed out in the bathtub, the water running and I was lucky that I managed to clutch the side of the bathtub subconicusiously. I was lucky, but I couldn't deal with almost dying...

A montage of Anwyl's early matches and newspaper cut-outs are shown on the screen

Anwyl- I got motivated and started heading in that right direction. I wanted to get to the top, I had a foot in the door at Full Metal Wrestling after being there for a small time and Nick Bryson approached me once or twice when I was Cleveland telling me he could get me what I needed... This was my calling

Interviewer- Well this concludes part one of the wrestlers story. Part two will continue on the next episode, check your local station for times.


Anwyl walks out of the studio, he felt the anger and hatred of what he'd become before, but this was different. It was like a clean slate, he felt he cleared his mind. Anwyl was a new person, a driven and determined person. The press conference was waiting for him; he felt the pressure often, feeling like he should tell them all to fuck off. But he got into character as usual

Anwyl- THEY CALL ME THE GREATEST!

Anwyl bursts out to the table placed with microphones and sponsorship logos. A few marks in the area boo him but the media is here to ask about the documentary.

Tamara- Anwyl is here to take questions about the documentary and his upcoming match; he is not answering questions about the drugs and violence. We will go one at a time, yes you.

Tamara points to a man in the front row

[color:96b8=2098c5]Ryan- I am Ryan Davis, from TMZ. It is reported that you were offered much more to make a feature film, why did you choose to make a documentary?

Anwyl- Easy, more people are going to want and see story straight outta my mouth than some low grade actor, next?

Tamara points to a man, his hat bent down over his head and jacket covering his body, his body language doesn't show much emotion but it seems he is determined to ask a question

Alex- I'm Alex... O'Rion... from FULL METAL WRESTLING!

Alex O'Rion removes his hat and jacket; he lifts up his hands and makes devil horns. The marks in the crowd give a little pop. Anwyl cowers back into his chair.

Alex- I want to know why, why I you have all this? WHY? I don't understand. You aren't a big superstar. You story is of a man who has taken drugs and is now a better person because of it, it has been and gone so many times Anwyl, think of something original, bye.

Anwyl has a genuine look of disgust and hatred on his face, but he gets up and begins to shout back.

Anwyl- WHY DO I GET THIS! I GET THIS BECAUSE I AM THE NEXT GREATEST THING IN THIS BUSINESS! That C-4 Match, it's just a contest between me and you see I am targeting you O'Rion. Christian is just a distraction a speed...

Alex- Stop going on with these rants about how much better than me you are. Nobody cares; you're still a nothing, bye.

Anwyl grabs his stuff and walks out leaving everything in his wake.

Anwyl- Fuck you all...

He says to himself as he leaves the building. Anwyl walks to his car and climbs in drives to the lake just outside of town. Some of his anger has dispersed but the determination to win is still there.

Anwyl- TRAINING MONTAGE!

Anwyl shouts, he starts working hard take his anger out on everything he does.

Anwyl- This is your time, your time.

He whispers to himself, this self-reassurance had got him through some hard times but this was it. The C-4 Championship was his, that brass ring was sitting on the tip of his finger.

Days later Anwyl arrives at the arena, bag slung over his shoulder. Joining the hoody gang, his grey shark face gang singlet can be seen through the opened zipper, two headphones in "Otherside" by Macklemore blast through into the ears of Anwyl. The base slowly pumps him up, he walks past various stars, on any other day he would be telling them how he was going to kill his opponent and how much better he was than them. The song comes to a close as Anwyl enters his locker room. His bag is thrown to the corner as the iPod drifts into "Wings" by the same artist.

Anwyl- My time, my time.

He repeats to himself, Anwyl knows that this is the opportunity of a life time. Anwyl's thoughts drift back to all those close calls, the gutted feeling when he missed out on the Most Valuable Player award in his first season by two votes, the basketball grand final when he missed that buzzer beater, that goal he should have scored, that kick he should have made, that catch he should have taken. FAILURE, is the feeling, it's like a germ, a bacteria all over his body. He shouts in determination

Anwyl- NO MORE CLOSE CALLS, THIS IS IT!

The kick from the bass drum pounds in his ear. He starts practising his strikes and kicks on the bag. He times it with the hit from the kick drum. Motivating himself

Anwyl- MY TIME! MY TIME!

He shouts... before he stops. Kneels on the ground and says a prayer to himself before softly saying

Anwyl- This is for you Mum, this for you Earl, this is for all the haters I WILL SHOW YOU!!! THIS IS FOR ANWYL. MY CURSE TO MY TIME, THIS IS MINE.

Anwyl changes into his ring gear, and pulls the door open. He looks up the hallway; a crowd of people are stand backs to the wall clapping Alex O'Rion out towards the stage. Anwyl stops and turns into opposite direction. The chorus from Wings is on repeat in his head

Anwyl- I want to fly...

Anwyl detours around through the other hallways taking the long way around. He makes it to the curtain on the way out backstage crew giving him the run down. He is bouncing side to side

Anwyl- My time

He repeats out a loud. The stage crew give Anwyl the signal...

Ammunition 14.2
from the RBC Center in Raleigh, North Carolina

Tag Match
Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin

Tag Match
Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Leviticus

Singles Match
Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Anwyl

I know where I will wear this dagger then;
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.
Therein, you gods, you make the weak most strong;
Therein, you gods, you tyrants do defeat.
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
If I know this, know all the world besides,
That part of tyranny I do bear
I can shake off at pleasure..


I’m standing alone on a poorly lit trail leading to a place unknown. Funny. It’s exactly my feelings on the situation. A familiar face looms from the darkness and he appears haggard – battle worn even. I sense his apprehension as he shuffles along the dirt path, hands stuffed into his pockets and hood drawn around his head. Drew Michaels has never been a man of few words and yet his silence as he approaches me speaks more loudly and boisterously than I ever could imagine. He does not want to be here. He knows my reputation for being theatrical and over-dramatic. I can’t say that I blame him entirely.

R!: So nice of you to take time out of your busy schedule to finally talk to me, asswipe.

Michaels: Hell’uve a way to greet someone, Dante. You really are a bad friend.

R!: Your cousin seems to be of the same consensus.

Michaels: Is that what you dragged me out here for? I don’t want to speak about Nick. I’ve got bigger shit to deal with.

R!: Tromboner Man and Chris Austin.

The driver looks seriously concerned about Jack walking the trail.

Michaels: You have a knack for stating information I already know, dude.

R!: Or just stating that what you perceive to be issues are wholly and irrevocably insignificant. I’m not here to talk about Lords of Pain Wrestling or your little pissing match with Austin. Your choices led to those confrontations. They don’t affect me whatsoever. Perception is half the battle anyway.

Michaels: That settles it. You are a shitty friend.

R!: If you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on and some one on one girl talk time, you’re talkin’ to the wrong nigga, bruh. I’m not going to lie to you and sugar coat it with some fairy dust. I live in the world of facts. Or did you forget living on that high horse of yours?

Michaels: Not what I heard.

R!: I suppose now is the time you chastise me for being too incendiary and too liberal with shitting on the product?

Michaels: I wouldn’t go that far. That would just make me a hypocrite, Dante. My issue is that its taken a long time for you to get your head out of your ass and finally commit to the fight you started.

R!: We all come to catharsis in our own time so…I deserve that.

Michaels: Words of contrition from the Man of No Apologies. Shit on a stick it is a brand new day. So what did you want to talk about if not Nick? Problems in your married life with Seth? I can’t believe you gave that piece of shit another chance.

R!: Funny that a supposed man of God is unable to turn the other cheek. You’ve been the sword for too long, my friend. You’re starting to sound a bit too pious.

Michaels: Pot. Kettle. Black. See what I did there?

I ignore the racial jab. Drew knows it won’t get to me. It’s in jest, after all. And it’s how our relationship has progressed over a period of six years. Six years. Has it been that long already? Over half-a-decade I’ve poured my soul into running away from responsibility. That’s a lie. I’ve done it longer than that. Must be why I feel…guilty doing this now to him. You can look into his eyes and see that he’s in a fragile state of mind. And it pains me to bring more bad news to good people but its something I have to do. Look around. Full Metal Wrestling is falling apart at the seams. Attendance figures are dwindling. Interest in the product is waning. Top marquee superstars are exiting without so much as a verbal fuck you. And something far more sinister that’s been lurking beneath the surface since the company’s inception.

R!: I came to talk about you, Drew. About your life.

He stopped in his tracks. I had his attention or at the least his confusion. We haven’t spoken to one another in quite a while. Obviously, any information I had pertaining to him would be overlooked as paranoid delusions. That seems to be the running motif with people talking behind my back. That I’m…paranoid. Oh how I’m beginning to fucking resent that descriptor. I almost prefer angry black guy to this. Lo’ and behold…

Michaels: More paranoid delusions? What could we possibly add ontop of the shitstorm that is my life?

R!: Preaching to the choir, bruh. Quit your bitchin’. This is serious.

Michaels: You make it seem like I have stage five lung cancer or something, dude. Make this quick. I have another company to save.

R!: Ever notice how that seems the running gag with you? Saving people? Running to the rescue and attempting to make the hardline choices that put you on the fence of vigilantism?

Michaels: No, Dante. I don’t. I don’t realize that I enjoy helping people. What the fuck is this? Some kind of..intervention? AA for those with a hero complex? Spare me.

R!: Spare you…I-I wish I could.

My voice broke. I’m waffling. I have to tell him what I know. I can’t carry this burden any longer. Selfish? Probably. Why is it my right to take away the one constant in his life that has never forsaken nor forgotten him? Still…

Michaels: …Would you just get to the fucking point already? Quit with the dramatic tension and talk to me. You owe me that much.

R!: You are not who you think you are, Drew.

Michaels: “Who you are..” could you be any more cryptic and non-sensical? I really am starting to believe you just like stirring up shit for the sake of.

R!: I guess I have to start from the beginning. When a young man named Andrew Michaels signed his first professional wrestling contract with the Psychotic Wrestling Alliance. Here was a young man filled with optimism and a single purpose in mind – to set the wrestling world on fire. He was a revolutionary and, for all intents and purposes, a hero for the downtrodden; the poor and hungry. The tired and sick. At first, they booed him. The crowds that is…but from that revilement came a respect. That respect morphed into admiration. That admiration evolved into love. Drew Michaels became the epitome of courage in the face of tyranny. He was the Chosen One. A disciple of the original Christian principles and a fierce warrior who battled the tides of sin. Truly a moving story. From the infamous Wolf Banger to the son of archangels and slayer of demons.

Michaels: I don’t need a recollection of my life’s story. I lived it.

I sigh. I need for him to understand that where he came from is the reason why we are here now. I press forward.

R!: This world he’s so involved in…where he seems to be the nexus of the supernatural and the voice of the hopeless has played out on television. It’s an interesting contrast to the usual template of the typical wrestling good guy. So I ask now do you believe in your reality..your perception?

Michaels: That’s a fucking dumb question.

R!: A poignant one none-the-less. Just because you believe it doesn’t make it any more or less real for you.

Knowing quite a bit about rage, I sense his bubbling over. He approaches me aggressively and clutches at the lapels of my coat. Even though I eclipse him in size, I cannot deny that his prowess in battle is somewhat intimdating. My face does not betray this hidden morsel of fear.
Michaels: …Are you trying to say everything I’ve been through is for show? Fuck you, you son of a bitch. What gives you the right to discount what I’ve been through..what I’VE suffered?!

R!: I’m not discounting anything, bruh. Just asking you to examine facts. You and I share a kindred spirit in that ever since we’ve made it to the big time and even prior to that, we’ve been put through too much bullshit. Too much drama. Have you ever wondered why?

Michaels: Why? WHY?! Of course I wonder why!

R!: And yet you’ve done nothing to actually find out why, have you? Never once questioned why you’re always the one that has to play the hero. Never questioned why it is that you seemed to be destined or chosen by powers beyond your realm of understanding to be their champion.

Michaels: …The fuck are you babbling about, Dante?

I reach into my coat and throw it at Drew. It’s time he knew..knew what I did.

Michaels: What is this?

R!: Reality bruh…reality.

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion

OOC: This is the ultimate promo, fear it.

"I guess it could be said that Butters and I failed at Ultimatum. I guess if could be said that I failed. Personally though, I don't like to think of it that way. It's not like anyone expected us to win. Butters and I certainly didn't."

"But Sleg, why do you have such low expectations for yourself?"

"It's not so much that I set low expectations. Au contraire, I set extraordinarily high expectations for myself, and I rarely ever achieve them."

"Then why do you have such high expectations?"

"Am I supposed to find some cozy middle ground and coast through life? I'm not exactly a slacker, I just seem to fall slightly short in the wrestling department."

"So I guess that begs for the obvious question of why you still wrestle."

"I just thought of a million different answers, but none of them were any less pitiful than the last."

"You want to know what I think?"

"Not really, but you'll tell me anyway."

"You haven't had any real drive since you lost at Ultimatum I. You just had serious ligament damage in your knee, and your back has been killing you for a couple of years now. I think that the physical damage has finally caught up with the lack of mental toughness. It may be time to walk away while you still can, Slegnadamus."

"..."

"I know it's hard to hear, but-"

"No, it's certainly not that, I've been wondering that for a while. I was just thinking about how I lost an argument to my own psyche."

"Hey, look on the bright side. You also won."

"Ooh, goody."


Slegnadamus: You're fucking kidding me, right?

Artemis: I assure you, I'm not fucking kidding.

Slegna took a deep breath, massaging his temple gently.

Artemis: I wouldn't ask if it wasn't of the utmost importance.

Slegnadamus: Yes yes, your sacred deer or whatever.

Artemis: Not deer, hind. But since you already knew that and were therefore saying the wrong animal to get under my skin, I'm sorry to inform you that it's not working. Listen, I know that you've been really stressed out lately, and-

Slegnadamus: Let me stop you right there. Yes, I'm stressed, but I'm setting that aside for the moment. It's more annoyance. Or rage, if you prefer. You do realize that this is the third Labor I've been a part of in the past year?

Artemis: Yeah.

Slegnadamus: Not to mention that Heracles didn't have competition in killing the Nemean Lion.

Artemis: But he didn't have a whole team to help in slaying the Hydra.

Slegnadamus: Heracles didn't perform a quarter of the tasks in one year. It took him 30 years to complete all the tasks combined.

Artemis: 28 years and 10 months, actually.

Slegnadamus: How do you know?

Artemis: Uhh... I was there?

Slegnadamus: Oh. Right. Duh. Regardless, my point stands.

Artemis: I know. But this is really important to me. Please, Andrew?

Slegnadamus: Fine. But you owe me.

Artemis: Deal. The Ceryneian Hind has been missing for several months now, far longer than her usual leaves. She’s often out on scouting missions, but I haven’t been able to sense her or track her down at all. As you well know, the hind can run faster than an arrow, so capturing her is no easy feat. However, I’m incredibly worried. I’m usually able to track her movements over land, but nothing’s come up for weeks.

Slegnadamus: So she’s either trapped in a place where your magic is blocked, or she’s over sea.

Artemis: And she hates water, so it's either just the first or a combination of the two.

Slegnadamus: Joy.

Artemis: Can you find her?

Slegnadamus: Find the mythical beast, whom even Heracles cheated to get? The same Hind which a God can't even track? Sure, why the hell not.

Artemis: I would do it myself, but-

Slegnadamus: But... I don't care about the excuse. You have at least some kind of indication where she was going, right?

Artemis: Uhh...

Slegnadamus smacks the palm of his hand into his forehead.

Artemis: Oh fuck you. She was going East and then South, along the coast. I lost her around the Carolinas.

Slegnadamus: How convenient.

Artemis: Huh?

Slegnadamus: Ammunition.

Artemis: Good luck. On both accounts.


"Why do I keep coming back here?"

"Probably for the same reason I talk to you when you're here."

"Nice and vague."

"Here, let me make it nice and simple for you, buttercup. You're coming here looking for answers. Only problem is that I can't give them to you, as I don't have them."

"That was an answer in itself."

"Semantics won't get you anywhere."

"So, I'm stuck figuring everything out for myself?"

"Not by yourself."

"It's official, my subconscious hates me."


Slegnadamus tracked the faint silver trail through the forest. Being a demigod, half human and half God, the trail flickered in and out of view more than once. But for now, the Godly half of his blood prevailed as the trail led him further East towards the Atlantic Ocean. He tracked carefully as if on a hunt, leaving a minimal trail a remaining essentially noiseless. Whatever had managed to take the Ceryneian Hind was something he wasn't in a rush to meet.

The trail stopped suddenly. He looked behind him, and the silver wisp was still there, so the just stopped cold. Slegna looked around, bewildered. He stopped to compose himself momentarily; there had to be a logical explanation. Even in the world of magic and deities, the world constantly in struggle between order and chaos, there was always a rational explanation. Soon, he found his clue. A broken branch, innocent by itself, yet just something he was looking for. Underneath it, a single white feather about a foot long. Not much, but it would do.

Continuing to follow the trail became exponentially tougher, instead of a steady stream of light, he had just a single feather to follow. However, considering that the Hind could easily be found over land, Sleg surmised that the path would continue out to the Ocean. When he finally exited the forest, he was near the coast and found himself looking at Roanoke Island. But what had captured his interest even more was the island just north of Roanoke that he knew wasn't supposed to be there. Slegnadamus blinked and saw the island flicker once; he gave a resigned sigh in response. Only something that Greek would do such a thing.

He thought about leaving and telling Artemis what he found, but he had promised her that he would find her Hind. Sleg did the only thing he could, rent a motorboat and head out to the island of mystery.


"I'm still not quite sure what I'm looking for."

"Is that like the U2 song?"

"Shut up. I think, that on the surface, it's peace of mind. But there's so much more to that than just those three words."

"Like?"

"Finality, for one. For the first time, I'm about to finish what I've started. And I don't plan to go out with a whimper."

Tag Match
Ryu Quinn and Ryder Strong vs Kayden Osiris and Jonathan King (w/ Crusoe)

Singles Match
Chris Austin vs Mr. E

Tag Match
Rampage! and Seth Omega vs Butters and Slegnadamus vs Son of Shark Boy and STORMMASTER

Singles Match
Abel Steele vs Leviticus

Singles Match
Nicholas Gray (w/ Damien Inferno) vs Matt Dunn (w/ Jeff Whitt)

Main Event
C-4 Championship Match
Christian G. Smitten (c) vs Anwyl vs Alex O'Rrion