"I'm gonna shove my ass down some throats" - Revy

The remaining days were like a blur.

Training, promoting, and keeping himself sane in-between it all had kept him busy and eventually, the time caught up to him before he realized how much of it actually passed. It was the final day before he had to board an airplane across the oceans once more for Clash of Titans. Unlike the first time he traveled, Tatsuo held his tongue regarding the long flight time—even if the amount of transfers and layovers made him want to commit a violent crime—and quietly assumed that Hiyori would take his silence as a sign to leave sooner than later. Instead, when she arrived to his doorstep on that day, she was suddenly pulling him outside and into a taxi that drove them to a restaurant locate within the deeper parts of the bustling downtown of Kyoto. One last taste of home. 

The restaurant chosen this time was bigger than the café from before—an izakaya that sold well-renowned meat for cheap. Surprisingly, despite having a menu that had Kobe beef on it, it miraculously flew under the radar popularity-wise; there was barely enough people to qualify as a crowd which meant that there was less people to pry their noses into their conversation. After their orders arrived and were placed on the table, he decided to ask her his question right out the gate.

"What's with this suddenly? I thought you of all people would want us to leave early." He said as he jabbed his chopstick in her direction. “What? Do you think that I’m nervous about this match?”

It was his first PPV since signing with OWA but in his mind, it was nothing to worry about. A match was a match. A fight was a fight. He hardly felt nervous when he was still working between companies as a freelancer and he wasn't going to start getting cold feet just because the place was bigger. This wasn't the first big match he's been through and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. 

"Not really, no." Hiyori said to him. "I only thought that it would be nice to go somewhere nicer before leaving. It's your first PPV with this company so as your friend, I wanted to treat you to somewhere nice: A good luck dinner. You did it for me when I had my debut match, after all."

"Ah, I see..." Tatsuo then took a sip of his drink. "That's fine then. I still haven't packing and Mugi refused to get inside of the carriage so we still need some time." 

“Are you kidding me, Tatsuo.”

Hearing her tone, he smirked and she resisted the temptation to hit him upside the head. Instead, Hiyori decided to direct his attention to something more worth his time and less of a headache for her. "Did you see the two promos that Poet made about the match? He sounds really confident."

"Yeah I did. I'm still going to kick his head in." 

"Did you hear what he said about you?"

"Yeah. Still going to kick his head in."

She blinked. The fact that he didn't explode in rage completely took her by surprise. "Well, have you considered doing one last promo? I mean, if you haven't packed, we should have some time before we're actually pressed for time. We could always—"

"No need." Tatsuo said, swiftly cutting her off. By now the smirk had vanished and was replaced by a more serious frown. "Even if I did one, the guy wouldn't bother to listen. He's the type of person who likes hearing himself talk and shuts out anything he doesn't like. He's the highest form of conceited. I hate wasting my breath on a brick so I'll simply prove him wrong by winning."

"Actions do speak louder than words..." She said in agreement. "The guy was pretty articulate but...I was a little shocked to hear him say that a demon would be afraid of the Sixth Heaven. Wouldn't that be the first place you would find a demon?"

"Do you expect a white guy to know the first thing about Buddhism, Hiyori?" He said flatly. "It's why the meaning of the Honored One title flew over their heads."

"He sounded like he knew a lot!" 

"He said that well-placed sources told him that I was average in bed. You've known me the longest: How accurate is that sentence?"

"Okay, he's obviously lying in some places. How can you be average in something you've never done before?"

"Thanks."

His sarcastic response earned him a pouting expression from her, crossed arms and everything. "Also, I don't know you the longest. If anyone knew you the longest, it would've been—"

Tatsuo placed down his drink. "The guy who is dead." He said, irritated. 

"He is not dead." Hiyori said back, equally irritated. "You can't keep pretending that he's dead, Tatsuo. It isn't hard for someone to find shows from Japanese promotions nowadays. The three guys you're facing might be too stuck-up to really research anything about you...but someone more malicious will try to use that against you. Is that why you're secretly dreading this tag match? Because even one-off matches are a cruel reminder of him?"

He was silent at first. The other patrons were so absorbed in their own conversations that they hardly noticed the changing tension of the conversation. Eventually, Tatsuo opened his mouth. 

"Man, I really hate how you can read emotions." He said with a scowl. "It's easier to pretend. He's pretending that it didn't happen too so I don't see why you don't confront him about it." 

"You're both awful pretenders but you're my friend first." She said with a concerned look. "I just don't want a situation like the last promotion. Maybe that's how Poet got all these sources of you being seen as average and all sorts of nasty things. If you end up making more enemies than you handle, then I won't—"

"You don't need to do anything." He said as his voice rose in volume. "I'm not a child who needs to be handheld and I don't need to be scolded about something that happened a long time ago at a dinner that was supposed to be for good luck. Who gave you the position of watching over me? I thought I already told you the last time that I'll be fine!"

He slammed his fist on the table and realized a second too late that he said the last sentence louder and angrier than he intended. Hiyori's eyes widened as she flinched with a tiny squeak then, slowly, she lowered her head and refused to look at him. While most were still in their conversations, a few patrons had curiously glanced over at their table. That's when the shame slammed into his gut like a bullet. 

"Look, I—" He then sighed. "I'm sorry. I just...I know what I'm getting into, Hiyori. You're worried about me but you don't need to breathe down my neck. You can trust me to be alright. If I can handle being the divine avatar to a god, then I can handle something simple like a tag match. Whatever happened between him and I, it doesn't apply here and I'm not going to let it fuck over my partners. You don't need to worry." 

Hiyori looked up at him and—

FUCK. 

Her eyes were wet and shining with tears. Her shoulders shook with each sniffle she made. She looked as if she was going to bawl her eyes out right there in her seat which was, well, a BAD THING to happen before he had to endure a plane ride with her. Immediately, he changed gears and went right into damage control as he tried to calm her down. Especially since he didn't want more patrons to look at them.

"Hey! I said I was sorry!" He said, sounding far more remorseful. "You know that I hate whenever people bring up that! You don't need to cry and cause a scene here! Look, when we land in America, I'll let you take me to any shop you want, promise. We'll have a few days before the PPV. Just please."

Hiyori sniffled a few times before she eventually wiped her eyes and pouted. "You're mean, Tatsuo. I think you should buy me an ice cream sundae as well." 

He groaned. "As if you need more of that. I'll just steal more of that stuff so it doesn't rot your teeth."

"So you DO steal them!" Hiyori exclaimed before she calmed down. "I know you'll be fine. It's just...the last thing I want is for you to get ahead of yourself. The guys you're fighting are a part of a larger faction who will do anything to stack up the victories. Whether you win or lose, you'll be butting heads with them. Especially if you aim for any title."

"I don't plan on losing a fight after I was insulted by a half-baked poet. If they're so determined to butt heads with me, they can try...but I'll win each time." Tatsuo said with a confident grin. "This match isn't a fight. It's the site of an extermination. My three opponents are demons and I am the Heavenly King of the North who will trample them under my feet until they're no more. That's my job as the Honored One."

"Your partners, Brody and Ryo, made some promos as well." She said in the middle of his gloating. "Brody said in an interview that he didn't feel irritated that Poet looked down on him for his intelligence. He’s only upset that he attacked when his guard was down. But if Poet, Reginald, and Hendrix manage to beat you three, he’ll be satisfied knowing that your defeat was done by the best.” 

Tatsuo smacked his palm against his face, the winds taken out of his sails. “That idiot! That was the point I was making: He shouldn’t just sit there and take Poet’s insults when he fights like a coward! Also, being beaten by the best? Are you kidding me?” He then gave Hiyori a weary look. “Can I switch tag partners at the last minute?” 

“No! Be nice to him! If he loses, so do you!” She said with a huff. “If anything, you should be the one teaching him. Being the Honored One is more than just being good at fighting. You’re the avatar of a warrior god Tatsuo, but it might be better in the long run to help nudge Brody in the right direction. Being a teacher.” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s in my age group. He isn’t going to recognize me as a teacher.” 

“But he’ll recognize that you’re trying to help him for the better. As you said yourself: He has earned the heavens’ blessing. Understand his desires and properly place him on the right path. Even if he appears a bit dumb.” 

“...Fine.” He said as he grabbed a yakitori stick. “Ryo?"

"He'll support you guys however he can...but he said that if you make a mistake, that's on you and its your fault if you cause the group to be let down."

Tatsuo opened his mouth, then decided that it wasn't worth it and instead decided to eat his chicken instead. "I can understand the logic but just so we're clear: I'm not making a mistake and we're winning. I already know not to give my opponents an inch. It's obvious that all three of them enjoy pain and will do anything to get a victory. So I’ll be sure to beat them within an inch of their lives till they can't go on. Then I’ll go after the one who holds the title after the dust settles and the PPV is in the books.” 

“Glad you’re confident.” Hiyori said, smiling happily. “I would hate to see you lose on your first big match. I even managed to purchase a front row ticket so I’ll be sure to catch all the action without any obstacles.” 

“Front row tickets?” He laughed. "Did you actually purchase tickets to see me as closely as you can?"

"What..." She quickly shook her head. "No! I just want to make sure that I could actually see you! If I bought the nosebleed seats, then you would've complained about that too!"

"Nah, I think you just wanted to see your friend in all of his shining glory as he purges a few devils from the world." Tatsuo's voice was dripping with smugness. I have a character to keep up but I'll be sure to acknowledge you when no one is looking."

"That's not why I bought the ticket at all!" Hiyori quickly retorted back. Her face was getting redder by the second and steam was practically coming out of her ears. "I'm the only friend who tolerates you decently, Tatsuo. Don't twist my words around!" 

"You don't have to lie. In fact, when I win, I'll be sure to walk over to where you're seated, pick you up from your seat and—"

She had enough. Hiyori threw her drink at him. 

The silence felt like it would last forever. By now, many of the patrons were now focused on the two; between the red-faced Hiyori and the now dripping with soda Tatsuo, something had to have happened. However, without breaking eyesight with him, Hiyori took her cup and placed it down on the table. 

"You better win. If not, I'm going to tell that god to get a better avatar."

Tilting his head, Tatsuo smiled at her. His confidence was unshakeable. 

"Sure. I'll be sure to win and then some. I'll show Olympus why I'm incomparable to others."

Another round of silence commenced between the two. Hiyori then looked at her empty cup. 

"Can you ask the server to refill my cup please?" 

"You're hopeless, Miss Freelancer."

OOC: My apologies to everyone in the Clash of the Titans match. My plans were to actually take this match serious this year and promo the max amount. Unfortunately that didn't happen. My wife is currently 7 months pregnant with our 5th child and she's been in the hospital for almost 2 weeks with blood pressure complications. I have been spending the majority of my time with her at the hospital. Good luck everyone.


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


How many times have I said it?
 
If I’ve said it once…
 
I’ve said it a million times before…
 
This match… This Clash of the Titans…
 
I CAN’T FUCKING STAND IT!
 
I figured that Scott Oasis, with all of his “great” ideas that he keeps coming up with, would have decided a long time ago to get rid of this shit show of a match. Every single wrestling company in every single multiverse has the same goddamn concept. It’s as if every executive of every company sat together in some board room and was like… “Okay… sooooo… here’s what we need to do. You know what a battle royal is? Yeah? Okay, cool. So, what we’re going to do is… take the battle royal concept, but lets put it on steroids. Instead of ten men… let’s do… I don’t know… like thirty… thirty guys? Lets put thirty guys in the ring and have them throw each other over the top rope so that way they can go on to whatever is your biggest show of the year and face whoever the world champion is. Okay? But instead of having all thirty guys in the ring at once… they need to come out in intervals… like five minute intervals sounds pretty good to me, so that way we can throw in a few surprises to keep everyone on their toes. Ya know, a couple legends… a couple jobbers.. hell, maybe even a commentator or two… FUCK IT.”
 
It is literally the same fucking match in every piece of shit company around. But this time? Oh, this time Scott Oasis decided to make it even bigger. A couple years ago he had forty guys in the Clash of the Titans match. FORTY! Do you understand how much of a cluster fuck that was?! No… no you don’t because you weren’t in it. I WAS! I walked in as the Spartans Champion and got eliminated by Noah Reigner and Graham Baker for fucks sake. Who decided on that spot?! But this year… oh boy… this year is different. Since no one can stand Stark, lets make it so that he has to defend his OWA World Championship in the match. So that way ANYONE could walk in to Final Destination Five as the World Champion. It could be… Dick P. Slaughter… it could be Malachite Minj… or even some new guy Rex Maddox. It could be anyways ball game!
 
Could you picture Malachite Minj walking into Final Destination meowing and shit with the World Title?
 
No.
 
We have people like Arata Asakura, the current reigning and defending Outlaw Champion, who could very well become the holder of two - YES COUNT ‘EM TWO - titles in one night. I’m sure Arata would be all happy about that. I’m sure he would go home and grab a big thing of pork fried rice drenched in MSG and soy sauce and have a good laugh. Or! It could very well be Christopher Sabertooth. A man who has never won a Clash of the Titans match. A man who believes whole heartedly that he deserves one more crack with the OWA World Championship. NEWSFLASH CHRISTOPHER! You have had your chance. You had your shot. You damn near massacred the entire Kingdom roster at one point in time. It’s time to sit on the sidelines and let someone else have the spotlight for a minute or two. Considering you and Jeff X just got over having a record World Tag Team Title reign not too long ago. It’s time you Frontline boys step aside.
 
We have men like Jason Long who wants nothing more than to walk out of Baltimore not only as the latest winner of the Clash of the Titans match, but with the world title wrapped around his pathetic waist once again. I mean, the artist formerly known as Maverick had the title for what? A second?! Until a man who had his heart ripped out of his fucking chest by yours truly comes along to take it from him. Maybe next time… if there’s a next time… Oasis will allow you to have the title for longer than a month. Wishful thinking, eh?!
 
You see… I have a whole different approach and mentality when walking into this match. I don’t give two shits if I win. I don’t give two shits who wins, because I would much rather be the one who punches his own ticket to Final Destination on his own accord. Why allow a match to dictate who you will or will not be facing? Sure, I would absolutely love main eventing Final Destination Five in front of hundreds of thousands of people all throwing trash at me while I hold the World Championship high in the air and telling me how much of an asshole I am. I would LOVE it. But if anyone truly knows good ‘ole Uncle J.D. Damon at all, then you would know that I do things on my own terms. Not on Scott Oasis’ terms… not on Kenny Drake’s terms… not on Nate Cage’s terms… I do EVERY-fucking-THING on my own terms. And that’s exactly what I will do when it comes to what match I will or will not be in.
 
So gentlemen… I wish you all good luck and please - have fun tearing each other limb from limb while attempting to throw others over the top rope. And when you throw me over? Make sure you paralyze my ass, because if you don’t - I will make sure that I paralyze you instead.
 
Oh… and don’t forget. To whoever wins, please make sure you point to the Final Destination sign, ya know? It’s what they all said you have to do.

Location: Private Hanger of Cortez Security Firm, Rio De Janero, Brazil
Time: 6:00 P.M.
Date: 6/8/2023



Location: Statue of the Redeemer, Rio De Janeiro, Brazil
Time: 6:00 P.M.
Date: 6/8/2023

As Stephanie slowly opened her eyes, she found herself on her bed with an accompanying headache. The first thing she realized was that she was no longer wearing her favorite pink bathrobe. In fact, she wasn’t wearing anything at all. Trying not to freak out, Stephanie scrambled to find some clothes while recalling last night’s events. The last thing she remembered was Not-April lunging for her. There was a struggle, but Cloud couldn’t recall anything else. As she turned her head, she saw April asleep next to her. There were no signs of demonic possession, though she still retained her youthful appearance. What threw Stephanie off was April wearing only her underwear. The Sky Queen jumped from the bed and scanned the room. The coffee table and couch were knocked off along with several other items and pieces of furniture to give evidence of a struggle. Realization washed over Stephanie as she began piecing the things together. Well, what she thought happened. Stephanie grabbed her bathrobe and wrapped it around her as April awakened. Cloud’s greatest rival sat up as she rubbed her eyes, yawning.

April Song: Mmmm, morning.

Stephanie Matsuda: Morning…

Stephanie looked out of the window and noticed it was sunrise. She sighed to herself, shaking her head. April noticed she was in her underclothes and looked at Stephanie, an eyebrow raised.

April Song: Cloud, what the hell happened?

Stephanie Matsuda: I don’t know, but I’m not surprised if your ‘friend’ is staying dormant. She took over your body and tried to attack me, and that was the last thing I remember. She probably freaked that I found out what she is…

Stephanie eyed April carefully, who slid out of bed and grabbed her clothes from the floor.

Stephanie Matsuda: Did we…

April calmly got dressed in front of Cloud, keeping her cool.

April Song: I don’t know. I’m reaching out, and ‘she’ isn’t answering. This is some bullshit to be happening right now.

Stephanie sighed and tightened her robe. Before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door.                

CYKA’s Voice: Morning ladies. I’m making eggs and coffee. Do you want some?

Stephanie Matsuda: Sure! We’ll be out in a minute! 

Stephanie turned to April and crossed her arms.

Stephanie Matsuda: We’ll talk about this later. Until then, let’s try to be as normal as possible…

April casually shrugged and got dressed. Stephanie could’ve sworn she heard Song speaking with someone within earshot.

After getting dressed, both women arrived downstairs where they sat at the small table. The two-story house they were staying at was between San Jose and Cartago. It was off the main road, and situated near a hillside so it would be difficult to infiltrate. This was just one of many safe houses CYKA has utilized in his career. To keep him employed, she would be using any extra money she makes being American Dream Champion including her win bonuses. The Olympus contract itself was the highest she’s been paid since wrestling for OWA, at least as comparable as her separate salary as Odyssey’s color commentator.

CYKA noticed the silence between the two women as they ate their eggs and toast.

CYKA: Lover’s quarrel?

Stephanie Matsuda: (blushes) No, just got a little wasted last night on some old vodka I found.

CYKA nodded for a moment.

CYKA: Ah. Sometimes fellow mercs leave gifts behind for the next tenant. I heard some noise so I took a peek through the door, but by then you were both asleep in the bed. My apologies, but you never know what might occur in our line of work, so I like to be careful, ya?

April nodded matter-of-factly.

April Song: Likewise, I would’ve done the same. We did get a bit wild, but we’ll manage. 

Stephanie nodded and looked at CYKA.

Stephanie Matsuda: With The Clash coming up, April and I are going to take a break. We’ll resume after. I should receive new Intel from there.

In the evening the crew was going to travel to the airport and take the redeye out of San Jose to Miami. From there, they would go their separate ways. Stephanie very much wanted to continue her conversation with April given the chance. There was a lot to unpack about their situation, and she was sure that April would agree. After breakfast, Stephanie took a look at her phone. There was another video of Allesandro’s she needed to address. Stephanie got up from the table and walked outside.





The camera opened to Stephanie standing on the patio of the safe house with a cup of coffee in hand. She takes a sip of it as she’s staring out at gorgeous island vista before her. 

“In my culture, the Japanese dragon is the benefactor and protector of mankind; they are powerful and wise guardians that shield us from universal dangers, and impart their wisdom. A symbol of good fortune, they bring us happiness, offering us strength and courage at each important turning point in our lives. Can I be honest Ally? I don’t see any of that inside of you. There’s nothing about you that reminds me of a man who has any sort of integrity. I need you to know and understand this. You say you’re a benevolent ruler on one hand and then start screaming bloody murder the next minute, like you’re God about to rain hell on Sodom and Gomorrah. Maybe you crave the rush of adrenaline whenever you display the extent of your power above others. Maybe that’s why you can’t stand my Blasian ass - I never flinch when you try to flex on me. You’re a walking contradiction, Ally. This is why I have that nickname for you because if you were in fact any actual danger to me, I’d be taking extra caution going into this match. By the way, I’m already on guard, with the people who want to see you succeed. With nobody backing you Ally, you’re just a boy screaming Shazam at the sky, hoping you get struck by that billion-dollar thunderbolt. Here’s the thing sweets - lightning won’t strike twice for you.”

Stephanie takes out a blunt and lights up. She turns to the camera for a moment and smiles.

“Medical clause, bitches. Anyway, the shit you got away with in Wrestleworld won’t be happening here. That’s why I went ahead and assembled the boys before even signing with Olympus full-time. I knew I had to be ready for you. You assume I’m a simple “belt collector” a prize fighter who likes shiny things. Hmm, maybe that was true a few years ago. But over time, you don’t know what you have until it's gone. Being American Dream Champion always meant something to me. It allowed me to connect the bridge between both halves of myself. I was born in Japan on a US Naval base, but I spent most of my childhood on the West Coast while I went to high school in Japan. I trained in America, but I found my fighting style in Japan. I became a star in America, but I helped revitalize a dying movement in Japan. And now for the first time, I’m a full-time wrestler in both countries. In OWA it’s my goal to make an impact in all three brands. I didn’t bust my ass for fourteen years just to be someone’s honorable mention on some fucking list. I didn’t get chosen as The People’s Champion because I rest on my fucking laurels. I’m a woman of action, Ally. You should know this by now. If not, if all this time you didn’t learn a goddamn thing about me, then you don’t deserve a shot at this championship. Hell, you don’t even belong in the same league with me if all this time we’ve been feud, everything I’ve said, everything I’ve done just went over your head. You might think of me as a mongrel, but this animal has pushed you to your very limits. I’ve opposed you in a way that nobody - not Professional, not Jason Long, and not even Claudia has. World’s Finest was brought together to put an end to the bullshit of someone like you, and the behind-the-doors crap Tres Comas likes to pull. An open war like this is something I haven’t engaged in for quite some time, but my team and I are ready for whatever comes our way.”

Stephanie sighs as she pulls from her blunt, blowing smoke in the air, several moments later.

“By the way Ally, there’s something else I need you to do. Something that’s very, very. very fucking important. In fact, if there’s any word of advice to take from this give-and-take conversation we’ve been having this week, it’s this…”

Stephanie paused for a moment before continuing.’

“KEEP. MY. WIFE’S. NAME. OUT. OF. YOUR. FUCKING. MOUTH!”

Stephanie took a couple of more pulls from the blunt and snuffed it out.

“I’m being serious, sweets. I’m not going to go all rage against the machine here, but know and understand that when I reach a point of no return, it’s out of my hands. When I’m pushed to a point, I will act without apology. When I’m pushed further, I act without discrimination. That means If something happens to Mon, that’s your whole family, Ally. Your dad, siblings, cousins, whoever is connected by you via blood or legal means. Heroes shouldn’t take vengeance, but if you hurt Meagan’s sister, I will have your fucking head. I will personally cut it off, beat the murder trial, and hang it above my fireplace. Don’t let your ego get the best of you. I need you to take this information in and internalize it. Sure we’re having this epic feud in addition to other wars being waged outside of this ring but let’s keep the people who are not supposed to be involved out of this business, capisce? Just because my wife liked your movie doesn’t mean you have to be all up in her grill. Then again, this could be a weak sauce of a psychological ploy. One that I advise you don’t get brave about poking certain bears in this season.”

Stephanie walked around a couple of paces, her mind deep in thought.

“I’d like to disclose something to the audience for a moment. I am going to make a profit off this war against Tres Coma Club. Fans are excited, stocks are high, and the attention will grant me the support I need in order to get funding for many of the causes I support. I try to do what I can for the people, but yes, I do have something to gain from all of this. My goal, the direction I want to go in is after I beat this man Allesandro like the dog that he is, like the rich, over fed, over privileged mutt .I will move on to the next phase to make Olympus the Land of the Free. The match between Nobi and RIP will determine what direction we’ll go in. But, I want you all to support him just as much as you’ll support me. The last thing I ever want to come off as is some kind of selfish cunt. Sometimes we get caught up in our own drama, that we forget who exists outside our sphere. You can trust and believe that I’ve had moments like those, episodes where I would expose the worst of myself to others. I’ve betrayed friends and lovers alike. I’ve turned my back on the world when I thought it owed me an apology. Over time, you get tired of feeling like you’re owed something. Eventually being an asshole wears you down, tires you out, and eventually you have nobody to blame but yourself because everyone you ever known and love has walked out on you. That’s what rock bottom is like ladies and gentlemen. I’ve been there. I never want to go back to being there, and for those of you who are in that space, just know and understand that it doesn’t last forever. You have to put in the work and do the fucking homework. No matter how intense it gets, you have to show the world that you’re willing to invest in yourself. That’s what I did, Ally. For fourteen years in this business, no matter how rough things got, I invested in myself. Ups and downs, no matter who I lost along the way. Even if I set myself back, I found a way to go forward. I’ve always found the path, Ally. If there’s anything I have in spades more than you is perseverance. Forgive me for coming off a bit cocky, but I think I have more of it than most people in this company. Only the Chris Sabretooths, Jeff Xs, Arata Asakuras, and Michael Bishops of the world I can see having more fight in them then there is in me. But Ally, I know in my heart of hearts I have that dog in me. I have a vicious pit bull who will bite the living fuck out of you when you come too close to me in this match. I will show you what it means to be a survivor, sweets. Skill will only get you so far, as well as your daddy’s connections. It’ll be the two of us, bound by the steel chain of fate, connecting our destinies aka the collars around our necks. It’s a dogfight in the purest sense, an All-American throw down and whoever embodies that red, white, and blue grit the most will come out the other side as the American Dream Champion. If there’s any title to define me by, it’s that one. The JET World Championship may have been my first title, and the EAW Undisputed Women’s Championship may have sent me to the next level, and then there are the WWH Women’s World and PWN World’s Heavyweight Championships that I’ve held over a year each…but it’s the American Dream that gave me that purpose. That purpose to be the hero everyone knows I’m capable of becoming. I’m not perfect, but goddamn it I won’t stop until the war is won. Until then, I’ll settle for winning this battle.”

Stephanie sighs and takes a sip from her coffee mug.

“Nobi…my brother. If by chance you fail to dethrone RIP? I got you.”

The camera fades as Stephanie walks off.


Minato, Tokyo, Japan.

Evening.

The House Minamiazabu.




Monica Vaughan-Matsuda is walking into her apartment building which contained the penthouse she and her wife Stephanie Matsuda owned. It was a gated building, so once she keyed herself in past the first gate, anyone who didn’t have access shouldn’t be in the building. There’s supposed to be a sense of relief and safety for tenants like Monica whose spouse is involved in a world where anything can happen. Unfortunately for Monica on this day, she wouldn’t feel so safe. Nothing happens to her physically, but a figure staring at her from down the hall is what makes her nervous. A strange man in a suit is watching her enter her apartment. He’s not making a move for her, but he could tell he’s sending a message:

Whoever he is and whoever he represents…they know where she live. 

They know where Stephanie Mia Matsuda lives.

The cinematic epic continues, as a metal door is kicked clean off its hinges. Into this den of scum and villainy strides Chadman, holding an oversized crucifix with one hand and clutching a copy of the Old Testament in the other.


“Uhm, hi?” mumbles the Frontline heart-throb, between handfuls of unsalted crackers and sips of lukewarm water.


“Oh, that? Yeah, no, that’s kind of my wife’s problem now.”


“Probably should, to be honest. I know I’m getting sick of it.”

Before Chadman can begin to question the man about the whereabouts of Stark, the cold barrel of a Colt revolver is pressed against the side of his head, accompanied by the threatening click of its hammer.

“Don’t move a damn muscle, boy,” grumbles Jeff X (Billy Bob Thornton).


“You got six seconds before I pull this trigger, son.”


“Jeeeaaaeeefffffff,” a shrill shout from the other room, as Felix Hartley (Roseanne Barr) barrels around the corner, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth and a stained apron serving as her only article of clothing, “Sweetie, how many hashbrowns and Bud Lights did you want?”

“GOT DAYUM WOMAN, I DONE TOLD YOU TO KEEP YOUR BIG ASS IN THE KITCHEN! WE GOT A YANKEE OVER FOR COMPANY AND YOU ACTING A FOOL!” shouts Jeff as he lowers the gun.


“Well fuck you too, Jeffrey!”

While the two lovebirds continue their spiral into outright domestic abuse, Chris and Chadman share an awkward glance.


Chadman, having beaten Jeff X in a drunken round of NFL trivia for the location of Stark’s hideout, has made his way to a chemical plant in the industrial district. He stalks along a catwalk high in the air, above bubbling tanks of a fluorescent green sludge.

“Purr.”


Before Chadman knows what’s happening, he’s thrown onto the metal catwalk, his vision blurry as he struggles to get his bearings. The first thing he can see is a crisp new pair of Timbs, stepping into his line of sight at ground level. He looks up to see Stark (Andrew Yang), dressed like someone you’d see celebrating at a Knicks home game or outside the local bodega.

“So, you’ve come all this way. Too bad for you that all your effort will amount to nothing. I’m about to beat your ass in Game 7, boy.”


“Bet.”


“No… no, that’s impossible…”


“Aaaaaaahhhhh!” screams Stark, as he falls backwards over the metal railing, splashing into the vats of corrosive chemicals below.



As the victorious hero peers over the railing down at the bubbling chemical vats that serve as Stark’s final resting place, he’s joined by Dick P. Slaughter (Bruce Campbell) who wears the costume of the Chadman’s faithful sidekick, Bobbin’.

“Gee willickers, Chadman, it looks like we finally did it!”


“That’s right! We! Us! We’re a team, after a–ACK!” exclaims Dick, shouting as Chadman unceremoniously shoves him over the railing to plummet down into the pool of toxins. The caped crusader calmly dusts his hands together, then spins and strolls over, whistling a cheerful tune.


Chadman waits in an alleyway. A meeting place, used frequently between himself and representatives from the OCPD. And just on time, Commissioner Oasis steps out of the shadows.


“I’m sorry, Chadman, it’s not my call. You may have saved us from Stark, but you’ll never be appreciated or accepted by Omega City, not after all you’ve said and done.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, the vigilante turns around and takes off in a run as reinforcements can be heard approaching in the distance. Commissioner Oasis stands watching as Chadman retreats, the sound of police sirens and barking K-9 units growing nearer.

A younger man (Tom Holland) inexplicably steps into frame beside Oasis, and asks, “Why’s he running, dad?”

“Because we have to chase him,” he explains.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” comments the kid, listed in the credits as Tyrese Oasis-Filth.

“Because he’s the hero Omega City deserves… but not the one it needs right now. So we’ll hunt him, because he can take it. Because he’s not a hero, he’s a silent guardian, a watchful protector… a Chad knight.”


THE END.

“CUT! CUT!” shouts a familiar sounding voice.

The scene seamlessly transitions from the scrolling credits to a behind the scenes view of Chadman walking off the set and towards the camera. He strolls towards the director of the film, who sits applauding the performance as the camera spins around to reveal the man in the director’s chair is none other than Chad Ecclestone himself.


The actor who’s taken on the impossible role of Chad Ecclestone himself grunts in response, before reaching up and peeling off the Chadman mask, followed by a lifelike silicone recreation of Chad’s face, revealing Thaddeus Fiora.

“OOH OOH AH AH!” says the simian thespian.


Triumphant music swells again, as the camera zooms out on Thaddeus and Chad laughing and slapping each other on the back, as only true friends and equals can. A stylized graphic appears on the screen.

CHAD ECCLESTONE & THADDEUS FIORA WILL RETURN IN
CHAD & THAD: ROAD WARRIORS
COMING IN SUMMER 2024

The scene cuts to a packed theater in Cannes, France. As the musical score dies down and the theater lights come back on to reveal some of the top names in entertainment attending the screening, the audience bursts into a lengthy standing ovation. The only man still seated, in the center of the front row, is the one responsible for this work of art, Chad Ecclestone. The camera zooms in on his face, as he wipes a single tear from his cheek with a silk, monogrammed handkerchief.


“That’s nice, babe,” says Chastity, leaning over from the seat next to him, “But isn’t the Clash a few days away? You’ve spent the past week doing nothing but filming that… thing we just watched. You don’t really have time left to prepare for a wrestling match, do you? And you didn’t mention a whole bunch of people! JD Damon, Nate Cage, that new guy Rex…”

Quote :

( Shout out to my homie Darkane for the new sig )

World War 2.

 

You see, it wasn’t a disturbance when this war took place, as all parties involved felt they were warmongering for the right reasons. With more than fifty different nations being involved and more than one hundred million soldiers deployed into action. On assessment, fifty to sixty million soldiers' lives vanished during that war. That doesn’t even footnote the nineteen to twenty-eight million who died from exposure to infections inflicted by the war. Historically, agony and forfeiture were a way of life when two or more parties couldn’t come to an agreement.

 

World War Clash.

 

This is where we have ended up, with no one coming to an agreement and forcing the war to take full consequence. Deaths and fatalities will be kept to a minimum, but trauma and scars will reach an all-time high that night. When you are standing at the forefront of the battlelines, no one is safe from stray shots sent in every direction. Look around and see superstars representing different countries all fighting for the same common goal. They all want the accolade of being labelled the OWA world champion and would stop at nothing to achieve that. On this night, only one brave competitor can stand alone. Only one brave competitor will walk away with his future signed, sealed, and delivered.

 

Mongoose is on the loose. 

 

Listen to me, you husky piece of shit. You could meditate or pray all day long, but it couldn’t save you from the starvation of prosperity. We all know that title doesn’t even stretch long enough to fit around that waist to begin with. Not to mention the drubbing you will receive that leaves your organs swollen and battered. The way you passionately bowed out of the Clash like you were doing something paramount was a tad pitiful. You managed to bring out the interpretation of being a bitch and increment it to a whole new level. I will cordially say that enforcer Scott Oasis has been provisional for the past couple of months and do it with an haughty smile at the same time. Your compromise to not be seen as a hooligan doing the dirty work of the boss was imprecise to the fullest. You know why? It sounded more like a bullshit justification to blabbermouth your way out of the match. It was eating you alive, wasn’t it? The burden of being detected as a top contender and the weight on your shoulders It was too much to handle. I may not be able to promise to fracture you limb by limb because of the fear of you being too panicked to enter the ring. The one thing I can promise is that one day our paths will cross, and I want you to remember this compromise for that day. I want you to know that the next time we meet, I will drill you with my left hand as hard as possible. It will be payback for bailing out on this opportunity. You must have choked on a banana. Wait, do you even eat fruits? Well, whatever it was, it seems to be affecting your judgment and lucidity. If you even for one moment think Stark has the contingent to walk out that night with his title still over his shoulder, you are unrealistic. 

 

Let me speak.

 

You see, I have never been the restrained type of individual. I may be blunt and to the point, but all I have ever communicated about is the truth left out in the open. I wake up each and every morning pondering in my own head how I can create the most anarchic environment in this world that besieges me. That, of course, hasn’t changed since I stepped foot inside OWA, as it’s now become a prevalent practice. Truth be told, I would rather be abhorred by the people around me than deal with the fake friends who will impale me with a dagger the moment I turn my back. Speaking of friends in those exact circumstances, let’s talk about.

 

DT The Drooler. 

 

If an unknown figure petitioned me out of nowhere, I would be swinging my fists before asking questions. You stood there in shock and awe and even took encouragement from this figure, like he was the saviour of your career. You expected this figure to give you all the answers you needed about the clash. I also heard you preach that it would be stupid to think I had a chance against the likes of you and Raivo that night. You’re right, I may have a few screws loose and some wires unconnected, but the rationale remains the same. I don’t need a formula or calculated plans when I enter the ring. When I step inside the ring, I see nothing but a shade of red and know that my friend is the assailant. I have seen you and the minority countless times, and I know when you lose, we will chalk it up to a racial issue. I am not sure if you observed, but this has nothing to do with the colour of your skin because everyone bleeds the same colour. You and Raivo share the same tendencies and qualities of an adrenaline-filled junkie. Eyes bulging, shaking uncontrollably, and the panic of when you will find that next hit. We all know Raivo has a fascination with the white powder that coats his nose cavities, but do you share the habit? Your mind has to be going a million miles per hour or on some fucked-up, strong stuff to even consider yourself noble. I can see the drool leaking out the side of your mouth every time you flap those gums verbally on some bullshit.

 

Your goal is to lose.

I will repeat that one more time for you.

Your goal is to lose.

 

Over my dead body.

 

Winning is not an option on the table for anyone convoluted from FTM looking to acclaim a solo push. I am standing in the way of FTM having a chance to even look at the world championship. To feel any gold in their hands or around their waists, they must surmount the chaotic nerves and neutralize the toxic fumes. Throughout the night, as the toxicity levels rise, infecting them slowly and precariously, they will be weakened. I already know about the battle against The Seventh Ward and how troublesome it was against them. I already know they are bruised and broken to a certain degree. I already know the discomfort and gloom of the tag team titles that vanished that night. Deep down, it’s eating them alive and breaking their spirits at the exact same time. It was one hell of a battle, I must say, but FTM also knew it was just a matter of time before the savage nature caught up to them. Seventh Ward executed the game plan they heard perfectly and was too substantial and authoritative for FTM to deal with. Since that night, Raivo and DT have been looking to change that narrative, but I won’t allow that to happen. I enjoyed watching the two of you suffer a massacre and dwell in your own tears, sweat, and blood.

 

It's time to step up or shut up.

 

Listen here, bitches, and yes, I am still talking to you, FTM. All the articulating, all the hype, all the emotions It’s time for you two to either step up or step aside because these promises and hypocrisies are beginning to piss me off. We've already heard the same shit from you time in and time out about how you two are stronger and superior than ever. It’s been played out. I want you two to come inside my horrific house of carnage, which I call the wrestling ring, on the night of the Clash. I want you two to step inside my asylum and prove to me you can go toe to toe, not this tic-tac-toe shit you've been playing. The x’s and o’s can’t salvage you from the fate and destiny that have been chosen for me. That championship belongs to me, and I would be damned if I allowed either of you to take it away from me.

 

I wrote something for you two.

Let me read this real quick.

 Accolades not accomplished 

Beating me is a conflict.

You will suffer defeat. 
Slow down with the heartbeat.

You will leave the ring broken.

Words between you remained unspoken. 
This is where I achieve my goal. 
I will also snatch the soul. 

Welcome to my house of convictions.

A home with no restrictions.

Twenty men will enter the fray.

So you better hope and pray.

You walk away, still breathing. 
Well, I stand by the title I am squeezing.

 

On my own two feet, I stand.

 

As long as my heart is still beating, I will continue to hunt down that championship and claim it as my own. Look around and grasp that I have stepped up with short notice in this match and have made the best of the position. I have been discharging my attention and taking grandiose detail to make sure I am at my most substantial peak when I enter that ring. I haven’t been this enthusiastic and impatient for a match in my career since it started. I know the doubts people are having are present and strong. I know people want to see me flounder just so I can be humbled by the wrestlers of the past. The time has come to pass for the futile attempts and valiant efforts of the old timers here in OWA. The torch has been lit and passed on to the new wave of talent that has been swept beneath the door. You see, I merit this opportunity just as much as anyone else, and I will not take that for granted. It’s surprising yet fitting that when my name was even called for the Clash, no one expected me to come in and break the walls down. I knew deep down I needed to come in strong and heavy, leaving my warpath untouchable in my excursion.

 

Out of the woodwork.

 

It was bleeding to my ears to see another victim step up and speak about the Clash. Tyler Kulina, did you honestly think I wouldn’t see that? The fans will always have a partisan opinion about professional wrestling. I see you whimpering in the corner because of it. I would rather fuck a porcupine than touch any girl you claim to have slept with. She probably had the best two minutes of her life before you prematurely erupted in embarrassment. Just because you begin to swear in your conversations and make false allegations doesn’t change the outlook or outcome. You had the fucking nerve to call me sloppy seconds, which was cute. I expected you to come up with something a little more exceptional than that, you skinny prick. You have just as much intimidation in you as the stigma that runs down FTM’s backs. Man, you do throw the word spite around a lot. Are you sure you didn’t mean sprite? To wash down the potato chips. You do know there are other alternatives to the vocabulary you could have chosen, right? Animosity, antipathy, and malice, just to name a few When you speak, you really need to focus on making sure you hit the right notes and tones. Tell me, Tyler, who the fuck drinks Capri Sun anyway? That right there just shows me how young and inexperienced you are. I just want to grab that disarray of hair and propel my boot directly into your face. As you lay on the mat discombobulated and excessively bleeding from multiple facial anatomy, you will know exactly who I am. 

 

You opened this can of worms.

 

It’s too late to look back now Tyler, you have already exasperated me more than you can foresee. You see, even though you said little to nothing about me, it irked me enough to disassemble and dissect you word for word. I am the symbolic interactionist who will belittle your every dispute or vision. You contradict yourself more than that idiot, Chris Sabertooth. You tell Jason Long to stop mentioning Bishop and how he focused way too much on him, yet every second word out of your stupid mouth is Jason’s name. Can’t you see the resemblance staring back directly at you? I want you to reverberate the actions of this night to yourself and grasp that you came up abbreviated.

 

The mountain has never been more calming.

 

The mountain is more isolated the higher you ascend. I know I have the audacity to move onward and upward. I don’t need to look far to note that superstars are collapsing the further we transcend. There is only sufficient room for one man to stand unaccompanied at the elite. There is no proposal to have anyone else lead the way other than myself. I know deep down that I am nearing the peak of the mountain. They say once the horizon has been reached, it becomes harder to cultivate. I expect entities to ensue as bodies line up to challenge for the championship, which I will hold dearly. It will take a considerable amount of effort to pry this championship out of my blood-soaked custody. I want the world to target me, so I have a reason to continue to quarrel. I am inclined to bloodshed through thick and thin just to keep that championship away from others. To see so many people standing at the bottom of the mountain looking up. I guarantee most people will quit halfway up the mountain before they get near me from lack of oxygen.

 

Where did this Chad we speak of go?

 

It sure has been quiet the last couple of days since we last heard from Chad. Must be occupied picking out his dress for the event. I know the Clash is important, but how can anyone back a wrestler who puts his outfit over his abilities? You really think you are a godsend to OWA, don’t you? I disagree. We are not doing a formal dance in any sort of tradition. We are competing in a clash that has massive implications and bragging rights. After the dental work needed to fix your mouth, red carpet appearances will be kept to a minimum. Chipped teeth, bleeding from the gums, and a jaw wired shut... Sounds good, doesn’t it? We can continue to tiptoe around the unpreventable if you would like, but it will happen. You see, when I set my focus on something, I always follow through with my promise. I vowed that I would eradicate everything you respect from the first day. I want to see you beg for mercy and understand that this is just the beginning. I will not stop until you know exactly the type of man I am and how much you scorn me. I want you to feel that anger built inside if you know I was the one who prevented you from being a champion. I already know I have the talent and bitterness to walk away with that gold in my repertoire. It’s now too late for you to crawl away from this and be used as an example to everyone else. I am going to use you to show the entire world and the entire OWA just how much of a plague I could possibly be.

 

A celebration like no other. 

 

There will be no cake, no balloons, no signing. Once this is over and done with, I will retreat to my sanctum, hidden in the darkness and surrounded by four walls of concrete. I don’t need some extravagant party to accommodate and commemorate the hellacious match that was just witnessed. I have been asked many times before, why I sit alone in the dark? For me, it’s a creature of habit. I am not a friendly person, nor am I caught up in making friendships in OWA. I am not denying the possibility of gaining some allies one day, but I am also not actively searching for them. I would rather be left alone with my only best friend, which is my deepest darkest thoughts, than deal with someone who won't shut up.

 

Cards laid out on the table.

 

I have laid all my cards flat on the table for the world to admire. The only thing left to do is prove that worthiness inside the ring, where it matters. It’s half the battle to be able to speak such words and have such convictions. The rest of the battle resides inside the ring, where goals are accomplished for some and others dreams are broken. Trust me, I still have a lot more left in the tank after Clash airs, but those will come out as time goes by.

Show me your hands.

 

With my card laid out, it’s time for the rest of the superstars to play their next hand. I want to see if you can master the art of war or if you will fold with a lacklustre performance. It’s a lot of pressure to step outside your comfort zone and do something with unfamiliar parallels. I do, however, suggest you use your peripheral vision wisely to see what's around you inside that ring. From any direction, it could be the last stop between being victorious or being seen as just another failed attempt.

 

In conclusion.

 

My destiny will no longer be disavowed as I walk away from this night unhinged and unscathed. I will take my lawful spot on the throne to be crowned as the next world champion. I have walked many paths in my lifetime, but this path will lead me into the depths I am ready to enter. OWA hasn’t seen a single person step foot in this organization and create as much havoc in one week as myself. I didn’t come here to take things lightly and watch from the sidelines. I dedicated myself to the frantic mix. I dove headfirst into the frenzy, not worried about the decision I had made.

 

See you at the Clash.

 

Time will be short between now and then, but the clock will feel slow. The night will creep upon you as you sink into a panic. On this exact night, the blanket will be ripped away from the eyes seeking a new era in OWA. I am the answer provided to an alternate product wrestling has to offer with its brawl-like mentality. OWA has been known for its flashy wrestlers with pride and class, but not on this night. The heroes you cheer for and the role models you look up to are all going to be extinguished from our minds. Forgotten and cast shifted to the side, watching and regretting that they let this one slip away from them. When my music sounds that night and the sweat-filled ring of wrestlers has a look of bewilderment, They will see me walk down to the ring with a smirk on my face. The feeding time hasn’t been as clear.

 

I will see you in hell.

 

Forbidden Scum has spoken his final verdict.

Somewhere in Central America.


Stephanie walked through the jungle with ease, her mind already set on the night’s upcoming activity. Her sources unveiled a hidden Ghost Organization base just south of the Nicaraguan border. Matsuda had no black ops experience, though she waged a one-woman war throughout Brooklyn to keep gangs from selling drugs and steroids at indie wrestling events. This was before Serenity decided to get into wrestling and at the time was being groomed by an old friend of her father’s who turned to a life of crime. Stephanie took care of him without much resistance. So far, the Ghost Organization bases Stephanie and her two companions assaulted offered little resistance as well. They later found out that after an attack by Interpol on Wrestleworld Island, the Ghost Organization was crippled, but there were various satellite sites that even international intelligence had a hard time finding. As for Matsuda, she wanted her revenge. She heard rumors that the Devione family may be associated with the Ghost Organization so a wound against them was a victory for her, even if it was a small one. This feud with Allesandro was getting personal, even if she didn’t admit it to others. 

Once she got within range, Matsuda checked her fatigues and the katana strapped over her shoulder. She then climbed the nearest tree and pulled out a pair of binoculars. There was a small manor not far off, with several armed guards performing patrols in key areas. Stephanie was close enough to do reconnaissance, but at the right distance to perform it safely. A male European accent interrupted her thought process, asking a simple question that would lead to a big conclusion.

European Male: Time for bowling?

Stephanie Matsuda: Cousin Roman, you are clear for bowling. Killer Bee?

Female Voice: Time to sting?

Stephanie Matsuda: To your heart’s content, sweets.

Within moments there was a loud explosion on the compound. Causing chaos for the Ghost Organization guards, Stephanie seized the opportunity by jumping from the tree and jumping over the barbed fence. She landed on her feet, just in time to hear a hail of gunfire in the distance. Killer Bee must be having the time of her life. Cousin Roman sure was with those explosions of his. Cloud wasted no time unsheathing her katana, cutting through the opposition with ease, already making peace with what she had to do to put away this part of her life. Stephanie wasn’t one who treated murder like it’s breathing - she had to debate with herself long and hard to come to this conclusion. But after hearing the Ghost Organization was attempting to rebuild itself, she knew she had to act. 

The mission - to shut down operations of the Central American safe house of the Ghost Organization - was a success. The team took no prisoners because as far as Stephanie was concerned, she cared not for their desire for second chances. She just wanted to end things as soon as possible. Just like this feud with Tres Comas Club. She didn’t want a long rivalry that would waste time and drain resources. But, Stephanie wasn’t naive. Kevin Devastation was a connected man with deep pockets, far deeper than hers. In fact, her contact list wasn’t even a quarter of the people the veteran could call for a ‘favor’. Most would say she was fighting a losing battle, but this wasn’t one she could back down from. Wrestleworld gave her purpose and the Ghost Organization stole that from her. Allesandro Devione stole it from her. After winning back the American Dream Championship, she got that purpose back. But now, it was time to deal with the opposition. Those cold nights in prison were traumatic for her. Detained against her will, not knowing whether she would live or die. These are nightmares that still haunted Stephanie. Well, the Ghost Organization would feel her wrath, with the help of the two people walking up to her.

 

As CYKA and April Song approached her, Cloud calmly wiped the blood from her tachi sword.

April Song: Once again, another successful operation. 

CYKA: Yes, indeed. We make a good team, yes? Even this one here with no military experience with the samurai katana. 

Stephanie sheath her sword without making eye contact.

Stephanie Matsuda: The Matsuda Clan were heirs to Fujiwara no Hidesato, lords of the Bizen province, now known as eastern Okayama. War runs in my family’s blood. And the sword I hold in my hand?  Mukadegiri, aka  "Centipede-cutter". It’s been in my clan for many years and was said to have slain a giant demonic centipede at Seta no Karahashi. The outer shell of a giant centipede is said to be harder than a bullet.

CYKA: So, that butter knife of yours can cut bullets?

CYKA laughed in amusement, but there was something in his tone that told Cloud he wasn’t mocking her. The European mercenary looked at April while pointing at his current benefactor.

CYKA: You knew this?

April casually reloaded her Daniel Defense MK18 full auto. 

April Song: No…I didn’t. To be honest there’s a lot of things I don’t know about Stephanie…

Cloud could feel April’s eyes on her. She could ‘feel’ that it wasn’t just April watching her…but something else. In fact, ever since the triple threat, April has felt different. Part of the reason why Matsuda hired the former black ops air force pilot is to find out just what was going on with her. April seemed physically younger as if she got her youth back. Stephanie wasn’t psychic, but something was there, something she couldn’t explain. As for CYKA, he came highly recommended by Frontline. She was asked if she needed more, but Cloud wanted to keep the team small. A triad was simple, yet effective, and it reminded Styephanie of the adventures she used to go on with Aria and Azumi. The distant sound of a helicopter could be heard as Stephanie walked out of the burning manor. It was their ride, piloted by one of April’s old military buddies. CYKA and April followed and waited in the courtyard.

April Song: So, what now? 

Stephanie Matsuda: We’ll fly back to our safehouse in Costa Rica. I…need to respond to Ally. He’s been putting on all kinds of airs while we were busy.

CYKA: This whole “promoing” thing that you wrestlers do before each match…what purpose does it serve? I asked Michael but he just shrugged and said ‘capitalism’.

Stephanie Matsuda: He’s right. It’s definitely capitalism. More on that later, though. For now I have to get my head in the game.



Stephanie appeared before the camera sitting in a bedroom while dressed in a pink bathrobe. Her blue hair was wet, as if she just got out of the shower. She seemed deep in thought as she drank green tea from a Shinji Ikari mug. 

“Ally, my dear sweet Ally. Your feathers are so easy to ruffle, it’s almost amusing. I think I might make a habit out of this. I’m almost flattered that you want to paint the streets of ‘Bodymore with my blood. But I’ve seen The Wire, sweets. Every feud in that city ends in tragedy. Which to be honest could happen to us if I allow myself to get caught up in your vindictive rapture. I appreciate the honors of being your co-star in the overly-produced Netflix drama that is your life, but I’m going to make like the writer’s guild and go on strike once this match is over. This Dog Collar Match, where you tame the bitch mongrel Cloud Matsuda and put her under your heel isn’t going to go the way you think. From battle royals to chambers, to triple threats, in any match I fight where I’m forced to stick around with the odds against me I usually come out on top. All of my enemies who backed me into a corner lived to regret it. You think of yourself as a tyrant, but your tyranny is all bark and no bite. You’ve never done anything to make me shake in my boots. This is just a rehashed act of what Daddy used to do. But, you’re right about a few things. First off, I didn’t pin your shoulders to the mat. And it ‘s ‘common knowledge’ (laughs) that you’ve gotten the best of me more than I have you. I admit to this, but here’s the thing from the past, sweets. You learn from your mistakes. That’s how I was able to get the drop on your whole clan. Your weakness Ally is that you have to underestimate everyone who challenges you because you can’t see anyone as your equal. That’s how Kevin Maverick was able to dethrone you back at the first Final Destination. And when you ran to Wrestleworld, you aligned yourself beside one of my biggest rivals - possibly my third biggest rival in Claudia Michaels. You’re the one who got yourself caught up in grown folks’ business! When Michaels and I clashed, it had nothing to do with you! You could’ve stayed out of Underworld, you could’ve saved that briefcase for someone else, but no, sweets, you couldn’t fathom a world where Allesandro Devastation doesn’t screw over Stephanie “Cloud” Matsuda. You know all the criticism people have about me and how I’m always putting myself over and whatnot? That’s YOU! The living embodiment of who people THINK I am! I’m not surprised that a narcissist like you is calling me the addict, but yet…YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THIS! It’s you! You nig-”

Stephanie stops for a moment and regains her composure.

“The hood almost came out of me, excuse me. Everything I have done in opposition of you have been on the defensive. You know that, right? Like, don’t try to alter history you asshole. You’re a supervillain in the purest sense, but I’ll give you this: Dreamlander was one hell of a film. Devione Productions know what they’re doing, I’ll give you that much. But, unlike you, I’m not trying to live some kind of Hollowwood gimmick. Who I am in that ring is who I am backstage. I’m the same bitch on the street and the same beast underneath the sheets. My wife knows and understands this, as well as the more interesting rivals I’ve had in my life. But since you and I will never share a bed, I don’t have to worry about this freud taking an interesting turn, thank god.  Since you’re caught up in you’re own delusions, allow me to shatter your false reality for the hundredth time: you’re no tragic hero, sweets. You’re just privileged manchild with an unlimited spending account. That’s all there is to it. Oh yeah, and you’re a fucking sore loser. You hide your ego behind what you think America is and what it should be while chilling in your Transylvanian castle like some kind of weird-ass gentrifying vampire. Like, I have some homework for you, sweets. Hang out with some normal people for a day or two. Like, actually hang out with Billy, Tom, and Joe without turning into an asshole, mentioning me, or both. Befriend these people, and once you do that, reflect on your own life. Think about the times you spent alone because your father raised you as some kind of recluse. You never had any real friends, just ones your family’s wealth paid for. You never got to be a normal person, Ally! You never got to have at least one normal day in your life because for you being normal is being a loser. This means to you, the average American is a loser and somehow you know the way to lead them to a better life. ‘Make America Devastation Again’ huh!?” 

Stephanie took a sip from her tea and shook her head.

“You rich assholes are always the same. You talk about dreams and possessions while paying your workers as little as possible. Your kind screw-over unions, put unsafe ingredients in your so-called organic shit while you watch blonde Canadian fitness gurus chug that so-called oat milk down their throats. Yeah, I know about the poisonous materials and unsafe oils that go into corporate vegan food. More specifically I know about the hundreds of lawsuits filed against Devione Enterprises. Not everything is as sunshine as you make it out to be. But alas, your ego can’t give in. This is ironic, considering the people you look down at are the life blood of yoiur company. They are the consumers and employees who you exploit to stay rich. They buy your products watch your movies, and perform the tasks your VPs hand down to their middle management. THEY keep YOUR American Dream ALIVE. And you’re right. I am these people, the same people who moved to Wrestleworld Island for a better life from the fuckery society has put itself in. Did Jaywalker protect them? No. Does Devione Enterprises protect its employees? No.”

Stephanie’s eyes are narrow as she leans in close.

“It’s likely all of this is going one ear and out the other and quite frankly I feel like I’ve been saying the same shit over and over with you. I hate sounding like a broken record, but then it hit me: you like this shit. You really like having a fall guy to make yourself look good in front of. Maybe it’s because some of the shady decisions I’ve made in my past you think you could flip the script for the public and have them turn on me.  But, here’s the thing: The People have known and understood their Champion for fourteen years. They’ve seen me win, lose, draw, and everything in between. They were there when I won the JET World Champion, and they were right there when they saw me beat YOU and April for my second American Dream Championship. They’ve seen me and Aria hug, fight, and makeup in the middle of that squared circle. They’ve watched me ruin Azumi’s dream of winning the JET Championship at Cinderella Story 2014. They saw the tears in my eyes, they knew it was the last thing I wanted to do. They saw how I refused Aria’s handshake at the end of EAW Bloodletter ‘17. They were there at my worse and they were there at my best. In 2020 when I held six titles at the same time, three of them being world championships. They were there when Aria and I held the SSW Tag Team championships with the World and Intercontinental belts. They were there for Formation, The Coven, Zaibatsu, Queens of Wrestling, and both versions of World’s Finest. And now, they will be there, in the audience and watching from home as I pull a chain and drag your bitch ass across the ring canvas. They will watch as two rivals bound by chain and collar will beat the ever living fuck out of each other, and they will see why I am who I am when I stand above your bloodied, battered, and broken body inside that ring. When you awaken from consciousness, your life will be the same. You’ll still be rich, handsome (after reconstructive surgery), and still possess all the power in the world. The only thing you won’t be is the American Dream Champion of Olympus. And later that night, Nobi will capture the Immortal Heavyweigfht Championship. World’s Finest will be draped in gold and there won’t be anything you or daddy can do about it. For you see Ally, in reality real heroes are the ones who actually put the work in. The American Dream was forged by innovators, warriors, and those who were brave enough to stand in the way of opposition. As I sit back this Pride Month and reflect, I’m happy that I get to go out there and fight foir the community I believe in and accept me for who I am. I’ve dedicate myself to repaying that favor and I’ll do everything in my power to protect them from the likes of you, Ally.”

Stephanie takes a moment for herself before continuing.

“So before I get myself some beauty sleep, I want you to sit back and meditate on everything I’ve been saying. Because I need you to think real hard before we meet in that ring bind ourselves to each other. You’ve spent the latter half of your career defined by my successed and failures. So please for the love of god, win lose or draw, when this match is said and done…”

Stephanie sighs before raising her voice.

“GET. OFF. MY. DICK.”



Stephanie sighs as she leans back and turns off the livestream. There’s a knock at the door, forcing her to sigh and get up from her chair. She opens the door to her room and sees that it’s April.

April Song: You wanted to see me?

Stephanie nods and lets her in before closing the door.

Stephjanie Matsuda: I don’t know how to stuart this conversation so I’m going to go straight to it - who did you make a deal with and why? And before you try to bullshit your way out of this, just know I can sense ‘it’...whatever it is. It’s attached to you, slowly feeding from your spirit. 

April Song: Cloud…

Stephanie squints at her rival for a moment and tilits her head.

Stephanie Matsuda: No…you didn’t. Don’t tell me it’s a-

Before Cloud could react, April’s eyes started glowing red as she lunged at her.

(To be continued)

The backyard was immaculate.  The grass was a deep green, a mere millimetres off the ground and not a blade was out of place.  The garden beds were full of fresh soil, with different types of roses lining the back fence.  There was a small, paved path off to the right which led to a gazebo that was clearly used in the warmer weather to entertain guests and cook up BBQ’s.

But the eye is quickly taken towards the back corner of the yard, which is where Poet is standing.  He isn’t in his usual, dark blue suit – instead, in addition to having his blonde hair tied back in a pony tail, he was dressed in a pale blue polo shirt that was tucked into a pair of white chinos and brown boat shoes.  He had his leather notebook under one arm and a big, while smile plastered across his face.
What we are drawn to, however, are the three headstones that are standing up in front of him.  Clearly, they have been freshly made with the finest marble, and the names that have been carved into them shouldn’t be surprising.  On the first, it read ‘Ryo Sakazaki’, on the second it read ‘Tatsuo Sakaguchi’, and on the last it read ‘Brody’.

“Before we start our final chat before we head for Clash of the Titans, I want to clear something up.  As you might have guessed from our time together so far, the Poet family as a whole are not short on cash.  While Brody might spend all of his money on weed and waxing his surfboard, while Ryo might spend his looking for an AFI hoodie, we generally spend our money on the things a growing family needs.  A bigger house, a better car, a boat for those holidays down by the lake, memberships to exclusive country clubs.  You name it, we’ve got it.  My family wants for nothing, and it is only through my hard work outside of the wrestling business that it has happened.”

“You might be asking – why would I bother being a wrestler, then?  If you’ve been successful outside of the business, why put yourself through it?  Why not just sit by the pool with a glass of whiskey and enjoy the sun while you can?  It’s a fair question.  There isn’t some blindingly brilliant answer for this question.  Yes, I have a passion for the business and I know I’m good at it.  That should be evident every time I walk out to the squared circle.  I’ve had my fair share of opportunities around the indies and won my fair share of titles, so the chance to take the step up to the ‘big leagues’ was something I wanted to grasp with both hands.  Yet, that still isn’t it.  If you want my honest answer – and we’re all abut honestly in the Poet household – then I can only admit to the fact that I like wrestling because I enjoy hurting people.  In real life, any person with half a brain cell knows that you can properly put you hands on another person without the very real threat of jail time.  However, in the world of professional wrestling, I have the freedom to hurt other people in any way I see fit.  Steel chair to the head?  That’s okay.  Take a turnbuckle off and smash their head into it 10 times in a row, thus drawing blood?  Why didn’t I do it 20 times.  Stomp on an opponents face as many times as I like?  Oh yeah!  I can take out my anger, my frustration, my annoyance, on my opponent and at the end of it I can go home at night.  No jail time, no criminal record, nothing to mark me as a man who enjoys dealing out a little bit of pain.”
Poet then crouches down behind the three headstones that stand in front of him.

“So it is with all this in mind that I approach my six man tag match at Clash of the Titans.  As I said before, I normally only use my money on things we need.  But these headstones have been bought for nothing more than proving a point.  Next weekend, with RD3 and the Don, I am to bury three wrestlers who simply don’t stack up.  I don’t care if they have been here for a month or have been here for years – the fans of OWA know where the talent lies, and at Clash, they will be in no doubt as to who is trending up, and who is trending six feet under.”

“Take Ryo here – now, I was in two minds about making this metaphor when it came to him.  Being a demon of sorts means that he might actually embrace the opportunity to hop into a coffin and meet his maker.  In fact, I wondered if he had heard of the black metal vocalist ‘Dead’, who was the lead singer of Mayhem for a few years back in the early 90s.  Now, this guy popularised corpse paint and actually believed he was dead, hence the name.  He would even go so far as to bury his clothes out in a field for a few days so, when he dug them up, he was smell as if he had been in a coffin for a few days for the show.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call commitment to the cause.  And wanting to be a ‘Grinning Demon’ means that Ryo may actually want to emulate this man in some way… well, outside of how Dead shot slit his wrists and then shot himself in the head with a shotgun.  He may not want to show that much commitment, but it may give him some inspiration.”

“But in the end, Ryo knows where he is going next weekend.  I am sending him straight to hell.  It’s where he wants to be – if you haven’t worked it out, it’s all in the name – but he won’t be arriving there on his terms.  I’ll be sending him there in the worst way possible.  He will be crying out for Satan to put him out of his misery once I’ve spent more than five minutes in the ring with him.  Father’s will cover their children’s eyes while their mothers vomit beside them.  Ryo, next weekend I’m coming for you, and I’ll take great pleasure in wiping that grin right off your face.”

Poet then turns and places his hand on the middle headstone.

“Now, let’s get to Sakaguchi.  I haven’t been too sure what to make of this man since I was pitted against him at Clash.  I’ve heard various things – soft, cowardly, lame, pathetic – but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.  I mean, he has gone so far as calling himself the ‘Honored One’.  What is it with these God awful nicknames?  Are these people that insecure that they need to give themselves a title so they feel relevant?  I did a little digging and I haven’t found a single thing that he could be honored for.  As far as I can tell, he was average at school, he is average in the ring and, according to a few well placed sources, he is average in bed.  And does Ryo know that he has the word ‘Heaven’ in his finisher?  Does that make him uncomfortable?”

“Anyway, I’m rambling here.  I’m still none the wiser as to what Sakaguchi has been honored for, but it will be my great honor in sending him straight to hell along with his pal Ryo.  He might sway wherever the breeze may take him, but he will sway straight into the depths of hell when I’ve finished with him.  He might wear a mask to the ring and sit on the top turnbuckle like Stone Cold did at the 1997 Rumble, but he isn’t fooling anyone.  Whether it’s me, RD3 or our Sicilian friend, I can’t wait to see you flat on your back and realising that you’re way out of your depth.”

With a smile, Poet then shuffles across to sit behind the final headstone.

“And now we come to our old friend, Brody.  I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed our back and forth discussions over the last few weeks.  No really, I have.  I don’t even know if I really want to put you in your place at Clash, as I feel like it will leave our story untold.  But I can’t move past the fact that I owe you, and I’m not entirely comfortable with the fact that much of what happens next weekend is out of my hands.  I can’t be in the ring all the time and, while I trust my teammates implicitly, accidents and mistakes do occur.  What if RD3 drops the ball and let’s Ryo pin him?  Or what if the Don does something silly and gets himself disqualified?  In both of those scenarios, we lose.  I will take the L and it had absolutely nothing to do with me and my effort in the match.  The chances of those outcomes happening are incredibly low, but if it does happen, I want you to remember that no matter where our matches take us in the coming months, I’ll be gunning for you.  And that goes for every outcome possible – RD3 breaks Ryo in half and wins us the match?  Don breaks Sakaguchi’s legs and he can’t continue?  I’ll be there.  You’ll be constantly looking over your shoulder and wondering when I’m coming for you.  Could be at the next show, could be at the next PPV, or it could be months down the line… I owe you one my weed smoking, father loving, surfboard sucking friend, and you’ll pay up sooner or later.”

“So, this headstone is here not to make a point, but to remind you of something.  I don’t want to finish you next weekend.  I’ve got my eyes on something else…”

With that, Poet stands and moves off to his right.  10 metres away, standing on its own, is another headstone.  This one is a little darker, but there is just one word chiselled on it – ‘Wyatt’.

“That’s right, I’m coming for our father.  You see Brody, you’re nothing without me.  When you walk down to the ring high as a kite, you’ve decided that you don’t want to participate in a fair fight.  The fans and the wrestlers backstage know what your secret weapon is, and it’s your daddy.  When you can’t remember what to do in the ring, there he is to bring you back to reality.  When you get into a tough situation, there he is, ready and willing to bring you back from the brink of despair.  And when you’re lonely at night, there he is, ready and willing to snuggle you back to happiness.  And frankly, it makes me sick.  Whatever happened to a fair fight?  Are you too much of a coward to fight someone, man to man, without having someone there to bail you out when the going gets tough?  You’re a joke, and come Clash, I’m going to make every effort to take Wyatt out of the picture.  How am I goin to do this?  Well, you’ll just have to see.  It could be physical, mental, emotional… I’ll take my time to decide the best way forward.  You’re just like Samson – with his hair he was nigh on invincible, until he cut his hair.  And when I cut your father off, the same thing will happen to you, and you’ll never be the same again.”

Poet then stands up and chuckles softly at the camera.  His then brings his notebook up wth his left hand and opens it to a fresh page.

“Now, before I head off and spend the next week training, I thought I would finish with one, final poem.  This one is called an ‘Elegy’ – it is a form of poetry used at funerals and as a lament for the dead.  It seemed fitting to finish with one of these and I truly hope you enjoy it…
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
With that, Poet simply closes his notebook, smiles down the camera and walks away.  Before the camera does fade to black, it slowly zooms into the name ‘Wyatt’ that sits ominously on the headstone, a potential foreshadowing of what may be to come…

Is this the way I want? Is that what you asked me, Remington Ivory Prescott?

I showed up and said it to not only your face but also the rest of The Tree Comas Club and said it loud and clear that I want to challenge you for the Immortal Heavyweight Championship at Clash of Titans. 

And that's also the moment multiple world champions in Jaywalker and Kevin Devastation warned you about me. Jaywalker said I'm tough and Kevin said to you do not underestimate me.

Do you actually know what that means?

It means they don't have faith in you to end me. 

They have faith in you to beat me because why not, I would have faith in you too with all my resources.

But ending me? You want it so bad you're trying to do something that countless men already tried before. So many tried, so many failed, why? I don't know. I have been hurted. Let's scratch that. I have been tapping out and I know how it feels to be knocked out. Hell, I have seen my blood all over canvas and those never feel good. 

And none of those stop me from continuing to work in the ring. Why? Because they can't get the job done. My wheels just keep spinning. Arguably faster and stronger than before.

Now, how could you actually be my career when you couldn't even beat me fair and square? You don't even care about being the best in-ring performer. This is just a normal match. And let me say this, if you want to end my career with the help of Wraith, Reginald Dampshaw III, and Brandon Hendrix, they also claimed at one point they wanted to end me.

Your bosses warned you about me. Your co-workers can't stop me. And you admit it, your voice is telling you not to kill, maim, or surgically remove the body parts from your opponents.

The voices in your head are basically your subconscious. You want to end my career, and that's what you want but deep down your heart, you know it will be a waste of time from your end. Your voice is telling you not to bother with it because even though I might be injured…which I doubt it, I always come back. 

My presence is like oxygen, nitrogen, or carbon dioxide. I'm always here.

And that's what you can't tell or figure out. You don't know whatever I think I am.

Let me tell you, Prescott, I'm just a normal human being that is ready to beat you and win the Immortal Heavyweight Championship at Clash of Titans. I'm ready to beat you because you didn't earn that championship the right way. You're a false representation of a world champion because of the way you won it. 

You need to retain the Immortal Heavyweight Championship more than I need to win it, Prescott. You need to prove why you're the Champion right now. If you have a time to try to convince me and everybody else you're going to stop my career, than you certainly have a lot of time to prepare yourself to beat me with your hands.

And how ironic is it that you said you don't want to talk about the past and yet, in a different chance you talked about you don't remember your parents, Kingdom Pro, and first or second time in your life, you didn't just get handed what you wanted as you had to step up and try to get it. Congratulations on contradicting yourself. Do you want a lolipop or some candies? You might be richier than me but I can but lolipo and candies to help you get better. You might want to Rest In Peace after telling me all of that. That must be hard from your end to tell me your sob stories.

You were promised the world and you had to step up. For that line I agree with you. That's why I'm stepping up to you and the rest of The Tree Comas Club. That's why I'm challenging you right now. That's why the rest of Worlds Finest are not on the best terms with The Tree Comas Club. 

The corruption from The Tree Comas Club is abnormal from the start with the way you won the Immortal Heavyweight Championship and that's why Cloud Matsuda, Chucky Rosso, and Ryo Sakazaki want to end it sooner rather than later.

And personally? I'm glad to know that I have your time, energy, and focus because it means you know it that I'm not easy to be fucked up. I hope you can play that role for The Tree Comas Club because if you can't, then you're doomed as not only you failed to fuck people up on your first try, but also you lose the Immortal Heavyweight belt to me.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think this will be easy, Prescott, because who knows what is going to happen in our match, especially with the corrupt owners helping you out, because while you might not need them, there is still a possibility of them helping you out.

But believe me when I say, you can beat me, it means you can. I don't know whether it is because of your own effort or because of some Tree Comas Club disgusting antics but you have a chance to retain your Immortal Heavyweight Championship. I have said it countless times that you can't and won't end my career but I never rule out the possibility of you beating me, regardless of how you're going to do it.

But that's also why you're correct that I'm not scared of intimidation, but you have my words that this isn't going to be easy for me. Well, this isn't going to be easy for you either, but just like you, I don't want to waste this chance. You want to end my career and I want to end a reign from a corrupt world champion like you. 

Therefore, I want to make it loud and clear to you, that I have to either pin you or make you tap-out. That's the two most logical options from this match. This is a simple matter to me. All I want to do is beat you to be Immortal Heavyweight Champion.

But you have….a lot of things you want to do. When you think about it, I might be the definition of a full pocket of sunshines to you, Prescott. You want to retain the Immortal Heavyweight title, you want to end my career, you want to stop my breathing, and now apparently you also said you're Immortal?  

This is why you're focusing your time and energy for me because I'm everything you need. This is why you need this match more than I do because I'm your ticket for a validation. This is why you're trying to be someone different. And you heard it right, the key word is "trying". Anyway, my point is, you have to retain this title against me because you have a lot of things on your shoulders more than I do and be careful, those thoughts can be a burden for you. Don't stress yourself out or otherwise, you'll blow up yourself, meaning you lose your focus and that's where you're going to be beaten by me as I become the new Immortal Heavyweight Champion.

I do like games, Prescott. They are fun and relaxing, and it can help me focus on my matches and opponents as I'm clearing my mind. And now I'm going to tell you, I don't need to try to focus on you. I'm already focused on you. My concentration is 100% on you, Prescott, to become the Immortal Heavyweight Champion.

But you have to focus on me in order to fulfill your Hopes, dreams, and your bucket list. I'm glad to heard it from you that you're focused on me because if you don't, you're going to lose everything and that's
 including the Immortal Heavyweight Championship.

Baltimore, MD,
Tuesday, 6th June 2023
4 pm (ET)

Brody lay on his hotel bed, repeatedly tossing a tennis ball into the air and catching it while speaking to his dad on the phone.
 
“So, what time are you getting in?”
 
“Getting in? What do you mean?”
 
“When are you arriving in Baltimore? I assume you’re gonna be here for my first pay-per-view?”
 
“Brody, you know I have my weekly golf lessons every Monday.”
 
“Right, yeah. Of course. It’s just, Clash is on the Sunday. I thought maybe you could—”
 
“I would’ve thought you’d be concentrating on cutting a decent promo sometime soon. One where you don’t embarrass yourself. Every time you run into Cori Simmons, you end up looking like a God damn clown. So, we’ve booked a space where you can pre-record one. That way, we can edit out all the dumb shit you say. Or at least most of it, anyway.”
 
“We?”
 
“Yeah, me and the intern I’ve hired to keep your schedule.”
 
“Oh, right. You’re not doing that?”
 
“I only have so many things I can concentrate on, Brody. Promo. Tomorrow. 9 am. I’ll text you the address.”
 
“Ok. Oh, can you send more—”
 
The call ended abruptly.

---

 

Tomorrow
9 am

 
Brody sat in a comfortable chair opposite Cori Simmons. Dressed in a faded Carhartt shirt and tattered denim shorts, his attire was incongruent with the sleek design of the set. A tall, slender gentleman stood beside the camera operator, who homed in on Brody’s grinning face.
 
“Three, two, one, action!”
 
“Brody, how are you feeling ahead of your first pay-per-view event?”
 
“Well, Cori, I’m not gonna lie. When I heard I was fighting Horatio Scrotesworth at Clash of the Titans, I was—"
 
“CUT!”
 
The director rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a huge sigh of frustration.
 
“What?”
 
“You said Scrotesworth again.”
 
“I did?”
 
“You did.”
 
“What’s his name, again?”
 
“Reginald Dampshaw.”
 
“Right. And how is that different from what I said?”
 
“It’s totally diff- well, not totally. But it’s different. Ok, let’s go again. From the top in three, two, one, action!”
 
“Cori, I’m not gonna lie. When I heard I was fighting Rothschild Darthvader at Clash of the Titans, I was a little nervous at first.”
 
“Keep rolling, that’s as close as we’re gonna get,” the director whispered to the cameraman, who shrugged at a bemused Cori Simmons.
 
“Fighting a champion in just my second match? Pretty fucking heavy, dude. But then I remembered he won it by beating El Landerson. Dude, the only thing he’s got going for him is his daughter is kinda hot. And I’ve heard she’s down to clown.”
 
“CUT!”
 
“What now?”
 
“You can’t say that about Aalyah!”
 
“Why?”
 
“It’s slander!”
 
“Dude, she calls herself the Princess of the 69. What are we to make of that, bro?”
 
“Just stick to your opponents, Brody. And three, two, one, action.”
 
“Listen, Archibald Taintsbury, I could stand here and tell you we’re gonna beat you at Clash of the Titans. I could even threaten to rearrange your teeth, although that might actually be doing you a favor. I don’t make threats because none of it will matter once we’re inside that ring. I prefer to do my talking in there, if you know what I mean. Do you know what I mean? I mean, I’m going to smash your fucking face in.”
 
“CUT!”
 
“Jesus fucking Christ, dude.”
 
“You don’t need to explain every single thing. You said you didn’t make threats, and then you made a threat. Just keep it simple, stupid.”
 
“But how will I know if he gets my point?”
 
“You won't, really. But saying you do your talking in the ring isn’t exactly subtle, is it?”
 
“What’s weird is I don’t really talk inside the ring. If anything, I actually prefer to do my talking outside of the ring. It’s just something people say, though.”
 
“It’s not meant to be taken literally.”
 
“This is taking too long. Let’s move on to another opponent, and we’ll circle back. Talk about Hendrix. Three, two, one, action.”
 
“Well, I don’t wanna get all political, but Hendrix is Italian. So, fascism pretty much runs through his veins.”
 
“CUT!”
 
“Dude, I am this close to walking out. What was wrong with that?”
 
“You have just offended an entire country. And many people within your own country.”
 
“Who, fascists?”
 
“No, Italian Americans.”
 
“Potayto, potahto.”
 
“You probably have fans who are Italian American. How do you think they’ll feel if you call them fascists?”
 
“I guess you’re right. But, like, he’s a Mafia dude, right? Surely that’s a bit fash?”
 
“Call Hendrix a fascist if you want, but don’t say it’s because he’s Italian.”
 
“What, so I can’t call him a danger to all women, either?”
 
“Not just because he’s Italian, no.”
 
“You didn’t seem to mind when I implied that all British people have bad teeth.”
 
“Because some stereotypes are true. Let’s just move on to Poet. Three, two, one, action.”
 
“Brody, do you have any words for the man who mercilessly beat you down after your match on Olympus?”
 
“As a matter of fact, I do, Cori. Ballbag. Shitbird. Dickface. These are all things you are if you hadn’t noticed. Yeah, I’m employing a literal device. You would know all about that, wouldn’t you? Well, you can make your little poems, it doesn’t matter to me. I prefer to do my talking inside the rin- God damn it!”
 
“Didn’t you write anything before you came today?”
 
“Nah, I’m winging it.”
 
“No, you’re not. Listen, take lunch. Have a think about what you wanna say, then we’ll try again this afternoon. Remember, give it some pizzazz. A bit of showmanship. You want to get inside their heads a bit.”

---

BrodyInterview070723.mov

 
“So, Brody, how are you feeling ahead of your first big pay-per-view event?”
 
“I have to admit, Cori, I was a little nervous when I heard I was going to be fighting a champion in only my second match in OWA. But let’s be real, Colonial Williamsburg III. That belt was given to you by your friends, and they think so little of you that they booked your first defense against a monkey, dude. To think you display that belt in your trophy room as if you’ve achieved something.
 
“I feel for you, bro. I really do. I always hung my artwork from school on the fridge, and my dad would call me a little visionary. But I’d always find it in the trash the next day. So, I know your pain. Even though we’re bonded by this, I’ll still have to beat you down in Baltimore. Just like the tea party in 1976. Not just for myself, but for my partners, too. Tatsuo and I have nice clean records after winning our debut matches, and I intend to do my part to keep it that way.
 
“What I don’t know is why you call yourself the Time Lizard. Now, let me get this straight, Cori. We got dudes living in old asylums calling themselves the King of Rats, a dude from the future or some shit, a dude who was resurrected, and a dude calling himself a fucking Time Lizard? Is anyone in this federation fucking normal? Dudes will literally try to kill each other in death matches instead of going to therapy.”
 
“How about the ‘Don’? What do you know about him?”
 
“I know he talks a lot about being a main eventer, although he’s not in the main event. Not even in the support. He’s been relegated to fighting newbies in a six-man tag. That has to hurt, bro. He’s not even the second string to RIP because he’s polishing Tarquin Lemondrop’s boots as well. Hendrix traded his belt for a chance at the Immortal Championship and lost to someone who had to go through the entire roster just the night before. Hampton is a great fighter, but he was pushing rope on Night Two of Civil War and still beat Hendrix. I would never show my face again if that happened to me, dude.”
 
“What do you think about him calling you a druggie? Rumors are your dad bribed someone to cover up a failed test.”
 
“Objection.”
 
“This isn’t a courtroom.”
 
“Overruled.”
 
“I take it it’s true, then.”
 
“Sustained.”
 
“Ok. Well, I’m sure you have a lot to say about Poet.”
 
“Another creepy weirdo. But credit where it’s due, he’s one of the toughest motherfuckers I’ve ever faced. I can admit that because I’m not so insecure that I need to convince myself I was beaten by a fluke. I don’t need to go digging through wrestling magazines to tell me that, really, I should’ve won. Poet caught me on an off night, and he still got got, bro. He needs to make peace with it and come back stronger.
 
“Seriously, though. For all our sake, he’s gotta learn to love himself before anyone else will love him. My guy, there’s no need to be embarrassed about liking American Pie. You act like you’re not, but you hid those DVDs away and felt the need to explain why you owned them. What’s to explain, bro? Those flicks are awesome. And thank you for saying I’m like Stifler, you didn’t have to say that. I was humbled.
 
“But DVDs, dude? Seriously, what the fuck? Do you want me to go fetch your pipe and slippers, old man? Who still has DVDs? Dig out your Discman, and I’ll burn you a CD with mislabeled songs I downloaded off LimeWire. Did you cry when Louis Armstrong landed on the moon? I bet you long for the good old days when internet chatrooms weren’t being monitored by Chris Hansen. When women were to be looked at and never listened to unless they were accusing a black man of daring to look them in the eye. Then, you’d be tearing holes in your bed sheets and grabbing your pitchfork.”
 
“You are all over the place with that timeline. Anyway, have you met up with your tag team partners yet?”
 
“Not yet, but I’ve seen Tatsuo’s promo. To answer his question: no, it doesn’t irritate me that Poet looks down on me for my lack of intelligence. I know I’m no Alfred Einstein. Didn’t need to be to beat him, did I? No, what irritates me is when he hits me when my guard is down. This is supposed to be a man wanting to earn respect? How can anyone respect that? Take the L, bro.
 
“Look, there’s many things I’ll never know, but I know a dude working through high school trauma when I see one. He mentioned it before our first match, and now he’s gone back to the well with the American Pie stuff. He couldn’t believe his luck that his debut match was against someone like me. Someone he’s been fighting in his head ever since he graduated and left all the normies behind to reinvent himself in college. And he still came up short. He’s changed his name and changed his look, but he hasn’t changed who he really is.
 
“Anyway, I’m sure Barnaby Cumsock and the Italian dude who was born and raised in America are tough, too. I’m sure they both worked hard to get where they are. Although one of them is a jewelry heir, and another is a Mafia dude financed by a rich dude. Irregardless, if you manage to beat me, Tatsuo and Ryo without any help from the dudes pulling your strings, I’ll sleep easy knowing that we were beaten by the best. But, I gotta tell ya, it’s just not on the cards. Becau—”
 

The scene starts fading even though Brody is clearly still talking.

The camera opens to Tyler sitting back and relaxing in his hotel room in Baltimore. Behind the camera in the corner is Sena, who is relaxing after a long workout. Tyler himself seems a little exhausted but is chilling with a bag of chips and a Capri Sun.

"Jesus Christ man. Does Scott Oasis still want us to talk? Like how much shit can you say about twenty people give or take. It's like you're being asked to dissect the most basic form of human communication and expand it while maintaining its substance. There's only so much meaning and value that can be shared amongst people that after a while it all starts to meld together. Honestly? It’s all diluted. The TL;DR of it all is that each of us wants the OWA World Championship. We can come up with all kinds of reasons why we should be the champ, but the reality is that we’re selfish. Sure some of you might be a better person than others, but at heart, we’re all competitive creatures who crave the validation of our combat expertise. Bro, I know I’m starting to sound a little Matsuda-ish here, but Cloudy was onto something after our last meditation together. She told me that if you want to find humanity in its most primitive and ugly, just look backstage at any top-level wrestling promotion. Some of the most vile people exist in locker rooms across the globe. You have megalomaniacs like Stark who think a win over Jason Long aka the Boy Who Flopped is going to get him somewhere. And despite what Twitter said about my last live stream, I was very much aware that “Maverick” is alive and well, though the way he’s ghosting us you’d think he was running from some obsessed girlfriend. Then again he could’ve spent all his ammo in one sitting like our resident War Doctor who you can tell is just a little too eager toi think he’s coming out with that title. Now I respect the “Good Arata”, but starting from first place is going to be a bitch. He’ll have to fight his way through some of the most savage motherfuckers on the face of the planet. And you can trust and believe that these assholes are going to wait for the perfect moment when our hero slips up and they’re going to sink their teeth into him and make him pay for every mistake he makes. As the clock ticks, our heroic War Doctor will slowly get weaker and weaker until he falls to his knees, ripe for the pickings. And honestly Arata? I’m going to be right there to eliminate you at the end. I truly believe that you’re going to make it to the end, but you won’t be the one who wins this. I’m walking home with that belt, I don’t care how many members Frontline has in their back pocket. They can focus on saving the world while I focus on being a world champion. Like I said, they had their turn, now it’s time for me to seize the moment.”

Tyler stretches his legs and places his feet on the footrest.

“It’s interesting how so many of these personalities but up a FRONT at the head of the LINE. Even our heroes crave the vanity of acknowledgment. That’s why so many of our heroes bullshit themselves long enough to turn into villains. Remember kids - vanity kills. Just ask Jason. Now I’m not saying that Frontline is completely full of shit. I like the boys, but if you think about how much of the shit that’s happened on Kingdom and the greater OWA Universe is on them, then the fans might give a different reaction when each of their numbers is called. Not to say the fans of OWA are braindead - they pay my bills after all - but there are biases. Then again, wrestling is a high school, I’ve learned this early on. And since it's high school, I’m going to be on my petty shit. Since people assume I’m not going to make it to the final four, fuck it. It’s time to say some really wicked shit, the kind of words that if spoken in one of those “kayfabe” companies you’d say I’m making a heel turn. It’s the kind of thing that puts Mean Girls and Heathers to shame…”

Tyler pauses for a moment as he pops a chip in his mouth.

“You should’ve stayed dead, Jason Long. Like, seriously dude, I kind of wished your soul was still in the underworld or wherever it was because there’s a part of me that feels like you’re a waste of fucking space. I’m gonna be honest fam - I don’t fucking like you. You’re a bitch, your mom’s a hoe, your daddy’s a bitch, and if you have a sister of age, I probably fucked her out of spite. In fact, if you do, then I’M GONNA FUCK HER OUT OF SPITE TO YOU. Nah, nah, Sena! Don’t be looking at me like that over there! This ain’t Mass Effect, I’m not going renegade or anything! I just want to shit on Jason Long for a few minutes! Can I do that!?”

Tyler takes out his phone and calls Emmanuelle.

“Hey, Em! I want to shit on Jason Long for a few! Will like the fans turn on me or whatever? Will young, nubile twenty-somethings and over-the-hill cougars want to not fuck me anymore if I hate on Jason Long for like five minutes? Yes, Cassie is probably going to kick my ass for saying that live, but I got a plan. I’m going to blame all of this on Cloud. Yeah, like half the shit in OWA is her fault anyway, right? I overheard Rebecca Filth saying that to Abholos- yeah Cloud is training me! Nah, she’d be cool with it. She’d sell it like “HA BITCHES! I WAS THE BIG BAD THE ENTIRE TIME!” And then we’d be like “Goddamn it! Sonovabitch!” It’d be fun Em! But first, I gotta hate on Mr. Not-that-Long for a bit, kay? Love ya, bye! Sena, stop rolling your eyes at me!”

Tyler sighed and shakes his head.

“Okay, so like where was I? Oh yeah, how I’m going to take out Jason’s tongue and lick his ass with it! This dude is so obsessed with Michael Bishop that homie has the craziest hard-on for him! Like dude, he’s a family man. It’s not gonna happen. Stop acting like a rejected video vixen crying in the club! He’s like Moriah Mills on Twitter AS WE SPEAK crying over some cheeseburger-eating Zion Williamson! This dude doesn’t love her! He’s knocking up porn stars and eating Whoppers! Hey! Jason! Mikey doesn’t love you anymore, baby! He’s replaced you with that weird French chick or some shit. But here he is, giving his heroic Shakespearean speech, his last stand as a misunderstood misanthrope, the Last Scion of the Spartan Division. You know what? I’ll give you a bone - some of what you said about Frontline just might be true. But, that’s the thing, fam. You’re stuck on Frontline like an ex that can’t let go after being ignored for several weeks. You can’t get the hint nor do you want to. Frontline doesn’t care about you - in fact, they may never have. Let’s just say they’re known to be the type to walk out the door for cigarettes and not return for the next twenty or so years.  I should know…”

Tyler goes quiet for a moment as his face grows serious.

“Fuck. Damn it, Jason, I was having fun with this and now you just fucked up the flow! You didn’t have to do anything, your mere re-existence is just frustrating to deal with at the moment. Let’s move on to Chris Sabertooth, one of the more colorful members of the Kingdom roster. If the brand - nah if OWA had its own Sasuke, this guy would be it. He’s been through so many character arcs that it starts to feel a little unreal, right? Hell, he even laid out his whole life story for us. Shit, and I thought Matsuda-sensei had a complex backstory. But, I guess that’s what OWA lures to the dance huh? A bunch of lost souls looking for the answers to the problems in their own lives. Hell, that’s why I signed the contract. In some ways I’m no different than Chris - save for the demon possession shit. Hell, we even both have hoit Asian love interests. I won’t lie - I look at Chris’ struggles and I see a man whose come a long way in his life. I’ll acknowledge that he hasn’t had the easiest path, but once he got to the top, the adoration train wouldn’t stop choo-chooing. And here he wants a normal life. Chris, sweetie, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but from the moment you entered this world, your hope for a ‘normal’ life was over. The only way things will die down for you is if you…well…died. But you did that, didn’t you? And even in death, you didn’t get the peace you wanted. No disrespect to you and Hana, but the fucked up things in the world will continue to follow you two. You might feel like you’re on the side of angels, and maybe you are, but that soul of yours is still black as fuck.”

Tyler takes a sip from his Capri Sun as he contemplates who he should talk about next.

“Jeff…Jeff…Jeff…”

Tyler goes quiet for a moment as he reflects on the name he keeps repeating.

“Nah. We’re not going to go there. Nah, we’re not. Don’t look at me like that Sena!”

Tyler sighs as he considers another name.

“Moogoose McQueen. There was a time when this guy was on top of the world. He defeated Abholos - kinda - and was the hero that we needed when we needed him. But after a return, a couple of matches, and sightings here and there, what’s left for him? What’s left for Moongoose to do? Is he just gonna go ‘poof’ again like he always does? I mean he had the chance to be like the biggest thing in the industry - in fact, he was! Regardless if it was as the hero or villain, Moongoose McQueen was the man! He was what every crafty kid wanted to be and now he’s..just…nowhere. Like he’s nowhere to be found by anyone or anything anywhere. And honestly? That’s just kind of sad, man. This guy had so much potential to be the best of the best. It reminds me of when I first came here and squandering whatever talent Em said I had. Like I came here for a mission but I’m staying because I found a purpose bigger than the one I initially came here for> like yeah, I was trolling a bit earlier on my bullshit, but I’m actually glad I’ve chosen this path. And my fans don’t have to worry about me going “poof” anytime soon, you feel me?”

Tyler stretched a bit before he considered his next topic.

“Let’s talk about DT and his visions. This is a man who realized he’s not as young as he used to be. He’s surrounded by an ocean of younger and hungrier sharks with even sharper teeth. He and Raivo were sent that message when the Seventh Ward sent them packing and now they want to use that loss to springboard into a world championship. I’ll hand it to FTM - they might be one of the best chances at making it to the end if they stick together ‘till the end, but the spite in my heart will motivate me to do everything in my power to ensure that doesn’t happen. Like, I will fight with every fiber in my actual being to make sure that FTM’s dream stays deferred as fuck! And DT is right - I will be ready to fight him and him specifically. Maybe even more so than Raivo to be honest. And it’s not that I hate DT - well at least not as much as I hate Jason Long - but DT makes me want to bring my best to the table. Maybe it’s because despite the bullshit, despite the rivalry, despite the cheap victories FTM has over the Dojo Bros. there’s something about him - call it confidence, iron will, or ferocity. Call it whatever the fuck you want but when he and I are standing across from each other in the center of that goddamn ring I want to give it my all. I want to deliver the fight of my life. I want to lay it all on the goddamn line. I might never like the former “Mr. Opinion” but he’ll always have my begrudging respect. The same goes for that loud-ass Raivo. God, I just want to punch that bitch in the mouth sometimes. But sometimes when he spits, he’s cooking. I thought why that is and I realized the god-awful truth: he and I aren’t that much different. He and I share a similar energy, it’s just he’s more loud about it than everybody else. It’s kind of annoying, to be honest. But it is what it is and in some ways, it’s what I’m going to have to deal with once we’re in that ring. While DT motivates me to be stronger, Raivo asks me if I have the balls to look in the mirror and see the darkest parts of myself.  Do I have the balls to accept the worst parts of who I am as a man, as a competitor, and use what I have to get the job done? For Raivo, that answer’s easy. BUt what about for me? Am I willing to do anything to become OWA World Champion? Honestly, there’s only one way to find out…”

Tyler sighed to himself and popped another chip in his mouth.

“Now we go from the loud to the fucking delusional. Chad Eccelstone is a man in his own world. He’s that stubborn narcissist who will never see anything anybody else’s way because as long as he lives and breathes he can just sit back and live off his own biases. Now I won’t lie - he must be doing something right because his wife is hot as fuck. She’s so hot that even my own girl says. Yes, Cassie, if you’re watching this, I just called you my girlfriend! How’s that for commitment!? Anywho, yeah Mrs. Eccelstone is bangable as fuck. She’s like a walking Blacked model, know what I mean? Listen female fans I’m sorry if I’m sounding like a male pig but like Jason, I really don’t fucking like Chad. I used to fuck up kids like Chad after school and cuck them on the weekends by stealing their girlfriends. Yes, I wasn’t much of a hero back in the day. I was kind of a delinquent, but when it comes to Chad? I’ll return to those ways and yeah, Cass gave me permission to cuck the fuck out of Chad if need be. He wants to make movies!? He and his wifey will make one he’ll never fucking forget. He, like all the others came rushing into this bullshit with their mouth firing off a hundred miles an hour like diarrhea. To be honest, I never talk this much. My whole fucking gimmick was that I was one of those cute and silent types, and because of this goddamn Clash I’m talking more shit than I ever had before - pun absolutely intended. Fuck Scott Oasis. Yeah, he writes my checks, but still fuck him. Don’t look at me like that Sena, I don’t have to learn Japanese yet, buddy.”

Tyler playfully flips Sena off before continuing.

“Anyways, who else we’re missing since I’m not going to get everyone this time around? I’ll come back to who I missed in the next speech or whatever. Noah Krieger? The diet protagonist of Kingdom? Aka ‘We have Jeff at home?’ Listen, I liked Jeff Y’s speech about dreams and shit. We should all have dreams worth seeking, you know? The OWA World Championship is one of the most prized possessions in the world of combat sports, but it also needs a champion who isn’t just ‘happy to be here’. And that’s not taking anything away from Noah’s accomplishments. He’s done well since OWA - much better than me, to be honest. But that’s the thing - I have nothing to lose in this match, so it’s nothing but up for yours truly. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure I make it to the end. And as much as I love being a sex symbol, I’ll risk that shit if I can establish my own “Fed Legacy” especially at Jeff X and Jeff Y’s expense. Krieger can catch all the hounds he wants in this match, as long as he keeps Myo and gang occupied, it makes my life easier. The Clash is a mind game just as much as it's a physical contest. In fact, both values are pushed to their absolute limits and if either is overloaded, you can pretty much kiss your career goodbye. This upgrade I got? It helps keep my mind stable for when the weird shit goes down. The shit that’s not as straightforward as you expect it to be, but catches you off guard when you least expect it to. You know, like demons and shit. It’s hard to talk about chasing dreams and destiny when the opposition literally controls that shit. Welp, whatever floats your boat Diet Jacob Striker.”

Tyler laughs to himself as he shakes his head.

“I really hate talking this much, man. I should’ve taken Cloud’s invitation on some weird trip she’s going on and guest-star in her upcoming livestream with Cass. But no, I wanted to train with Sena, exploring abilities we have yet to tap into. It’s still going to take some time and this Clash is the perfect way to try out the extent of our newfound talents. To be honest, when I think of weird shit, Arthur Wakefield and the rest of Frontline Jr. aka Catch Hound comes to mind. Or is it CATCH Hound like you have to get in someone’s face and enunciate the fuck out of ‘catch’ like you’re that loud guy at the bar trying to holla at the cutest girl though you don’t have a chance in hell to do so. In that way, it makes sense, because CATCH Hound is that guy. They want you to like them the way Frontline is liked. They want to be accepted and validated like the bigwigs in OWA and honestly? I don’t see it happening. I don’t see any of them holding gold around their waist and I think deep down inside they know it, so therefore they’re focused on winning it all, but they’re missing a key ingredient. They need that ace who can get shit done and is capable of beating the absolute best in this business. And guess what? They don’t have it. No matter how much they hype Puro Gackt he’s not it. So like the Visual Kei movement that inspired him, Myo will be cast off to the side, forever a bridesmaid and certainly not a birde.”

Tyler shrugs and sits back, deep in thought.

“OWA certainly has some interesting characters, huh? You have Wolvesden who are so desperate to hold on to their old glory, that they might as well reside at a promotion that has more style over substance. I think there’s a place like that, that focuses on the hardcore over actually wrestling due to the lack of skill they actually have. Wolvesden will never be what it once was, even Kenny Drake seems hesitant to start it again, even if he’s helping his boys out. It’s like he’s doing it out of obligation more than anything else. Then you have Jacob Striker, aka Proto-Noah. You know what? I like the homie. I ain’t got shit to say about him. Now for Slaughter, Minj, and Maddox? The leftovers of Kingdom? Scott Oasis’ sloppy seconds? Nah fam, I’ll pass unless if any of them say anything that’s worth a response.”

Tyler sighs for a moment and rubs his eye.

“All this talking is making me fucking tired, bro. Like I just want to get in that ring and smash some bros - pause - but in reality my biggest worry is Sena and I being the last two. No matter what fam, you give me your best. If I have to eliminate my partner then I want to leave it all on the table. People have ruined friendships over the OWA World Championship. They’ve destroyed relationships, entire families - wait didn’t fucking Arata KILL Bishop for the fucking belt!? Like bruh, entire wars were fought over this damn title, so it has to be worth something right? Now that I think about it, pro wrestling is more than high school…”

Tyler cracks a grin.

“It’s the fucking Middle Ages.”

 
(In a private home outside of New York City, DT The Ruler was shown, resting in the living room, hands folded in front of him on a table, with his eyes closed in meditation as his face was pointed downward. Next to him was a cup of tea, half-full, and incense was burning in the room)

I had a dream...again.


(DT The Ruler took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the incense and clearing his mind)

In this other dream I experienced while in the midst of preparing my body for the coming Clash contest, I saw my past self. See that past self, Mr. Donovan T. Washington, I abandoned for multiple reasons, but one of the reasons I stepped away was because while playing many of the expensive games that needed to be played to gain and maintain an upper-hand, I soon saw I was not winning. With the finances I scrounged up at that time, it was a waste to attempt to partake in the politics of politics. But even in Professional Wrestling, I wasn’t winning there, either. Not enough, at least, to mean something. I was stagnant, floating around after losing the CWF World Heavyweight Championship and was forced to fight off many of my past adversaries-
 
????: BOO MOTHERFUCKER!


(DT The Ruler opened his eyes near immediately and turned around to see a husky man, arrogantly smiling)

DT The Ruler: What the FUCK MAN?!

????: I bet you thought I’d let you monologue in peace, huh? Nah, man! I’m in this shit, too!

DT The Ruler: Really, you need to go.

“The Beast” Donovan T: WHY?! I’m just a part of you as everyone else is! You think those other two matter more?!

DT The Ruler: Y’all need to equally leave me the fuck alone.

“The Beast” Donovan T: NO! You know NO ONE CAN GET AWAY FROM ME. NO ONE ESCAPES ME! NOT EVEN ME!

DT The Ruler: ...You do realize how stupid that sounds, right?

“The Beast” Donovan T: DOES IT MATTER AT THIS POINT? I don't know if you notice, but you're pretty much talking to yourself.

DT The Ruler: And you should notice I’m not you anymore, and for good reason. Fat, belligerent, unhinged, random. You- well, I- at that time was at my worst, my most depraved and emotional. Getting with random whores. I can’t even remember if I was doing drugs then.

“The Beast” Donovan T: WHO YOU CALLING FAT?! Plus, everyone needs a Ho Phase. You skipped college and been through Hell in this Wrestling Business, bruh. YOU NEEDED TO BECOME ME MORE THAN YOU WANNA ADMIT. You wanna end up frustrated on Table Talks like Ayesha Curry?

DT The Ruler: Good lord. And I don’t think anyone wants to be like her mentally. But I can’t be you, either. With the way you’re screaming and frothing like a rabid Pitbull, you’d probably fit well in OWA.

“The Beast” Donovan T: SO WHAT IF I WOULD?! THEY GOT KILLERS, MONSTERS, GHOSTS, PROBABLY A FEW ZOMBIES, DEATHMATCHES, WARS WITH GODS, WARS WITH DUDES THAT THINK THEY’RE GODS, AND A WHOLE BRAND DEDICATED TO HOS! I WOULD FUCKING LOVE IT THERE!

DT The Ruler: *sighs* Seriously, you need to stop AND you need to disappear.

“The Beast” Donovan T: NO! YOU STOP IT! DAWG, REALLY: STOP IT ALREADY! YOU KNOW DAMN WELL YOU GOTTA GO INTO THIS MATCH LIKE HOW I COME THROUGH, RUNNING TO THE RING, STRAIGHT TO THE POINT, GOING RAWR 6 LIKE A DUNGEON DRAGON! BOOM SHAKA LAKA IN THAT SUMBITCH! PUNCH TO THE FACE OF SOME DUMBASS BITCH. KICK TO THE FUCKING HEAD OF ANOTHER POOR BASTARD. YOU GOTTA GET THAT KILLA INSTINCT GOING AGAIN.

DT The Ruler: *sighs* You can stop now-

“The Beast” Donovan T: HELL NO! HELL MOTHA FUCKING NO! YOU NEED TO TAP INTO THAT BEAST, THAT SAVAGE, THAT UNSTOPPABLE ANIMAL THAT HELPED YOU SURVIVE IN JAIL, THAT MONSTER THAT HELPED YOU SURVIVE THE STREETS, AND FUCK EVERYONE UP! THROW ‘EM OVER THE ROPE TO THE OUTSIDE! THROW ‘EM IN THE CROWD! THROW THEM IN THE OCEAN! THROW THE WHOLE ROSTER IN A DUMPSTER AT ONCE! You need to just make sure no matter what happens in that match, no matter what number you get, no matter who wanna step to you like they matter, YOU WIN at the end!

DT The Ruler: Next thing, you’ll tell me to bring Mika Tan back.

“The Beast” Donovan T: BRING THAT BITCH, TOO! Well, she kinda old now, so get like Rae Lil Black or that Kazumi ho. Maybe hire someone Black this time!

DT The Ruler: I... I appreciate the “suggestion”, but I’ll pass on that idea.


 
 
(DT The Ruler heard another familiar voice and looked around, seeing the whole area turn to darkness. “The Beast” suddenly disappeared, unable to be found, nowhere in sight, and in the few glimmers of light was a shadowy but confident figure)

DT The Ruler: ............................You.

????: Remember me?

(DT The Ruler looked and squinted his eyes, but then let the figure continue on)
 
????: I’m sure you do. Because even though those other parts of you dominate for a short while, when I appeared, it was for the long haul. And for good reason, good sir. I am you more than anyone else you can think of. I am you at your most complete form. I am you at your best. You see a big reason that... “Beast” was forced to be toned down in the Alpha Wrestling League was because in his belligerence, his incoherent exclamations of brutality, under all that rageful rambling, deep down he was not a winner. Just like the other sides of you, he was physically strong, but he was mentally you at your weakest, a true byproduct of a sport and business that chews people up and spits them out like Hollyweird and the Music Industry. To be the Top Tier talent you know you are, to be amongst the other legends of the ring and have your name have the same ring as Omar in The Wire or even like Batman in Gotham City, you knew deep down that living out your career short-tempered like Donald Duck and entering every circumstance like a Bull in a China Shop, destroying everything clumsily like the Tasmanian Devil, was unsustainable. Revealing to everyone your highest level of self was the best thing you ever did. To this day, it’s your most successful self, your most resilient self, and it is indeed the perfect combination of your best traits.

DT The Ruler: That has always been understood. The formula for success has been created a long time ago through many trials, through many struggles, and the knowledge and skill needed I gained prior to even returning to the ring recently.

(The mysterious being pulled out a cigar and lit it, smoking it freely while looking at DT The Ruler)

????: True. The most important thing you gained by becoming your best self was self-awareness. You need it in order to control your circumstances. You need it in order to advantage who you are over other people. By being self-aware of your strengths and weaknesses, you can regularly improve without having to become a radical characteristic. That’s what separates you from all these other people, as you know and regularly display a mental and physical prowess beyond most people’s expectations and are a constant threat in any and every situation. It was like that in the Alpha Wrestling League, a place where you steamrolled everyone in ways they were not ready for. And it’s developing towards that in OWA. Your success so far speaks for itself. Two titles in a year and multiple defenses for both, but both of us know it’s not over. Job isn’t done, but you are aware enough to know that.

DT The Ruler: I am.

????: Then I can continue. (The mysterious man moved closer, still not revealing themselves very much, keeping to the shadows and taking a few noticeable steps) A sign of awareness for this match coming is understanding that you cannot focus on any one individual too much. I know there are people you specifically want to defeat, but you cannot zoom in on them. This contest coming is an over-the-top-rope challenge, much like that Gold Rush contest from AWL, and in that contest: you never put any one man over another. You spend too much energy on one person, you end up overlooking everyone else.

DT The Ruler: I understand that very well.

????: You should. Some of your opponents don’t, even if they front like they do. And that’s a place you can strike. I heard one of those boys, the one named Noah Kreiger, the one you lost your Outlaw Championship to...

DT The Ruler: Yes, him.

????: Yes, him. He doesn’t understand it, and I can tell just by the way he spoke about you. You see, if he’s been paying attention- which I doubt- he’d be aware of a couple of things. First of all, despite winning the Outlaw Championship, he only won by a hair. He barely got the pinfall, and he talked as if he dominated you to the point of unconsciousness or to the point you were forced to submit to a hold he executed. In fact, the circumstances outside of that contest are what made you angriest: the immediate Belt Design change, the quickness they demonstrated in announcing his title win and brushing you to the side, the lack of a rematch. You brought prestige and worth to a championship many forget he even had in his possession after you lost it, and even to this day: I can barely recollect that he is OWA Spartan Champion. Like Arata Asakura with the Outlaw Title now, Mr. Kreiger seems to not have your ability to increase the worth of a championship in his possession. Honest truth, it feels like a running gag throughout much of OWA. People win matches for belts and treat anything that’s not a World Title as a filler arc in their career. You know as a businessman that you have to be able to sell not just yourself but your possessions as the highest in the land, and he like many others does not have that capability. But one other thing he did say recently was even more egregious, wasn’t it?

DT The Ruler: Yes. The boy said if we meet in the ring, he’s going to “put me to rest once and for all”.

????: The nerve of that boy to speak such gibberish. The absolute gall of such a commoner to talk above his weight class in terms of actions. As a man, Mr. Kreiger should know that in life, the only thing you own is your word, and a Man is only as good as his word, and making impossible claims, promises, or threats is a sign of immaturity. And that alone tells us he’s not focused on this match in a way that matters. One second, he talks about the possibility of becoming a double-champion at Clash of the Titans- much like you did back at Game Over- but then believes he’s going to be able to do anything to you after BARELY winning against you. Emphasis on BARELY. That tells me Mr. Kreiger has no self-awareness and is OK at fabrication. I doubt he has the ability to do anything against a man who fought head-on against the other favorites of this very organization without remorse, a man who nearly was killed by a psychotic degenerate in CYKA, a man who stood to a literal demon after being possessed by them in their domain, a man who literally went to Hell and back for their cause and the good of their business associates, a man who survived crashing off a ladder onto a vehicle not long after going to War, and then survived an attack from a damn tiger and threw them back into their cage. And kept fighting against two other degenerates who were on their second attempt to do all but take his life. Ever since you lost that Outlaw Title, you have faced many obstacles and adversaries, most of which are higher than a Noah Kreiger. You have fought for a higher cause that supersedes a rematch against a Noah Kreiger. Him believing he can put anyone- nonetheless you- “to rest” in a Clash match should tell you he is very short-sighted and self-absorbed, because for him to do so: he’ll have to go all out beyond his actual abilities and flat-out kill you, and we both know he can’t. I can tell it still hurts him that you did not show him courtesy he did not earn nor deserve, as he is a rookie who had a handful of matches and no standout qualities going into your confrontation with him. I can tell he still harbors feelings towards your show of apathy in regards to him dedicating your match with him to his dead trainer. And with you going into The Clash, you still don’t have to see him as any greater a threat than any other current or former champion. You continue to treat him like you treat everyone else in the contest: as a mere man. He is nothing more than someone else to eliminate. Special Treatment is for special people, which includes you because last year: you were closer to enduring the whole ordeal after being 9 of 40.

DT The Ruler: I know this all. I am aware of it all.

(The mysterious man then appeared out of the shadows and looked at DT The Ruler)



DT The Ruler: He will be taken care of like every other in the contest. I also am aware of everything at stake in this contest. As much as I’d love for it to be just fighting for the World Title, this match coming is bigger than just that.

????: It is, isn’t it? And that’s a sign of maturity for you: you can see both the forest and the trees. You see, you and I differ in one obvious way: allegiances. Truth be told, I envy you. The “Don’t Trust Anybody” way of living life has limits, but it would be good sometimes to be able to conduct business with multiple people confidently. Back in the day, in AWL, I didn’t follow anyone or their ideas. I didn’t stand by anyone for any reason. It was me against The World. I went my own way and did it alone all the way because I was constantly burned by others prior to that. But this time, in OWA, you aligned yourself with that boy, Raivo. You aligned yourself with that Giovante Reese man. You aligned yourself with the sister of your frenemy. You aligned yourself with that monster, Maggall. Some may see that co-op as a sign of weakness, but I understand it for obvious reason, namely Raivo. He’s one of the only people who understands what this match means for us. Not just for you and him, but also what it means for FTM going forward. OWA wants to see you both stagnate and fall off the map. They want to see you “stop ruining OWA”. And that’s when you say “fuck their opinion”. The place is already rotten. Many saviors and hopefuls have stepped into OWA, and most have fallen, whether it was due to self-importance or due to the excess their body and mind could not handle. They may be highlighting the Frontline guys, they may be even highlighting Jason Long and Stark, but this is your chance, the one thing you and Raivo always wanted. What makes anyone believe they can contend?

DT The Ruler: Stupidity.

????: Exactly. I’ll leave you with this, good sir: you go into that contest at Clash of the Titans against the rest of Kingdom, against the very men who do not belong in your ring, and you go in there ready to break every single one of them. Take pity on not a single one of those men, as they do not deserve the same courtesy. That OWA World Championship is the highest prize in the land, a prize that some are willing to kill for, a prize one Michael Bishop came back from the dead for, a prize that you and Raivo only had one chance to gain while some of these other guys have had multiple. Seize the day, I say. Become The Man The World Revolves Around again...
 
(DT The Ruler was then shown in the living room again, eyes opened, but everything unchanged from before. The lights were normal. The tea was still next to him. The incense still burned. And he was alone there with his thoughts)


 
I know what needs to be done.


But I needed to refresh myself as to who I am.


(DT The Ruler stood up in the living room and walked around, stopping at a square mirror hanging on the wall. He then eyed it with a somber expression, seeing his past selves one at a time, and continued talking)


Sometimes you just need to spend some time alone to realize that again. Just be away with your thoughts and remember why you’re still around. And I took the chance for a short period of time. With this coming Clash contest, with the OWA World Championship on the line, I understand what is at stake. Mr. Raivo also understands what is at stake. Not just the title but control of Kingdom is at stake for both of us. Direction going into Final Destination is at stake. And For The Minorities’ battle to stand atop of OWA is at stake. Myself and Mr. Raivo especially have been fighting for months, have looked violence and death in the eyes without blinking for months, have consistently stood to any and everyone in our way for months for this type of scenario to happen again. And neither of us give a damn who is standing in our way. No one gets preferential treatment. No one gets treated like they fought harder than us, like they put themselves and their reputations on the line on a nightly basis like we have. No one is going to be treated like they are a greater threat than any other. Not even the winner from last year in Mr. Michael Bishop or the current champion is getting treated like he is a special target. Everyone is fair game to get their asses sent sailing to the outside.


And I want to emphasize that especially considering one Mr. Scott Oasis being hellbent on seeing Mr. Stark leave Clash of the Titans with nothing to his name. There is reason I have spoken very little about Mr. Stark going into this contest, why I have not said much about him, and that’s because I don’t care about stopping him exclusively. OWA has brought much disdain to itself. The hatred that men like even Mr. Chad Ecclestone have for OWA is not something for me to change. Myself and Mr. Raivo are not going into The Clash to make Kingdom and any other part of OWA feel more welcoming and comfortable, especially when it did nothing to treat us as such. Pain and misery and violence is buried in OWA’s foundation to the core, and all we’ve done is ensure we survive the perils that have taken many others down. But in the case of Mr. Stark not leaving with the championship: the only thing that needed to happen to guarantee he won’t be champion after the dust settles... is includes For The Minorities in the contest. You see, he already out-slithered a snake in Mr. Jason Long for the belt in the first place. He even managed to make it out of #OWA5 unscathed against some big names of OWA’s past. But one thing Mr. Stark mentioned to them is how he should’ve never been facing them in the first place. He should be facing others on the roster worthy of the opportunity and his time, and two of those names were “Raivo” ... and mine.


I should consider it an honor to be shouted out, right? No; I know better. I’m pretty keen on these mental games people play through words. Mr. Stark is no different than any other flip-flopper on the roster. I still remember what he said to me before facing him in my return match, saying that I no longer was that fabled, mythological Ruler of Men everyone grew to fear in AWL. Before I even returned, he wrongly assumed he knew me. After he got a lucky break and a pin, that man walked around OWA talking as if he slayed that same monster that mystified him with its aura many years ago, that same monstrosity that horrified him with his abilities in the ring and molded his perspective of what a Professional Wrestler could become. The duality of a man rears its head through not just him but many others, but despite that: my goal going into Clash of the Titans is not to impress him. My goal is not even to show him that the monster he imagined can come out at any time, as that being still dwells within me. No.


My goal is to win.


I could push to hold multiple titles at once. I could challenge every single individual one-on-one in OWA and make all efforts to defeat them. And even if I do those things, there will be someone who idiotically acts as if my accomplishments mean little. If myself and Mr. Raivo dominating all comers in the Tag Team Division gets talked down about, if my dominance as Outlaw Champion gets downplayed, I’m sure there will be That Guy always waiting to jump out the window and scream against myself, Mr. Raivo, or any other member of For The Minorities. But once again, my main goal going into Clash of the Titans isn’t to shut them up.


My goal is to win.


All I fight for is moments like this, battles similar to this, situation where someone gets the chance to overcome all other hindrances and transcend their current situation. Looking at the roster overall and hearing everyone else place their bid verbally as the man to bet on in this coming contest, speak as if they are the hungriest of everyone. And that’s all fine and dandy; they can express themselves however they want. But few have fought like I have. Few have fought like Mr. Raivo has. And I’d be damned if we go into this contest just to watch someone else take what we are both good enough to do. And once again...


My goal is to win.


I know who I am and what I represent in that ring as a veteran that puts his all where needed, that calculates his moves and thinks ahead. But I understand that this match is not predictable. It’s not just ‘the strongest wins” because that honestly makes it easier. All senses have to be firing off to avoid elimination. And that’s where I shine as The Ruler. I dreamed again and saw I cannot 100% be that Beast or that Ruler of the past. I am be much, much greater than that now, and they all will see who their Master and Ruler is come Clash of the Titans.