Moments after the end of the Twisted Metal Mayhem race, the winners Chad and Krieger are standing victorious, waving to the crowd who shower them with adoration and applause. Their efforts have been rewarded with a couple hundred thousand and a shitty trophy, and they’re presently basking in the endorphins that come from bodying the competition.

“I’ve got to say, that turned out a lot better than I expected,” says Krieger, slapping his palm on Chad’s shoulder as only a true friend would.


“Umm… you mean April Song, right? I think she’s Korean, not Chinese.”


“...fair enough, Chad. You win this round.”


“Did you really just spell out ‘TBH’ phonetically?”


Representatives from Chad News Network rush up to the triumphant victors, the reporter shoving Noah Krieger out of the way to get to the hero of the day… but rather than graciously accept all of the attention and deserved credit, Chadwick Xavier Ecclestone leaps into action to protest the shoddy treatment of his junior partner.


“My apologies, Mr. Krieger,” says the journalist quickly, obviously surprised by how defensive Chad is toward the man who was once a bitter rival, “I assure you I meant nothing by it! The fact is, Mr. Ecclestone here is the man that the people want to hear from, and it’s my duty to get that story.”

“Yeah? Oh yeah? Well fuck you, too,” spits Krieger, stepping forward to give the reporter a piece of his mind… but Chad holds out his arm to block him before he can do anything too stupid.


“HUH?” shouts Krieger in disbelief.


“Uhh… great. Mr. Ecclestone, some are referring to you as the ‘white Dale Earnhardt of professional racing’ following your triumphant victory...”


“That’s ri–”


“Management has already released details of your match on the coming episode of Kingdom: Krieger and yourself facing the new team of Tomomi Shinozaki and Taniguchi Sena. Any comments?”


“No, they haven’t. These are two regular Asians, unrelated to the Japanese supremacist terrorist organization.”


Krieger looks slightly nervous during this tirade, eyes widening in justified fear of cancellation as he takes a step back to detach himself from Chad’s mildly problematic views.


“You can go ahead and leave me the fuck out of all this,” says Krieger, hands raised in protest as he backs further away from his ranting partner.


Krieger smiles and waves at the camera, about to say something before Chad barrels over the words with his own.


“We’re not called that,” says Krieger quickly, some more sweat beads forming on his forehead.


“Thank you Mr. Ecclestone, I think that’ll be all…”


“Well…” starts the reporter, obviously hesitant to break the news, “there was a small issue with that. Apparently, one of the A/V guys missed the cue to start broadcasting the live feed, so it didn’t go out on the PPV. I think management is going to try and show it as a separate th–”


“No, but I’ve been assured…”


Their questions answered, the reporter and camera crew scamper away from the duo, leaving Chad and Noah standing alone. There’s a dramatic pause, surely leading the way for a climactic one-liner to wrap things up…

“So, Chad, you want to go celebrate our big win?” asks Krieger, disinterestedly.


The scene cuts to the interior of the nearby broadcasting trailer, where video feed from the race is broadcast live to the masses of paying customers at home… or would have been, were it not for the failings of one particular employee. The lights in the trailer are off, and on the floor an air mattress has been placed. Curled up asleep on it is the man responsible for this grievous crime against the paying audience at home: Intern Tom. He snores heavily, deep in his eleventh hour of sleep for the day, unaware of the impending danger to his physical well-being. Suddenly, the door to the trailer is kicked wide open, startling Tom out of his sleep as the body of Chad Ecclestone is silhouetted in the doorway.


“Huh?” mumbles Tom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes just in time to see the actor coming at him, fists swinging, “NO! WAIT! NO, CHAD, NOOOOO!”

Olympus Promo #2

“Ok, I see,” said Wyatt, scratching his chin in faux contemplation, “but - and this is probably just me overanalyzing - have you considered what might happen if you don’t dodge it?”
 
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Brody replied. “That’s what the vest and helmet are for.”
 
Despite its obvious absurdity, Brody’s suggestion did at least give Wyatt a crumb of comfort: his son’s confidence was returning. He found solace in the fact that Brody was actively engaged in bettering himself.
 
Just not with live ammunition.
 
“It’s not one of your better ideas, but honestly, I like where your head’s at. Maybe this Dubois character is the right kind of influence on you.”
 
“That’s what I’m sayin’, dude. He had a way about him, an’ he talked all awesome an’ shit.”
 
“Well, I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve spoken with him personally. With all due respect, sagacity is not a trait for which you are known.”
 
“The fuck… why you talkin’ like that, bro? Say it again, but like a normal fuckin’ person.”
 
“What I mean to say is you’ve misjudged people before. With disastrous consequences, I might add.”

“If you’re referring to the time with volleyball cult, I was barely involved.”

“The volleyball cult,” he sighed. “Of course, there was also the situation with the Anthony girl.”
 
“Wow, you’re just gonna throw that in my face again, huh? I guess being found not guilty in a court of law means nothin’ these days. I mean, can you at least try to see things from my point of view?”
 
“Which is?”
 
“I was horny.”
 
Wyatt rolled his eyes with the apathy of someone who was done with pleasantries. There were more important matters to discuss.
 
“So, Olympus. Thoughts?”
 
“Bro, when you first said I had a tag match with Stark, I thought you meant teaming with him. That would’ve been dope, dude.”
 
“Why? He’s a has-been, Brody. You’re better off without him. Listening to him talk about the past was like witnessing a faded star desperately clinging to the remnants of their glory days. Nostalgia can be a powerful thing, but it won't prepare you for a fight. It's time for him to gracefully exit the stage, but, in my experience, men like him need to be pushed. They never know when they’ve had enough, so do him a favor by showing him that his time has passed.”
 
“I dunno, dude. It wasn’t too long ago he was the champ. Scott Oasis had to send the whole of Kingdom after him.”
 
“And what’s he done since getting thrown out of the Clash first? A team he was on beat possibly the worst faction there’s ever been in OWA. Aria Jaxon seems to think similarly, given the events that transpired after Twisted Metal Mayhem. Now he’s teaming up with someone because he can no longer do it on his own. No, I’m afraid he’s risking his legacy. He’s Norma Desmond asking for her close-up.”
 
“She sounds hot.”
 
“That’s to say nothing of his partner, who, I fear, is in way over her head. I actually can’t believe Stark is letting this happen, to be honest. His vanity has put her in harm’s way. The woman is playing sidekick to Cloud Matsuda, who herself is a relic of the past. She’s grasping for any shred of relevance from another’s accomplishments, and he’s taking advantage of that desperation. Sad, really.”
 
“I really don’t think that’s what’s going on, dude. There’s some legit teams in this tournament; I just think they wanna fight the best. You gotta respect that, bro.”
 
“Legit teams? Like the pug-faced whore and the geisha? They had their chance against the unwashed at Game Start, and they were found wanting. Do they really think it’ll be any easier for them against those two ogres who, for some unknown reason, choose to call themselves the Interracial Twin Towers?”
 
“Cool name.”
 
“The gypsy could be a threat, but he’s likely reeling after what happened in Dallas. I have to say, Prescott’s plan was a masterstroke, and Michaels was shown up as the dupe he is. A prized fool, indeed. And who knows who his partner will even be after that greasy wop Hendrix finally realized he doesn’t belong in the top tier.”
 
“Dude, Poet threatened his daughter. He—”
 
“He endangered her. He jeopardized the safety of his daughter, to whom he’d already dedicated his win, because of his arrogance. He thought all he had to do was turn up, and the title was his. It was a fatal flaw, even more so than his weakened heart. The Tres Comas Club exploited that flaw to the fullest extent, so let that be a lesson as to who you’re dealing with. In wrestling, as it is in business, there’s no room for sentiment.”
 
“That feels a little harsh.”
 
“What did I just say? There is no room for feeling in this industry. When someone like Poet is standing in front of you, he will use any and all advantages he can against you. You have to understand that he’s not simply aiming to kill you just because he doesn’t like you. He’s aiming to remove an obstacle in his way. Dampshaw, too, albeit he suffers from the birth defect of being British. They understand what it means when you step into that ring; they know it’s life and death, and they actually seem to relish it. If you had just half of their killer instinct, you could rule over Olympus just as they do. Maybe even the entire OWA.”
 
“You don’t think I’m capable?”
 
“Athletically, you’re absolutely capable,” Wyatt was interrupted by three light knocks on the door, “yes, come in,” he answered before renewing eye contact with Brody. “That’s never been an issue. You’ve got tons of heart, too. But your mindset… it lets you down. You should be pulling out all the stops, but too often, you rest on your laurels.”
 
“Hey, hey! I did pull out with Laurel, bro. That whole pregnancy scare was a grift!”
 
“Ugh,” came an expression of disgust, alerting Brody to the person who uttered it, standing just inside the door. Brody’s face lost all color.
 
“WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS CRAZY BITCH DOING HERE?!”
 
“That’s no way to speak to your new counselor, Brody. And that’s the last time you’ll refer to her in such terms.”
 
“My counselor?” he snorted, turning to meet her smug gaze. “But… you were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you!”
 
“It was a diner, but whatever.”
 
“I picked you out, I dicked you down, and turned you around, then went in the back way too!”
 
“Dios mío.”
 
“How the fuck is she qualified to be a counselor, bro?”
 
“Esperanza is an undergraduate psychology major.”
 
“And that qualifies her to be a counselor?”
 
“It qualifies her to be your counselor, yes. Call it a sliding scale, except, instead of money, it’s brain cells you lack. In return for her help, she’ll no longer have to work multiple jobs, and will have hers and her son’s education paid for.”
 
“But she broke my fucking nose!”
 
“Deservedly so. Normally, I’d be inclined to seek retribution against one who jeopardizes my opportunity to make money, but Esperanza’s actions showed moxie. I admire that.”
 
“This is fuckin’ bull—”
 
“Hold on a minute,” Wyatt saw Vikram’s number flash up on his phone. “Yes?”
 
There was an awkward silence as he held it to his ear, during which Brody could feel Esperanza’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head. He gave her a look as if to say, “Crazy weather, huh?”
 
“You’re kidding?” Wyatt’s tone was suddenly dire; he could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Fury ignited within him like a sudden blaze, fueled by the words spilling through the phone. “Ok, I’m on my way.”
 
Brody had often heard the words “your father is on his way” from the likes of school principals, police officers, doctors, firefighters, librarians, chefs, event planners, and pilots. And rodeo clowns, but just two times. It never foretold good news. He was glad that, on this occasion, it was not he who was calling Wyatt to duty.
 
“An urgent matter requires my attention. Continue training with LaShaun, Esperanza will listen to your bullshit. And for God’s sake, stay out of trouble.”
 
“But—”
 
“Brody, I mean it.”
 
The flared nostrils signaled that Wyatt was indeed serious. Brody knew not to test his father’s patience. As his eyes followed Wyatt out the door, they soon came into contact with those of Esperanza once more. She stared coldly at him.
 
“So… how’s little… uh, kid?”
 

Her jaw clenched as she took a deep, measured breath. “Don’t ever talk about my child again.”

Silence permeated the locker room. It wasn’t the good type of silence nor was it the deliberately haunting version either. If it could be summarized in a single word—that type of silence—it would be aptly summarized as awkward. The silence after an unsatisfactory movie ending. The silence after a conversation’s premature end. The silence when a joke doesn’t land. 

Awkward. Unpleasant. Uncomfortable. 

An uncomfortable silence that makes itself known before equally uncomfortable conversations.

“...I’m sorry.” Finally, Ryo’s voice breaks the stiff silence as he turns towards Tatsuo who was lying down on a couple of chairs—a makeshift couch. His eyebrows were drawn together and there was a genuine attempt at sympathy in his tone; there had to be considering what transpired. “I didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did.”

Tatsuo didn’t immediately respond, only slowly removing the ice pack from his face. Despite years of body conditioning from karate, his body felt awful; the combined blows from Cloud and Nobi painfully stung and defeat only made it worse. Losing sucked. Losing in the first round of a tournament sucked more. Losing because of something avoidable sucked the most. 

“You didn’t need to tag yourself in.” Tatsuo said, his voice laced with tension. “Nobi was already  on the ropes. I had him right where I needed him to be when he was on his knees. He was on his last thread.”

“That’s why I tried to tag in.” Ryo interrupted, which only caused Tatsuo’s eyes to narrow. “He deserved more than defeat. He deserved to be flattened on the mat. If I just managed to—” 

“You didn’t need to!” Tatsuo interrupted as he stood up. “I was the legal man, Ryo! I would’ve tagged you in if you opened your mouth! Now we’re out of the tournament and those two have a victory they can hang over your head. Is that what you want? To just let them keep beating you so everyone can keep mocking you? Are you an addict for shame?” 

Ryo flinched, hurt written on his face, and he realized a half-second too late that he was louder and angrier than intended. He immediately relented afterwards and sat back down, his head hanging down in shame.

It was often said that spite was a powerful motivator...but hatred without direction was wasted energy. He remembered chastising Cloud and Nobi for failing to know each other’s true selves but maybe they knew far less about each other than he thought.

“...Sorry.” He said, his voice losing a significant amount of power. “It was my fault too. I got too far ahead.” 

“It’s fine. It’s just—” Ryo let out a sigh. “I hate both of them. I’ll never forgive them for what they did to me. I’ll destroy them, just like everyone else in the locker room who wants to shit on me.” 

“I know.” Tatsuo said as he lifted his head up. “You want to destroy them. I won’t stop you from getting your revenge but if you just burn endlessly with no control, you’ll just burn out faster. You’ll be at their mercy.” 

He then walked over to Ryo and sat down beside him. “I was being serious when I said I wouldn’t leave you behind. So, tell me everything about your hatred. Spare no detail. It’ll be our battle flag for the future.” 

Ryo raised an eyebrow, confused. “Battle flag? For what?” 


“Isn’t it obvious?” Tatsuo said with a wide grin and a glint of madness in his eyes. “You said it yourself: Cloud’s too selfish. Nobi’s too self-absorbed. The World's Finest couldn’t fathom getting rid of the impurities that poison Olympus. But we can.” 

Never let a human do the work of a heavenly king. 

“You want revenge. I want to purify this place of its sins. So let’s rampage in this false heaven. We’ll burn everything impure to ash even if it means war.”


Left. Right. Left. Right. 

Kyoto saw more snow than it ever had before but even severe winter weather would not prevent Tatsuo from training outdoors. The winter months were marked by expeditions into the mountains, rigorous routine, and body conditioning when he was younger. Getting older did not change that. 

“You’re tense!” Naoya shouted. Adorned in a simple kimono and hakama trousers, he was perched upon the roof of his family’s dojo—sweeping the snow off the roof. “I take it that things aren’t going well in America?” 

“I feel like I’m at square one.” Tatsuo said. He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the numbness in his fingers. “With everything.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that you were even past square one.” Naoya said. “That faction you joined got way too comfortable after beating the enemy once. I think the phrase “All or Nothing” was taken a little too close to heart...but that’s okay. You’ve cut yourself loose—now you must re-evalute. Bishamonten was a punisher of evildoers as much as he was a god of war. Remember that as you attempt to control Sakazaki-san’s fire for his betterment and for war.” 

“How—” Tatsuo stopped punching, then he scowled in annoyance. “Stop reading my mind without permission!” 

“It’s not my fault your mind is so loud!” Naoya said with a laugh as he swept more snow off the roof. The stupid grin on his face was getting on Tatsuo’s nerves. “I’m only teasing ya. You’ve earned Sakazaki-san’s respect so don’t push too hard too early...but I believe in you! You’ve gained a title and there’s no other direction but up! By the way...” He began as he kicked off some leftover snow clumps. “When’s the next defense?”

“Next Olympus.” Tatsuo said with a disgusted sneer. “I’m against Poet’s idiot brother.”

“You don’t sound very excited about it.” 

“Why would I? The only single victory he has is against a guy who couldn’t free himself from an open cage and the victory wasn’t because of his own effort. Since when were sham wins worth enough to challenge for my belt? You know, he posted a beer review for that Ascension match. Is that what’s worth my time? A drunken idiot who has beer cans for eyes?” 

“Hey! He could be like one of those drunkards from China! You know, the guys who do drunken boxing! I saw Drunken Master II recently—that was pretty good! Though Kyoto isn’t a “beer” place...” 

Naoya took one look at Tatsuo, noticed his darkening expression, and immediately put his rambling to his end with a sidelong glance as he finished up sweeping. “Anyway~! Do you think his brother Poet will stick his nose in your match? Seems likely.” 

CRACK! 

Naoya looked back over to where Tatsuo was training and saw the wooden boards—18 total—broken in half.

“Only if he wants to be as broken as his brother.” Tatsuo snarled.

“I’ve never seen you both calm and violently bloodthirsty at the same time. Although...” Naoya rubbed his chin and then, without any hesitation, jumped off the roof. As if ignoring gravity itself, he casually floated through the air and landed in front of Tatsuo. “If you’re itching to make a statement, now’s the perfect time for it.” 

“Now?” 

Naoya grinned as he dug into the pockets of his hakama and pulled out his phone, now standing beside him. “Even a dojo as traditional as my family’s has a Youtube. Even those who live under rocks can’t avoid a fresh new video.”  

Tatsuo frowned. “I don’t know about that, Naoya—” 

Naoya did not care about Tatsuo’s opinion however. He had already pressed the record button on his phone. 

“Hi everyone! This is Naoya Aoi of Shinoyama Dojo! Today, we’re cleaning up the dojo for the remainder of the winter season but more importantly, we have a special guest at the dojo!” 


“Don’t look so bewildered! It’s rare that the dojo is visited by graduates! Anyway, this is Tatsuo Sakaguchi! He’s currently one of the wrestlers signed to the promotion Omega Wrestling Alliance over in America.



“I heard that you have a title defense coming up. Is that true?” 


“Ehhh...Interesting, interesting! Are you nervous about defending your belt?” 



“Taking his head as a trophy? Do you think they’ll allow it?”



“Bold words...but I’m sure that you’ll make the dojo proud by winning the match. Everyone, be sure to support Tatsuo for his title match and beyond that on behalf of Shinoyama Dojo! We’ll post another Youtube Short soon! Bye~!” 

Click. The recording ended. 

“That was easy, wasn’t it?” 

“Go to hell.” 

“You’re welcome.” Naoya said with a satisfied smile. “Though, I believe that you’ll win. I was being serious—you are stronger than me. Stronger than anyone I know. This Keeton guy sounds less like an opponent and more like an annoying hurdle so...you know.” 

A cunning glint was in Naoya’s eyes as his smile widened. “Rip him apart.” 

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Tatsuo said with a sigh. “I’m going to head back home. I want to spend some time away from you before the plane ride.” 

“What the hell! You could stay here for some food at least!” Naoya complained, only to suddenly remember something. “Tatsuo, wait! Before you go...I’ve been keeping up with the Olympus shows lately. I just need to ask you something before you go.” 

Tatsuo raised an eyebrow. “...What?” 

Naoya stood in front of the entrance of the dojo, smiling. “How good are you at throwing things?”

Sword and Shield
Vs Brody & Cletus Olympus #1

Scene opens with Devi Krysis sitting on an airplane with Stephanie Matsuda heading to Ireland for the Pro Wrestling SHINE UK tour. Knowing that Devi has a big Outlaw Championship match against Aria Jaxon at Odyssey but after hearing Stark's promo Devi speaks in response.

Devi Krysis: “Stark…I hear you.”

Devi is drinking water as she looks at the window from the plane.

Devi Krysis: “I hear you loud and clear. You asked me, am I ready for the Sword and Shield Tournament? Knowing that I got an Outlaw Championship on Odyssey in a few days! Stark, you know that I'm not much of a team player after what happened between me and Azurine Vebbins who I ended her OWA career. Which I'm not proud of! But why? Why make us different? Cause we think differently? Are our fighting styles different? And our chemistry is bizarre and strange?! Probably, you see I'm trying not to focus on many things at once, because 2024 is going to be a Midlife Krysis to all the OWA! My mind is on the revenge on Christie Sky after that quick fashion victory against me, I want to take the spotlight of everyone that overlooked me, who thinks I'm a stepping stone to anyone, who think my career OWA is a joke! I want to win, headlining ppvs including Final Destination! Those were my goals to end the season of OWA!”

Devi looked very relaxed at the plane beside Stephanie Matsuda just a few hours from Ireland.

Devi Krysis: “And to answer your question that I'm ready for the Sword and Shield Tournament, Yes! Pretty sure that we will get along just fine and even if we win the whole thing we'll get the opportunity to go to Dreamworld to face Seventh Ward for the OWA Tag Team Championship! And knowing Darkane and Lazarus there are dangerous duos. As far as I know, they're waiting for someone to challenge them. You know what? I live with dangerous shit! And I'm willing to put my 2024 goals on hold just for this tournament because soon once I beat Aria Jaxon and capture the OWA Outlaw Championship we'll win the Sword and Shield Tournament and face Seventh Ward for the OWA Tag Team Championship and soon….Devi Krysis will be a double champion! #Devi2Belts sounds really great right now! And you're right it feels like it's been a while since we held gold, but it feels like redemption for both of us!”

Devi Krysis: “Wolvesden, Killer Alpha Squad, The Dollhouse, Zaibatsu, Queens Of Wrestling, The Blacklist, The Council, Team Starburst, The Dynasty, Murder Inc., For The Minorities….Those names that had won Tag Team gold in OWA! Could Devi Krysis and Stark join the list of teams when we win the tournament and win the OWA Tag Team Championship at Dreamworld? That's…a big Yes! Even though Twisted Metal Mayhem was a wreck for both of us, we always come back stronger. Now our Tag Team conquest begins started with Brody and Cletus in my opinion they don't want the smoke, they don't want none of us, especially with our similar backgrounds so message is clear, Devi and Stark will be force to be reckoned with in the Tag Team Division especially in the Sword and Shield Tournament! Fighting us won't be an easy task so bring your horseshoe and hand grenades. Many of you are gonna need a lot more because the both of us are gonna bring the fight, we are going down fighting and more importantly….”

Devi Krysis: “We gonna get high by fighting hahaha!!”

Scene fades

ATLANTA, GA

Planet Fitness, where dreams go to die and poor people who can’t afford home gyms congregate, packed tight like sardines as they struggle to avoid the ravages of time. And in this temple of steel is an all-too common sight: two fat fucks. But these aren’t just any fat fucks, these two have crossed the threshold from ‘fat’ into ‘comically obese’ years ago. Cletus and his handler, agent, and surrogate father Colonel Kelvin Dubois have chosen this location as their temporary training grounds. They’re preparing to start their regiment for the day, when two overly tanned women pass by, scowling like the cunts they are.

“Ewww, look at that pig… I thought this was supposed to be Planet Fitness, not Planet FATNESS,” one of the annoying bitches squeals.

“Oh my gaaawwwwddddddddddd Becky, you’re so funnnyyyyyyyyyyYYyyyyy!” screeches the other hole.

Their catty comments don’t go unnoticed, as the rotund Colonel KD spins on his heels to face these vicious detractors. One sausage-like finger is aimed towards them, as his heavily accented drawl booms out, jowls shaking like a bowl of Jell-O in an earthquake.

“OH, WHAT’S THIS NOW? COMMENTS FROM THE SLUT BRIGADE? LISTEN HERE, YOU CHEAP SAIGON WHORES, I BEEN AROUND THIS LITTLE BLUE MARBLE CALLED ‘EARTH’ A FEW TIMES IN MY DAY, AND I HAVE NEVER ENCOUNTERED A RUDER, MORE DISGUSTING CREATURE THAN A PREMATURELY AGED WHORE, SKIN LEATHERY FROM TANNING BEDS, ROCK-HARD TITS PUMPED FULL OF SILICONE, CARTOONISH LIPS FULL OF FILLER, CAREENING TOWARDS MIDDLE AGE AND DESPERATELY TRYING TO AVOID THE WALL. WELL, LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING FOR FREE, SWEETHEARTS, THERE AIN’T NO EVADING THE INEVITABLE! SURE AS THE SUN RISES IN THE MORNING, YOU’LL SOON BECOME HIDEOUS, LOVELESS HARPIES COMPLAINING ABOUT THE LIVES YOU’VE WASTED, THE SUITORS YOU’VE SCORNED, AS YOU VOTE FOR OPEN BORDER DEMOCRATS TO PROVIDE YOU WITH AN ENDLESS SUPPLY OF THIRD WORLD, MILITARY AGED MEN, SO GRATEFUL FOR A HOT MEAL THAT THEY’LL HAPPILY EAT OUT THAT FETID, DISEASED HOLE YOU CALL A VAGINA FOR DESSERT!”

The two women are horrified to hear someone so accurately describe them and their inevitable futures. They might even cry, if the black market Mexican plastic surgery hadn’t already rendered their tear ducts unusable. They run over and inform a staff member, who approaches the two men hesitantly.

“Um… sir… I know you just paid for those day passes but…”

“YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT I PAID FOR THESE DAY PASSES! SO IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME, MY FRIEND AND I HAVE SOME WORK TO DO.”

“I’ll have to call the police if you don’t leave, sirs…”

“THEN CALL THEM! HELL, ONCE I TELL THEM MY TRUE VERSION OF THE EVENTS IN QUESTION, THEY’LL ARREST THOSE TWO BITCHES, YOU, AND ANYONE ELSE IN THIS TWO-BIT JOINT WHO LOOKED AT US COCK-EYED!”

The staff member scampers off, probably to call the authorities. The Colonel turns back to Cletus and gives him the nod, at which point the behemoth takes position under the squat rack… but rather than grab hold of the barbell, he grips the rack itself and lifts it off the ground, beginning to squat the entire structure: barbell, stored weights, metal frame and all. It has to be over a thousand pounds, easy.

“That’s right, my boy! Work those beautiful, finely toned muscle groups! We’ve got ourselves a tag team tournament to win, and I don’t want this going down like your match against that stuck-up Ivy League wannabe Poet! You had that boy dead to rights with your coup de grace maneuver, but you lost focus at the last second and it cost you. Well, never forget: eye of the tiger, just like that retarded Italian mongrel said! Eye of the tiger!”

“EYE OF TIGER! EYE OF TIGER!!” repeats Cletus as he continues to squat the titanic weight, without so much as breaking a sweat… except for the giant wet mark starting to form up and down the crack of his ass, on display for the horrified gym goers to see.

“Yessiree, that’s the kind of titanic strength and impeccable form that are going to carry us to victory in that there ‘Sword and Shield’ thing they’re cooking up over on Olympus. With your brawn and Brody’s… well, anyway, that boy means well, and he’s one hell of an athlete himself. Sure, I would’ve preferred a brighter partner to make up for some of your dim witted tendencies, but I’m accustomed to making lemonade from lemons, so leave the strategizing to me and you two are a shoe-in to win!

Though, if you ask me something, I’m thinking I might be needing to keep an eye on that Wyatt fella. A born schemer if I ever saw one, we carnies can always recognize our own, no need for a secret handshake or nothing. It wouldn’t surprise me for one moment to discover that he’s simply manipulating and using poor Brody for his own purposes, financially exploiting him as surely as I’m exploiting you, my dear boy,” the Colonel trails off as he realizes what he just said, clearing his throat, “Don’t worry about that last part, Cletus, I fear our skipping lunch to train has rendered me a tad delirious! I’m merely speaking nonsense, I assure you, my friend and equal.”

Cletus doesn’t even notice his manager’s slip-up, grunting and yelling as he continues to absolutely crush those squat reps.

“That’s the spirit! Don’t let this old fool’s ramblings distract you. Keep your eyes on, I say, keep your eyes on the prize! Now, where was I… ah yes, your upcoming bout. I must say, I find myself perplexed by this bizarre pairing that we are being pressed into gladiatorial combat against. On one hand, you have Stark, a legend by any measure, a man who has spread terror and chaos in wrestling rings across this globe of ours… most recently, the World Champion on Kingdom. Now, we all know the competition over there isn’t as robust and healthy as it is in the rarified atmosphere of Mount Olympus, but to rise to the peak of even a second-rate brand is a notable achievement nonetheless!

And therein lies the rub. Because on the other hand, we have Devi Krysis… oh, sure, none can question her commitment and drive. If stubbornness and bull-headed dedication translated directly to ability, she would be amongst the most decorated individuals in sporting history. Alas, no amount of motivation and never-say-die attitude can make up for the absence of raw talent. She may do well overseas in those Oriental leagues, but it’s obvious that those soybean-munching Asiatics cannot measure up to the strength and endurance of meat-eating, beer-drinking, god-fearing Americans… so, I remain unimpressed by her few achievements, such as they are.

And anyway, she’s nothing more than a member of the fairer sex, in a match otherwise populated by men. Now, I don’t know what Diversity, Equity and Inclusion officer came up with the idea of letting these menstruating vixens compete with us on equal footing… no doubt the product of some so-called prestigious, Communist-infiltrated Ivy League institution. But enough about that, even if she weren’t a woman, there’s still the matter of her Odyssey match. A battle against the likes of Aria Jaxon would be a difficult proposition for someone like Devi, even at the best of times… now, that match being in such close proximity to our tag team battle? I cannot imagine the stress that might put on a person. I truly fear that such an ordeal might break her, though that is hardly any of our concern. It’s a free country, Cletus, as I’m so fond of reminding the cretins and idiots we so often encounter on our travels… so if Devi wants to burn herself out with such a hectic schedule, far be it from me to convince her otherwise!

But, more to the point,, that brings us to the question of the hour: what is Stark thinking? Anyone with even a passing knowledge of the man knows he’s no soft-hearted hero, to take a struggling young woman under his wing. Neither is he a damn fool, to think she has some untapped potential he might draw out of her here in the Omega Wrestling Ah-lliance. So what’s his game, I wonder? What possible reason does he have for throwing in his lot with her, hitching his wagon to a dead star, and other such literary metaphors. I can only assume, in the absence of further information, this can be considered some mental side effect of his copious marijuana use… clearly his judgment has been clouded, so to speak, to waste his time in such an endeavor with someone so beneath his level.

Now, I’ve been thinking…”

The Colonel’s musings are interrupted by the arrival of a uniformed police officer, the man’s broad shoulders falling in exasperation as he realizes that staff did, in fact, phone 911 over his previous outburst. The deflation is temporary, as he quickly puffs up his chest in preparation of acting indignant even before the cop says anything.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to turn around, hands behind your back.”

“OH, I’M UNDER ARREST? I’M SORRY, I THOUGHT THIS WAS A LITTLE PLACE CALLED THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, NOT COMMUNIST CHINA! ME AND MY FRIEND CLETUS MUST HAVE TAKEN A WRONG TURN SOMEWHERE AROUND CHATTANOOGA! FIGURED WE WERE ON THE WAY TO ATLANTA, BUT I GUESS WE ENDED UP IN BEIJING INSTEAD! WELL, AIN’T THIS EMBARRASSING, RIGHT MY BOY?” he bellows, turning to Cletus for support. Predictably, the giant oaf seems rather confused by the entire situation, stopping his squats to wander over and stare at the exchange with a vacant look in his eyes.

“I ain’t gonna ask again, sirs,” says the cop, hand moving to the taser holstered at his side.

“REST ASSURED MY DEAR OFFICER OF THE LAW, I HAVE NO INTENTION OF MAKING YOU ASK AGAIN, I AM MERELY EXERCISING MY RIGHTS AS AN AMERICAN CITIZEN UNDER THE CONSTITUTION OF THIS REPUBLIC. NOW, IF YOU’LL FORGIVE ME…” he suddenly moves into action as fast as his fat ass can, lunging over and grabbing a civilian, tossing the bystander into the cop as he shouts, “CHEESE IT, CLETUS! RUN, MY BOY, RUN LIKE AN ESCAPED SLAVE HEADED FOR THE YANKEE STATES!”

The pair of men take off in a blind charge towards the exit, shoving over the cameraman on the way as the video feed is consumed by static.

(The feed opens up to show Stark in his penthouse, leaning back on his couch, smoking a fat blunt and letting out a big hit. Stark looks at the camera and then grabs an envelope from the table next to him, opening it and pulling out a folded piece of paper. Stark continues to smoke for a bit as he looks at the paper, before starting to chuckle. Stark holds on to the paper, looking very amused, before he takes another long drag of the blunt and coughs up a lung. Finally, Stark begins to speak.)

"Devi, are you ready?

The Sword and Shield tournament, a tag team championship shot on the line against the Seventh Ward awaits the winners at DreamWorld. It's not just any tag team championship shot either, is it? These are the OWA World Tag Team Championships, one of the most prestigious and decorated championships in this company's history - and yes, I do mean the championship itself is decorated, a championship held by the likes of Kenny Drake, Chris Sabertooth, Jeff X, DT The Ruler, Jacob Senn, Nobi, Aria and Cloud… That's me even leaving off a few names I'm sure, just what I could think off the top of my head.

Now things didn't go your way at Game Over, Twisted Metal Mayhem was a tough shot for anyone to win and let's just call it getting your feet wet in a new environment. But you are one of my best friends, who has accomplished the most, someone who has held their heads high through the good and the bad, you never looked down to see how far up you've gone nor have you looked back to see what you've done or what you've left behind.

It has been some time since we've worked together, but this tournament will be a chance to reinvigorate our careers. Devi, it's been a while since you've last held championship gold, you more than earned the OWA Goddesses Championship but you more than earned that win, and though it wasn't for long, the time you spent with that title, what it meant, what it represented for you to win that and achieve such a feat in your career - it meant more than any title I've ever won has.

It's been quite a while for me too, since I've last held championship gold. I've reached what feels like the mountaintop, but side by side with you as we reach the top of the OWA tag team division, daring that impossible dream to defeat the Seventh Ward for the World Tag Team Championships? That dream doesn't need to be impossible. We can make it reality, we will.

Everything I've taught you and everything I've learned from you, we can put that together and become something great. Tag teams are founded on trust and cooperation, and I know that you might not be able to fully trust me as it stands. I mean, after the things I've done, who could ever fully trust me again? But I'll ask you to trust me one more time, so we can fight together and make that long shot a reality. Together, we can close the distance.

Even if it's against Darkane and Lazarus Arjen, even if no one else has done it before and it seems like no one will ever be able to -- we'll do it, because both you and I have experienced the adversary necessary to be strong. When even winning a single match felt like impossible dreams to me and you, we rose above and have held championships that no one could have ever expected us to. We proved them wrong then, and we can do it again - as a team, for the OWA World Tag Team Championships.

This tournament is ours to take, and it's MY chance to make things right, for everyone involved. See you on Olympus Devi… let's win this thing."

(Stark takes another long hit off the blunt and folds the paper, putting it aside, as the feed closes.)

KEARNY, MISSOURI
UNE CABINE DANS LES BOIS
23h55 VENDREDI


A lone shack, dead center in the dark woods outside Kearney, Missouri. A fire rages in a pit out front, the light from the flames flickering and dancing on a dead skinned deer, hanging from a nearby tree. 

Sitting by the fire, brandishing a Bowie knife piercing a slice of venison, is JOSIE GREY. 

She holds the meat over the fire, slowly turning it…her face is stained with dry blood. 

I’m in the season of tying up loose ends. I beat my enemies in SWWS and won the Queen’s Cup, I bested Rin Asakura for THIS Sparks Championship…

And now I’m in a position to right a wrong that has been EATING at me for the last few months. 

Angelina Magnum…Bea Havertz. 

The Powerbottom Girls. 

These two bimbos have done everything in their power to belittle us, talk down on us, shame us…basically, be the basic bitches everyone KNOWS they are. They’ve taken cheap shots, made little jokes, and even had the nerve to say that we are…an easy win. 

Josie scoffs. 

Angelina? Bea?

I can guarantee, this will not be easy for you. At all. 

You don’t have to take this match seriously, guys… you don’t have to take US seriously. Shit, I hope you don’t. But what you SHOULD do…is understand that WE ARE. Revy and I are taking this DEATHLY seriously, and honestly? That should frighten you little shits to NO end. We will walk you girls into HELL, knock on the door, and introduce you to the DEVIL HIMSELF on Odyssey, simply because we fucking CAN. Those titles? The ones you arrogantly say you’re “elevating” by holding? Are useless little trinkets in your hands. Nobody takes them seriously. Shit, nobody takes YOU assholes seriously, no matter what you think, and no matter what your daddy of the night tells you. Just because you were trailing behind REAL warriors in the Great War, doesn’t make you motherfuckers battle hardened. NEITHER of you know true pain, because you two avoid challenges like the plague. We’re challenging you guys again? Frankly? Because there’s no one else to do it. I think that’s pretty obvious. 

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You guys know that. You know we’re your only challengers, so you look back at the past and think that’s your future. You beat us. Indeed. 

But just like I said to Rin…you beat THAT Josie Grey…you beat THAT Revy…and in your arrogance, you two little skanks became blind to the challenge that would inevitably stand before you once again. You HAD to have known that we would be back, right? You’re not THAT stupid, are you? You HAD to have noticed that we have gotten better, closer, tighter-knit…right? You may have beaten the Josie and Revy that were making jokes and laughing with each other, but that was then…this is now. I am your NEW OWA Sparks champion - and yeah, Angelina…Good for fucking me, bitch. I am riding a TSUNAMI of momentum coming into this match, and Revy is surfing it right along with me. 

Bea, I…ok…this might sound weird…but I KINDA like you. Not in THAT way, but in like…you entertain me. YOU don’t bullshit about being a raging cunt. YOU don’t pretend like you’re anything other than a spoiled, self-absorbed, entitled brat, and I have to applaud you for that. It must take BALLS to be such a blatant piece of shit to the world around you, and not give a shit at all about it. I kinda envy that freedom…and in the ring, you’re…actually pretty good. You’re a workhorse, and you are very obviously, clearly, plain as paper, sure as sugar CARRYING that team. 

But your back is going to break soon, Bea. You can’t keep carrying Angelina’s dead weight for much longer, can you? You can’t keep coming in clutch cos she dropped the ball, and her delusional little “Assassin Barbie” fantasy comes crashing down around her, and YOU, Bea…YOU, once again, have to come in and actually DO something for the team and pull off a miraculous victory. It’s killing you, Bea. It’s making you slow…it’s making you weak. The burden of Angelina…this…misguided idea that you HAVE to be there for her. You’ve known each other how long, and how many times has a win come because of YOUR hard work? Every time? Or every single FUCKING time? You’re a damn good wrestler, Bea, and a great hand, but good lord…you cannot keep dragging that dead carcass of Angelina behind you simply because you’ve been following each other on Insta for ages. 

You know what I think it might be, Bea? 

You need her. 

Because you know, she knows, the world knows…you’re not good enough to get anywhere by yourself. You’re too weak. You PLAY tough…you play it comically well, but Bea Havertz, as sure as God made little green apples, you are NOT cut out for this whole “taking care of yourself” thing. You NEED Angelina, not only to afford you these tag titles, but to also VALIDATE your reason for being here. If you ditch her after we take those titles - and believe me…we are taking those fucking titles… - then you know as well as I do, your career goes fucking nowhere, and fast. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to keep working hard and putting time in and sacrificing your body, your MONEYMAKER, for this! It’s written ALL over your oddly shaped face every time you’re on screen. You’re still here? Because those titles are MAKING you be here. They’re not a prize, are they? They’re a fucking prison. 

Well, Birdman of Alcatraz…you got a pardon. 

On Odyssey, Revy and I will free you of those shackles. We’ll unburden you from the Women’s Tag Titles and allow you to finally be DONE with all of this. You can go and make movies, maybe…Hallmark Channel…you can be a MODEL…for Sears, probably…you can finally be the BEA HAVERTZ you always wanted to BE, or at least, more realistically, 65% of it. 

You can thank me in your AVN Awards speech…and Bea? 

You’re welcome. 

Angelina? Sweetheart…YOU can go fuck yourself STRAIGHT up the ass with the barrel of a shotgun. You fake little shit. I don’t know WHO told you that you’re some…highly-trained, world-class, heaven-feared ASSASSIN, but holy shit, Angelina, HOLDING a gun a few times while REAL warriors do battle ISN’T as impressive as you think it is. Hey…raise your hand if you are, or were, in the Frontline. 

Josie raises her hand. 


Now raise your hand if you’re in it cos they ASKED. 

Josie keeps her hand up. 

Noooot soooo faaaaaaast, Angelina. We both know the only thing anyone in the Frontline asked of YOU? Was to not use your teeth so much. Jesus Christ, Angelina…do you think the Frontline wanted you in the Great War because they thought you'd be helpful? No. You were there for the same reason Violet Cunningham was. Because you happened to be friends with people who were actually useful. The only difference between the two of you, is that you, unfortunately, managed to survive it. IN FACT? Violet was actually MORE beneficial…because at least her death motivated the team. But you couldn’t even do that, could you? Selfishly, and out of sheer luck and self-preservation, you survived. 

Angelina…you won’t survive this. You won’t survive me.

For fucks sake, we all saw the Great War, but you keep projecting the one YOU, and ONLY YOU, saw in your head. In WHAT WORLD, in WHAT UNIVERSE, should I be afraid of YOU? You have done NOTHING here without your HAND BEING HELD, like a fucking TODDLER, and you have the NERVE to talk shit to ME? To REVY?! 


Josie slams the Sparks championship down in front of her and points to it. 

There’s MY proof I can get the job done…where’s yours? Name me ANYTHING you have done that hasn’t been because someone CARRIED you like a sleeping infant. Oh, wait…You got your shot in the Promethean Chamber, and just like you with your uncle and his friends at a Christmas Party, you fucking BLEW it. GOOD FOR YOOOOOOOU. Didn’t even get curtains. Not eliminated first, not eliminated last…just…unceremoniously, somewhere in the middle. You prove, every single God Damn time, when it comes down to JUST Angelina Magnum? That gun is firing fucking BLANKS. You are completely incapable of contributing to the world around you, and you are a rusty iron ANVIL on anybody foolish enough to befriend you. Look at you and Thotyssey…Felix and Filth. Your BEST FRIENDS, right? Until they got fed up with carrying your ass week in, week out, and they dumped you like a pregnant prom date. What happened to THEM once they ditched you? Filth is World champ…Felix, the first ever and former Alpha’s World Champ…as SOON as they shed the dead weight, they SKY ROCKETED…while you? Latched your claws into Bea Havertz and kept yourself afloat, and once again…ONCE AGAIN, somebody ELSE does the work FOR YOU, and brings you victories. Thank GOD you had Filth and Felix. Thank GOD you have Bea. Thank GOD FOR, and GOD HELP, the inevitable poor soul you poison next, because YOU, Angelina, out of everybody in this match, are the LEAST relevant. You are a legend in your own mind, and THAT is where that legend should stay. 

You? Are a BLIGHT on your friends, Angelina. YOU are the reason they leave you…because you are a useless, pathetic little leech. You have bigged yourself up so much, there is nowhere to go but down, down, down…and you, Angelina Magnum, WILL go down. 

And you wanna know what I think? 

I think all this talk about being war hardened…unflinching in the face of death…not afraid to get your hands dirty, with mud or blood or anything else…

I think you’re just trying to be Me. 

Your whole schtick is just cosplay of Josie Grey, and a shitty job of it, at that. Everything you say? Every image you project to the world since the Great War? I actually LIVE. You don’t know SHIT about battle. You don’t know SHIT about fighting for your fucking life. You had Jeff X, Michael Bishop, Arata, Elder Gods, fuckin Abholos after getting an old fashioned from Filth fighting FOR you…you had a literal GUN CAVE to choose from. You know what I had? A dog. You can talk shit about what me and Revy are going through with the Cartel all you want, but we are ACTUALLY fighting them, and we are ACTUALLY fighting for our lives. You haven’t fought for shit since you were a sperm swimming upstream into your mother. As far as I’m concerned? I’m Jay Z, you’re Nas, and you just scribbled down shit in your notebook.  

Now, it might seem like I’m being a bit…EXTRA with you…but that’s because Fuck you. You deserve it. Your only claim to fame is being the biggest joke in the BOB Games. Sit the fuck down and shut your fucking mouth when you’re speaking to me. 

Neither one of you are ready for what we’re bringing to the table. This isn’t the Black Lagoon slapping their knees and making funny…no. This is who we REALLY are…who we’ve always been. 

God. Damn. Killers. 

You two want to be battle hardened so fucking bad? Here’s your chance. 

I, personally, will bring hell to your feet. I know Revy, she and I have bonded like superglue, and she is prepared to catch multiple charges in this match against you bitches. You two have been living in the past, talking shit to caged TIGERS, completely unaware that the glass between you and us was cracked, and the break was getting bigger by the second. 

Now? That barrier between you, and your inevitable and embarrassing end? 

It’s gone. 

Now…there’s nothing left to do…except your worst fucking fear.

Josie takes a bite of the venison. Blood drips. 

She smiles.

Fight Me.

Facing The Outlaw 
Outlaw Championship vs. Aria Jaxon #2

Scene opens in Tokyo, Japan at the Matsuda's private Dojo, Devi's meditating keeping her focused for her upcoming Outlaw Championship match against Aria Jaxon of Tribunal but after Aria said about her…

Devi Krysis: “Am I ready….”

Vignette showing the Outlaw Championship

Devi Krysis: “Am I ready to face Aria?”

Vignette showing Aria Jaxon holding the Championship 

Devi Krysis: “I mean…What if I say no and Aria's right of what she said. That I never cut out of facing Aria Jaxon and her Outlaw Championship and Stephanie Matsuda who I partnered with in Pro Wrestling SHINE. She will feel ashamed and devastated that I walked out this match against Aria, and bit off more than I can chew. WROONG! I don't walked out on fights, you see Aria you don't had to look down on me because I'm the person that I had a short and meaningless Goddess Championship reign, you can talk shit about my career and such because I got love for these people around me and frankly I'm just a person who stand-up and get ready for a fight! And I get it! I can't hang with anyone, including you! I can't lace anyone's boots including yours! But one thing that you did say is true, you and I never had a one on one competition against each other, never had! Maybe we were busy with other shit that we couldn't have a one on one match and I know that Stephanie Matsuda would tell you cause I had fought against her one on one. The fact that I missed you being in this brand, the fact that I try hard to impress you and the rest of the OWA faithful, it wasn't good enough for me! Cause I missed you as the GM of Odyssey! And if you're here at Odyssey you would give me advice ahead of my matches.”

Devi continues to meditate as the vignettes show Aria Jaxon holding the Outlaw Championship in front of her.

Devi Krysis: “*sigh* Whenever I see you in this ring together with me Aria Jaxon you see me lay dead in the ring while you holding the Outlaw Championship and you look down and said *in Aria Jaxon's voice* You did well, but not well enough to take the Outlaw Championship! And you walk out of the ring leaving me devastated in tears. Cause I'm not ready to fight against you, I'm not on your level that you are currently on, and I'm not ready to take that Outlaw Championship that you're holding! I'll just forget that this fight ever existed, and start from the bottom and work my way up for a title opportunity because this is the plan when 2024 kicks off more importantly headline ppvs, and main event fights! I got alot stuff planned for me this year and hope you have the same plans that I had for 2024 Aria! I don't want to be disappointed after this match cause I want to see Aria Jaxon facing a fan-favorite talent like me, a woman with the best Discus of the world, the woman who can live and breed in combat sports, and the woman that gonna be a future OWA Alpha World Champion one day. That's what I want!”

Devi Krysis: “So let's try that question again…Am I ready to face Aria?”

Vignette showing Aria Jaxon holding the Outlaw Championship 

Devi Krysis: “Yes! Will I walk out of this match against Aria Jaxon? Absolutely not! Will I give Aria Jaxon everything and EVERYTHING I got against Aria Jaxon and win the Outlaw Championship? OH HELL YEAH! Because 2024 is my year and it's the first time that I got to fight against Aria Jaxon and everything she accomplished I want to test myself against her. Cause this match have main event written all over so I'm not asking you, I'm telling you Aria Jaxon to prove me that I can face a Outlaw Champion like you, prove that I can lace your boots in this ring, prove that I can create a banger of a match against you cause if I go down…I go down fighting, I'll Suplex you, targeting limbs and manipulating the joints, ground and pound, Choke you out, place a submission on your arms and legs, I'll do all of that! And once it's all set and done when the referee calls for the bell and the match is over you'll hear….”

Showing vignette of Devi Krysis holding the Outlaw Championship 

Devi Krysis: “Ladies and gentlemen, here's your winner…and the NEEWWWW OWA OUTLAW CHAMPION! “Discus” Devi Krysis! See you out there Aria and bring out the best Aria Jaxon in this ring!”

Scene fades

Olympus Promo #1

Sat in a cramped cubicle of the public restroom, Brody scrolled through Nat’s Instagram page. She’d moved on quickly. The melancholy silence was abruptly interrupted as the door flung open, followed by hurried footsteps and the unmistakable jingle of a loosened belt buckle. It was clear this person was losing in a race against time.
 
Brody, occupying the farthest stall in a row of four, was distracted from the screen by a pair of alligator skin loafers underneath the divider next to him. He could tell that this was a hefty gentleman, too. Not only by the size of the clothes but also by the unmistakable mouth breathing.
 
Then, all hell broke loose. A truly astonishing torrent of rectal bedlam, with sounds and smells hitherto believed incapable of man. Although the barrage was soon over, the dense haze of fecal fog that had enveloped the restroom would linger for hours afterward.
 
“Well, son of a gun! Not a single square of toilet paper in this cursed latrine! One might think an organization as accustomed to soiling their britches as the Atlanta Falcons might see that their supplies are rightly stocked!” Dubois exclaimed before noticing the board shorts and flip-flops in the stall next to him. “Say, would you mind doing me a kindness by handing me a sheet or two of whatever bark and gravel concoction passes for toilet paper here in this wretched state? I got a bluegrass loaf in here that could sing you a tune.”
 
Brody, now with his shirt collar pulled over his nose in a futile attempt to escape the stench, reluctantly complied. His plan was to wait it out before finishing up and heading back to the media event at the State Farm Arena. Except, the hefty gentleman was no longer in a rush.
 
“Say, I couldn’t help noticing those tidewater sandals you’ve got on those feet of yours. Only one fella I know around here wearing something like that.”
 
Brody remained silent, save for a single, squeaky fart.
 
“Not much of a conversationalist, huh? Well, I hope you fight better than your flatulate because that was downright embarrassing, boy. Maybe I should enquire as to a new partner for my protégé. I cannot and will not have you and those girlish poots ruin our chances of securing those tag team titles.”
 
“Worry about your own boy, bro.”
 
“Oh, so it does talk. Fancy that.”
 
Brody flushed the toilet and began washing his hands, leaving his phone with Nat’s Instagram still open next to the sink. Dubois soon followed, glancing out the corner of his eye at Brody’s phone as he rinsed his hands under the lukewarm water.
 
“So, tell me, what exactly is on your mind, son? See, I heard through the grapevine about a young fella rising through the ranks of this organization like a weed in a summer garden, but it would appear I’ve been hornswoggled because when I finally laid eyes on him, I was more disappointed than a Mexican with two donkeys but only one means by which to make love to them. All hat and no cattle, as they say.”
 
“I dunno, bro. Like, I know Tatsuo looks young, but I think he’s like, super old. Asians are like that, though. They look 20 until they’re like 40. Then they look 80.”
 
“You don’t have to educate me on those inscrutable oriental folk, but I was talking about you. I reckon I’ve never seen someone put so much effort into avoiding hard work, and now I see it’s a filly that’s got you all in a spin. I’ve never understood the sacrifices some soft-hearted folk will make for a woman. Always complaining about something.”
 
“I know, right? Like, we don’t complain about bleeding out our dicks every month. Why do they have to make a big deal out of it?”
 
“Time is of the essence, so I’m going to ignore what should rightly concern you and any doctor in your employ. Now, I’m nothing if not a patient man, and I know a good opportunity when I see it. So, let me tell you a little something about my master plan…”

[X] 

Some Greek bitch once said the only constant in life is strange, and fuck me, don’t I know it.
 
If I’ve got one weakness, it’s not drugs like some people seem to think. Science says they’re only a problem when you stop taking them, bro.
 
It’s not my brain, neither. See, when people think you’re retarded, they misunderestimate you because they think you’re retarded.
 
Nah, my biggest weakness is women, dude. Always has been.
 
I was 13 years old when I lost my virginity, an’ barely a day goes by I don’t think about it. The electricity as we gazed into each other’s eyes. The moment our lips first brushed together. Watching you suck my cocktails down, one after the other until our inhibitions were gone.
 
And in that stolen moment, the universe held its breath.
 
I know what you’re thinking: it’s weird to discuss a sexual encounter from when I was underage. I hear you, bro, but when you really think about it, Mr. Ridley was the one who was the pedo in all this. I mean, the adult is always the responsible party when it comes to teacher-student fuckery.
 
In his defense, I can be pretty persuasive.
 
Oh, yeah, I fuck dudes sometimes, too. This is a pretty macho business, but let’s be real: ain’t nothin’ gayer than having sex with a woman, bro. That’s why I’m supergay, because I’d do bad things for mid pussy that I’d never even consider doing for the best dick.
 
Fact is, I just do what I want, and that seems to vibe with a lot of people, and piss others off. Couldn’t tell you why; couldn’t give a fuck, honestly. I just know it seems to piss the right people off.
 
Like, Cletus… Tatsuo… Mark Michaels… Nobi… El Landerson… pretty solid dudes, yeah? For round here, at least. It’s not like we hang together or anything, but I’ll spot them for a couple sets in the gym if I’m passing through. Other people in OWA don’t seem to appreciate seeing how easily this comes to me. Or how I don’t gotta grind like they do to be as good as they are. And they are good, dude.
 
RIP is legit, bro. I’ll always give credit where it’s Jew. Can’t say I was too stoked about the iron dome, though. That was until I got head from a girl with braces, and now I get it, bro. Poet looks like the type of dude who runs a pray away the gay camp, but he’s a tough motherfucker as well. And Gunner might have PTSD because he got cornholed by his stepdad, but… fuck, I swear I had a but for him, too.
 
Ah, well.
 
What I’m trying to say is that I might not be doing what I love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love what I’m doing. The ocean will always be my home; it’s where I go head-to-head with nature, bro. But the ring is where I go hand-to-hand with mad cunts, and that can be just as much a thrill.
 
It’s easy to get yourself psyched to fight a prick like Joshy Keeton, but it’s always hard fighting someone you look up to.
 
No one really knows what happened to me after Final Destination. Honestly, I’m surprised more hasn’t been leaked to the press, but I was in a pretty dark place. I… made some bad choices, and I hurt a lot of people. By the time the Clash came around, my head was still totally fucked. I was numb.
 
Then, at one of my lowest points, I came face to face with a legend. And he offered me a blunt.
 
Burning one down with Stark was like him throwing me a life preserver. We didn’t actually talk much, but I could see in his eyes what he was trying to say. Something like, “You’re the future of this company, bro; I’m not gonna be around forever, so you gotta carry on my work after I’m gone; I love you.”
 
And you know what? It was a little much, bro, but I will finish what you started. I will. I just gotta make an apology to your partner first, though.
 
Devi, I’m sorry. Truly. I got a lot of angry messages on social media when I mistook you for a dude before the Clash. Except, I didn’t mean it as an insult. Be honest, now. That bone structure, your low, raspy voice, and your boyish physique… you’re, um… I mean, you gotta be, uh…
 
Slavic, right? I can tell, I can tell. Call it a sixth sense for beetroot slop and vodka bitches.
 
Listen, I don’t want Discus Devi… I’d rather discuss Devi. Where you going, baby girl? I see you flying all over the world, teaming up with Cloud to fight in an all-women’s promotion? That sounds like hell, girl. She’s on the rebound from Monica, and I’ve peeped that 12-inch strap-on in her locker. I’m much more manageable. I know it’s not the size of the boat; it’s how you fuck the pussy with your erect dick that matters most.
 
So just relax, girl. I can take you away from all this. I want you inside me; I just gotta win this thing real quick.
 
See, people have doubted me my entire life, bro. I’m used to it by now. They say I dream too big, as if history books aren’t full of people who had big dreams. What if somebody told Julius Caesar to put down the vinaigrette? Or told Genghis Khan that mongoloids aren’t fit to rule an empire?
 
You know who else had a dream? Martin Luther Vandross. And black people fucked with that dude’s music despite him being a gay.
 
So don’t fucking tell me that I dream too big, dude, because I also feel too much. I love too strong. I crash my dad’s Lexus into a child’s lemonade stand. Yet people never seem to mention my successes.
 
Like, I’ve beaten Poet and El Landerson, dude. Two reigning champions, and it took inbred gypsy power to stop me from winning at Game Over. Tellin’ you, bro. That dude Michaels is gonna be joining the likes of Stark, Baker, Reigner, and myself in the Hall of Fame real soon.
 
And you never know, I could be inducted a second time if Cletus turns out to be even half the highly tuned athletic machine I’m told he is.
 

I gotta feeling this is the start of something beautiful, bro.

The Italian American Dream

(The following message has been paid by Brandon Hendrix and Antoniano Famiglia. Viewer Description Advised.)

“First thing is first, I must send my apologies to the Furry Community for my previous comments, I did not recognize your game. I will leave the community out of my mouth and explain more in depth on why I need to win this match. Ever since Final Destination V, I had to wrestle with a chip on my shoulder. I walk into each arena, not knowing if in that ring, it'll be my last moment alive. In every headlock I'm placed in, I question if I drop dead and the last thing I don't tell my daughter is “I love you”. It's a painful reality that I'm fo- actually choosing to live in. I could have retired by now, but I didn't for matches like this, and opponents like you, Devastation. I have faced many of you in my nearly four years of wrestling. Where are they now? Let me explain. One guy, who was a seven time World Champion when I got to this company, his ego was massive. Overly massive, what happened to him? Packed up and gone. Same company- a former five time World Champion, another massive ego on him, and he was packed up and gone. Another five time World Champion who actually was a General Manager from time to time had a massive ego too. Packed up and gone. All because of me. And I make it my goal to pack you up and send you shipping. You call me the idiot when you are the biggest idiot of them all. You threatened my daughter, who has more value to this world than you and your pops could ever have. You threatened my six year old daughter with murder…. And I'm seeing red. I see….. you and your father's throats in my hands, watching your lives fade away… I'm watching I break your bones in every way possible…. I see my brothers in this business after our match using you as target practice. I see you gone.

And you're never coming back.

(The scene changes to a replay of Clash Of The Titans. Brandon and Allesandro fighting it out before finally, Brandon spikes Allesandro on his skull on the edge of the ring to eliminate him.)

“How this all started. Your ego bruised that I am why you didn't win. Heh…. I really wonder what happens when you lose this title. No Kevin, no Jaywalker, no third owner can overturn the stipulation this time. No other clan members to save you. You're going to be counting stars and hearing the ref count “one two three” two times and end your entire existence with the sound of the bell. Everyone knows you're nervous. How you handle yourself with everything you said to me, you clearly as day showed doubt. You don't even believe in yourself. You're going to show up and try to have everyone believe that you are confident in yourself, but you are slipping on thin ice that we call your belief. I drained every ounce of belief you have in your system. Something Matsuda could never do. The big bad wolf just knocked down the Devastation Empire. And I did it all without breaking a sweat. I've been long overdue of a supposed World Championship win, and now I'm just days away. Days away from winning my first World Championship, and that's not even what excites me. It's beating the dog shit out of you. It's humbling you beyond the point of return. Shoutout to Aria Jaxon because I'm making my Championship comeback at your expense.

The God Of War Is Going For His Throne.”

(The next scene starts after Allesandro Devastation responds to Hendrix. Hendrix watched the entire vignette be about his daughter and at the end say “I really hope your daughter burns in hell.”. And the fire in Brandon was lit, it's go time.)

“Hey dog, you want to talk about my daughter but let's talk about yours. Oh wait you ain't got one because no woman in the world would want to lay beneath your saggy ass man titties hitting them in the face with each motion. Jason Long brought my daughter into this personally. And it was for a championship too. I ripped him apart. Spear after Spear after Spear, after kick after kick… after PUNCH TO HIS FUCKING FACE AFTER FUCKING PUNCH I TORE THAT MAN LIMB FOR LIMB AND FUCKING WON AND HAD MY DAUGHTER STAND OVER HIS CORPSE AND HOLD UP THE CHAMPIONSHIP!!!! IF I BEAT JASON LONG WHO IS LIGHT YEARS BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY ASPECT OF THIS GAME, THEN I'M GOING TO KILL YOU QUICK! But I want to kill you slowly. My parents knew they would get mocked in life or death and are fine with that. But my daughter… signed and sealed your death warrant. Here's what I'm going to do to you in order. I'm going to lift this size thirteen boot and I'm going to stomp on your face… over and over and over again until like the movies, it squashes beneath my foot. Then I'm going to go to your arms and I'm going to pull as hard as I can, watching your arms dislocate from your shoulder blades, tearing at the skin before they are ripped off your body. I'll drop them then move to your legs, and I'll do the same to them. I'll then go to your chest, and like how you said you want to… nah I'm going to use my hands to rip open your chest, breaking through your ribcage and pulling out every organ in my way till I get to your heart. I'll then take your heart and bring it home. I'll jam a nail right through your lifeless heart and stick it on my wall next to my new Championship. Like did you think this was smart? Did your dumbass forget we're in a first to two falls match? I would gladly loss a fall stabbing you in the throat then pinning your dead carcass to win that title……

That's it…

To truly get revenge….is to beat you. That's all I need to do is to beat you one two three. Why am I saying this after everything you've said? Because “Clarence”, you ain't about this life and I truly mean it. All you are is racist remarks and nasty body odor. Yeah Klans member Devastation, I said racist remarks. That's all you're good for in wrestling. Take a seat for a second and truly think how stupid you seem right now. You thought you got me. You truly thought you got me all fully pissed off and such and that you were going to get me to overreact. Nah, my little girl is braver than you- and apparently got more balls since she can handle being told some racist pedophile wants to see her in Hell better than the said racist pedophile of me wanting to kill his father. Fucking….

Tragic.

It truly is. You're in your thirties and my daughter is better mature than you. You see, I did everything to get inside your head and it worked. I'm living rent free right in front of your brain and you let me because you have never been ruthlessly attacked like this before. I told you, I'm on a whole different level that is miles ahead of yours. With this microphone, I control fate. I can make you cry, I can make you smile, I can make you laugh, I can make you cringe, I can do it all. You? You put us to sleep. You make fans suicidal. You make women run. You're just the running shits of what we do. In a short time, I've been a bigger and better wrestler and entertainer than you ever could.

Don't believe me? Ask everyone that isn't under your payroll or unfortunately related to you. You won't because the answer angers you. You don't want people to admit that no world Championship having Brandon Hendrix is far better than you ever could be, right? I mean gosh, that just ruins your sayings about me! An idiot doesn't do that! A moron doesn't do that? A fake Don doesn't do that! So you've been… lying???? Gasp! No way! It surely is not possible! Say it ain't so! Yeah bite me. This “loser” as you call me is going to win your belt because I'm that damn good. I survived everything bad because I'm that damn good. I survived all those egomaniacs because I'm that damn good. I survived a racist chairman that only wanted pure white in their title history because I'm that damn good. I survived you in Clash Of The Titans because I'm that damn good. I survived your pathetic ass vignettes because I'm that damn good. I'll survive every move you do because I'm that damn good. I will kick out of all your moves because I'm that damn good. It may seem like I'm egotistical, but after years of being told to, I'm expressing just how good I am. Nobody tells you to A.D because nobody except you and your disabled father thinks you are. Hell, I knew you were shit in T.C.C but couldn't say anything at the time. Hell, I said everything big to you already, this is just reminding everyone that you suck and that Brandon Hendrix is the new OWA Italian American Dream Champion.

Oh, and you dare to mention my daughter ill again, I got a billion in cash that I'll get you back in her name. Haha.”

(The ending comes as the scene becomes of a house show for OWA that has one of the challengers in Brandon Hendrix getting ready for the match when his locker room door is opened up. He looks over and sees his daughter has ran up jumped into his arms. It's game time. He holds her close before letting go.)

"Hey daddy. Do me a favor."

"Of course princess."

".... kick A.Ds."

(Hendrix smirks as he nods and they hug again as the segment end.)

Dawn patrol had become a daily ritual for Brody ever since moving into his new apartment on Black’s Beach. For this, he would be eternally grateful to OWA. Every morning, he’d rise from the warmth of his bed, eyes still heavy with sleep, as the sound of the waves beckoned to him like a siren song. The world just made sense whenever he could feel the board beneath his feet and the cool kiss of saltwater spray on his face.
 
Only the most experienced surfers braved the breaks beneath the bluffs of Torrey Pines, and the low light of dawn deterred most others who would dare to venture into the chop. Anonymity was something that he’d come to covet greatly now that he was a familiar face. Nothing humbled him more than the might of the ocean.
 
Waxing his board afterward was just as much a part of the routine as the surf itself. His hands glided smoothly with practiced precision while the familiar scent of coconut filled the air. Feeling grounded, he was ready to hit the gym, where he was training with a conditioning coach that Wyatt had selected. However, as he approached the entrance of the exclusive gym his father had purchased, he was confused by the person waiting outside.
 
“Uhh, Lashontae?”
 
“That’s me. And you’re Brody, right? One of the hottest young stars in OWA.”
 
“Uhh, yeah, that’s right.”
 
“Awesome! So, you ready for the hardest workout of your life?”
 
“I guess so…”
 
“Really? Doesn’t sound like it. Is everything ok?”
 
“Yeah, I just… I kinda expected you to be a chick?”
 
“No, I’ve always been a man.”
 
“Seriously?”
 
“You wanna see my dick or something?”
 
“What? No – well… no. It’s just… Lashontae?”
 
“No, not Lashontae. LaShaun Tate.”
 
“Ohhhhh, I see now,” Brody seemed satisfied for a brief moment. “Wait, no, that’s still weird, bro.”
 
“How so?”
 
“Dude… you’re white.”
 
“...and?”
 
“This can't be the first time you’ve heard this, bro. Are you at least, like, albino or something?”
 
“Nope, I’m of German-Hungarian heritage.”
 
“…………’k.”
 
“Ok, so… we good to go, now?” 
 
 
Brody's chest heaved as he stumbled into the locker room, sweat dripping from his forehead like a leaky faucet. His weary eyes scanned the room, searching desperately for the sink out of fear that he was about to lose his lunch. With each step, his tired muscles protested the brutal workout he had just endured. Months spent coasting were now catching up to him. Perhaps he wasn’t as fit as he imagined.
 
As he peeled off his shirt, drops of sweat poured like rain, pooling on the tiled floor beneath him. The mirror above the sink, slightly cloudy when condensation, reflected a face flushed beet red. He looked himself in the eye, slowly but surely beginning to regain some semblance of respiratory rhythm. Steam from the shower wafted through the room, covering him like a warm blanket.
 
Wyatt talked with LaShaun for around an hour as he waited for Brody to get cleaned up. Once ready, the pair left for the airport, bound for Dallas. After an ice bath and a hot shower, Brody seemed much steadier on his feet. However, once they stepped outside, he was sent crashing to the floor by a haymaker seemingly out of nowhere.
 
“¡HIJO DE PUTA! ¡TE VOY A MATAR!”
 
Wyatt heard a thunderous thud but had no idea what had happened until he turned around to see a petite woman, around mid-20s, on top of Brody, pummeling him senseless. He thought it was a joke at first, looking around expecting to see a cameraman tucked away somewhere. It was LaShaun who finally pulled the woman off Brody, who was by this time bleeding quite profusely from his right eye.
 
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell is going on here?!”
 
“This motherfucker sent a naked picture of me to my kid as a Christmas present! I’m gonna fucking kill him!”
 
Wyatt was speechless. “Is what this young woman says true, Brody?”
 
“Dude, my eye hole!”
 
“Brody… is it true?”
 
“Fuck! I’m gonna need stitches, bro!”
 
“Brody!”
 
“Yes, fuck! But that little shit started it, though! He said I sucked at surfing. I bet that little prick couldn’t even stand up on a board. Fuckin’ nerd.”
 
The woman, who had since stopped writhing, broke free from LaShaun’s grasp and planted another blow squarely on Brody’s nose, sending blood spraying in the air.
 
“Hey, hey, hey! Stop, ok! Just stop!”
 
Brody leaned his head forward, cupping his hands in front of his face. They were completely crimson in a matter of seconds. All he could taste was iron as blood streamed from his nose into his mouth.
 
“LaShaun, get him in the car. And get him cleaned up, for Christ’s sake. We can’t go through TSA with him looking like that. I’ll take care of this.”
 
Wyatt let out an exasperated sigh as LaShaun opened the door of the car and guided Brody, now with his head tilted back, into the back seat. He took a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his blazer and offered it to the woman.
 
“Your knuckles… they’re covered in blood.”
 
Breathlessly, she stared at Wyatt for a few moments before grabbing the immaculate white cloth to wipe her hands. Brody, who was peering through his one good eye, watched as his father spoke to her calmly for a minute or two. After that, Wyatt handed her what appeared to be a business card and got in the front seat of the car.
 
The journey to the airport was silent.
 
 
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Cori Simmons, and welcome to the OWA Network. With Game Over: Choose Your Fighter fast approaching, many fans are speculating who exactly is going to walk away with the briefcase in the Ascension to the Heavens Ladder Match - one of the most anticipated bouts on the card. The winner will earn themselves a shot at the title of their choosing on the Olympus brand, and one of the six competitors joins me here today.
 
"Brody, who arrives in Dallas fresh off the back of an exhilarating battle with Tatsuo Sakaguchi on the last edition of Olympus, has many convinced that he will be the one to follow in the footsteps of Chad Ecclestone, who currently holds the key to any title of his choosing after his win at Final Destination.”
 
“Wait, how come that fucker got a key, and we gotta fight over a briefcase? Talk about preferential treatment. What, just because he’s a Z-list celebrity, I gotta carry around a briefcase like a fuckin' dickhead?"
 
“It’s just an expression, Brody. Don't worry, he has a briefcase, too. Haven’t you been watching?”
 
“No.”
 
“Ok, well, that’s one way to show loyalty to the company, I guess. Anyway, Brody, welcome to Dallas. From the looks of it, you’ve been training pretty hard for this match. I see you have a few cuts and bruises on your face that I don’t remember you having after your tilt at the Icarus title. Care to explain?”
 
“Oh, you know, just part of the business. You should see the other guy.”
 
“You came out on top, then?”
 
“Heh, yeah, you could say that.”
 
“Well, I know you well enough now not to dig further into what you mean by that.”
 
“Jizz.”
 
“Yep. So, have you seen anything from your opponents in the build-up to the match?”
 
“I have, Cori. Now, I’m no Siegfried Roy, and I don’t gotta fancy degree from the University of Fife, but I do know that when someone says, ‘I’m NoT aNgRy, I’m JuSt DiSsApPoInTeD’, that motherfucker is fuckin’ seething, bro. Like, maybe the maddest that they’ve ever been in their entire fuckin’ life. Bro’s fuckin’ gaslamped himself into believing he’s not a fatty.
 
“Bro, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this for you because you’d probably eat it, but you’re fat, dude. It’s okay, bro. We can fix this. Unfortunately, you’re at that stage where no one can really tell what gender you are, and that’s pretty hard to come back from. But if you switch from Coors Lite to Crack Pipe, we’ll at least get you in decent shape enough that you won’t embarrass yourself, bro.”
 
“I don’t know, Brody. He won his first match back.”
 
“Word? Who’d he beat?”
 
“Do you honestly not do any research? He beat Rafael Barrera.”
 
“That guy’s still around? I mean, not really anything to brag about, is it? Like, I beat El Landerson once. There, I’ve gone one better. I also lasted, like, an hour longer than him in the Clash. I had to watch his promo a couple times because I kept falling asleep, but I swear bro tried to lecture me about low-hanging fruit. Seriously, bro? Maybe if you picked up a piece of this low-hanging fruit once in your fuckin’ life, you wouldn’t look like a butch lesbian. You got any idea how close I came to hitting on you at Final Destination?”
 
“I must say, it’s refreshing to see you like this again. You’ve been, I don’t know, a little mopey since your heartbreaking def—"
 
“Don’t say it, Simmons. Don’t you fucking say it.”
 
“Still a touchy subject, huh?”
 
“Yeah, so anyway, I also saw Gunner the Violence Man talking shit, too. Bro seemed a little ticked that I called him a psycho. Dude, here’s a tip for ya: record what you wanna say, and then watch it back before you release it. If you can’t see that that’s some of the most psycho shit you’ve ever heard, then maybe seek professional help? Like, I know what they say about making assumptions: they make you a fucking cockhead. But I gotta assume that you’re just unaware of how you’re coming across, bro. I mean, you say you’re concentrating on surviving? Well, I’m concentrating on thriving. That’s how we’re different, bro. And just because I was raised in a stable home with parents who loved and provided for me doesn’t mean I haven’t gone through shit. I got shouted at for leaving my towel on the bathroom floor on more than one occasion, bro. I listened to Linkin Park as a troubled teenager, too. And yeah, we had a cleaner come four times a week, but who do you think took care of the house those other three days? That’s right: my mom, because, once again, she loves me.”
 
“Would it be fair to say that you consider Gunner to be your biggest threat in this match?”
 
“Fuck no, but I’m not gonna say shit about El Landerson. Dude's genuinely terrifying, and I'm not risking him coming after me, bro. But if you’re asking me who my focus is gonna be on once the bell rings? Well, that’s gotta be Mark Michaels. Seriously, dude’s done it all in this company. Well, not quite all, eh? But nah, nah, nah, nah, he’s legit, bro. I’ve learned a lot by watching him; not just in the ring, but backstage, too. That’s not to say he doesn’t have weaknesses, though.”
 
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
 
“Hmm?”
 
“You said he has weaknesses. Care to share what you think they might be?”
 
“Fucked if I know, Cori. But, like, nobody’s perfect, right? He seems to be pretty friendly with Hendrix despite everything they’ve put each other through. I hear they’re even tag-teaming in this Sword & Shield tournament after Game Over. I dunno about that, bro. I personally wouldn’t trust that fucker as far as I could throw him.”
 
“So, last but not least, we arrive at Marce Rambeaux. One half of the Interracial Twin Towers. Any words for him?”
 
“As a matter of fact, I do. You see, they drew first blood, not me.”
 
“What?”
 
“This is gonna be a war, Cori. To survive a war, you gotta become war.”
 
“Are you seriously doing this again?”
 
“Doing what, Cori?”
 
“Quoting random things just so you have something to say.”
 
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You see, I’m no tourist, Cori. Don’t push it, or I’ll give you a war you won’t believe.”
 
“Ok, you’ve clearly run out of things to say and are just quoting Rambo, so I’m gonna end this here. Good luck in Dallas, Brody. Back to you in the studio.”
 
"Rosebud!"

You misread my intentions, Nobi. 

I didn’t bring up such a minor incident to demand cookies from you. The only reason I brought it up was to further illustrate my point: I don’t hate you. Not too long ago, I was on the side of World’s Finest when the biggest threat on Olympus was the Tres Comas Club...but in that small window of time, things are different. My words aren’t violent and harsh because of any hostility I feel towards you two. They’re a wake-up call. It’s fun to play the role of the blindsided but the fractures that formed between the World’s Finest didn’t come up from nothing. I feel I shouldn’t have to spell it out to either of you but maybe I was wrong. However, spelling it out with words is useless—Carlos Rosso tried to do that with you three and it only made things worse. The only way I can spell things out in a way that makes sense for all involved is through fighting...which is fine. Combat is my favorite way to have a conversation. 

You’re right. I’m not a target to you two or rather, originally, this conflict was between three people: Nobi, Cloud, and Ryo. My name is nowhere in that listing...but I decided to help Ryo because I knew that if he kept fighting both of you on his own, his hatred uncontrollable and wildly burning—he would fall onto a path that he would never recover from. I don’t need to use Ryo as some type of stepping stone for a “breakthrough” by beating established names; before I got into wrestling, I was able to win gold in karate tournaments. If my goal was merely to establish my name with a breakthrough victory, I can do it on my own without taking advantage of Ryo. I’m called one of Olympus’s Golden Generation for a reason: I don’t fucking need luck to achieve my goals. I don’t need to be like others in the roster and use Ryo like a punching bag for my own advancement. I interfered in this three-way drama because it is my business and because I'm determined to beat you two in the Sword and Shield tournament. That's it. 

Which is why I think you’re deliberately missing my points...and if missing my points isn’t good enough to live in your delusion or manipulate me into losing my clarity, then misconstructing will do just fine. I don’t think that Ryo lost his matches against you and Cloud because of his hatred—he lost them because of the folly created by it. Even a talented person can lose sight of what matters if their vision is clouded. His hatred isn’t the issue, it's the uncontrollability of it. You’re able to gloat about his loss against you in the Thunderdome at Final Destination...but if Ryo decided to channel the energy behind his hatred into something more productive than wild self-destruction, would you be able to still hold the same confidence? 

I think you would sing a different tune than gloating to me.  

In the years that you and Matsuda-san have known each other, neither of you have bothered to truly know the other. In fact, I don't think you don’t even know the truth about yourselves. Matsuda-san’s messiah complex, your ignorance...these flaws of yourself you choose to willingly ignore or put on a brave face without ever fixing. It’s so human of you to do such a thing but it’ll be your downfall. All things are prone to collapse. The mind is no exception. There are cracks in both of your cadence and eventually, it will result in your collapse. No amount of denial or fiercely rebuking with claims of that's just how you are will absolve you of it.  

In your eyes, our short time as a tag team is a disadvantage but I believe it is the perfect blessing. Why should we wait until we’re years in our friendship to work out the manners of our tag team? There’s a saying in martial arts: Stopping the start. Do not allow the enemy’s head to rise. 

There’s time for us to add years to our friendship. There’s time to our length as a tag team. However, adding length means nothing if our foundation is not strong. That’s why the World’s Finest stands here before us fractured. That’s why the Tres Comas Club is nothing more but a wounded animal on death’s door. You may know Ryo’s weaknesses as a single competitor but that means shit in a tag team match where the strength is the sum of both members of the team. The best thing about the Tres Comas Club is that in all of the engagements we had, it was never a traditional wrestling match. There’s no stopping me or him from holding back...but I think you both would like that. 

Matsuda-san wants to die on her sword. Nobi will try and stand tall even if his life is gone. Fine then. Try your hardest. Push us to your limit! For your efforts, we’ll give you a taste of capitulation! There might not be five matches to our name as a tag team but that doesn’t matter. We’ll still beat you anyway. We’ll still advance in this tournament regardless. There’s nothing better than a wild card entry after all. The only bad decision that’s being made in this match is not realizing how you’ve already set up your own loss.

You said it yourself, Nobi: We’re wrestlers. You two wanted to win your matches so understand this when I say again your biggest offense was getting in my way—getting in our way. This is the match that I will use to help Ryo ascend. Strip away the conflict you three are having and a match between two teams in a tournament. So yes, you are getting in my way. There’s not a spotlight involved in this. This is just how conflict works: People getting in others’ way. 

You two had your chance to save Ryo and it clearly isn’t working. He isn’t listening to you two so I’m stepping in and handling it myself. I get it—what can I provide to Ryo that’s different from you two? It seems impossible to answer...but I know what I can do. As phantasmal as you believe it is, I can save Ryo’s soul. I am his catalyst. You’re right, Matsuda-san. It is unbecoming of my title to allow the darkness of his soul to devour him completely. To let him fall into pieces. So I won’t. Darkness is the antithesis of light. 


Praise to the Jewel in the Lotus...for I will save Ryo’s soul. I will take the darkness in his light and turn it into something far more terrifying and divine: Ambition. However, Ryo’s soul will not advance in spiritual progress until the source of his ailments are removed which means, even if I do not hate you, we will defeat you for the sake of Ryo’s soul. For the glory of victory. You might consider my journey fruitless, for it is one that you two have tried. I disagree. 

If Ryo’s soul is truly entangled by dark spirits...then you two no longer have any reason to interfere. This is the Ryo you created and you will receive the consequences of transgressions at Game Over. It is no longer the job of the World’s Finest to save him but my job as an enlightened being. No matter what it takes. My radiant light is no falsehood and I'll prove it so. 

So get out of our way...or suffer the consequences of not doing so.

It was quiet when Stephanie walked into her penthouse home. Monica already informed her that he left several days ago with her things. She even thanked her wife for giving her time to compose herself and take what she needed while Cloud stayed across town. Unproblematic would be the goal for the soon-to-be former couple as they sort out this separation and eventual divorce. It wouldn’t be easy for them; Stephanie couldn’t sleep the first night after they had their conversation. Even Sam’s affection wasn’t enough. Whenever Devi was around, she did her best to cheer up her “queen” but they could still see the sadness in her eyes. There were other forces at play, but Cloud would rather leave them out of it. That was MGP business, and right now her mind was on OWA drama. Specifically, Ryo Sakazaki and Tatsuo Sakaguchi. It was last minute, but it was announced that their tag match would be a part of the Sword and Shield Tag Team Tournament. While the prospect of glory was alluring to Matsuda, her mind was on saving Ryo’s soul…

If there was a soul left to save.

The dull shadows that fell over the lifeless household contrasted with its luxurious contents. While Matsuda preferred to live simply, Monica enjoyed the finer things in life. She decorated this home, which was once their home. Now it was just a shell of its former self. No matter how many other women she would take home to that bedroom, there would always be a piece of Monica Vaughan. Cloud thought about selling, but there was an attachment she felt towards this place, as well as the building. She loved Minato City, so she’d rather deal with the cold reminder that she fucked this all up.

Not Tres Comas.

Not Allesandro Devastation.

Not Monica.

Just Cloud and her goddamn selfishness. And even in repentance, she finds the comfort of others like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Cloud should be suffering, but she felt more free and loved than she had in years. Not to say that Monica didn’t love her and vice versa, but sometimes it felt like they were putting on aires. It was as if Monica and Cloud needed to stay together for the memory of Brody. God, she loved Mon so much. But, they did rush into marriage. Mon sacrificed too much already for Cloud’s career to flourish, years she wouldn’t get back. She deserved more, and Cloud hoped she would get it. 

Stephanie cried too much already for any more tears to fall from her eyes. She came this far in her career, and her life to give in to despair. She now had the freedom to decide how her story ended and who she ended with. For the first time, she acknowledged that her insatiable hunger wasn’t just for titles and glory. It was for intimacy as well, and if she had to be frank one person wasn’t enough for her to dedicate her life to. That’s…just how she was wired. Maybe when she was with Eddie things could’ve been different, but about the time she met Monica, she was a much different woman than she was during her indie days. 

Just like how Ryo was a different man than when he first walked into her dojo.

Yeah, Stephanie got it. Ryo was on his own journey, one that had nothing to do with her. This was something she should respect and acknowledge for what it was. But, she knew where that ending would be: lost in a sea of darkness. She was once there, she knew what it was like to be consumed by one’s hate. She was a slave to her rage, something that allowed the man they called Eclipse to collar her with ease. Eventually, she was no longer a wrestler, just a hired hand used to beat people up to predict his wife Alexis. They took advantage of Cloud’s hate and stole what made her special for their own benefit. Cloud knew she couldn’t let this get the best of her like it did back then. 

Sighing to herself, she made her way into her office… 

-----

“I made so many mistakes…did terrible things…”

The scene opens up to Cloud sitting in the darkness of her home office with her feet on the desk next to a half glass of whiskey. The Sky Queen seemed deep in thought as if remembering things she buried deep within her. These were secrets that she wouldn’t dare utter out loud, some of these were already known to the world, such as what she did to Eddie King for revenge. Her actions may be what led to King becoming who we now know him as…Edward Softly, aka Abholos. 

“Ryo, I know about the bomb ticking inside you, and I can save your life.”

Cloud takes her feet off the table and leans forward, her eyes fixated on the camera.

“I know you got a thousand and one reasons to hate me. And to be honest? Hate isn’t as black and white as people make it out to be. The deepest of blacks is usually mixed with the most insecure of blues; a profound sadness that weakens the heart, thus allowing intrusive thoughts to linger and fester. Then before you know it, people get hurt, bodies drop, and before you realize it, you don’t recognize yourself any longer. The situation’s changed, Ryo. I’m not trying to save you for your benefit or my own. I’m doing it to protect the world from you. I don’t want to watch anyone get pulled into your madness, sweets. That includes the men and women who enter that squared circle every night. Maybe you think this rage is what makes you feel free, but the illusion of freedom draws in the desperate.”

Cloud sighs, shaking her head.

“Tatsuo, you’re walking beside a man who you drag you to the depths of hell with him. That whole ‘I can change him shit!?’ Been there, and done that with plenty of people in my life. Shit, I’m pretty sure that’s what my wife thought about me when we reached our first hurdle. I’m not perfect, not in the least. I made peace with my darkness, which is why I say I can save Ryo. He hasn’t made peace with his because he lets his emotions control him, not the other way around. Sakaguchi-san, your nickname is “The Honored One”, yes?  Then where is the honor in letting Ryo fall to pieces? Where is the honor is letting him consume himself from the inside out!? Where is the honor in believing in this phantom liberty, this falsehood that you’re in control of this!? Heh, nah. There are deeper things at work and I wouldn’t be surprised if dark spirits are already attracted to Ryo’s black heart. How I know he’s slowly going insane is that he suggested that I was trying to manipulate the hearts of Serenity and Jacob!? They’re my family Ryo, as are you! Anyone who trained under me, fought beside me, share my blood, shared my bedroom, whatever it may be! If you carry a piece of me in some way, you are my family!

Queens of Wrestling? My family.

Frontline? Fucking family.

Anyone who fought under the banner of the World’s Finest? Family.

Trained in the War Room Dojo!? Family.

Anyone I ever loved and loved me back? Family.
‘
Yes, that includes my soon-to-be ex-wife. She will always be family to me.”

“In a way, this includes you too, Tatsuo. You were there, you fought with us. That goodwill doesn’t simply die out in my opinion. I just think Ryo lost his head because when we went up against Tres Comas who were seasoned players. Jaywalker - a man nearly as accomplished as Jacob Senn and Carlos Rosso. I can’t imagine anyone else being as legendary as those three. Then you have Kevin Devastation, one of the richest men in this business with his son as devious as they come. Then you have the Third Owner, still a mystery in many ways. We took the fight to them and WON. They gained some power back, but it’s not the same as before and everyone knows it. We BROKE them Ryo and Tatsuo! You were a part of that, a part of fucking history! But, you would rather call me delusional and claim I have a messiah complex…”

Cloud nods a few times.

“And you know what? You’re fucking right. Here’s the thing about me: if you approach some of my biggest rivals such as April Song, Renee Jonae, Aria Jaxon, and Tyler Wolfe, they’d all say the same thing: I know who the fuck I am. Even if it’s a contradiction, I own up to that shit. I’m not here to look up everything you said and did and compare it to what I did so I can come out on top. Nobi isn’t that kind of person either. We’re two people who believe strongly in our convictions. Yes, I love glory, but only as an outcome of victory. It’s the fight I crave and at the end of the day even if it's villains like Tres Comas, I don’t let hate get the best of me.”

Cloud sighs as she takes a sip of whiskey.

“Clocks ticking, sweets. Are you going to give in to the hate? If so, then take some iron, put it to your skull, and blow your fucking brains out. Or, go the seppuku route, because a heart of darkness is going down a road you may not be able to escape from. And if I can’t save you Ryo and you start to hurt the people I care about…”

Cloud stands up, her eyes serious.

“I’ll put you down myself. Yes, I’m comfortable enough making that kind of threat against someone I called family a few minutes ago. It takes family to know family, and Ryo, you are just walking down a path I’ve already paved with my sins. You’re developing some of your own and who knows, it could lead to an audience with the devil himself. Then again, maybe I’m the one overthinking. But…I can feel it, Ryo. Maybe Tatsuo can’t. But I know that my brother-in-arms Nobi understands what I’m talking about. You’re changing by the moment, sweets. Maybe there’s a way to reverse the trajectory. Then again, maybe this is your baseline. Maybe this is who you are, I don’t know. But what I do know is that I want to walk away from this career with no doubt in my mind,.,that you’re destined for bigger things. Know it, understand it, believe it.

God damn these two whites got me working like a slave

“Uh, Auntie Aria…are you sure about this?”

The scene opens inside Aria Jaxon’s palatial Downtown Dallas hotel suite – one that she’d been sharing with her husband and daughter right up until about an hour ago. Aren had bundled Arianna up and taken her out for some daddy-daughter time, which Aria had been all too insistent on. As much as she would’ve loved to join them, this trip to Dallas right after Christmas was not for pleasure, it was for business. She had all the time in the world to make memories with them. The afterglow of a perfect Christmas spent with her family had sufficiently warmed her heart – and the promise of what was to come had been enough to chill it.
 
Aria pursed her glossed lips as she rose to her feet and appraised Tyler Kulina, splayed out in the middle of the suite’s plush carpeted makeshift family room like a starfish. Six candles were arranged around the New Yorker in a circle, roughly resembling the shape of a pentagram. The Outlaw Champion placed her hands on her hips before looking around. “You’re right,” she sighed. “It’s the middle of the day and it's cloudy. Even with no sun out, it’ll still be too light for the candles to have any real effect.”

Tyler shook his head. “That’s not what I meant!” he sputtered. “I meant are you sure about all of this? Also, are you sure about…ya know…using me as a guinea pig?”

Aria scoffed. “What, you expect me to test this shit on myself? Completely impractical.”

Tyler wrinkled his nose. “Weren’t you the one saying this isn’t really what we do? That the spooky shit isn’t our thing, and you were just dipping your toe in the water to show Banshee she was fucking with the wrong person?”

“I haven’t lost sight of that,” Aria insisted. “I’m still as much of an amateur at this shit as I was when I broke Banshee’s nose into about fifty pieces. I just picked my spots right, and I knew what I had to do to throw her off-kilter…but now she’s brought Arianna into this shit, so—”

Tyler’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Are you scared?!”

“NO!” Aria dropped down onto one knee on the carpeted floor beside Tyler’s head with a muted thump. The suddenness of it was enough to make Ty jump. “I’m pissed. How dare she wave that shit over my fucking head! The apparition occupying the body of that never-was Morrighan McDonnell has nothing and nobody in this world or any other. Not here, not in hell, not in any other dimension she’s walked in. She throws her whole being into wrestling because she’s waiting for it to give her some…value. But me?” Aria smirked and rose back to her feet. “Believe it or not, Ty, I enjoy what I do. I always have, even when it hasn’t loved me back. But, wrestling has always been a circus business, so it’s bound to attract more than a few clowns. I just don’t think any clowns have drawn my attention or my ire the way that this bitch has.”

Ty dragged himself up to a seated position on the floor. “I think she just likes hurting people. That’s why she picked Morrighan’s body, that’s why she came after you, and that’s why she’s looking forward to this match…she wants to see blood.”

Aria cracked her neck to either side. “I can’t guarantee she won’t get more of it. She already killed us both seven hundred times, and she’s very proud of herself for that, but that’s part of the game when you are the prize, dear Ty. Think about it – how many of these lames hang their hat on the idea that they can humble you, me, or anyone else in The Tribunal?”

“Too many,” Ty responded, almost as if on cue.
 
“Exactly!” Aria replied. “And lemme tell you, that never changes. You’ll see. The longer you’re in this game, the better you get, the more you’ve got to lose…the more opponents will start seeing you less as an adversary and more as a point to be made.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Banshee knows what it’s like to spill my blood – but she doesn’t know what it’s like to keep me down. Throwing me into a woodchipper is the biggest event of her career so far. More than any important match, more than any world championship, and certainly more than any nonexistent career high that Morrighan ever clung to. She doesn’t know what it’s like to stand over me knowing that she was the better wrestler. She doesn’t know what it’s like to take a championship from me – and deep down, whether in her beating black heart or in whatever vestiges of Morrighan remain, she knows she can’t beat me if left to her own devices!”

Aria didn’t realize it, but by now she’d started to pace back and forth around the living room. Tyler took this opportunity to bring himself back up to his feet, brushing little flecks of carpet fuzz from his hoodie as he did so. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his track pants. “Well yeah, you’re the best. I know that. You know that. She knows that…so why all of this?” He gestured vaguely to the unlit candles that were still ready and waiting.
 
Aria stopped pacing. “She showed me that she could touch Arianna. I had to figure out how to put her back on notice.”

“She’s already on notice,” said Tyler. “You said it yourself – you pulled up on her where she was most comfortable and made her your bitch! She’s scrambling now. You put her on skates. She had to do something so that she didn’t feel like a victim anymore, but we all know who’s calling the shots. She’s only trying to get in your head. Don’t let her.”

Aria turned around to face Tyler at last. “She may already be in there, but you know what?” A small smile tugged at the corners of Aria’s mouth. “If that’s where she thinks she wants to be until Game Over, then fine. Stay in my head, and I’ll start charging the bitch rent. Sit in there, keep talking stupid, keep bringing my kid into it, and keep giving me every reason in the world to make her choke on her words – and her own blood. Being pissed off is the best motivator in the world, Tyler, you know that better than most. The anger over being deprived of your father’s love and acknowledgment flipped a switch within you and has propelled you toward great things. Where do you think my anger will take me?”

Tyler smirked. “Right over Banshee’s dead body.”

“You’re goddamn right!”

The black expanse of the dreamscape stretched out for eternity in all directions. It was hard to tell where the darkened horizon ended and the shiny black expanse of the marble “floor” began. The silence that had settled in was deafening. It was the kind of eerie quiet that put you on edge and made you suspicious. The lingering feeling that something was about to happen could do a lot to make you paranoid.
 
Aria clutched the Outlaw Championship possessively and spun around to appraise her surroundings...or lack thereof. The never-ending black expanse had been a backdrop to every weird and dreamy epiphany she’d had since she’d come back to OWA in the spring. When the initial insecurity had set in upon her losing return, she’d come here. When she joined Jason to lay the foundation for The Tribunal, she’d come here to confirm with her ruthless past Phantom Troupe self that she’d done the right thing. So naturally, she wondered now who she’d come here to meet this time. Which gnawing voice in the back of her brain wanted to have a sit-down now?

“Boo!”

The female voice emanated from behind Aria and startled her, causing her to turn around and face whoever it was. All the color drained from her face when she appraised who stood before her – clad in red and black ring gear, blue eyes glistening with mischief, long blonde hair with dip-dyed red ends spilling over the petite woman’s delicate shoulders. Aria felt her eyes grow to the size of saucers and she reached out a shaky hand.
 
“…Meagan?”

The familiar venom-tinged laugh of who Aria remembered to be Meagan Vaughan – Brody Sparks – was a welcome but unexpected sound to her ears. Shiny black nails gleamed as the woman before Aria curled her hand into a fist.
 
“No…not quite, anyway,” the blonde apparition replied. “She knew if she came as you remembered her, you wouldn’t get the message. If Brody Sparks showed up, you’d remember her as one of your favorite opponents.” The vision began to circle Aria now, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. “If Meagan Vaughan showed up, all you’d do is get misty-eyed and start talking about how much you miss her. My words, not hers.” She punctuated the statement with a lurid chuckle. “Your beloved friend is resting comfortably in the Great Beyond, rest assured, but she can see everything that you do. And while she more than earned her place in Heaven, she knows that everyone’s got a past. While Meagan in her current state would never exit through the pearly gates to deliver this message, a ghost of her past certainly would. She sent Vendetta Vaughan as the messenger.”

Now, it was Aria’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, figures. That little bitch put me through my paces.”

Vendetta conjured up an 8x10 photograph out of nowhere. Aria recognized where it was from instantly – an armory in Lancaster from the summer of 2013, a victorious and battered Vendetta Vaughan standing over a fallen and bloodied AJ Marie after a particularly taxing So Cal Pro match. One day, those two would go on to become Brody Sparks and Aria Jaxon. One day, they’d make history and lay the groundwork for an entire generation of women’s wrestling, but at that time…they were competing for a coveted spot as the poster girl of Southern California’s preeminent indy promotion, and as such, shit could get nasty.
 
Aria stiffened up a bit. “She made me dig down deep in a way I’d never had. Nobody else had ever been on my level and been able to challenge me, she—”

“Made you reassess what your comfort zone was,” Vendetta interrupted. “We must check and recheck our boundaries and upper limits from time to time, don’t we? You were comfy in your spot as the poster girl of So Cal Pro, and I made you think long and hard about what you’d have to do to stay there.”

Aria bristled. “Yeah, you did. I never pretended otherwise.”

“See, unlike me, The Banshee is no real match for you, is she?” Vendetta cooed. “I know that. You know that. She knows it, too. Why else do you think she’s tried so hard to get under your skin? More than any of that, though…Meagan knows it. That’s why she sent me. You just gotta accept it. You might have to get some dirt under your fingernails. You might have to keep kicking around in these Spirit Halloween realms or doing things that you might not otherwise…but we both know you’ve got that in you. You can extend yourself past whatever you think your current limits are to remain the Outlaw Champion. Can’t you?”

Aria’s gaze met Vendetta’s at last and her brown eyes narrowed. “I can. I will.”

Later, Aria is back in the familiar darkness of the black dreamscape. This time, she’s alone. All that accents the inky dark expanse is the sight of an ornately decorated red and gold throne, standing out starkly against the midnight-colored nothingness around it. Aria sat atop the red crushed velvet seat of the throne, donning a poofy red ball gown. A gold crown with sparkling rubies accented the crown and the Outlaw Championship encircled her waist. Manicured nails tapped rhythmically against the gold armrests of the chair, the light tapping noise initially serving as the only noise cutting through the quiet that had settled in.
 
“The circumstances that have formed the weeks leading into Game Over have been…different. Before all of this, I had no experience stepping into realms sight unseen. I knew nothing about dark magic or mystical ways of throwing your opponent off-kilter…but I’ve had to learn. Is that what you wanted to hear, Banshee? That I’ve done my homework? That somehow, that equates to me fearing you? Like I told you before, I am the one with everything to lose. You can lose here and go back to being everyone’s favorite face-painted non-factor. You can bask in the glow of being a former world champion all you want, but your run atop Odyssey was not nearly as dominant as you’ll try and make people believe. Seventy-seven pitiful days as Women’s World Champion sandwiched between two bitches that people give two shits about, and you dare puff your chest out and talk about how you embody the main event scene. You apply the smoke and mirrors to your own resume the same way you employ it to get a leg up over your opponents. I guess nobody can ever pretend you’re not consistent in that regard. Make no mistake, Banshee, you are not different than the others. You are not superior to Taniguchi Sena or Christie Sky, and you’re sure as fuck not better than me. Still, I’d be doing myself a disservice not to acknowledge the pedestal that you stand upon in place of actual ability. Whether I like it or not, the dark side can be a difference-maker. This supernatural bullshit is what keeps your head above water…so, out of necessity, I’ve dabbled.”

One hand moves to gently drag a fingernail over the face of the Outlaw Championship.

“At first, it was to remind you of how powerless you can truly be, reminding you that the pull of The Tribunal on “the other side” is nothing to scoff at. Then, it was stooping down to your level yet again to shake your confidence. Now that you’ve dangled the possibility of truly hitting me where it hurts in front of my face, well…this isn’t me telling you to back down, despite what you may think. What, you want me to beg? You want me to plead and cry? I’m calling bullshit. You’re not that stupid. If you truly wanted to hurt my daughter, we’d be having a different conversation, wouldn’t we? Winning a title match would be the least of your concerns. The time for talking would’ve passed, and I’d have gone scorched earth banishing you so far up Satan’s asshole that if you spit, it was coming out of his mouth. You played your best hand on the seven hundred deaths, and now you gotta say shit to keep me on my toes and keep my head on a swivel. You’ve already done your best, and that’s where it’s different for me. I’m giving you my worst. You’ve already experienced how vile I can be. You’ve been on the opposite side of my tactics. When that bell rings in Dallas, there is no line I won’t cross and no metaphorical gutter I won’t jump down into…”

Aria leans forward.

“When you go low, I’m going all the way to hell.”

A light chuckle falls over her lips before she leans back against the chair once more.
 
“Is it fair to say now that our fates were sealed when Tyler and I tried to scout you and Marie for The Tribunal? I could’ve expected fuckery when it turned out that y’all said no, but we’re beyond that now. With the foundation laid the way that it was, I don’t think this could’ve ever been just about a championship, even if I do pride myself on taking my reign as Outlaw Champion seriously and I generally keep shit pretty clinical. Maybe we were always meant to meet in this way. Maybe you were always meant to be dropped in my path, and the idea that you could make any sort of gains off of my storied name and legacy – much less by taking the title I made famous – was always supposed to make my blood boil. I’d say that’s why you always felt so strongly about wanting to face me…you knew deep down that something would bring us together, and it would be a lot more violent than you just being a thorn in my side during my days as Odyssey General Manager. In that regard, Banshee, I’m fighting fate to break the ties that bind. This dance has grown tiresome. I’m sick of listening to your Captain Spaulding-looking ass prance around and talk about my inevitable doom. You may not be the one with everything to lose, but you will lose just the same.”

Jaxon hefts her beloved title up onto her shoulder now, her red-lipsticked lips beginning to curve upward into a smile.
 
“Yeah, sweetheart, I see now that you and I were always fated to meet…it’s just that I was also always fated to mount your head over my mantle. Say goodbye to Marie. Make your peace with whatever closest resembles your god. At Game Over, The Banshee gets dragged into the depths of her cruelest, most crushing, and most painful defeat – courtesy of The Outlaw Queen.”

I hope these white boys kill each other