The lights turn on in a completely white room. McAdams walks in wearing his suit and muttering to himself.

"Cunty dingleberry gonna not say anything to me all week. Ill show you, you Fucking stinky lipped shit licker."

McAdams stands over a picture of Axl. He undies his pants and bends down over it and takes a shit on the photo.

He pulls his pants up and walks out of the room and turns off the light.

Live for yourself, there's no one else,
More worth living for.
Begging hands and bleeding hearts will only cry out for more.








Yankee Stadium. Mere blocks from the place where I made home for those formative years surviving after leaving the leash of my family. In the world of American professional sports, there's no place more highly regarded as far as housing the legends of their craft. Jeter, Posada, Rodriguez in this building, and DiMaggio, Gehrig, Ruth in those before it. The old adage from the film Sandlot was that heroes get remembered, but legends never die.


“But as I stand here looking on at this building from my past, I know that old adage to be nothing but a glittering generality. Nothing survives this life, and legends are no different. That's why, with the time you're given, take advantage of the opportunities afforded you.


Michael Bishop...the importance of this week's fight is not lost on me. You, too, are not a journeyed veteran of this very ring. You made your combat mark outside of it...in cages and on canvas' where the concern is not for pinning shoulders to the mat, but rather beating your opponent senseless or making them succumb to your submission prowess. But no matter where we've come from, the goal is the same...to get the chance to take Scotty Adams' Spartan Championship at Budokai Tenkaichi.


My time in this company has been stop-and-go to this point. From my dominant first win, to Bull Connors taking advantage of a momentary blind spot, to a commentator believing it was my first contest in OWA in my third contest against Kenzo Nakazari. I've been whipped with a steel chain, I haven been left out of work for weeks at a time, when at the end of the day, all I wanted to do was teach that there are no advantages afforded in life besides self-attained ones. But this week, my patience is being rewarded.


My words may be short, and my travel may be looming to Philadelphia later today. But mark these words down, Dreadknight. This game of chess may start territorial, protecting our strongest assets to feel one another out, but at the end of the day, we shall battle like Spartans, leaving it all out in the ring.


Blood, sweat, and will.”

 
VERNON TRESSLER! YOU DAMN COWARD! YOU PATHETIC WORM OF A MAN!
 
 
What do you think happens in a warzone, Mr. Tressler? You wouldn’t know, would you? Me and Natalie know, we know what it’s like to see men screaming out in pain as they drag their bullet ridden carcasses across a bloodstained city street. You know what happens? The fight rages on. It doesn’t stop until the other side has been completely decimated. Last week, you deprived me of that opportunity. Wolvesden and those roided up cunts were partaking in the most brutal war that Kingdom has ever seen. And what happened? Were we allowed to continue? Was I allowed to lay waste to my foes and demonstrate why I am the deadliest man in an entire division? No I fucking wasn’t! Because some suit, some cowardly man in an office who’s never even seen battle decided it was best to come onto the battlefield and call it off!
 
You son of a bitch, Tressler, you have no earthly idea what beast within me you’ve awakened. Not yet, anyway. I see you’ve booked me in a match with that delinquent Caspian this week. Do you think that’s wise, sir? Do you know what I’m going to do to that doped up Hispanic degenerate? All of this rage, all of this anger, it will be brought down on Caspian tenfold, and you can explain to the board of directors why one of their employees now has to eat his meals through a straw for the rest of his life!
 
 
Caspian, our paths have crossed before. Hardcore Havoc, the Ultimate X match, the night your unhealthy obsession began. I seem to recall Isaac Thornton snatching you from my clutches before I could inflict pain upon your person, and that’s the closest we’ve ever come to blows. If I’m honest, it’s a good thing you’ve been kept as far away from me as possible, because the things I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished, I’m not about to let a knock-off El Chapo derail that momentum. But now you’re in an unlucky spot, you’ve been selected as the sacrificial lamb for me to unleash my rage upon. Vernon Tressler knew that I’d need some sort of outlet for destruction after he screwed me over last week. You are the unfortunate vessel for that outlet.
 
You see, Caspian, we both failed at Hardcore Havoc, that much is true. Neither of us captured that Spartan Title, and now it is around the waist of one Scotty Adams, a man who you have anything but love for. But that failure is where our similarities end…hombre. You are driven by the fear…no, the fact that you cannot defeat Scotty Adams. I was a part of the sea of humanity surrounding the ring in that lumberjack match. I witnessed Scotty beat you first-hand. Since then, you have put on a sad display of begging for recognition. You lost the Ultimate X match and couldn’t let it go. You made a point of jumping Scotty after his first defence and staking your claim to the Spartan Championship and it got you nowhere.
 
Then what happened? Game Over? Where you weren’t even booked on the card? You couldn’t even get into a fatal four-way to challenge for Scotty’s title. There were three spots open and you were not deemed worthy enough to enter, despite your endless campaign for a title shot. Then you decide to “grace” the ring with your presence afterwards and yet again tell the whole damn world that that title will soon be yours.
 
Now comes the really funny part, despite all of the campaigning, the sneak attacks, the bullshit rhetoric, the number one contender’s match on Sunday for that Spartan Championship doesn’t even involve you. No, it involves Monolith, a lumbering oaf who’s been here for a cup of coffee, and Michael Bishop, a man who appears to have ran away from me with his tail between his legs like the perpetual coward he is. Two nobodies pipped you for an opportunity at a title shot and the hilarity of that almost puts me in a good mood.
 
That is your saga in the OWA, Caspian, one of failure. You have made it abundantly clear to anyone who will listen that you only want one thing and yet you’re further away than you ever have been from having it. But what have I done since that fateful night at Hardcore Havoc? Did I rest on my laurels? Did I hopelessly pursue something as though I were in Apocalypse Now? Or did I take some initiative? I watched as I realised that the Spartan division is full of entitled weekend warriors who think they can just beg for a title shot and get one. Like a child who pesters their mother for a toy.
 
I realised that the only way I was going to get anything done here was to take action. So what did I do? I bulldozed through every tag team in this company, I did what you couldn’t do: I won a title.
 
 
I now run an entire division, and I got here within just a month of my initial failure at capturing gold. In that same timeframe, Caspian, you have whined and complained and got nowhere. You can jump as many people with your ragtag army as you want, you can go to sleep with that chain wrapped around your fist for all I care, it’s got you precisely nowhere. Your name is now associated with failure. Failure to beat Scotty Adams. Failure to win a title. Failure to even get a title shot within your own division. And that story of failure is barely past the prologue. Come Sunday, you are going to be standing across the ring from the very best in this division. You will be coming into my home, my den, and you will be at my mercy.
 
It wasn’t enough for you to be an afterthought in your own division, you had to step over to mine and infest the place with your stench. Last week, you did what you’re best at: moaned to Vernon Tressler about what you feel you’re owed and it didn’t lead to anything. Meanwhile, I main evented the show and proved yet again that there is no force in the OWA that can come close to the might of Wolvesden. Isn’t it amazing how somebody can achieve so much in the same amount of time that someone else can achieve zero?
 
I do not need a partner to end you, Caspian. Tag team gold does not represent a single championship split in half, no, it represents two components of excellence forming an unstoppable union. I masterminded the procurement of these titles, Kenny Drake was kind enough to let me mobilise my plan to get Wolvesden to the top and it paid off. Acquiring this treasure wasn’t easy. It involved weeks of analysis, breaking down every team to its core elements, working out their weaknesses both as a unit and as individuals.
 
If I was able to pull off victory with all of those moving parts, then what makes you think I’m going to have any trouble breaking down one man? When was the last time that anybody feared you, Caspian? You walk around with a chain around your fist because you can’t knock a man out under your own power, and you hide behind lackeys who will drop you like a bad habit as soon as you can no longer fuel their dependence on narcotics. You have an empire built on sin, I have one built on honour, discipline, strength. The men and women who accompany me to the ring are trained soldiers. They obey my every word not because of the promise of a chemical reward, but because they respect the power I wield. When I look at you, Caspian, I see a man who rules through deviance and paranoia. You are no leader, you are a thug who can sign a paycheck.
 
For every pero you bring to the ring with you on Sunday, I will bring a lobo, and what’s a dog to a wolf? A weakened breed who has had its killer instinct taken away through years of systemic domestication. When your men meet mine on the battlefield, it will be a slaughter hitherto unseen in the world of professional wrestling. The cries of anguish and sounds of people begging for mercy will fill your ears and terrify you more than you could ever know. I’m coming to take your soul, Caspian. And who knows? When I’m done with you, maybe I’ll head on over to your division and do what you find impossible. Maybe I’ll run through Scotty Adams as well and hold two titles, not for the glory, just to further prove how low on the totem pole you are. Everything that you are planning on doing to me at Kingdom is futile. Your men are weak and so are you.
 
Just promise me one thing, Caspian: after I’m finished, and you are nothing more than a wheezing sack clinging to breath, I don’t want to hear one more word about what you’re owed. Frankly, it’s giving me a headache, and if I have to rip out your damn voice box to shut you up, then that is exactly what I’ll do.
 
 
This one’s for you, Caspian.
 
 

Thursday. Thursday. Thursday. Thursday? Friday.

The disrespek has gone on long enough you OWAssholes. One, you don’t draft me on your live show. Forgivable, but then… TWO! YOU BOOK ME ON A LIVE SHOW - AGAIN! NOT EVEN THE MAIN EVENT THIS TIME! NOT FOR THE TITLE! NOT FOR ANYTHING! JUST A MATCH?! WRESTLING? YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME WRESTLE? YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME PROMO? FOR WHAT? NO, TELL ME, FOR WHAT?! Whoever running this show is god damn corrupt. Where’s Nas’s weekly match? Where’s Keelan’s weekly match? Where’s Wakefield’s weekly match? Where’s Oasis’ weekly match? NOWHERE! NOWHERE! NOWHERE! AND AGAIN - NOWHERE! JAPAN DOESN’T FUCKING EXIST SO I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT. POINT IS - THIS IS INJUSTICE, AND I’M SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF IT.

Signing this OWA contract is probably the worst decision of my life next to signing my SSW contract, but let’s be real, I have nothing better to do. Watering the plants at the Bonsai Garden takes like 5 minutes outta my week and the rest of it I spend hating my life because Vern ChildDiddler can’t keep his hands off my dick, can’t keep his hands off of his own dick, so he has no other choice but to put me in these god damn weekly matches. Awful, awful, absolutely fucking awful. Still, to the GM of Kingdom, I say by not signing me, you just made the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, perhaps the worst trade deal I’ve ever seen in my life. I mean, you want Finnegan Wakefield as your World Champion? Nah. Y’all should have just signed me and let me set that toothpick straight with that bullshit. And to whoever signed Nas to Olympus, you really want CM Nas as your World Champion? Nah. Y’all should have just signed me and let me set that Annoying Faggot straight with that bullshit.

So let’s just take a quick look back at my OWA history. I get beat up by Nas, I get beat up by Milk Tiddies, I get beat up by Nas and Saul Omen at the same time, I get my mfin meat beat by OWA Management when they didn’t even draft me on their Draft Show yet still have the fucking caucasity to put me in a fucking match that isn’t even in the main event. You know what’s funny about Olympus. You take one special ed lookin motherfucker like Kingdom, you split him in half, take the retarded side, and then you get Olympus. CM Nas as your World Champion? Did he beat me? Again, did he beat me? No and no, right? Is Saul Omen gonna pop up and help him beat Milk Tiddies too? Probably! Is management gonna say something that time? YES! There’s a conspiracy against me. Believe it if you will. But when I get shot sitting in my lambo y’all better know it was Yung Chat Nigga.

Now onto this match. This Miltiades motherfucker is still LARPing in 2018 for some god damn reason, I thought our generation had already bullied all those kids into serious mental health issues but for some reason Milk Tiddies came out unscathed. And that really disgusts me. There needs to be consequences for the bullshit people do, and there’s probably no bigger crime happening in OWA right now, now that Savannah Shockwave is gone, than parading around in a Toga pretending to be some Ancient Roman Emperor or whatever the fuck - do I look like I give two shits about Cac History? You know why you were able to so easily beat Tarah, Miltiades? She had bigger things on her mind. Why the hell would she want to win the Omega Heavyweight Championship and represent Olympus, HA, when she’s on track to go one on one with Khmaoch Fucking Sangkat? She LET you have that match bro, so lose the big head, in fact, lose your head entirely please, and just skip the show tomorrow. I don’t understand what fucking political shit you’re talking about with Fenix and Pentagon over there but you gotta chill if you think your Roman-Greco Democratic Bullshit is gonna compete with the Communist Party of OWA. Good fucking luck.

And believe it or not Miltiades, unlike your people who are only known for pizza and stabbing each other in the back, I have a little something called HONOR. Yeah, I wanted to make sure Jacob Senn didn’t win the OHC because I needed him to focus on ME, not on you, not on CM Banks, and definitely not on the OHC. I wasn’t trying to take him out, nor was I trying to help your dumb ass. Look at the kind of fucking pussy you are, standing here two months removed from Hardcore Havoc and still whining that I didn’t get the job done for you, but hey moron, at least you can seem to accept that there never really was a chance of you getting it done yourself. Disappointment buddy? Are you my mom? Do I give a shit? You’d best stay disappointed, I’m gonna disappoint you a little more tomorrow, then at OWA Game Over PPV you’re gonna disappoint yourself a whole lot more when CM Nas kicks your ass and sends you packing back to SSW.

Chris Sabertooth? Who the actual fuck? Am I supposed to know this dude? Did Bull Connors change his name? I thought I got rid of you already Bull Connors. Well, let me be straight. I know who you are Chris Sabertooth. I’ve heard the hype. I’ve heard it all. In fact, I legitimately see a bit of myself in you, you know, if I never had any actual talent. But still, there’s hype, a lot of hype, but that’s all it seems to be. So tell me then please what this green as turtle shit rookie is doing lecturing me? World Champion buddy? WHERE? WHERE’S’T’DVE? HUH? NOWHERE, RIGHT? LYING ASS MOTHAFUCKA! Who the fuck are you to lecture me? Who the fuck are you to tell me who and what my priorities gotta be? Did I need that OHC? HELL FUCKIN NO. I was there to put a beating on Nas because he put a beating on my friend Brian Daniels.

It’s really as simple as that. SSW comes first for me because that’s my home - OWA is a foreign land I’ve come to ruin. It’s as simple as that. Brian Daniels, Saul Omen, CM Nas, Jacob Senn - these are the elite level names I need to be thinking about on a constant basis, so I’m sure you can understand why I have absolutely zero regard for the kinds of you, Chris Sabertooth. Step away? I wish man, I fucking wish. How about you tell Vern Truffant to stop booking me and then we’ll talk. But until then, I’m condemned to a fate of fighting lowlifes like you and Milk Tiddies. I admit - I’m a legend past my prime. I was never going to be OHC, I was never going to be the face of Olympus - and yes, my problems start and end with The Phantom Troupe in SSW because if I let these goons run wild there then it’s only a matter of time until they pop up in OWA and start making YOUR life hell, so you can thank me now you little unappreciative maggot.

You’re the leader of what? The leader of what? Not of the Heavyweight Division. Not of the Spartans Division. Surely not the Goddess Division. Not the TV Division. So…? …Nothing? Right? Leader of nothing? Good thing we made that clear. Thinking you’re on Nas’ level. Cute. Thinking you’re on mine? That’s a fucking war crime. I’m handing out justice New York style all across the world. Jacob Senn, The Phantom Troupe… Miltiades. And if I have to add Chris Sabertooth to that list, so be it.

Just cuz I slack doesn’t mean I’ve lost a beat. Come for my head and you’ll lose yours. You’re going to see what a real LEGEND in this fucking business looks like come Olympus, Sabertooth.

(THE SCENE OPENS UP ON A CLOSEUP OF A MAN'S FACE.  HE CHECKS THE LENS OF THE CAMERA FOR SMUDGES, GIVES IT A QUICK WIPE, THEN FOCUSES AWAY FROM HIMSELF, AND PANS AROUND TO SHOW HIMSELF, AND ANOTHER MAN, TRAVELING IN A CAR, DOWN A HEAVILY WOODED ROAD.)

Driver:  You're filming this?  We're not even there yet.

Camera Man:  Yeah, I realize that, I just need Frank to see exactly the kinds of places he sends us.  Most everyone else has us meet them in a gym, or the weirder ones just send us a tape every week they make themselves, for us to edit...but this guy.  Brand new and we've been driving through god knows where for 2 hours now.  I haven't seen a building in at least 45 minutes.

D:  Man, I get it, but this is the job.  I think we're getting close anyway...look.

(AS THE DRIVER FINISHES SPEAKING HE POINTS TOWARD A PERSON, DRESSED IN ALL BLACK, WALKING DOWN THE ROAD UP AHEAD OF THEM.)

CM:  What's someone doing walking all the out here?  You think we should ask him if he needs a lift...or at least if the knows where this place is?

(THE DRIVER SHURGS AND SLOWS THE CAR DOWN AS THEY APPROACH THE MAN.  AS THE GET BESIDE HIM, THE CAN SEE HE IS WEARING A PURE BLACK SUIT, FITTED AND PRESSED, NOT A SINGLE WRINKLE ON IT, AND A BLACK VEIL COVERING HIS FACE.  THE PASSENGER ROLLS DOWN THE WINDOW, BUT TURNS TOWARD THE DRIVER, GIVING HIM A CONCERNED LOOK, BEFORE ADDRESSING THE WALKING MAN.)

CM:  Hey, buddy.  We're looking for a church out here, but we haven't seen anything for miles, and there hasn't been any service for about a half hour.  Do you know where it might be?

(THE MAN CONTINUES TO WALK, AS THOUGH HE DIDN'T EVEN HEAR ANYONE TALKING TO HIM.  THE CAMERA CREW SHOOT EACH OTHER A BEWILDERED LOOK, AND THE PASSENGER TRIES AGAIN.)

CM:  Hey man, just need directions, we're not looking to cause any trouble out here or anyth...

(BEFORE HE CAN FINISH TALKING THE DRIVER TAPS HIM ON THE SHOULDER, TO WHICH HE IGNORES AT FIRST, BUT THEN NOTICES WHY, FOR HIMSELF, AFTER A MOMENT. DOZENS OF MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE AROUND THEM. WALKING THROUGH THE WOODS, AND ALONG THE ROAD IN THE SAME DIRECTION AS THE FIRST MAN. EACH OF THE PEOPLE ALL HAVE FINE ATTIRE ON, BLACK SUITS FOR THE MEN AND BOYS, AND LONG BLACK DRESSES FOR THE WOMEN.  EACH PERSON'S FACE BEING SKEWED BY A BLACK VEIL. THE CAMERA MAN TURNS TO THE DRIVER AND MOUTHS THE WORDS "WHAT THE FUCK" BEFORE PANNING THE CAMERA AROUND TO CAPTURE ALL OF THOSE AROUND HIM.  HE THEN TURNS THE CAMERA BACK TOWARDS HIMSELF AND THE DRIVER.  THE DRIVER IS LOOKING ON WITH A LOOK OF CONFUSION, AND UNEASINESS)

CM: Frank, are you seeing this?  What the hell did you send us out in to?  Look at this.

(HE ONCE AGAIN TURNS THE CAMERA BACK TOWARDS THE PEOPLE WALKING ALL AROUND THEM.  AS HE CONTINUES TO PAN AROUND THE CAR HE JUMPS, AND DROPS THE CAMERA TO HIS LAP WHEN HE FINDS ONE OF THEM STOPPED, AND LOOKING IN TO THE WINDOW AT THEM.  HE QUICKLY GRABS THE CAMERA BACK UP, AND POINTS IT AT THE MAN.  THERE ARE MOMENTS OF SILENCE BEFORE THE PASSENGER GATHERS THE COURAGE TO TALK TO HIM.)

CM: Hey, there, pal...uhmm...we, we were just looking for a church out here.  We were told that this guy, James Onlee, wanted us to meet him out here, and we think we're a little lost. 

(THE VEILED MAN SAYS NOTHING, BUT CONTINUES TO STARE AT THEM.  THE TWO IN  THE CAR SHOOT A QUICK GLANCE AT EACH OTHER, BEFORE ADDRESSING THE MAN AGAIN.)

CM: Well, I guess if you don't know, that's fine.  We'll just be...

(BEFORE HE CAN FINISH THE MAN TURNS AND POINTS UP THE ROAD.  ITS CLEAR WHERE HIS INTENTION IS, AS JUST UP AHEAD THERE IS A DIRT ROAD THAT ALL OF THE VEILED PEOPLE ARE TAKING.  THE PASSENGER THANKS THE MAN FOR HIS TIME, THEN TURNS TOWARD THE DRIVER WITH A "WTF" LOOK AND MOUTHS "DRIVE".  THE PASSENGER GIVES A QUICK WAVE AND A FORCED SMILE AS THEY PULL UP THE ROAD.  THE GOING IS SLOW, THOUGH, AS THERE ARE MORE PEOPLE WALKING ALONGSIDE THEM, AND FILING THROUGH THE WOODS THE CLOSER THEY GET.  FINALLY, THEY APPROACH THE ROAD, AND CAN SEE A HOMEMADE SIGN THAT READS "CHURCH OF ONLEE".  THE CAMERA MAN GETS A GOOD SHOT OF IT BEFORE TURNING TOWARDS THE DRIVER.)

CM: Not very inviting, is it?

DR: No...no it isn't...I would say that there aren't many people around here to invite, but clearly that isn't the case, either.

(THE CAMERA MAN CONTINUES TO PAN AROUND AS THEY DRIVE UP THE ROAD. IT ISN'T LONG BEFORE THEY BOTH NOTICE THE STRUCTURE IN THE DISTANCE BEFORE THEM.  IT IS CERTAINLY OUT OF PLACE FOR THE AREA.  THE TWO DEFINITELY LOOK SURPRISED AS THEY PULL UP TO THE BUILDING. THE CHURCH BEFORE THEM LOOKS LIKE IT WOULD BE IN AN UPSCALE NEIGHBORHOOD, RATHER THAN IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE.  THE CHURCH ITSELF IS MODERN, BUT WITH STRUCTURES AND FEATURES CLEARLY BORROWED FROM OLD ESTABLISHMENTS.  THEY TAKE A MOMENT TO CAPTURE THE DETAILS OF THE CHURCH, AND THE AREA SURROUNDING IT.  THE TWO BOTH LOOK TOWARD EACH OTHER, UNSURE IF THEY ARE REALLY SEEING WHAT THEY ARE REALLY SEEING.)

D: This is the place?

CM: Man, I have no idea..but its the only building we've seen in the last 45 minutes, and the sign did say the guys name.

D: Yeah, I get that, but, but this place just doesn't...fit. I expected like a tent in a field, or some one room chapel or something.  Not...this.

CM: I'd assume you didn't expect a bunch of weirdos in suits with their faces covered walking in the middle of the woods either, but I guess here we are.

D: Yeah, I guess so.  

(IT TOOK A MOMENT BUT THE PAIR FINALLY REALIZE THAT NONE OF THE PEOPLE THAT HAD BEEN WALKING TOWARD THE CHURCH CAN BE SEEN ANY LONGER.)

D: Speaking of those "weirdos", where did they all go?

CM: I don't know, I guess inside.  Maybe it's time for Sunday School. 

D:  Alright, then I suppose we should do the same.  I'll get my camera, too, and then we'll head in. 

(THE PASSENGER NODS, AND RELUCTANTLY OPENS THE CAR DOOR.  HE SHOOTS THE AREA WITH HIS CAMERA, BUT FINDS NOTHING BUT TREES, THE ROAD, AND THE CHURCH.  HE'S STARTLED BY HEARING THE CLUNKING SOUND OF THE BACK DOOR SHUTTING AND TURNS TO SEE HIS PARTNER HAS HIS CAMERA IN HAND.  THEY GIVE EACH OTHER A THUMBS UP, AND HEAD TOWARD THE CHURCH.  AS THEY WALK TOWARD THE BUILDING THEY CONTINUE TO SHOOT, WITH THE CLOSER THE GET, THE SOUNDS OF SINGING CAN BE HEARD, COMING FROM INSIDE.  THE CLOSER THEY GET THE LOUDER THE SINGING BECOMES.)

CM: Jesus, that's loud...how many of those weirdos are there in there?

D:  We did see quite a few. And for the record, I probably wouldn't throw around terms like Jesus, and weirdo like that, here.

(HE NODS WITH UNDERSTANDING AS THE TWO WALK UP THE STAIRS TO THE CHURCH.  THE PASSENGER GRABS THE HANDLE OF THE DOOR AND PULLS IT OPEN. INSIDE THEY FIND A ROOM ILLUMINATED BY RED LIGHTS, AND ABOVE THE SECOND DOORWAY IN FRONT OF THEM, A GIANT RED CIRCULAR SYMBOL INSCRIBED IN TO THE WALL.  THROUGH THE DOOR WAY IN FRONT OF THEM A MAN ENTERS AND GREETS THE TWO CAMERA MEN. HE, AS ARE ALL THE OTHERS, WEARING A PERFECTLY PRESSED BLACK SUIT, AND A BLACK VEIL IS HUNG, OBSCURING HIS FACE.)

MAN: Ah, finally, you two must be the gentlemen from the OWA, is that correct?

(THE TWO CAMERA MEN SHOOT A GLANCE BEFORE ANSWERING)

D: Yeah, i'm Sam, and that's Ken.

(THE TWO CAMERA MEN EXTEND THEIR HANDS TOWARDS THE MAN FOR HANDSHAKES.  THE MAN GLANCES DOWN TOWARDS THEIR HANDS BEFORE CONTINUING TO SPEAK)

M: That's fine.  I was almost afraid you wouldn't be arriving on time.  You know, the Reverend rarely has guests in this fine house of our God.  He most certainly would have seen it as an insult if you were late.  

KEN:  Yeah, sorry about that.  This isn't the easiest place to find.  I wasn't sure we were ever going to find this place at all, to be honest.
(THE MAN SMILES UNDERNEATH HIS VEIL)

M: Our God always has his plans fulfilled, gentlemen. Now, on to the buisness at hand.  Before we allow you any further.  Both of you gentlemen do believe in our God, don't you.  This is no place for the unbelievers.

(SAM AND KEN ONCE AGAIN SHOOT A LOOK TOWARD EACH OTHER.  BOTH NOD TOWARDS THE MAN THAT THEY DO BELIEVE)

M: Excellent...excellent.  Our God most certainly is good.  

S: He certainly is...but speaking of business, when are we going to get to sit down with Mr. Onlee?

M: Reverend...

S: I'm sorry, Reverend Onlee

M: Thank you.  But you won't be "sitting down" with him...oh no, the Reverend is just about to give a very special sermon that you've been invited to film.  

(SAM AND KEN BOTH LOOKED CONFUSED)

K: So this isn't a one on one sort of thing?  Maybe we can have some time with him when he's done up there.  Usually that's how we do these kinds of things when our boss sen...

(THE MAN HOLDS UP A HAND TO STOP HIM)

M: Gentlemen...you've been invited here today for one simple reason.  The Reverend Onlee is going to speak to his parishioners in there, and he's going to speak to the world through your cameras.  His message must be heard, and his message will be heard.  You two are nothing more than simple vessels through which his word will be conveyed. This isn't some special interview where you two get to try to twist the words of the great Reverend.  You go in, you point your machines at Reverend Onlee, then he leaves.  Simple.  Do we understand each other?

K: Yeah

S: Yes

(THE UNEASINESS OF THE TWO MEN SEEMS TO GROW WITH THE TONE AND DIRECTNESS THE MAN BEFORE THEM USES TO ADDRESS THEM.)

M: Now, are you two ready, we need to be getting in there.  I hear the final hymn being sung, and after that the Reverend shall be delivering his great message.  

(THE TWO NOD THAT THEY ARE.  THE MAN WALKS OVER TO A BOX AT THE SIDE OF THE ROOM, AND PULLS OUT TWO BLACK SHROUDS.  HE THEN APPROACHES THE TWO MEN AGAIN AND HOLDS ONE OUT IN EACH HAND FOR THE MEN TO TAKE)

S: What are these?

M: Those are to cover your faces, of course.

K: Oh, well if it's all the same to you, it would be easier for us to not wear them.  It'll be easier to look through the camera and all.  

(THE MAN DOESN'T FLINCH, AND DOESN'T RESPOND.  HE MERELY CONTINUES TO HOLD THE SHROUDS OUT TO THE MEN.  KEN AND SAM SHARE A GLANCE BEFORE TAKING THEM.)

S:  Well I guess we can wear them.  Shouldn't be too much of a problem I suppose.

M: Very good. I do believe I hear them wrapping up, let us proceed.

(BOTH MEN ARE VISIBLY UNEASY WITH THE WHOLE SITUATION.  THE STRANGE MAN BEFORE THEM TURNS AROUND AND OPENS THE DOOR BEFORE THEM.  BEYOND THE DOOR THERE ARE ROWS, AND ROWS A MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN, ALL SEATED, AND SITTING NEARLY PERFECTLY STILL FACING THE FRONT OF THE SANCTUARY...EACH OF THEIR FACES COVERED WITH VEILS.  AS THE TWO CAMERA MEN ENTER THE ROOM THE PAN AROUND TO TAKE IN ALL THE ORNATE DECORATION, THE SAME CIRCULAR SYMBOL EBMOSSED IN TO THE WALLS ALL AROUND THE ROOM, AND ONCE AGAIN PLACED DIRECTLY BEHIND THE PULPIT AT THE VERY FRONT OF THE SANCTUARY.  AS THEY MOVE FURTHER INSIDE THEY SEE THAT THE ROWS OF PEWS BEFORE THEM WAS MERELY JUST THE BEGINNING, AS THERE ARE EVEN MORE ROWS ABOVE THEM IN BALCONY SECTIONS, ALL FILLED WITH PEOPLE SITTING EERILY STILL, WAITING FOR THEIR REVEREND TO COME AND ADDRESS THEM.  THE STRANGE MAN FROM BEFORE SEPERATES THE TWO CAMERA MEN, PLACING EACH OF THEM IN TO A CORNER OF THE SANCTUARY, EXPLAINING THAT ITS POINTLESS IF THEY BOTH GET THE SAME ANGLE.  AS THEY MOVE TO THEIR STATIONS THEY CAPTURE PAINTINGS ON THE WALLS OF SCENES OF ANGUISH AND TORMENT,  SCENES FROM SOME OF THE MORE DISTURBING MOMENTS OF THE BIBLE.  AS THE TWO TAKE IN FILM OF THEIR SURROUNDINGS ITS NOT LONG BEFORE A MAN WALKS ON TO THE STAGE, AND TO THE PULPIT.  THE TWO CAMERA MEN LOOK TOWARDS EACH OTHER AS THE MAN APPROACHES AND KEN MOUTHS "IS THAT HIM?", TO WHICH SAM SIMPLY SHRUGS THAT HE ISN'T SURE.  THE MAN RAISES HIS ARMS, AS IF TO QUIET THE CROWD, THAT IS ALREADY SILENT, BEFORE HE BEGINS.)

MAN: How great is our God?!

(THERE IS NOTHING BUT SILENCE FROM THE REGULAR CROWD, BUT KEN LETS OUT A CHEER AWKWARDLY, EXPECTING PEOPLE TO RESPOND.  THE MAN AT THE PULPIT GIVES HIM A DIRTY LOOK, AS DOES SAM)

M: Today, is the start of something amazing.  The start of something big.  The start of a new era for our God.  Today, after years of planning, and strategizing, and communion with our God, The Father...The good Reverend is here to deliver unto us, some amazing news.  Please welcome...REVEREND...JAMES...ONLEE!

(THE MAN AT THE PULPIT STEPS ASIDE, AS THE PARISHIONERS, MUCH TO THE SURPRISE OF THE CAMERA CREW, ALL STAND TO THEIR FEET. FROM A SIDE DOOR FOUR MEN WALK ON TO THE STAGE, AND STAND TO THE LEFT OF THE PULPIT FACING THE CROWD, FOLLOWED BY THE CREWS FIRST GLIMPSE OF JAMES ONLEE. JAMES, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE IS WEARING A JET BLACK SUIT, BUT HIS VEIL IS MUCH LONGER THAN EVERYONE ELSE'S AND IT HAS THE RED CIRCULAR EMBLEM OF THE RELIGION PLACED OVER THE AREA HIS FACE WOULD BE. JAMES HAS BLACK GLOVES COVERING HIS HANDS, AND HE PLACES THEM AROUND THE PULPIT AS HE APPROACHES IT.  HE STANDS TALL, BACK STRAIGHT, AND LOOKING FORWARD, OUT OVER THE PARISHIONERS THAT ARE HERE TO HEAR HIS MESSAGE. FOLLOWING HIM ARE FOUR MORE VEILED MEN, WHO TAKE POSITION AT THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE PODIUM.  ALL EIGHT MEN AT THE SIDES OF THE PODIUM BOW THEIR HEADS, AND CLASP THEIR HANDS AT WAIST LEVEL, AS IF IN PRAYER.  

KEN LOOKS OVER TOWARD SAM, AND MOUTHS "THAT'S DEFINITELY HIM" TO WHICH SAM ROLLS HIS EYES AND FOCUSES BACK ON THE MAN AHEAD OF THEM.  

JAMES TAKES A FEW MOMENTS TO TAKE IN THE CROWD BEFORE HIM.  HE LOOKS AT THOSE THAT SIT CLOSEST TO HIM, THEN BACK TOWARDS THOSE WHO HAVE PACKED IN IN THE BACK SECTIONS AND THE BALCONY.  THERE ISN'T AN OPEN SEAT LEFT IN THE SANCTUARY.  SOME VEILED FIGURES ARE STANDING, BUT ITS HARD TO TELL IF THEY ARE GUARDS, OR JUST DIDN'T ARRIVE IN TIME FOR A SEAT.  IN TOTAL THERE MUST BE ANYWHERE FROM 250-300 PEOPLE FILLING THIS SANCTUARY.  AFTER TAKING IN THOSE BEFORE HIM JAMES RAISES HIS ARMS IN FRONT OF HIM, AND LOWERS THEM, INSTRUCTING THE CONGREGATION TO BE SEATED.  IN NEARLY PERFECT UNISON THE PARISHIONERS ALL ARE SEATED, AND FACING FORWARD, THEIR UNDIVIDED ATTENTION PLACED ON THE REVEREND BEFORE THEM)

JO:  Brothers, and sisters...children of our God...an amazing blessing has once again been bestowed upon our doorstep.  An opportunity for the word of our God to be spread to the masses has once again presented itself.  An opportunity to bring new sheep to the flock, as well as the opportunity to show the wicked their rightful place...under the heel of my boot. You see, brothers and sisters, I have been in contact with an organization recently.  An organization called the OWA...the Omega Wrestling Alliance...an organization who has seen to it that I, Reverend James Onlee, am able to carry out the work of our God. 

Now, you may have noticed two people here from this organization are here with us today.  I have invited them here today, so that they could bear witness, and herald the coming of our God.  

(JAMES TURNS DIRECTLY TOWARD EACH KEN AND SAM AS HE SPEAKS)

JO: You see, friends, it is not an accident that you two are here today.  This is not your typical day of work, I realize, but this is something so much more.  You two are here today for something so much greater than what you normally do.  This is an honor that has been bestowed upon the two of you, a great calling.  Our God has chosen you two to send this message that you will receive out in to the world, and deliver it unto those who need us, and to our enemies.  You, see, men, we are not like most.  We do not believe that everyone is worthy of our God.  Quite the contrary.  You see, most fall very short of being able to receive the amazing gifts our God has to offer.  Most fall very short of salvation, and let me assure you...once you fall short.  Once your life has been so tarnished that our God no longer wants you...that your very creator no longer desires you as his creation...there is no turning back.  Once you have been judged unclean, and unpure there most certainly is no going back...there is no redemption...there are no second chances...and that, men, is what makes us greater.  It is the very grace of our God that makes us better than the normal person you see walking down the street...or the typical competitor that you sit down with.  We are chosen by our God.  I was chosen by our God.  

(JAMES TURNS FROM LOOKING BETWEEN SAM AND KEN AND ADDRESSES THE REST OF THE ROOM AS WELL NOW)

JO: As you all know my entire life has been dedicated to our God.  From the day I was born when my heathen, whore of a birthgiver left me on the steps of that church, our God had a plan for me.  Our God chose me out of the billions of so called people on this planet, and from the very time of the start of my existence, until this very moment I have been the instrument of our God to do his will, and to carry out our God's commands! 
 
(STARTLING THE TWO CAMERAMEN THE ENTIRE CONGREGATION SHOUTS OUT "PRAISE HIM" IN UNISON, ALMOST SHAKING THE WALLS)

JO: No matter if those commands were to spread the word of our God...no matter if those commands were to take in, and care for those that were lost, and did not yet know the love, and protection and the pure joy of our God...and it most certainly didn't matter if those commands were to take this simple body of mine...this simple, humble construct that our God gave me, and use it to choke the sin out of sinner after sinner...I followed the command of our God.  By the grace of our God I am, and we are better than the filth that infests this Earth.  By the grace of our God, we are better than the inhumane garbage that pretends to worship our God in churches around the world, but when they leave commit the same atrocities that they did before entering those so called churches.

(JAMES ONCE AGAIN LOOKS TOWARDS BOTH SAM AND KEN...SHIFTING HIS GAZE BETWEEN THE TWO)

JO: Let me assure you gentlemen, I gaze upon this world through the eyes of our God.  Let me be perfectly clear when I say this.  When I see mankind, I see nothing but sin and waste in most.  A lie is the same as a murder, is the same as blasphemy, is the same as taking the name of our God in vain.  A SIN is a SIN, no matter how big...it is all the same in the eyes of our God.  It is all the same in my eyes, and it is all the same in the eyes of every man, woman, and child who sits in this holy place today. You see, men, most only pretend to love a god, and have no idea of the wonders of our God.  They believe you can sit in a church, which I use the term loosely, for an hour on Sunday's, or once a year on Christmas, and believe they are holy people. Those people are a mockery toward us, and more importantly are a mockery to our God.  
I look at the roster of the Omega Wrestling Alliance, and I mostly see nothing but the sin that each of those men, and women...those cesspools of evil, carry around with them.  I see they try to hide their sin, but to those of us who look through the eyes of our God, nothing could be more obvious to see. I see men like CM Nas, or Jacob Senn, or Finnegan Wakefield, and I can see their sins written on them like someone had physically used a marker to do so.  I can see them for what they really are.  The world sees them as heroes, or something to be praised, or admired, or looked up to. I see them as a disease...an infestation...a blight on this world, and a disgrace to our God.  

(JAMES BREAKS HIS GAZE TOWARD THE TWO CAMERA MEN)

JO: Most religions preach salvation for anyone who should ask...that all you need to do is to offer your heart and soul to some god and all shall be forgiven.  Here, in the Church of Onlee, we know the truth.  We know that salvation isn't a right, it's a privilege, and we know that the only reasonable gift for the sinner is to force them to submit to our God.  That brings them no closer to his grace, but anyone can apologize for a sin...we, at the Church of Onlee feel that our God demands true repentance...that our God demands the sinner to be made to feel the weight of his or her sin, and be forced to face it...to be forced to tap the ground and say I am sorry. 

(JAMES TURNS TOWARDS A MAN SEATED BEHIND HIM.)

JO: Gentlemen...the screen...

(AS HE ASKS A SCREEN BEGINS TO ASCEND FROM THE CEILING BEHIND HIM, AND THE LIGHTS IN THE SANCTUARY DIM.  JAMES TAKES A STEP BACK FROM THE PULPIT, AND TURNS TOWARDS THE SCREEN.)

JO:  Show him

(AS COMMANDED, AN IMAGE OF ANDRE VIRGO APPEARS ON THE SCREEN.  SILENCE REMAINS THROUGHOUT THE SANCTUARY, UNTIL JAMES RESUMES SPEAKING)

JO:  This man...is named Andre...Virgo.  This man has been chosen and appointed by our God to be the first. This man shall be the alpha in Omega.  This is the man who shall be the catalyst for the coming trials of the OWA roster. Next slide

(AS COMMANDED THE SLIDE CHANGES TO A DIFFERENT PICTURE OF VIRGO, ONE THAT DEMONSTRATES HIS OUTLANDISH PERSONALITY)

JO:  This man personifies the concept of narcissism, and self love. This man promotes the concept that one can live a sinful, and wasted existence, but still find enjoyment and fullfillment.  This man is a liar.  This man lies to each memeber of the crowd he appears before and lets them believe that there is anything to love in them.  This man is set for a greatness, though.  This man is set to be the  one who will be tied to the beginning to our God's reckoning throughout OWA and the world.  This man's name...Andre Virgo, will always be synonymous with the things that are on the horizon...the, the change that our God has in store for this promotion, and the world.  Our God may not have any sympathy or desire to save Andre Virgo, but nothing says that our God has no use for him at all.  
Next slide...

(ONCE AGAIN, AS COMMANDED THE SLIDE CHANGES THAT SHOWS ANOTHER IMAGE OF ANDRE.  THIS TIME THE IMAGE IS A BIT MORE INTIMATE. AN IMAGE THAT ANDRE, HIMSELF, PROBABLY WAS UNAWARE WAS BEING TAKEN.  JAMES TURNS BACK TO HIS PARISHIONERS)

JO: You see, Andre Virgo may turn to the stars for guidance...believing in the fairy tales of astrology, but this is proof of the greatness, and the wisdom, and the power of...our God.  While we would be quick to dismiss this man as just another insignificant part of the infection that is humanity our God shows a purpose.  A purpose that will be fulfilled on Friday, June 22nd, in the very appropriate city of angels.  It is very appropriate that a man who looks to the stars for guidance will be the alpha.  The first sacrifice...the first to be made to atone.  He will be the alpha, but it is appropo that I will be the Omega, of the Omega Wrestling Alliance.  That after all have been left broken, and having paid their penance I will be left to deliver this world unto our God. 

(JAMES ONCE AGAIN APPROACHES THE PULPIT AND GRIPS IT TIGHTLY AS HE SPEAKS)

JO: There is a war coming, brothers, and sisters.  Steel yourselves, because once the opening attack has been made on Andre Virgo, and the world of OWA sees our opening salvo...they will understand the threat that we are, and that our God is an enemy to them...and they will come...Make no mistake, I used the word war very specifically a moment ago...but also never let it leave your minds that our God is mightier than any man.  Our God is mightier than any group...our God is mightier than any army...and our God is mightier than this entire world!  The grace of our God makes us better than this world.  The grace of our God makes us better than Andre Virgo...And the great, and amazing grace of our God will make the path from Andre Virgo to Heaven...with all the spoils that go along with that.

(JAMES SHOOTS BOTH OF HIS HANDS IN TO THE AIR)

JO:  We ARE on the correct side of history, my family.  Our God will guide us, and I, his messenger, his arm, and his voice, will ensure that we have everything that has been promised...forever...and ever...AMEN!

(AS JAMES FINIHISHES SPEAKING THE ENTIRETY OF THE CONGREGATION RISES TO THEIR FEET.  NO OTHER SOUND IS HEARD APART FROM THE RUSSELING OF THEIR CLOTHES AS THEY STAND.  KEN AND SAM LOOK TOWARD EACH OTHER, UNSURE OF WHAT TO THINK, AND KEN MAKES A NODDING MOTION FOR THE DOOR FOR THEM TO GET OUT OF THERE.  BEFORE EITHER HAVE THE CHANCE TO MAKE A MOVE THEY NOTICE A GROUP OF RATHER LARGE, VEILED MEN, CARRYING IN A TUB, AND PLACING IT ON THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF THE STAGE. THEY TURN THEIR CAMERAS TO SEE THE TUB IS FILLED WITH SOMETHING DARK, BUT THEY CAN'T MAKE IT OUT.  FROM THE PULPIT JAMES BEGINS TO SING THE WORDS:)

JO: GLO-RY...GLO-RY...HALLELUJAH...

(THEN, AS IF ON CUE, THE WHOLE OF THE CONGREGATION BEGINS TO SING THE WORDS OVER AND OVER.  THE WORDS ECHO AROUND THE ROOM AS ONCE AGAIN KEN AND SAM LOOK TOWARD ONE ANOTHER, BOTH SURE IT'S TIME TO LEAVE.  BEFORE THEY CAN GET TOO FAR FOUR MEN GRAB EACH MAN, FORCING THEM TO DROP THEIR CAMERAS AND TO ONLY SHOT STILL SHOTS OF THE FLOOR.  THE AUDIO OF THE CONGREGATION SINGING CAN STILL BE HEARD THOUGH, AND THEN JAMES CHIMES IN OVER IT)

JO: Come, as the Bible has said, let us wash these men in the blood!  Let us show them a better way!

(THE FINAL MOMENTS OF THE FEED INCLUDE THE SOUND OF BOTH KEN AND SAM BEGGING AND PLEADING TO BE RELEASED, WITH THE FINAL SOUNDS BEING THOSE OF SLOSHING LIQUID, AND A PERSON STRUGGLING FOR AIR.  THE CAMERA FEED THEN CUTS TO BLACK)

After the fatal four-way match for the OWA Spartan’s Championship at Game Over:
 
Christopher Sabertooth limps backstage after his fatal four-way match for Scotty Adams’s OWA Spartan’s Championship at Game Over. He looks exhausted and furious over the result as he failed to capture the Spartan’s Championship like he had promised everyone. Cori Simmons approaches Chris as he rests on an equipment crate.
 
“Christopher Sabertooth, if you’re okay with it, I’d like to have a word regarding your match tonight at Game Over.” Said Simmons.
 
“Okay? Do I look okay to you?” Asked Chris.
 
“I know, you just went through a hard-fought match. But…” Chris interjects and signals Cori to stop talking.
 
“Fine. Shoot… Hit me with your questions but don’t piss me off. I am not in a good mood right now and my back is killing me, so make it quick.” Said Chris.
 
“A tough loss tonight….” Said Cori and Chris intervenes once again.
 
“Really? That’s the sentence you’re going to start with? Did you not hear when I said don’t piss me off? What do I expect anyway.... Go on then….” Said Chris as he’s still a bit out of breath after the match.
 
“You were very confident heading into the match tonight but Scotty Adams retained after a phenomenal showing by all four guys. What are your thoughts about the match?” Asked Cori.
 
“Phenomenal Showing? Sometimes I think they hire brain dead buffoons to take these interviews. You want to know my thoughts…. Alright. Hardcore Havoc, I was confident heading into the match and I promised I was going to walk out as the inaugural Spartan’s Champion and that moment was stolen from me by Adams. Weeks followed with guys like Isaac getting a one on one title shot against Scotty which was absolutely bullshit. Jon McAdams... What do I say about this guy? He calls himself the Survivor but he rarely has ever survived a single a match, taking the pinfall few weeks ago against me and tonight falling victim to Scotty Adams. Why was he in the match? Why was Isaac in the fucking match?!” Screamed Chris as he holds his neck.
 
“Tonight, should have been about me getting what truly belonged to me. It should have been a one on one matchup between Scotty and I but that didn’t happen. I had promised that I was going to walk out of Game Over as the new and rightful OWA Spartan’s Champion but that…. That didn’t happen. I am not going to make any excuses… I said I was going to win and to be fair, Scotty did what every champion would do. He targeted the absolute weakest man on the roster and pinned him to retain this title. I would blame McAdams for the loss tonight but that’s how these multi-man matches are. You have to be on your feet at all times otherwise weaklings might fall prey and you can lose a match in an instant without it ever being your fault. So, I am not going to blame Jon McAdams for being the absolute worst wrestler in this company. We all already knew about it, so we can’t blame the guy for being terrible. But I can blame one man… No, it’s not Isaac Thornton either. I blame Vernon Tressler for awarding incompetent fucks like Jon McAdams and Isaac Thornton without a mainstage spotlight like tonight. Scotty and I could have torn the house down by ourselves…. We didn’t need the likes of McAdams or Thornton to ruin the match that everybody wanted to see. But Vernon booked it anyway… I mean, for a man running such a big show, Vernon really lacks the business acumen. He gave Scotty Adams with fodder to pick on and retain the championship tonight… I wasn’t pinned. In fact, I am yet to be pinned or submitted and unlike a man who claims to be the Survivor…. I don’t plan on doing that either. I am the REAL survivor here…. I am the REAL wrestler and I couldn’t walk out with the championship tonight because of incompetent wrestlers who can’t walk a mile in my shoes.” Said Chris passionately as he finally stands up from the crate.
 
“What is next for Christopher Sabertooth?” Asked Cori.
 
“What’s next? Immediately following this crappy interview, I am going to walk up to Mr. Tressler and share my opinion about his questionable booking decisions. I am a main event talent and I better be treated like one dammit!” Screamed Chris.
 
“And finally, next week OWA will host its first Draft with the introduction of Olympus. Where would Christopher Sabertooth want to go?” Asked Cori.
 
“I don’t really care, Cori. Kingdom or Olympus… It doesn’t matter to me because where I am. That show is must see television. Where I end up, that show is the flagship brand. So, it doesn’t matter if its Kingdom…. I will continue business like I have so far. And if it’s Olympus… The new brand needs a face. And there’s nobody better to be front and centre.” Said Chris.
 
“Thank you….” Before Cori could finish Chris walks off.
 
“That was a terrible interview. I really hope you are not on the show that I end up in…” said Chris off mic as he limped out of the frame as Cori watches him leave awkwardly.
 
OWA Draft Night:
 
Chris is backstage watching the draft picks as Jon McAdams gets drafted to Kingdom.
 
“This guy got drafted on the show? Hilarious.” Said Chris.
 
It’s time for Olympus’s next draft pick and it is… Christopher Sabertooth! Chris claps and looks happy about the draft pick.
 
“Friday Night Olympus just hit the jackpot! Olympus is officially the best wrestling show on the planet thanks to me. I am happy with the draft so far and I finally don’t have to be a part of Vernon Tressler fascination with quitters and losers. This is a fresh start that I needed to re-establish myself at the top of the card once again. “said Chris ecstatically.
 
Later that night:
 
Chris is back in his hotel room, sitting on the sofa sipping Champagne. He walks up to the table opposite the sofa and puts a camera down and hits the record button. Chris walks into the frame and sits back on the Sofa.
 
“Tonight, was eventful. A lot of things to talk about… Firstly, the elephant in the room. Christopher Sabertooth is going to be on Friday Night Olympus bay bay. A new show… A new beginning of sorts. That’s a good reason to celebrate, hence the finest Champagne.” Said Chris as he takes a sip out of his glass.
 
“Scotty Adams got drafted to Kingdom… Which means, Game Over was my last shot at the Spartan’s Championship at least for the foreseeable future. That is something that irritates me considering I never got my deserving one on one opportunity for the title. But that’s in the past now. From today, my business lies with making Olympus the flagship show and with the roster lined up, it already is turning out to be far superior to Kingdom. I mean… CM Nas is a far more respectable of a Champion than that scrawny Finnegan Wakefield. I like you Nas… But that doesn’t mean I am not gunning for your title. As much as I don’t like Gareth Cason, and he did have a few words for me tonight, I prefer him over Scotty Adams anyday! Now… Gareth did say a few things tonight like how I don’t really threaten him. You think you’re better than me just because you beat Bull Connors of all people? That’s hilarious. I always knew Bull was just a shell of the person that he used to be… NCAA All American not being able to win wrestling matches is hysterical. So, don’t toot your horns for long because if our paths end up crossing again, I will destroy you and take your title Gareth. But…. My focus lies elsewhere at the moment and we will get to that eventually. Coming back to the draft again…. Kingdom bit the bullet by drafting the likes of Jon McAdams and Isaac Thornton to their show and I am glad that I don’t have to share the locker room with those idiots anymore. They have been a thorn in my path for far too long for my own liking and I was getting tired of the same names popping up again and trying to cost me of my championship glory. But… Kingdom is now old news. Olympus is where all the eyes are at and I am going to lead that show to greatness. We already know which show is going to lead in the ratings… Also, I am glad that I don’t have to deal with Vernon Tressler anymore. I don’t hate the guy as much as I hate his booking decisions.
 
Whoever the new boss is going to be, is already doing better by not being Vernon Tressler. The first Olympus show is on June 22^nd Live from the Globe Theatre in LA. I love Los Angeles! It’s where all the superstars are at and this weekend, they’ll get an opportunity to party with the biggest… Me. The new boss, whoever that might be, has already done a better job at recognizing my talents than Tressler ever did. I am going to be in the main event, where I belong, against Miltiades and Stark. One being the number one contender for Nas’s Omega Heavyweight Championship and the other being the man Nas put his title against at Game Over. This is the night where I prove that I belong in the main event… When I beat these men, I will be in front of the line for the Omega Heavyweight Championship. That will be one hell of a way to start my run in Olympus.” Said Chris as he places the Champagne glass on the table.
 
“Some people think that I don’t have what it takes to be a champion… That’s why after all my promises, I failed to capture the Spartan’s Championship at Game Over. I mean, that’s a fair point to make if you don’t know any better. When you think of champions…. Christopher Sabertooth’s name comes first. I have been a World Champion before. If you think I plan to stop my legacy there…. Then you’re absolutely mistaken. The sole reason for me to join OWA was because I knew I still had it in me. I knew that I could be THE champion once again and I swore to myself that I will do so no matter what it takes. What happened these past few months was unfortunate as you people were taken away of your privilege of seeing what a true champion really looks like. Miltiades… He’s coming in hot from a victory against Tarah Nova at Game Over earning the right to say that he is truly the number one contender to Nas’s title. But Milty, I can’t be asked to say your name all the time, your victory against Tarah means nothing to me. You just beat Nas’s bitch…. That certainly doesn’t translate to a victory over a REAL wrestler like myself. You can have a burn burner of a match against Tarah Nova, but if that’s the best you have got, then you are in line for a surprise this Friday.
 
And Stark… You are nothing like the other people I have faced so far in OWA. I actually respect you for your accomplishments but it almost seems like OWA isn’t really your focus. You have your mind and interest stuck in SSW. Why waste your time and everybody else’s time in OWA if all you’re going to talk about is Brian Daniels or Saul Omen or whoever the fuck you have problems with in SSW. Unlike Miltiades, you have a lot of accolades backing you up. You have had a long career to be fair to you. Multiple time World Champion… Well, I have done that too. I can’t rate your opposition elsewhere but from what I have seen from you so far, you should have just retired man. I would have rated you much better if you really backed up your game against Nas but once again your work from SSW took over what was in front of you. You might be a legend in this business but maybe your time has come. After Nas beat you at Game Over… You lost your opportunity at the Omega Heavyweight Championship and now is the time for you to step away. Maybe take a breather and think about your work as an official at SSW. Maybe, you should concentrate on having an easier working schedule because whatever you have going on isn’t good enough anymore. This Friday… Two men who have strong claims at the Omega Heavyweight Championship will pile up as I walk away with a victory kicking off an era of greatness in Olympus. It’s a new brand…. A new show… A new beginning and it certainly needs a new face that runs the place. It’s not Stark, your time at the top is done. And it’s certainly not going to be Miltiades. So, Nas…. I know you’re watching this and I know you’ll be watching very carefully this Friday. I am basically going to do most of your work for you by taking out Miltiades out of the equation…. It’s going to be you vs me. CM Nas vs Christopher Sabertooth, to know who really runs Olympus. I will drink to that.” Said Chris as he picks up his drink once again.
 
“And as for my opponents this Friday… As a leader, I will make sure to welcome you to Olympus... Welcome to the pilot episode of my show. Don't forget to tune in this Friday. Cheers!” Said Chris as he smirks.
 
Fade to black.

 
 
48 days. 48 days ago was when I had my first match in the OWA. It was the night I showed the world who I was and what I planned on doing. Kenny Drake brought me into the fold, into his family, into the pack. And with me, I brought uncertainty and fear to instil in any man or woman who dared to face me.
 
A lot can happen in 48 days, it seems. I am yet to pinned, I am yet to be submitted, but above all, I am champion. In less than two months, I have in my possession an elite honour. Only seven people in the entirety of this company hold a championship, myself and Kenny are two of them.
 
 
I feel like I have to reiterate that this means there is no other collection of warriors in the OWA that can match the power of Wolvesden. Look at what I have done for these lost lambs. Clinton was once aimless, a nobody who had no purpose. Now he is in the company of champions. Rasmus Walker, a kid who learned the value of respect and obedience. He now sits across the table from gold.
 
 
You see, Rasmus, when we found you…no…when you found us, you were nothing. A pissant. A pathetic waste of space who nobody wanted to associate with. Your weak brother was dead, you had no family or friends to speak of. You had no place in this world. And now look at how far you’ve come. You are looking into the shine of gold, of a title that will never leave my side.
 
 
Brother, you are wise beyond your years. I have watched you build an army and you have given me soldiers to mobilise into action. I always knew you were destined for greatness, and now it truly is undeniable. We have a bond that nobody can break, and that can be said for the mighty Wolvesden. What I have seen between you and your fighters reminds me of us as children, fending for ourselves and never abandoning each other’s side. To see you in action last week reassured me that you hadn’t lost sight of who you are, that you are even better than I remembered. And I know that Rasmus, under my guidance, is ready for what is coming, aren’t you?
 
 
Do not fear, Rasmus, fear is the product of the lesser. Take Scott Oasis, for example. He is a man who speaks out of fear. What man who is confident in his own abilities aimlessly brags about his material achievements? Money? Sponsorships? His Twitter activity? Insecurity is a fatal mistake on the battlefield, and that fear in his eyes is exactly what will be his downfall.
 
 
You see, Scott, I do not care for what your earthly possessions are, because I know that not having what I have is what will continue to eat you up inside. You’re a solider on the battlefield who has been blinded by a smoke grenade, hopelessly lashing out in every direction, praying to the Almighty that you’ll hit something. Your blind jabs do not portray the unstoppable image that you have cultivated for yourself. I’d heard stories about Scott Oasis before I ever showed up in the OWA. I was told he was the biggest dog in the yard, the man who made everyone his bitch. Apparently, that includes making yourself one as well.
 
What kind of delusional egotist convinces himself that he ever had a hope of attaining glory at the peak of tag team greatness? You’d lost before we even entered the ring. We watched from the back as you Neanderthals failed to finish off two kids whose personality can be summarised by reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. We laughed, oh, how we laughed. We were ready to do battle with the baddest men on the planet, when we realised that that was merely a façade.
 
Scott, Michael Bishop has already addressed us in his own unique way. Though I’m yet to see him actually say anything of tact in lieu of desperately throwing his own faeces at the wall and seeing what sticks. Yet you feel the need to defend him in your own incoherent rant, what’s the matter Michael, you think it’s acceptable to let this fucking gorilla fight your battles for you?
 
Seeing you trying to string together a thought is truly remarkable, Scott. I now know how scientists felt when they taught monkeys how to sign. I just feel betrayed. I was under the impression that you were the best this company had to offer, a main event player. Do, pray tell, inform me as to why I’m not seeing you decimating Finnegan Wakefield or CM Nas right now then? Why are you in a position that has embittered you to the point of near madness?
 
Come Sunday, you’re walking into our world. You are a selfish brute of a man. Oh, Wolvesden haven’t accomplished anything? You’re staring down the barrel of a gun and hoping to high Heaven that it doesn’t go off, my friend. You are a man who is used to the spotlight and the adoration. Now you’re here, down and dirty, boots on the ground, you’re in the real shit with real soldiers. Men who fight together, men who die together. You’ve spent your entire career being the centre of attention and without it, you’ve let your own ego get to your head.
 
We hold all the cards, you’re being forced to share the spotlight with others for the first time in your miserable existence. You are not a man of valour, of honour, of BROTHERHOOD. Wolvesden share a bond deeper than you could ever know. You are lonely, I pity you. You do not have the mental framework to function with your comrades and do what is necessary. I have many reasons to hate The Sugar Girls, but do you know why they beat you? It’s because they have a bond, a friendship, a team. They worked together and it was your undoing. You don’t have the capacity to fathom what one has to do to work on the same wavelength.
 
On one side of you, you have Michael Bishop. A man you were so embarrassed to be murdered by that you’re now sucking up to him in order to recapture past glories. You say he’s the future of wrestling? Is that because you’re the past? Is that because you’re so terrified of losing relevance that you have to ride the coattails of the next generation so the ignorant masses don’t forget who the fuck you are? You’ve been doing this longer than any of us, and yet you are still so naïve. It’s pathetic.
 
And on the other side is...Carlos Rosso? CARLOS ROSSO?! I’m shaking in my steel toe boots, truly. The worst kind of soldier, a DESERTER. A man who came back here, thinking he would arrive in a blaze of glory, only to be snuffed out like a cheap box of matches. He is your secret weapon? He was also Stefan’s secret weapon, didn’t work out so well, did it?
 
Scott, you’re a soldier of fortune, you do not fight for anything worth fighting for and that is why you lose. There are no soldiers by your side, no warriors. Just mercenaries who are as clueless as you are. When the Red Army surrounded Berlin in a ring of steel and pushed through the city to take the Reichstag, what do you think was going through their minds? It wasn’t their pay, it wasn’t their Instagram following, it was the belief that they had to do everything within their power to win. They stood and died with their brothers, but they WON.
 
 
And we also won. You say that we barely beat The Sugar Girls, huh? I think you’ve took one too many blows to the head, Scott. Because you COULDN'T beat them. How sad is it, that myself and Kenny consider the fucking Sugar Girls to be a bigger threat than you? How low in the pecking order must you be in order to qualify for such lack of caring? This Sunday, when you and your posse of John Hughes movie jock stereotypes shit the bed and lose AGAIN, I’d really love to hear what else you have to say. Because at this point, your mad ramblings are ten times more entertaining that watching you wrestle.
 
As the world watches your mental state deteriorate on a weekly basis, they will look towards the pack of wolves who thrive in the chaos, who revel in it. And when the time comes that you finally break and there is nobody with enough motivation to listen to you anymore…it will be too late.
 
 

Gareth Cason wrote:

Game Over Promo #2: “Amateur Hour”

(Word Count: 614)

*Gareth sits in the hotel gym, two weights sitting directly in front of him. Obviously having been working out when he heard the news that Bull Connors had a response to him. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and pulls a strand of his blonde hair out of the front of his face*


Gareth: So you finally had something to say huh? Mr. Nittany Lion… You think this is a game huh? A facade I put up because I'm insecure about myself? Get your head out of your ass, Connors. I'm not in high school anymore, but I'm sure your mind still lies in college, where you actually had some goddamn success. We're not in Penn State, this isn't your playground. Nope… no it isn't my playground either, my playground is an eight sided cage. But see, the difference is that you think your limited skill beats my unlimited skill.Your grappling and considerable agility beats my personal record of a little more than double my own weight in lifting, submission grappling, better agility, multiple martial arts studies and much… much.. more. You are blind to your opponent, you claim to had studied my work and yet still think you have a chance against me.


*Gareth smiles and grabs a towel, wiping himself off*


Gareth: for someone who has done what you've done, smarts don't seem to be your strong suit because you say the same thing every time you speak. I guess you could say the same for me but what I speak is actually the truth, and what you speak is actually a lie. See the difference yet? I'm not quite done.


*Gareth grabs a water bottle and untwists the cap, taking a drink and then powdering his hands*


Gareth: You seem to have something to drink in every promo Connors, Something up? You just a thirsty guy? I'm thirsty too, thirsty for Honor, thirsty for glory, thirsty for what I've rightfully earned. You had a good point in saying that all that mattered was a match that has high stakes. But I see every match as having decently high stakes, if I didn't win as much as I have, then I wouldn't have earned this opportunity, sad to see that you don't value any of your career besides title shots and career vs career matches. An attitude like that is what loses people matches and more importantly, loses opportunities for those high stakes matches that you care so much about. Now ain't that a funny revelation?


*Gareth claps a bit, powder exploding into the air in a cloud of white dust. Through this white dust, Gareth is seen rubbing his hands together, preparing for another lift*


Gareth: moral of the story is, Connors, I'm glad you're ready for Sunday. Because on June 10th, in the XL Center in Hartford, the crowd, and the locker room is gonna see exactly what you really are. You aren't just an amateur wrestler, you're an AMATEUR. You're an idiot who isn't good enough or qualified enough to be in the ring with a well-trained, well oiled machine such as Gareth Cason. Tomorrow, it truly is going to be Amateur hour. I hope you last long enough in that ring for me to make you eat your words, Connors. Because that'll be one of the best moments of my career… along with winning the TV championship of course. Let the best man win Connors, of course… that's going to be me.


*Gareth lets out a chuckle as he puts his shark tooth mouth guard into his mouth and begins lifting weights again, the Camera cutting to black* 

u suck

Game Over... The second Pay-Per-View of the year. The second time Savannah Sunshine will make an impact. Win or lose... There is no going back. Win or lose... I will do whatever it takes. Win or lose... I will hold my head up high at the end of it all. I will not allow anyone to simply make a mockery of me any longer. I will not stand by and allow everyone to take chances that I want, that I have claimed. I will do whatever I must to ensure that I make some sort of impact so everyone will remember my name. Everyone will know who Savannah Sunshine and Jessica Rose are. Collectively, they will know who The Sugar Girls are.

The time for being nice is over, if we really want this? We have to go above and beyond what is expected of us. We have to put on our mean faces and kick it into full gear. No time for games in spite of the name of the show, it's time to light fire within ourselves and prove to everyone why we have this spot. It's time to prove to everyone why we have been given this opportunity. Two women, the only women in this match up, are going to be the new Tag Team Champions. No matter what. No matter who. No matter where. No matter when. No matter how. We will be walking out of this the champions no matter what. At the end of the day, we are the champions this place deserves. We will make this place full of sunshine and happiness and all the sweet, sweet candy we can provide. We will make everyone know that we did what we did and in the end... It was all worth it.

At the end of this match, we will be the ones with our hands raised high into the air and we will be the ones who have to drop everything. We have to stop being ourselves, we have to let the darkness inside of us out... The darkness we never let anyone see because it is something we fear. But, it is also something that everyone else should fear when they step into that ring with us. Jessica made a lot of good points, this one being the biggest one. We have to drop the sweet, nerdy, adorable personalities we are and become something different. But, in the end, it will all be worth it because we will have accomplished it all. We will be the ones putting more on the line than anyone could ever imagine and this is just the first step to many steps on the path to greatness. If anyone knows anything about us, they know that we will stop at nothing to prove we have what it takes and that we are not just a roadblock in your way.

We are not just some peppy, silly little underdogs who want to stand by. We continue to grasp any chance we can at achieving a shot at gold. At becoming the best thing around, at doing what we do best... and that is working together to prove ourselves. We have done all we have strived for thus far, even looking loss in the face with dignity, we kept our heads held high and we pushed forward. No one can take our fight away from us, our dignity, our strength, our power. No one can take away our integrity and our will to continue to fight even when it seems we have nothing left to give anymore. This will not be the end of the line for us, this is the be all end all for us. We will not lose this battle and we will overcome any obstacle that stands between us and that gold that we so rightfully deserve.

This is our time now more than ever to prove we have what it takes to be the new faces of the OWA tag team division and OWA in general. We have already made it that far, but these titles will truly put us at the top of it all. We have stood the test of time at any challenge put before us. We have conquered all challenges thus far and looked evil square in the eye. The time for games is over... and the time for proving ourselves has truly begun. The time to overlook us is over and everyone will know that we are not here for fun and games. There will be no candy throwing, no super smiley hugs between enemies. The time for all of that is not at Game Over, no.

Game Over means that it is the end of the live for five other teams that will dare stand in our way. By all means, we will do whatever it takes to capture that gold and together? Together, we are unstoppable and filled with more courageousness and bravery than you could even imagine. At the end of the night, we will be the ones holding gold and everyone else will have been so close... yet so far away from it. The Sugar Girls are all in at Game Over... and we will do whatever it takes to walk out of it with gold in our grasp.

The Omega Heavyweight Championship.

The pinnacle of our profession here in OWA.

The shining light at the end of the dark tunnel known as the journey to the top.

I stand triumphantly at the end of that tunnel over a pile of bodies of which I have racked up over the course of my career. Going on eight years I have proven my superiority over the entire world of wrestling regardless of where it is, or who it was up against. And now I find myself in a very unique situation. I face a man whom I share many qualities with, yet several others against. Stark. Both of us shared a disdain for Jacob Senn. First and foremost. Originally when he showed up and did the right thing in assisting in my retention of the Omega Heavyweight Title, I presumed he’d do the right thing afterwards and hold up his honor as a competitor against me. But instead he did the most confusing, hypocritical, and mind bogglingly ass backwards thing I could possibly think of. Stark decided, of course AFTER beating Jacob Senn to a pulp, to save Brian Daniels from joining his longtime friend on the shelf at my hands for good! Makes no sense. Then again no one ever said Stark was the peak of sound logic in this industry. Never has been, never will be. But it really won’t matter come tomorrow. He’s up against a wall he cannot overcome. Unlike Jacob, he is not in my head. He does not have a psychological advantage over me. He can’t get under my skin and make my blood boil the same way he’d do to Senn.  Instead he’ll just embarrass himself trying to match me and failing miserably at every last turn. Then once I get bored of his attempts to stand against me, I shall put him out of his misery and show him to his place of mediocrity alongside Miltiades and Jacob Senn. 

In the end regardless of the potential he showed initially here, Stark will be another fool used to propel me further into the realm of the gods.

As the Best Wrestler Alive it is my duty to keep this title sacred and within the hands of one with divine abilities.

As for Stark however, he’ll simply feel the wrath of said god he goes up against. I’ll show him first hand why they refer to me as the God of Destruction!

HAKAI~!

The Hands of Fate ---


Date: 4/6/2018
Time: 4:40pm
Location: Chicago, Illinois, USA
---

We open to the interior of 'the head quarters of 'Adams Enterprises', or at least, the North American branch of the company anyway. To be specific, we are inside Scotty's own personal office --- complete with mahogany table situated four and a half feet from a double window (currently covered by violet silk curtains) at the back of the room and surrounded, like the rest of the room, with plaster walls that are painted in metallic blue --- the paint almost giving off a shimmering effect as our lens pans around it. That's because it's actually a special paint that was used --- one that Scott himself helped to devise. 

Well, with the help of JXU Construction and painting of course, back when he awarded them the tender to build this very building, all the way back in June of 2011. Back when many industry and business 'experts' were projecting that the company would be 'crashed and burnt' by the following year --- a project, that as we can all see by the fact that not only is the business surviving, but thriving, was proven to be false. Then again, that's more of a testament to Scott's business acumen than anything else, as even *he* would admit himself that 'Adams Enterprises' had every chance of being just another business that started up, yet never truly went anywhere, 

instead treading water until it either folded or was passed onto a different company; re-branded in a desperate attempt to revive/resuscitate it, like many companies had done before. Companies, that included 'Expand Industries' --- the initial foray for Scotty into the realm of business, before he branched away and founded 'Adams Enterprises', using the clout and knowledge he had acquired from his time with Expand, in order to ensure he *didn't* replicate their mistakes this time around. 

Anyway, continuing our panning around the room, we can see that there's a glass ornate designed vase situated in the back left hand corner, filled with water and with pink roses rising up from them, along with an equally ornate brass vase in the opposite corner, although that one is empty and more there as a decoration than anything else.

Creak

Hearing the door swing open, accompanied by the sounds of footsteps entering the office, we turn around to see the figure of Scotty (who flew in earlier today, having finalised his flight post-Kingdom), attired in a Merlot/black shirt, obsidian/azure basketball shorts and black 'loafer' like sneakers come striding into the room, a quarter full bottle of 'Aquafruits' Creamy soda flavoured spring water lightly clasped in his right hand; his typical stoic expression across his face, whilst he pushes the door behind him, calmly makes his way towards the table. Well, the caramel cushioned office chair behind it, but you get what we mean. 

Placing the bottle down at the front of the table, he manoeuvres his way around it, being cautions not to hit his shin on the ledge, as he has done before, before pivoting his body so that he is facing our lens; sitting down atop the office chair, his focus solely on the computer that's directly in front of him. Inputting the necessary passwords and commands in order to unlock the computer, he places his right hand atop the mouse that is positioned atop a golden silk mousepad an inch to the right of the computer; uses it to navigate to the folder that is titled 'Marketing', having been called in to clarify a discrepancy that was noted during the yearly audit that had been completed on Friday night by Daniel Marshall-Holland, the branches lead financial consultant. 

Usually, he would delegate this to one of Raven Riley or Bob Segun, but seeing as he personally has two days spare before he has to head out to Hartford, Connecticut for the 'media availability' appearance he is required to make (as much as he personally *isn't* the biggest fan of press conferences, considering them to be nothing more than 'flash and style, with nothing of substance truly stated'), in order to further promote his 'Game Over' Fatal-Four-Way for his Spartan's belt against Christopher Sabertooth, Issac Thornton and Jon McAdams, he figured he would swing by personally and ensure that it's corrected. Or at least, the reason for the discrepancy is discovered, so that it can be dealt with by the finance department. 

Sighing to himself, he scours through each file, making a mental note of every singular piece of income; every singular piece of expenditure that has been made over the course of the past year; ensuring it is all documented. That every last dime has been accounted for, especially making note of any business arrangements that may not have been written down, either at the time or after he had filed them into the central computer system. Reaching a file that is named 'VXI', he right clicks on it, opening it to reveal that the document is blank, except for a small notice at the bottom with an 'eagle' insignia atop it --- a receipt of payment so to speak, causing him to glance back at the excel document; notice that this had been what had caused the discrepancy. 

He had forgotten to note that they had paid the $49,500 as part of the agreement to distribute a batch of Scotty's most recent clothing (including designs of the shirt he wore during his celebration segment); input it into the 'master document', which meant that there was a hole within the total income for the month. Quickly typing it in, he smirks, relived that it *was* merely an oversight and not anything major, considering he had heard about the commentary regarding potential 'wire fraud' that was rampant throughout the American business scene; the IRS's investigations that are ongoing pertaining to it. 

Investigations, that have already claimed two notable 'scalps' in Jason Dickenson and Harold Marell, both of whom currently reside in custody pending charges pertaining to the collapse of 'YHSIK' entertainment; potential wire fraud and insider trading violations that took place. Closing the document, Scotty opens up his e-mail account, shooting off a quick e-mail to Daniel to apologise for the error; explaining that it was luckily a mere oversight on his behalf, before closing that (after clicking 'send); pushing the chair back slightly so that he can stand up and once again, leave the office. 

Though not before he grabs his spring water bottle, unscrewing the cap and sculling the rest of its contents down his throat, then places the bottle back atop the table, lid still unscrewed (he would put the lid on the left hand side of the bottle). Smiling, he makes his way across the violet nylon carpet that adorns the floor, he gently places his right hand atop the cool steel of the doorknob, pulling it towards him, before uttering "Hopefully that's all it was," as he makes his way back out to the general hallway, making sure to look both ways (as if he was crossing a road), just in case someone was coming around the corner; out of his general line of sight. 

Noticing that nobody is around, he pivots his body to the right, a calm smirk peering across his face, as he continues his walk down the hallway, his eyes occasionally veering off to various framed pictures that adorn the glimmering lilac painted walls, most of them pertaining to various business dealings that he has done over the duration of 'Adams Enterprise's' existence, though some are paintings or other pictures that he has had commissioned over the years --- including one of a spider, positioned right in the centre of a web that his dew dripping off it, whilst positioned in the top corner of a farmhouse.

A picture that he himself actually took during a visit to Alabama in early 2013, during one of his many 'self-cleansing' adventures, within the isolation of his own company. Feeling a relax exhale leave his lips, he continues his walk, as he reaches a watermelon painted oak door, that has the name 'Alyce' atop of it, engraved within a freshly shined bronze plaque, before reaching his left hand out; grasping the doorhandle and turning it clockwise. 

Pushing it open, he slightly glances around the room, before his attention turns right to the mahogany table situated about two inches from the back window, where he sees Alyce, glancing straight into her computer screen; typing something out as she sits atop her jet black leather office chair, attired in a lavender t-shirt, azure jeans and white/lime/crimson 'Nike' casual sneakers.
.
"Got a minute?" He questions, clearing his throat as he does, while Alyce tilts her head away from the screen; shoots him a nod, before motioning with her right hand for him to come up to the table.

Alyce: Yeah. Was just sending out those e-mails you wanted to me, pertaining to the new recruits for the Clinic.

"Ah, alright," he mentions, as he makes his way towards the table, gently pushing the door closed behind him, before feeling the softness of the carpet against the soles of his feet and shooting Alyce a smirk. "I just wanted to ask you a favour,"

Alyce: Sure.

A gentle smile creeping across her own face, she thinks she has a rough idea of what he might be asking of her --- seeing as he had hinted at it over the phone when he 'checked in' on Tuesday last week, but he hadn't told her the full details of it. "You think you could go over to Japan, do some scouting for me?" his question soft, Alyce feels a 'ping' emit itself inside of her mind, as she understands the inference. Especially considering the 'operating partnership' that the OWA has with a promotion over there; the upcoming 'cross-promotional' event the two companies have planned for the end of this month. 

Alyce: Absolutely --- I *think* I know what you mean as well; will get onto it as soon as possible.

"Thanks," he states, before inhaling then continuing "When you get there, meet with Kimari Jiguri --- she'll provide you with the details you need,". Making a mental note of that, Alyce nods in understanding as Scott simply shoots her a smile, knowing full well that when it comes to scouting, Alyce is his go-to person. 

Just as she has been from the moment she stepped up to fill the role for the clinic (a title that she still holds). Pivoting his body back towards the door, he notices her give him a slight look. You know, the type someone gives when there is something else they wanna say, but without actually verbalising it, causing him to stop; tilt his head back at her, his facial expression informing her that he's all ears.

Alyce: Are you still coming back to Australia next month? Maddy asked me to ask you last night.

"I'll see," he responds, his inflection hinting that as much as he would like to return, even if for other reasons than to simply catching up with Maddy and Hayley, his schedule more than likely won't allow that to be the case. Alyce simply gives a slight nod in response, knowing that was the most probable reply.

Alyce: Alright.

Tilting his head back around, he continues the walk towards the door, as we fade into black, the sound of his footsteps along with Alyce's typing being the last we hear as we do.
---
Date: 5/6/2018
Time: 2:45pm
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We re-open to what appears to be the fenced off exterior to a construction site on the outskirts of town, where we can see cranes and bobcats scattered around --- unattended as the workers that are currently building this new housing complex are currently taking a later than usual lunch break. But that doesn't mean that it's currently vacant at all. In fact, leaning about three feet along the right hand side of the fence; attired in a black short-sleeved 'Volcom' jacket, cerulean/parchment shorts and charcoal/purple/white 'New Balance' sneakers; directly between two steel support beams that hold up a sign stating 'Adams Housing and community complex. Construction due to be completed on October 14, 2018', is Scott himself. 

Still with bags under his eyes due to a combination of limited sleep (a common occurrence for him, though he has trained himself to function without requiring much sleep), as well as having only returned back to Philly just under an hour ago from Chicago, where as we saw yesterday, he had paid a visit to the Head quarters of the American branch of 'Adams Enterprises'. Not only to clear up the financial discrepancy or to talk to Alyce about travelling to Japan for 'scouting' purposes, but to also 'get away' from thinking about wrestling (outside of the discussion with Alyce) and just emotionally unwind. 

Something, that he openly admits he has forgotten to do ever since returning to the wrestling realm --- that his own personal obsession with proving internally that this was the *right* decision to make --- that the moment he stated to Jane back in April that he was willing to return to the ring. Return to enacting the 'purge'; the quest to make wrestling the 'pure' entity that it once was. That it still craves to be, was truthfully the passage that he *needed* to take, that he allowed it to become his every thought. The one thing, that radiated throughout his mind, even as he slept. A passage, that merely serves as a gateway for 'Zion' to snare him once more. An alleyway, for his own anguish, to finally claim his soul. 

"Welcome to the future 'Adams Housing Complex," he remarks, figuring that he'd at least introduce where he is, even if it means putting on one of those cheesy 'realtor' voices for dramatic effect, before gulping and returning to his usual inflection/tone to comment "Due to be opening in December of this year --- it's scheduled to be home to thirty families," before exhaling deeply, a slight smile across his face. 

To him, this is another opportunity to 'give back' to the community; to give hope and light, to those who find themselves scrapping for every last penny that they can conjure up. For those, who find themselves crying out for guidance, as their world is surrounded by nothing more than living day-to-day, clawing through alleyways. 

"You see, I know all about opportunity --- I know all about not knowing just where to turn, when your hour of need arrives," Inhaling and exhaling, he allows his words to linger within the air. "To be shunned, simply because you were considered nothing more than an 'outcast'. A 'ghetto dweller'; somebody bound to the street --- no matter how much you wish for that perception to change," Pausing, the words float from his lips, as he presses his hands back against the fence; using them as leverage/momentum to commence walking along the grass. 

"Not to the extent that the people that shall be calling these apartments home, of course, but I relate to their plight --- I understand their craving for a place they can truly call 'home'," Reflecting back to his childhood, he sighs to himself, before extending his arms out in a manner akin to how someone would when they're preparing to embrace a person in a hug. 

"That is why this place was created, for *them*," his voice gentle, he tilts his head around, as we pan around the site, seeing that four of the planned apartments have begun to take shape, with nine others at least having scaffolding up; baring some resemblance to the finished product. A joyful smile across his face as he turns his head back around to look at the open parkland surrounding him. 

Allowing the crisp; cool air to fill his lungs once more, he allows the sound of his feet gently hitting the grass to penetrate the air, as we pan out slightly, allowing a full shot of him and the housing complex to be shown, juxtapositioned with a holographic image that was taken of him back in February, when he announced the beginning of construction on this project.

Reaching a pine tree about fifteen feet from the complex, he smiles, knowing that whilst the housing complex was the main reason he came here --- mainly to do a routine check up, but also to ensure that everything was working out as planned --- he had also come here to do some more analysing of the three foes who shall be sharing the ring with him at 'Game Over'. 

Two of whom, he has prior history with, in Christopher Sabertooth and Isaac Thornton. The third, Jon McAdams, he has never encountered in the ring before --- but that doesn't mean he is going into the match blind in regards to what McAdams offers. Or did you forget about the fact that he is one of, if not *the* greatest analytical mind in the business today? It's one of the key components to his success --- always has been, too. 

"I'm not a believer in 'odds' being created by 'bookmakers' dictating how an encounter is bound to play out. Never have been; never will be --- they are merely a projection. An opinion, defined by the person themselves," he states, a somewhat indirect reference to the statements being made around the internet; in general musings that the fact the match being a fatal four way, means that the 'odds' are against Scotty walking out of Hartford with the belt still within his grasp. After all, he doesn't even need to be a participant in the decisive fall in order to see a new champion be named; his reign go up in smoke, due to the inherent nature of multi-man matches. 

"They are also merely an 'excuse'; a way to escape accountability, should you fail --- should you *not* be the one who walks out with the victory next to your name; the acclaim belonging to you," his words filling the air, he smiles out of the corner of the right hand side of his mouth, the left side remaining unmoving; straight. 

"Nor am I a believer in 'conspiracies' --- in the notion that people clamour for a certain outcome, merely because they don't wish for a particular party to succeed," Exhaling, he allows his icy stare to glare out at the distance, knowing full well that the culmination to everything; that particular outcomes are the sole result of the person themselves; not the supposed 'external' factors people use in order to justify their own *failures*. Their own wilting, when the spotlight was burning the brightest. 

"At the end of the day, everything falls back upon *us* --- each and every little machination that occurs, is by our own deeds. Our own acts, that lead to the finality; the conclusion that plays itself out," Allowing his smile to retain its half form, he resumes his walk, feeling his mind clearing with each word that he states. The radiance of his thoughts, emitting themselves out for the world to hear, as he returns his smile back to the stoic expression that it had been. 

"The moment that one deviates from that passage, is the moment they deny themselves --- that they fall into the mire they ultimately designed, whilst the landslide sweeps them into the nothingness," Allowing a soft, demonic laughter to leave his lips, he knows that deep down, the vast majority will admit he is telling them the truth, no matter how much they wish to deny comprehension. To merely brush it off as being 'psychological mumbo jumbo' that only serves to 'mess with people's heads'. All feeble attempts to 'shrug it off'; continue living within the facade they have constructed for themselves, as Scotty had put it in the past; continues to state whenever people attempt to take that route of discourse.

"This week, the flames call for their deliverance --- for their song, to resonate within the final domain. Within the eyes, of the ones who claim they can withstand the calling," His voice chillingly calm, the words echo throughout the air, as Scotty once again halts his walk, this time about two feet behind a pile of firewood --- remnants of transients that had been camping here the night prior. People, who Scotty's housing complex looks to serve as a stable roof over the head of. Kneeling, Scotty surveys the burnt charcoal, his eyes beginning to shimmer with a dull orange glow, as he feels a sensation of warmth within his mind. 

"And what they thought couldn't ever been foreshadowed; all that they claimed would not bring about their end, is what pilots their own nightmare. What becomes, the harbinger of their own final slumber, within the fire of the circle," His voice sadistic in nature, he feels those words resonate, as we fade into nothingness, their impact profound and prophetic, as the flame within his eyes is the last visual we acquire.
---
Date: 6/6/2018
Time: 9:30 pm
Location: Hartford, Connecticut, USA
---

???: Scotty ---

We re-open to the sound of this familiar (to Scotty), yet at the same time, unknown (to the rest of us) being heard within the confines of an apartment on the outskirts of the city where in four days, OWA shall be hosting the much hyped 'Game Over' Pay per View. To be more specific about which room we're currently situated in, it appears to be the living room, due to the fact that there is a four seat almond coloured leather couch positioned about two inches in front of the centre of the room, with a mahogany coffee table that has been recently covered with some sort of varnish (we can tell, due to the poignant scent rolling throughout the room positioned directly to the right hand side of the couch, nothing atop of it. 

Save for a singular packet of Kettle 'Honey Soy Chicken' flavoured chips (unopened) and a bottle of 'Aquafruits' creamy soda flavoured spring water (half-full; much like the one Scotty had during his visit to Adams Enterprises). Panning around the rest of the room, we see that the walls have been painted a lighter shade of pear green; are surprisingly barren, aside from a few decorations that have been taped onto the wall, to at least live it some semblance of liveliness. 

The female who called out to Scotty can also be seen in the room, standing in the middle of the oak doorframe; attired in a plain jet black t-shirt, obsidian leggings, black knee high leather boots, not too different to the type that you'd be more likely to see a high end fashion model wearing as part of 'Gucci' or "Versace's' Summer showcase, rather than in a more casual setting like this as well as allowing her chocolate brown mid-length hair to flow freely from her scalp, but hey --- we're not here to make statements on *what* people are wearing. Anyway, Scotty slightly sits his head up from the laying position he was in atop the couch, tilting his head in the direction of the voice; a slight smile creeping across his face once he realises *who* has arrived. 

"Oh," he remarks, swinging his legs downward, as he sits up (and enables us to now see that he is attired in a pine green/white 'Diadora' t-shirt and lapis shorts), before continuing "Hey Georgia," referring to Georgia Bryant --- known as being the Chief Operations Manager of the modelling portion of 'Adams Enterprises', known better as 'ESN Modelling' as well as being one of the associate consultants in regards to media with the main company itself. Calmly stepping into the room, Georgia smiles, allowing herself a soft glance around the surroundings before returning her focus to Scotty, who has now acquired a full seated position.

Georgia: Hey. Just thought I'd pop in and see how you are --- seeing as I have a little bit of spare time between exhibitions, as well as needing to thank you.

"For what?" His query more rhetorical than anything, he smiles in a fashion that conveys a message of 'you really *don't* need to thank me' as Georgia returns the smile.

Georgia: For allowing me to well, do this. You know how much it means to me that I've been able to break through the 'glass ceiling'; get into modelling. Especially when you know, it can be more a case of 'who you know', rather than actual talent.

"It's nothing, seriously," his words calm, he allows himself to remember the day he first saw Georgia on the catwalk --- during a 'school fashion exhibit' back in 2005 during the school's annual 'Drama and Arts' showcase. It was then that he knew she had the potential; the talent there to make it big on that scene, even if he knew the inherent nature of modelling was, as she just stated, a culture of 'knowing the right people' rather than who is the most talented; actual 'valid' candidate for the position at hand. In a sense, it mirrors the wrestling industry in his eyes --- more so the fact that people seem to be able to string along based of 'reputation' and 'who they've been in a clique with' rather than the simple question of 'who is the most *talented* wrestler' 

"I'm just happy that I could help you," Gently smiling as those words resonate throughout the air, Georgia allows her smile to widen, as she steps forward once more, making her way over to the couch. A soft exhale leaving his lips, Scotty feels the imagery of Jon, Christopher and Isaac float within the deepest chambers of his mind, knowing that even though right now, he's more focused on discourse with Georgia; connecting with her on a more 'casual' social level, that he can't *truly* evade what awaits him on Sunday. 

That come the moment the bell radiates throughout the arena; the match commences, he *must* engage fully with them; remind them just *why* he is the Spartan's champion. Of just *why* he is known as one of the best wrestlers in the game; the true 'Pinnacle of Purity' inside of that ring. Feeling his eyes begin to waver focus; stare blankly out towards the walls (the one to his left, which is barren aside from the plaster), almost as if he has been ensnared within a trance. Feeling him slightly slipping, Georgia inhales, then exhales, not quite panicked, but not entirely calm either.

Georgia: You alright?

"Huh?" he remarks, confused as to why she'd be asking that, having not realised that he had actually just 'blanked out'.

Georgia: You seemed a little out of it --- perturbed if you will. Just making sure everything's okay.

Softly laughing, Scott tilts his head back to look at her, as she gently places her hand atop the backrest of the couch, a slight look of concern within her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," he states, pausing before exhaling slightly as he attempts to figure out the best manner in which to continue his train of thought. 

"Was just doing some thinking about the upcoming task," which Georgia responds to with an understanding nod. She knew about his decision to return to wrestling; the fact that his mind is more than likely in a state of 'flux'. Both trying to engage with her, whilst also attempting to 'plot' his route, the path he must take, if he is to walk out with his belt still within his clasp once the bell tolls; the smoke clears upon 'Game Over'. "Was just doing some reflection," his statement floating into the air calmly, he allows himself another breath, though this one is more of a sigh than anything else.

Georgia: About your fatal four way?

Taken aback by the interjection, Scotty simply gives her a slight nod to affirm that yes, his passage of thought was indeed about the four way match. "I know I promised that this wouldn't be about *me* when you called, but ---" It's at this point that Georgia softly places her right finger over her lips, in a fashion not much different to when somebody wishes to 'silence' another person.

Georgia: It's fine. I understand entirely --- it's why I wasn't sure if I should have come over or not. I don't want you to worry about me, rather than allowing yourself to be immersed within the match.

"Thanks, but I *wanted* you to come over," he remarks, a comment that acquires a gentle smirk out of the left corner of Georgia's mouth. 

"After all, with how our schedules are, we hardly get the time to just relax; converse with one another as is ---," his words piercing through the air, his expression slightly morphs into one of sorrow and disappointment that the *one* time that he has truly been able to have the same time spare as Georgia, his mind cannot evade wrestling --- no matter how much he attempts to push it back within its chamber, as Georgia slightly leans over the couch; gently pecks him on the cheek, shooting him a soft smile as she pulls herself back to her vertical position.

Georgia: I know. It's partially my fault too --- I mean, I find myself caught up in too many modelling contests that I forget sometimes to even *text* you. Makes me feel bad too, but hey --- at least we have now, don't we?

Scotty gently laughs, remarking "Yeah, that's true," before staring right into Georgia's soft, pastel blue eyes whilst she innocently smiles at him.

Georgia: So, anyway --- tell me about the four way match? 

"You sure?" he questions, feeling a sort of 'conflicted' tone leave her lips, plus knowing that wrestling *isn't* one of Georgia's specialities, although she *does* usually keep tabs on him, of course. "Don't feel like we *have* to talk about it, if you don't want to," he states calmly, as Georgia simply nods her head.

Georgia: Yeah, it's fine. I wanna know about it anyway --- after all, I *have* been watching OWA whenever I've had time free and between exhibitions. Mainly for you, because I know how much it means to you, to be out there and making wrestling the 'sanctuary' it once was.

Smiling at how gentle her inflection is; how much she actually *does* know about his 'quest' to bring wrestling back to the state of 'purity' it once resided in, he simply states: "I have to set foot within the ring against Christopher Sabertooth, Jon McAdams and Isaac Thornton --- two of whom I have already faced before; the third, I shall be facing for the first time," as Georgia simply makes a mental note at that, although a slight gasp floats into the air when she hears the name 'McAdams'.

Georgia: Wait, you've never told me you had a relative named Jon before ---.

Another gentle laugh leaves Scotty's lips, as he responds: "Nah, not related. Not that it'd matter if we *were* anyway, seeing as all familial bonds go out the window inside that ring, no matter how 'close' you claim to be with somebody; whether or not you share the same lineage,".

Georgia slightly laughs at her own quip, raising her right hand to her face in a motion akin to the famed 'facepalm' when it clicks that he stated 'McAdams' and not 'Adams', seeing as she had neglected that part during her thought. Bringing her arm back down upon the couch, she softly smirks.

Georgia: What about the other two?

"Christopher and Isaac are the two I have faced before," he comments, as if he were some sort of narrator, or even doing an interview for a podcast (even though they're not currently filming this for such purposes). "Beginning with Hardcore Havoc, where both men seem to have retained this false belief that I *stole* the belt from them --- kind of funny though at the same time," Pausing, he allows that rhetoric to echo within the room, as a soft laughter floats to accompany it. 

"To me, it just shows how ignorant they are to how the match actually worked --- the simple fact that neither of them had claimed full possession of the title, thus leaving it as wide open as it had always been," Another pause, as the images of Isaac and Christopher having their little 'tug o' war' at the top of the cables; both relinquishing their grip on the title the moment the momentum carried all three downwards towards the mat --- whilst Scotty's grasp on the belt remained secure throughout the fall. 

"After all, it's their fault that both of them were more inclined to play the good old tug-of-war, rather than ensuring that the other wasn't the one to attain the belt. *That* was their own design; their own undoing," his verbiage blunt, it emits itself around the room, whilst Georgia responds with humming (well, 'uhm hm' is more accurate) whilst remembering back to the brief clips she had managed to see of the final moments of the aforementioned 'Ultimate X' match, after they had been uploaded to YouTube, seeing as she had just wrapped up a 'Victoria's Secret' live show when the event was taking place.

Georgia: So, I'm guessing the two of them want some sort of 'redemption' then? Like we see in the movies, although with them believe they're the 'hero'/'protagonist' in the tale?

Nodding, Scotty shoots her an approving smile, seeing as to him, that's actually an apt comparison. Especially considering that Isaac himself, came to wrestling from the world of acting, so it's a story he knows all too well. "Yeah, that's pretty much the distortion they're trying to go with, 

"Or like one of those people who'll cry about being 'robbed' of a beauty pageant, then actively attempt to sabotage the winner the next time they encounter them," which in turn, invokes a soft laughter from Georgia, as she has experienced that a few times during her travels. Including once in October, when Sophie Roland actually sent a covert 'spy' into her inner sanctum, to attempt to acquire blueprints for the new dress Georgia was planning to wear to the next modelling concert, having lost the grand price during the 'Dallas Show' to Georgia the weekend prior. 

"I mean, if they wanna look like petulant children, then they can be my guest --- it's not *me* who it ultimately affects. In fact, all it does is reveal all along, that the 'landslide' of their own finality, has washed them into their own mire," A soft chill floating into the air with those words, Scott feels his eyes begin to burn --- a gentle tangerine light emitting itself from his irises. 

"But I probably should have expected it, as after all, it is an embodiment of the culture that we have allowed to formulate," He purses his lips with each word that he comments, knowing full well that even *if* somebody wishes to claim otherwise, they know he's *right*. They know that wrestling mirrors life in regards to the 'culture of entitlement' that has become embedded within the industry. A culture, he wishes to cleanse. Georgia meanwhile, calmly notes all of this down within the notebook she keeps in the recesses of his mind, allowing her to become engaged with a realm she hasn't really explored. Understand, just what Scott is stating.

Georgia: So, if you've beaten those two before, how are they getting another chance? Or is this like a 'encore'?

"Nah," his answer calm, he ponders the best way to explain it to Georgia. "Think of it as being like two separate modelling exhibits, but with some of the participants intertwined with one another, whilst being within the same tournament," Georgia shoots him a slightly confused look, as she doesn't really process that. Although she understands the jist of his comment; gets the correlation, the only modelling prize that works under those parameters, is the 'National Modelling Championship'; even that, is split into various categories. 

Georgia: Okay, I *think* I understand ---.

Unconvincing in her response, Scotty nonetheless gives her a gentle half-grin as he slightly extends his right hand over the back, brushing softly against her own left hand, causing a gentle shiver to run up her back as she laughs. "As for McAdams, he's the *one* I have yet to set between the ropes against --- yet that doesn't mean I'm blind as to what he provides," His voice calm; relaxed, he allows himself to exhale slightly, as he quips "You've seen the computers, haven't you?" as Georgia nods her head.

Georgia: Yeah, I know. It always amazes me how in-depth; analytical you are. I mean, even when it came to creating a costume for our graduation dance, you were always trying to 'crunch the numbers'; analyse everything from fabric breath-ability to what colours best mixed with each other.

"You kind of have to," is his response, delivered bluntly yet also with a sense of reflection back to those preparations; how he spent two whole months designing the design of his graduation attire, as well as how it set him back $1,900, just to make sure that everything was absolutely 'perfect'. That every intricacy, fit in with the 'puzzle' he had constructed, much like he does when he analyses; picks apart *every* last technique of his foes inside of the ring. 

"After all, how can you proclaim yourself to be the 'best'; to be prepared for every potential outcome, unless you scour the opposition thoroughly; know their routines and practices better than even they do?" his question more of a rhetorical one, Georgia feels herself involuntarily nod, knowing that the statement doesn't just refer to wrestling --- but also the grander scope of Adams Enterprises; even her own field of modelling. In fact, the entirety of life itself can be encapsulated within those words.

Georgia: But wouldn't they have the same intent when it comes to you?

Nodding, Scotty simply leans further back within the couch, so that a simple tilting of his head puts it directly next to her right hand, as he responds: "Yes, and I *want* them to do so," a gentle inhale filling his lungs; a soft yawn emitting itself from his mouth. "You know me well enough to know that even *if* they think they have it figured out; even *if* they have the supposed 'blue print' to walk out with the victory, that I'm always going to be two steps ahead,".

Georgia: Well, yeah, but isn't this like business? Don't you think ---

Interjecting with "Of course, that's why you think of it as being a game of 'chess' more than anything else," as Georgia feels a soft 'a-ha' rise within her mind, a soft look of embarrassment creeping onto her face at the stupidity of her own train of thought. "See, I'm *not* doubting they're going to adapt their approach, just like I shall be," Pausing, he feels the glow slightly cut within his soul; connect itself with the dead centre of Georgia's irises. 

"Yet what they cannot comprehend, is that none of it is relevant," are the next words to float into the air, before the comment of: "As the finality, has already been packaged," before a soft yet chilling laugh flows through the air, before Scotty simply smiles --- our cue to allow them to converse upon their own accord; fade into nothingness once more.
---
Date: 8/6/2018
Time: 9:45am
Location: Hartford, Connecticut, USA
---

We once more, re-open to the same apartment that we were in on Wednesday, only this time --- we find ourselves situated within what appears to be some sort of 'studio' (or at least a room that has designed to fill the role of one), complete with an oak stage that has been affixed to the back wall; about fifteen lime green 'deck chairs' (each separated into five rows, three chairs contained within each), each with their own net 'drink holder' --- the intention meant to be replicating how festivals are designed back home in Australia for Scotty --- although obviously, this is on a much lesser scale to those. 

Positioned at the top of said stage; encapsulated by a soft burnt orange spotlight; attired in a charcoal/jet black t-shirt (that has a spider weaving a web design emblazoned upon the front), azure/midnight black shorts and charcoal/purple/mustard 'Nike' casual sneakers, is Scotty himself, his typical icy expression painted across his face, as his eyes glare around the room --- capturing every singular piece of information he can.

From the chairs, to the pineapple painted plaster walls; heck, even the little shimmering golden ornaments he had hung up upon the walls yesterday, his reflection causing slight 'beams' of light to emit themselves; create a 'wheel' like shadow to be cast in the aisle between rows two and three; expanding enough to ensnare the chairs within its grasp. Exhaling slightly, Scotty clears his throat, before taking three steps forward; glancing out the the 'crowd', imagining that he is speaking at one of the aforementioned festivals. 

"Four men, each with their own passages sealed away. The key, laid before their very fate ---," feeling a chill radiate throughout the air, Scotty shoots his traditional half-smirk, his eyes burning with a stare that defines the old adage 'if looks could kill'. It's enough to drive a dagger right through the soul of whoever is watching this, irrespective of the screen that protects them from that actually being the case. 

"A joust, designed in order to either imprison those who fall within the pit of their own misery; the destruction of their own self-construct, or to cast them within the 'glass house' that they call home --- a house, that shatters the very moment the 'reality' they claim to hold is challenged; their passage, becomes nothing more than a facade,"

Pausing, those words fester within the air, as Scott's smirk becomes more devious when he recalls the *last* time he encountered Sabertooth within the confines of the ring --- his words about the 'five stages of grief' beginning to resonate within his mind, yet at the same time, Scott ponders whether he should address that *now*, or wait for a more defined moment to broach that very topic once more. 

"For that is the existence that awaits Jon, Christopher and Isaac, once they step into the warm embrace of fate --- the culmination of their little 'fork in the road', as they decide whether they shall be the one to cast the first stone; inflict the first nail within their coffins --- or if they shall realise their role as the 'marionette'; allow their strings to lead them towards the final slumber," The echo causing the words to swirl around the room, a soft yet sadistic laughter can be heard emitting itself from Scotty's mouth, whilst his eyes simply retain their icy stare. 

"For Issac, this is stanza three --- the third time that he shall stand before the judgement, awaiting the seal to truly ensnare him, whilst his mind; the 'fractured mirror' that resides within, continues to deny his own truth," A holographic image of Isaac can now be seen positioned atop the middle chair in the front row, the expression on his face stoic, yet a twisted smile can be seen peering out from the right hand side corner. Like most things when it comes to Isaac, it is him portraying a picture of an undaunted individual, who is attempting to convey the message that he is unperturbed by the words being cast in his direction. 

"Luckily for you --- there's an old adage you *might* be able to draw some inspiration from. A principle, that if you figure out how to execute upon it, could very well be your gateway to victory, yet at the same time, its own blade, could just as easily become the song of your final demise; the mirror that encapsulates your own vanity, shattering for its final time," Allowing those words to fester; burn deep inside the mind of not just the hologram Issac, who's expression turns to one of slight concern, yet his eyes retain their stoic; blank stare, but also the *real* Isaac, wherever he is residing at this very juncture.

"'Third time's a charm' is what they call it --- yet it shall only be a charm if you allow the 'purge' to shelter you --- if you accept the reality that your own flaws; your own facade, is nothing more than a shell. A design, that has caved; brought you to your knees, awaiting the merciful demise to claim what it has sowed within you," Scotty's eyes beginning to burn a dull scarlet glow right into the heart of holographic Isaac, we feel the words turn to ice the moment they hit the air; our bodies involuntarily shiver due to the prophetic; sadistic inflection hidden within the verbiage. 

The Hologram slightly slumps back in the chair, attempting to portray an aura of calm; an expression that conveys the message that he holds no fear within his soul. That he is unperturbed by the words that are burning into his mind, yet at the same time, he knows that he can't evade them, made even more evident by the brass 'handcuffs' that manifest themselves around the hologram's wrist. Tying him down; ensuring that even the slightest attempt to escape, results in the cuffs digging further into its skin, causing soft yelps to float into the air as it does. 

"Can you feel it, Isaac?" his words hissing from his lips, he stares deeper into the irises of the hologram, watching as life slowly begins to fade from its face; its body begins to slide down the chair, the handcuffs cutting more into the 'skin', as small trickles of blood can be seen running down the forearms. 

"It's the serenade of your world, crashing as the night slowly whisper your fate," A demonic laugh floating through the air, he watches as the Hologram begins to feel its eyes roll back within his skull, his body slowly but surely turn limp --- an expression for what shall occur come Sunday, when Isaac faces the final stanza. "Just as the landslide foretold --- just as the fire revealed, the moment that it danced within the fractures of your mirror," His smile cold and devious, the inflection in his voice during that remark (and indeed, this entire commentary) has been more akin to what one would expect from 'Zion', rather than Scotty himself.  Or well, the 'Zion' side of Scotty at least, 

"Don't worry though --- it shall all reach its crescendo on Sunday --- when the vultures ensnare you; your final abyss, entraps you within the purge's design," Smirking as if he was a maniac, he allows himself one last glance at the Hologram, his scarlet glow within the irises shining right into the cold; lifeless form as it slowly fades into nothingness. 

"And your mirror, becomes the portrait of how the passage brought you to your knees," resonates throughout the cold, crisp air whilst we find ourselves trying to escape, yet at the same time, knowing that right now, we are nothing more than stone statues (metaphorically). Another hologram now appears on the chair where Isaac sat. 

This time, it belongs to one Jon McAdams; acquires a soft smirk from Scotty, as he raises his right hand, slightly running it through his hair, a somewhat perturbed look creeping within his eyes.  "This wasn't originally your destined passage, Jon," his words calm, it's as if he has taken on the approach of a 'teacher, scolding a child' approach for this particular discourse, as a gentle exhale leaves his lips. 

"You weren't supposed to heed to call of the purge, until the moment it wished to reap your very essence; reveal your very charade to the world --- yet you wished to hasten its cry," Softly smirking, Scotty allows his inflection to soften, as the hologram nods its head --- accepting that it was Jon himself, who commenced this engagement. 

"You know, I admire your creed --- the role of the 'vigilante' is one that can be thankless, even if the deed was nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. Done, solely to appease your own insatiable greed," Pausing, he allows those words to strike against the hologram, a slight expression of malevolence creeping across his face. "Your own denial, of being called into account --- the refusal, to accept the notion of picking the hill you shall die upon,". 

Feeling himself begin to relax, Scotty feels an internal laugh float within his mind, even if outwardly, his appearance remains stoic; icy. "The grave, that shall bare your name, as the deliverance of your finality comes to pass --- at the hands of the one you thought you were *saving*," his laugh managing to slip out from under the cover of his lips, he glances directly into the eyes of the hologram, the same scarlet glow from before radiating throughout the air. 

"I can feel the scars that rise within you --- the anguish, that lingers inside your soul, as the doubt; the misery of whether your passage is truly the 'righteous' path; the famed 'high road', yet it is that road that has set about the root of your defined finale," Clearing his throat again, Scotty shoots a soft smirk in the direction of the hologram, as it sits back in the chair, feeling the fabric of the backrest against the silk of its own black singlet, a small 'rash' begin to form on its back as it wriggles around. Partially wanting to escape, but also partially weary of the fate that befall Isaac's hologram when it attempted to manoeuvre itself away from the grasp..

"You see, they herald you as a 'hero'; a 'survivor' --- yet you can't even comprehend what it is you have truly survived? The facade, that continues to fuel your very being --- the masquerade you display, as the vultures await their call," his words causing panic to paint itself upon the hologram's face, they are accompanied by Scotty kneeling down; ensuring that not only do his words penetrate through the 'shield' that Jon constructs for himself, as well as the scars that are just waiting to conquer their prey. Just awaiting the final call; their seal to be unlocked from within. 

"For it is the one who proclaims himself to be the 'hero', that finds himself lost within the realm of his own facade --- his own myth, unknowing of the paradox *he* created," Pausing, he thinks back to the time he was like McAdams. Believing that *he* needed to be the one to stand up for those who were being 'tortured' in the ring, at the hands at the one they had assigned as their 'rival' --- only to tread the wrong passage; open the catacombs to something they *never* wished to unlock. 

"And Sunday, your blackened clouds shall be what bring about your ultimate consumption --- as the abyss swallows everything you hold dear; your body becomes the ash from which it had been born," Widely smirking, his eyes flicker slightly as the hologram of Jon fades into nothingness, before being replaced by a holographic version of Christopher Sabertooth, locked within the confines of what appears to be a virtual prison cell, his holographic body chained to the wall by his hands and feet. Low, penetrating growls floating into the air from its lips. 

"Ah, Christopher --- the one who claims *he* is the rightful champion --- who claims that *he* can unlock the 'treasure chest' that lays within the lingering shadows ---," His question delivered in a sarcastic tone, Scotty simply allows the imagery to portray what is truly occurring. The internal struggle, that is the darkest corners of Sabertooth's mind. 

"Doesn't it ever bare on you --- that maybe all you are serving to do, is doing my job for me?" hearing the sound of the chains jingling, Scotty allows a slight smirk to manifest itself on the right hand corner of his mouth. 

"Just like you did when you brought up the 'five stages of grief' --- a message you seem to have neglected, as you are deep within the clasp of the 'denial' phase of them, aren't you now?" his voice unwavering, he peers further into the eyes of the hologram, watching as it etches itself with pain --- the sensation of throbbing rising within its brain. 

"For *you* are the one who made the call for your final 'purge' to be enacted --- for your own wool, to be washed away, as you fester within the circle of destiny," Pushing himself back up to a vertical base, Scott allows himself to 'open up' the smile he wears, before feeling the glow within his eyes begin to fade back into his usual hazel. 

"It's what you *don't* comprehend, that has foretold your eternal slumber --- that has decimated the facade you hold," whispering this, he takes two steps forward, so that he is essentially standing at the edge of the stage. "You did this to *yourself* --- the very moment you entered the cascade. The very moment, you allowed your own fallacies, to consume you," A soft chuckle floats from his lips, as he extends his arms out into a 'cross', mirroring the Hologram, yet this one is by his own free will. 

"And come Sunday, your reality, is sealed," flow from his lips, as the hologram of Sabertooth fades into nothingness, leaving Scotty alone once more. "See you three, Sunday ---" are the last words to leave his lips, as we fade into nothingness, our last visual, one of Scotty simply smirking as he remains in his famed 'cross' pose.

God, have you always been listening to me?
Hell has a way with the prose.
Give me the strength,
Give me the strength now to know.








With the light fading through a far corner window, nightfall has come to me in a moment where it seems like all I do is sit in the dark. Out of the light of dominance due to a simple lapse in timing. Out of the light in foresight from a momentary prideful ignorance. Out of the light in knowledge with why my hands won't be around his neck this Sunday.


“Insatiable. That was always the way they described it.”


Bull Connors took advantage of his positioning, and struck me right in between the legs. Drove my head into the canvas, and my shoulders stayed down for the three count for the first time in my admittedly short career. That was a very intelligent decision on his part, but me? I know better than to let anyone be more ruthless or cunning than me.


“Couldn't leave well enough alone.”


Caspian waiting for the very moment after I stand up after a decisive victory over Kenzo Nakazari. I'm not one to wait around after a fight, but that was the perfect time and place to make his mark. Still, why couldn't I just realize what was going on a split second sooner and make sure that he regretted that territorial infringement? That was my time, my victory, and my ring. No one elses.


“Always wanted more.”


I signed on the dotted line with the understanding that when I was available, I would get the chance to fight. The first three weeks on their weekly television show, I had the chance to do just that. Now, they have their biggest card of the month, and can't be bothered to schedule me a match with anyone? That is not what I wanted. I came to this company to prove that the framework of societal norms bore no natural advantage to those of us who took an alternative path. How am I to do that sitting in this apartment back in New York, waiting for the call that I have something to do? How?


“I call it my purpose. My lot in life. I know it's to hurt people, to bring them to their knees. And now it's time for everyone else to know it, too.”


A crack of the neck, stiff from years of battering, and a heavy sigh. Besides reading and writing and basic workouts, this apartment is just for reloading before the next endeavor. A half kitchen and bathroom, and that's all the amenities I need to keep myself going. But at this time of morning, a cup of black coffee on the bedside counter and wracking my brain for the next logical step are the only activities to tame a wild mind.


“Game Over is a pretty apt name for an event taking place without giving me my proper platform. It ends this infantile way of thinking where this thing we are all a part of is a game. Stepping in between the ropes, getting into combat with someone else is anything but, and it's an important thing to separate those who realize this from those who don't. There, the staff of Omega Wrestling Alliance have it right. But they made one dire mistake.


I don't like taking time off. My body isn't accustomed to it, and I mentally don't need it. I would not have come to this job if it wasn't to achieve my goal as quickly and as swiftly as is needed. So when I see twenty four people getting the opportunity to step between the ropes and showcase their abilities while I can come and go from Hartford as I please with no expectations, I become a bit...stir crazy. I feel as though I've made it obvious in my fights with Starr, Sutaori, Nakazari, and Connors that I am a man who moves forward no matter the obstacle. But when you don't put an obstacle in my way...I'll just create my own.


I guess I really don't have to create my own, though. There's a logical closure point to this train of thought, isn't there?”


A simple motion of the arms over the head to remove a dark olive work shirt from my mammoth frame, and there it is, plain as day. The marks of distinct links of a steel chain line the back, perpendicular to the spinal column. The red has been surrounded with shades of brown, black, purple, and blue.


“A rainbow of colors, but none so sweet as red. The red I see looking forward. My beard and my hair hides the marks of being strangled like a turncoat against some proletariat power. It is not in my nature to make things personal. No one person made me want to fight, and no one person made me want to sign here. It is a systemic problem which has thrown me into combat, both in life and now in that ring.


You, Caspian, are the embodiment of that problem.


And the night you chose to enter my platform is the night you decided it was time to come face to face with your issues. No, I'm not a therapist...but what is coming your way will be therapeutic nonetheless. You use all the power, all the money, all the glad-handed soldiers you have in your possession to keep the facade of your empire running while the foundation lies nowhere except between your own two ears. And make no mistake about it, whether they like it or not in the offices of OWA, that's a foundation I will decimate. Piece by piece, brick by brick.


Connors did what he had to do given the constraints of the match. It was a formal competition, and he took advantage of a very rare momentary lapse of focus. But you? You attacked from behind a man who was simply going to walk back, clean up, and go back to his dwelling. Why? Because the diminutive Honduran hasn't had anyone tell him no recently. So let me be the first and the last.


No.


You aren't entitled to that spotlight. You aren't even entitled to the darkness. Your power, your money, your control over all of the junkies and dealers who count on you through varying degrees of foul circumstance don't draw you a cubic centimeter of the water you think you deserve. And when given the chance, the only thing you'll be left able to draw is a breath. I don't walk around claiming to be a vigilante or someone standing up for the good of the world. What I do know is when you enter my business...


You've walked in blind.”

At the Hollywood Estate:
 
The scene starts with the camera pointing to a large gate. There’s a board outside saying “Hollywood Estate”.  Christopher Sabertooth walks up to the gates and it opens automatically. He enters a large glass building and walks up the reception.
 
“Mr. Sabertooth. I was told about your visit…. Please follow me” said the receptionist.
 
They both talk the elevator to the top floor and walk up to a large office door. The receptionist knocks and informs the person inside of the visitor.
 
“Mr. Rocky will see you now.” Said the receptionist. Chris nods and enters the room.
 
“Chris! It’s so good to see you man.” Said Rocky Hollywood. They both hug and then sit down to have a talk.
 
“Vanessa… Cancel all my meetings for the afternoon. You got that? (Looking towards Chris) Firstly, I am glad to see you in good shape. I know it wasn’t easy, the past couple of years, but if there was anybody who could overcome the adversity… It was you. But you know why I have called you here today. I heard that you have returned to the ring again. What company was it? OWA right? Yeah… I saw your matches you have had so far, and it’s clear that you haven’t lost a beat. I know, the last time you stepped away from the ring, it was not a choice. You had to what you had to and I did everything I could to support you. We weren’t on good terms when you became… that person, but I knew your mind wasn’t exactly at the right place. But forget all that…. After you left the company, I went on to have a bit of success on my own but it wasn’t the same. We are partners and we will always be that…. I hope you know that. So, I stepped away from the ring and decided to expand on the Hollywood enterprise. Business hasn’t been better, we just had a meeting with Marvel, and I will be producing the next Avengers movie as well. You know exactly why I have called you here… I know, you love wrestling. But look at this… All of this could be yours too. We have made a lot of money together, so why does it have to stop. Join me brother, and we will take over the world once again. Heck, I can call up Marvel. They were looking to cast Carnage, and I know you will do extremely well. You know very well, that the CEO position is yours for the taking. I know what wrestling has done to you and so knowing the consequences, I don’t want you to go down the same path again like last time. Let’s do business together once again, like the good old times. What do you think?” Asked Rocky. Rocky Hollywood and Christopher Sabertooth teamed up with each other and took over the tag team division at NGW being the inaugural tag team champs holding the title till it had to close down due to controversy. Then they went to NAW together and dominated the tag team scene once gain until, Sabertooth had enough of being treated like he was just another employee at the Hollywood Enterprise and turned to the darkness.
 
“Rocky… You know very well what I had to go through. I know, weren’t exactly on talking terms when Havoc took over me. I had to break a lot of friendships, bonds that were meant to be forever, to do what I needed to do. But… It’s different now. Like you said, I love wrestling. All my life, all I ever wanted to be was a wrestler and I did achieve my dreams. If it wasn’t for wrestling, maybe we wouldn’t have met each other. I know, we have made a lot of money together and I am certain that we will do the same whenever I decide that I have done enough. But right now? You know very well, that I am not done. I still have a lot left to give to this business and being in the ring once again, makes me feel powerful. When we wrestled together, we held the key to the god damn business and we changed the world. But now… You have stepped aside and are doing incredibly well running your family business. This is your calling card man…. This was always meant to be yours regardless of your wrestling career. You are a phenomenal businessman who just happened to be a badass fighter as well. But it was different for me…. I had nothing as a kid. All that I had was my passion for this business and that’s what got me this far. You know I am thankful for your support through my dark times and you know, the day I decide to step away from the ring, you’re the first person I will call. Keep that seat warm for me brother…. We will make money together one day, but that day isn’t today. The Marvel offer almost got me by the way, but you know I am not an actor. Actually, I know of a guy in OWA…. He was an actor who failed to leave a mark in the film industry and decided to join the wrestling ring. It’s hilarious to think that people believe this job is easy. I am not going to lie; the guy has some talent. He has picked up to the art of wrestling pretty fast but that doesn’t mean that he can call out professionals like me and get away with it. Isaac Thornton… That’s the name if you are looking for actors. But I doubt he’s good enough for it. He barely pulls off being a wrestler, I can only imagine how bad he is at acting that he had to quit it… Also, I know you have seen me at my worst and most vulnerable. Havoc was supposed to be my way to redemption but the power that came with it blinded me. It took over me and made me forget my own ideals… But that’s not what I am anymore. These past few years, I did what I couldn’t do before. I forgave myself for what happened to O’Shea…. And with that, I could finally move on. Don’t worry, Havoc won’t be bothering anybody anytime soon. I don’t have to turn into Havoc to channel my abilities…. The power and the ideals that came with it is now part of me. I am better than ever…. You know that spells trouble for everybody who I will face in that ring. Anyway, as much as I would love for us to be partners again, now is not the right time. I hope you understand…” said Chris.
 
“Man…. I knew this son of a bitch ain’t going to be easy to persuade. But that’s what I respect about you. You never gave a fuck about anything but wrestling and it’s good to have focus like that. Very well brother…. The CEO position will be waiting for you for whenever you are ready. I know, wrestling means a lot to you so I respect your decision. But, maybe I am not done with the wrestling business myself…. I always questioned myself, when you stepped away, if I wanted to do this. And 9 times out of 10, I wanted to be in that ring as much as anybody else. But this empire that my family built…. That I expanded upon, needed me too. You said that we were always partners, and that is exactly how I saw it. I don’t respect anybody else, like I respect you. People said I threw money to get opportunities but that’s how life is. It is unfair…. But not to me. I can choose to be anybody I want and it will happen.” Bragged Rocky.
 
“You are right. I don’t believe that you’re done with the wrestling business either. We all look for closure in our lives and maybe, instead of you giving me an opportunity at your company, I give you an opportunity to step in that ring once again. Think about it…. That’s how we got to know each other. That’s how we took over the tag team division. I know, that you already have a lot on your plate but if you ever feel like the time is right…. Call me. OWA would love to have a talent like you.” Said Chris.
 
“I appreciate that. I am not sure if I can still go in the ring with all that I have in my hands, but maybe I can show up at a show and be ringside to your matches. Maybe even step inside that ring for a match or two for old times’ sake. I will definitely think about your proposition as well. But let’s grab some lunch, together shall we?” asked Rocky. Chris smirked and nodded as they both exited the room as the scene ends.
 
At Sabertooth’s house:
 
Christopher is seen talking on the phone with somebody.
 
“Emma, I know we haven’t been in touch lately. And I totally blame myself for that. It is all my fault without a doubt…. I don’t expect you to understand what I had to go through but it’s okay. I just wanted to say, I am sorry. Bye” Chris hangs up the call.
 
Ever since Chris has returned to the ring, he has tried to fix all the wrongs that he did. Emma is one of them… He really loved her but he let Havoc take over and forget about her and he regrets that. Chris keeps his phone on the table and walks towards the TV. He sits on his sofa and switches it on and opens the downloaded options. He clicks on Kingdom VI and begins watching.
 
“Congratulations on your victory last week, Sabertooth. I hailed you as an excellent competitor but you are missing the bigger picture. Do you hear these people? Did you hear them as you came out?................ So many of you midcarders have fought and clawed and vanished but only one thing has ever remained consistent and that is Sovereign.” Said McAdams. Chris pauses the recording and begins to laugh.
 
“This is the second time I have heard this and it’s still as funny as the first. You recognized my talent in the first sentence and then go ahead to call me just like any other ‘midcarder’ in the company. If you haven’t being paying attention, not only did beat Isaac Thornton and an irrelevant Jap man on my first night here, I went on to Hardcore Havoc into an unpredictable Ultimate X match with the OWA Spartan’s Championship on the line. I had that match one and even you cannot deny that, until that hypocritical bitch in Scotty Adams stole that title away from me. And that was just my second week in! You know very well about Hardcore Havoc, don’t you? You were in the main event! Four Corners match for the OWA World Championship and you did well. You hung in there until the very last second, being in the final two, just one person in front of you from championship glory. But you blew it…. Finnegan is a talented man, but he made you tap out. You may think it’s not a big deal, and you would have been right, if you hadn’t made a big deal about being a fighter. You had a shitty childhood and that’s something that I can relate to but man…. If I had given up, I wouldn’t probably be alive today. Then, you called my victory against you few weeks ago, a fluke. You said, that I am just another mid carder who rose to the occasion and stole one from you. All I have to say is, that if it keeps happening to you, maybe calling it a fluke isn’t the right solution. Maybe…. Just maybe, you’re the problem. You are just not good enough. You had a great start to your career in OWA that led to the main event of Hardcore Havoc… But man, you have fallen out. I consistently perform at a level higher than anybody else in that ring and I back every word that I say. But you…. You come up with excuses. So, here’s my theory. Maybe, the one pulling out the flukes was not me…. But you. You fluked your way into the championship match and somehow was one of the final two people in that ring…. That was the time to step your game up…. Just one more obstacle and then you’re at the top of the world but you chose to give up. I beat you fair and square in that ring and once again you came back with an excuse…. That’s what McAdams does and the people cheer him on as their hero because they see their own incompetent selves in you. They hate me not because they know ‘something about me’ like you claimed, but because they cannot relate to me. I am a winner and only a winner recognizes a winner. They hate me because they ain’t me just like everybody else in that locker room. Normally, I don’t criticize businessmen like Vernon Tressler because I trust them to make the right decision. But with every week I see, losers like McAdams and Thornton continue to be handed opportunities after opportunities after opportunities. But…. It’s okay. I should be getting a one on one shot at the Spartan’s Championship but I don’t care… You want to make it a multi-man matchup? Go ahead. I beat these people before and I will beat them once again.” Said Chris. He hits the play button and fast forwards it to the Scotty Adams vs Isaac Thornton match for OWA Spartan’s Championship. He watches the finish with Scotty pinning Isaac with an inside cradle. He then watches his attack on both Adams and Thornton after the match which was interrupted by Jon McAdams. He pauses the video once again as he continues to speak.
 
“People still tweet me to this day asking me why I chose to attack these men after their hard-fought match. They think that was a cowardly thing to do… But, was it though? I beat Isaac on my first night but that man has been persistent. He snuck his way into the Ultimate X match and ruined it for me handing out the victory to Adams. And now he probably sucked up to him backstage to get that title shot before me. I should have been in that ring facing Adams for the title he STOLE from me. Heck, I beat McAdams, so why is Keelan facing Finnegan at Game Over instead of me? He was outlasted by McAdams at Hardcore Havoc and I beat this man without breaking a sweat. Once again, I don’t mind that. Once I take my title back from Scotty Adams, I will win the World Championship too. It’s inevitable at this point… But let us focus at the task in hand, shall we? The reason why I crashed your interview was because of the bullshit you were spewing. When you talked about your next title opportunity, I had enough. All I said was the truth and that should have been over between the two of us. I beat you… Move on. But no…. You decided to stick your nose into my business. You had nothing to do with the Spartan’s Championship but yet somehow, you have found your way into a title match. It is commendable…. Isaac must be picking that up from you, being a rookie and all. Speaking of Isaac, man…. When will you give up? Acting wasn’t your calling card and clearly, wrestling isn’t either. You got your undeserving title shot at Kingdom and you blew it… once again. Not that I was expecting anything else from you but come on. Take a hint already. Wrestling just isn’t for you. You claimed that the title was stolen from you at Hardcore Havoc acting like you ever had a chance…. Are you trying to tell me that you, a scrawny prick, would have beaten me in a battle of tug of war? That’s hilarious. Few more seconds and you would have been on the mat and I would have had my hand raised as the inaugural Spartan’s Champion. But then Scotty swooped in and stole it from ME… Not you. You just helped him out by delaying the inevitable. And look what good it did to anybody. A man who claims to be what this world needs, a symbol of purity, STOLE the title that wasn’t his to begin with. That is ironic! You may be very eloquent and smart with the words you use Adams, but you’re not fooling me. You’re nothing but a thief… So, quit your bullshit and own up to your own characteristics. Stop pretending to be the savior to the masses that you are certainly not.” Said Chris as he picks up the remote and to this past week’s Kingdom.
 
“And here we go again. Jon McAdams proving to the world that he’s just a jibbering oaf with no talent. It’s almost like he is jealous off my success so far in OWA. I have done more in my short time in this company than that idiot will ever do. After losing at Hardcore Havoc… I thought you had learned your lesson. But you continued to toot your own horn into Kingdom where I embarrassed you. And you call yourself aa survivor? What exactly have you survived because I haven’t seen anything worth talking about in your tenure, that you’re so proud of.” Said Chris as he skips Jon McAdams’s part to the onslaught laid down by Scotty Adams and Isaac Thornton.
 
“Well done. You got your revenge guys! You hit me down when my back was turned against you and you did do very well. Scotty Adams and Isaac Thornton almost teaming up to take me down. Are you happy now? You got your revenge from last week so now I would have suggested you to take a walk and let me and Scotty handle business like we were supposed to do. But then what does Vernon Tressler do? He awards McAdams and Thornton for their incapability. What did Isaac Thornton do to get another TITLE SHOT at Game Over? Ever since he has debuted, he has been a failure. He failed to make an impact against me when we both had everything to prove. He failed to capture the Spartan’s Championship at Hardcore Havoc and simply handed over the title to Scotty Adams. Somehow, he got to Scotty Adams’s Open Challenge before me and got a one on one title shot against the man and then he FAILED AGAIN! So, tell me why he is being awarded yet another title shot after all his failures. Just because I attacked the man and he sought out revenge? Isaac…. You can face me after Game Over in a one on one fight if you really want some sort of closure but it’s ridiculous that you have been rewarded for your failures once again. Almost as ridiculous as Jon McAdams somehow sneaking his way into something he has nothing to do. He held on dearly to the one time that we faced off in the ring… And he rode my coattails into getting a title shot. I BEAT YOU! The Jon McAdams chapter was over but somehow…. You found your way into this match. You have no claim to the Spartan’s Championship at all. Even Isaac, who lost all his opportunities, has more claim to the title than you. But that’s what Jon McAdams does. He intentionally kept spewing rubbish about my name, like the sore loser he truly is, and he used that to woo Vernon Tressler. It should have been Christopher Sabertooth vs Scotty Adams in a one on one contest for the Spartan’s Championship that was ROBBED from me. This was only between Scotty and I but both McAdams and Thornton used my good name to get a title shot. I have been put in yet another multi-man match where the lack of any talent in my opponents can cause me MY title. I don’t have to be involved in the pin fall to lose my opportunity and that is disgraceful. I don’t think Vernon wants to make money because if he did… He would have kept those two undeserving clowns as far from a title shot as he can. But I guess, everybody wants that PPV pay check. Jon McAdams and Isaac Thornton should thank me for a better pay because if it wasn’t for me being around these pathetic losers, they would never have made it on to the card. I am the one putting Jon McAdams back on the map… Sure, it will only last for a week when I finally take what was always mine. So, try to make the most of it. Put on a good performance at Game Over, though it’ll be a losing effort because that’s all you guys are capable of, but maybe you will impress Vernon enough to hand you yet another title shot. But unlucky for you, I will be the OWA Spartan’s Champion so you can absolutely forget about ever getting hold of that title. Both McAdams and Thornton don’t concern me as much because they’re just filler to the real fight. Scotty Adams…. You don’t impress me. But you are the man with the title so regardless of my opinion of you, I will be gunning you down at Game Over. You robbed me of my title once… But there are no wires to climb that you can sneak upon this time. It’s a straight up match to the finish and I will expose you in front of all your fans at Game Over. I would suggest you to forget about McAdams and Thornton as they are just fodder on the side-lines. It’s between you and I and this time you are not walking away with the gold. So, clean that title for me… I want it to be brand new like it was before you laid your filthy hands on it.” Said Chris as he gets up from his couch and switches the TV off.
 
Hartford, Connecticut; Wednesday, June 6^th 2018: (4 days before Game Over)


Christopher Sabertooth is seen walking out of the gym.
 
“Mr. Sabertooth.” said an unknown voice.
 
Chris turns around to a formally dressed woman holding a notepad in her hand. Chris notices that she has a Hollywood Estate badge on.
 
“Rocky Hollywood has appointed me as your personal assistant. He said I would find you here… I must add, I am a huge fan of your work.” Said the assistant.
 
“What? Thank you for your kind words but I don’t think I need an assistant Miss… I am sorry. What is your name?” asked Chris.
 
“Corina” Replied the Assistant. “I was told you would say that but Mr. Hollywood insists. I am only here for your best interest and I will mind my own business at all times. I am just here to help you organize your time and your finances better while you’re at Omega Wrestling Alliance. In fact, I have a planned schedule leading up to Game Over planned out for you which includes training programs and some media interviews to get more eyes on you.” Said Corina.
 
“Well, Corina… You got the job. I am not going to say no to Rocky Hollywood. Anyway, what have you planned for me today?” asked Chris.
 
“Mr. Sabertooth, I talked to the local radio station, WTIC and they showed a lot of interest for an interview with you at 5 PM.” Said Corina.
 
“Okay… I can do that. Let’s go.” Said Chris.
 
 
At the WTIC Radio Station:
 
“And today we have a special guest with us. As you know Omega Wrestling Alliance will be holding their PPV, Game Over at The XL Center this Sunday. So, today we are going to be joined by a great professional wrestler… Make some noise for Christopher ‘Havoc’ Sabertooth!” said Todd Feinberg. The usual host for the evening talk show.
 
“Thanks for having me Todd.” Said Chris
 
“Professional Wrestling…. How hard is it? Straight up. I want to know… What are the chances that I can go tomorrow and sign up to be a wrestler?” Asked Todd. Chris chuckles.
 
“Not a chance.” Said Chris as Todd begins laughing.
 
“I mean… It’s not exactly an easy business. But if you do what you like to do, it becomes a bit easier that way.” Said Chris.
 
“Important night for you coming up this Sunday. Tell me more about Game Over” Asked Todd.
 
“Like you said, Game Over is a special event being held by OWA this Sunday which will feature a lot of great matches. Of course, the greatest being the one involving myself. I will be facing off against three other men in Scotty Adams, Isaac Thornton and Jon McAdams for the OWA Spartan’s Championship. Watch out for that one… I don’t like giving spoilers but I am winning that title.” Said Chris.
 
“I will be rooting for you man. Is it harder being in a four-way match like that? I mean… A lot can go wrong when you add more variables to the picture.” Asked Todd.
 
“Yeah… You tend to approach fatal four-ways a lot differently because of all the other dynamics that come in to picture. But you know, a wrestler like me, who can’t do anything wrong has nothing to worry about. I can’t say the same for my opponents though.” Said Chris with a smirk on his face.
 
“Firing shots already. I like it! So, I have done some research and I got to know a bit about your past and the stuff that you’ve been through. We won’t be talking about that for obvious reasons but I would like to know how was returning back into the wrestling world like?” Asked Todd.
 
“I mean… It was not an easy decision to make as you might have read yourself. But I felt like I wasn’t done with the business. I am still very young and very capable of putting on fantastic matches and I didn’t think that it was time for me to hang my boots. So, that’s what motivated me to get better. It was weird walking through the curtains after three years. People were certainly sceptical about my in-ring condition. You are bound to have some sort of ring rust as you step away from doing this regularly but if you are as good as I am… You have nothing to worry about. I went out there and cleared house the first night back.” Said Chris.
 
“That’s fantastic. Now focussing back to your match this Sunday. I heard what you had to say about your opponents and it wasn’t very flattering. Still, that’s three capable wrestlers that you have to go through to walk out as the champion. So, I want to know what is your training regime like, leading up to big PPVs like this?” Asked Todd.
 
“Did any of my opponents call you to ask me that? I bet it was Jon McAdams… That guy is obsessed with me. Regardless, I lift weights, practice my wrestling holds, cardio and all that. It’s a strict routine in a way which goes hand in hand with the diet. Basically, it’s enough to kick some ass. I am allowed to swear right?” Asked Chris.
 
“I am not going to say no to a wrestler. So, yes. Go ahead…. The floor is yours. What is your final message to your opponents?” Asked Todd.
 
“It’s simple…. These people can make fun of my silly name or my catchphrases but at the end of the day, when it matters the most, I am better than everybody that has ever stepped foot in that ring. They talk a lot of shit to amuse themselves. Scotty Adams, straight up think he’s a poet with his weirdly posh articulation. But when it comes down to backing it up in the ring, they fail. Three other men that I have to go through…. Jon McAdams? Beat the guy. Isaac Thornton? Tired of beating the guy every week. Scotty Adams? Fraud. Are these three the best opponents for a guy with my calibre. Absolutely not… I should be in the main event but I have to do business the way Vernon Tressler likes it, who I am not a fan of. OWA Spartan’s Championship is mine for the taking. Watch it live, this Sunday at Game Over.” Said Chris as Todd claps.
 
“That was great! Anyway, I would like to thank you for your time. All the best for your match this Sunday. Stay tuned folks, we have a lot planned for you, coming back right after this break.” Said Todd. He takes his headphones off and shakes hands with Christopher Sabertooth. The staff takes a picture of Chris and Todd together before he leaves.

I have been handed loss after loss recently and then... Then, I was gifted the opportunity to team up with one of my best friends to capture pure gold. Something we both crave so badly, something we both have worked so hard for since our first day here. Everyone has belittled us and treated us like nothing but mere children, but honestly? That is getting very, very old for myself and Jessica. Just because we have different views than the rest of this god forsaken roster... does not mean we are weak. It does not mean we are beneath the rest of this roster. Time and time again, we get knocked down but do you know what? Each loss only makes us stronger, each loss only continues to push us to strive for greatness and together? Together, we are truly unstoppable and we will accomplish any goal we put our mind to because The Sugar Girls? The Sugar Girls have the same goals and ambitions in this wasteland we find ourselves in time and time again.

This week, we go up against a true challenge in The Wolvesden. Am I worried? Am I afraid? Am I nervous? ... Not exactly. Nothing scares anymore. Nothing has scared me since I came face to face in my first horrible encounter with... She Who Must Not Be Named... But, do you know what? Ar-- She Who Must Not Be Named received one hell of an attack at my hands in our last encounter as well. I was doing so well... and she decided to be the coward she is and show her real colors by putting me down the only way she could. Regardless, it shouldn't have counted as a real loss. I never tapped out, I never gave up. My eyes closed of their own volition and she took the cowards way out! She is nothing, she claims to be some false prophet and it disgusts me to see what she has turned into... But, I will get my revenge on her. Hopefully, sooner rather than later but until then? My focus remains on the task at hand and I move on from that horrible encounter and onto higher grounds with what my task is placed before me this week.

Kenny Drake is a dangerous man. Nate Cage is a dangerous man. Together, I am sure they are as unpredictable as I believe they are. But, they don't want this as bad as The Sugar Girls do. They don't want to know what lengths we are willing to go above and beyond to prove we more than deserve everything we have been given. They do not understand the lengths we are willing to go above and beyond to prove how loyal we are to Vernon and the fans around here. They do not understand how my hometown always gives me the courage to go on and to never give up. They do not understand the fire that lies within me and the fire that lies within Jessica. We will stop at nothing to prove that we are worthy of holding the gold and we will stop at nothing to prove that we are more than deserving of the second chance Vernon has given us. We will not squander this opportunity and we will not allow these men to walk all over us like they have done with everyone else.

At the end of it all, only one team will prevail with their hands raised high into the air and their heads held high. Win or lose, we will prove why we were given this chance. We will prove that we are not just measly children you can stomp all over and use like some toy. We will prove that as sweet as we appear to be? We can become sour and mean when it comes to getting down to the nitty gritty inside of that ring. So, Wolvesden? I hope you are prepared for true battle when you come face to face with two women who have absolutely nothing to lose. I wish you both the absolutely best of luck because you will truly... truly need it. See you very, very soon gents'!