Hey megalomaniac.
You're no Jesus.
Yeah, you're no fucking Elvis.
Special, as you know yourself.
Baby, just step down.
Step down.








A four pane window, a classic look for the myriad of apartment buildings that have popped up in the area in the past century, clouds with droplets of rain that have collected over the past hour. Refracted are the beams of sunlight from between the now parting clouds, slightly obscuring the sight of a seated individual at his desk, hunched over in his seat. From the sheer size of the specimen, the assumption can be made that this is a man, though perhaps just in form rather than function. Long dark hair, matted down the protruding shoulders from under the straps on his black beater, glistens with the same water which clouds the window.


“Nine years.”


The beast straightens up in his basic wooden chair, bending back at the neck and bending it either way to work the kinks out. The cracks sound oddly weak, but his sigh of relief would suggest otherwise.


“Nine years and ninety seven days since the world declared me a man. Eighteen's the time you can make a difference, they said. Eighteen is opportunity. Eighteen is freedom.”


The man stands up from his perch and turns around, revealing a mammoth of a man. Stocked into his aforementioned black beater and sweats of the same color, he seats himself backwards on the chair. The eyes pierce with conviction.


“Eighteen can be whatever you want it to be. My coronation began long before that. It began when food was scarce. It began when eviction notices appeared. When my deadbeat parents couldn't even look me in the eye. Life was nothing more than a simulation of how to lose your child. So they did. I split.


Understand that there is no harbored resentment. No Christmas or birthday cards being exchanged either. What there is, is knowledge. The knowledge that there is no 'best life' out there. There is only a means to an end. That end, is survival. The means, was decimation. A teenager on their own gets only what they take in the Bronx. What I took was what I needed. That, and hope. Fighting in the alleys with scrappers over a wallet with a couple of hundred dollars that have sweat, grime, cocaine, and all other sorts of filth all over them is what I had to do. Beating them within inches of their lives is what I wanted to do.


For every person in their three piece suit and tie carrying a briefcase telling a 'boy' like me to get off the sidewalk when I couldn't find those infested wallets and a couple of others looking for a payday, I needed to go further. For those who attempted to talk as if the people sitting on the streets and in the alleys don't have the fucking sense to understand their insults and high-brow statements on OUR human condition, I had to make the mark that would lead me here. I saved that money. I bought those books. And I studied those rats in the race that looked down upon me years ago. Now, it's not an alley, or a parking lot.


It's a ring.”


A snarling breath, built upon the rising veracity of his words, leaves the monster.


“Omega Wrestling Alliance is the culmination of the past three thousand three hundred and eighty four days. The boy doesn't exist anymore. The man never did. The only thing that remains...


Is the Monolith.”








Fade.

The Radiant Glass ---


Date:9/5/2018
Time: 2:20 pm
Location: San Diego, California, USA
---

We open to the interior of the "Adonis Gym", where if we pan around, we can see at least twenty-five people, all going through their daily routines, whether that be on the treadmill, sparring in one of the three wrestling rings (all regulation sized; with Cheery red, sky blue and cream coloured ropes affixed from the turnbuckles), or with one of the eleven wine red punching bags that are situated at various points throughout the gym,each one affixed to the ceiling's metallic blue painted steel beams by steel chains (which allow for additional 'give' when they are hit). 

Others are sitting on the oak benches, either 'cooling down' after wrapping up their session an indeterminate amount of time prior to our arrival, or loitering around, waiting for their turn to use one of the many pieces of equipment that is currently occupied. One of those being Sebastian Whitfield, an up-and-comer in the San Diego area, currently competing with the "independent" SDWC promotion; a trainee of Scotty Adams and the American branch of his 'Adams Wrestling Clinic'. But we're not here to talk about him, and well, there's not much to talk about with him to be honest, seeing as he is still a 'greenhorn' when it comes to wrestling in a professional sense, having only graduated from the academy two months ago. 

Continuing to pan throughout the gym, there is a figure (Attired in a crimson red shirt, black/wine shorts and charcoal/azure 'New Balance' sneakers) leaning against the back right hand side snow painted wall, about three feet from the window, their eyes simply surveying the goings on in this gym --- a gym they know all too well. A gym, where it all began for them --- where their venture into the realm that we know as the 'American Professional Wrestling scene' took its first steps, ten years ago. January 2nd, 2008 if we're being *exact* with our recitation --- yes, the figure *is* indeed, Scotty. 

A soft smirk crossing his face, he allows the memory of the first time he walked through the oak double doors, a young man looking for his 'place' --- willing to scrap and claw his way through the rigours; the physical strain that awaited him. That still awaits him, even as his career progresses; his name becomes more and more cemented as one of the all-time 'icons' this industry as produced. A status that some have said is assured --- that it's no longer a question of *if* he'll be a wrestling hall of famer when the time comes, and he *finally* (and not just in the sense of a 'hiatus' like he has done before) walks away from the business, but *when* will the induction occur? 

It's admittedly, not something that *he* personally thinks about --- in fact, he stated back in June of 2016 when asked by Michael Gira of Channel 10 back in Australia about this topic, he stated that although the hall-of-fame would be something he cherishes forever (just like he does the plaque he received from the NWA when he was inducted into their HoF back in 2013), it's not something he seeks out, or even really thinks about. 

"I'll cross that bridge when the time arises for it to occur," was his exact statement,and sums up his thoughts on the topic perfectly. Slowly stepping forward, a deep sigh leaves his lips, as he glances around at each piece of equipment that is around the gym, imagining himself being on them, breathing heavily and feeling his body almost scream at him to take a break; re-calibrate after the day's session, yet he would keep pushing on --- he would keep breaking his own limits, no, not just his limits --- the *human* limits to how far one could exert themselves, before their body would just shut itself down and say "no, I can't take this any more".  

Same as he has been his *entire* career, when it's come to gym work --- even if his visits have been less frequent in recent years, due to wishing to manage his knee and back --- issues that no matter what he might try to say; how much he wants to deny it, *do* affect how much effort he can actually exert within a gym setting (primarily the back). Continuing his walk around, his eyes catch a few of the patrons, mainly people that he has interacted with over the years --- including one of those using a punching bag that was situated about ten feet from where he initially was situated --- a patron, he remembers sparring with on his fifth day here, in what was actually his first ever sparring session since landing on American shores. 

Nodding to himself, he turns his attention back in front of him, before allowing the words: "It's as they say --- it all comes full circle in the end," as he allows the sounds of grunting and well, the kinds of sounds you would expect to hear at a gym to radiate inside of his mind. Each sound, invoking a memory of his road to just being noticed in the American scene --- to *not* just being another nameless; faceless import who would have their 'flash in the pan' moment, before fading into obscurity and being another case of 'unfulfilled potential' like many that had come before him; many that have followed him.

 Though he *always* had the advantage of being a charisma goldmine --- which, as we should *all* know by know, usually means one will have a successful career in this industry, irrespective of in-ring talent. Which, as we all also know, Scotty has in spades --- even if it *wasn't* always that way. Something that he has openly admitted several times; something that is the same for the vast majority of wrestlers when their career is starting out (even if they wish to instead make themselves out to be this prodigious son who was skilled from the outset to the fans and media). 

Softly wincing, he feels a slight pang in his back, before gritting his teeth and contorting his face into his famed half-smirk, as he resumes his walk, glancing over at the treadmill where he was 'discovered' by Tyler Davis --- who offered him the chance to team with him in the 'Gods of Wrestling' promotion three weeks after his official American debut (which occurred in a Los Angeles based underground promotion called WEW), stating that it would be a means to further integrate him into the realm of American wrestling; show him the nuances that would be required to 'make it'. 

"Sometimes it takes going back to the start, to realise just how best to proceed forward," his words calm, he turns his glance back ahead, as he sidesteps a patron that is heading in the direction of the same treadmill Scott was looking at. 

"To realise, just what must be," stating this, he makes his way over to a bench about three feet from where he was standing, pivots his body before sitting down and cupping his hands --- as he slightly places his head between them.  "This is where my passage began --- the blood, the sweat, the tears all commenced in this very gym," As cliche as that may sound (a fact that is partially why Scotty softly chuckles under his breath after remarking those words), it's the truth. 

Rubbing his temples gently, he tilts his head up slightly, commenting "The moments I spent here, were moments that defined me --- that made me who I am today," before moving his left hand down to his jawline; stroking his beard gently, pondering just how best to broach the subject matter he wishes to divulge next. Glancing over to the azure painted mahogany double doors that grace the entrances, a holographic image of a clean-shaven, younger form of him sauntering through those exact doors manifesting itself, as it calmly yet nervously makes its way towards the registration office --- just as he had done back on his first day. 

An event that he stated in a Channel 7 interview in 2014, actually took him twelve minutes to complete, as he legitimately had no clue where the registration office was; was too nervous to ask anybody, as you would expect from someone who had only been in America for four days and looked like an absolute twig, compared to others in the gym. "It's funny how it works, sometimes," he states, allowing his mind to regather some of the thoughts that had been eluding him to this point. "You come back to the place where a significant event --- in this case, me starting the road to where I am today; all you can think about, is just how it all could have been different,". 

"How if certain events didn't mesh together to lead you upon the passage that you ultimately took, *everything* could easily have unravelled --- no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise," Feeling his back begin to throb slightly, he leans back, laying down atop the bench; allowing it to act as a pseudo-bed, whilst his eyes stare up at the ceiling lights.

 "And it very *nearly* did, " Exhaling deeply, he thinks about the next words that are about to leave his lips --- words that he has *never* divulged before, to *anybody* outside of Bianca and Jane. "I nearly walked away from this business after three days --- In fact, I literally had one foot out the door, before something clicked inside of me and reminded me that I was here to *escape* the security blanket; the shelter that I had provided myself with --- that this *was* the stability that I had been craving," Pausing, he allows those words to sink in, as his eyes blink before returning their focus to the lights. 

"That I *still* crave to this day --- and that quitting would have only been validation that they were *right* about me," his comment drifting into the air faintly, he thinks back to the criticisms that had been levied his way throughout the early portion of his career, whether they have been from within this gym (and especially the owner/head trainer Mark Adonis) or various 'blogs'/other forums, where people were basing assessments and placing a pre-emptive 'ceiling' on Scotty; his potential within the industry, based solely off his body of work back home in Australia, which had all been on an 'amateur' (well, semi-pro) level.

 Comments that deep down, left him even doubting himself, no matter how much he tried to push them to one side --- no matter how much he continuously put his body on the line (as we stated earlier) in even the simplest of training exercises, he just *couldn't* shake their words. Their vilification, which was only compounded by the lingering feeling of home sickness. Of missing the comfort of his own bed; of surroundings that were familiar to him, and people that he could truly confide in, when the need arose for him to do so.

 "But ten years on, I'm *still* here --- yes, there have been absences, 'hiatuses' if you will in between, but ultimately: I'm still going out there night in and night out; showing people just who I am. What I'm all about --- the *exact* same as I did from the moment I set foot in here," his remarks spoken in a reflective manner, he swings his legs over the right hand side of the bench, pushing himself back up to a seated position as a devilish smirk crosses his face. 

"It's poetic justice, isn't it --- the place where it all commenced; the place where everything began, is the city where I have a chance to claim my fiftieth career championship," Allowing his smirk to curl further upwards, he feels the image of him hoisting the OWA "Spartan's Championship" high into the air; looking down at the carnage that lays at his feet from atop his perch, as he exhales in a manner much akin to a sigh. "It holds a special kind of meaning to me, to be honest," he remarks, his stare still fixated in front of him, at the holographic image that has manifested. 

"Championships have *never* been my end game, They've never been the thing that has truly defined me --- but to win this belt, in the place that I once called home; that in a sense, I still *do* call home, would honestly mean more than any other accolade I have acquired," his comment about 'still calling San Diego home' being a reference to the fact that he owns a condo deep in the heart of the city --- which is where he has been staying ever since arriving here on Monday afternoon; where he will be remaining until not just Hardcore Havoc on Sunday, but until next Tuesday --- the reason for that being the second reason San Diego is still seen as 'home' in a sense for him. 

That is, the fact that one of his famed "Adams Shelters" for the underprivileged/homeless is situated right in the heart of the city. An avenue, for those who for the most part, have been tallied as being nothing more than 'nameless; faceless statistic'  to acquire the hope they crave. To have someone there, who *actually* wants to 'guide' then; *wants* to open up doors that had been bolted shut to them, just like the special "class" he shall be personally hosting on Monday afternoon, hopefully with the Spartan's belt firmly atop his shoulders. 

An opportunity, for those who may not otherwise be able to enrol within either the public/private schooling system, to be able to receive an education --- to be able to grasp the opportunity they would otherwise *never* have a chance to experience; a 'bridge'; a doorway to potentially making the 'most' out of what has been strewn in front of them. To persevere, when all other avenues; all other gateways have been sealed and they are left with nowhere else to turn. Just like the opportunities he has been granted throughout his life --- just like the position he finds himself within, that was enabled by people giving him the chance to survive --- no, the chance to *thrive*, despite having been one of those 'nameless; faceless statistics', shifting around from foster home to foster home, craving for at the very least, *some* stability in his life. 

Just like all those who attend his classes; all those he engages with when he makes appearances at the Shelters (which are situated throughout America; indeed, the world, each managed by the respective branches of 'Adams Enterprises' that are in the region); all those who have even spent a single second at the Shelters will tell you: Scotty is a firm advocate for changes within our culture. Of "being the change he seeks", when it comes to the management; 'care' of those who literally live day-to-day. *Not* just in the sense of 'taking things one day at a time', which is what the vast majority of people associate with that phrase, but those who scrap and claw each day, not knowing whether today, will be the day their life either ends, or whether they will be able to truly 'see the light' we all proclaim is at the end of the tunnel. 

Placing his palms on the benches 'ledge', he slowly makes his way up to a vertical bench, wincing as pain jolts up and down his back, a sudden 'bolt' of agony pinging inside of his brain. Slighting stepping forward and pivoting his body to the left, he glances around the gym, his eyes catching a few patrons that he remembers from his early days here --- faces, that he would compete with to continuously push himself; to continuously ensure that he was giving everything he had, and then breaking that limit each and every day he walked into this gym. 

Sighing, he returns his glance to the vacant spaces ahead of him, a soft smile creeping across his face as his progression takes him to the 'weight machine' where he was *discovered* by Tyler Davis, who along with Devin Stone (the picture of their initial meeting manifesting itself in hologram form in front of his eyes), have been credited by Scotty himself (both in 'Memoirs of an Icon' and the corresponding Channel 7 Interview back in 2014 to commemorate its release) as being two of the catalysts for his career taking the passage that it has --- for being able to firmly entrench himself within the climate within American wrestling. 

Whether their roles have been as a 'tag team partner'/mentor' (in the case of Tyler, referring to their time as the 'Iconic Superstars' *which would also bring about Scotty's first ever title, the GOW tag team belts), or as the first real 'foil' within the scope of his career --- a 'foil' whose career has been intertwined to a certain point (even when they're not in the same promotion) with Scotty's from the moment Scott first entered the industry (in the case of Devin), he is eternally grateful for them ---  he still maintains contact with them to this very day, even if in the eyes of many on social media or in blog posts/online podcasts; videos believing that he has far *eclipsed* the two of them. That's *not* the sort of person he is. 

"Loyalty means the world to me --- if you're loyal to me, then I'll be loyal to you. That *doesn't* change based off 'perceptions' or whether or not his star status is 'greater' than the people he interacts with. "I ain't someone who believes in that whole 'sociological class' bullsh*t --- that sh*t people talk about supposed 'standards', because it's just an excuse for them to be snakes --- to be the portrait, of the society that has turned its back on morality," His statements resonating within the air, he softly extends his right hand, placing it atop the cold; cream painted steel of the machine, smiling as a faint memory of the first time he did twenty reps whilst lifted 530 lbs --- a weight amount, that is still a 'personal best' for him in that department, even to this day. 

"The society, that encapsulates the wrestling business --- no, that encapsulates the entirety of our existence," Sighing ruefully, he feels his body slowly relax, as his mind begins to invoke memories of 'simpler' times --- of times, when people *didn't* just fall for the lure of 'trends' or 'flavour of the month' fads, before being discarded away, only the annuls of time remembering their existence. Or at least, times when those aspects weren't as rampant in society --- yes, in the grand scheme of things, he's still *young* himself (being 29, turning 30 next Thursday); this generation, has been the generation, the culture he has been around, he still reflects on his youth --- a youth, when Social media was less immersed; embedded within society. 

"A society, that we have enabled to occur," His words mournfully floating into the air, he releases his grasp, before pivoting left, uttering a soft "Hey," to Evan Grange (one of the first people he met upon his arrival to America) as he walks by, attired in a black 'Converse' training singlet, obsidian shorts and charcoal/white 'Converse' trainers --- a towel draped loosely across his left shoulder as he acknowledges Scotty with a slight nod, before continuing his way towards the bathrooms, cooling down after what has been an intense session of gym work. 

"Just look at those who have spoken about the match --- those, who have engaged in the discourse of self-convincing," His famed half-smirk creeping across his face, he exhales slightly as his feet firmly 'pound' against the vinyl hardwood floor, each step sounding as if it were a heartbeat.  

"Each one believing; asserting that they are the 'favourite'; that they are 'entitled' to be champion, irrespective of the reality that awaits them," His words chilling, he softly yet mockingly shudders, before a gentle laugh emits itself from his lips; he pivots left, wishing to make his way to the equipment that he stated in a Channel 10 interview with Michael Gonal back in 2016, was his 'favourite' piece of equipment' when it comes to the gym: the rowing machines.

 "Each of them, claiming that they are 'Spartans'; as such, embody the belt that has been put forth --- yet only serving to project their own insecurities. Their own lack of self-belief, whilst being completely blind," A holographic image of a ball of wool appears, directly in front of Scotty's eyes as those words are remarked --- a visual representation of the old adage; a quote that Scotty has used ad infinitum to describe society and its tendency to allow the wool to be firmly pressed against their eyes. 

Smirking devilishly as the hologram fades, he remarks "There's an adage, a little mantra I have: those who don't know, are the ones who feel the need to talk. Those who *do*, need not say a singular word," Those words festering within the air; radiating throughout not just his own mind or our minds, but also the minds of anyone who is out there, watching this recording; feeling the *truth* that seeps through every word that he speaks. Reaching a vacant rowing machine that is situated about ten feet; diagonally left from the cobalt painted oak double-doors that mark the entrance (and exit) to the gym  

Leaning over, he softly runs his right palm against the flaky; jet black paint job, exposing the bare steel underneath, gently chuckling as he utters "I see this hasn't changed,". The 'this' a reference to Mark's mentality of 'it's not about how *pretty* it looks, but how *effective* it is at what it is designed to do --- which also serves as his rationale behind *not* refurbishing them. And it's true --- just like in life, it *shouldn't* be about how 'aesthetically pleasing' something or someone is, but how *effective* they are at serving their defined purpose. 

A mentality, that Scotty *embodies* to its fullest; one, that his is living evidence of. His style has *never* been something that one would claim is 'crowd pleasing', or about going out there and simply giving the fans moments they can 'ooh' and 'ahh' about --- he's admitted many times in the past that he knows he isn't the most athletic in the ring, that he *never* has been about that, but what he is, is effective. He's willing to grit and grind his way to victories --- no matter how 'ugly' they might appear externally. Pivoting his body, he sits himself down atop the jet black plastic 'seat' of the machine; leans forward, gently clasping the steel handles that jut out from the slate nylon cord they are attached to, as he slides back and braces himself to do his first 'rep' of this visit. 

"See, if you hold the belief in yourself that you *can* overcome any obstacle; that you have it inside of you to define the title; the accolades you crave, then you have no need to try and convince anyone otherwise. Their thoughts, would be irrelevant to you,"

Feeling his back pulsate, he slides forward and back, his face slightly contorting itself as he does due to the combination of energy and weight exertion, completing the rep, before commencing a second one whilst remarking "The fact that you feel the *need* to make guarantees; to make assurances about your victory, means that deep down: you're not sure if you have it inside of you --- if you can *really* go out there, and fulfil your promise," Inhaling and Exhaling as he continues sliding back and forth, each rep causing more lactic acid to build up inside of him; more strain to be visible in order to complete the repetition, A slight, joyful smirk peers out from his lips. 

"You're afraid that you will fall flat on your face; the weight of your own words being too much for you to hold --- yet you'll try and attribute the blame to happenstance --- you'll try to attribute it to factors that were never in your control. That 'the odds were against you' ---," Allowing a soft, exasperated sigh to float into the air as that rhetoric leaves his mouth, be softly places the handle back atop the machine, pausing his mini-workout for now, his hazel eyes beginning the shimmer as the lights reflect off them. 

"Yet it was *you* who made that bed; it was *you* that defined those odds, the moment you stated the words 'I will win', made the decision to dismiss those who stood against you as being nothing more than a step,". "A 'means to an end'," his lips pursing as those words hiss, piercing through the air as if they were knifes slicing through the souls; the minds of those listening, Scotty simply smirks in his chilling yet stoic manner, allowing the intensity to radiate throughout his body. 

"What happens if you *fail*? What happens if it all becomes too much; your own insatiable *lust*; your own destined road, ends up leading you into the path of despair? The anguish, of your own finality?" his eyes beginning to softly 'glow', he pivots his legs right, allowing the small beads of sweat that have begun to form atop his forehead to slowly run downwards, getting captured within the hair of his eyebrows, as he places his hands atop his lap. "What happens, when your soul is vanquished; your eyes are forced to stare deep into the dancing flame? The flame, that has claimed all that you desire?" Demonically probing into the psyche of each and every one of the seven that shall be sharing the ring with him, he pokes his tongue out sarcastically, before returning to his icy cold stare, as he presses his palms against his thighs, using it as leverage to stand back up; resume his walk through of the gym. 

His own reflection of everything that moulded together, everything that has led to this point in his career. In his entire *life*. "See, my legacy is etched in stone --- I've cemented that; one singular loss won't define my career. It won't hold water, when the time comes for everything to be placed atop the table --- yet that doesn't mean I plan on just going out there and 'going through the motions',"  

Slightly shaking his head, he ponders his next words, remarking"That's *not* who I am, at all --- I plan on going out there and making sure that when the time for execution arises; when the bells toll, I am the one standing," watching as a miniature hologram appears within his line of sight, displaying him standing atop the cables; spartan's belt hoisted high in the air; glancing downwards upon the broken; shattered spirits of all 7 who have been vanquished, he exhales softly as the image shatters into a glass like effect. "'When people have to create misconceptions about you to construct themselves, that is when their toll has been acquired' --- it's funny how many people don't realise that quote exists; how it resonates especially with Nate Cage and his little commentary, his belief that all I am, is another individual who revolves around his youth, using that as his leverage ---" 

His eyes rolling as those words leave his lips, he softly spits out a laugh before replying "That couldn't be further from the truth. My past is merely what built me, it is not the *only* thing that makes me --- but hey, I applaud you for trying to do some research, no matter how misguided it was," Sarcastically 'golf clapping', he continues his methodical walk, pivoting his body right, as he nears the forest green painted walls; the shining rosemary tinted silver plaque that has 'Reception' carved into it; the tan two-seat sofa that leans up against the wall, five centimetres from the entrance way itself. 

"Nor have I claimed that my exploits on the basketball court or my aptitude in school, give me this discernible advantage in the ring --- even if the latter actually *does*, yet you're probably blind/ignorant as to how," stepping over to the sofa, he pivots his body; sits himself down atop the cushions. 

"It should be easy enough to figure out; is the answer to this simple question: If it's not my athleticism or my strength, the latter you have over me, the former having *never* been something you associate with me, then *why* am I upon the 'perch' I am?" Allowing those words to fester throughout the air, he hears his own mind faintly answering his own question, yet wishing for Nate to be the one to state the remark, the very moment he decides to attempt to muster up a commentary in response to the harsh; blunt truths that are being delivered to him. 

"Ask Kenny if you must --- maybe he'll be able to guide you upon the right track --- the realisation that you need in order to make your determination," Raising his left hand, he strokes his beard, before turning his stare dead into our lens. "I'll let you try to figure that out though ---," Mocking 'clicking' his tongue against his teeth, he replicates a clock, before allowing his thoughts to focus on the next person he wishes to dissect. "Gareth, I'mma give you some props here: You *have* backed up your moniker. Your billing as being 'legit dangerous', yet at the same time --- I can sense the doubt that lives within you,"  Feeling those words cut through, he slightly leans back on the sofa, resting his back up against the supporting 'backrest', as his irises begin to burn. 

"Each denial, each 'I don't need to prove anything' only serves to project that doubt; that lack of esteem that your body of work speaks for itself, irrespective of your perception," His inflection changing to that of a psychologist, he quips: "Just because something has been proven in one aspect, does *not* mean that it correlates over to another aspect --- especially when that aspect pertains to a different realm," the chill in those words evident, his eyelids slightly close, before reopening to expose the hazel ball of fire and light that is his eyes, the flame dancing as it roars within his mind. 

"That's okay though --- I've been in the same position," Softly breathing as he continues his deathly stare, be allows his half-smirk to paint itself across his face. "I've been down the route of convincing myself that if I tell them my body of work, if I remind them what I have done, then they will believe what I say --- but it is fleeting," Pausing, he waits about five seconds, his expression unmoving before remarking: 

"It's a simple principle: 'how do you expect others to believe you, if you don't even believe *yourself*? And no matter how much you tell yourself; no matter how much you spout that you *do* believe in yourself, your very words contradict that," Lifting his left forearm and twisting it so that the underside is visible, he allows us to see the 'cross' tattoo he got done back in 2012 --- a tattoo, that serves as a remnant of Joely --- a way for her to forever remain entwined with him --- but also as a metaphor.  A symbol for the cross his foes bare, should that tempt their fate. Should they stand before him, awaiting their final deliverance. 

"Once you figure out your truth --- then you can commence the acquisition of what you desire ---" His words icy and bitter, he allows them to resonate, before we slowly zoom in onto the flame, its dance mesmerising as he slightly chuckles, a slight smirk across his face. "Isaac Thornton --- a man whose own insecurities; own fragility brought him into this realm --- under the facade of 'stealing back what was taken from him'," His smirk moulding itself into a cheesy grin, Scott *knows* the story. An actor, who floated from set to set, trying to find themselves a job; find themselves somewhere to make their name --- yet doesn't want the accountability when they fail to do so. 

"I must admit, you do play the role of an actor well --- yet at the same time, you fall into many of the same 'tropes' I already dissected before. You know, the 'needing to convince yourself' one, but in your case, you *are* at least open about that, so kudos," The final words of that comment stated in a more sarcastic manner than usual, be uses his already elevated left hand to push himself upwards --- remembering that he needs to be home in two hours, due to having promised Bianca that he would take her out to his favourite restaurant for dinner, as a 'celebration' of the news they received from Larni last night. 

News, that Amelia was at the stage of her recovery, where she could very well be discharged from hospital within the next month; is responding better to doctors and her treatment. News, that they had been waiting for ever since she fell into a catatonic state back in March, a by-product of the brutal; sadistic assault she suffered in August last year. Slowly pivoting himself right, he calmly commences the walk back towards the exit of the gym, his eyes continuing the shine bright within. "Yet Isaac, all that does, is play your cards; 'show your own hand' if you will --- pierce the facade you yourself, set up,".

 "Even if you don't wish to admit it," Feeling his own words radiate within his mind as they float into the air, he softly sighs, before quipping "Because we can't hold ourselves to account, can we now?" A soft, light-hearted laughter leaving his pursed lips, Scotty allows his face to showcase the expression of someone who's joyous --- someone, who's having fun dissecting the 'home runs' that have lobbed his way, because --- simply put --- he is. "That's what you seem to neglect Isaac: it's *not* on anybody else but *you*. Never has been either ---," Smirking, he allows the expected response of 'Wrestlers took my job' and 'you don't know the cinema business' to radiate inside his heart, as he lets out a cheeky chuckle. 

"See, you cry about your failure to succeed in the movie business --- that's fine, being cinema made isn't something everyone is. I've been there before, I *know* the nature of the industry, yet it is up to you to stand out," Allowing his daggers to imprint themselves into the mind of Isaac when he hears them, his expression returns back to the icy, intense state that he is known for, as he slowly reaches forward with his right hand --- grasping the steel handle of the doors in this case, but also as a reference to the famed 'brass ring' we hear heard oh-so-often in wrestling. A trope of its own. 

"It's up to you, to make your imprint on the industry, on society --- and luckily, this week gives you the chance to do that," Pausing, he allows those words to hand in the air as he steadily makes his way through the double doors (which he had pushed open whilst speaking), feeling the cool; crisp air brush against his skin. "But it shall only occur, if *you* are the one who ensnares it --- otherwise, your own fractured mirror, the glass house in which you live, shall be what brings about your demise," Continuing his stroll, he glances around --- allowing himself some time to not just gather his thoughts about the next discourse he wishes to have, but also about what he shall be wearing when he enters the restaurant. 

He's *never* been a formal, suit-wearing guy --- just as he told CASPIAN last week, so that's outta the question. Softly grinning internally, he pivots his body left, making his way down the concrete path that separates the gym itself from the communal carpark. "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, isn't it, Chris?" His tone inquisitive yet jovial in nature, he pokes his tongue out, before bringing it back in as he remarks: 

"Yet imitation is also the greatest identity crisis a person can have --- when they are unsure of *who* they are, to the extent they need to clasp at somebody else's creed," Smirking, he extends his hands out into his famed 'cross' formation, slightly tilting his head to the right as he does, before flicking his head back straight; dropping his hands back by his side. "

You allow yourself to become immersed with the delusions that fester within you, the fallacies on which you base your statements, that you become nothing more than an emotional construct. A design, whose reality becomes nothing more than a mirage," Hearing the words 'I'm the last *real* wrestler in this industry' whisper themselves inside of his head, he snorts dismissively as his icy stare penetrates itself through the windows of his Lime green/white 1997 model Porshe (having reached the car during his discourse). 

"See, proclaiming you're the "last" of something fails to apply, when there is somebody who already defines purity --- who is what you'd call a *real* wrestler, stands before you ---," Running his right hand down his body, he places his left hand on the door handle; pulling it towards him, as he extends his right leg, stepping into the car. His left leg following, he releases the outside handle of the car, before grasping the inside handle; pulling it towards him, whilst fidgeting around his shorts pockets with his right hand; grasping the keys, the placing them in the ignition. "In your case, that would be *me*,". Those words hanging in the air, he turns his body around (having strapped the seatbelt across his body), surveying to ensure the 'coast is clear' before commencing the act of reversing out of his space. 

"And Sunday, should you wish to stand forth, you shall realise that falling into the same lure --- allowing your own internal crisis to define who you are, shall be what brings you to your knees; sets you upon the passage that the mire has laid out before you," Demonically smiling, Scotty turns the car left, before slowly navigating his way out of the parking lot --- knowing that soon, he will be enjoying the bliss; the dinner with the one he cherishes more than anything. "To all seven of you, I shall see you Sunday ---," his statement blunt, he uses his right hand to turn the dial on the radio, the final sounds we hear being 'Ready for Whatever' by T.I as we fade into nothingness.

(We begin with the camera rolling inside the Viejas Arena where we see Jessica Rose just looking down from the top rows of the arena as the crew work on setting up everything before the big show.)
 
Like HENDRIX said, I don’t look like the girls that every guy would love to have as their girlfriend, I’m too tomboyish and I don’t ooze out confident like Aria or Candice. Like when this tournament started, I didn’t think I would be in the finals. Against Candice, I thought it would be a nice debut, second round match against Megan I was glad to make it that point and my confidence grew a bit more and then when I beat Megan, I knew I had what it took to end up winning this entire tournament now after so long, I’m confident in myself my abilities in the ring and in the fact that I can be the first OWA Women's Champion. I don’t intend on letting HENDRIX get inside my head and get the best of me this week. Right now I plan on becoming Women’s champ and prove whether not you’re the favorite or an underdog that anyone on their best night can become the best and rise right to the top. Maybe I don’t fit the mold for your female wrestlers, I mean someone with broad shoulders, short hair, and Otaku background doesn't sound like someone who could the face of the Goddess Division but that's the opinion of someone like HENDRIX. And her opinion will be proven wrong this Sunday, it means the world to me to prove her wrong about someone like me becoming the face of this division. 

(The determined look on her face becomes the main focus of the camera.)

I've come far from where I was when this tournament started, I became something a lot of girls can look up to now. This has been quite a journey and it would be the perfect end to a great fairy tale with the underdog shocking the world and becoming the first ever OWA Women's champion. HENDRIX, I don't plan to talk about your past even though I know all about it. I want you to focus on me, right now even on your way to the final, you have to face me in it. No matter how beaten down I am from my matches with Candice and Megan, I'm still going to fight on like I have during all my matches. This is the moment for me, HENDRIX. I think I've proven to be more than just Savannah's new best friend and if I need to show that to you then I'm more then willing to do it especially with the OWA Women's Title on the line as well. I don't expect an easy time especially with the steel cage surrounding us, I don't expect to leave without scars and wounds. This is the biggest match of my career, every bit of it has come down to this moment.

If you plan to walk into Hardcore Havoc and walk out with the Women's title then you're wrong. You're not going to walk out without getting a fight from me, I want that title right now more than anything. This match, it's not for Faye or Savannah or anybody else you can think of. This is for me. To be OWA Women's champ, you have to fight like one and be like one. I've shown that throughout this entire tournament that I can fight like a champion and be one for this company regardless of who I'm up against, doesn't matter if it's a girl with talent in her blood like Candice Blair or a THOT like Megan Harper. I've overcome all that to be in this position and I promise you that this Sunday when the bell rings, you'll be face to face with the best I've got to offer. No matter what tactic you want to try or whatever you can do to stop me, it just won't work against me as I'll still keep doing what I have done since joining OWA and that is to keep pushing towards the finish line. You aren't going to be able to stop me from achieving my goal of becoming OWA Women's Champ, I'm gonna make sure of it during our match.

(Jessica slowly takes a deep breath before getting up and heading out of the arena with the crew still working hard to get the set for Hardcore Havoc finished before this Sunday as the camera fades.)

[After his OWA debut, cameras capture Isaac getting escorted out by the OWA security to the backstage area after what he did to poor Tsuyoi. He has his hands up, acting as if he's an innocent man. He's apologizing, pleading his case that he did nothing wrong ... that it was all an accident. And he actually looks remorseful. A very convincing actor indeed. Since Isaac is now a few hundred feet away from Tsuyoi, security finally leaves Isaac alone. He sports a small grin, reminiscing about what he's done. He's proud of himself. At this point an interviewer approaches Isaac to get a few answers.]

Interviewer: Isaac, I have to ask, what was the meaning behind that? The match was long over, so why did you choose to attack Tsuyoi? 

Isaac: I uh, I didn't mean to, I promise! I mean, I had sweat in my eyes, so my vision was impaired! Everything was a blur! All I remember is my fist slipped and I got carried away. I just couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. I know that when I go back to my personal locker room and I look in the mirror, I'll be disgusted by the man l see! So long story short, what transpired after my match ... it wasn't my proudest moment and I sincerely apologize! In fact, I feel so bad that I will even pay for his hospital bill because I'm a grown adult and I take responsibility for my actions! 

Interviewer: Was that sarcasm? 

Isaac: Nope. Some things are bigger than professional wrestling ... like one's health. I just hope Tsuyoi makes a full and speedy recovery. I truly feel horrible about what I did and I can't stress that enough! Look into my eyes! You can clearly tell it's eating away at me! It's driving me crazy! So please, I beg, ask about something else because I'm about to break down in tears. Hurry up! Get my mind off this tragic event!

Interviewer: Okay, sure. So your debut was fantastic, but in the end, you didn't pick up the victory. That went to Christopher Sabertooth. What are your thoughts on your debut match?

[For a split second, you can tell Isaac is seething at the thought of Christopher winning. But that face of jealously quickly disappears and being the actor he is, he isn't going to show he's bothered. Instead, he's about to play the overly corny positive/motivational character. Why? Because he can.]

Isaac: My thoughts are, never give up. You hear that kids? NEVER GIVE UP! CHASE YOUR DREAMS! YOU MIGHT STUMBLE ALONG THE WAY AFTER YOU FACE SOME OBSTACLES OR ODDS! BUT OVERCOME THEM! DON'T LET ANYONE TELL YOU YOU AREN'T GOOD ENOUGH! JUST KEEP SCRATCHING AND CLAWING UNTIL YOU REACH YOUR DESTINATION OF SUCCESS! THE WORD IMPOSSIBLE DOESN'T EXIST! IT'S WHAT?! THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S IM-POSSIBLE! I AM POSSIBLE! ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT BECAUSE ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!!! 

Interviewer: I must say, that was very inspiring. Any words for Christopher, such as congratulations? 

Isaac: Oh, no. He's trash. 

Interviewer: Oh...

Isaac: Yeah, he's very bad. He's not good at this professional wrestling thing. Instead, he should go rob some banks because he's a pro at theft. Stealing victories away from a hard-working, humble young man such as myself ... just disgusting. Way more disgusting than what I did to Tsuyoi. So why would I sing my praises about a thief?!

Interviewer: Oh, I wasn't expecting that. 

Isaac: Yeah, you made this awkward. Brought the mood down. I'm just gonna go...

Interviewer: Oh, yeah, me too...

[Isaac starts walking away, only for the interviewer to walk in the same direction as him, making this even more awkward.]

Isaac: No! The other way! Thanks!

[Isaac walks off into the distance as the camera fades to black momentarily. "Present Day" is on the screen, since this next part is obviously current. Isaac looks to be in a studio of some kind, sitting in his director's chair. He's of course looking dapper in his three-piece suit.]

Isaac: My first week as a professional wrestler is now in the books and overall, I think it went pretty well. I mean, it could have gone better, sure, but it also could have gone much worse. See, I'm a glass half full kind of guy. I glance at the positives and hope to replicate/build off of it in the future. But on the other side of the coin, I study the negatives very carefully so I reduce the possibility of duplicating them. That's what life is all about in a nutshell, right? Learning from mistakes. I mean you look at Christopher Sabertooth's father for example. He had one child, Christopher, and after all of the annoyance and grief he brought into his life, he made sure to never make that same mistake again. Just like when it comes to professional wrestling, I learned to never let your guard down because there will be someone lurking in the shadows, just waiting for that small opening to capitalize on. Again, that applies to life. There are countless people in this world that will step over you in order to give them an advantage in life. Don't worry, I am not one of those people because I am a god damn Saint. Never committed a crime in my life, no siree! What's that? You wanna talk about Tsuyoi? Nah, let's leave that skull in my closet for the time being. So hey, random transition, but I recently decided to torture my ears by listening to Christopher's post-match comments and I must say, I was left dumbfounded. For such a "crafty veteran", he sure does love gloating over the fact he pinned a complete and utter tyro in Tsuyoi. Nah, better yet, for such a "crafty veteran" who has supposedly collected a bundle of success in all his years of making a living in this profession, you would think that after such a small victory, he would act like he's been in the winner's circle before. It reminds me of the memorable quote from the legendary football coach, Vince Lombardi when he once said, "When you go into the end zone, act like you've been there before." Meaning, when you score a touchdown, just hand the ball to the ref, acting as if it's no big deal instead of doing some prima donna choreographed dance routine that will draw a flag and hurt your team. But I get it, the old man comes out of retirement, he gets a taste of victory and he overinflates his ego in the process. Ride that high Christopher. Enjoy as you sit all comfy on that high horse of yours because soon, real soon, I am going to shove you the fuck off, I promise.

I am more superior than you in every way imaginable and don't you dare forget it. I can already sense your response and all I have to say is don't do it, Christopher. Don't let some fluke victory cloud your better judgment. You are playing a dangerous game here, my friend. Then again, ignore it. Ignore the warning flashing lights. Just go on through so when I kick your teeth down your throat, it will be that much more satisfying. See, I have my eyes on the prize here and that is the Spartan's Championship. That's right, even after a "loss", I get the same opportunity as you Christopher, imagine that. And yet, you wonder why? Why was I inserted into this match? I of all people don't deserve it! It's an insult to what you accomplished last week!!!!!!! But tell me, Christopher ... what did you actually accomplish?! Spoiler alert, not a god damn thing. Hell, even the interviewer that was talking to you wouldn't shut up about me and my performance ... why? You would think the winner would get all of the spotlight! What is the meaning of this travesty?! Simple, just like in every role I've been given. I've shined. I shine because I am the real star. I have the it factor. I have the potential to be a cornerstone of this company and cool, you can fold your arms and scrunch your face and try to convince me I'm wrong, but you would only be wasting your time, as well as your breath. I am a lion. You are a jackal. And in the land of predators, a lion never fears the jackal. Just like I don't value your opinion. No one does ... because when you talk, you don't captivate an audience. When you walk down the ramp, their eyes aren't glued to the TV screen. Nah man, they are glued to a different screen ... the screen of their smartphones. Just waiting for your music to die down and hope that a real talent, such as myself is coming out next. 

You overvalue your worth to this company and I accept part of that blame. If I had eyes in the back of my head and saw you coming before you decided to toss me out of the ring and basically take credit for my work, we would be having a very different conversation here. In fact, I wouldn't be talking to you at all because if you lost last week? You wouldn't even be booked in this match. You wouldn't be booked for Hardcore Havoc, period. You would be at home, devouring Funyuns and crying in your quart of Ben & Jerry's, wondering to yourself why oh why weren't you born with my talent and my good looks and my charisma? There there, don't be so hard on yourself! I am one of one. No duplicates, even though there are plenty of imitators. I hit the lottery and you didn't, it's no big deal. Just like you being a part of this match is no big deal. I look up and down at the list of names in this match and if I'm being brutally honest, which hey, I always am, I'd rank you dead last. Actually nah, on second thought, that would go to the stuttering guy, then you. So you're officially the second worst in this match ... congratulations? Yeah, congratulations! Bask in that glory Christopher because that'll be the last time anyone congratulates you this week. But again, like I said, for the time being, ride that high. Pat yourself on the back for that "victory" last week. I'm sure I haven't heard the last of it because if I won a match with Isaac Thornton in it, I'd brag about it too. In fact, I'd cling onto that fact for the rest of my career here in OWA because that'll be the most noteworthy accomplishment you'll ever achieve here. An accomplishment with an asterisk nonetheless. Let's compare our careers in two months and I promise you my resume will blow yours out of the water. Pinky swear!

As for the rest of the competitors in this match, god damn there are so many of you. Can you motherfuckers put some name tags on or something, so you can make my life easier? Ok, thanks. Let's start with Gareth, right? Or is it Gary? Garrett? Nah pretty sure it's Gareth. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Look here you little shit, you don't know who I am?! What a small world, Gareth because I don't know who you are either. This is the part where you puff your chest out and tell me all about your professional wrestling resume. You know, list the guys you've beaten, the titles you've won, as you plead your case as to why you are so valuable to this company,  while I catch some Z's and doze off. Hell, for all I know maybe you have slain some of the nastiest behemoths to ever inhabit this planet, I have no clue, I'm just going off the impression you gave me earlier today. But what I will admit is you have the triple threat. Now from my world that usually means a person is good at acting, singing, and dancing. But you? Number one, you have the most punchable face on this roster. Please, use some acne cream. It will be your best friend. Number two, you have the worst first name on the roster. If someone told me a Gareth was looking for me, I would immediately want to rip your head off and peel it like an orange. And lastly, number three, the hair. Did the barber quit halfway through it? Your presence alone rubs me the wrong way. And no, I'm not usually one of those guys who cares about looks. You just have the image of someone I want to put in the ground so you can help push those daises up. I'll leave it at that. Let's move on, shall we? Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you say I have the most to prove in this match, while you have the least? Wow, totally not biased, right? Listen here "sport", I have nothing to prove to you of all people. You aren't some benchmark, get the fuck outta here. If you look at the facts then you will realize that I am the one with the least amount of wrestling experience on this roster, yet I find myself in a title match in my second match ever. A match that is catered to my skillset, that being my nonpareil athleticism. 

However, based off of one match, I should be easy pickings, right? You should have no problem in tossing me to the side like a sack of potatoes as you make your climb to that Spartan's Championship. THIS SHOULD BE A WALK IN THE PARK FOR YOU GARETH! I MEAN YOU BEAT A WORLD CHAMPION OH MY GOD, YOU ARE LEGIT DANGEROUS!!!!! Do you realize how ridiculous you sound now? Does every wrestler on this roster need a terrible/laughable catchphrase? You with your "legit dangerous" and Christopher with his "I am the Alpha to your Omega", or whatever that hogwash he utters. Tell me, why have one in the first place? It makes your tough guy persona crumble at your very feet. Because I feel like I am supposed to perceive you as this tough guy, seeing as how you were giving Bull Conners some shit on the same thing...hey, small world. But you know what? Let's change up the mood. I would like to take this time to say thank you. Thank you, Gareth for wasting your breath on a guy you deem unworthy to be in this match. Makes no sense when you think about it. You think I am a joke, a nonfactor in this match, trying to berate who I am as a person, yet I am one of a select few you went in-depth about. You are sending mixed signals. Make up your mind. Now, I can confidently say that after listening to you speak, I don't get your appeal. And maybe that is because I have only been here for a week, so be it, but I fail to see what makes you special. You think you're the shit. That you're a king surrounded by peasants. When in reality, you are as ordinary as they come. And come Hardcore Havoc, just like the rest of the men in this match, you will not be walking out as champion. All you will be remembered as is a footnote in the career of Isaac Thornton. Next, Bull Conners, you're fat, so you will lose. See? I too can hurl low-hanging insults .. just like Gareth and Nate!!! And then there are what, like three or four more of you to address? Nah fuck that. Just know I am winning the Spartan's Championship because I am me. I have my acceptance speech ready to go and everything, so it's pretty much set in stone. So with that said, y'all can argue amongst yourselves now. Hopefully one of you piques my interest soon ... but I'm not holding my breath. 

[Isaac smirks as the scene begins to fade to black. The end.]

“Aria…” Savannah finally glances at the camera, bloodshot eyes from crying tears of frustration glazed over as she blinks away stray tears. “Hardcore Havoc will be your final downfall. The crown you hold upon your head… The pedestal you place yourself upon… All of it will come crumbling down at my hands. Your family will witness your downfall, your fans will witness your downfall and I will stand tall while you? You will be just another woman who cannot back up what she says. You are a worthy opponent, I can give you that much. But, you will not be walking out without a stretcher when I am through with you.”

Nate Cage - Death or Glory

The Spartans are considered to be the greatest soldiers to ever walk the Earth. Their training was brutal, they had a will of iron and could kill any foe. How fitting it is then, that I now find myself with the opportunity of becoming the very first OWA Spartan Champion. I believe in fate, just ask Axl Willow as he continues to lick his wounds from the merciless beatdown I bestowed upon him last Sunday. His fate was to be slain by me, and the fate of the Spartan Championship is to adorn the waist of the only true solider in this company.

The goal of an Ultimate X match isn't all that different from bootcamp training. You climb ropes, you don't fall. Any man who considers that a daunting task is no man at all. Hell, my most recent recruits could probably win this match for me and just hand over the title to its rightful owner. But a real general doesn't just watch as his warriors run to their deaths. He leads the charge, he draws first blood. He sets an example!

In less than a month, I have DECIMATED the pathetic "men" who have been placed in front of me. That stuttering moron Stefan St. Sigmund managed to worm his way in after I made sure his win/loss record in OWA started with a big fat 0-1. I plan on laying a beating on him so bad that he'll be able to recite poetry without so much as a stumble once I'm done. 

As far as the rest of the combatants go, it's hard to take most of them seriously when it looks like they lack the cardio to even make it down the entrance ramp, let alone get up to grab the belt. The image of Bull Connors having a coronary as he barely makes it to the second turnbuckle amuses me so much that I actually want him to share the ring with me. People need entertainment to stay sane, and I don't see him devoting time to crunches anytime soon.

Then there's Gareth Cason. Gareth. Fucking. Cason. See, Gareth? I can swear in my promos to look cool, too! You West Midlanders piss me off. Pick a damn side. Actually, don't. The North of England doesn't need you and your webbed feet infecting God's own country. If there's anyone in this match I want to hurt, it's you. Our nation built an empire on war and you'd be the one to get executed for desertion. Call yourself an Englishman? I'll shove the flag of St. George down your damn throat. Though I'm not sure if you actually have a gag reflex anymore after growing up in Coventry.

And what of Scotty Adams? A man who prides himself on being able to overcome being a foster kid. Spare me the sob story, I wouldn't want you as a kid either. Will all that aptitude you displayed in school pay off when I'm pounding your face into the mat? No. Will your basketball skills allow you to get up on that X faster? Not after I break your damn legs. Guys like you would cry yourself to sleep in your army bunk because the drill instructor said something mean. Then the real men would batter you with bars of soap in a sock.

I'll get to the other "candidates" soon. I say that as it's already a foregone conclusion that I will be walking away with that prize, inspiring my army even further as we wash over the OWA like a cleansing wave of annihilation. You just wait and see what I have planned for Hardcore Havoc. Me and Wolvesden are bringing something that nestles only in the darkest corner of a man's mind...

“Christopher Sabertooth just tossed Issac Thornton out of the ring! And now he’s lifting up Tsuyoi Sutairu… Broken Tooth! The running knee strike! Chris gonna steal this one from Isaac!” screamed Lance Hart. Chris went for the pin on Tsuyoi as the red positioned himself for the count.

“ONE…. TWO…. THREE!”  The referee signals for the bell. Chris makes his way to the ramp to avoid any further altercations with Issac who was not too happy about the loss. He had the match won, but Chris found the perfect opportunity and came out with his hand raised. Chris walks through the curtain with a smirk on his face. Worn out after the match, he’s a bit out of breath. OWA Interviewer approaches him to follow up on his debut bout. Seeing that, Chris pulls himself together and pretends that he is not gassed at all.

“Chris, congratulations on a successful debut.” Said the interviewer. “Firstly, it is Christopher to you. I choose who gets to call me Chris and you’re not on the list. But you may continue…” Chris corrected. “Very well…. Christopher, that was a great debut. How does it feel to be back in the ring again?” enquired the interviewer.


“See, plain and simple… I told everybody that I was here to win and I did just that tonight. Was there ever a doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be able to go in the ring like I used to? Absolutely not. There are some perks of being a fucking wrestling machine is that you never really forget! So, to answer your question, how do I feel about returning back? Pretty fucking good.” Chris seemed content about his debut with a constant smirk on his face.


“Issac Thornton… Another impressive debut tonight but he just came up short. Some might even say, you stole the victory from him as he had the match won” said the Interviewer. “Are you serious? Are you being serious right now because I can’t really tell if it’s sarcasm or you just being really stupid. Because, that’s how matches work really. Are you forgetting that I was part of that match? At some point, I had the match won but Issac tried to ruin that for me, but of course he eventually failed to do so. I saved the match for myself and I beat Tsukayomi, or whatever his name was, in the middle of the ring for the three count. It’s our goal as wrestlers, to win matches, right? Are you understanding this or should I repeat all of it?” asked Chris jokingly. Before the interviewer could reply, Chris cut him off and continued on, “Because I am not repeating it. So, you better be paying attention, as my time is important to me. I did what I had to do to come out as the victor and I did. I won because I was the better man tonight… But that was never in question really, because Tsukawhatever and especially Issac cannot hold the candle to me. Sure, to simple minds like yourself, Issac may have impressed you tonight but nobody remembers the guy in second place. Tonight, was his chance to make a statement and he failed! He failed, just like everybody else will when they come face to face with me in that ring.” said Chris with content.

“So, what is next for Christopher Sabertooth, here in OWA?” questioned the interviewer. “Have you not been listening so far? I feel like there’s a disconnect here and I am pretty much wasting my time talking to you. You don’t always get to interview a man… A REAL man like me. But, whatever… What’s next for Christopher Sabertooth here in the OWA? Greatness. Tonight, was just the beginning. Now I would like you to leave.” Chris signals the interviewer to go away as he walks with content to his locker room.
 
Later that night, OWA officially announces the final matchcard for their PPV Hardcore Havoc the following Sunday. Christopher is booked in an Ultimate X match for the OWA Spartan’s Championship. He has a tough road ahead of him but this news was music to his ears. Even though he’s not a social media person, he took on Twitter Live to talk about his upcoming matchup.
Now, in his hotel room, Christopher casually sips on his favorite Red Wine, Pinot Noir. Sitting in front of his laptop, he begins the live video to his followers.

“I don’t know how many of you people will be watching this live right now but I don’t really care if I am being honest. As you may know, I made my debut tonight at OWA to quite a success. I had a lot of people doubting my capabilities in the ring considering the time I have been away from it. They wondered if I still had it. I have been hearing all these wrestling newsletters discussing about a potential ring rust that I might have shown tonight. As far as I am concerned… I have successfully shut these people up after my performance tonight. I will drink to that.” Said Chris as he takes a sip out of his wine glass.

“The reason I am doing this right now is because of Hardcore Havoc. I like that name… It’s got a nice ring to it. It was announced a while ago that I will be facing seven other men in an Ultimate X match for the OWA Spartan’s Championship. My second night in the company and I am already in contention for a championship. Am I surprised by the decision made by the management? Not at all. I am surprised that I am not in the main event but that’s something we can talk about that later. I have my sights set on the OWA Spartan’s Championship and trust me when I say this, I am going to win it. That’s what I do! That’s what I have been doing everywhere I go. See, the difference between me and the other guys in the locker room is that I talk a big game, but I can back each and every word of what I say. When I tell you that I am the greatest wrestler to step foot in this company, you better believe it. But the road ahead is not easy…. Eight men have their eyes on the prize and only one will walk out as the new OWA Spartan’s champion. Ultimate X…. It’s something I have never been a part of before. I have been part of ladder matches, table matches, Extreme rules matches before but this is a different ball altogether.


One thing I don’t understand is why a loser like Issac Thornton is being handed an opportunity at the championship. A sore loser at that… We all saw what he did to a guy already on his back after the match. I am surprised the Jap Man didn’t get added to this considering all losers are being given opportunities here. But hey, I don’t want to question the decision making of the management since they did add me to the championship bout. They do know where the money is… You see, Issac did have a lot to say before our matchup about my “silly” catchphrases. He claimed to have a fresher body apparently and that seemed to work out well didn’t it. Some might say I pulled a fast one right there but I did what any experienced pro wrestler would have done… I took advantage of the opportunity in front me and at the end of the day, it’s the W that will be going down next to my name in the history books. You said I didn’t know if I was Christopher or Havoc…. That was confused about my own identity. But the fact of the matter is, Christopher or Havoc, either ways I would still kick your ass.


Now, people might think I am the underdog heading into this match. There are some talented people involved here and even I cannot deny it. But there’s where I beg to differ… I am clearly the odds on favorite heading into this match and I certainly will have my hand raised as I once again get draped in championship gold. It’s inevitable at this point and if any other wrestler tries to convince you otherwise, are just plain delusional. It doesn’t matter what kind of a matchup you put me into, I am still the best fucking wrestler to walk through the curtains and nothing will change that. Sure, I haven’t faced these wrestlers before… They all bring something different to the game but when you add me into the mix up, the odds automatically shift into my favor. So, you can crib about my silly catchphrases, my identity crisis, my daddy issues…. But none of you have the balls to back it up. People take this business for granted… This is not an easy paycheck. You have to earn every fucking thing here and that includes respect. But…. I am not out here for respect. I already know that I can hang with the best… I am here for the championships. I am here to prove everybody wrong. So, do make the mistake of undermining me. Call me an underdog if you want…. But when it’s all set and done, there will only be one man standing in that ring with the championship gold in hand…. And you’re looking at him.” Said Chris. Despite his cockiness, Chris is passionate about the one thing that has never betrayed him and that is wrestling. Even through his dark times, the thought of stepping back into the squared circle drove him into bringing the necessary changes. Havoc may have been an unstoppable force… But as Havoc, he was slowly forgetting about his one true passion in life. This is what caused the internal conflict in the first place. At that time, Havoc was a necessary evil. As Havoc, he was blinded by rage, going deep under into the darkness. He was blinded by power, impervious to pain. Havoc used to say, “You will never walk alone”. He asked the people to join him against the battle with the Corporate Machine. But deep down, he knew this was his path to travel and his alone. Chris looks to be better than ever and has definitely made efforts to step away from the monster called Havoc. He was happy to be Christopher Sabertooth again.

“Anyway, I am done talking about this. It is late at night, and I would much rather have a female companion over than continue with this any longer. Twitter disgusts me…. So, I am giving you guys a 2-minute period to ask me anything. Let’s see…. ‘@OfficialCSHavoc You’re the greatest thing to happen to pro-wrestling today.’ Tell me something I don’t know. NEXT…. ‘@OfficialCSHavoc I really want to bet against you at Hardcore Havoc.’ Sure, if you want to be an idiot and lose your money then go ahead. Umm… These questions are really stupid. Fuck it… I am done with this.” Chris flips the camera off and shuts down his laptop.

(We begin with a man attending to CASPIAN, who is sitting at a long and big table.  CASPIAN is then served some wine on a glass and 5-star meal. The man looks hesitantly at the camera men and leads them towards him.)

Cameraman: Can we record now, Mister CASPIAN?  We’re in a time constraint. Getting to Honduras in such short notice is not easy, you know.   

CASPIAN: Callense.  I will let this happen, but if you’re going to disrespect me, I’ll keep you waiting for much, much longer.  

(CASPIAN points at the rest of the table, who pull out something that appear to be guns.  The cameramen stay still and wait to record. CASPIAN gets up with his wine glass and throws the wine all over the main cameraman.  They almost get upset, but the men at the table give them dirty looks. CASPIAN gives his signature and devilish smile.)

CASPIAN: When I give one word, you will.  Do not rush me. Me comprenden?

Cameraman: Yes-

CASPIAN: You will say it in my beautiful language and say it with respect or you will suffer the consequences immediately after.

Cameraman: Si mi capitan, disculpame.  

CASPIAN: That’s much better.  Now record you American slob.

(The cameraman starts recording as CASPIAN is handed a new glass of wine and is cleaned up.  He looks towards the window to set the scene. The cameraman pans the camera towards the table, leaving one table available, which is CASPIAN’s.)

CASPIAN: I’ve been waiting for you, Señor Scotty Adams.  I’ve been aware of your presence for the last couple of weeks, trying to prove that your name is associated with glory.  Unsurprisingly, you remind me of every other gringo in OWA, trying to take opportunities away from men as classy and talented as ME.  The world saw that idiota Vernon take the OWA and Spartan titles away from me, trying to humiliate me in the process. Pero no, that’s not how we do thing when El Capitan is here.  I am a man who deserves respect because of what I’ve done around the world as a performer and a person of authority. If you didn’t notice, Scotty, I am one of the most powerful men in the world right now.  Here in America, you may not realize that, but if you go south of this disrespectful country, you’ll see how much I’m capable of with just a few words from my mouth. I can flaunt my power and wealth because I have nearly died because of it.  I have a lot of blood in my hands, Scotty. I’ve taken on some of the most disgusting and horrible people, but guess what? I came out on top because soy ese cabron, puto. My personality is no facade like yours. I don’t just go around like some lazy monkey and try to act cool to get people to like me.  This is who I am and you gringos think it’s all an act. I’m not some vanilla poster boy who wants to be an idol for the little boys and girls around America and Europe; I have standards.  I’m an idol for the proudest Hispanics in the world. They need an idol qué tiene respeto y admiración por mi raza! We have been ignored from wrestling for so long because you Americans look for people like you because white is right!  Why do you lie, Scotty? You think you’re better than me and then 180 turn just to make yourself look better.

(CASPIAN frowns and presents a picture of Scotty to the men dining with him.  He continues speaking.)

CASPIAN: You can’t even present yourself as a good person because all I see in you is hypocrisy.  If you knew me better, you’d know what I’m all about being respected and valued as a competitor. It is obvious that you’re making up some lies to deceive these idiots in the crowd so they would cheer you instead.  You people always have the biggest amounts of insecurities; it’s truly sad. I am a man just like you, but I’ve been done wrong by this corrupt and unfair company, yet I still stand here as a humble man, trying to do business with them.  I’m here trying to make them millions of dollars, but they continuing to hold down the best contracted wrestler they will ever end up signing. I went from sharing the ring with a former number one contender to some bum they found on the street.  I am a man who is above scrubs like you, but I don’t think you see things that way. You see them as another “opportunity” to prove yourself as a mainstay in this company. With me, I already know that I’m already a star. I was featured prominently in the first episode and have since made impacts throughout each show.  You started the pre-show como un rookie. Tu no mereces mi respeto en este situación porque no lo mereces. Me faltas el respeto y no sabes cómo admitir tus errores. This is your downfall because with at least an apology you’d at least have a chance to come out of the ring with your head attached to your body.

The Spartan’s belt...it’s luxurious.  It’s for men who can lead this company with class and honor, but I don’t think you know either Scott.  I don’t know why that cucaracha Vernon said that so many men in this roster can hold that honor.  When I go into the locker room every week, I see weak and vulnerable men. They don’t have an ounce of character in their fragile bones.  When I see a Spartan’s champion, they are towering above the competition, with strength in their voices and firmness in their declarations.  I can find any member in this roster in a Burger King in under 10 minutes. They are average and not bigger than life because they don’t actually believe in themselves much.  One day they are wrestling in a ring and the next they are giving you fat slobs a pizza or burger. One of those men are Scotty Adams, who looks like a generic make-a-wrestler in those ridiculous video games you people play.  Me on the other hand, you cannot merely replicate my glory with technology. You have to be en mi presencia para sentir mi grandeza como el llamado de OWA. Yo soy el Alpha y la Omega de esta compañía y Scotty va a entender porque ese es el caso en este hora.  Voy a eliminar tu existencia en mi camino y después todo el mundo van a entender quien es CASPIAN. CASPIAN es el nombre del hombre qué va conquistar y dar resultados cuando mi propio jefe está contra mi éxito. Cuando hago esto, I will be on top of OWA, where no man or woman will be able to stand on top of me because I will reign supreme.  Mark my words, I will make this match and run unforgettable. Soy el capitan after all. Soy el hombre que te va arruinar, perro.

(CASPIAN leaves the man and points his men towards him.  The camera shakes and goes off the air.)

CM Nas, or is it Nasir Escobar, or is it Nasir Moore. The current owa World Heavyweight Champion and the last true answers world champion. That's a beautiful title you're holding and well-learned my favorite thing about that title is that you're holding it after I beat you. In fact it doesn't matter what incarnation comes forward what version of Nasir I have to face, he has never beaten me one on one. And I think my favorite part is that he's beaten me in a couple of tag team matches but I've also beat him in tag team matches I suppose though that that the way in which I one wasn't so honorable. But a win is a win though you have to admit things do seem a little different now. Nas and Jon McAdams are completely different entities then we were when we last fought, aren't we? You're holding a championship that you've coveted for years, working your ass off to get to this position and hoping that once you had it, you would get the respect you deserve yet instead of respect you are cast out,  forgotten and thrown aside, like trash by a company you poured your heart and soul into you. I believe that title was supposed to be your answer to all your problems and your struggles but unfortunately, your quest and your dream has only made you more bitter. I think you be found the top of the mountain to be a cold and lonely place and your spot that you wanted so badly has now made your heart rot and your mind unfocused. CM. I've seen countless CMs and all of them end up the same. Washed up and washed out. Your bitterness and your anger makes you stupid, albeit unpredictable. But it will take much more than a rabid animal to defeat the lightning focus and careful cunning that I possess. And the intensity at which I am competing at now will undoubtedly shine through against your immense emotional turmoil that we all see right through, despite how much you try to hide it. My tag partners are men who are renowned for our abilities.

Finnegan, Keelan, and I we're at the top of our game when we left EAW. We were getting ready to break right through the glass ceiling. We were the top prospect, no, we were on our way to becoming the best in the business. We knew wherever we went success would follow us but where we were, we were being taken advantage of. They were threatened by what we had and what we are. The top echelons of this business are terrified of the talent that was coming up right behind them so they worked extra hard to get rid of us. Now that top talent is right here in OWA. And as I said things seem to be a little different with you as a top champion and me is a Challenger for the top championship in this company. Our worlds colliding seems a lot more grandiose. This time when we fight, I will have two of the best at my flank two people I trust immensely to bring their A-game and myself. I am better than I have ever been and two fluke victories over you in singles competition will be nothing. It will be forgotten after this match. Nasir, I know you wanted a match with me and now you're going to get it and regret it when I pin you I will prove that I'm supposed to be not just the OWA Champion but the World Heavyweight Champion as well. How wonderfully exciting.

As for your partners, miltiadis and Jacob Senn. I've beaten both of them. I squared up against them in their prime and I took them down. Miltiadis came at me with incredible promises. He is a strong and prominent up-and-comer but he was not able to keep up and he was not able to come through with the promises he made as he declared himself king or Emperor or anything. It was Sovereign who dominated that match. And Jacob Senn. He was my one of my final opponents in eaw. I defeated him, I moved on and I continue to prove every single week why I was the best I was on the run of my life before I left that place and when I came here on my first night I beat two of the most promising prospects in this company then I moved on to the main event and defeated Andre Virgo. The ssw junior heavyweight champion.

I am undefeated and I have also fought more opponents than any other person in this match since this company I started. I am on my way to winning the OWA World Championship. There will be nobody in this match, there will be nobody in the next match and there will be nobody in this company who will be able to take that belt off me. You see this Sunday, I am not just here to win a three-on-three tag match. I am here to be the one who wins the match and I am here to be the one who openly and outwardly declares that the OWA World Championship is the title to be fighting for and I will be the Champion. That a false King, a cast out veteran, and a bitter burnt out champion from another company will not have their time in the sun.

Raise your glass, all of you, to the rising champion! Sovereign!

[There he sits, the newest addition to the OWA roster, Isaac Thornton. Just look at him! He is clearly dressed to impress with his fancy maroon colored suit to go along with his black tie and black dress shoes. Sitting in front of him is one of the OWA interviewers. They are backstage somewhere and action!]

Interviewer: Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to be joined by the newest OWA signee, Isaac Thornton! How are you doing?

Isaac: I couldn't be better, thanks for asking and also, thanks for having me!

Interviewer: Please, the pleasure is all mine! So I am sure everyone is wondering how this all came about. What was the process like before you officially signed your name on the dotted line? 

Isaac: Yeah, so for about the last year, I have trained really hard to become the next great professional wrestling star. Which I am sure will cause most of the veterans to roll their eyes because they have been a professional wrestler for years, if not decades, honing their craft for the chance to one day sign with a company like OWA. I mean no disrespect. I am not looking to cut any corners or to take any shortcuts. I am going to pay my dues like everyone else as I continue to improve in every way I can, day by day. 

Interviewer: So you have only been doing this for a year? What were you doing before? 

Isaac: I am glad you asked! Before this, I was an actor. Starring in many roles in many genres, but I am not here to talk about that because I don't want any kind of star treatment. I am like anyone else. I put on one shoe at a time and all of that. 

Interviewer: Okay, but why professional wrestling? What made you want to make the career switch?

Isaac: To me, becoming a professional wrestler was never a question of if, but when. Believe it or not, before there was acting, there was professional wrestling. This is my first love! I mean, some of my fondest memories was watching various wrestling companies with my father when I was younger. It was our escape. For that hour or two, nothing else mattered. Our worries, our hardships - they were placed on the backburner. Like I remember one time, my father's favorite wrestler lost his championship in a close hard fought battle and I could tell he wanted to throw the remote at the TV. Or when one of his favorites had to retire due to medical reasons, he was on the verge of tears. And man, all the laughs we shared when someone would say something ridiculous while talking into a microphone, I could barely breathe! See? That's what so great about wrestling, it hits on all of our emotions. And because of that, it keeps our eyes glued to the TV screen as we sit on the edge of our seats in anticipation of what will happen next. Those men and women never got the appreciation they deserved, at least not in my opinion. They were like superheroes to me. The athletic ability they displayed, as well as the perseverance they had, I just knew that one day I too would be out there competing in that squared circle. And because of OWA, the childhood dream is now a reality and I can't thank them enough for that. 

Interviewer: This Sunday marks your debut match here in OWA, which I am sure you are excited about! You will be in a triple threat match against Christopher Sabertooth and Tsuyoi Sutairu. What are your thoughts? 

Isaac: Goosebumps! It's still so surreal to me! I am actually here! I am a part of the OWA family! I am just overcome with emotions - emotions I know I will have to keep in check if I want to make my debut a memorable one. As for my opponents, Christopher and Tsuyoi, they are both very talented and bring a lot to the table. Just by listening to them talk and searching for their highlight clips, It has become crystal clear that I have my work cut out for me this week.

Interviewer: Interesting! What do you think their strengths are? 

[Isaac's humble friendly face disappears as he begins to sport a cocky grin, almost on the verge of cracking up. He loosens his tie before he responds.]

Isaac: To be quite honest with you, I don't think they have any strengths. NONE! Sorry, I couldn't do it anymore. I tried! I really fucking tried but I could no longer play the role of the happy-go-lucky man, living his pathetic dream of wanting to become a professional wrestler! See, I can pull off any role I put my mind to because I am a genius! I am the Marlon Brando of our generation and don't you fucking forget it! But this role? I struggled mightily because it's not realistic. Nobody and I mean NOBODY, dreams of becoming a professional wrestler unless you have some kind of mental illness. That, or you were dropped on your head one too many times. You see, when you are a child and your teacher asks you what you want to be when you grow up, you usually hear an astronaut, a professional basketball player, a rock star, a firefighter - but nobody says a professional wrestler unless they wanna get hit in the back of the head with spitballs or better yet, get stuffed in their lockers after recess. Just like when you hear a famous professional athlete wants to become a music star or vice versa. When this happens, the musical artist is clearly talking about football, baseball, basketball, or soccer because 'murica. But none of them ever think about lacing up a pair of dirty boots and perform in front of thousands of people who have never even heard of the product deodorant or experience the pleasure of sexual relations. I don't get it. I have watched countless wrestling matches because I always like to be thorough when studying up on what I will do next. I don't get the appeal! Actually no! Hold on! The more I think about it, I think I understand why I don't get it! It's because I am not dumb or poor enough to understand the "art" of professional wrestling. Yep, that has to be it! Now, the natural and obvious question to ask me at this point is if I don't appreciate professional wrestling then why am I here in the first place? Simple, because I am sick of professional wrestlers, such as that balding prick who wears a bandana and has that outdated horseshoe mustache, taking action movie roles from me for no apparent reason. IT HURTS MY HEAD JUST THINKING ABOUT IT! So I've had it. That is why I am here in OWA. I am here to turn the tables and take opportunities away from you! Let's see how you like it! Then once I win multiple world titles, I will go play basketball and school that chump LeBron James or maybe play some baseball and strike out that scrub Mike Trout, but I digress. 

So this is the part where I talk about my opponents, cool. Tsuyoi, you're trash and that is putting it nicely. You don't deserve a creative or proper insult because as far as I am concerned, you are literally too stupid to insult in the first place. So you drew a penis on my locker, huh? HAHAHAHAHA this motherfucker - wait, let me calm down...HAHAHAHAHAHA...okay! So, this motherfucker actually thought that was my locker? Let me get this straight, you actually think that I, a god damn star, dress in the same locker room as ordinary people such as yourself? Nah, bitch, think again because I would never subject myself to such filth! My locker room needs a platter of fresh fruit and grilled chicken. It needs comfortable furniture to rest on before I do my thing out in the middle of that ring. I need two attractive women to massage my two feet. I have standards, okay? I wouldn't expect you of all people to understand such a luxurious lifestyle. You know what? This is pointless - just like you being in OWA is pointless. Just ignore everything I said and go back to sniffing glue, thanks! As for Christopher, why the last name Sabertooth? I am guessing at the time you thought it was cool or dare I say,  "badass?" It's not. It's dumb. You are dumb. And you should feel bad. You should feel bad for wasting my time. You should feel bad for wasting the audience's time. And you should feel bad for even existing in the same world as me. Please, jump off the nearest cliff and go extinct like the rest of the saber-toothed cats. If you refuse, maybe we can get Wolverine to kill you again. If you don't get that reference, then I don't know what to tell you other than shame on you! Long story short, I just don't want you to be here, Christoper. It's not out of jealousy. It's not out of hatred or spite. It's because since I am going to obviously strap this company on my back, due to the fact I am the only star here, I want as much deadweight gone as possible to make my life a little easier. That is all. But after listening to you babble on and on about complete and utter hogwash, I bet you will refuse to do so since you seem like the stubborn type - tsk tsk, so selfish! So I suppose I will just have to trim the fat myself this week because contrary to popular belief, I am not afraid to roll up my sleeves and take out the trash myself. Hell, my nickname should be like the janitor! Or, even better, The Cleaner! I am sure that isn't taken by anyone, but I digress. 

[Issac chuckles to himself and as for the next few lines, he speaks in a mocking tone.]

Christopher, the first time you spoke, I was buying it. The passion, the fire - all of it, I believed it. That's the guy that could very well be the future...no, the PRESENT, of this company! You had it all man. You had me in the palm of your hand! You were pulling on our heartstrings as you rambled on about your friend passing away. I will leave it at that. I mean I could take the Tsuyoi approach and mock that deceased friend of yours and say something like, "Well, at least he won't see you completely fall on your face during your short stint here in OWA." Nah, because I too have lost loved ones, so even I won't cross that line. But then, you lost me. This whole battling inner demons thing, it's an overused story. Dare I say, it's a tactic to give you sympathy, whether you claim you want it or not. Once you go on a losing streak, which begins this Sunday, might I add, you will just return to this Havoc persona and try to catch lightning in a bottle by decimating your opponents - but you will quickly learn that you will have a hard time in doing so. You see, you can brag about your accomplishments, your awards, your titles - but none of it matters in the grand scheme of things because as far as I am concerned, where you wrestled prior to OWA, it doesn't matter, For all I know, they were just some small federations with a small talent pool that would make even the most average wrestlers, such as yourself, look like stars. 

Now, admittedly, I am new to professional wrestling. I don't have the experience that you do, which may be seen as a weakness, while I beg to differ. It just means my body is fresher and I like the fact that I can fly under the radar a bit since none of you know what I have in my arsenal, or what is in my bag of tricks! In fact, you don't know the first thing about me and do you know why that is? It's because I am not some open book, that is willing to spill his guts to garner attention to any camera that will film him. I keep my shit close to my vest. I am an onion that you have to peel, layer by layer. But you? You leave nothing to the imagination. You are just one big cliche, you know that? Saying you are better than everyone else, that you are our "fucking nightmare" before you even set foot on an OWA canvas - it's just tiresome because you are like everyone else. You my friend, are a dime a dozen. You, like most people here, are just some run-of-the-mill hack trying to pass off as some diamond in the rough, when that couldn't be any further from the truth. Nothing more and actually, a lot less. And to top it all off, you even have that lazy catchphrase,"I am the Alpha, to your Omega!" Ha, I get it, it's because it's called Omega Wrestling Alliance! So omega and alpha! So creative! Totally not scraping the bottle of the barrel with that one! But you know, maybe, just maybe, I am being too critical here. Maybe this is nothing more than nitpicking. Or maybe, this is just a case of sour grapes. Or better yet, maybe this is just me being truthful? You know, calling it like I see it? Which is kind of a rare thing to hear these days because everyone is too worried about being politically correct as they walk ever so slowly on those eggshells! But not me! I rip the truth off like a band-aid because I don't shy away from anything or anyone - which most certainly includes you, Christopher Sabertooth if that is your real name - which god, I hope not because that would be terrible. So with that said, I guess I will end it there. I mean I could go on and on about you and continue to tear you to shreds, but you don't deserve an in-depth critique. You are too over the place to do so. One moment you are having a heartfelt moment, training with your father and the next, you are telling us to fuck off. You don't know who you are. You don't know if you're Christopher or Havoc. So I suggest you do some soul searching after I send your ass back home to lick your wounds. Arrivederci!

The XXX Files - Nate Cage

Nate stands surrounded by blow-up dolls, there are at least 50.

Dolls, Axl? DOLLS?! You think this is about dolls? When a man runs with a pack of wolves, the living are all that matters. As you can see, I've been gathering recruits. None of them could pass my training and now they're all feeling a little deflated. But I understand humanity better than you ever could. The fact that you see a doll where there is a man says a lot about your psyche, Axl. You objectify, you fantasise. You don't live in the real world. You're letting your Sunshine down, you're letting everyone here down.

You seem to have fallen into that age old trap of thinking winning and losing really matters. In war, there are no winners and losers, only survivors. I am the ultimate survivor. I've survived the bullshit politics of this industry, I've survived the bile of these fans. I've even survived watching your promos. I never wanted to be a tough guy, but I suppose you never wanted to be the OWA's answer to Forgetting Sarah Marshall so we can't always get what we want.

One day, you'll look back on your life and realise that you wasted your time thinking that everything in relation to you is some sort of sexual veil. If an assault rifle is a phallic symbol for soldiers forcing themselves into the business of others, then my foot crunching the bone on your face symbolises your erasure as a sexual being. What woman would want a man who can't even fight his own battles? When your only option is to embrace the elements of warfare that have brought me success since I started in this industry, all that tells me is that I've already won.

I don't hate you, Axl. I don't even pity you, because to pity means to acknowledge there's something to be admired in a person. I begrudgingly almost appreciate your complete lack of pretence. You are a man with no true fear. I can't say I've ever encountered somebody like that. This is why I look forward to seeing if you do indeed have a limit that can be reached. I just hope your Sunshine can love a cripple. If not, I believe I have a suitable candidate to fulfil her needs.

Nate reveals a blowup doll with his his own face on it, before blowing a kiss directly down the camera.

Grays Harbor College Wrestling Camp
Aberdeen, Washington.
 
The scene opens at a wrestling gym. We can see the wrestling mats laid out and people practicing rest holds and ground control. The camera zooms in on the coach guiding these amateur wrestlers in training through different strategies.

“Let’s follow up people. Gabe, work on the back. Don’t lose your grip. Don’t lose your grip!” exclaimed the Coach. At this time, Chris is seen walking towards the coach, smiling. “Ladies, if you could excuse me for a minute. Carry on without me… I want to see progress when I return.” Said the coach is he smiles at Chris. “Look what the cat dragged in here. It has been a while, Chris. You look better now. How is everything with your wife?” asked Coach.

“It’s alright. We hadn’t been on talking terms for a while now so it’s not easy pleasing that lady.” said Chris. They both embrace each other and Coach pats on Chris’s back. “I was worried about you… I thought you wouldn’t pull through. I told you, turning pro wasn’t a good idea. It’s not an easy business. You know, I would have gotten you ready to go for the Olympics. You were a prodigy on the mat… But I digress. It’s happy to see you back, son.”

“Thanks... Dad. I know, I haven’t been the ideal son that you always wanted me to be. The Olympics…. That was your dream, not mine. You know this very well, I always wanted to be a pro wrestler.” Claimed Chris. “Yeah, I know. You and O’Shea had the same dream… What did you guys call yourselves? Alph…”

“Let’s not delve into the past, shall we?” said Chris cutting his father short as he continues, “I stepped out of the spotlight after everything that went down… I did cut you off, completely. I cut Nancy off… I just came here, to apologize. I have finally come to terms with everything that has happened in my life. You know, it wasn’t easy for me. Also, I thought I would let you know, that I have finally decided to step back into the squared circle.” said Chris.

“That’s…. that’s great news! I am just glad that we can have this conversation again. And you’re right. I won’t dig into your past much longer… I know what you went through, son. And I am proud that you have decided to lace your boots again. Wait… I have an idea. How about you get on that mat right now just like the good ol’ times?” asked Coach.


“I don’t know about that, Coach. You really think I can do this?” asked Chris. “Stop being humble, kid. You were the best in class. A wrestler never forgets his ways. Now go change and get back right here, so that we can train you back up to where you left off.” Said Coach. Chris smiled at the thought of being at his old college again. He nodded in approval to the idea and headed to the locker room.
In the locker room, he saw a familiar face hanging around. “Chris? What are you doing here?”

“Matt.... I mean, I can ask the same question to you. What are you doing here?” asked Chris. “Well, I thought Coach might have told you about it. I work here! I am the assistant Coach!” exclaimed Matt.

“No… He didn’t tell me. Anyway, I am happy for you....man. See you out there.” Chris headed out of the locker room having changed. He wasn’t very fond of Matt, as they used to be rivals back in the day. Chris catches up with his father again. “You never told me about Matt being here.” said Chris.

“You never asked about it. And since when did you start caring about my job? You decided to leave all of this didn’t you? I know, you and Matt aren’t really the best of friends, but he’s a good wrestler. And I could really use some help… I am not exactly as young as I used to be. And I know, you will never come and help me.” said Coach.

“Well, at least I know, not much has changed while I was gone... (To himself) You’re still a prick, Coach.” Chris walks to the mat and prepares himself for training. “Wait… Coach. No disrespect to anyone in here, but I have had a fair share of warming up already. And surely, these people can learn a thing or two from me. Shouldn’t Matt join me, so that we can teach these kids something valuable?” said Chris in a gullible way hiding his true intentions. “Fair enough. Matt! Get in there.” Exclaimed the coach.

Chris and Matt square off against each other once again. “It’s been a while since you’ve done this. Are you sure, you can do this pal? Remember the last time when a guy out of practice had a go at me, back in the day? Man, he had to be taken to the hospital. Surely, you wouldn’t want to ruin your wrestling return now, would you?” said Matt mockingly.

“It’s funny you say that, Matt. I know, you don’t like me and trust me, I am not a big fan either. But if for once you think, you can outwrestle me…. Then, you’re more deluded than ever. But go ahead, try me.” challenged Chris. They both test their strength against each other, as Matt is seen overpowering Chris a bit. Chris breaks the hold and turns around and suplexes Matt right on his head.


“Stop! What are you doing, Chris? Are you mental?” screamed the Coach. “It’s funny you say that, dad. How come you never called me when I was going through a tough period in my life. How come you never told me about Matt being here when I called you today. How come you never called Mom when she was sick? I know, I owe my wrestling career to you. You have been a great coach, but you failed as a father. Well, I am glad that I could come here today and re-establish where we stand. Thanks for making it clear Coach.” Chris walks off from the gym as everyone goes to check on Matt.
 
Backstage at OWA.

Chris finds a torn picture lying on the shelf with shattered glass on the floor. He picks up the photo and stares at blankly. He turns around and punches the locker room door. It seems that he is angry but then suddenly, he lets out a laugh. The cameraman notices Chris in his locker room laughing and decides to zoom on him. Chris notices the cameraman and calls him. Reluctantly, the cameraman follows and is now standing in front of him.

“You see…. If this was 2 years ago, or even last year, I had found this picture in this condition lying around in my locker room. I would have lost my shit! It’s funny what self-realization can do to you. I haven’t even been on TV yet, and there are people already messing around with me in the locker room. It’s hilarious honestly… I am going to assume that you know…” Pointing at the cameraman “You know who did this. Sshhh… You talk when I ask you to. Since, I have two opponents this week, both making their debut, both with a lot to prove, both with a statement to make…. So, it could be either of them. But, I don’t care who did this. I don’t care if it was that yapping Jap man with no talent and the vocabulary of a dead turtle or the wannabe movie star. I mean, what movie was he even in? The funny thing is, people think this business is all about the talking, or even about having this larger than life personality. Don’t get me wrong, you need those things to make it big in this business but above all…. I would assume that you need to be a wrestler to be in a FUCKING wrestling ring!” screamed Chris.

“Hey… Hey, cameraman. You don’t have anything to worry from me as long as you keep doing your job and keep the camera focused to where it belongs. Look at me… I look good. I can talk and above all, I can fucking wrestle. And if anyone backstage thinks they can play mind games with me… I am going to break it ya, I have been through a lot worse. Worse than anyone can imagine and I am standing here. So, your childish mind games aren’t going to work on me. Omega Wrestling Alliance… It’s my new home! So, whoever thinks they can go around talking trash behind my back can step up and face me in that ring. I don’t hide behind managers… I don’t need dirty tactics to get the win because I am that damn good. So, all you wannabe movies stars or sushi cooks who think they belong in the same ring as me, are soon going to realize what his business is really about. WRESTLING. And I am the only REAL wrestler around here… I am the ALPHA to their OMEGA. This Sunday, OWA Kingdom IV live from Philadelphia, everyone is in for a rude awakening. It’s about damn time I came back and man, I am going to kill them all.” Said Chris with a smirk on his face.

“Oh… before you go. Do people really think this photo means something to me?” asked Chris hysterically. He reaches for his pocket and takes out a cigar. He lights it up with his lighter and takes in few drags before exhaling the smoke onto the camera lens. He then reaches down for the photo and lights it up with his lighter and throws it down.

“Fuck Off.” As he walks away puffing on his Cigar. The camera pans down to the burning photograph before it fades to black.

“I’ve a breath in minds of men…” Faint music can be heard down a dark hallway. The camera follows a distant light source and with every step the music gets louder. “With the lies I breath. No man’s ever ruled the world, not knowing the curse of me…” The camera finally follows through the hallway and reaches a room barely lit as a single light bulb hangs down from the ceiling with its wiring exposed. A punching bag is suspended from the ceiling and a silhouette is seen standing beside it. The camera slowly pans out to bring the man finally to frame. He is seen aggressively punching the bag, almost to the beat of the song playing in the background.

“I’ll show you who I am. Hypnotic charm, mesmerizing face. My soul has a dark embrace.” With every punch, the intensity rises and the bag goes further from its point of impact. “I’m coming back till you know I’m God, till you believe, till you know my charisma.” As sweat drips down his face, he looks down at the camera and lets out a faint smile.


“Charisma- do you know my name
  I’m the God that you pray
  When you worship my name
  Charisma- are you idolizing me?”

The music stops altogether as the man slowly walks towards the camera. Now under the dim light, the camera finally sheds light upon the identity of this man.

“Three years…. It has been three years since I laced my boot and stepped inside the squared circle. Some might say, I don’t have it in me, anymore. Some people think, that I don’t know myself anymore. That I lost my battle against…… against him.”  His eyes twitch as he recalls the past three years. The inner battle that he has been through to overcome the darkness that took over his body. To overcome the anger that led him down the path of destruction.

“It’s been a year since I last… saw him. It wasn’t easy… He had control over everything I said, everything I did. I had forgotten who I really was. You see, that’s what pain and loss can do to you. I could have been depressed after what happened to O’Shea… I still blame myself for what happened, but I cannot change the past. What I could do, was to fight back. Oh…. And I fought back. But something took over me…. I…. I became somebody else. I became the man they feared. HAVOC.” He walks agitatedly across the room as he thinks about it more. It seems that he barely overcame his inner demons in the long battle. It has been a tough ride for him.

“And down that path, I did things that I couldn’t imagine possible. I broke people… I destroyed lives. I gave up on everybody just so I could walk down the path of redemption. I wanted to bring JUSTICE to the fallen. But on my way to redemption, I slowly started to forget the end game. My mind was corrupted by power. I couldn’t feel pain anymore.” He sits down on a steel chair lying in the corner of the room with his head facing away from the camera. He seemed to be lost in thought. Did he regret his actions? Did he fear, Havoc?

“I took down everybody in my way… I broke friendships, relationships, bonds that were meant to last forever. And for what? FOR WHAT?” HE screamed as his voice echoes down the hallway. “I became the very thing I hated. My mind wasn’t at the right place… Heck, I wasn’t ready to acknowledge myself as…. as him. He completely blocked me out inside... inside here.” He continues as he points to his head. “That’s when I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t wait much longer, or else I might have been lost somewhere deep down inside never to be brought back. So, I fought him with everything that I had. I broke down my mental barriers, I stepped out of the darkness, and above all, I realized something really important. O’Shea didn’t die because of me. I certainly wish that I was there to stop it but… I didn’t pull the trigger. And when I came to terms with everything I had lost…. I finally felt like myself again. It was a long battle but I won. I BEAT MY INNER DEMONS.” He pants out of anger thinking about it.

“I have been down a road; no man should ever go. But I made it back out… That’s the testament to who I really am. I could have taken the easy way out and ended my misery… I could have. But I chose to fight. My father, would have been disappointed to see his son, in the shape that he was. He didn’t raise a coward… He taught me how to be a fighter. He taught me the ins and outs of the business I love. As Havoc, I had lost the love I had for wrestling but nothing can keep me away from something that I love for long. So, I crawled back out to the light and promised myself to NEVER go down that path again. Yes… I have been through things that most people don’t have go through in their lifetime. I have been beaten down… Bruised… Battered…. Broken. But nothing could stop me from coming back to the thing I LOVE.” He screams out passionately. The wrestling business really means a lot to him.

“But enough about him… He has long gone now. I have been training the past year to bring myself to the level that I am capable of. I worked hard every day to be the man that I was before he took over me. And now, threes year after stepping away from the spotlight… I have decided to return to the very thing I love. I could have come back a long time ago if I wanted but I couldn’t be a battered, bruised, broken man when I returned to the ring. No…. I had to be the very best that I could be. So now I stand here…. Waiting for the day I step into the ring again. And I have found myself a new home. Omega Wrestling Alliance.” He nods in approval of his decision.

“I have heard a lot about it. The most capable roster, they say.  Well, lucky for them… the ALPHA approaches. We all know the hierarchy. I have worked through blood, sweat and tears to be back to the place I am. And if anybody in that locker room thinks I am a rusty has been, he can try to stop me. I am not going back in the ring for the people who believed in me… No. They weren’t there when in my battle… They weren’t there to see me through my worst. So, they do not deserve to relish at the sight of seeing me at my best. I am doing this for one person and one person only. That’s ME. I did not go through all the pain… the suffering… Just to be back in the ring to entertain the people. NO… I have a lot to prove to myself. For the jerks standing in that crowd waiting to chant ‘You still got it’ when I return, I say to them, I NEVER LOST IT. I have beaten the best, wherever I go. I have held championships, more than I can count. I have won medals… Because I have the wrestling chops to prove that I belong to any ring that I step into. Nobody can hold the candle to me. There is nothing funny about a wrestling machine, and you’re looking at it. Wrestling runs in my blood…. This is not about me lingering about my past anymore… I am here to secure my FUTURE as the greatest to ever step foot in that ring and by Hades himself, I am not going to stop until I have done it all.” He stands up and steps closer to the camera. His face now zoomed in on the frame.

“You see this face…. Get used to it. I am here for the long run. I am here to show you that I am better than everybody else. I am the ALPHA to your OMEGA. My name is Christopher Sabertooth… And I am your fucking nightmare.”


Chris punches the camera as the screen cracks and a static image takes over before fading to black.

A Question of Conflict - Nate Cage

As Nate sits in what appears to be the underbelly of an abandoned bunker, surrounded by scattered maps and blueprints, he gives the camera a hard stare. He has a look of mild amusement on his face.

I told everyone that their patience would pay off, and that it did. At Kingdom III, I showed the world what my intentions were. Now that my allegiance lies with Wolvesden, my jurisdiction has gone trans-Atlantic. It's only a matter of time before nobody will be able to sleep at night.

Speaking of sleeping at night, my opponent for this Sunday is a man who has been sleeping alone for some time now. Axl Willow, they say all is fair in love and war. The irony isn't lost on me that I have been paired with someone who claims to fight in the name of love, and that war is all I fight for. Although based on your actions, I'm not entirely sure if the concept of irony is one that resonates with you.

A man of your enthusiasm is someone I'm not going to look past. In fact, I was mightily impressed with what I can only assume was your audition tape for a mental illness PSA. You're doing the world a service by raising awareness for what completely snapping can do to a person. Bravo.

Though I must say, Sunshine is a lovely slice of crumpet, isn't she? You're lucky to have finally found companionship as you wade through the murky waters of developing hairy palms. I can't say I've ever been envious of a man until now. But I don't want Sunshine, Axl, oh no. I want you. Luckily, I've found a solution.

As the camera pulls out from Nate's face, he reveals a blow-up doll of his own, with an Axl Willow face mask on it, as well as a mini version of Nate's signature jacket.

I've been busy at work since becoming Kenny Drake's War Advisor, finding new recruits has been my top priority. Thankfully, Axl here was more than willing to volunteer. What's that, Axl? You just want someone to love you? Nobody can love you until you learn to love yourself, Axl. We've been over this. That's why I've took you in. Now drop down and give me twenty!

Nate throws the doll to the ground and pulls out a stopwatch.

And one! And one! And one! Come on, Axl, do you mean to tell me that you can't even do one pissing push-up? I don't give a shit if you don't have elbows! I could do fifty push-ups without arms if I wanted to! You're an out of shape pile of misery that just wants attention, aren't you? Yes? I'm glad we can agree on that. Now, you stay there and when I come back, I want you to have finished the push-ups and moved on to burpees!

The camera once again zooms in on Nate's face as the dolls goes out of frame.

I don't know how you go about drilling your recruits, Axl, but I'd imagine it involves a tub of ice cream, a box of tissues, and a DVD of The Notebook. Me? I prefer an approach that actually aims to improve one's mental well being rather than send them into a rabbit hole of being a lovesick waste of space.

You say that you're after victory this weekend. At least you're motivated by something other than your own delusions this time. If you want to defeat me, then I want you to truly try. If you're a man of any mettle, then that's what I want to see. I do not fear you, Axl, but I do consider you a threat. A threat to the sanctity of professional wrestling and the opportunity it affords to people with actual strength of will. Come Sunday, I want you to bring Sunshine with you, and we'll see how you and her cope with the howl of the wolf.

The camera zooms out, the doll has somehow moved and is now hanging off a pull-up bar.

Damn it, Willow! Are you just gonna hang there or are you gonna actually try for the first time in your life?!

Money as a Masquerade

Date: 1/5/2018
Time:  3:40 am
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We open to pitch black darkness --- well, not exactly, as we can make out faint outlines of a double bed in the centre (with two figures sleeping back-to-back atop it) and some sort of 'cupboard' positioned about a metre from the foot of the bed; to the right of it, with a faint outline of a 'dresser' positioned about twenty centimetres to the left of the bed; a heater (that has a carrot orange light shining to indicate it's on) positioned atop it, angled towards the bed. 

Panning around, we can see a window on the right hand side, though the curtains appear to be drawn on it --- thus why there is no external light peering through the room, even if we can see light reflecting off the surface of the curtains (revealing them to be coloured mauve and appear to be made of silk), causing shadows to formulate on the chiffon plastered walls. We can also see a glass chalice placed atop the cupboard; containing some pink roses (that appear to be well-watered and tended to), as well as an array of assorted plastic bags/clothing. It is then, that we hear a soft yet penetrating groan float through the air, turning our attention back to the bed, where one of the figures (that we can now *somewhat* make out to be Scotty) slightly stretches, his eyes having slightly opened. 

"Babe?" he whispers gently, partially because he doesn't want to wake Bianca (who is the figure laying next to him, duh) up, yet wants her to at least be able to hear him --- solely so that she doesn't 'freak out' if she sees he's not there when she wakes from her slumber, partially because he is trying to get the image of Amelia, helpless and almost at the edge of her demise, out of his head. It's been a recurring nightmare these last few nights for him --- well, in actuality, it's been recurring ever since the attack occurred, but especially prevalent these last couple of nights; 

Pivoting his body to the left, he gazes up at the ceiling, his body constricting within itself as his face is a picture of both fear and agony, as he feels the screams; the torment of Amelia's body on the ground, her attackers standing over her, smiling at the deed they committed, followed by images of Chili, seated cross-legged within the confines of a padded cell, rocking aimlessly back and forth whilst crying out his name --- the torment racing throughout her mind in the mental image, just as it does in her reality. 

Just as it does in *his* mind. Softly swinging his feet onto the carpet, Scotty leans forward, placing a kiss on Bianca's left cheek before whispering "I'm just going for a walk, okay? I'll be back shortly," as he pushes himself up, gently pulling the blanket back over Bianca's body; manoeuvring his way towards the door as quietly as he possibly can, making sure to navigate his way around the assorted clothing/miscellaneous cords that are scattered around the room, but not before reaching over to the dresser; grasping his tan cigarette box with his right hand; his phone with his left and placing them between the elastic of his navy boxers and his hip --- hoping that it doesn't slide down and inadvertently awaken Bianca. 

Reaching the door, he gently places his right hand on the cold steel of the knob; slightly twists it clockwise before pushing his arm forward, turning back as the door creaks its way open, quietly stating "I love you" to Bianca under his breath, as he steps out into the hallway --- it now being clear that he is attired in a black/fire orange basketball top that has "Epitome" stitched into it in white, as well as Black/azure basketball shorts. 

Scanning around, we can see that the hallway's walls are painted in the same parakeet green as the walls in his living room, and there are various pictures of either himself, of people he cherishes more than anything (including Joely, Chili, Amelia, Bianca to name a few people visible in the pictures), or just assorted things that have caught his interest (namely one of a Falcon, swooping down upon a worm that has been shot from a 'birds eye view' angle). Each one encapsulated within a different painted oak frame; hanging from the wall as we continue our way up the hall. 

His breathing calm, Scotty feels his body begin to relax, as he slowly commences his walk, the imagery slowly contorting itself into pictures of happier moments --- of moments, when everything was falling into place. When everything, was blissful and tranquil both in the realm of his professional life, but also within the life 'behind the curtain', the life prior to him engaging within the turmoil, the mire that is the passage he has set himself upon. Allowing a thoughtful sigh to leave his pursed lips, he wanders over to one of the pictures of Joely (encapsulated within a snow/cinnamon painted frame), where she is leaning up against the brick and mortar that made up the buildings of Eltham High School, their alma mater and the last time Scotty truly felt any real 'tranquillity; peace' within the scope of his life. 

She is wearing a snow white figure-hugging t-shirt with hot pink floral designs on the sleeves, denim jeans that tightly hug her figure and white/scarlet 'New Balance' sneakers, with her blonde hair hanging freely from her hair and a soft smile across her face. A smile, that causes Scotty to feel warmth rise within his body, as he remembers the very moment Freya took this picture; the moments at school, where the three of them were seen as an 'inseparable clique' so to speak --- especially in science classes, where they would sit together; work on assignments and group projects together. 

"I told you I would commence making it *right* ---" he whispers, his voice drifting through the air, as he gently places his right hand atop the glass encasing the frame. Feeling a soft cobalt/fire orange flame begin to emit itself from his eyes, he allows himself to be immersed within the picture; grasp the feelings of joy, or lust to flow throughout his mind without inhibition. 

"That I *would* not fail again. That I would not allow you to be denied the final closure you crave ---" his eyes continuing to burn, he runs his hand down the glass, imagining it being as if he was feeling her tender skin against him once more. Envisioning them being wrapped within the sweet, passionate embraces they once shared  

"It may not be *true* closure, for that can only be acquired once I find the Mistress and bring her into the mire of her demise, yet it is *all* I can provide right now ---" his words taking on a soothing mannerism, he deeply exhales, knowing that although it is not the passage that is desired, it is a route; a way to mitigate the pain, to attain the desired *closure* that he craves. 

His eyes deviating slightly from the picture, he glares out to the open hall, allowing his traditional half-smirk to cross his face as the words "Soon, the purity shall break the mirage," as he slowly begins to pivot his body back in the direction of the front door; steps about ten centimetres to the right, as he re-commences his venture. .

Almost within a trance, he feels the soft strains of "Mad World" by Gary Jules resonate in his head, as his eyes cast glaces upon the pictures, his expression varying from stoic, to soft smiles, to even beaming with joy as the memories begin to flood back to him. As he thinks back to when it was all simple --- to when everything was more about innocence and freedom, rather than the struggle; the anguish that has become all that he knows. The 'war' that has become his own internal (and even external) reality. 
 
You made this bed --- now, you must redeem all of it.

Those words radiating within his head, he raises his hands, running them through his hair as his face slightly moulds into an expression of agitation. Of frustration, as he knows that no matter how much *he* tries to deny it --- no matter how much he tries to push it all away; mask it behind layers of 'wool', that *he* is the common thread between how everything has played out. How everything continues to play out. 

Bringing his hands back down to his side, he reaches the hickory painted mahogany doorframe; softly places his hands upon the brass handle and turning it clockwise --- knowing that fresh air may be able to at least subside the blanket of despair that entraps him. The agony, that has claimed him --- and even if it does not, it at least offers him an escape from the pain. It is with these acts; the steps he takes onto the porch, that we fade into darkness --- allowing him the peace that he craves. That he desires, to reflect of the next stanza of his quest.
---
Date: 1/5/2018
Time: 6:50am
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We re-open the setting to the sights and sounds of 'Fairmount Park', where there are people scantly scattered around --- most of them using the park as a route in order to get to their respective workplaces, or even making sure that the park is prepared for the furry of people that shall be coming through (adults and children alike) within the duration of the day. Others are loitering around, some playing on the swing sets (mainly children or toddlers, who are getting in some exercise before preschool/school) with their parents watching with eagle eyes, whilst others are sitting around, either relaxing or using their phones to text/talk to other people on the phone, as they stroll around, allowing themselves to engage not just with their surroundings, but also the person on the other end of the 'line'. 

Panning around, we reach a splintery; worn down and flaky pear coloured timber bench, which is barely being affixed to the concrete beneath it by rusted nails (which are jutting out from the concrete); seated atop the bench, is none other than Scotty, who is still wearing the same attire that he was when we last saw him, though he now has his favourite pair of Purple/Yellow/charcoal 'New Balance' sneakers atop his feet. His expression stoic, he inhales and exhales deeply, feeling the air flow throughout him, as his eyes gently close --- his mind, beginning to relax from the thoughts; the imagery that had been immersing him. That had been causing him to come out on this walk in the first place. 

Exhaling again, he feels a slight tightness in his lungs, causing an agonised groan to follow the exhale from his lips, as a grainy; faded black image begins to manifest itself within his irises of Bianca, sprawled atop concrete, her body overcome by agony as scars riddle her skin --- just as she was in 2015 when her and Chili were tortured and left for dead in the back alleyways of Eltham. A second groan leaves his lips, as his stomach begins to tie itself into a knot, the rest of his body beginning to radiate with the anguish; become a portrait of the extent of the war that is occurring within himself. 

You enabled their falls --- their scars.

Those words driving into his brain like knifes, he feels his face morph into a frustrated yet almost accepting look, as 'Zion' is right --- he *did* allow; enable the scars to occur. He *did* fail to be there, when they cried his name, until the damage had been done. Memories that eat away at him; thoughts, that cascade within the chambers of his soul, the prison within his own mind. Reaching into the elastic where he had kept his cigarette box and phone for the duration of his walk, he pulls them out --- staring at them, as he 'unlocks' his phone, noticing two messages. 

One, is from his friend/director of personnel of his 'Adams Wrestling Clinic' back home in Australia, Adam Gregory --- a message that he'll respond to later, when he is in a more 'stable' (for lack of a better term) frame of mind; therefore more willing to engage with that aspect of his business. As such, he simply clicks the 'x' button on the message, leaving it unread for now and turning his attention to the other message --- one, that is from Bianca. 

Babe, where are you? - Bianca

Softly shaking his head, he realises that she was probably too deep in her slumber to have heard his whisper about going on the walk; that he had also forgotten to leave her a note to inform her that he was doing so (something that he normally does when he goes on these little early morning strolls), accompanied by a soft laughter flowing into the air. 

Oh f*ck. Sorry, but I just went on a walk to Fairmont. Need to clear my mind. Love you. -Scotty

Placing his phone on his lap, he pulls the lid open of his cigarette box with his right hand, the 'pop' causing him to almost jump before he softly smirks; extracts the apple red 'Bic' lighter and a 'Memphis' brand cigarette from it, then closing it as he places it atop the bench, before placing the cigar into his left hand, then into his mouth and lighting up the lighter.

Flick

Inhaling the nicotine, he feels his mind begin to 'cleanse' itself of the thoughts as the blend of oxygen and nicotine runs throughout his body --- plumes of smoke rising into the air; creating a 'mirage' of sorts with every exhale, whilst the ashes of the 'butt' fall harmlessly to the grass beneath him as if they were flakes of snow hitting the ground on a cold winter day. Inhaling again, he pulls the cigar away from his mouth; allows it to dangle in the air to his left, within the grasp of his hand as he begins to ponder the task that lays ahead of him this week. 

The match that the OWA desire for him to partake in --- a lumberjack match, where the participants in the upcoming "Ultimate X" match shall be at ringside, ready to engage themselves should they be required to, whilst Scotty takes on the one man who has already been assured of his place in the match. That, being none other than the disgruntled CASPIAN --- or 'El Captain' as he calls himself. 

"Just like last week, I am a 'mercenary' of sorts --- the one who has been called forth, to act as the 'mediator'; the arbitrary 'middle man' to solve external issues my foes are having ---" Uttering this, he feels his eyes slightly close, before a gentle, fire orange/golden yellow flame appears within the palm of his right hand, although in holographic form. His eyes re-opening, he feels the flame gently brush against his skin, the searing heat burning deep into his flesh as a devious grin crosses his lips. 

"And just like last week, I shall be the solution --- I shall be the one to bring about the demise ---" his words piercing through the air, he allows a soft chuckle to leave his lips, as his eyes begin to match the hologram. As his body, fills with the intensity that he has become renowned for. 

"Caspian," his voice remarking this in a manner almost akin to what one would expect from a teacher scolding a student, "you claim that you have been spurned --- that there is some sort of *conspiracy* against you," feeling his lips curl up into a smile, Scott feels a laugh begin to form in his throat, yet knows that now is not the time to let it out. That no matter how 'corny' it sounds, that he *should* probably allow it to slide, even if it is just for the sake of the words he wishes to continue with. 

"That people are *jealous* of you, because you are this 'powerful' persona, who has the money to buy whatever he desires on a whim ---" Pausing, he allows those words to sink in as he gulps, attempting once more to repress the laughter that is bursting at the seams to break free; emit itself into the air. Bringing the cigar back to his mouth, he inhales, feeling the nicotine slightly 'clam up' within the saliva of his throat, before swallowing it --- using it as a way to placate his vocal cords, at least for the interim.

 Stroking the stubble of his beard with his right hand, he comments "I remember when *I* was like that --- when I thought my money; my wealth was all I needed to succeed, and to be honest with you, it *is* an entitlement that wrestling has enabled ---" Softly laughing under his breath, he has said that ad infinitum. The fact that money; business has embedded itself into the culture of wrestling; dictated the passage to 'success' in the industry today, is what has allowed the 'poison' to infect the industry that he cherishes. The industry, that he fights to make 'pure' again. 

Taking one final inhale of the cigarette, he slowly; steadily brings it from his lips, placing the filter atop the bench, slightly in front of the cigar box, before he curls his lips into more of a 'sarcastic' smile. "Yet the difference is: I soon realised that all I was doing, was using money as a facade. Using my own self-entitlement, as a way to try and mask my accountability. To try and 'excuse' my inability to execute; to 'back up' the words that I had spoken,"  Remembering the stretch when he truly *did* allow his ego; his conceited side get the best of him (which, contrary to what others might think, isn't the case now, nor has it been in the past four or so years). 

To when his mind was solely fixated;obsessed on money and gold; the 'power' it professed to bring forth, should he attain them. "Yes, Caspian, *I'm* probably worth as much as you, maybe even more --- but to me: that is all irrelevant. It holds no weight, if all I am doing, is using it as a way to 'hide'. As a faux escape, from the reality that surrounds us all," Each word delivered in a harsh, pointed manner, he allows his face to morph into a calm, yet almost callous expression --- again, the likes of which are common when teachers scold children in their 'matter-of-fact- style. 

"I realise the prior comment was probably a shock to you, seeing as well --- look at us," saying this in a jovial, half-joking manner, he allows us the time to pan up and down his body, noting that his attire is *definitely* not befitting or 'standard' for somebody that is renowned as an entrepreneur. For somebody who quite literally, has 'made himself' into a multi-million dollar brand. That's how he *wants* it to be.

 He wants the illusion of him to be that of a lower-middle class scrapper; of somebody you could easily mistake for an 'average Joe' if you were to walk by him in the street.' Because that's how he was raised; that's all he knew when he was growing up. "Unlike you, I don't need to shove my wealth down people's throat --- I don't *need* to tell them that I could buy them; their whole organisation and still have change left over, because it means nothing'," His voice returning to the matter-of-fact nature he had been carrying throughout this 'session of dissection', he leans back against the back of the bench, the wood slightly caving into itself as he does so. 

"It merely comes across as a crutch; a facade to hide behind when everything collapses, when it is figured out that all you are --- is another 'silver spoon' swallowing brat, that chooses to evade his own truth," Reaching once more into his cigar box, he pulls out a second cigar; raising it to his mouth as he clasps the lighter from his lap (where he had dropped it after using it before), lighting himself another cigarette. "Sadly for you, that's not possible this week," his smile moulding into more of a half-devilish, half-sarcastic form, he allows himself a puff of the cigar, whilst the words fester inside of the air. 

"See, whilst most might try and claim that your riches don't phase them --- that your arrogance; your swagger doesn't phase them, they (like yourself), are trying to deceive themselves into that line of thinking. I'm not," Plumes of smoke from his cigar leaving his mouth with each remark he makes, Scott lets a soft sigh float up into the skies above. It's one that is calm, yet also exasperated by the fact that he has to (once more) discuss this.  

"For they are just mirrors of you, no matter what they wish to claim," Stating this in his usual, blunt fashion, he allows his eyes to fixate on a holographic image of a person wearing a sheep's body suit --- a visual representation of one of his favourite descriptions to society today (and if you really think about it, the cold truth): that they are nothing more than sheep. 

"See, deep down --- they *desire* the same thing you claim to hold, the power; the fame, or well, the infamy --- I literally could not care about any of that," Pausing, he allows the chill that emits from each of those words, the truth that oozes from them to radiate within each and every last person's mind. "It doesn't bother me if you claim to love me, or hate me --- all I claim to be, is the purge of the poison. The harbinger of purity within that ring, within the society which we call our own," The hologram transforming itself back into the fire orange/golden flame that it had been, Scott feels his irises begin to burn. 

"For that is what needs to be --- for the ashes are crying for the soul; the spirit to be truly dipped within the mire, so that it can be cleansed," The prophetic nature of his words evident, he feels the fire begin to rise within his veins. 

"And if that means your demise is required in order to fulfil the act, then guess what?" Softly laughing, he blows out another plume of smoke, this one aimed directly at the flame's hologram, before returning his glare right to the heart of its burning; flickering self. "Then it is your demise that shall occur --- your body, that shall be left to burn within the decadence that you hold," His smile demonic, he lets a chilling chuckle languish in the air, before tilting his head about twenty degrees to the right, before bringing it back to a straight position and quipping: 

"Heck, it might actually be *smarter* for you to allow the lumberjacks to swarm you like rabid wolves, than to actually, you know, set foot between the ropes; stare straight into the eyes of the one who has deciphered your final moments," as he allows his chuckle to become more joyous in nature. "Then again, it *all* cycles back to your own actions --- everything that shall occur, is part of what you designed for yourself --- no matter how *ignorant*; blind you elect to be to that truth," Flicking the filament of the cigar into the grass about two metres behind him, he  mockingly rubs the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together, in the fashion one would do if they were saying 'show the the money' to another person, or even just in front of their own mirror. 

"And Sunday, will merely be the deliverance of your own fate," his words dagger-like in their delivery, he places his palms atop the wood; pushes himself off the bench as he swoops up his phone and cigar case, pivoting his body; commencing the walk down the concrete path that leads him back home. Though not before tilting his head back around one final time and mouthing "See you Sunday", whilst looking down at his phone; opening the conversation with Bianca and firing back one final message.

Be home in 20. Love you xoxox. - Scotty

Commencing the venture back home, it is here that we fade to black, the pounding of shoe against concrete the last audio; Scotty disappearing into the distance the last visual we acquire.

 
 
 

The Arrival of Nate Cage

As I stepped off the plane and officially entered this supposedly great nation, I filled my lungs with the air of opportunity. For a country that has took pride in creating conflict the world over, the lack of an embrace I felt upon my arrival was a level of irony that both amused and infuriated me.

So, what of my debut match this Sunday? I've made no secrets in the past that I find triple threat matches to be an affront to the art form of professional wrestling. In no match should the participants involved not be able to exercise total control over the outcome. How can someone lose without losing? It made no sense when it was first conceptualised and it makes no sense now.

But I'm not here to complain, and I'm not here to make hollow threats. There are two men who truly believe that their time to shine is upon them. That they have been plucked from the realm of obscurity by an almighty figure to ascend into divinity.

I am under no such delusion. I have fought and I have destroyed to make it as far as I have. People like me understand that life is a series of collisions that you can never prepare for. Come Sunday, I am that collision. And I'm not bringing a car. I'm not bringing a truck. I'm bringing a fully loaded tank that will level whatever is placed in front of it. I don't want to hear some freak stumble his way through a sentence and talk about how ready he is for a fight. And call me old-fashioned, but I'm not all too concerned with Johnny Star, a man who seems more preoccupied with keeping his bed warm than racking up anything of meaning in the win column.

I do not believe in underdogs. I only believe in being under-prepared. People who tell themselves that they can get by on their "fighting spirit" are using that as a substitute for actual ability. Some people just aren't supposed to defeat people like me. Some people were put here for me to nuke from orbit.

When I run through my opponents on Sunday, what I do next is of little concern to anybody but myself. All I hear is, "Nate, we loved you in Progress! But why are you alone? Where is your army? Can you be my super duper no give backsy best friend and we can attend PWG shows together?" First of all, I'd rather lose to Johnny Star than attend a PWG show with you. Second of all, what I do with my army is my business. I conquered one nation, and I can conquer another. If you actually care about what I have to do then maybe you'll stay tuned beyond my first match. Though knowing how fickle wrestling fans can be, you'd rather watch a highlight video on YouTube, buy a t-shirt, skim my Wikipedia page and then proclaim to be an expert and my biggest fan.

I'm not here for your adoration. I'm here to trigger the mutually assured destruction of everybody who thinks pissing me off is a good idea. By the time I'm finished with my enemies, the Nanking Massacre will look like a tussle in the schoolyard in comparison. What I have planned is classified and will become apparent soon enough. Until then, prepare for me glassing this promotion and feasting on the bones of my victims when I'm done.

Nate Cage, over and out.