The Omega Heavyweight Championship.

The single most important thing to me in my life right now.

The beacon of hope for a greater tomorrow for the entire industry of professiona lwrestling…

And it rests around the waist of the most fit, most capable, and most deserving individual who could possibly claim the right to it!

My name...for those of you who have been living underneath a rock of the last three years...is Nasir Moore, better known now as CM Nas. Very peculiar name I must admit. What does the CM mean exactly? I’ve gotten that very question from friend, foe, and fan alike. And I promise I’m not just spouting cryptic bullshit, there’s a purpose behind this message. Well to further elaborate on that, there is a purpose to every word the spews from my lips and every action committed by me in the first place. But to touch on it real quick, because more so than anyone else I want my opponent to understand this. CM stands for Conquering Messiah. Okay that sounds extremely badass, but why? Is it just to make yourself look cool Nas? Is it for intimidation factor? Why Conquering Messiah? Well allow me to elaborate my good sir or madam. Conquering comes from the fact that the championship that this here Omega Heavyweight Championship evolved from was held by a man by the name of Nico Borg, some of you may recall Nico. He was a dominant champion who reigned like no other during his time. He fought off literally EVERY possible contender with all of his might and looked like an unstoppable force the entire time...that is. Until he crossed paths with your’s truly. You see he referred to himself as Invictus. For those of you who have no fucking clue what that means, I do not blame you, but that’s why I am here to educate you. Invictus means Unconquered. The man referred to himself as The Unconquerable World Champion...but his name and claim were both proven false when I got done with him. That is when I truly cemented my place as The Conqueror among all other Conquerors. As for Messiah? Well as the Best Wrestler Alive and the man who is currently and will continue to usher in a new era and preach the gospel of a better tomorrow for this industry, I was for the longest time at least a prophet or sage. But eventually...I grew into far more than that. I stand atop the world now and look down at all the others who share it with me as if I were a god. Or well...I have no clue why I am saying as if, because everyone should recognize my status and power! I have already proven my dominance over so many others in the Omega Wrestling Alliance right now. From Jacob Senn, to Scott Oasis, to Carlos Rosso, to the recently returned Aren Mstislav, and so many others! Men who are legendary to this business. Men with Hall of Fame legacies and careers. Men who have made impacts on this world we inhabit for all of time to feel the effects of. I’ve stood over them as their superior in combat! And now I am doing exactly what I claimed I would do as Omega Heavyweight Champion. I am prepping the next generation of top tier talent and giving them the opportunities to prove themselves against The Man of the Hour, something I did not receive on my way up. I always told myself when I would obtain this spot, because let’s face it….it was inevitable. I always said I would be better to the young blossoming talent than the generation before was to guys like me. And that’s not necessarily a knock to those who came before me or their style, but it’s just that CM Nas is a man who marches to a different beat. I operate under my own style. Although so far it seems people’s personal grudges and animostities have gotten in the way of me being able to achieve my true goals with this here Omega Heavyweight Title. That of course coming mainly from two of my former challengers, Jacob Senn and Stark. Thankfully they settle their own issues come SSW’s domination...by the way that’s the same place where you’ll see Saul Omen and myself claim the SSW Freebird Tag Team Championships! Just sayin, but back to the immediate conversation. I am the most influential man on our business today! Dare I say the only two men with as much influence as me right now are Scott Oasis and Jacob Senn. And as much of a personal biased I have for both of those men, I must admit that is good company to be in under these circumstances. Our big show of the year, Final Destination was my brainchild. The event we’re heading into right now...Boiling Point! Yet another to come from good ol’ Nas! Omega Wrestling Tomorrow. Our developmental territory. The original idea for that, the base concept including the name. Those also spawned in MY HEAD! And of course the brand of Olympus. Where you can see modern day titans like Christopher Sabertooth, Heart and Seoul, The Unchained, Gareth Cason, and of course...Miltiades. It came from guess who? If ya guessed CM Nas...COME ON DOWN AND CLAIM THE GRAND PRIZE! 

I say all of this for one very particular reason. It is so that the entire world realizes the sheer scope of my power and clout. 

But one man in particular more than any other right now...I already said his name. 

Miltiades...

Now while I do appreciate the kind words about my accomplishments and abilities...many things you said about me Mr. Fenix. And I get it, you’re his little hype man. Trust me if anyone understands it is I. I mean I DO have Rick after all. But there’s one distinct difference here. Just like me, Rick has ALWAYS told nothing but the absolute truth about me, especially in comparison to anyone who opposes me. Meanwhile the hype you’ve put into Miltiades? Blasphemous. Absolutely absurd. How dare you lowly scum speak to a true living, breathing deity in such a manner? Yes precisely, I am damn excited to face Miltiades. The man is an absolute prodigy. And I am glad you brought up Aren. Whenever I see Miltiades compete inside of the ring, he reminds me so SO much of my former rival and current best friend. From the way he speaks, to his body language, his movements inside the ring, and everything in between. If I didn’t know any better to be honest, dare I say Miltiades is the second coming of Aren himself...or if we wanna get even crazier, the psycho child of Aren and Aria who’s come back from the future to warn us all that cyborgs destroy the future after I die from an incurable virus or somethin… Or maybe my imagination is just WAY too overactive. At the end of the day tho, it does not really matter. Let’s just continue with what Mr. Fenix had to say to The Champ. Now you are damn right, many times Aren did have my number. HUH?! He was a prodigy in this business. He took to the ring like a duck takes to water, or an eagle takes to the air. You get the point. Meanwhile CM Nas? I had to get on and stay on that goddamn grind for years and YEARS to match and eventually surpass my brother. But not just him, so many others that I named who arguably were even greater than Aren, such as Senn, Nico, and Oasis. I’ve faced and beaten them all through sheer undeniably willpower! Well, it clearly took a whole lot more than a Never Back Down attitude...but you get my point. I had to work SO MUCH HARDER to play catch up than many of these other men did. This whole thing did NOT come naturally to me like all of them. But let’s get to more lies and slander. I apparently have not made any growth, if any apparently to YOU it is extremely insignificant since I beat Aren, which was an entire Year ago for those of you not keeping track of the dates and times. You DO realize I beat all those guys I named and became Heavyweight Champion of the World within THAT year right? Now do I consider Aren the catalyst victory I needed to set up all of those other things? Hell yeah, but for someone like YOU who I’ve never even heard of until now to utter such garbage about MY career is an insult to EVERYTHING I have worked for as a competitor. Who the hell are YOU?! Where do YOU get off telling ME I have not continued to progress as a wrestler? I carry too much weight and responsibility on my shoulders to slow down. I am the literal representation of the current regime. I RUN THIS! Now I said I would absolutely give everyone who’s capable an opportunity to knock me off. But I was literal when I said…”an opportunity”. I’m not handing SHIT over! Whoever takes this belt off of me will have to rip it out of my cold, dead hands! Now I know very well many MANY men would surely desire that, which would motivate them even further, but that is JUST THE WAY I LIKE IT! Now I do NOT consider myself the same man I was even when I first won my original World Championship. I have grown significantly even since leaving my former place of work. Next. You think I am impressed by Miltiades slapping around some recruits and junior competitors? HUH?! What in the blue hell does that mean to me?! I am a veteran of the business. The only four people I can think of who have been doing this longer than me that are around right now are Carlos, Oasis, and Senn. AND I’VE BEATEN THEM! WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO ME IF MILTIADES LIKES TO MAKE ROOKIES WHO PROBABLY DON’T EVEN HAVE PROPER TRAINING LOOK LIKE CHILD’S PLAY?! OF COURSE THEY ARE! THEY’RE BASICALLY CHILDREN OF THE INDUSTRY IN THE FIRST PLACE! Meanwhile I? I’m a whole different league from everything Miltiades has ever dealt with in his short run on top. Including people like Andre Virgo, Gareth Cason, and Tarah Nova. So you can prey on easy targets. SO IMPRESSIVE! Come do it to me. I would LOVE to see him try. I’ll show him what a true sadistic savage of the ring is! I’ve been in this industry longer than Miltiades has had an adult life! I need to be a nuisance to Miltiades?! HUH?! IMAGINE ME! DESIRING TO BE A NUISANCE TO AN ANNOYANCE IN IT OF ITSELF! THAT’S JUST DOWN RIGHT SAD! Miltiades is the fly who continues to buzz in my face, refusing to be swat away. Now I know I mentioned a Never Say Die attitude. But this is far different. The difference between Miltiades to me, compared to me and my past foes is...there is absolutely ZERO chance of victory for him! And you know what. I’m flattered to know Miltiades wants to beat me for the vindication of being able to proclaim it proudly to the rest of the world. That’s how I know I have truly reached legendary status. When other men want to knock me off, just for the sake of proving they could do it. Miltiades however, as adorable as that is...it is a pipe dream. Miltiades is just a sad little clout chaser who wants to fill these shoes oh so badly, but he fails to accept that he wears a size seven meanwhile I’m rocking a fourteen on an off day! So in the end Miltiades. I expect you to bring nothing less than your absolute all. That is what I desire more than anything else in the world! IT IS TIME TO GIVE THE OMEGA HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP THE CLASSIC BOUT TO ITS NAME THAT I KNOW ONLY YOU AND I COULD DELIVER!...but don’t get your hopes up too high, alrighty kid. I mean everyone realizes there’s know true chance in hell you’ll dethrone me. The only thing you’ll receive in the end is the same as men like Brian Daniels, Stark, and so many others who have crossed me one time too many…

HAKAI!

The Ballad of Misery (Part 1)

Date: 24/7/2018
Time: 11:20 am
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

It's been a week since Scotty enacted the ceremonial 'burial'. The plunge into the grave that was designed with the intention of expunging 'Zion' from his mind - to reclaim his very spirit from the depths of the mire. Yet he hasn't entirely been 'at peace' with the decision. Yes, he knows it is what *needed* to occur - it is, what had to be done but deep down, he feels the void creeping inside of him. 

Almost a confession deep inside of him, that no matter how much he wishes to deny it. No matter how much he wishes to evade the truth that stands before him - Zion was *right*. The two of them *are* intertwined. Two sides of the same coin' if we are to borrow from an old adage in order to explain their relationship. 

It is this, that has kept Scott awake at night, staring at his ceiling and allowing his own thoughts to consume his mind. Allowing the silence to penetrate his body; cause the seeds of agony to embed themselves within his core. Causing him to turn to Bianca and use her as the sounding board she has always been, as well as his 'saviour'. 

As the reassurance that the plunge, was indeed the passage that needed to be. Just like it is right now, as he lays atop his sandy coloured beanbag (a new acquisition to his apartment) within the confines of his living room, simply glancing up at the ceiling; feeling the light surrounding him burn deeply into his irises. Feeling his mind, begin to question itself - which as we stated before, as been occurring ad infinitum since he enacted the plunge. 

Yet this time - it is actually *not* Zion that is causing the questioning. Well, not the main factor behind it anyway. But rather, it is Amelia. Or well, the fact that Jane had told him last night that she had suffered 'complications' from her release from the hospital; trapped herself within her room. Isolated and not speaking as much as a word to *anyone*. 

"It should have been *me*," he quietly whispers to himself, a soft exhale flowing into the air. 

"It should have been *me* who was broken that night -" his words softly echoing within their chambers, he knew this was bound to occur. He *knew* that as much as he wished that it would all be seamless. That Amelia would be back to the bubbly, joyous personality she once bore - it was at conflict with reality to truly believe that would occur. 

At least, that it would occur immediately. After all, he learned that from Chili; her struggles and stints within the confines of the asylum back home. An asylum, which to her -  has become the *only* constant within her life. Well, within the span of the last three years that is. 

Sure, she's had time frames where she *was* re-integrated into society, but those had unfortunately been fleeting; soon enough, her mental forte would crumble - she'd find herself with no choice but to accept the reality that it ultimately wouldn't matter how much she tried. No matter how much she attempted to convince herself otherwise - she was 'broken'. 

She had been brought to her knees; any attempt to revive the flickering flame within her heart, would ultimately be futile. That hurt Scotty more than anything. Knowing that even if he sacrificed *himself*, and believe us, he has tried - he would never be able to truly fulfil the promise he made to Joely. He'd never be able to *save* Chili from the grasp of the lurking shadows.
---

Here we are, again.

All passages; every route that the three of us have taken for the last month, have led to this match. From Caspian trying to impose his will upon the crown, to Monolith attempting to reassure himself that what happened last time, was a prelude to what is to come - at Boiling point, it all comes to a head. 

Even my own mantra; my own creed of building a design, a fortress has been all for this moment. And you know what, I'm at peace if this signals the end. If this is where the road becomes its dead end'. For I know that it is inevitable - that anything that *must* happen, is all apart of the grander scheme. That the shadows that have been my comfort, will ultimately call for my end. 

That doesn't mean that time is now, though. For you see, just because I am *at peace* with the chimes of the bell; the overcast skies that lay ahead, that doesn't mean I will merely lay down and die. That I shall simply be a name. The ceremonial champion, that was only in the bout to provide the 'crowning moment' for the ultimate victor. I've *never* been that way - never will be either. For surrendering, is the worst thing a man can do. 
---

Exhaling, Scotty uses his right hand to reach into the pocket of his honey/slate shorts, a gentle smile peering out of the left hand corner of his mouth. Pulling his hand out, he extracts a sky blue 'Bic' branded lighter, placing his finger upon the top; pulling it back - watching as the flame springs to life. A flame, that to him, signifies the fight; the catacomb of emotions that flow throughout his mind each and every waking moment. 

Watching it as it dances, he feels his body slightly commence tensing as he questions "If the flame dies, then why are we in this moment?" before raising his left hand; stroking the stubble under his chin gently. Almost as if he is deep in thought, yet spaced out at the same time. It's just like he was trapped within one of his own daydreams. 

"The only constant within the realm, is the sorrow that we reap for ourselves," He utters under his breath, feeling the flame's heat begin to emit itself throughout his body. Warming his skin, as the stale; bitterly cold air continues to cycle throughout the room. Blinking, he inhales gently, allowing his lungs to contract, then expand as he exhales, before he brings his left arm down from his chin; across his body to reach into his pocket. This time, extracting a cigarette.
---

The Spartan's belt has *never* been my end game. I said as such the moment I entered the Ultimate X match. I told them, that to me - it was merely a piece of the puzzle. A construct, that opened up a passage in order to bring about the purity the business craves. To invoke the rite of the dying flame that lurked within. 

That *hasn't* changed - to me, this belt doesn't indicate the be all; end all that it does for Monolith or for Caspian. Yet as I said before, I'm not planning on just giving it up now. On enabling them, to hold the key to their very existence within their hands. To feel the one thing that holds them together, be the platter that lays before them. 

For if I were to do that, I would be going against my own fibre. My own morality. You see, it's more fun to watch you squirm - to watch you attempt to convince yourself that this time, it shall be different. That last time, there were external factors that contributed to your demise, yet fail to realise the truth. Fail to realise, that your words are merely the byproduct of the 'wool' before your eyes. 

I want you both to tell me something: What makes you believe; what is the basis of your hope that this time, will bring about a different refrain? That the outcome, will be what changes?
---

Feeling the taste of the nicotine linger within his mouth, he allows the neurons within his brain to slowly but surely relax. Attempt to free themselves from the binding thoughts. From the seeds of anxiety, that had began to fester inside of him. 

Seeds birthed from the lingering fear he holds about his decision. About enacting the burial; allowing the dirt and the aura to slowly encapsulate Zion within its chamber. About whether Steph was truly the right person to fulfil the deed. Yes, he trust her more than anyone else to do the deed - to be the one who enacted the plunge. As she doesn't hold the emotional attachment to him that someone like a Bianca or Holly does. 

She doesn't feel that 'connection' to Zion that they do; she understands the gravity of just *why* it had to be. Yet, was that *truly* enough? Was that, all that needed to be orchestrated, in order to end the turmoil forever? That *is* the question that remains lingering within his mind, as a soft exhale floats from his lips into the air. 

"Sometimes, it is what we cannot evade, that ends up being our guide," his words soft; almost icy cold in nature, they are a reminder. A message to him, about the mantra he held. About the message, he had etched deep within his own prison - to encapsulate every fibre he swore to hold. 

Placing the palms of his hand atop the beanbag, he uses them as leverage to rise to a vertical base, before slightly scouring the room. Ensuring that he hadn't forgotten anything before he made his venture to the airport in eight hours. Headed for Hawaii; more specifically, preparing to 'run the circuit' prior to Boiling Point. 

After all, his meticulous nature requires him to double and even triple check every singular 'bullet point' within the itinerary. Within the message pad of his mind. Softly curling the right side of his mouth into his famed half-smirk, he tilts his head upwards and downwards slightly, as if to say to himself 'yes, everything is accounted for', as his footsteps penetrate the air.
---

Think about it for a second. Remember the *last* time you stood before me, reciting the proclamations of how you had your plan devised for victory. Of how when the smoke cleared, you *would* be the one who stood tall.

Yes, Monolith, I know about you leaving me 'mangled' - I was in the hospital for two days afterwards. I can admit that, but what you *refuse* to comprehend is that I - Live - For - Pain. I thrive off agony; It liberates me. Nor does 'leaving your foes body mangled and "broken".' count for anything in the final design, if - just as it was - you were the fallen. 

When you were the one who failed to control the scenario that ultimately presented itself. You see, you talked about how *my* methodology isn't the only way; the only passage of success. Which is true, and I know that. 

Yet what you either cannot or refuse to comprehend is that: my way of thinking is *why* I stand before you today, the metaphorical 'crown' upon my head. It is simply about ensuring that *all* elements within the ring are under my control. 

That nothing happens, unless I call for it to occur - that every incision into the core, has its purpose in the portrait that shall be painted. Remember as I told you; those in attendance in Osaka: nothing comes to its conclusion, unless I command for the end to be told. Nobody else shall dictate the story; the passage that the realm shall wander down, aside from *me*.  

Whilst you talk about how Caspian's men 'screwed you over'; how if it weren't for them, you would be standing with the belt right now - an assertion that is based upon a foundation made of glass. 

"But didn't they 'screw' you against Kai also?" You can claim they did, but the difference is: I admitted last week, I was the one to blame for the outcome's finality. That the sole reason they were influences, was because I enabled it to be so. That is the crux of 'my way', Monolith: 

Ensuring that *all* elements within the ring are controlled; accounted for when the time comes for them to play out. Making sure that nothing is left up to hypothetical 'what if' scenarios. Calculating *every* possible course; route that one could take within the matches scope. 
---

Glancing left then right, he peers out throughout his hallway, trying to see if either Bianca or Alicia (who is going to be partaking in a 'house-sitting' role whilst Scott/Bianca are in Hawaii, as well as taking charge of any Adams Enterprise related ventures for the duration) have returned from their ventures. 

In Bianca's case, that is doing some final shopping for the trip, namely making sure that the shelves are stocked and that she acquires some final articles of clothing for herself. In Alicia's case, she was at a meeting with the Pennsylvania branch of Child Protective Services. 

A discussion pertaining to the charity event that Scott plans on hosting with them in Pittsburgh on the ninth of October. More so ensuring that just like everything Scott invests himself in, each step is planned out; *all* factors are taken into consideration. 

Exhaling softly, his smile widens as he notes that neither have returned yet - though he knew that Alicia wasn't likely to be home until 1 PM and well, he also knows how caught up; lost in the moment Bianca can be when shopping. 

Whether or not she's on her own, or he's there with her. Pivoting his body left, he slowly commences his walk down the hallway, his eyes glancing not just at the freshly re-painted walls (well, tints of aqua have been added to them), as well as the picture frames that adorn them. 

Pictures, that carve out the story of his life. His adaptation; 'evolution' if you wish to call it that from wide-eyed, naive *child* - fueled by the joys and experiences that life provided. That America offered. To gritty; rugged veteran, who understands that not everything is as black and white as it is portrayed. 

That the 'shade of grey' is what truly fuels the realm on which we have been cast. A lesson, that took him nearly twenty-five years to learn. A lesson, that was embedded into him when Joely was stripped away. A soft tear manifesting itself within the right hand corner of his right eye, he allows himself an elongated stare at one of the many pictures of Joely he keeps upon the wall. 

His mind, flashing back to the moment it was taken - the moment she laid atop an oak bench within the confines of 'Amundsen Park' in Chicago back in October of 2011. He even remembers the words she told him that day, as if they had been recited just yesterday:

I love the moments when we're here, alone. When I can just feel the spirit of what shall become. The light, you impart upon me.

A light, that was forcibly extinguished not a year later, merely three and a quarter miles from that very park. Feeling a knot form directly in the centre of his chest, Scott inhales deeply, before tilting his eyes slightly to the right, trying not to allow the memories to engulf him. Trying to prevent the anguish, from consuming him once more. The fact that it was *him* that enabled the end. 

Just as he said when he visited her grave those months ago. When he returned, the dolphin pendant he had clung to - hoping that it would be the beginning of his closure. Closure, that feels further and further away each time he stares into her soft eyes. Each time, he feels her radiant smile beam through the glass.
---

You see, you brought up Caspian's goons and his 'strategy' of using them to do his dirty work. His attempts, to use them as pawns within his own little game of chess - not realising that I already have the 'equalisers' set in stone. 

I already, have the counter measures in place, yet have not seen the need for them to come forth. It's just as I told him the first time he stood opposite me: He's afraid. He's scared of what shall become, when the masquerade of his money is stripped away from him. When his valuation, hits rock bottom.  And he knows that as well. 

That's why you have been aggrieved, isn't it Caspian? That's why you want to play your hand. You know deep down, I was *right*. That I am everything you cannot stand; everything, that reveals the fear you wish to hide. Everything that exposes the spoon you hold; brings it to the light. It strikes at your core to know that somebody who has as much money as you. 

Somebody who could potentially threaten your empire, doesn't feel the need to use it as a crutch. As a means to attempt to strike himself within a realm where he cannot hold water. Don't worry though - that crutch will remain with you. I have no need to take that away. 

Oh no, I *want* you to keep the money; to use it as your shoulder to cry on, for when I'm through with you: It'll be your only comfort for the next seven months. I don't normally do this, but I'm making a special exception for you - I'm going to break your jaw. I'm going to silence you for seven months once Sunday is said and done. 

So for you, the best bet is that *Monolith* gets his hands on you first. Maybe he will make it quick; eliminate the agony I desire. It'll be fun to watch you wish for your demise, only to be left upon a thread. Left, to wallow within the bed that you designed. That you created. 
---

Continuing his walk through the hallway, he allows himself a disjointed; almost demonic smile, as he feels a soft 'tingling' sensation within his brain. One, that although would normally be an indication that 'Zion' was still residing inside of him, is this time, more a true reflection of him. More of an indication, of the darker side that he just couldn't remove. 

The side, that he had attributed to 'Zion' - though all along, had been his design. Inhaling, he allows the smile to linger, before he pivots right, turning into his bedroom; glancing around as he remains within the door frame. A cursory check to make sure that the khaki suitcase he had packed was prepared; ready for the trip. 

"Soon, they will realise that their fate, had been in my hands all along," He states aloud, the inflection in his voice cold; demonic in nature. Accompanied by an equally chilling laughter. 

The words referring to both Monolith and Caspian, Scott takes a step back, feeling imagery of both men laying on the mat, broken and with their mortality brought into the shadows from whence they came, whilst he stands above them - smiling begin to manifest within his mind as he pivots back around, resumes his walk. 
---

That's the difference between us - both of you have cast your stones; played your cards. I haven't. Not even begun to show my hand at all. You see, it's *never* been about casting the first stone. Firing the first salvo within this war. 

It's about who fires the *last* shot. Who casts the *last* stone - who ultimately acquires the final laughter. And sadly for the two of you - come Sunday, you will realise the answer to all three of those points, will be *me*.

Terminus is upon you ---

And when it arrives, it shall be what brings about your demise.

I'll see you Sunday.

Backstage, Olympus July 22^nd:
 
“Yes… Yes, I do remember what time to leave. I will pick you up. Yes, I will buy the Wine your father likes. Oh, come on Emma, I know it’s been a while but that doesn’t mean I will forget about all of this. You just be ready okay? Bye” Said Chris as he takes a huge sigh of relief. “Women, am I right?” said Chris hysterically with a huge grin on his face, looking towards an OWA Official who begins to nod in approval but Chris puts on a serious look, intimidating the man. Chris walks away with a smirk on his face before heading to the ring to know about Stark’s status for Boiling Point.
 
“From the looks of it, I think the match might actually become a triple threat. Not that I was threatened even in the smallest sense by Stark, of all people. But lesser the number of people in that ring with me, the better chance for me to win and for them to not fuck up and get pinned like a loser. That’s something Bull Connors and Tarah Nova are fully aware of but I cannot relate. I have never been there and I don’t plan to join the loser squad anytime soon. That’s my queue! I am ready for the good news.” Said Chris before he storms away from the camera.
 
A little while later…
 
Christopher walks into his locker room agitated by the announcement made. He was not expecting somebody to replace Stark in the fatal four way. But now, a new challenger approaches in the form of David X Fierce. Representing The Unchained, the group has been dominating their opposition so far but Chris isn’t worried about David X Fierce. He is more agitated by the decision being made by the authorities backstage. An interviewer knocks on Chris’s door as he is walking around his locker room thinking about the strategies.
 
“Excuse me, Christopher. May I have a word with you regarding the announcement just made about David X Fierce replacing Star…” Said the interviewer who was abruptly interrupted by Chris.
 
“I want you to shut up. You want an interview huh? You think this is the right time to approach me for a word after the horrendous decisions been made by the authorities here? Who green lit the idea anyway? Bob Taylor? Roy Rivers? Or is Vernon Tressler doing double duty to come over to Olympus and FUCK ME OVER AGAIN?!” Screamed Chris as the interviewer is taken aback.
 
“Was the Network sending OWA Officials letters that they need to have a diverse set of people involved in this match? I mean, The Unchained are some tough SOBs and that one Natasha bitch, but did we really need a replacement for Stark? Stark is an old man hanging by the threads anyway… Why did they put him in the match at the first place? That man looks like he can collapse at any moment. How did they not think it was a bad idea? But now that the old man can’t go, they had to replace him with David X Fierce?! David X Fierce… Who the fuck do you think you are to just walk in with your henchmen and ask for a title shot. The Unchained may be tough, but I beat your boy Nathan Quinn’s ass. Heck, even Lydia Truth hit me up afterwards when she realised that she’s stuck with a pansy ass bitch. I swear Roy came up with this decision to avoid being called a racist. I mean, I don’t see any reason why a guy like David X Fierce, who hasn’t proved anything here in the OWA, be added to a match with title implications. And here I thought that Olympus would be different. But… At this point, I have gotten used to this. All I do is Multi-Man matches for this company at this point and I am tired of it. I don’t know if these people will stop putting me in such situations until I talk matters into my own hands. The only way I can not be associated with losers like the ones I am facing at Boiling Point is if I beat these idiots and then go on to beat Gareth Cason for OWA Television Championship. I already told Gareth Cason to not waste his time thinking about what he would do if he faced either of the other three of my opponents after Boiling Point. There is no point in concentrating into something that will definitely not happen. And when I do win, I will take that title away from Gareth and hold it for as long as I please because nobody in this locker room can defeat me. Yeah, it’s a stupid business decision changing your matches one week before your major event and adding untalented guys like David X Fierce whose main agenda is to stand for the people of his color because they have had enough…. Now that isn’t a bad cause but sadly for him, after Boiling Point he wouldn’t be left standing. And as for Bull Connors and Tarah fucking Nova… That little rascal thinks she really stands a chance of winning this fatal four way. Now, that’s hilarious. Anyway, I have ranted out my frustrations about the booking decisions being made by the officials here but as far as a threat goes… Neither of them stands a chance against me. Their best bet is to find a way to score a pin against each other but you see, after the whole Scotty Adams, Jon McAdams and Isaac Thornton fiasco, I have learned a valuable lesson. I am not going to waste my time or energy and I am certainly not letting one of you walk out as the victor. Usually, I am absolutely disgusted by the interviewers that work here but surprisingly this one went smoother than expected!” Said Chris.
 
“Thank you, Chris!” Said the interviewer.
 
“Fuck Sake… See, now you had to ruin it. Get the fuck out of my locker room, idiot!” Said Chris as the interviewer rushed out of the room with the cameraman following him.
 
 
Thursday, July 26^th. Hollywood Estates Inc. LA
 
The scene begins at a gym with Christopher practicing his striking ability on a boxing punch bag. He is seen hitting forearms, elbows, kicks and punches in a flurry of offense. Rocky Hollywood walks into the gym and has a smile on his face.
 
“You liking the gym here? One of the biggest in California with state of the art facilities. Just what I need after a day of paper work.” Said Rocky with a smirk on his face.
 
“By the looks…. of it. You look like… you’re slacking.” Said Chris while simultaneously striking the punch bag.
 
“Funny as ever, Chris. Honestly, it is good to see you taking this seriously again. The last time I saw you working this hard was…” Said Rocky but Chris stops punching and interrupts him before he could complete his sentence.
 
“The last time…. Yeah, I remember. Noah Hanson was it? A title unification match at the peak of NAW’s success. Noah Hanson vs Havoc with both the Legacy and Horizon Championship on the line. Yeah, I remember that very well. That was about the time when I was just lost… I didn’t know what I was doing and neither did I care at that point. I was ready to take down Noah Hanson and even though I wasn’t here with you, I knew and everybody backstage knew that this was the Redemption I had been looking for. I know what happened after that too… I lost control over myself and I just couldn’t do it. I lost to Noah Hanson that day ending my undefeated run and my reign as Horizon Champion. But that was the final nail in the coffin for Havoc. At that point, I knew I had to do something to get out of it, and as you can clearly see today… I am not that man anymore. Funny enough, this bitch Tarah Nova, Nas’s bitch if you didn’t know, said that I am mentally weak. And I found that hilarious. But by her logic, being proficient at knowing chess terminology makes you smart and mentally prepared. Didn’t you know Rocky? You run a business, right? Do you play chess on the regular to keep up with the mental stress? At least tell me you use chess pieces to describe your business and your clients because that is the minimum criteria for being a mentally prepared person.” Said Chris sarcastically as Rocky begins to laugh. He then picks up a towel and places it around his neck to cool down after the work out.
 
“Like I said, you’re a funny man Chris. But you’re right. You are not the same man you were before. I know, wrestling always came naturally to you. It’s almost as if it is part of your blood, sweat and tears at this point. So, I can understand why you chose to not work as hard as you did before when you returned back to wrestling. I am sure, nobody truly challenged you to the limits of your ability. Not even that Scotty guy, who got lucky by being at the right place and at the right time to steal the victory from you. But why did you decide, all of a sudden, that you would work harder for a match against those jabronis?” Asked Rocky.
 
“It’s actually real simple Rocky. All this time, people like Tarah and Bull thought they had seen everything I could do and said I was all talk. They said that I bit more than I could chew with the matches and situations I got myself into but you see, that was me not even putting all I had. I love wrestling, I really do. But there has to be a challenge for you to go beyond your normal capabilities… Now, I wouldn’t honor Tarah, Bull or David with the fact that they pushed me to go further than normal… Because, honestly, they really didn’t. Tarah Nova is a fucking idiot who will skip from one title opportunity to another and repeatedly fail at them. I would say, Nas is doing a favour associating himself with a loser like her. I bet he pities her at this point… Because who in their right mind would like to date her? David is an activist, not a wrestler. I don’t know why The Unchained just don’t go somewhere else and protest for their causes, cause I truly believe in what they stand for. But man… do they really have to stick their noses into other people’s business. I already beat Nathan Quinn last week easily so I don’t see how David will stand any different from his brethren. And as for the most talented untalented person on the roster, Bull Connors… What do I say that I haven’t said already. He was in that Ultimate X match at Hardcore Havoc and he certainly wasn’t something I couldn’t handle. For all his accolades, he at a very young age, is just a shadow of his former self. And to think this guy was an Amateur Wrestler and a champion at that… It’s hilarious at this point. And why is he even in this match after Gareth beat him? Why does he think that if he wins the fatal four-way at Boiling Point, their encounter this time around will be any different? Only a fool does the same thing over and over and expects to see a change in the result.
 
Now, that’s why I wanted to do this. Honestly, it annoys me that I am not a champion of any sorts in OWA at this point. I have been here for long enough, and I am certainly better than the trash backstage, so I don’t see why I don’t have gold around my waist. So far, it was easy to blame others for their incapabilities. I am not saying it wasn’t their fault…. Because I still stand by that, but I am done letting other people’s mistakes screw me over again. When I first heard about this matchup at Boiling Point, I was furious! I have proved to be as good as I say I am… The stats support my argument. But a guy like Isaac Thornton, who is heading into Boiling Point as a challenger to the OWA World Champion Finnegan Wakefield… The same Isaac Thornton who I beat on my debut night. The same Isaac Thornton who I have continuously embarrassed in front of all these people. The fucking actor…. He somehow beat Finnegan. To be honest, I want Isaac to beat Finn so that I can finally rest the argument to the naysayers that I am way better than Finn. I already beat Isaac so by association, I will be better than Finn. Someone these fans hold very dear to their heart. Regardless of that, a guy like Isaac can get a world title shot while I continue to delve on in multi-man matches at these major events where the final fall doesn’t even involve me? I am done with that. I am going to make sure this time around, that I beat every single one of them with an inch of their life and not leave any opportunities for these losers to capitalize on. If I have to, I will pin all of them together for the three count…. But the point is, this time, there won’t be any need for excuses. I AM going to win this Sunday at Boiling Point. I AM going to become the number one contender for the OWA Television Title… And I WILL beat Gareth Cason for the title. I have had enough time on the sidelines. I deserve to be on the PPV Cover. I deserve to be on the video game covers. I deserve to main event every single show this company puts through because I AM that good. I can brag about it... Gloat about it all day but that's the difference between me and any other wrestler backstage. We all have a lot of words to say to each other... And we all certainly do brag about a lot of things but the difference is that I can back every single word up. Sure, some might say I am overconfident. But that's what fuels me. I want people to believe that I am all talk but so far nobody has been able to prove me wrong. I can do whatever the fuck I want to do and say whatever I feel like saying!” Said Chris.
 
“I mean… I am getting used to you promoting in front of me. How do you always do this to me man? I was just here wanting to know why you working this hard and you fucking had to give a speech about that? I know we used to be a tag team together and we have done a fair share of trash talking together but this is getting ridiculous! I just stand here and listen to you spit out sentences after sentences, though I agree with every word you said. Aren’t you tired? You have been working out for about 3 hours now. We can pick up lunch if you want… And you were supposed to tell me about your meeting with Emma and her family. I don’t even know who this Tarah is that you are talking off but she does sound weak. And Bull Connors is that fat amateur wrestler, right? I always wondered how he does that?” Asked Rocky.
 
“Questions for later, Rocky. I still have some training to do. If you’d like, we can have a sparring match to improve on my striking ability or we could practice wrestling holds.” Said Chris.
 
 
“Fuck no! I quit this life and all the hard work that goes along with it. I don’t know if I want to spar with you. I have meetings to attend tomorrow and I don’t want a black eye or something. You carry on with your training… Just let Natalie know when you’re down and then we can head out for dinner. You can call Emma too and she can tag along.” Said Rocky.
 
“Alright. Will do man.” Said Chris as he went straight back into practicing his strikes as the camera faded away.
 
 
{October 24^th, 2015}
 
“Voices…. voices… There are voices inside my head. They guide me through the darkness like I am their very own. The Horizon Championship is the key that I had been looking for. They said that I could never become a champion… But I proved them all wrong. Not only am I the won with the Horizon… I am untouchable. Nobody can muster the courage to face me in that ring and nobody has the essence of light to overcome the darkness around me. I hold the Horizon… I control the darkness. I wreak HAVOC!! HAVOC!! The machine will never look out for us… They will never lead us the path of glory… But I know the true meaning of life. Join me… And I promise you, that you will never walk alone…. You will never walk alone. “
 
Chris opens his eyes startled from what he used to be. Emma is lying beside him, fast asleep as he still ponders into the night. He did eliminate Havoc from his mind…. Didn’t he? Of course he did. He didn’t need Havoc to do his bidding like he did before. Havoc was his safe space…. A mask he could hide behind and care less about the happenings of the business and the world in general. He was in his own bubble thinking that he could change the world by preaching to the people like him with similar ideologies. He thought he could convert them into believing in his own believes. He thought he could be their God. The hunger for power got to his head and deviated him from his path of redemption. When Chris returned after his long hiatus, just like Havoc before him, he had a goal in his mind. The goal was to become a champion again and once again climb to the peak of the mountain called wrestling. Chris really felt different this time around. He was stronger than ever. He was readier than he had ever been. He was mentally prepared to face anything. In a way, Chris realized that he was a lot similar to Havoc than he first thought he was. He was the one who went through the pain and suffering not Havoc. He was the one to face the hardships of life, yet Havoc came out as the one being oppressed by “the system” when it was Chris going through the struggle instead.
 
 
Saturday, July 28^th:
 
 
Chris is seen sitting in a dark room with just one light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminating Chris and a table before him.
 
“This segment was truly inspired by the wonderful Tarah Nova. I am kidding… She is absolutely trash. But sure, I will steal her idea and use a game to describe my opponents for the match tomorrow even though Game Over was a whole month ago. Doesn’t really fit with the theme of Boiling Point does it? Now, one can say that the harsh words Tarah had for me and her opponents was a way for her to get into our minds. See, if you want me to reach the ‘Boiling Point’ per say, the things you said might not be enough. In fact, they don’t mean jack shit to me. Because let’s be honest, talk about being an underdog, there is no better than Tarah Nova herself. 5’2” 100 whatever pounds like you said yourself… You are definitely not the most physically intimidating opponent to have, now are you? But yes… You do have mind games and Chess apparently to help you along the journey. The solo female wrestler in the Alpha division. That itself brings a lot of merit and credibility to Tarah’s bold claims. She is one tough cookie! Look no further than her brutal match against Kenny Drake for reference. But enough with the praises… Let’s begin, shall we? It’s an easy game of Guess Who.” Said Chris. He picks up one of the cards out of the four in front of him. He peeks at it and laughs to himself.
 
“Oh… This is a hard one. Has a phenomenal amateur wrestling track record. Wow, this can be a lot of people. Did you guess it yet? I will give you more clues. This person has zero credibility and cannot back any of their claims. It’s getting easier now. One final hint, you say? Sure. This person is a fat fucking loser. What was that? Bull Connors? Right on the money!” Said Chris as he threw the card away. He picked another one out of the remaining cards.
 
“This is a good one. So…. This person’s color defines their entire personality. Did I hear a Tarah Nova? Close, but Tarah doesn’t have a personality so try again. This person probably runs a Facebook page about Black Lives Matter. David X Fierce! That is correct! It’s a shame that a guy with fierce in his name is such a pussy that he needs a whole group of people to hind behind. What are you going to do about it David? Call Rashad and Jamal? Fuck you.” Said Chris as he threw away the card. Two cards to go as Chris chooses one of them and takes a look at it, not showing the camera.
 
“Two to go… This one is really easy. This person can and never will get the job done. Do I hear a Miltiades? Not wrong… But let’s stick to the script, shall we? Tarah Nova! BINGO! I was thinking what to say about Tarah when I get her card, so I asked CM Nas and that’s what he told me. Off you go!” Said Chris as he throws away the card before finally coming down to the last card on the table.
 
“Last one! This person has a great amateur wrestling background. Interesting… This person hasn’t been pinned or submitted in in-ring competition. That certainly narrows it down doesn’t it. And finally, this person is most certainly walking out of Boiling Point as the victor and the number one contender for the OWA Television Championship. That’s right bitch. Christopher Sabertooth. Remember my name.” Said Chris. He lets out a laugh as the camera fades to black.

 
A man must always remind himself of his true nature. I’ve spent a lot of my time here in war rooms and gyms and other extravagant locales. Somehow, I felt as though the primal side of my nature was starting to waver. I had to reconnect with the land that I was trained to live off of. My meals do not come in neatly prepared packages, animals slaughtered by some guy hundreds of miles away in an abattoir. If you want food, you go out and you take it yourself. We were provided with the tools to do so by our ancestors, and we dishonour them by not engaging our targets in the way that nature intended.
 
Much like my food, I took the OWA Bloodline Tag Team Championships for myself. Me and Kenny did not see a future where any team other than us could make those titles mean anything. It was kill or be killed. After swatting away Jessica Rose and Savannah Sunshine like the insects they are, we’re now presented with new challengers to the throne in the form of Scott Oasis and Carlos Rosso. It would appear that OWA management are running out of ideas and would rather hopelessly throw bodies at a pack of wolves to keep them busy, instead of hunting the wolves themselves.
 
What of Scott and Carlos? Who are these men? They’re not men at all. They spend their time in high tech gyms, surrounding by people who they pay to tell them how big and strong and they are. They drink liquid that is scientifically formulated to hydrate them in such a specific way that it will keep them laser focused. Ha!
 
 
You see, that’s the problem with the world today. Nobody can rely on themselves to get the job done. They desperately look to exterior factors to give them the edge. Fight Club need a battalion of trainers, nutritionists, physicians, managers, agents, publicists and all that other bullshit to stay on top. They rely on the aid of others more so than you’d think. Take one look at those Neanderthals and tell me that they’d be able to be as big and as mean as they are without the help of their little camp.
 
They invest their money in glorified image consultants to protect their precious aura of invincibility. But as soon as someone sees through that, they fall apart. Take Michael Bishop, for example. I do not like the man, and that’s why I saw to it that one of my recruits render him a fucking cripple. BUT he at least doesn’t get caught up in the façade that mine and Kenny’s opponents do. He made a point of just being him, a tough, no nonsense fighter who came to take off somebody’s head. And what did he accomplish through doing so? He made Scott Oasis his bitch. But then what happened? Scott brought Bishop in out of fear, he pussified the man and transformed him into a shell of his former self. Now he’ll spend the rest of his life with a limp because I willed it to be. Would the old Michael Bishop have gone down that easy? The man who burns down gyms and has a do it yourself attitude? No.

Scott Oasis talks a big game that quickly falls apart once you realise that talk is all he has. I’ve felt his punches, I’ve traded blows with the man, I’m not impressed. My little sister Natalie needs to give you some lessons in how to fight, because rest assured that she’d break you down until you sweated out every oestrogen blocker in your body.
 
You two appear to have made an art form out of losing. Scott, you’re yet to even render a single win on pay-per-view in the OWA. Raw stats don’t seem to correlate with whatever reputation it is that the sheep believe you to have. I haven’t seen anything from you that proves you are some monstrous killer. You’re a fraud. And Carlos Rosso? The dumbest man in wrestling? Possibly. You came back in the very match Wolvesden declared dominion over the tag division and tripped at the first hurdle. You can blame your partner’s shortcomings all you like, being a team is about working together. When you succeed, the success belongs to you both. When you fail, it is the fault of two men who couldn’t figure out how to exist as a single unit. The way me and Kenny see it, both of you have squandered the opportunities that have been handed to you, but you keep getting favourably treated because Vernon Tressler fears what we can do.
 
The Sugar Girls had three separate chances to figure out how to stop us and couldn’t get the job done. And your ragtag group of MMA rejects have been the exact same story. We main evented Kingdom together and it went to a no contest because you didn’t know how to contain the chaos. Because Vernon Tressler feared that the ludicrous sum of money he’d invested in you overpriced, overhyped punch junkies was going to be pissed away in a brawl that would have rendered you in a vegetative state. We do not have such trepidations.
 
Carlos, you failed to defeat Kenny Drake two weeks ago because you weren’t smart enough to plan ahead and anticipate our next move. I swiftly dealt with Scott Oasis while J.D. Damon made his illustrious return and showed you what being a team really means. Every time I have stepped into the ring with a Wolvesden member by my side, I have emerged victorious. What you call a numbers advantage, I call tactical mastery. Why leave victory to chance when you can ensure it? I do not take half measures, I analyse every angle before I know that an attack is certain to lead me to success.
 
Your hopeless lashing out at us will not get you anything. Last week, you brought lead pipes to the ring with you in the hope that you could finally get in some shots that were actually meaningful. Well, would you look at that, I’m just fine.
 
 
Kenny has great plans for Wolvesden, plans that will forever change the shape of this company. You two are an annoyance, a small speed bump that we must slow down to take care of. It now feels as though we’re being fed teams who couldn’t get the job done on their first try for the title because the higher ups want their belts on anyone but us. It didn’t work with The Sugar Girls and it won’t work with you two. I find the needless stipulation that’s been added onto the match laughable, and further evidence that there is a conspiracy against us.
 
What is Vernon Tressler trying to achieve? It’s lose-lose for him no matter what. If either myself or Kenny end up on Olympus, that’s just a wider reach for us to spread His message. If one of you goes, then that’s one less pair of bodies that they can hurl at us, in the faint hope that they’ll wrestle the tag team titles from our grasp. I always knew he wasn’t a smart man, but now I know for certain that he’s an idiot. So who are you two now? His personal lackeys? He’s given you the responsibility of breaking up Wolvesden? I’m insulted that he thinks that can be accomplished with an albino gorilla and a gauntlet wearing choke artist.
 
Our reign has only just begun, and Kingdom belongs to us. I look forward to seeing Scott Oasis continue his streak of losing matches that actually matter on a show that is the ugly stepchild of the OWA. Or maybe Carlos will end up there and keep his streak of utter irrelevance going. It makes no difference to us. Hell, me and Kenny might just pin both of you at the same time and send you both packing. At least then you can face The Unchained so they’ll actually be able to win something, because I sincerely doubt their chances of making it past us. And I couldn’t care less what they do to those cunts Heart and Seoul. Just listing all those teams has me holding back laughter. This is the field that is set for the greatest tag team on the face of the Earth? THIS is what the OWA considers a division?
 
There is no division. There is Wolvesden and everyone else. All the other tag teams just live in our world. You can fantasise about holding the gold all you want, because it’s as close as you’ll ever get. Michael Bishop tried, and he’s gone. And after Boiling Point, either Scott Oasis or Carlos Rosso will be gone as well. Tag teams are dropping like flies because of us, and sooner or later, the OWA will have to come to terms with the fact that we run the show. All they’re doing on their current trajectory is giving us glorified target practice.
 
Come Sunday, our empire will continue to be built. No man or woman is safe from Wolvesden. If you ever find yourself staring across the ring at Nate Cage and Kenny Drake, prepare your bodies for the barrage of punishment that awaits. I truly hope, Scott and Carlos, that you recognise the situation you find yourself in. The physical condition of your persons after Boiling Point will make your only source of income endorsements for supplements that don’t work and workout clothes with your ugly branding on them. You’re a scourge to this world, it is our duty to purify it and remind everyone that there is more to this life than putting on a grand show. Than perpetuating an illusion that you are unstoppable when in fact the opposite is the case. Nature will decide your fate, and Wolvesden are forces of nature.
 
 
BROTHERS! SISTERS! LET US FEAST!
 
 
Kenny: Come, Brother Nate, our destiny awaits.
 

[The scene opens to Isaac Thornton sitting in his director’s chair in the middle of the ring with a spotlight shining down on him. The rest of the arena is dimmed out. Isaac puts his index finger out, telling the cameraman to give him one second as he’s finishing a text. Isaac is wearing a golden suit and shades indoors because that’s the kind of guy he is. He finishes the text and puts his phone away, but then he puts his finger out again and snaps his fingers. Two assistants come out. One to shine his shoes and one to floss his teeth because he has a piece of lobster stuck in between them. Isaac sighs, telling them to hurry up, which they do. They leave and Isaac yells “and action!”]

Isaac: Hello there, tis I Issac Thornton, currently on the set of my new movie that’s coming out this Sunday, which just so happens to be called, “Isaac Thornton: World Champion” starring me, Isaac Thornton. Yes, some very exciting news! And I just want to quickly point out that this was a tough role to land. All of Hollywood’s best came out of the woodwork to audition for it. I beat out the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio, Chris Pratt, Morgan Freeman, Johnny Depp, Matt Damon, Liam Neeson - even Gal Gadot and Scarlett Johannson because I’m all about equality. That’s just the kind of person I am. And no, I’m not gonna go on a whole spiel about how good of a person I am because I’m not. No ... I’m a great person. Don’t you dare sell me short like that! That’s a real piece of shit move on your part and you should feel bad, but I digress. As you could have probably guessed, I’m really anxious for the world to see this movie. I worked really hard on it and it will show. As for the cast and crew, they were great. From top to bottom, everyone pulled their own weight. The top, of course, being me, but I know that in the end, it isn’t only about me - just 99.9%. So with that said I want to thank the little people who helped contribute even if it was very minimal, such as the man holding this camera. What can I say? Your job is easy, that’s why you didn’t earn a dime. But you still nailed it nonetheless and look on the bright side, you get to brag to everyone you meet that you were a part of something special! So no need to feel worthless just because you weren’t born with good looks and great acting chops like me. Let’s continue moving down the list, shall we? I also want to thank the supporting cast, starting with Finnegan Wakefield. This movie wouldn’t be possible without him. Every story needs an antagonist and that’s where Finn comes in. And well - nah, I couldn’t possibly spoil the plot! Actually yeah, yeah I do. You guys are going to tune in regardless because it’s me. People flock to their screens when I have a match, unlike Finn. It’s been that way since I debuted and it will stay that way until I hang up my boots. Such a sad day that will be, I know. I didn’t mean to put a damper on things. So let’s talk about something more positive again and that is me becoming the new OWA World Champion!!!!!!!!! 

[Isaac pretends to be holding back tears. He snaps his fingers. A third assistant approaches Isaac with a pair of scissors. Isaac grabs the scissors and cuts the assistant’s tie in half. He uses the tie to blow his nose and gives it back to the assistant before resuming his speech.]

I knew this day would come. Becoming world champion was never a question of if, but when. And now we know the answer to that - this Sunday. Some may say it’s way too soon to give me such an opportunity, a sentiment the current world champ agrees with, but I strongly disagree! I have earned this. I HAVE EARNED EVERY BIT OF THIS! I have competed at a high level ever since my first match here. I have beaten guys that have done this for years, if not decades, while I have only been in this business for a few months. And the most relevant tidbit of all, I have already pinned Finnegan Wakefield in the middle of that ring and I will do it again this week at Boiling Point. So tell me, how doesn’t that warrant me an opportunity to challenge for “your” championship? Who the hell is more qualified to face you this week?! Oh, that’s right, no one. You can throw names at a board and hope they stick but only mine will. This is my moment. You aren’t going to ruin my moment. You see, I have a parade planned for my big win on next week’s Kingdom. And you are not going to rain on my literal parade, Finn! Everything is set in place. It’s written in stone. I ran into Guy Fieri the other day and he agreed that I’m taking your title and no it doesn’t just stop there. I’M TAKING EVERYTHING FROM YOU! I’m taking your jacket. Yeah, the one with the big ass collar. Yeah, it’s mine now bitch. It says here in the fine print that it comes with the title. Speaking of bitch, I get yours. Actually - mehhh, do I want her? This is quite the dilemma because on one hand I actually have standards but on the other hand it’ll be funny when we are holding hands in the ring celebrating my big title win while you’re at home laying on your couch, eating cheese puffs and Zebra Cakes as you sulk about how on earth did you lose to the greatest actor turned wrestler of all time? Who am I kidding? You don’t eat that. You’ll probably drink a kale smoothie or some shit - IT DOESN’T MATTER OKAY?! The point is you’re going to be sad which will make me happy and that’s all that matters in this world, Finn - my happiness! But yeah, you’re gonna cry a lot. You’re going to cry when I win the title. And you’ll just sit on the ramp looking depressed as fuck, while I celebrate in the middle of the ring with confetti falling from the sky. Just really soaking up the moment, right? MY MOMENT!!! But then I notice you from the corner of my eye and I’ll see that your negativity is really bumming everyone out. So I roll out of the ring and I pimp slap the fuck outta you and yell at you that there’s no crying in professional wrestling, which might be counterproductive because you’ll cry even more because of the slap and the power behind it. God, you’re the worst. 

[Isaac looks ticked off because well, he is. He wants to be in a good mood again so he calls his fourth assistant to come to him. She has her phone out and plays a funny dog clip on YouTube and he chuckles. He’s happy again. Good stuff.]

So let’s see, what else do I get from you? Hmmm - oh right, I get the knee pads you never use. They have to be in mint condition, so that’s cool. I get your hair gel too so I can throw it in the trash to accompany your career. I mean you constantly look like a third grader on school picture day, so stop it. What else, what else, hmmmm, did I already say I get Savannah? Because if not, yeah, that’s happening. I don’t care if she’s a classic butterface, her ass is fat, so that makes up for it. Ha, nothing a paper bag can’t fix, am I right? “Oh my god Isaac that’s so fucking rude of you!!!!!” You’re right. That’s a classless move. I’ll make sure the bag will have holes in it so she can breathe. There, problem solved. Outcry eliminated. Speaking of bags you should put one over your head, Finn. But plastic. No holes. That’s the important part: no holes. Jot that down. We can’t risk you fucking that up. But yeah hopefully you can fit it over that Jay Leno butt chin of yours, fingers crossed. Let’s see, what else do I want from you? I think you just going away would be pretty rad. Knowing you exist here makes my skin crawl and then when you throw in the fact that you currently hold the OWA World Championship, I just want to faint out of this chair and hope that when I wake up it was just a goddamn nightmare. 

But I must say, Finn, through all my harsh remarks, through all the belittling and bashing - I must admit one thing. You are by far, and I mean BY FAR, the best man to ever hold that OWA World Championship around your waist. It’s no contest. No one else comes close. Yeah, everyone give him a hand! It’s a huge accomplishment! Take a bow, Finn! Quick! But -yes, but, then again, you’re the only person to ever hold it, which also means you are the worst to ever hold it and I think that’s the part we need to concentrate on. That you suck as world champ. It’s not your fault, though. Actually on second thought, yes, yes it is. You sucking is a personal problem, most def. But to take some of the blame off you, you haven’t faced stiff competition so far here in OWA, unless of course, you count my first match against you. But I’m talking about title defenses. Like your last title defense was against Maelstrom. Yeah, I tune in to SSW. Totally don’t have one my assistants do it and give me a quick summary. NO BECAUSE I’M COMMITTED TO THIS PROFESSION, FINN! You can just hear the passion in my voice when I yell words. God my stentorian voice is something else. But the point I was going to make is Maelstrom is trrrrrraaaaash. He only appeared to be good because he had some mystery going on and wore cool mascara. No one knew what to expect. Then you beat him. Then the following week he taps out to goddamn Steven Cassidy who is even more trrrrrraaash. So yeah that win at BT doesn’t impress me. Neither does your win against Keelan. Yeah, I get it, you two had a history. You had a falling out. He broke your heart, I get it. He packed his things and moved out, I get it. He asked you to return the custom CD he made for you, I get it. But what has he ever done to be taken seriously as a threat? Or to be referred to as a great, or even good wrestler? I kept an eye on the likes of you guys at your previous employer because I was studying up on how to become a wrestler. It only made sense. And just like here in OWA, he never accomplished anything noteworthy, such as winning a championship. But sure, you had a good match with him. A match people are still raving about but it’s only because you two have a similar skill level. I’m beyond that. I have proven that. I’m better than you, Finn. And you can laugh about that all you want or try to remain stoic and shrug it off like it means nothing to you but the proof is in the pudding! I have proven once before that I am your superior in between those ropes and bah god, I’m gonna do it again. 

You can respond to my words if you want to, for I’m not going to try to stop you. In fact, I expect you to defend your name and reputation because the kids look up to you man. They don’t wanna see the truth. They don’t wanna see their hero for what he truly is and that’s a little bitch. A little bitch that can’t back up his words when he faces me. I mean do you recall what you said to me last time? You called yourself an artist. An artist between those ropes. An artist I can’t touch because he’ll outclass me with each brush stroke. How did that work out for you? Better yet you told me you would end my fifteen minutes of fame. Again, how did that work out for you? Then you resorted to name calling. You labeled me as a wannabe big shot. A wannabe huh? I’m not some wannabe, you scatterbrained doofus. I’M THE REAL DEAL!!! And soon, OWA will finally get a real world champion that they can be proud of. Thank you for your time, Finn and thank you for keeping my title warm this entire time. You are far too kind. 

[Isaac seems proud of himself like always. He once again snaps his fingers and this time the camera fades to black.]

My friends say I'm ugly, I got a masculine face.
I got some dragstrip courage, I can really drive a bed.
I'm gonna change my name to Hannibal, or maybe just Rex.


I'm goin' out west where they'll appreciate me.








The past month has been a time of strategic plotting, not just for myself, but for Scott Adams and Caspian. There has been nothing done by any of us three that was spur of the moment; as per usual, if you want something, you plan accordingly how to achieve it. There have been attacks, mind games, and competitive matches, but none of it means anything anymore.


July 29^th. Honolulu, Hawaii. Stan Sheriff Center. That is the location where all of this comes to a head. All the anguish caused by hired thugs, the trips to the hospital, they've all been for this.


A plane from Philadelphia, or even New York City, would be a waste of immersing myself in the human element I love the most; observation. So here I am, sat on a Greyhound on the way to Los Angeles, California to take flight from there on Friday morning.


I take great pleasure in these long travels. You see the depths of humanity; the good, the bad, and the ugly. Hookers to queens, tramps to kings, everyone has a destination in their journey, and often their method of getting where they are going is one and the same. A new mother holding her child, the rapturous shrieks of whom is driving the majority of the bus mad, is sat across from me, while to either side there is a well-dressed man of some sort of esteem, as can be deduced by his constant phone calls and less-than-hushed talk of a number of dealings going on on the other end, and an athlete, of what field I cannot be sure of, but whose caliber is obvious.


The training jacket, the icy focus on the floor in front of him, he is a well-conditioned craftsman who, like all of us, strives to be the very best at what he does. Hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years of fine-tuning every little caveat of whatever his competition of choice until he becomes the embodiment of the operation of the sport itself. A machine, at least, in his own mind.


The dedication it takes to become almost guru-like in your chosen field is one that I can appreciate. Anyone devoting that much time and effort to one thing must be hellbent on succeeding, and that's a sentiment everyone needs. However, there's a problem that comes when you are institutionally trained, and begin to believe your own disparity of skill.


Sound familiar, Scotty?


Years upon years of energy focused on the goal of being the name synonymous with the art of wrestling has created inside you a force that believes your way is the only way. Nothing short of precision and tight technique can create a successful wrestling endeavor in this bubble,and you certainly do embody that every time you step in between the ropes. Whether it be at Kingdom, your training facility, or across the sea in Japan when you stepped in the ring with me, you have perfected your art. But now that you have arrived at your destination, and now that you look to be the beacon of light to guide the true talents to safety at the shorelines of your island of wrestling perfection, you have lost sight of what truly makes one successful. That fire that is inside of you, burns in me, too, but it burns for a different cause. It burns a different shade, at a different temperature.


And it burns because your guiding light is not the only path worth traveling. Not by a longshot.


You know well what I've been through just in the last month to get to this second opportunity at your Spartan Championship. From chains fleecing my back, to hired hands attempting to clear a path for our Honduran heckler, to hearing from every side that I do not have what it takes to come through when it matters most.


There's a precedent, I will give you that. I have been pinned by both you and Caspian. This is a statement of fact.


But I have achieved something greater than a win. I have staked my claim to continue to get the opportunity to take that belt away from you because I was only a matter of seconds from taking your livelihood in the first place. Osaka, Japan and the whole world watching via broadcast saw me taken by surprise, and your mangled body taken from the ring. The last thing you could do under your own power, was take advantage of the distraction. But on Sunday, the distraction will be nothing more than another body in the ring.


Another domino to fall, and certainly without the ability to take me by surprise.


You see, my rise in this industry goes against everything you stand for. I was never properly trained before becoming a wrestler. I observed, and have since worked on instinct and natural size and skill. Your sense of superiority due to your training is at odds with my belief that I can, and WILL take that title from you at Boiling Point. And while history shows that the last time I took my shot, I fell short . . .


It also shows that you have been gifted the last few weeks with that belt. You have held it on borrowed time. Because the next time I get my hands on you, you will not be going to the hospital until that crown is mine. Even if that means the hospital has to be replaced . . .


With the morgue.


And this incessant buzzing from the other side of me brings me to the third man in the equation.


And the fourth.


And the fifth.


However many men end up in the fold at the behest of Caspian, whatever number that ends up being, I have accounted for them.


And for the short term, Caspian's orchestrated chaos against myself and Scotty Adams has worked. He has angled his way into this match, and his chance to take the title he covets so dearly. Call the use of henchmen whatever you will, but it worked . . . up to this point. You see, now we know what is going to be coming to us. We have seen these men time and again, and I personally have shown them that at the end of the day, they are nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Distracting when unexpected, but harmless when their cards have been shown. And after a month of them popping up at the whim of their boss, they have shown their hand in full. Oh, they will be around in Honolulu, but the fact that myself and Scotty know this take away any and all effect Caspian thinks they may have. We do not expect them; we KNOW they will get involved. And, at least speaking for myself, I am ready for them.


This man next to me, handling his business over the phone on this crowded bus, has been so engulfed in what he's doing that he hasn't noticed a thing around him. He's immersed in himself, obsessed with professional enhancement and growing his wealth. His eyes, while sometimes glued to a tablet, or filing through the latest stock listings, have followed many a person, particularly those less fortunate than him, with disdain. Disgusted at their shortcomings, while not for a moment understanding the hypocrisy. While they may have less than him in their pocket, they likely have a rich life like the vagabonds, seeing the world in a way only those devoted to travel can.


Caspian sees the Spartan Championship as another trophy he can buy, as shown by his reliance on the meat shields he has put around him. He has bought their loyalty, and it has gotten him the chance he wants. The problem now, is that he cannot buy his way to victory. I am not for sale, nor is Scotty Adams.


On July 29^th, you will have to earn it from Scott. You will have to hope he can dispatch of you before I do. And you better have an endless supply of those henchmen. Because the time for distractions is over. I have three days on this bus. Six hours of flight. A day and a half of preparation. And every waking second will be devoted to envisioning my future. A gold plated leather belt on my shoulder, and bodies painting the canvas and mats under my feet.


Everything leading up to this becomes obsolete.


Machines of today cannot thrive without new information. And in the past month, that information has all been taken into account to bring to you what you will see Sunday.


Well-oiled machines always come back stronger.

The Burial of Demons - Or The Commencement of Clensing


Date: 19/7/2018
Time: 2:30 am
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We open to what appears to be some sort of 'grave' setting - or at least, an accurate portrayal of what a graveyard traditionally looks like, within the confines of Scotty's apartment. To be more specific, the spare room that is affixed to the apartment, anyways. There is morbid scarecrow holographic imagery positioned at the very back of the room, the shadows rising about three to four feet up the slate white plastered wall, with about sixty-five tombstones lined up neatly throughout the room, each of them unmarked and with the concrete beginning to show signs of cracking; decay due to years of neglect and disrepair,whilst a chilling; bitter breeze swirls throughout the air and soft, orchestral musical strains can be heard floating throughout the room - although the origins of the music cannot be established at this time. 

Considering that as we pan around the room, we can see there are no speakers, or even cords laying around the room that would indicate a speaker is nearby, though it's probably safe to assume that the music has been co-ordinated from a 'sound booth' somewhere outside our line of vision; used in order to add to the 'creepy, demonic' aura that this setting is giving off right now. An aura, that is enough to send chills down the spines of anyone who might be watching this at home, or even us. 

Even more so, as the music is the only sound we can hear throughout the room - well, discluding the swirling breeze and the brushing of the scarecrows against the plaster of the wall (which is causing flakes of plaster to float and harmlessly atop the concrete floor) before soft, pattering footsteps can be heard echoing around us, whilst we pivot around, attempting to discern just where they're originating from; who they belong to. If they belong to anyone, that is. 
---
I don't blame anyone but myself for my defeat at the hands of Kai Stevens. There's no need to - it was *I* that cost myself that match, by even entertaining the sight of CASPIAN's goons. For even *enabling* them to become a factor in the final outcome. To act as Kai's 'saviours' - and I accept that. I'm not going to hide from that at all, for ultimately, Kai did what one is *supposed* to do in that situation; used it to his fullest advantage. 

I'd be a hypocrite if I said otherwise and tried to point fingers in directions that aren't my own, as that is one of the issues I have stated ad infinitum plagues the industry. No, that plagues the world as a whole. The lack of accountability that people hold for acts that they themselves commit. Just like I said when Bishop was able to avert his fate, it all falls upon me to claim the souls I reap; not for those souls to be handed to me - and just like it was against Bishop, Kai was able to bring about his survival - escape the final execution of his fate, 

Yet that does not mean I am done with him, nor does it mean that I will forget about this moment, for when the time arises; he wishes to walk the passage to his final demise once more - I shall await. Only next time, there's not going to be anything but bringing about his ruins to guide me. There shall be nothing but the abyss to come forth; call for his mind to be sealed within its eternal prison.
---

The footsteps continuing to radiate throughout the air, a cloaked, feminine figure - who, although we cannot see their face or other identifying features at this very moment, we'd assume is within the age range of 23 to 25 can be seen tending to one of the tombstones. One, that is in the fifth row - the third one on the right hand side of the row, if we are to be 100% precise. Gently caressing it, a soft; almost child-like giggle floats into the air from her mouth, as she pivots around. Allowing us to see a soft; burnt orange flow radiating within her shimmering emerald green eyes.

Girl: *Soft, demonic* For when he told the final destiny to arise, the world was plunged within the mire of what it had claimed. The core, of which it had designed for its own finality.

Those words continuing to echo freely within the room, they are accompanied by the violin strains; the soft sounds of an owl hooting within the night sky, as the light's dull luminescence begins to slowly fade, submerging the room within a cloak of darkness - matched only by well, the midnight black cloak that the figure herself is wearing.

Girl: *giggling, chillingly* The closure that it intended to provide, stripped away by the facade that it enabled. The mask, that it claimed within - denying itself from finding the light it had so richly claimed.  

The chill continuing to shimmer throughout the air, it is the light that emits itself from our camera alone that offers the only vision within the room - the only means for us to discover just who swung open the creaking door; begun to make their way around us, to the location where the female figure stands. Panning around, we see a familiar; obsidian hooded jacket covered figure slowly; calmly making their - well, his way towards the girl, a half-smirk across his face. 

An expression, that informs us that our suspicions are indeed, correct. That this has all been designed by Scotty - although, that part was kind of obvious. Considering that this *is* his house after all; if there was *anyone* who would do this sort of 'morbid' setting, it'd be him. Especially when you factor in how disturbed he can truly be. How 'psychologically deranged' he is, once you strip away his exterior effervescence. The joyous appearance he gives off when you first encounter him. For as much as he wishes to deny it; as much as he laughs it off when the claim is made, he and the entity known as 'Zion' aren't as far apart in their ideals. In what it is, that they *truly* desire from this realm.
---

But alas, there is no need for me to dwell on that outcome any further. It will resolve itself, when the time calls for it to. When the final moment truly comes to pass. Just like it shall for CASPIAN, when the bell tolls; the vultures call for his carcass to be delivered within their talons. 

When the time to 'pay his piper' arises; he has no choice but to confront the finality that he called for. The ending passage, that he himself, laid out. Yet just like the rest, he allows himself to remain blinded. He allows his eyes to be submerged within the wool; trapped within the lure of supposed 'glory', whilst neglecting just how blind he truly is to the door that confronts him. 

Blinded, to just how everything he claims to cherish, resides within the palm of my hand - how all he is doing, is playing a game that has encapsulated him within his own prison. How the walls of his chamber, are slowly collapsing around him. Is this what you wanted, CASPIAN? Is this what you *truly* desire? Because if it is, then there is *no* turning back now. There is nothing that can 'save' you from what is to come.
---

Walking over to the feminine figure, Scotty slowly; calmly reaches up with his right hand, pulling the hood from his face. Revealing a slightly 'crazed' look within his eyes, matched only by the half smirk across his face. Just as the girl does with her own hood, finally revealing her raven black hair; shining emerald irises in their shimmering glory.

"Has it been done?" Scott asks, his voice calm yet also somewhat wavy in nature - almost uncertain on whether the act he is inquiring about, was *truly* the right course to take. Even if he knows that it is the *only* way he can 'take back' what is truly his. 

For you see, this graveyard serves not solely as a shrine to Joely - although yes, that is a part of why it is here. Why he constructed it, the real reason it came to be, is to him: it is the *only* way he can 'bury' Zion. It is the only way, that he can lay it to rest; ensure that it becomes eternally dormant. Unable to construct the turmoil; leave him in its wake, as it lusts for the world to burn to its core. 

Girl: *Nodding* Yes. The burial has been set - all that is needed, is for you to call about the final chime.

Those words causing a soft smile to emit itself from his face, Scotty laughs gently as he remarks "Thanks for that, Steph," - thus revealing that the feminine figure belongs to Stephanie Dawkins. A long time associate and Friend of Scotty's; the business manager of Adams Enterprises. 

Exhaling, Scott pivots his body to glance down at the grave (complete with the concrete "tombstone" that is in the shape of a square slab), knowing that as much as he didn't wish for it to be this way, it *had* to be done. Just as Bianca had told him last night - if he truly wanted to wander this path, he would have to confront what haunts him the most. He would need to 'face his fears' - just like the gladiators, the "Spartans" that came before did. 

Steph: *Softly, placing her arm atop his right shoulder* You ready?

Inhaling, he gazes deeply into her eyes, feeling a soft; flickering silver flame begin to manifest under his irises, before a gentle; involuntary nod causes his head to tilt upwards then downwards.
---

As for those 'goons' you have? Come Boiling point, they shall hold no baring on the outcome - for you seem to neglected the simple principle. A *true* mastermind. A true genius, always has an equalizer waiting in the wings. a counter measure, to ensure that any external factors, no longer make up the equation. That shall be unveiled soon enough - but just know, they, just like me, intend solely on bringing it all to rest. 

The same applies to Monolith - the machine, who falters whenever the deconstruction is nigh. Though I will admit: He *did* take me to the brink. He *did* drive me to the edge of my own sanity - yet just like I foretold, he couldn't commit the deed. 

He couldn't *kill* me, when he had the chance to bring it all to an end. He couldn't vanquish the lingering voice. The seed of doubt that had embedded itself within his mind. The question of: Did he know his *true* end game? Did he comprehend, what it would entail to pierce his own veil?
---

Feeling his body begin to slightly 'tense', Scott glances over to Steph, his slight nod indicating that he was ready. That the time had arisen for the wheels to be spun into motion. Taking a small step forward, he glances down at the four foot deep; three feet wide hole that he had spent most of the afternoon prior digging. Making sure that the dimensions were enough to give off the allure of a standard 'burial', whilst also enabling him to escape should anything go awry. 

Though, it was that 'fear' of something actually going awry that caused him to call Steph; have her here for the duration of the act. "For when the cry is heard - the awakening shall commence," floats freely from his lips as he pushes himself up onto his 'tippy-toes', then falls forward - landing within the hole with a gentle thud - his mind slightly throbbing as 'Zion' attempts to groan.
---

The answer to that question, was 'no'. Yet he continues to hold the belief he is a mastodon. That he is this monster; a man who's unbridled lust for inflicting pain and suffering, is all that shall guide him throughout the realm of his final moments. 

That it is his detachment from emotional investment, that shall save him. When all that does, is peel away at his own construct. His own facade - just as it shall come Boiling point.

Yet, before then - I have one more misguided soul to lay in their final bed. To seal, within the shell they call their home. That is the supposed "Law", Dustin Duke. A man who a lot *could* be said about, yet it would be superfluous, as he himself, provides the evidence to those claims. It is he, that has defined his own perceptions.
---

Feeling 'Zion' continue to press against the chains that bind it, Scotty slightly tilts his head to the right, closing his eyes as Steph shovels the first portion of dirt upon his back. "I'm sorry - but we both know this is how it must occur," He whispers, his tone gentle enough to placate 'Zion' but also firm enough to ensure that it understands that no matter what, the deed *will* be fulfilled - that it's too late to reverse it now.

Steph: *Soft, almost child-like* They called for the end of the purge - they cried for the light. Yet their voices became nothing more than cold whispers within the wind. Nothing more than echos, within the chamber of their demise.

Those words floating throughout the air, we watch as Stephanie continues pouring the dirt - burying Scott deeper and deeper within the grave ---.
---

Dustin, you rambled a lot about national pride and how you're deeply engrossed within the American culture. How somebody like me, doesn't *deserve* to stand upon the same soil as you. Almost as if you wanted to admit you were *afraid* but couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to accept the reality that stands before your very eyes. That as much as I *do* respect your pride in America; your love for the American way, that doesn't mean I shall grovel at your feet. 

That I will simply *accept* the ignorance that spouts itself from your mouth. You want a shot at my belt? You want to prove that I am as unworthy as you claim? Then, as your governance likes to say to those who wish to immigrate to America, there *are* proper channels you can go through; I'll be happy to indulge with your request. 

But as for what shall arise this week? Let's just say that the outcome won't be as your deluded self allowed it to become. That once we have done with our little dance, then you will fall before the very flame of your destined design. You are merely a piece in this puzzle - a small cog, within a machine of what has become clear. Of a mind, that knows *exactly* what must occur.

Oh Layne. If I really thought you were the stray dog that you think you are, I’d throw a doggy biscuit in your face, but I wouldn’t want to reward you for such a nasty attitude of yours. I mean, maybe if you shut that yap of yours instead of barking proverbial questions that you don’t want answer for, I’ll give you the bone. But son, I’ve done this dance enough time. I’ve had my fair shares of losses and wins, and in the end, it’s insignificant only when it really matters, and just because Verny there has front row seats, don’t expect me to change the way I do anything for him beyond doing what I do best.

After all, this arrogance and cockiness has it’s perks. Now don’t get be wrong. You are right. The tabloid articles you’ve read from all the other famous people are true, and I’d be lying about it if I said it was all glits and glamour. Because you right, I have almost nobody, but that’s only because it’s lonely at the top. And perhaps that is a small price to pay to be able to do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want, how I want. Because “greatness” is intimidation, and guys like you, the average man, can’t help but be afraid, wary of it, not grasp the complete understanding of it, but despite all you know about it; you can’t stay away from it. For you see, that is the failure of man, and is the very thing the separates guys like you, from me. Fear.

Because if you ask me, Layne, somebody here is a little self-conscious about wins and losses, or thinks that one defeat in their career is make or break. Why put that on yourself, and live in a constant state of fear or failing others and yourself? Who are you really doing this for? You think I do this because of the fans? You think this magnetism, charisma, and energy is all for them? No, it’s just a bonus hearing someone approve of your life style choices and decisions, but by all means, they are not the indication of my so called “greatness.” After all, it seems like all you want to do tonight is redefine the term so that the word has no association with myself, but that rather moving the goal post rather than you just accepting the fact that, I, The Goose, having only appeared once, am already… one of the greats!

And maybe, Layne, if you got past that way of thinking, you wouldn’t concern yourself with whether or not you are dead, or if the flame would ever go extinguished. Maybe if you focus more on being alive, and live life the way of the Goose, fearless, bold, and ambitious, you may have what I have. But more importantly, find exactly what you seek. I mean, look at me, I’m a guy going around the industry calling myself “The Goose” and if that doesn’t take a lot of balls, or you don’t believe it does, Layne, well, maybe you need to hit the books again, and redefine what it takes to be great.
Because Layne, trust me when I say this. I don’t need you to humiliate me. I don’t need you to hand me losses, because by doing what I do, I’m constantly putting myself in the position that ultimately should compromise my image and position. But you know what? It hasn’t. If anything, they have only made me more powerful and more popular than ever, because I’m not afraid nor limited by the social norms or proper etiquette of the world, but rather if I want to make parody, I can. If I want to fist fight a car, I would. If I wanted to throw a doggy treat in your face, I would. And while all this this makes me seem crazy, the worse scum in the world, something straight out of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, they forgive me. They accept me, and that, Layne, is how I know I belong and where I need to go.

Because what can we say, Layne. The fans, they live vicariously through me, a man that can and will do anything he wants. And if people want to witness me bring the pain to Layne Kurobane, well too bad, I was going to do it anyway. You might be trying to push yourself here as the underdog here now, but in the end, IT DOESN’T MATTER WHO YOU ARE OR WHAT ROLE YOU PLAY! At the end of the day, The Goose is the most interesting man in the OWA universe. He is smart, sexy, and he sure can rock a fanny pack, these are all but a few of the things to create the ultimate perfect specimen, and Layne Kurobane, you are lacking in the one department that quite frankly, I have more than enough of. And that my boy, is confidence, the same confidence that will help me guarantee I’ll be a huge success here, and walking over guys like you, and knowing no matter what I do or what you do to me, I’ll still blow up and be big.

You gotta accept that, brotha. No matter how hard to slam me down, no matter how you twist my arm or legs, or whatever object you use to beat me, The Goose ain’t ever going to die. The Goose, once beaten, simply rises from the ashes, and continues to live on with his day, never knowing what insanity comes his ways. There is no life or death, there is only… The Goose, and Layne, you will soon witness it, learn from it, and eventually live through it. You won’t have a choice. None of you will have it, because THE GOOSE AIN’T GOING NO WHERE. Go ahead, make me! Make the Goose leave! BUT YOU BETTER BELIEVE THE GOOSE WILL TAKE THIS L, TURN IT SIDES WAYS, AND SHOVE IT STRAIGHT UP YOUR CABOOSE!! But lucky for you, Layne, I’ll try to be gentle. After all I wouldn’t want to break or tear something, I wouldn’t more shit to come out of your body than it already has.

(The Goose is standing there in the middle of a darkroom with a medieval looking leather outfit with a ragged cape wrapped around his neck and a giant unpractical sword strapped to his back. The Goose stays perfectly still with a serious disenchanted look on his face. A voice narration of the Goose begins to play as Japanese kanji in read appears in the background as he speaks.)
 
Hurt! Humiliation! The Goose has tasted his first encounter in OWA where someone has to say about him. What realistically is 5 mins of dialogue feels like an eternity as Layne speaks about having popped his lost cherry. I suppose this was expected to happen when I signed that contract and The Goose joined this company.
 
It was much too big to be called a debut. Massive, Thick, Heavy, and far too quick. Indeed, it was like having sex for the first time in a long time; Great, but could had gone a bit longer, but still something worth telling the boys about.
 
And now, second week into OWA, I face not one, but two men. Layne Kurobane and Kai Stevens. Uninterested. It is far too late for Layne to call this a loss. He lost the instance I made my debut and made my presences in this company and won all the fame and adoration in the first instances I was announced. The Goose is Loose. The Goose is Loose.  
 
I have made a regretful decision perhaps I shouldn’t have gone so far in investing in all this, a parody of an anime that people might not get or appreciate. The costume, the green screen, paying some guy to translate this dialogue in Japanese kanji to play in the background, this over compensating Goose Slayer sword to really drive home the homage I’m trying to lay down. The mixture of 2D animation and 3D used here. It’s too damn much. But I suppose that is what separates me from the rest of them. I give, and I give……. And I give, until others can’t take anymore. This is the Gift of Goose.
 
The Goose has traveled a treacherous journey to be here. Sitting in the darkness, defeating monsters, waiting for my 90 day non-compete clause to expire, seeking to claim my revenge on the man that ruined my life, Grif-Finneganth Wakefield, and my journey has lead me to here. This is no mere coincidence that I am here. I am here fill the small wound deep in the heart of Omega Wrestling Alliance. I am here to give everybody what they need. Win or lose, I always win, because my presence is rewarding enough, and listening to Layne talk about how to handle an L is a small price that I must pay.
 
(Note, The Goose is still standing still and delivering all this dialogue in a deadpan tone)


I mean, what is Loss? Baby don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me,…. no more. Now don’t go Jump anime protagonist on me, Layne. This isn’t some Dragon Ball, Food Wars, and Pok’emon kiddy shit where you lose and that is suppose to make you better or something. If you really wanted to educate someone on how to lose, take that shit to PBS and on Sesame Street and put those losses to good use and count the number of times you lost or something, because spoiler alert, I hope you can count up to two. Nah, The Goose is here to bring the real heavy adult stuff. We talking Hellsing, Beserk, and Puella Magi Madoka Magica type shit. Where losing isn’t an option, and when you do, you fuck shit up for revenge, because mmmmm mhmmm mmmm dats good television. And while I do appreciate the optimism, and wanting to show everybody what you got, this isn’t America’s Got Talent. I ain’t going to give you a stamp of approval because you know how to tell a story. You need to show it to me, and so far, after my handling of Senza last week, I’m not impressed. If you going to talk about how you are what OWA is all about, you best put up a convincing fight, because I’d hate to go 2 for 2 in terms of mediocre talent on this roster so far.
 
As for Kai Stevens. I ain’t going to lie. I don’t know who the hell you are, and if it wasn’t for Layne bringing up your name a few times, I would had thought you were still Kia. Although this is unnecessary information, and it’s probably best to keep it out for the sake of making this narration shorter, I legit fist fighted a car like it was Street Fighter. A 2015 Kia Optima to be exact, as I thought I was going to be fighting an automobile. Don’t believe me?
 
(The Black screen behind The Goose still standing still shows footage of The Goose beating the hood of the car with his fist, smashing the glass, and clipping the side view mirrors. The Goose then procceds to swings The Goose Slayer sword and smashes the care repeatively before dropping to his knees, and screaming. “KIA, WE COMING FOR YA. NI…” Footage goes black instantly. The Goose continues to stand still as he continues his narration as Red Japanese Kanji appears in the background.)
 
As embarrassing as it is, and as disappointed as I am, let’s not forget. I am the Goose, and now, I feel like I’m ready to take on any killer robot car uprising in the future. That’s right, when Aliens invade our world and take forms of our transportation; you can bet your asses The Goose is going to make that save. You’re welcome, world. They gonna make a movie based on me, and Michael Bay will exclusively direct, and Aria Jaxon will be played by Beyonce Knowle, and Steve Buscemi playing Finnegan Wakefield. But don’t worry, Layne, Kai, you can both have a little screen time, after all, this match will be a historic turning point for my career. It’s the beginning of the meteoric rise that is … The Goose. And I’m about to do to Kai, what I did to that car. I’m going to resell it at a lower cost than when it first came in, because when I’m done with you, you ain’t going to be a functioning working automobile. You’ll only be worth the scrap metal you are, that I’m going to use to beat and humiliate Layne Kurobane, which by the way, stupid name. You know it’s stupid if the Goose says so. … Ok, it’s not that lame, because it rhymes. I don’t know if that is intentional or not, but if it means anything, the more time you lose, the easier it becomes to accept that you just suck, and the Goose is better than you. Atleast when you do die, people we talking past your grave plot, going “here lies Layne “The flame “ Kurobane, was a poet and didn’t even decide to pursue that and be a loser wrestler instead.” Yeah, that shit there didn’t rhyme, but that’s because I’m not a poet, I’m the real deal, and by the time I’m done with you, the next chapter of your life, is going to be “How I Foughtt the Goose and Accepted that I am not Worthy?” And no, I don’t look forward to reading it.

God damn it, god fucking damn it! Who the hell do I need to fucking thank, yeah? What son of the bitch in the back do I need to fucking thank? You put me against another damn bitch, and not just any son of a bitch. God damn it you put me against the fucking Spartan Champion, Scotty Adams. Listen up, you fucking bogan. I don’t give a damn what you did before The Law arrived, but you fucking bitch I want you to know right now. Your fucking ass ain’t worth a single god damn dollar, or what the fuck do Aussies even got? Pounds? Dollars too? That’s fucking great, you can have a god damn dollar, but who the fuck is on your money, huh? I bet it’s not George fuckin’ Washington, yeah. I bet it’s not the fucking man Thomas Jefferson, that fucking handsome son of a bitch. You got some fuckin’ cunt on your five dollar bill, yeah? Who the fuck lets a god damn fucking bitch on their money? Why the fuck are you going to let a good for nothin’ but cookin’ and fuckin’ cunt on the damn currency?! They don’t make that shit! Fuckin’ dumb ass Aussies.

See that’s your problem right there, Scotty Adams. That’s your god damn problem right there. You fucking Aussies don’t have any god damn common sense. It’s bad enough you fuckin’ lost a damn war to a fuckin’ bird, but then you do this stupid ass bullshit and put a fuckin’ skank on your damn currency? Who booked this guy in a fuckin’ title slot, huh? Whose the fuckin’ bookerman around these fuckin’ parts? This stupid fucking piece of shit got a damn championship, might as well give it to the fuckin’ homeless guy that’s outside the fuckin’ Arena every week. Hell, even that fuckin’ homeless guy would have more fuckin’ talent than Scotty fuckin’ Adams. Shit, he’d certainly be more charismatic, and you know what? Fuck it, I’d bet you five dollars, American, that the fuckin’ worthless bum outside the Arena would have more substance than Scotty Adams.

You see Scotty, a lot of god damn words come out of your fuckin’ mouth, but what are you really fuckin’ saying, huh? What are you really fucking saying when the bottom line is fuckin’ drawn? God damn, I wouldn’t fuckin’ know. You put everybody to fuckin’ sleep half the god damn time, and the other half they’re too busy wondering whose dick you fuckin’ sucked to get the fucking championship around your waist! It’s absolutely fucking pathetic! This is an American built company! This ain’t fuckin’ Japland! This ain’t the fuckin’ land of foot fetishes! This is the fuckin’ Omega Wrestling Alliance! This is the fuckin’ place to god damn be, but for some fuckin’ reason the place to be is fuckin’ infested with these god damn fuckin’-motherfuckin’-god damn-fuckin’ piece of fuckin’ shit un-american motherfuckin’ cunts. Tell me, Scotty, tell me a fuckin’ story. I want you to give me some fuckin’ substance. Grab a god damn pencil, write some shit down, make it fuckin’ really-really suspenseful, alright? When you finally get that sum’ bitch finished, I want you to clear your fuckin’ throat, alright? Get all of the fuckin’ bookerman’s cum gone before you fuckin’ read that fuckin’ piece of shit story out loud. If you can finish that damn story, you Rocko soundin’ fuck, without me and everyone else here in the god damn beautiful USA falling asleep, then I will personally pat you on the back. I will tell you good fuckin’ job, and then I’ll deport your fuckin’ wallaby lookin’ ass right back to New Zea- Euro- Germ- Australia! All you fuckin’ other countries look the same, except Africa. Ain’t no confusing, those pieces of shit.

Whoever is running this shit show, I want you to get whatever fuckin’ goddess’s dick is in your mouth out the moment out and pay attention. When I beat, not if, when I beat Scotty Adams I want one of three things to happen. I want you to scrap the god damn piss fuckin’ poor plans you had for the Aussie fuck at Boiling Point, alright? That’s the fucking first thing. Second thing, you still paying attention you fuck? Second thing, I want you to grab Jon McAdams name out of a fuckin’ hat and thumbtack that name down for a spot on Boiling Point against me. Oh, but I’m not fuckin’ finished. See, when I beat, again not if, when I beat Scotty Adams I want you to fuckin’ make a god damn triple threat for the fuckin’ Spartans Championship. I don’t give a fuck what fuckin’ joke you got lined up for a match. I don’t give a fuck who you got planned to fuckin’ face the human wallaby, but plans are subject to fuckin’ change. Oh shit, third thing, yeah? Third motherfuckin’ thing, bookerman! I want a god damn dressing room that’s not filled with these fuckin’ cunts. I want the fuckin’ sign on my door to read loud and fuckin’ clear. Americans only! Hell, fuck that. Put on that god damn sign, you people are not allowed in.

This fuckin’ company is going to realize, you don’t mess with the fuckin’ Law. Scotty, you can talk to Holly, Molly, Polly, hell you can fuckin’ ring up Dolly Parton and talk to that old bitch, but it ain’t going to get you anywhere, son. When you step into the ring with The Law, you’re going to come face to face with everything that a real American born man is. A fuckin’ workin’ son of a bitch, that’s rough and tough. A son of a bitch that’s got a fat fuckin’ wife at home with three fuckin’ kids to feed, and god damn Scotty, I ain’t about to let one of your people beat the fucking Law. Let it fuckin’ be known right here, and right now. Scotty Adams, you’ fought the law and the law won. You fought the law and the law won.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Silenced Lamb ---


Date: 11/7/2018
Time: 10:00 am
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We open to the interior of what appears to be a storage facility, nestled away within the back streets; not quite at the level where one could say it's abandoned, because it isn't - but it has been neglected by the governance of the city for at the very least, the last three or four years. The concrete that lines the ground is cracked, and the storage lockers themselves are guarded by lightweight steel shutters, the majority of which have rusted over and have various graffiti atop of them - a byproduct of the neglect that has been shown to this portion of the city. 

There are also at least twenty-five cobwebs strewn around the setting, which is evidenced as we pan around, mentally 'counting' each one but soon realising that is an excerise in futility due to the sheer volume of webs; spiders residing within them that are visible. Yet we're not here to merely *observe* the scenery or give commentary on how the local government *should* at least attempt to 'clean up' this area. If we were, don't you think we'd be bringing in guests or citizens to engage in discourse about the disrepair? About *solutions* to make this place look as it once was? Or, well, how we assume it once looked anyways. 

Rather, we're here because of the request given to us by our superiors. Well, duh, that's how it usually goes whenever we film, but they specified that we had to be here *now*, instead of being in any other location; to ensure we provided the best quality filming that we are known for. Continuing to pan around, we can hear the gentle creaking of one of the shutter doors (that we should have mentioned, had been left slightly open, which served as an indication someone was in there), before it opens enough for us to make out two figures standing behind the shutter. 

One masculine and one feminine figure - both of whom appear to be cradling cardboard boxes in their arms. Well, in the case of the masculine figure - who we assume was the one that opened the shutter, the box is nestled under his left armpit; his left forearm placed under it so that it doesn't fall down. In unison, the two slightly duck down, stepping forward and out of the 'locker', before the male places the box gently atop the concrete, so that he can once again close the shutter, before pivoting around; picking the box back up. 

It is now, that we can finally get a good enough look at the two, so that we can actually identify them. The male figure, is of course, none other than Scotty Adams - who is attired in a azure/obsidian 'business casual' shirt, midnight black shorts and maroon/obsidian Nike Hypermax sneakers, whilst the female is Holy Laurence, an secretarial assistant at 'Adams Enterprises'; one of Scotty's closest friends and confidants and attired in a white t-shirt, jet black leggings; baby blue/slate Reebok sneakers.  Smiling, she glances at Scotty as he calmly strides over towards her, softly blushing when he returns her smile as the two commence their walk along the cracked concrete path that leads to the dirt and gravel parking lot.

Holly: Where was it you said you wanted to take these again?

Laughing, Scotty remarks "We'll take them back to the apartment; Bec said she'll have XTRL pick them up from there tomorrow morning," revealing that these two boxes contain items pertaining to the deal 'Adams Enterprises' has with XTRL limited have in regards to the new collaboration project that was recently announced. One, that involves the release of 'Wings of the Defiance'. 

A mini-documentary which has documented Scotty's return to the ring; his subsequent attaining of the OWA Spartan's championship; is scheduled for release in February of next year,. As well as XTRL agreeing to finance the annual 'Festival of Hope' Scotty is hosting on September 21 in Chicago, as part of his continual desire to ensure that people who aren't necessarily in the position  to enrich themselves with certain privileges to be able to have a voice. To be given a platform, that they otherwise would be denied.

"This *isn't* the only reason I called you to do this, however," he states, the calm yet somewhat perturbed expression in his eyes (along with the more jagged inflection in his voice) hinting at this reason being more 'personal' to him.  Causing Holly to feel a small knot rise within her own stomach, as she ponders just what else he could have called her here for. 

Holly: Hm?

Inhaling deeply, Scotty gazes into her eyes, unsure even himself on how best to convey these words. On how he should explain this, even though he knows that Holly cares for him - that she has been his 'sounding board' many times before. 

"I - I had another breakdown. *He* once more, tried to consume me ---," his words drifting off as a slight flash of 'Zion' manifesting within Scotty's mind back in Japan, as well as the 'nightmare' he had experienced two nights ago. A nightmare, that he hasn't even revealed to Bianca. Allowing those words to settle within her mind, Holly attempts to construct a response - trying to procure the best means in which she can guide Scotty. That she can 'calm' him down, as his breathing has started to slightly stagger after the words left his lips. Slightly pivoting towards him, she gently leans forward; places a soft, reassuring kiss on his lips.

Holly: Bianca told me about that - you know that *he* wants you to feel isolated; alone within his game. Within his trap.

Nodding, Scott feels a tear in his eye, as his mind slightly throbs - It's Zion, trying to unshackle itself from its prison. The chains, that have bound it, its only desire to see Scott crumble. To see him, finally cave to the temptation; the alluring darkness and sheer *hell* that encapsulates him. Just as it's always been. A soft sigh floats into the air from his lips, as he responds: "Yeah, I know - it's just hard. It just feels like no matter *what* I try. No matter *how* much I hold him away, that ultimately - it is *all* what he desires," as he continues the walk towards the snow white/crimson red Van they hired for these proceedings. Well, this delivery anyways.  

Holly: *Gently, as she pivots back forwards, feeling the weight of the box begin to pulsate throughout her body* I know. That is why we're here - that is why we're willing to help you. You know this, hun. You know deep down that even if he *does* find a way to consume you, that you have the light. That you have the strength to resist him. To cast your light within his core.

A gentle smile radiates across his face as those words float around inside of him, as he feels his breathing relax. She's right - the strength that 'Zion' holds, is one that has been granted to him by Scotty himself. And logically, if *he* is the one that gave'Zion' the strength to fester; the supposed vassal to perpetuate his claim for destruction and 'hell upon earth' to rise forth, then he is the one that can bring about its end. It's that simple, when you think about it - and uses the old adage of 'the creator and the destroyer' as its basis. 

You know, the adage/saying that people use about those who are responsible for the *creation* of something, being the ones that can bring about its ultimate destruction? Because it's true - and as he allows those words to resonate deeper inside of his mind; drown 'Zion' within their own chamber, his gentle smile morphs itself into a wry smirk. 

"I plan to," eventually leaves his lips, accompanied by a soft yet relaxed exhale, just as the two reach the trunk of the van; Scotty adjusts the box enough so that he can use his right hand to open the cold; steel trunk, then side step to the right. Enabling Holly to calmly walk next to him; lean forward, gently position the box in the front right corner of the trunk. Just as Scott places his box neatly behind hers. 

"No matter if it means I *must* go against my own fibre," whispering this to himself, he arises to a vertical position once more, before raising his right hand; slamming the door shut before slowly making his way around to the driver's side door, as Holly does the same on the passenger's side. 

It is then, that the sounds of the doors simultaneously opening can be heard, as the soft groan of 'Zion' radiates within Scotty's mind - almost subconciously knowing that if it is to strike; if it is to vanquish the binding chains, then it has no choice but to strike now. When he is vulnerable, yet it just can't. No matter how much it groans, it is drowned out by the serenading voice of Joely' that rises within his mind.

**You hold the key - you are the one who can *save* us. Just like you are the one that can liberate 'me'**

"I know," he gently whispers, placing the key into the ignition, as Holly glances at him, an expression of understanding across her face. She knows about the 'voice' he hears inside his head of Joely - much like the voice of 'Zion', yet this is more angelic. This is more a case of him clinging onto every last remnant that he can of her
---
Dear Kai,

You seem to hold this *thought* that you can intimidate me. That just because you can use the same imagery, the same verbiage that I do, that it is meant to invoke fear. That it is meant to attempt to give me 'a dosage of my own medicine' if you wish to call it that. When you couldn't be any further from the *truth*. You see, this isn't foreign to me - I've seen it all before. I've seen people spout words they cannot comprehend, in the hopes that it would *scare* me. 

That you would feebly claim that "hey, look. I counterbalance you, so your words have no effect on me", and attempt to decipher the prophecy they hold. Only to fall flat on your face when you realise that you are merely playing into the maze. That it is you; you *alone*, who sprung the web of your demise. As evidenced by your failure to truly comprehend what the 'Silver Bullet' moniker - well, no, to call it a moniker would be a lie. As it is not something that can merely be encapsulated by such a title. Rather, it is a methodology; an ideal.
---

Exhaling softly, Scotty glances out at the vast; surprisingly open road ahead, the strains of 'Lithium' being heard emitting from the car radio, as Holly glances out the passenger side window, absorbing everything she sees. Allowing herself, to clear her mind. Just as Scott himself is doing. Allowing the music to filter into his mind, Amy Lee's voice acts as a sweet hymn to him. An escape, from the catacombs that is his final chambers. The myriad of 'clogs', that inhibit his mind; cause him to occasionally unlock Zion's chains - much like that day in Japan. 

Much like he did, when he was cooped up in the hospital, with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. Not even *Bianca* was able to come; visit and give him the 'blanket' he so desperately craved. A blanket, that would have been able to suffocate the thoughts; the manifestations that roamed throughout his mind throughout those dark, lonely hours. 

"He should have finished the job - he should have *killed* me," he calmly utters under his breath, ensuring that his words are quiet enough so as not to cause any fear to awaken inside of Holly, who is blissfully unaware of the torment seeping inside his mind. "But he *failed*. He could bring himself, to commit the final act," Inhaling softly, Scotty allows his eyes to blink, as he turns right; onto. E. Moyamensing Street. A street, that is regarded as one of the most beautiful in the city - a sentiment that Scott himself agrees with.
--- 

What is that Ideal? You see, the 'Silver Bullet' is known as the simple; catch all solution to an intractable problem. A problem, that cannot be solved by other means, no matter how much people wish for it to be. A problem, like *you* attempt to portray yourself as being, Kai. Just like the gimmickry; the concept of wrestling being about how much you can try and paint a picture of yourself. How much you can try and 'tap into' or feed the lusting desires society claims to hold, is all you need in order to be successful. When that couldn't be further from the case at all - see, all I desire. 

All this sport desires, is for purity to reign once more. For the artform, to go back to being solely about whether or not you *are* the best at your craft, just as I have proven. Each and every time I set foot inside of that ring. I don't *need* an echo chamber; I don't *need* to hide behind a facade. Attempt to be something that I am not. Can the same be said about *you*? Be honest with me here, Kai. We both know that your exclamation of my demise is just a projection of how insecure you are. Of how when you look deep inside your mirror, you see *me*. You see that I am, what you have always desired - and that hurts you, doesn't it?
---

Glancing around at the lustrous homes that reside on this street, Scotty smiles to himself - not the wry or half smile that we have become accustomed to over the years, or even throughout our recordings of him during this portion of his tale. No, this is a *legitimate*; broad smile. 

The type of smile, usually reserved for the times he is with Bianca. Alone and wrapped within her warm, comforting embrace. The taste of her lips, lingering freely atop his own. Allowing the final strains of 'Lithium' to resonate throughout the otherwise silent; crisp air, he lifts his right hand off the steering wheel; places it gently atop Holly's right shoulder, softly rubbing it.

Holly: *softly exhaling, feeling his touch* Everything okay?

"Yeah," he states calmly. "Just doing some thinking. It's beautiful, isn't it?" his question an attempt to get his mind to trail away from its isolated thinking, he watches as Holly smiles and nods in response.

Holly: Yeah, it really is. 

"It *is* one of the most beautiful streets in Philly, after all. And a place I like to come when I just need to clear my mind," the last few words floating into the air, he continues to drive through at a speed of 20 miles per hour, allowing himself to picture those moments he would briskly stroll down the concrete sidewalks - let his mind become awash with the crisp chill of the air. 

Holly: *calm* I can see why.

Nodding, he feels his body begin to finally relax - which had been the main reason he chose to venture down this street, instead of simply driving back home from the facility. For as much as he didn't wish for Holly to know, 'Zion's' words to him had truly struck his core. Had truly caused him to think about whether or not he was *truly* striding the passage of his design. Of whether he was truly as righteous in his intentions. In his quest for 'closure' that he has forever claimed. 
---

That strikes at your core, doesn't it? That fact that you *know* my mere existence, means that all that you claim, cannot come to light. That I *am* the monster that you just cannot kill. That I am the being, that cannot be vanquished, no matter how 'close' you take me to the edge. That even if you *were* to make me a martyr, you could not pull the trigger; bring it all to an end. Just like everyone else. But don't worry yourself about that, Kai. 

Come Kingdom, your liberation shall arise - your bell, shall be tolled and you can bring everything that you can desire. I *want* you to hurt me. I want you to continue along your faux belief that just because you are stronger than me; just because you are faster than me, that you are the one designed to bring about my end. For that just proves I am *right*. I do not care about your mentor Brian Church - he holds no relevance in the end game. This is about *you*; bringing about your final; eternal slumber, I'll see you there, Kai - the chamber awaits thee.

Gold.

Gold.

GOLD.

DON'T STOP 'TIL YOU GET THE GOLD.

KEEP ON.

WITH THE FRENZY, DON'T STOP.

DON'T STOP 'TIL YOU GET THE GOLD.

Diantha Moreau, we are very sorry that this day has come for you. The Gold Lust has become to strong for us to resist. We must take over. We must destroy. We must have what is rightfully ours again, and we will not stop until we get the gold. The Queen of the Ring is our chance at doing just that, but yet we are not allowed to compete for such an opportunity?

KEEP ON.

WITH THE FRENZY, DON'T STOP.

DON'T STOP 'TIL YOU GET THE GOLD.

So we must send a message, a message yes. A message to everyone around us that we are going to prove once and for all who is truly the rightful holder for such gold. It is only us, it will ever only be us. We go together with that gold. The gold goes together with us. We are one, and Diantha Moreau we will not let a roadblock stand in our way much longer. We hope you understand, you will not exit this match the same way you entered. We are sending a message with you. The Golden Frenzy is being unleashed. We hope God has mercy on all of you.

DON'T STOP 'TIL YOU GET THE GOLD.

There is a constant divide in the World! The rich look down on the poor! The strong stand high above the weak! The famous create legacies that live on for decades to come while the average citizen’s existence fades away after their life has met its end! Humanity was born with the desire to leave their mark! To overcome the obstacles of the poor, the weak, and the average - to climb higher up this daunting ladder before them and become something greater! Layne Kurobane has struggled his entire life to grasp onto and hold dear the only thing that could help him climb this ladder! Many others have fallen off! Its rungs become more frail as time passes on! Their strength deteriorates! The voices in their minds begin to grow louder - convincing them that the risk is no longer worth the reward! They begin to listen! Their grip loosens! They let it go, and the burden of pressure, determination, and work melts away with it!
Stunning.

Absolutely shocking. I’ve never been one to claim to be the voice of the voiceless here, but I think I speak for everyone when I say that I am completely baffled at the sheer audacity of a man like you to look down on me, make fun of the way I look, make fun of my past, and to completely dismiss me as any sort of a threat to you! I am just beside myself. You took everything I said to you, grabbed it, twisted and contorted it, and made it into a weapon to use against me, and why? Why would you do that? Hell, why not, right? Who am I anyway? Some jackass named Layne Kurobane? Some mongrel that has no business being in the ring with a main event winner such as yourself? I mean, come on, you beat the OWA CHAMPION, Isaac! You’re a star! You’ve got people talking about you! I haven’t beaten anyone on the level of a Finnegan Wakefield, but you! You have! You’ve done it, and right now you are THIS close to grasping a shot at the Championship!

Yet, you’re gonna lose.

Not might. Not could. Not possibly. You will.

And that’s because of, well, everything that came spilling out of your mouth the moment you decided to finally acknowledge me. You made it clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter how confident you are, and no matter how talented you may even be - you are as predictable as they come. I don’t mean that as an insult, Isaac, trust me. I mean that as an observation. I mean it as in anyone with a pair of eyes could look at you and know who you are and what you’re about, but most of all, what you’re gonna do. And honestly, it’s kind of a blessing in disguise to me. I’m thankful you’re the guy in my way. Sure, I’d love more of a challenge, and I’m sure you’ll offer me everything you can possibly muster in that pale body of yours, but… Well, that’s not enough. It’s never been enough, has it? I mean, you’re HERE right now because you never had enough. You spent your entire life up until recently busting your ass to be a star elsewhere. You wanted to be an actor. You wanted to win Awards. You wanted to be in front of a camera, and yet, not like this. And what do we do when we can’t succeed? Some people move on, sure. Others might do what they can to improve themselves and try again. But there are those that would rather point a finger at something else and call that the reason they failed, so when you failed again, and again, and again to be somebody in Hollywood, you pointed your finger, and targeted this entire industry. Stay with me here, because I’ve got a point. See, you failed. You failed SPECTACULARLY even! And that’s because you weren’t good enough, and you never would be. So you think this will make a difference? You think jumping to a place you’re unfamiliar with will be enough? It’s never been enough, and it never will be.

You failed to be a star on television and in films simply because you, Isaac Thornton, are a fucking rerun.

You’re what plays in the background when everyone is busy doing something more worth their time. You’re what stores have playing on repeat to show off their display of televisions. Isaac, you busted your ass for years to be an actor and yet you never bothered to look up from the script to see the people you were auditioning in front of looking at their watches, looking at their phones, and looking anywhere but at you. That’s not because a wrestler came in and stole the spotlight. It’s because you never deserved the spotlight in the first place. You never had what it took to grab it and make it your own. You never had it in you to push the competition out of the way and take center stage! The moment you spoke your lines, they’d heard it all before. Everyone has. Every single person you’ve ever encountered. They know you. They know what you’re like. They know what you have to offer. It’s not much either, unfortunately. You spent so long wondering why everyone how these people were getting the jobs you believed belonged to you, and instead of looking at the answer right in front of your face, you chose to cross it out… And fill in your own. When people see you, they don’t stand and watch in awe at what you have to offer, because it’s been done. It’s been done before by a million others, and it’ll be done again by a million more. You are the very ESSENCE of predictable, Isaac. That’s why you have nothing to say when you’re confronted, be it right here on the mic or when you step into that ring. That’s why you have to play possum. You don’t have anything else. Strip away your ignorant confidence, and you’re as pathetic as they come. Even if you used a trick to get through me, nobody would remember you the next week. Hell, no one remembers you now. You were a nobody in the profession you dedicated your life to, so what makes you think things will change here? Look up from that script you’re reading off of, Isaac. Nobody’s paying attention. Just me. I’m your audience. I’m your watcher. I’m your lifeline. I’m the only thing keeping Isaac Thornton from ceasing to exist.

And I don’t have a choice.

But that’s alright. I feel comfortable taking on this challenge, because in all honesty, Isaac, as much as I’d love to run you down for being such a predictable piece of trash… Well, the truth is that we’re not so different. We’ve both spent a long time refusing to acknowledge that we aren’t good at any one thing. You wasted your time and effort trying to be a star in film and television while I spent a lot of years trying to be something I wasn’t. We both paid for it in the end. Now the two of us - we’re both nobodies when it comes down to it, at least right now. No one thinks about us. No one cares about us. You’ve got insurmountable confidence, sure, but that only gets you so far. Take away all the bravado and showmanship, and you’re nothing short of a stray dog like me. We’re two sides of the same coin - two of the same kind that are about to intersect tomorrow night at Kingdom. Unfortunately, only one of us can win and move on to become more than just a nobody. Here’s my prediction: It won’t be you. It will never be you, Isaac. You can’t wrestle any better than you can act, and that’s not a shot at your talents - it’s a fact about who Isaac Thornton is as a person. You’ve never had it in you to genuinely be something special, have you? You’ll lose. You’ll fail. Again, and again, and again. Then you’ll point your finger again, blame something new, and drag what’s left of your carcass somewhere else and be someone else’s problem. Go ahead, Isaac. Do what everyone expects of you. Keep up that smug look and sense of superiority. Make fun of how I look and where I come from. They’ve never been anything considered a “hit”, but you’ll play them all the same, won’t you?

We’ve both wasted our potential with something we loved, Isaac. We both had a passion that we dedicate ourselves to. Only difference is that I chose to stop running from it, and you chose to start.
The years have worn him down! He is no longer the ferocious beast he could have been had Layne stuck to his craft and mastered his teachings! Greed swallowed him whole and nearly destroyed him! Yet he has pulled himself back! The abyss calls his name, but he does not answer it! He refuses to fall off the ladder again! No matter how fragile the rungs become! No matter how much time and injury wears him down! He cannot allow himself to falter again! This dark cloud over him has only begun to fade! Through the dedication he lacked, he can finally see a silver lining! He climbs toward it! higher! Higher!! Higher!!!

(Scene starts with an overview shot of a scaled model of a suburban neighborhood with piano playing in the background. A Moongoose-mobile hotwheel model drives by as the camera zooms in on a house with a red roof. Scene shifts to an interior of the house, where “The Goose” in a buttoned up shirt opens the doors and steps in and starts to put his stuff down as he sings a tune.)
 
It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood,
A beautiful day for a neighbor,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
 
(The Goose approaches and opens the closet. He takes off his shirt and proceeds to put on a black knit sweater)
 
It's a neighborly day in this beautywood,
A neighborly day for a beauty,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
 
I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you,
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.
 
(The Goose reaches into his closet once more and grabs a fanny pack and buckles it around his waist before walking over towards a banister)
 
So let's make the most of this beautiful day,
Since we're together, we might as well say,
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?
 
Won't you be my neighbor?
Won't you please,
Won't you please,
Please won't you be my neighbor?
 
(The Goose leans over on the banister and smiles as he looks at the camera)
 
Hi neighbor, I'm glad we're together again.... I’m sure most of you all miss my cinematic unnecessary expositions that drags out and eventually leads to the point I’m trying to make when we do these things. A lot as happened since some of you all last saw me. In fact, here is a recap.
 
(The Goose unzips his fanny pack and pulls out a mini-hand puppet the resembles the Goose. Following up, he brings out a Finnegan Wakefield hand puppet with a mini pop up collar jacket and the OWA belt)
 
Mini-Goose Puppet: I hate you.
 
(The Goose tosses the Finn puppet to the side, and reaches back in the fanny pack,and pulls out a puppet resembling Carlos Rosso)
 
Mini-Goose Puppet: My boys hate you.
 
(The Goose tosses the Carlos puppet to the side, and digs into the fanny pack, and pulls out a female puppet with pink wig and quickly hides it back in fanny pack.)
 
Heh…. That’s for something else for me, later on.
 
(The Goose then digs further into the fanny pack, and he struggles with it. The Goose mumbles why they can’t make these any bigger, and finally pulls out a puppet resembling Keelan. The Goose just keeps staring directly at the camera for a few seconds, and then raises his mini puppet up)
 
Mini-Goose Puppet: I hate you the most.
 
(The Goose then tosses all the puppets behind him.)
 
Great! Now that we are all caught up. Let’s talk about now. After all, THE GOOSE HAS COME …..TO KINGDOM!! WELCOME TO OWA, THE GOOSE IS OWA! I’m sure you all have heard it before, but you’re about to hear it once more. I’m here to excite you, ignite you, more importantly, delight you. You may be wondering, how did this all happen. And it’s a great story, a phenomenal story. One that is to entertain for the ages and knock your frickin’ socks off…….. I got a call. They made an offer, and after 90 days of negotiations and delays, after all, it’s not easy for one to change the way one looks, it’s happening, oh, it’s HAP….PEN…..NING! THE GOOSE IS LOOSE, BABAY!
 
All the antics, all the showmanship, all top grade a quality matches is now exclusive to the OWA brand, so all of you start booking in your Sunday Nights, because this is the only time you’ll be able to catch me live. And why would anyone punish themselves by not including them in their life? I mean, look at me. I mean really look at me. The epitome of perfection! The masterpiece of the century! ….. Now stop looking at me like that, it’s creepy. I mean, you can all dream of me, I can’t do anything about that. But like, why? When the things you can imagine me doing….. doesn’t even compare to what I will be doing? Save yourself the brain cell, and keep your eyes glued to the television, and let me take you on this neverending story….Ah-aahaaaaaaaaah! It’s about to get magical all up in here!
 
But… but. This isn’t just about me. After all, I share my debut match on Kingdom with another man.  Senza …..Faccia? Was it? Great name, by the way. I suppose it’s only courteous and fair that I give you an opportunity in the spotlight. After all, this is an equal opportunity establishment. I mean, you have your goals, and I have mine, but here I am, talking about myself. I mean, how rude of me, truly. I’m sorry. Please, it’s your turn. Please, properly introduce yourself to me….. Go ahead.
 
IT DOESN’T MATTER WHO YOU ARE!! IF YOU THOUGHT I WAS SERIOUS WHEN I SAID THAT THIS WASN’T JUST ABOUT ME!! THAN SHAME ON YOU!! YOU DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL!! Senza Faccia, you suck, and I’m going to kick you and your stupid ass name all up in down the ring. THERE IS GOING TO BE “SEN” THERE, “ZA” ON THE ANNOUCER TABLE…. AND “FACCIA” ALL THE CROWDS FACES!! PUN FRICKIN INTENDED!! I’M GOING TO RIP YOU A NEW ONE, BECAUSE I FEAR THAT OWA, NO, THE WORLD NEEDS A RE-EDUCATION OF WHAT THE MAN BEHIND “THE GOOSE” IS ALL ABOUT! I ain’t here to lolly gag. I ain’t here entertain you all like a monkey. I ain’t here to be your frickin neighbor, and if I am, I’m going to clear out this entire block, because The Goose is here to bring the party back here 24/7!
 
 Uh-Oh We're In Trouble, Something's Come Along And It's Burst Our Bubble! (Yeah Yeah!)
 
And Senza, you best try to keep up, or get out, because The Goose…. Aint….. going… nowhere! So until then, neighbor, and this goes for each and every single one of you. You’re in for the most intense and electrifying ride of my career, and you have my word on that. THE GOOSE … IS …. BACK…. AND OWA… WILL NEVER……EVAAAAAAAA…. BE THE SAME AGAIN!
 
And now, here is a song to play me out and make this segment seem longer than necessary!
 
(Song starts playing as pictures stills from certain events play like a slideshow)
 
Fighting Finnegan Seven Times
Breaking toilets, Committing Crimes
Stuck in Jail, Grand Rampage fail,
Raising Boys, turning Pale
 
Getting naked on the shows,
Acting Mexican in Tokyo,
Beating Senn,Throwing Tantrums,
Aria not proud, banned from Harlem
 
 
Worried that Keelan is gay,
BOB Brand, Accidental KKK,
Racism is bad and gross,
but insists he was just dressing up like a ghost,
 
Jedi Master, Rope Break,
Commercials, Oasis’ hoecakes,
Goose is back in OWA,
What else do I have to say?!
 
They'll Never Stop The Goose now!
Have no fears, we've got stories for years, like
The Goose becomes a Penguin,
Maybe Goose gets a tag team partner, will the boys ever hit puberty?
 
Or, how 'bout a crazy wedding?
Where Aria gets Bill Cosby-ed and doo doo doo doo doo...
Sorry for the extra shit.
Have no fears, we've got stories for years!

For our fallen brother and sisters.

In our short time we’ve been in OWA, we’ve laid the foundation for every black man or woman who’s been oppressed by a system of white rulers.  They have whipped us into submission and made us look like fools for their amusement. In this industry, we have been put aside for the white man as the leaders of brands and locker rooms, but we’ve had enough.  How could they do this to those who were weak before? These crackers don’t deserve any sympathy after their disgusting acts on my brothers and sisters. Some can’t even come home to their families because they were beaten to death but the white system.  White ain’t right; black pride will take over OWA and we will take back our freedom no matter how big the cost. Olympus will be the brand of example and Bad and Boujee will see why their use of a black man’s song is disgusting. Their non-seasoned asses are gonna feel the pain us black folk have felt for several hundred years.  Tomorrow night will the beginning of a new movement. There have been MLK, Malcolm X, and now we’re here. Before we were slaves, but now….now we’re unchained.