[Nate is standing in front of what appears to be a very crowded war board, as Clinton Stone is removing the BWO picture that Nate pinned to it with a knife last week. Nate is sporting an eye patch from the red liquid that was thrown in his face on Sunday, but he has an eerie grin on his face nonetheless]

Gold. Gold is a resource that has been the foundation of many an economy for years. Gold has a bloodstained history and is instrumental in how wars are fought. During a time of conflict, a government will overspend its pitiful paper money and the value of the almighty dollar drops. But gold? That’s where investors are drawn to.

After Iraq invaded Kuwait during the first Gulf War, the price of gold skyrocketed. The same happened after 9/11. When the financial threat of a war is on the horizon, everybody reverts back to the most reliable standard there is. The gold standard.

[Nate produces a single gold ingot from his pocket, it has the Wolvesden insignia engraved on it]

If there’s one thing in this business that everybody wants, it’s the sweet presence of gold around their waists. And Wolvesden plan on acquiring the lion’s share. Many key developments took place on Sunday, and they only accelerated our plans of dominance.


[Nate motions to the war board, containing pictures of Scotty Adams, Gareth Cason, and numerous OWA tag teams]

Scotty Adams, the apple of my eye. I’ve made no secret about wanting what you have. What you did this week was truly surprise me. You’re a vicious bastard deep down, and I love it. That aggression, that rage, it’s what defines a Spartan. You are proving yourself worthy of such a title and I am deeply impressed. There is a dangling opportunity every week for a shot at your gold, and its value only improves with each successful defence you make. Rest assured that when the value is at its highest, I will be waiting in the wings to cash in and make my investment. I saw how exhausted you were afterwards, you cannot keep up your intensity for long.

[Nate moves along the board to Gareth Cason]


Gareth, well, what haven’t we said to each other? It seems that the chaotic fate of the universe has driven us apart for the time being. You appear to be heading off on your own little conquest. Either you or Bull Connors will be crowned the first ever OWA Television Champion at Game Over, and I hope to God that it’s you. Nothing, and I repeat, NOTHING would be more satisfying than pummelling you into the ground and removing that belt from your limp corpse. Should I wish to perform such an action in the future, then that is where destiny lands. Just know that there is cause to look over your shoulder, sir. I will never let you be truly free of me.

[Nate’s hand comes to the final segment of the board, the one pertaining to the Bloodline Tag Team Championships]

I said last week that chaos is the one true intangible. I have been proven right yet again by truly wonderful news. Clinton, my finest creation, came out of his shell last week and played a crucial role in securing victory against the Bollywood World Order. When his future looked bleak, I guided him and he listened, as all good soldiers do. We entered that ring with a plan: assess the target and eliminate by any means.

If you are presented with a mighty oak tree, than you go to bottom of it and start to chop it down. Khaled toppled as we uprooted the lumbering giant and turned him into timber. We do not care how big, how strong, or how much you outnumber us. A battle is won by the side who sees the path to victory, who knows what must be done in order to silence your opponent. The BWO made the mistake of thinking their sheer might would stop us. Now look where they are. Michael Bishop and Scott Oasis will no doubt send them packing this Sunday as well, because the BWO are not fighters, they are pests to be swatted away.

I was elated to learn that after our win, the Wolvesden is officially in contention for the inaugural OWA Bloodline Tag Team Championship. And that means one thing: gold. To work in a team is a different beast altogether from going it alone. One needs to understand how their partner thinks, how they move, how they operate in the ring. This is why nobody can stop Wolvesden on our path to victory. We are one, symbiotic unit. A hive mind of neural connections that has been achieved through intense training both mentally and physically.

When Kenny found Clinton, he had no friends, no partners. He was a pathetic wretch that nobody cared about. Now look at the warrior that stands before you. An instrument of death, a harbinger of the apocalypse. Clinton Stone is not a member of Wolvesden, he IS Wolvesden. As am I. As is Kenny. As is everyone who hunts as a part of the pack. We move as one. We fight as one. We. Kill. As. One.

An outsider might look to our match with The Sugar Girls as the first time myself and Kenny have teamed up. That couldn’t be further from the truth. We were a team the moment I accepted His calling. The fate of the universe joined our causes and now we are one in the same. Everything myself and Kenny do is for the good of the pack, it is for the good of the OWA.

The Sugar Girls are not a team that we plan on taking lightly. In fact, deep down, some part of me almost likes them. Jessica Rose, my fellow Northerner, the city of Leeds is a place I visited often in my youth. The people there are tough, instilled with working class Yorkshire values. I remember those times spent with Uncle Jeff and my cousins, Holeigh and Pete.

[Nate looks off to the middle distance, reminiscing to a time where he was once human, his usual sinister grin is softer, betraying his tough exterior. Could there be a man beneath this monster?]

But that was then. I left my family behind because they were a distraction from what needed to be done. Well, I didn’t leave them ALL behind, but that’s a tale for another time. You see, Jessica, you could have made a fine soldier in my army. You could have stood shoulder to shoulder with the best of us and truly been something. Instead, you choose to be the sweet, loveable pal of Savannah Sunshine. Your world is all bubblegum and lollipops, you do not live in reality. You do not see that our existence is about more than candy and rainbows. Reality is dark and foreboding. It betrays us all the time and if we choose to ignore that…if we choose to live in this structured world where everything is oh so great, then are we even living at all?

Savannah, you are only a child, but you have had to swim with the sharks of the OWA so early in life. I don’t blame you for being so fierce last Sunday. You saw a friend in need and rushed to her aid. Loyalty is a positive trait to have, it’s one I place more value in than most. When there are freaks gallivanting around with a doll, proclaiming them to be you, it’s easy to understand why you’re so wise to the world. You have to be.

However, I eviscerated Axl Willow. I snapped him in half as though he were a twig. If his strength as a competitor is linked to his love for you and everything that you are, then maybe there isn’t as much there as I initially thought. If it was so easy for me to vanquish someone who claims to fight for you, then what does that say about how you’ll stack up against might of Wolvesden?


Personally, I can’t wait to see it. Neither can Kenny. You will be hearing from us both again very soon. The punishment we plan on exacting upon the two of you isn’t born from a place of hatred, but of respect. You are strong women with real resolve. To see it wasted on such cutesy nonsense is the only sin you are guilty of. Wasted potential is a cancer that plagues this industry. I don’t want to see you two go down as “could have beens.” Come Kingdom on Sunday, if you choose to surrender your lives to the way of the Wolf, you have my word that no harm will come to you. But if you choose to resist His calling, then myself and Kenny will have no choice but to burn down your Candyland fairy tale.

[As Nate gets up to leave, he remembers something]

Oh yes. And as for Bad and Boujie? Well, if you two so much as look at me the wrong way, I’ll tear out your vocal chords and use them for dental floss.

[Nate exits the war room as Clinton looks off-camera, where Nate can be heard greeting someone]

I’m so glad you came, sister, we have much to discuss.

[The feed cuts out]

Black hole, black hole
Nothing's gonna harm you








“There are a lot of things that I wish could have been afforded me while I was growing up, but the only one that I still truly have an appreciation for...is the insurance policy. The knowledge that in the worst case scenario, there is something to come in in the clutch for your prosperity. For some of you cretins, it's probably being able to get yourself to the local clinic to pick up your prescription of antibiotics since your latest contraction of venereal disease, Others it can be boiled down to wanting some sort of monetary compensation for the loss of a loved one, so you can herald them as a paragon of human decency and laud them with an expensive casket and headstone after they're gone, all the while leaving you enough money to buy the farm in a much more literal sense.


As for me, the simple insurance policy I've taken out is an education for myself. Not a standard one, but rather knowing that once you've mastered one thing, the only logical movement is to learn another. Peak in your overall strength? Build dexterity. Fully informed on a topic? Move on to another.


On May 20^th, I did exactly what I claimed I would do. I took the jesters out to the courtyard for all of the villagers to see, and I mauled them to the point that the rest of the citizenry has been put on notice. I did it with brunt force and unbridled brutality, and between the medics working on Star's limp body or the jungle cat being ripped out of the bag and onto the canvas, you all knew I was a freight train with an engine at maximum efficiency at all times.


But any good predator senses blood.


Two nights ago, I got pinned to the canvas. One...


Two...


Three. The ins and outs of how it happened aren't important. Doesn't matter that I got hit below the belt, or that the referee wasn't in the right position. Because I don't care about the referee or the decision. At the end of the day, Connors, all I care about is taking the pedestal from the prophets. It may not be Sunday. It may not be this year. But sometime, you will get your receipt for that cheap shot. And if you think a bell sounding will stop the onslaught, you're sorely mistaken.


Time waits for no man, and so the next task at hand will come Sunday. Another week, another man whose allowances in life have placed him in a position of leverage, both in his home country and now here. Growing up in the business has its benefits, as does growing up with money. But time, money, experience...they all pale in comparison to one brutal truth.


You're walking into a world of which you haven't known.


The experience you walk into this match with is great when you're taking on someone who cares about competition. If I cared about whose hand was raised after the match, you could use that to your advantage. Put me in a position where I have a false sense of security, and use that gullibility to trap me. But this isn't a match for me. This is an exercise in violence. Dishing out the frustration built up the past 48 hours because my reflexes failed me. And that focus will not stop when my hand gets raised. It stops when you're being cleaned up off of the mat. When that 100 pound difference comes to bite you, and your Osaka Driver turns into your shoulders being on the mat from crumpling under the pressure of a three hundred pound machine resisting every move you attempt.


My loss, is only a loss in statistical analysis. Your win, the same. What matters, is Sunday. When you leave the ring, you'll know you were in a fight. If you're lucky, Kenzo...


It might be under your own power.”

The Stage is Set ---

Date: 25/5/2018
Time: 7:45 am
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We open to the exterior of Scotty's apartment --- the veranda to be more specific, which is lined by freshly painted oak --- evidenced by the fact that there's a faint smell of polish still within the cool; otherwise crisp air. Panning further around the veranda, there really isn't much to see --- there's seven Oak pillars that serves as the veranda's foundation rise up from the grass/dirt ground, a little more rugged and worn than the base --- along with the fence that adorns the front of the veranda. A fence, that has been painted rust and has a decorative 'angel' (adorning a snow white dress and shimmering golden tiara) adorning the dead centre of it. 

Though this angel isn't solely for the purpose of decoration --- oh no, it is another thing Scott had put in place to keep the spirit; the soul of Joely alive. A way, for ensure that she is *always* watching over him, no matter what turmoil might befall him. It is then, that directly behind the angel, we see a silver/purple painted mahogany rocking chair, atop of which, Scotty is seated. Attired in a jam plain t-shirt, midnight black/crimson red basketball shorts and charcoal/violet/bone 'New Balance' sneakers, an updated version of his favourite shoes; a devilish smirk painted across his face as he sits back against the chair. 

"You failed, Issac," his words pointed and chilling, he allows them to fester in the air as his eyes maintain a stoic, almost lifeless look into the vacant spaces beyond this veranda. "You may not realise you did, but you *failed* yourself, the moment you began to wander aimlessly into the construct of my game," The words penetrating throughout the air, he allows them to echo around as a gentle exhale floats from his lips, before his smirk curls back into a stoic, cold expression. The very same, that we have become more than accustomed to seeing from him. 

"I'll be honest: I expected *more* from you, Issac. After all, you're supposed to be this great Hollywood actor who can convey his message with just a simple facial expression, isn't that right?" Feeling the same shiver we felt a matter of days ago return throughout our bodies, we slightly shiver whilst Scott remains chillingly, almost frighteningly, calm throughout this entire monologue. 

"I expected this great performance that would actually you know, *disguise* the insecurities that lay within you; that wasn't just a self-portrait of the misery that shall come forth when you set foot within the eighth circle,"His tone become more cold; callous in nature, his statements radiate throughout the air, swirling around as if they were penetrating the soul itself. 

Embedding themselves deep into the mind of not just Isaac, but also anyone else who might be listening in. Anyone else, who might be trying to decipher the prophetic words."But, because I feel like engaging you --- because I'm feeling in an *indulgent* mood, I'll show you the fallacy of your verbiage. The fatal flaw, that brought about your own demise ---" Another pause, this time accompanied by the arrival of a shimmering turquoise flame within the irises of his eyes, as he mockingly laughs. 

"See, you've allowed yourself to walk straight into the same 'rabbit hole' many men before you did --- men, who proclaimed the *exact* same things you did, only to realise that they made the final error. The one, that exposed themselves as nothing more than the 'echo chambers' I had already foretold them to be," Pausing, imagery of various personas who have stood before; fallen to their knees at the feet of Scott manifest themselves within the veranda. Well, within holographic form anyways, with Issac standing front and centre. His face, warped into an expression that mirrors his own self-indulgent commentary. You know the look, sh*t-eating grin and all. "Not once have I claimed that anyone *but* me will be accountable should *I* fall this week," Pausing, the words simmer briefly in the air, as he remarks: 

"In fact, that is one of the primary things *I* have been telling *you*, yet you seem to be unable to comprehend that," Thinking, an internal laughter emits itself within his brain, yet externally, he remains stoic. "I hold myself to account for *every* single failure that occurs --- no matter the happenstance that surrounds them. No matter if circumstances were *truly* under my control, and this week is no exception ---," A stifled laughter floating into the air, his typical half-smirk begins to creep across his face now. 

"But I've *already* succeeded. Haven't I?" Pressing the sole of his right foot against the ground, he swings back, smirking to himself as the chair begins to creak. "For the moment you took the route that you did, was the moment you confirmed everything that I had stated," Exhaling, you can tell that Scotty's calm. That his inflection, is merely that of a philosopher upon the realisation that their philosophies are *more* than mere thesis's, but rather a reflection of the truth. Just like *every* single other word he has spoken has turned out to be. 

"See, I knew this would be the route you took --- the facade you wished to maintain, yet the very same facade that shall bring about the mire," His smile broad, he allows the sound of the chair creaking back and forth to combine with his words, before whispering "For that is what the fractured mirror was designed to foretell," as his eyes slowly return to their normal hazel, the flame vanishing back within the chambers of his mind. 

"You're right --- you have only three matches under your belt, compared to my ten plus years in this rodeo --- but it is *that* experience that has enabled me to refine my craft beyond your feeble comprehension, Issac," Mockingly poking his tongue out, an image of a marionette in the design of Issac manifests itself off to the right hand side of the chair, with a puppeteer who looks a lot like Scotty pulling its strings --- ensuring that it dances to the beat of his drum. "Sunday, you finally come to the realisation that I have been telling you this for a simple *reason* --- for it has been the implementation of your own finale," A soft laughter, almost child-like in nature fills the air at those words, as the monologue finally fades into nothingness ---.

The Spider and Its Web ---

Date: 21/5/2018
Time: 1:45 pm
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
---

We open this scene to the interior of a class room (or at least, a room that has been set up as such) within the confines of a modernised; well-kept building on the outskirts of town. The walls are painted a candy red and adorned with various graphs; posters that one would be likely to see if this *was* an actual class room (you know, the periodic table and all that good stuff), whilst there is also about fifteen oak tables set up around the room, each table having two mocha cushioned steel chairs positioned behind them --- the exception being the "teacher's" table that is at the front of the formation; on the right hand side of the room (if you're looking at it from the perspective that we are), which has an orchid cushioned steel chair behind it. 

Panning towards that particular table, we can see that on the left hand side of the table and about twenty centimetres from the ledge, sits a three-quarter 1.25 litre bottle of coca-cola; a glass cup positioned in front of it, currently about a quarter full (or three-quarters empty, however you wish to look at it), with a small magenta/snow white painted cardboard coaster underneath. The rest of the table is littered with books (mostly science and maths books --- again, what you'd typically see in a classroom), as well as a golden nameplate at the front of the table --- the name engraved into it being "Scotty Adams".

Confirming that yes, this *is* Scotty's "charity classroom" as it has come to be known, a sanctuary for underprivileged children or teenagers, whose parents either cannot afford to enrol them into schools or otherwise educate them, or those who are living out on the streets that don't have either the finances or the knowledge to enrol themselves into a school --- he invites them to come here, and receive an education, free of charge.

With the additional bonus that each semester, he selects two hundred and fifty people from the pool that attends these sessions (held around America); *personally* pays for them to receive scholarships to schools around the nation, as well as offering them accommodation in one of the many apartments; condominiums his owns around the country local to whichever school they wish to enrol to with the scholarship, should they require a place to stay. 

To him, this is the *least* he can do, in order to give them the opportunities that he has been granted throughout his life --- to enable those who would otherwise be nameless; faceless "statistics" to have a voice. To have a *chance* to make their lives truly matter. It's as the old adage goes in his eyes --- if he is the one to *seek* a culture change, then he *must* be the one to enact that change, something that he prides himself on doing. Each and every single day of his life. 

Just as he does when he steps between the ropes; enacts and epitomises the 'purity'; the athleticism that wrestling once stood for. No, that wrestling *should* stand for, in his eyes. Anyway, continuing to pan around the room, it's quite clear that right now --- it is vacant, though a small daisy white post-it not that sits on the 'back' ledge of the table has "3:00 pm" scribbled on to it in black pencil, a reference to the fact that Scotty is hosting a "class" at that time --- a fact that has been advertised heavily on various forms of social media throughout the past few weeks. 

Both by Scotty himself and various media outlets around the Philadelphia area. Heck, one of the posters on the left hand side wall (about three feet from the slate white painted oak door frame) is a poster that's promoting it, just like the others that were scattered around the city. So, it's safe to assume that soon enough, there will be people streaming into this room --- ready to engage with; grasp the opportunity that has been presented to them. 

Creak

Hearing the door slowly swing open, we pan around to see the unmistakable figure of Scotty (attired in a canary yellow t-shirt, black/azure shorts and black loafer style shoes *the same type that he wore during his visit to Joely's grave*), a slight smirk across his face. Glancing around the room, he feels a calm breath float from his lips, as he casually makes his way towards his table ---  his mind focused solely on the class that is soon to commence. 

Well, that and the fact that last night, he had been informed by Jane that to go along with a progress report on Amelia, who is on track to be released from hospital in the middle of June, she also informed him that Chili's mental state was once again --- improving and that she had been ecstatic to hear the news of his victory; his acquisition of the Spartan's championship, along with his dedication of it to both her and Amelia. 

Whilst she's not at the point where she can be given a definitive release date --- both for precautionary reasons and because she is still riddled with tremors --- with dips into a catatonic; psychosis induced state, she's at least in a 'better' frame of mind than she had been in recent weeks.  

The thoughts slightly turning back to how close he was to losing Amelia --- to having to face the reality that it would have been the *second* time he had let somebody close to him, fall to their final demise. The *second* time he would have failed to prevent its occurrence, he lets out a soft sigh, before inhaling and exhaling to attempt to loosen his chest up, which right now, feels as if it's been squeezed by a boa constrictor. 

Pivoting his body slightly as he reaches the table, he catches a glimpse of one of the books positioned just above the 'centre' --- well, in actuality, it's not a book at all, but rather: a burnt orange coloured binder folder, with the words 'Dossier' written on it in black sharpie. Gently grasping it in his right hand, he calmly places it underneath the table --- he'll get back to addressing its contents (which we don't know about, but judging by the fact that it had the 'Adams Enterprises' insignia on the left corner, has to do with that) later, at a time where it is more convenient to do so. 

Raising his right hand, he then clasps the glass of cola, bringing it calmly to his mouth and taking a swig as a cursory glance over to the clock pinned atop the right hand side wall (about three and a half feet up; four feet across from the door frame) indicating that he still has slightly over an hour of 'free time' before the children stream in; the class commences.  

"It's been a whirlwind," he mutters to himself, referring to the fact that the past two weeks --- heck, the past month, have been a whirlwind. Both in the figurative and literal sense of the word. To him, it still feels like it was just yesterday, that he made the decision to re-enter the American wrestling realm. 

Actually, the wrestling realm in general; remind them of just *who* he is. Just *why* he was renowned as being one of, if not *the*, best technical wrestler to ever set foot between those ropes --- even if that's *not* how he sees himself. Sighing, he takes another swig of cola, before gently placing the glass back atop the table.

Every second of resistance, is just a moment you stall ---

Feeling Zion's voice radiate inside of its prison, he slightly groans --- not in an attempt to shut it out, as he knows that if he tries that --- then Zion will only penetrate further within him, but rather as a way to attempt to muffle it. A way, to at least repress the manifestation's words; maintain control over himself. Control, that despite the illusion he has created, the construct of 'sanity' the emits externally from him, he is still a fractured soul. He is still engaged within turmoil that even he cannot comprehend. 

A war within his own mind, that from an outward perspective, has *no* real ending point.  Raising his hands to his temples, he presses his palms firmly against the skin, in an attempt to at least quell the echoes --- to try and numb the sense of paranoia that has begin to ensnare him. Yet it only serves to make the echos louder --- to make them become almost like radio waves, flowing throughout his mind; imprisoning him within their cold, lifeless arms. 

"I --- I can't," he utters, gently placing his elbows down atop the table, another moan flowing into the air from his lips. Running his palms in a clockwise motion, he then inhales deeply, a meek "I won't," escaping from his lips, as he feels his eyes slightly burn. Not with the intense fire that we have become accustomed to seeing; the fire that signifies that he is about to dissect somebody. No, this is more a fire born from the 'fear' inside his heart --- fear, of what Zion might desire. 

Fear of himself --- as much as he would never admit to that. Feeling his breathing begin to stagger, Scotty slightly pushes himself further back within his seat, before glancing upwards; seeing a gentle holographic picture of Joely begin to formulate about four feet in front of him, arms outstretched and attired in a flowing bone white dress down to her knees.
 
Save yourself --- before it's too late to go back. I love you; I forgive you ---

Feeling those words radiate throughout his mind, a slight yet calm smile begins to creep across his face. He knows that if he is to 'save himself'; if he is to once again reign 'victorious' over Zion like he has before, then he must first shed himself of the agony. The guilt that still riddles him about him being the reason Joely died. That ultimately, she was used as nothing more than a device to get inside of his head --- a means to force him into embracing his own 'psychotic' side. To play the game, they wanted him to play. 

"I-I will --- even if it drives me to my own end," he whispers, slightly moving his hands back onto the table, the lingering feeling of Zion slightly fading. "There's no other choice --- it's what *must* be done," his smile slightly curling further upwards as the words leave his lips, Scotty feels a gentle, involuntary sigh escape into the air. His eyes, continuing to blankly stare at the holographic angel in front of him --- the angel, who has forever been his guiding light. 

I'll be here, every step of the way --- just, don't let 'him' win --- for if he does, there will be no escape from his ruins.

"I know," his words softly whispered, he starts to feel his flame transform from one that was born from fear, to one born from passion. Born, from a desire to make sure that no matter what. No matter how much he might be on the edge of his own sanity, lost within the maze of his own soul --- he just cannot let 'Zion' win. He cannot transverse upon that mire ever again. 

Blinking, he feels his mind slowly begin to return to its normal 'train of thought'; his focus beginning to return to the class he is about to host as Joely's hologram begins to slowly fade back into nothingness. Sighing, he reaches over the table with his left hand, bringing the cola bottle onto his lap; unscrewing the lid with his right hand before pouring some more cola into the glass, the fizzing causing a soft laughter to flow from his lips before he lets himself be immersed within his own thoughts. His own messages, radiating out inside of his head; keeping Zion locked within its chamber.  

Creak

Or shall we say, he 'was', at least until the sound of the door swinging open again causes him to shoot a quick glance over to it, seeing the familiar figure of his own personal liaison officer and the head of the American Branch of Adams Enterprises's human relation department, Rebecca Harrison slowly making her way into the room. She's attired in a charcoal pinstripe suit (with a coconut undershirt), a faded stone knee-length dress and black business 'Reebok' sneakers. Almost as if she had just recently come out of a meeting --- which is actually true. 

She *had* only an hour ago, gotten out from a meeting with NPEH entertainment, with discussions being mainly about a 'joint project' the two organisations are working on. A project that at this time, we're not entirely privy to the details of, but if Scotty's recent postings on the Adams Enterprises social media account are correct, it's about a new documentary that Scotty plans to release in early 2019. One that is more of an introspective look inside the 'Adams Wrestling Clinic' and more specifically, the American base of it, which as we found out in the lead up to Hardcore Havoc --- is in San Diego. Smirking, Scotty nods knowingly at Rebecca, as she walks around the table, before placing the palms of her hands on the opposite side to Scotty; shooting him a grin.

"How'd the meeting go?" He queries, the expression on her face enough to tell him it went well, but *not* how well it went. Like, in a quantifiable sense.

Rebecca: They said they're willing to begin filming next week and hope to have everything done and recorded by the end of August --- though they also stated that they might have to break the filming up into segments, due to production cuts and editing requirements.

"That,s fine," Scotty states, a soft sigh leaving his lips. He had heard about the company's recent budget splits and the 'production cuts' that had been enforced --- an attempt to arrest the 3.6 million dollar loss the company had incurred over the previous financial year. 

"Did you let them know about the western fringe?" he asks, knowing that she probably did, but information like that can sometimes be 'lost in thought', especially when you are in the midst of negotiations and the paperwork that comes with them. Thankfully Bec's nod informs him that yes, she did remember to tell them about that detail.

Rebecca: That's not the *only* reason I came though ---.

Feeling a slight knot begin to form within the pit of his stomach, Scotty knows what she means. What she is implying with that statement --- and something that he had been awaiting ever since Kingdom went off the air. She's referring to the 'open invitational' that Scotty put out --- a means for those who feel slighted by the manner in which he won the Spartan's championship, to step forth and "validate their claims", instead of sounding like broken cassette players, or like a child who was too slow to a swingset and moaned when somebody took it from them. 

"Who was it?" calmly leaves his lips, as his famed half smirk creeps onto his face.

Rebecca: Issac Thornton. He sent the letter to HQ earlier today when I was heading to the meeting --- Bob told me and said that he wanted just a standard one fall match. No flash; no gimmicks.

His smirk curls further at this --- Issac was one of the two he figured would be most jilted by how Hardcore Havoc went down. What, with him being up there, holding onto the belt for dear life --- only to have it snatched away by Scotty as he was left to wallow within his own disappointment. His own anguish of being 'so close, yet so far' when it came to the acquisition of the belt. "

Just the person I wanted," he utters under his breath, giving Rebecca a soft nod and feeling a gentle flame begin to manifest within his heart. 

"Thanks for that, hun," he states aloud, smiling as Bec nods back to him, knowing almost telepathically that this was the desired outcome --- that he *wants* it to be this way.

Rebecca: No worries. I promised that I'd have it under control, didn't I?

Laughing, Scotty replies "Yeah, and I know you will," as Bec simply winks at him. There's a reason he trusted *her* with this specifically --- a reason that runs deeper than her job title. Either way, it is now that we fade into nothingness, the two continuing to converse as he continues to ready himself for the class to commence.
---
Date: 23/5/2018
Time: 9:30pm
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA.
---

"Right into my little lure ---"

We open to those words radiating throughout a candle lit room, the precise nature of which is unknown --- well, obviously, seeing as the candles are the only light source within the room. Despite that, a shadowy figure, who we can pretty safely assume was the origin of the voice can be seen, sitting cross-legged and with their head bowed in the dead centre of the room, just outside of the dull golden glow of the dancing flames.

Chilling laughter follows, as the flames flicker, revealing Sangria nylon carpeting, much like the carpet we have become familiar with seeing within Scotty's apartment, although that's the *only* identifiable feature we have --- and even that is circumstantial;flimsy at best at being able to pinpoint an exact location.  However, the voice that was heard is unmistakably Scotty's --- Australian accent; cutting edge and all. That much we *do* know. 

"Did *you* really think I'd be naive? Did you *really* think this invite was made, without a plan in place?" His words chillingly calm, they float through the air as a gentle fire yellow glow can be seen emanating itself within the irises of his eyes. 

"See, some might have this illusion that *I'm* the prey --- that *I'm* the one that is being hunted," Allowing those words to fester, a soft inhale can be heard as a soft; gentle chill begins to rise within the room. A chill, not unlike the sense you get when you set foot with a demonic being in a video game, or if we're to translate it to a real life setting, when you confront the sort of person you *know* is disturbed within. The sort of person, who is depraved enough to manifest plots in even the most mundane of circumstances. 

"That couldn't be any further from the truth ---" Chucking as those words leave his lips, the flames continue their dance, as a faint image begins to appear in the candle that is about seven inches to the right of where he sits; the middle one in its row of three. The image is that of a fractured mirror, laying atop a porcelain floor --- a shimmering light gleaming in its reflection. 

"Yet you let yourself walk into the rabbit hole --- you let yourself, take the bait that dangled in front of you," Feeling his words spiral into the air, Scotty emits a soft, almost demonic laugh from his lips, as one of the flames (the one about five inches; directly in front of where he is situated) finally illuminates him. Not enough to make out anything more than the fact he is attired in a crimson red jacket, but enough to confirm that yes --- Scotty is the one behind these words. 

A soft exhale follows, as gentle violins begin to radiate throughout the room, enticing us to become lost in their sound. Bringing us into a setting that is almost like a church --- a place, where people go to pray to their deity of choice, yet at the same time, it is almost as if we are within the chambers of Hell itself, awaiting the demons to dictate our fate. Just like all those who have been sacrificed to the 'purge' --- all those, who have been sealed within their final gateways. 

"You don't get it, do you Isaac?" His question a little lighter than usual, he slightly smiles after saying it, the flame shining upon his face, as just like the first one, an image of a fractured mirror manifests itself within the glow. Difference is, this mirror has a small trickling of blood running across its surface, as if to resemble the person who broke it having cut themselves in the act. 

"You cannot even begin to comprehend *why* this is occurring --- why it is that I *wanted* you to be the first to stand forth ---," feeling a slight shiver run down our spines, the mirror slightly shatters further, a small reflection of an eye beginning to formulate within the glass. An eye, that appears to be purely white; devoid of any iris. The violins continue to play, as a soft wind chime accompanies them, its tone only serving to further the tingling sensation running down our spines. The psychological element, that Scott has mastered. 

"Then again, you're just an actor, doing this for 'self-worth', aren't you? Doing this, because you wish to lay blame elsewhere, for your own flaws," The words pointed and like a stake, Scotty hums to himself after posing them. 

"I mean, you allow yourself to construct the illusion of grandeur --- this ideal, where you will *never* have to face yourself; own up to the demons, the insecurities that truly fester within you --- yet they are what play your cards," Those words piercing through the air, they resonate with Scotty not just on a verbal level --- but an emotional level as well. He's been in that position before, he's had to stare within his own 'fractured mirror'; own up to the flaws, the demons that riddle him. 

"I will admit you have the talent Isaac --- you have the ability to make yourself a name; to achieve the accolades; the recognition you claim you have been denied, but you cannot do so, until you can answer the fractured mirror," Another laughter floats from his lips, but this one is more relaxed, more friendly than the others --- almost as if he is trying to lure Isaac further into the sense of 'admiration'; the element of 'respect' that he has craved. The mirrors within the candles have slowly been melting away, leaving nothing more than specks of dust where their pieces once laid. 

"The question is: can you figure it out, before it's all too late, or will you continue to dive further into your own insanity?" Lowering his tone upon asking the final portion of the question, he allows his typical half-smirk to shine, as the music morphs into the strains of a symphonic orchestra --- their sounds radiating throughout the mind; accompanying the words that have been spoken. 

"For this week, is merely the landslide reclaiming its victim --- the fly, buzzing straight into the spider's web, with no means of escaping unless it looks deep inside of itself," Raising his head slightly, it's evident now that a cobalt blue flame has been burning within his eyes this entire time. A flame, that simmers as the candles flames connect with it, causing them to radiate throughout the room; somewhat revealing that this is indeed --- Scotty's house that we have been in this entire time. More specifically, we have been within the confines of his 'private room', a room that has been set up for times like this. A room, that is vacant except for what we have mentioned; a portable radio at the very back of the room, pressed against the stone white plastered wall; the origin of the hymns that resonate. 

"The charade; the facade has only served to hasten your own demise, Isaac --- it has been what secured your final judgement as you walked into the final valley ---," His eyes continuing to burn, they manifest an image of Isaac on his knees, looking up to the sky and paranoid. Afraid of just *what* awaits him, when he treads into the ring. When he once more, looks into the eyes of his own final fate. A fate, that he himself created. 

"See you Sunday, for when the bell tolls --- its song will spell the finality you desire," Laughing demonically, Scotty softly follows with a whisper: "For you will soon realise what I meant, when I said *I* was never the pray," before we fade into nothingness, the blend of the orchestra and Scotty's laughter the last sounds that emit themselves throughout the air.

KINGDOM I: CASPIAN'S COMEBACK.
Word Count: 1,651

(Red, Blue, Purple.  Drinks. Music. Women are dancing on strip poles for the excitement of an aroused audience.  Meanwhile, some scary looking men are laughing while playing some Black Jack and drinking games.  The club is overwhelmed with the DJ’s remix of Ambiente by J. Balvin, taking intimacy to the next level for the partiers.  We get a crane shot, showing how classy and expensive this site looks. Then, we see CASPIAN sitting down in a seat, watching every club member with his charming smile.  He gets his lighter out and lights up a cigar and lays it down for a second.)

CASPIAN: My life is a luxury.  There’s a saying that says life is priceless, but honestly, that’s only the case for those in high social standing.  When I look at the opposition before they are put down, I don’t value them for shit. They aren’t me or someone I care about, so why should I spare them, especially if they’ve wasted my time?  It’s illogical for me to keep them around, knowing that they could waste others time with their stupid shenanigans. Every second of my time is worth millions of dollars, so when it is wasted, my fist of anger will strike.  Sometimes it ends nicely and clean for my mean but most of the time, we have to clean up a lot of blood. So here in America, when some idiotas think it’s funny to come around and keep me waiting for what I deserve, my cool lowers...I’m no longer tranquilo.  America apparently has a dream, but I don’t see mine because of the corruption of the scum who lead this hellhole. How am I being rewarded opportunities? It’s an injustice to not only me but my fellow Hondurenos. We respected Americans before this, but our respect has obviously been misplaced if this is the standard.  Vernon el Viejo feo and his goons promised fortune and success, but behind their backs, they had their fingers crossed. What do they think I am, a pendejo? Cause if they do, they’re very, very wrong. If they knew better, they’d bow every time that I’m in their presence because that’s how much I’m worth to this lousy and disgusting country of pigs.  Look at my face, my smile is slowly fading and when that happens, bad things happen.

(Before he continues, CASPIAN takes a few seconds before drinking tequila in a fine glass.  Suddenly, one of CASPIAN’s men approaches him and whispers into his ear, heavily concerned. In less than a second, CASPIAN’s charming smile becomes into a violent frown.  A man approaches him nervously, obviously concerned.)

Man: CASPIAN, forgive me!  I have a family back home and they need me to keep a roof over their heads!  Give me one last chance.

(CASPIAN looks at the man with expressionless emotion.)

CASPIAN: Well, I suppose they’ll be a bunch of homeless whores because of your misdeeds to me.  It’s time for justice to be served.

(The man gets on his knees and begs for mercy.)

Man: Wait, NO!  WE DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS...UG-

(CASPIAN gets up and picks up the man only to choke him.  This man can be heard, trying to get air, but CASPIAN’s grip is too tight.  We see the club continue to run as CASPIAN finally drops the man, who is unconscious and dragged out like a dead animal.  CASPIAN dusts himself off and picks up his cigar and drink once again, with a sickening grin creeping out of his lips.)

CASPIAN: Oh no, he just got my suit dirty, what a damn shame.  This suit was probably worth more than their obscure existence.  Ahem...now, where were we? I AM FINALLY BACK ON KINGDOM AFTER THE WORLD HAS BEEN ANTICIPATING MY IN-RING RETURN.  It’s felt like a goddamn lifetime. Most importantly, what the hell, OWA management?! Why am I having to sit on the sidelines for a week while these talentless hacks get time to shine?  I have more talent than every person on this roster combined, no doubt. It’s obvious que no tienen respeto por El Capitán. I should be on the Game Over Poster. My name should be on top of the cards every night, no matter what the show is.  That can be possibly forgiven if they finally give me something to- oh. “How does the great Capitan return?! Will he finally go for the world title? Will he have a Spartan’s title match? Will he face the best OWA offers?...I’m facing some gringo called Gareth Cason.”  Who in the hell is this Gareth Cason? Which backyard wrestling group did this stupid company get this pimply mess from? He sounds like a name of a crappy kitchen product, not the name of a true superstar. I didn’t hear of him until my match at Hardcore Havoc, where he beat me down with the rest of his white peers.  What a surprise, right? DAMAS Y CABALLEROS, HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THIS GARETH CASON?

Crowd: No, Capitan!  Who is this loser?!

(The crowd laughs as they say Gareth’s name.  El Capitan gets up, unfazed by his actions earlier and goes towards some dancers, entertaining the crowd around the poles.  He pulls out a big stack of cash and hands it to a bodyguard, who clears out the area. The women come over towards his direction, giving him attention and everything he demands from them.  They massage his feet and legs and caress him, but CASPIAN gets back up and walks away, leaving the women giggling. He adjusts himself again, and goes towards the karaoke area, shoving the current performer into a wall, which breaks on impact.  CASPIAN waits as his guards throw out the performer and hand him the mic.)

CASPIAN: Now this Gareth thinks he can go one-on-one with the greatest thing since the beginning of mankind.  This man is truly delusional, thinking he can go over me. This poor white chap is going to be taken out like that man that was dragged away earlier.  I will slap him like the pinche perro he is and put him to rest; I don’t care how dangerous you are. That’s your whole schtick; you can beat up people.  That’s fine and all, but I’ve done worse things that you can’t even grasp with you ugly and bad fashioned head. In my home, CASPIAN is power, supremacy and danger for those who don’t comply with my law.  However, you’re going to keep being a thorn in my side; a bug buzzing around me. You do look like a stupid bug anyway, that mid-teen crisis face you have there makes you even more slappable. Just like every bug, you can ignore their presence until you’ve had enough of them being a nuisance.  Gareth has done nothing significant in his worthless life that scares and puts me to shame. He was boxing with his little friends in his baby MMA promotions while I was fucking people up como un chingon. This week, Gareth may just be the next victim, sent to absolute irrelevancy, just because he wants to ruin my name to elevate his.  How selfish and rude to OWA’s richest talent! I make more money in one night than CM Nas, Keelan Callihan, Scott Oasis and Aria Jaxon make in an entire year. They can live with that reality whatever way they want, but I’m just spitting out the facts. That’s how much of a big deal I am around here, yet I continue to be disrespected every time I enter the locker room.  I will not tolerate anymore of this; my wrath is going to be unleashed sooner than later and when that happens, everyone will pay. Gareth, watch your culo because I’m going to put my boot right into it. The world will see that you aren’t worth jack, nino. You will never be a Spartan’s champion or world champion around here because I won’t allow it. EVER. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re laughing and passing off my statements as jokes, but you don’t know who you’re going up against.  It was easy for you to take me down with several men on your side, but they won’t be by your side this time around. Just think of this match as a favor paid back from a few weeks ago, but tenfold. I promise it won’t be a big deal, you’ll just be at my feet like the rest will. Be sure to tell your backyard MMA wrestling friends that I said hi and fuck you white putos.

(The club crew cheers him on and clap for him, chanting “Va a ganar!” and “Por Nuestra Raza!”.  They continue as CASPIAN takes off his blazer and throws it at one of his men. CASPIAN grabs the mic and looks motivated in anger.)


CASPIAN: THIS WEEK WILL BE MY MOMENT.  I’M NOT HERE TO LOSE; I’M HERE TO BE A WINNER.  A CHAMPION. EL CAPITAN DE OWA WILL NOT BE JUST A TITLE THAT I GO BY BECAUSE IT WILL BE REAL LIFE.  I WILL NO LONGER TOLERATE MY DISCRIMINATION; I WILL SHOVE MY GLORY IN EVERYONE’S FACE. WELCOME TO CASPIAN’S KINGDOM, TAKE A SEAT BECAUSE IT’S GOING TO BE A HELL OF A RIDE, PEASANTS.

???: THEY WON’T EVER DOUBT YOUR NAME AFTER THIS, MI AMOR.  LET THIS BE KNOWN, OWA LOCKER ROOM. CASPIAN IS KING.

(The crowd goes absolutely silent.  The camera walks behind a silhouette, who’s heels begin to click as they walk towards CASPIAN’s general direction.  He’s in a state of shock for a few seconds, but his open mouth shuts into a menacing grin. He licks his lips in the excitement of this revelation and the crowd separates, allowing the mysterious figure to face to face with CASPIAN.)

CASPIAN: Haha.  I never thought you’d be back by my side.  Welcome back...Mi Perlita.

TO BE CONTINUED.

[Nate Cage]
[The Plight of Sorrow]
[The War Room]
[May 22 2018]
[CLASSIFIED]


Nate Cage stands at the head of a table, adorned with pieces that represent different members of the OWA roster. There is a special marker above a few different pieces, most notably Gareth Cason and Scotty Adams. Clinton Stone is taking down the pictures of the Ultimate X match participants that decorated the war board last week, and replacing them with what appears to be an action plan for acquiring the Spartan’s Championship, though it is impossible to fully make out from the stationary camera.


I had a plan that I thought to be airtight. But I’m not one to rest on my laurels. Plans change and strategies don’t always work out exactly how you envisioned. This I am aware of. Last Sunday, the first chapter in my duel of fate with Gareth Cason was prematurely halted. Chaos is not something you can control. It is a true intangible. Clinton here did what I have been training him to do, he took some initiative. The old Clinton would have stood idly by and let chaos take over. The soldier you see before you maintained order.

What happened between Gareth and myself did get out of hand, it wasn’t what I wanted, but we cannot dwell on past transgressions. I lost sight of my goals during my little spat with Mr. Cason. I resorted to juvenile, playground insults that were trivial and without worth. I’m a man, I can admit when I make a mistake. Rest assured, my war with Gareth is not over, but now I find myself on a new path.

My plot to relieve Scotty Adams of his Spartan’s Championship has been altered in a way nobody foresaw. I now no longer have to run through an entire division to earn a match with dear Scotty. No. He has taken the liberty of offering up his title to anyone with the mettle to step up and challenge him. He has put himself out there as a fighting champion, someone who wants to prove that he is a true warrior. While that remains to be seen, I am curious as to what the future holds for the interim champion as he keeps that belt warm for me. It may not be this week, or next week, or even the week after that, Scotty, but we will meet in that ring on my terms. Trust me when I say that He has a plan for us all, and your reign continuing while I’m around is not in the cards.

Which brings me to the present. I have had contact with my brother, my leader Kenny Drake. I must concede that my initial reaction to what he did at Hardcore Havoc was that he had had a lapse in sanity. I now realise how foolish I was. He has seen the light, he knows the truth. He is a man with wisdom that goes beyond this mortal plane. The war is always coming, and we must be ready. Kenny Drake knew that when he brought me here, we must always be preparing, never losing focus. The vision he has is as clear as day. Hearing his words must be what it was like to hear Jesus speak during the Sermon on the Mount. A holy war, a war that will see Wolvesden rise up and lead the lost into the light. It is by His hand that we are chosen, we have had the good sense to take that hand and be welcomed into salvation.

This Sunday, you will all see Kenny Drake live and in the flesh for the first time since his epiphany at Hardcore Havoc. He will be joining myself and Clinton to witness first hand the fruits of our labour. He has to know that selecting me to lead his army was the best decision he has ever made. And what better way to demonstrate this by offering up the Bollywood World Order as sacrifices to His grace?

I like you, BWO, you’re fun, you’re entertaining. Human beings need entertainment, or they’ll lose their grip on reality. It’s why every week, I screen a movie to my soldiers to remind them that creation is equally as important as destruction. And I plan on our next screening to be the match myself and Clinton will be having with you at Kingdom VI. Then, my men can witness true horror, as they watch me and my top man rip the hair from your heads and the flesh from your bone. Your bones will be snapped, your souls will be sucked out and bottled as I put them on my mantelpiece.

The time for fun and games is over. This won’t be a Bollywood movie. You boys don’t get to be Shah Rukh Khan and save the day. There is no dashing hero in this story. We are not even your antagonists, because we are not providing opposition to your story, you stand in the way of our campaign.

In 1947, British India was divided up as my predecessors relinquished control back to you. Many Muslims left India and formed the nation of Pakistan, and the land has seldom known peace since. There has been nothing but conflict, poverty, famine. I don’t much care what the British Empire did in its latter years, a once great nation showed that it was weak. Your land prospered under British rule for so long, according to some. The truth was that you were ruled by genocidal maniacs who massacred your people.

I do have a certain level of sympathy there, the British Empire didn’t know how to exercise control in a sensible manner. Kenny Drake and myself now know that the infliction of ultra-violence is not always the key to success. My ancestors were stupid enough to believe that it was. What was solved after all was said and done in India? Millions dead and a splintered nation. It was chaos and could not be controlled.

I will not make the same mistakes that my people did once upon a time. Clinton and I are going to hurt you, we’re going to make an example of you. But you’re going to walk away from it with a valuable lesson: if you had just offered us your gratitude and loyalty, so much pain could have been avoided. We will not go past the point of losing control. I do not believe that the harm that will come to you is excessive, it’s a necessary evil in these trying times.

I hope that you’ve listened to my words carefully. When you are lying on that mat, staring up at those lights as blood streams down your faces, just think about how you could have saved yourself. It’s not that we want to hurt you, it’s that we have to.

Nate beckons towards a picture of the BWO that Clinton has now placed on the war board. He plunges his hunting knife into it as the feed cuts to black.

Rise now and ever
Leave your memory


No one can touch us








“This is what happens when you try to take on a machine.”


Camera flashes and emergency medical technicians arrive in almost an instant after the three tolls of the ring bell on Sunday night. Tsuyoi Sutairu writhes in pain on the canvas to the right of me, while Johnny Star is blanketed with people checking on his well being, having rolled to the floor from the corner. A couple knowing glances at the crowd, before dropping down and rolling under the ropes, to start the journey to the back.


A journey that's just beginning. The locker room is a strange place for a man with no affiliation or social desires. The men and women in here are fighters like everyone else, but there's no desire to connect for me. The only desire right now is to get in my car and get back to the hotel room to rest the body, mind and soul.


It might seem a bit strange that after such a dominant performance a man needs to go away, but a three hundred pound frame is a three hundred pound frame no matter how you slice it. Rejuvenation is good whether necessary or not. They say sleep is for the weak, but those people are wasting their waking moments chasing a dollar bill on a fishing line. When they realize their weakness, it's far too late. Unlike them, I will remain.




Tuesday starts out like every other weekday. A pot of coffee in the hotel room while news and a chapter or two of a novel is taken in; today's choice, Brain Droppings by George Carlin. The bed has formed to my large frame quite nicely in my week of stay here, and the book keeps up my mental state while waiting for my next opponent. Just like that, it arrives.


“The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak.”


A snicker comes out while I think about the old trope.


“A couple of nights ago, Bull Connors had an absolute war with Michael Bishop which ended with that arm of yours being your undoing, Bull. A well executed armbar makes anyone suffer; the hyperextension of the elbow is one of the most excruciating pains the upper extremities can suffer through at a man's two hands. The fact that your will wasn't enough to overcome your body's acute pain is not something to be ashamed of. It means your strength of mind will lead you to increase your strength of body. Or, at least, that's what it should mean. Because things are going to get worse before they get better.


The damage inflicted on the body of Johnny Star is something that should not go lost on you, Connors. I swept in with no delusions about what I was doing to that man because I am not a man who thinks twice. Star was moronic to believe that it was a good idea to let his guard down and primp himself to the crowd, gesturing in such a way when a man who has literally driven men into pavement is standing across from him. His gallivanting wasn't my target when I drove him back first into the turnbuckle...the turnbuckle was. He could have been telling me my mother had died and the same sticky ending to the situation would have come. This isn't a match for me, Bull. This destruction is a way of life.”


The book is set down on the bed, the neck is cracked. The mind is ready.


“How did it feel to be as close to home as you were, and get put to sleep? That's right, isn't it? Live here in Philly, grew up just down interstate 76...must have some friends and family around the arena regularly. Must have been a shot to the ego, all of those people seeing your body let you down so publicly. I'm sure they didn't mind, though. As I stated earlier, it's nothing to be ashamed of; your body makes the choice, not your mind. In fact, your supporters must have been proud of the heart you showed.


You're a fighter, Bull. I can tell. Under the facade of what you did in State College, you have the polish and record of a wrestler in their prime. But we know why you were a wrestler. It had nothing to do with the accolades, or the athleticism, or even the popularity that comes with winning championships. You want to fight.


I can relate.


My ring was the space between the backdoors of a Chinese restaurant and a strip joint, while yours was a gymnasium. Your canvas was a 1,764 square foot mat, and mine was wet pavement with spare gravel and, in the worst cases, hypodermic needles discarded by a careless junkie, too strung out to care if someone else suffers. But at the heart of it all, we feed off the aching of others. We crave that which makes others cower in anguish. And looking at the past two weeks, you have been the one aching the most. Now, that could drive you forward into putting my new journey into the mat and stopping the momentum I have. But I'm not counting on it.


To be honest, you've already shown your penchant for being wrong by moniker alone.


You call yourself unbreakable, and yet your ribs and elbow have been decimated the past two weeks.


You say you're going to keep Michael Bishop down for the count, but find yourself waking up with a medical staff by your side before even hearing the bell sound.


What I did to the porn star and the Asian is NOTHING compared to what I plan on doing with my focus on one man. Remember what I said about the restaurant and the strip joint? Sunday was just another analogy. Those two were the parameters OWA gave me to stand my ground before they gave me a real fight. And there you stand, Bull. But this isn't the alley, and this isn't an NCAA sanctioned wrestling mat. This is the Kingdom.


And this Sunday, you're walking into a vulgar display of power.”


I don't normally care for laughter, but there's nothing left to do.

Kenzo Nakazari Promo I
Event: Kingdom VI
Opponents: Axl Williow & Anthony Wentz
Word Count: 2006

:-: Kenzo sits atop a steel chair in his hotel room. It's nine a.m and usually, he would be waking up now but today, he has been up for two hours. Because its not a normal day. Its not a special day, at least by his standards but it hasn't been his normal day either. Today is the day that he finally announces why he chose to come on his "American excursion" and sign with the OWA over the multiple other promotions that were chasing his signature. Promotions that included the IPWL, who have a working agreement in place with the JWPW over talent exchanges, but Kenzo elected to not make this an agreement under the JWPW banner. Negotiations to do so between him and JWPW representatives broke down due to conflicts in what each party wanted, limitations on how many events Kenzo would be able to compete in while on the excursion being the main sticking points.

For JWPW, they only wanted it to be a "limited time" thing, before Kenzo returned to Japan and continued being a part of their roster, while Kenzo wants to make this a more permanent move. Voiding his JWPW contract two years before it expired, which he was only recently able to do, due to JWPW relenting and granting his release, though not before he competed at their "Wrestling Festival IX" Pay per view event, a win against Koma Sanzena. Now he just wants to be able to begin the next phase in his wrestling career.

A phase that was made easier by being an American citizen by birth or derivation of citizenship as his mom is American. It is also why despite it being broken, he can speak English well, even though he has never set foot on American soil. He has been to the United Kingdom as per previous JPPW agreements, but had never been there for more than three months at a time. Even when he was Essex Alliance Pro Wrestling champion, a belt he beat Gordan Wallace to attain. A smile across his face, he looks into the camera that is on top of a tripod and set to record, before he cracks his neck. :-:

I know you're all thinking to yourself why would I leave JWPW? Why would i pass up the opportunity to partake in their arrangement with the IPWL and venture out into a promotion that is unknown? That is just getting their feet off the ground and may or may not fold in a matter of days or months? Especially when my name isnt well known enough in America to be able to pull in the dollars that i would if i went to the IPWL. If i stayed inside of my comfort zone and remained in JPPW's ever looming shadow.

:-: He smiles, knowing that people are obviously questioning his decision to "go at it alone". To find the deal himself and scour a market that is volatile. Especially to those who havent competed on it's shores before.:-:

There's two reasons. One is i dont want to be seen as the person who stayed in his shelter. The person who hid behind the JWPW and didnt expand his wings. Kept content with being the shark in a pool full of guppies, which JWPW was to me. Two, i have more monetary pull than people realize. Then people are willing to accept, especially as i didnt need to jump through the hoop of getting a visa due to my citizenship. IPWL werent willing to match my contractual demands and JWPW wanted to take their side instead of protecting the interests of their "investment", so i took it into my own hands and decided to cut them loose. Decided to find my own way around and do whats best for me instead of what people assume is the safest deal. What people believe i should have done. After all, it's about whats best for me. Not whats best for JWPW. Whats best for IPWL or whats best for the fans. Im in this for me.

:-: He laughs, as he knows people will vilify him back home. That they'll call him a traitor for his actions against Hidao, then for this move. They'll say its him evading what was coming to him. Not that he cares about that anyway. :-:

I shouldnt have to justify this move at all. And i wont, because honestly: nobody deserves a justification. Nobody deserves an apology for me deciding that OWA was the best location to begin my dominance over American wrestling. And it will be a dominance. Just like it was back home. Just like it was in the United Kingdom, i will take everything you hold dear and tear it to shreds before your eyes. Laughing as nothing you can do will be able to prevent it from occurring. Nobody will be able to stand up and stop me, because if they try. If they set as much as a foot in the ring, they will find out why i am the "Nightmare". Why i am the absolute worst dream you could have, incarnated. That your own hopes will be victimized. Destroyed to the point their own moms will be unable to identify who they are without the aid of reconstruction surgery. Left to simmer in their own repugnant selves.

:-: Spitting to the right side, Kenzo laughs. He knows that even though the nation where the brutality will occur has changed, the malevolence itself hasnt. The pure dominance he exhibits in the ring is constant. It is eternal, no matter where he finds himself.:-:

Im not here because i want to please fans. Or because i want people to understand Japanese wrestling. Make it a worldwide product. No, i dont give a fuck whether or not you want to hate me. If you want to think im some lunatic that should go home to Japan or if im just another Japanese wrestler that sunk when he came to America. The "wide ocean of wrestling" as you sycophants like to call it.All i see are small fish, trying to create the illusion they are bigger than they are. That they are some valuable commodity, when theyre just like the wrestlers of JWPW. Just like the wrestlers anywhere ive been. Victims, awaiting their sentence to be served to them on a silver platter. Awaiting for their nightmare to come to life.

:-: Looking back into the camera, his eyes give off the expression of death. The look of a man ready to make sure his opponents are injured. Maimed. Left in a pool of their own blood. :-:

A nightmare, that begins with Axl Williow and Anthony Wentz this week. From the moment they begin their little verbal assault. Their proclamations about how they'll supposedly make me "tuck my tail between my legs and go back to Japan" when even if they could do that, they would fail. If i had even the slightest thought of heading back to Japan, i would have taken the deal with IPWL. I would have remained under the JWPW banner and gone back when i wanted to but i didnt. That should be enough to tell you im not going to be swimming back to that pool. That i am here to stay, whether you fucking want me to or not. Trust me, you wont once you're left drowned at my hands. Once you realize that the "Nightmare" isnt just a name. Its a lifestyle. Its what i am. So i dare you to try that line. I dare you to believe that your "experience" in American wrestling will serve you any help. That it will be what allows you to walk out of that ring on your own volition, because it wont. All itll do, is serve as a little comforting word, when your in the hospital, doctors having to try and piece everything back together. Having to stitch you up and confess to you that this isnt viable any more. That even if you want to talk tough, even if youve allowed yourself to believe that you can take any level of punishment, your body has shut down. It has said "no" and you cant continue unless you want your own livelihood to end. Unless you want your children to ask "wheres daddy" and for their mom to tell them "Daddy wont be coming home". Axl and Anthony If thats your deathwish, then i am happy to oblige.

:-:His face a portrait of disdain, Kenzo leans forward. His death stare continuing to point straight at the camera lens. Sitting back, he places his left hand under his jaw before placing it back on his knee. :-:

You dont have a choice in the matter anyway. Im not making threats, im promising you what will happen. Im giving you a warning. Actually, no. Your not even deserving of that respect {Axl and Anthony. I am in a generous mood though, so ill consider it a warning anyway. More than i got from SPW when they said they didnt want me back due to believing i was "too violent" for their promotion. Then again, they are from the United Kingdom, so that shouldnt be a surprise. Enough about that though, they're buried. Gone and a part of my past. Though im sure OWA will probably have the same thoughts, considering how timid Americans truly are. How scared of their "culture being infringed" they get when they hate those who are foreign. When they choose to blindly jeer instead of acknowledging their flaws. Admitting that maybe having other influences in their so-called "American Way" only serves to improve them. In fact, America is almost a reflection of you, {Axl and Anthony}. A mirror image of yourself. Why you hold the delusion that i am simply fearmongering. Why you try to "will yourself to victory" and put on the face of someone who believes they are being wrongfully bullied. Intimidated into admitting defeat before the match has begun.

:-: Once again spitting, Kenzo's disdain for Axl and Anthony is evident. He hates the ground they walk on. He wants nothing more than to unleash upon them. To break them. To leave them for dead. Just as he has done to anyone else who has stood in his way. Who has tried to suppress him. :-:

Trying to get people to pity you. "Hes the bad guy, hate him" youll try, as if you're rallying some sort of army. Some sort of force that can shield you from the viscous awakening that awaits you. The comfort, of knowing at least the people rallied around you. At least they saw you as their "savior". Even if it was all for nothing. Even if their cheers, were the last sound that penetrate your ears before your world turned cold. Before your lights, were shut down forever Axl and Anthony. Dont worry though, they'd do that anyway. As i said before: they, like you, fear those who are "outsiders". Those, who change their cultural way of thinking and expose it as nothing more than a cover. Nothing more than a shield for the truth. A truth, that is: no matter what nation im in. No matter what supposed "style" we are wrestling, Iis always dominant. I am always going to make sure that you never get the chance to stand again. Unless you are a mannequin, which is probably all you'll be useful for after this week anyway. Because you sure as hell wont be seen as a wrestler. A man ever again.

:-: He smiles, before standing upright. Looking into the camera, malevolence evident in his eyes. Pushing the camera back, he laughs. :-:

The culture might be different, the promotion might be different but the end result remains static. The Nightmare always wins. Nobody can change that. Nobody here has the ability to stop me, no matter how much "courage" they try and muster up. No matter how much "energy" they acquire from the crowd. They will all fall down.

:-: FIN.:-:

[Just moments after his long and grueling match at Hardcore Havoc for the Spartan's Championship, Isaac is seen slightly limping his way backstage. He has his battle scars sure, but it could have been much worse, especially when you think about the scary fall that involved Thornton, Sabertooth, and Adams that ended the match. Isaac stops for a second to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He also checks his jaw to make sure it isn't broken or anything. Isaac looks a little disappointed, which is understandable since he didn't walk out with the Spartan's Championship in his possession, but he doesn't look heartbroken because he knows with a little more experience, championship gold will be his soon enough. So as Isaac unwraps his wrist tape and wipes the sweat from his eyes, he sees one of the OWA interviewers off into the distance, about a hundred feet away or so. She's on her phone at the moment, waiting for some of the participants in the Spartan's title match to make their way to the back. Seeing as Isaac loves the camera and is still an actor at heart, he begins to exaggerate his injuries so he comes off as some hero returning from battle. He gets closer and closer to the interviewer but she still doesn't notice because just like most people in this world, her eyes remain glued to her phone screen. Isaac keeps limping heavily towards her, still nothing. He begins to cough loudly until he finally gets her attention.]

Interviewer: Oh my god, Isaac! Are you okay?

Isaac: *coughing* Not now ... please! 

[Isaac limps a few more feet until he reaches the wall, leaving him nowhere else to go. To be even more dramatic, he crouches down, looking depressed because he didn't win, when in reality he's doing okay, given the circumstances. Again, he is just doing this for the cameras.]



Interviewer: Isaac, I know you didn't get the result you wanted tonight, but there is no need to hang your head. You did exceptionally well out there, especially given the fact this is your second match ever. You have plen—

Isaac: *lets out a long and deep sigh* Save your pep talk. I don't want to talk right now. *sighs again because he's a drama queen*

Interviewer: Okay, I understand...

[The interviewer begins to walk away and Isaac realizes this. He clearly wants the attention and the cameras to be on him at all times, so he has to think fast to reel her back in.]

Isaac: It's just...

Interviewer: Oh?

Isaac: Hmm?

Interviewer: You say something? 

Isaac: I guess...

Interviewer: What is it? 

Isaac: Oh um, nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just really distraught right now. Look at me? I am a man that just hit rock bottom! And uh, I just uh, I don't want my fans to see me like this, you know? So please, not now....

Interviewer: Um okay...see you later, Isaac. By the way, you should go see a doctor or somet—

[Isaac suddenly stands up, interrupting the interviewer again because Isaac was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He doesn't know the first thing about manners. He bangs his fists against the wall, giving the audience a snippet of his fake rage.]

Isaac: Why do bad things always happen to good people? HUH WHY?! Because since the moment I signed my OWA contract, I have done everything the right way! Not just some things ... EVERYTHING! I ain't a troublemaker. I haven't caused a ruckus! Nah instead, I have kept my head down and my nose clean. Unlike most people here, I realize the responsibility and influence I have by just being a part of this remarkable company. I mean kids watch this. They see me and they automatically gravitate towards Isaac Thornton because when I'm out there in that squared circle, I am basically spiderman with the maneuvers only I can pull off, okay? Don't mind me, I am just your friendly neighborhood Isaac Thornton! But the kids ... that's why I do this. I don't do this for me! I don't do this for the groupies that line up in front of my hotel room each and every week, knocking on my door until the police come for noise complaints, it's whatever. Just like I don't do this for the money, or the fame. This is for today's youth! The future is in your hands. Look at me, don't do drugs kids, and stay in school! All that shit. 

Interviewer: So you see yourself as the perfect role model? 

Isaac: No. Nobody is perfect! Not even me. I mean I come close. I come very very very very very very ... very very very close. But perfect? Nah, I wouldn't go that far. I have made mistakes before. Like letting Scotty rip the Spartan's championship away from my tight and manly grip. And also the time ... actually nah, that is the first mistake I ever made in my life. 

Interviewer: What about the time Christopher Sabertooth won that triple threat match you were in a few weeks back? 

Isaac: Okay fine, two mistakes. But thanks for reminding me of that! Just proving my point that bad things always happen to good people! I mean, people keep stealing my shit around here ... such as victories and titles. Brings me back to my acting days when I'd get snubbed from my rightful Oscar trophies ... fuckin thieves, but I digress. All I'm saying is OWA needs to fire their security already. That's it!

Interviewer: So you see yourself as the victim in all of this? As if you are some kind of angel?

Isaac: Well, I prefer the word saint, but yes. 

Interviewer: Okay but what about the time you brutally attacked Tsuyoi after your debut match? 

Isaac: That's not even a real person. You made that name up. You got jokes!

Interviewer: Wh—

Isaac: Haha very funny! You got me! Okay, I gotta go because I need an ice pack for the blue balls I suffered after almost claiming the Spartan's Championship! K, bye!

[Isaac limps away, this time with the wrong leg because again, he was playing it up in front of the cameras. The scene fades to black for a second until "Current Day" pops up on the screen. Isaac is in the arena, sitting in his director's chair backstage as a couple of women fan him with palm leaves. After a while, he tells them that's enough because he doesn't want to catch a cold. If he gets sick he won't be able to perform tomorrow and Isaac wouldn't dare deprive the fans of his presence. Just a complete professional.]

Isaac: Oh hi, I didn't see you there. It's Thornton, Isaac Thornton. Aka the man that should be your first ever Spartan's Champion, but that's neither here nor there. You see, I am many things. Talented? Yes. Good looking? Yes. An inspiration? Yes. A hero? Yes, absolutely. But one thing I'm not is a sore loser! So to the current Spartan's champ, Scotty Adams, wherever you may be ... probably stuffed in a kangaroo pouch somewhere or putting another shrimp on the barbie 'cause Australia ... 

[For these next few sentences, Isaac is clearly reading off a teleprompter by the way his eyes move. He doesn't actually mean what he's about to say.]

Isaac: Anyway, I would just like to say congratulations on your win. You totally "deserve" it. I couldn't be happier for you, really. I know this week you'll have a little celebration, which is great because it's only right after achieving such a milestone. Although, I hate to bring this up, especially with millions watching, but I didn't get my invite yet ... yeah, awkward. I'm sure it's coming any second so it's no big deal. To resolve this confusion, just have your people contact my people, they'll get it all sorted out. But, the next time you lace up those boots of yours, which will most likely be next week because you probably pride yourself on being a fighting champion ... just break a leg okay?! That means good luck in the show business, in case you weren't aware. I don't actually want you to break your leg! Don't be silly! But hell, go on and break both of your legs, alright pal?! Okay sounds good. So look, I'm not here to dwell on the past because well, there is nothing I can do to change what transpired last Sunday. That's right, not even a man with my talents can change back the clocks, damn. 

So instead of worrying about what happened in the past, I am living in the now and it just so happens that I have yet another match this week. That'll be good for ratings! Very smart of you, OWA! I applaud you! Please, appreciate that little golf clap of mine, thanks! So the man I face this week is none other than Axl Willow! Oh wow, I'm trying my best to keep my composure. Trying my best to not fangirl. I mean look at my hand! It's shaking! I'm too excited! Because to say this is a dream match of mine ... it would be an understatement. THESE ARE THE MATCHES I GET UP FOR FOLKS! Because you see, it's not every day you get to face a household name, as well as a legend in this business, such as Axl Willow. The way I see it, the most difficult task for me this week is keeping my emotions in check. I can't let my excitement dictate how I wrestle out there because it wouldn't be fair to Axl. I mean he is clearly expecting an instant classic, and as he should, when you factor in the type of performers we are. What can I say? We are a cut above the rest. We aren't cut from the same miserable stained cloth like the rest of the men and women on this roster. No, don't insult us like that. Just like don't insult Axl's lovely relationship with Savannah Sunshine. It isn't fair to them. You don't need to shower them with your constant unwarranted jealousy. I mean why? Why call their relationship fake huh? Oh, that's right because you have yet to find the love that those two share. Fuck Prince Harry and his wedding today. We shouldn't be celebrating them, nah man. We need to be celebrating Willow and Sunshine, and the symbol of love they represent. But you know, I get it. No really, I do. You see Axl, if you view your relationship with the audience's eye, you know, from their perspective, they have the right to feel the way they do ... even if they are technically wrong, they still have that right. The fans, they don't know what love is like. Hell, they don't even know what contact feels like and no, your hand doesn't count people. So long story short, why would you expect them to understand the beauty of two souls becoming one? You see, they will never meet their soulmate so they don't want other people finding theirs. Yes, it's a very sad life they choose to live, but whatever. Take Nate Cage for example. You know, your last opponent? Yeah, felt like I had to point that out since he's a pretty forgettable individual. I mean, just look at our match Hardcore Havoc for proof, but I digress. The point I was trying to make is he had the gall to label Sunshine as just some sex doll. As you can imagine, that made your blood boil a little bit and that is understandable. Even I was a little angered by it because this world doesn't need any more sexist pigs. I mean imagine labeling an entire gender as nothing more than sex dolls ... I don't even know how to respond to that, actually. Congrats, I have been stumped! It's just that our society gets worse by the day by becoming even more narrow-minded and hurtful. Think about it ... hate is preached and instilled in us at an early age and I guess we just have to live with that? NO! I SAY NO MORE! THIS WORLD NEEDS MORE POSITIVITY! THIS WORLD NEEDS A BEACON OF LIGHT TO SHINE THROUGH THE STEAMING PILE OF SHIT THAT IS KNOWN AS EARTH! I AM THAT LIGHT! I AM THE MOST WHOLESOME MAN ON THIS ROSTER AND I AM BEST DAMN ROLE MODEL SINCE ... SINCE BOB ROSS! NO, SINCE BOBBY MOTHERFUCKIN FLAY! Listen to me when I tell you that Hardcore Havoc will be the last time I let you all down, I promise. Nay, pinky promise! As for my departing words for my good friend Axl, I just wanted you to know that I only have the utmost respect for you and I cannot wait to share the same ring with you tomorrow night. It will truly be an honor and privilege! So thank you, everyone! And please, enjoy the rest of your weekend! 

This is Isaac Thornton, signing off! 

[Isaac lets out a wholesome smirk because he is a gentleman and a scholar. The camera fades to black.]

'Cause I want to fight
I want to fight
I want to prove I'm right
I want to fight
I want to fight
So turn and forfeit








There's nothing as vindicating as walking into a hotel room under your name, and knowing in two short nights you're going to be in the ring against a side show and someone who claims to be animalistic. A window looking out to the parking lot of a three star local joint in Philadelphia, a queen size bed with pillows stiffer than a three year old doberman's dropping, and a cathode ray tube television from the 1980s may seem like a scene from a bygone era, but for me, this is perfect. Cream colored walls remind you of an old schoolroom as you start putting away your possessions, realizing this stay will be an extended one.


“My first taste of Omega Wrestling Alliance comes in a mere two days. Forty-eight hours and some change and my hands will be able to finally come into contact with men who are thought of as my equals in this company. Fellow 'Alphas'...


The terminology is not lost on me. Alpha and Omega...the first and the last. This company represents everything in the world of professional combat...and everything in the world of corporate and hierarchical greed and corruption. You start this company to milk every last cent out of the working class fans, doing the menial labor that disgusts you and manufacturing the items which are a dime a dozen in this throwaway culture. I grew up on the bottom rung of this shit-covered ladder, and yet because of the nonsensical greed of those above me, I got by utilizing the things that most others couldn't be bothered to keep.”


A hand in a nearby duffle bag retracts a baseball bat, worn in age and weathered, yet still as solid as ever.


“Where I was, stickball was an awful popular pastime for the youth who couldn't get into organized sports. Then I found this...a proper baseball bat that someone couldn't be bothered to take with them to the next level. That is, if they ever made it there.


And those others on the bottom with me...the fans that will be in attendance in Philadelphia on Sunday night. I speak not to assimilate with you. I only referenced you to show that the upper crust of wealth has taken advantage of you...but you should be condemned for allowing it to happen. Look at me. I dealt with the tribulations you have, I didn't have a pot to piss in either. But I never degraded myself so much to let these vainglorious leaders dictate my interest level in something so instinctive. In fact, to be honest, I've never watched an OWA show in my life.


I wasn't a fan of professional combat, but it is the only way to get this point across. Signing that contract, coming to this city and seeing Johnny Star and Tsuyoi Sutairu across from me in a ring is just the step needed to put the wheels in motion that topples this flawed ideology. No more leaders feeding off the weak. No more weak too stupid or unwilling to fight for themselves.


They call these Sundays the Kingdom. Makes sense. Because when we step into that arena there will be the citizenry, all of you who are willing to waste your hard earned dollars to take in this barbaric adventure. Johnny Star, will be the jester, parading around as has been documented in the past. Sutairu will be a puppet, willing to do whatever will get the cheap thrills and adulation of the citizenry. But by the end of the night, the only thing left standing will be the highest tower of the castle, built for sole purpose of a warning those outside and in the Kingdom itself of the danger that lies ahead.


For OWA...the danger is all too real.”








Fade.

The British are Coming - Nate Cage

Gareth, my boy, you need to work that stress out of your system. I think I know some guys who look a bit like your dad if you want to take them out. I'm not all too concerned if your fists are weapons. Weapons do not win wars. Do you think the Vietcong were better equipped than the US? Einstein once said that he knows not what weapons World War III will be fought with, but that World Wars IV and V will be fought with sticks and stones. You can rely on your weaponry all you like, it will not save you, it will be your undoing.

I admire your tenacity, Gareth, I almost respect it. You're not like the other weekend warriors that were in that Ultimate X match. You hurt me, you wounded me. But when you back a wounded animal into a corner, that is when it's at its most dangerous. I hope you enjoyed drinking that tea, because you're going to be drinking most of your meals after our match on Sunday when I permanently dislodge your jaw. 

Wolvesden is not a group of cryptic creeps who talk a big game. Last time I checked, we've delivered on every damn word. Kenny Drake is a master of mystifying an audience. He's so good that even I don't know what he's going to do to our enemies. Nobody has pinned or submitted me since I joined the OWA roster, and you will not change that with your "joint manipulation", which sounds like a euphemism but whatever.

Clinton is finally on the path to realising his full potential, but he needs to witness you being exposed for the fraud you really are firsthand. When he realises that you are nothing more than flesh and bone as I decorate the ring canvas with your blood, he will awaken from the depressive state you put him in and unleash the monster that I know nestles within. He's not coming out there to help me, he's doing it so I can help him.

I left my UK roots behind, borders are of little use to me. You cling onto your nationality as if it gives you some sort of identity. I enjoy a good cuppa as much as the next person, but it's not a fucking personality trait. That's why I came here, to prove that British wrestling can exist outside of a weirdo clique that prides itself on being "different." You're a walking cliche, Gareth. You accuse me of putting on an act when everyone knows that I have backed up every promise of destruction I have made. You, on the other hand, saunter around tea shops and do nothing to help how the rest of world perceives the British Isles. Congratulations, Gareth, you've done your entire nation a disservice.

You need to beat me on Sunday if you want any hope of being relevant in this company. That's cute, it really is. I'm fighting for something so much more meaningful. A higher calling. I HAVE to vanquish you on my journey towards Valhalla. Scotty Adams will watch my dismantling of a man who poses about as much danger as Axl Willow's Savannah Sunshine body pillow. Scotty Adams will see that his victory was prolonging the inevitable. That inevitability is me crushing the bones of this division to dust as I am anointed its rightful leader. You are a means to an end, Gareth, a future footnote in my OWA crusade.

Prepare for the body parts that you're about to have altered forever. Once our match is over, your face won't even be good enough for your brother to finish on.

The Wounds of War - Nate Cage

We enter Nate's war room, which is looking to be in somewhat of a state of chaos. The war board is covered in pictures of the competitors of the Ultimate X match, all with lines of string feeding towards a picture of Scotty Adams at the centre. There is a circle in red felt pen around the face of Gareth Cason, Nate's first target.


Nate is sitting in a wooden chair, still showing the effects of Hardcore Havoc. His helmet that he wore to the ring sits next to him, cracked. Nate is sporting a bruised eye, a bandage around his temple where he was busted open, and has his arm in a sling. Clinton Stone is sitting in the background, holding an AK-47 as he sits next to a tribute shrine to Kenny Drake, which has the letters "MIA" underneath his picture.


War is not pretty. War is something that has to be done. To take the soul of another man in the heat of battle requires a conviction that very few people have. Last Sunday, I stepped into the line of fire with seven other men who all wanted to prove who the mightiest of them all was. And what happened? A cheap, hollow victory. Scotty Adams literally snatched the belt that was rightfully mine from two men who couldn't even settle a glorified tug of war. Pathetic. Battles are not won that way, and to see my prize awarded to such an unworthy warrior makes me sick.

Scotty, I will have my prize, but I am under no delusions of how this works. You're the man now, numero uno. To get to you, I must go through the worthless sacks of flesh that dare to call themselves Spartans. And right at the top of my list is Gareth Cason.

It's no secret at this point in time that the hatred I have for Gareth Cason runs deeper and truer than any other emotion in my body. His mere presence evokes a guttural reaction that almost reduces me to a primal state. He claims to be "Legit Dangerous", well, I know a thing or two about danger. At Hardcore Havoc, Gareth, you threw me into a mass grave with as much disregard as taking the bins out. And I don't blame you for thinking of me in such unsavoury terms. We do not like each other, it's plain as day.

So, what can I do to a man who falsely thinks he is the most dangerous individual in the OWA? You think I care about how many underwear models you knocked out in MMA? When it comes to the squared circle, you're still in the birth canal. And I'm gonna cut your umbilical chord off and strangle you to death with it.

Clinton already knows all about what you can do. Yes, you made him your bitch for the whole world to see. Bravo. But that was the old Clinton, that was before he knew what it meant to be a soldier. I have trained Wolvesden in all manner of combat techniques and discipline. Every day, they are becoming a well-oiled machine that is getting set to stage a coup on this company. Clinton isn't done with you and neither am I, and that's why he's going to watch me tear that teenage girl hair off your head this Sunday and shove it down your throat.

Wolvesden is strong. Wolvesden is powerful. Our illustrious leader, Kenny Drake, he has a plan. And like all great plans, he's playing it close to his chest. To see him fall at Hardcore Havoc after being told that he didn't want my help was initially heartbreaking. I don't know where Kenny is or if he's watching this, but I now know that whatever he's doing, what he has coming is going to change everything.

Gareth, you shouldn't be watching your back anymore. No. You need to be watching your front as I ram my fist into your chest and rip out your still beating heart. The battle lines have been drawn, prepare for your downfall.

Nate produces a Colt 1911 and appears to shoot the lens of the camera as the screen cuts to black.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am here with a man who has made quite a mark in his first few weeks here in OWA. Please help me welcome, Christopher Sabertooth.” Said the Interviewer. The camera pans to Christopher Sabertooth sitting opposite to the interviewer wearing a fancy suit. He is not impressed at all by the introduction as he sits there with a sense of displeasure.
 
“Very happy to have you tonight, Christopher. I would call you Chris but I have heard you don’t like that.” Said the Interviewer jokingly.
 
“Yes, I would laugh with you if it was any funny. But yes, I am a bit better off now knowing that you have at least done your research before having me here tonight.” Said Chris as he maintains a poker face.
 
“Alright… Let’s begin with the elephant in the room, shall we? Hardcore Havoc. What a fantastic show wasn’t it?” asked the Interviewer.
 
“Oh… So, you thought it was fantastic? Sure, it was fun watching Tarah Nova and Kenny Drake fight to their death or Finnegan Wakefield ending the show with the OWA World Championship in hand but like you said, the elephant in the room is that I was robbed. The Ultimate X match was everything people were expecting from an eight-person matchup and more… But did you watch the show? Cause if you did, you’d know that it was a travesty that went down at the ending moments of the match. I had my hands on the title and I was so close…. I was just one second away from walking out Hardcore Havoc with the OWA Spartan’s Championship on my second night there! But, that conniving, manipulative bastard in Scotty Adams stole it right from hands. That match was mine for the winning if it wasn’t for one man. Isaac Thornton… Now, Isaac you are right when you say that you’re the thorn that has kept bothering me on ever since I stepped foot here. The story could have been different if you have just walked away from your loss on your first night. But then you continued to pester on and somehow found yourself in the same ring as me once again, in that Ultimate X match. Now, if it wasn’t for you playing tug of war with the title that I had unhooked myself, the match would have been over with the rightful winner taking the gold. But you decided to step up your game at the final moments knowing very well that a test of strength of sorts, with me wouldn’t go in your favor. You ruined my night and my chances of walking out with what was rightfully mine at that point. You basically let Scotty rob me and in turn you, making a rookie mistake but that’s something to be expected from you. You are new in this business and you have a good part of your youth in front of you but see, when you ruin the chances of someone like me, I in turn go around to make sure I ruin your LIFE. So, don’t fret Isaac, you will get what’s coming to you very soon.
 
And… before you cut me off once again with your terrible piece of journalism, let me also set things straight with Scotty Adams. Isaac might have handed out the title in a silver plate to you, but trust me when I say this, we are not DONE. You and I Scotty, we’ll meet in the middle of the ring once again and that nincompoop Isaac Thornton, will not be there to throw away the match just like he did at Hardcover Havoc. The outcome will be very different. It’s funny to me that a man talking about being the ‘Pinnacle of Purity’ is basically taking advantage of unforeseen circumstances caused by the stupidity of a person like Isaac. Stealing the title away from my grasp… Is that what you had foreseen before you stepped into that ring that night, Scotty? What will the people that you’re very charitable towards think of you now? You steal things that do not belong to you and make a mockery out of your own character that you try to be to fool these people. But your actions speak louder than your words and we all know that you love to talk… You have let down a lot of your ‘followers’ that saw any sense of good in you. How will you ever talk about ‘purity’ and anything along those lines and ever be taken seriously again? It will be a walking and talking bit of irony.  Nobody will ever take you seriously again Scotty so I congratulate you for what you did. You exposed your true self to these people and letting them all know that there aren’t any saviors in this world. You might have walked away with the gold for now but very soon I will expose you for the liar you are. You can never be a credible champion and so I will take the weight if burden over your shoulders from you and show these people what a real champion looks like.” Said Chris to an unconvinced interviewer.
 
“Correct me if I am wrong Mr. Sabertooth but didn’t you do something similar on your debut match here in OWA?” questioned the interviewer. Chris was absolutely appalled by the question being asked to him. He seemed furious by the comment made by the interviewer and almost contemplated walking out before calming down.
 
“How dare you ask me questions like that? The same thing? Do you even watch the show?!” exclaimed Chris. “Do I look like the person who will sit through a bit of tomfoolery which wasn’t even funny, and take shots directed towards me without any opposition? I am very offended by your remarks and I am almost willing to walk out from here but my Manager backstage seems to think that this is good publicity for the upcoming show so I will have to go through your insensitive remarks that were truly uncalled for after the way I was robbed at Hardcore Havoc. You are supposed to be sympathetic towards the victim and not blame them for the problem! Don’t think I won’t make the phone calls to your higher ups for being an utterly disgraceful human being.” Said Chris. The interviewer was taken aback by the accusations being made at her and tries to diffuse the situation.  After a glass of wine being offered and an apology by the producers around the set, the interview continues.
 
“I would like to apologize to Mr. Sabertooth for my lack of professionalism shown right now…” said the interviewer in a mellow, toned-down voice.
 
“You better be! The same thing… Absolutely rubbish. No, it’s not the same thing because this title was literally in my hands. You are supposed to unhook the title from the weird X structure and I did that. I would have stepped down with the title if it wasn’t for a certain Isaac holding on to it like a spoilt brat like he is. But… I don’t want to talk about that anymore because that was one of the worst nights of my life and I have been in a prison before. So, if you have any other critiques or terrible questions to follow after this one, we can continue.” Said Chris.
 
“Yeah…Sure. So, this Sunday you will be in a one on one matchup against a man you haven’t faced before. Jon McAdams. He is a seriously incredible competitor who was involved in the main event of Hardcore Havoc facing three other men for the OWA World Championship. Tough competition lies ahead, don’t you think?” asked the interviewer scared for the kind or response Chris will have after this question. Chris in turn begins to laugh and the interviewer seems to be confused on why Chris is laughing as she stares at Chris who is rolling on the floor at this point.
 
“That was hilarious! Finally, you have said something that I found mildly amusing. You were joking right? With the McAdams thing? Incredible competitor… Tough competition…. I mean, that seriously has to be a joke, right?” asked Chris still laughing about the question hysterically.
 
“Actually…. No. I was think..” Chris lifts his finger looking like he has something to interject her argument with but doesn't speak immediately. The interviewer tries to hide behind her cue cards awaiting a response from Chris.
 
“Of course, … I didn’t expect anything funny to come out of your filthy mouth tonight anyway. But, I have to commend the OWA higher ups backstage because they know the value of my presence in the company, unlike you I might add. I am going to be in the main event this Sunday facing a man who was in the main event of Hardcore Havoc contesting for the biggest prize in the company, the OWA World Championship. But, remind me again, did Jon McAdams walk out of Hardcore Havoc with the coveted championship? I will answer that for you…. No. Unlike me, who was absolutely robbed of my crowning moment, Jon McAdams just…. lost, really. He tapped out, didn’t he? He gave up in the middle of the ring for the world to see… It goes well cause we all now, it was certainly not his first time been given up… Cause, you know. His parents weren’t too fond of him either. From what I have heard, the man has had a rough childhood and that’s something I can relate with. At this point, everybody knows my story so there’s no point in me repeating it. But Jon has an incredible heart wrenching story! An orphan finally finding the warmth of having family and people who can trust only to be exploited by them for their own benefit. It sucks… really. But, that story has made him tougher. He fought and fought to finally get his parent’s approval but that never worked out for him. So, taking advantage of his newfound fighting background, he decided to step foot into a squared circle. Wouldn’t it have been a touching moment if McAdams walked out of Hardcore Havoc with the most coveted prize in this company? But, that didn’t happen did it? While the fans cheered on for Finnegan, he gave up in front of everybody. I am not going to lose to a man who gives up… I could have given up too and probably would have ended up with a career like McAdams’s…Forgettable. Because, you see, he has had his shot at the biggest prize this company has to offer but he failed! I would think that he believes that he is still owed an opportunity to get a hold of that title but that’s not going to happen. I will tell you exactly who things are going to pan out for you, McAdams. This Sunday, I will beat you down…. And to add insult to injury, I will make you submit once again in front of everybody… I will expose you for the loser that you truly are and after our match, you will fade to irrelevancy and run back to your wealthy foster family for wanting in on the exploitative scheme again. Cause, maybe those underground battles provided you with the confidence to even share a locker room with a wrestling machine like myself.” Said Chris without flinching. He was running down a man for tapping out because he had learned the hard way to never give up in life. He might have lost the ability to trust anybody, but he still was confident in his own abilities. A bit too confident, some might add. The interviewer was still not sure what to say after the comments made by Chris towards his opponent. She was caught speechless by the arrogance at display here.
 
“Lost for words? What else did I expect from a journalist like yourself. It’s hard to imagine you get paid for this job… Do I really have to do your job for you, now? Fine… Here’s a good question. ‘So, Mr. Christopher Sabertooth… How do you plan to beat a man with the fighting background of Jon McAdams? Also, what move will you use to make him tap out in the ring with?’. That’s a great question, Chris. You may be a great grappler in your underground fights that you participate in, Jon. But, I am not an underground guy with a shitty job just doing anything I can to make ends meet… Now, I am a guy training to be a professional wrestler ever since I was a kid. Your fights have nothing on the harsh training regimen I had to go through to be ready for the Olympics. Your fights don’t have anything on the criminals I had to face, who wanted to beat me up as a pastime. Your struggle is nothing in comparison to what I had to go through in my life but I didn’t TAP OUT and give up on live television now did I? The both of us might have walked out of Hardcore Havoc without the gold in hand but whilst I was robbed of my impending glory, you gave up like the pathetic loser that you truly are. And I will use you, just like your adoptive did, as a stepping stone to the OWA World Championship. When I beat you, and I will! I will climb the ranks amongst the next in line for a title shot, so I guess, I do have to thank you for that. But, something like that, was inevitable the day I stepped foot in that ring. And this Sunday, I will show everybody why I am the last ‘real’ professional wrestler left in this business. Mark my words” said Chris as he stands up. He takes out the microphone attached to his shirt and throws it to the ground.
 
“This is like the worst interviewing experience that I have had. You should be ashamed of yourself for what you have done tonight. If this is what journalism has come to these days… God save us. I know, I will.” Said Chris, barely audible to the live audience. He walks of from the show with the cameras still rolling as the interviewer looks absolutely clueless to what just happened. She points to the cameraman to cut the feed as the screen fades to black.

[[The camera opens up to showing CM Nas and Rick Walton conversing in Nasir’s home office. Rick turns to the camera then smirks.]]

Rick Walton: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! I give you the Omega Heavyweight Champion and the BEST Champion and Wrestler ALIVE…..C! M! NAS!

CM Nas: Thank you as always Rick.

Rick Walton: Oh it’s nothing Champ, now tomorrow is the big day for you huh? First ever Omega Heavyweight Title defense. Tables, Ladders, and Chairs! Against Miltiades and Jacob Senn!

CM Nas: My first true test here in OWA. For you see a lot of things have changed over the course of the past few months for many MANY people that led them all down this path to Hardcore Havoc, including myself. You have people like Aria Jaxon, Scott Oasis, Finnegan Wakefield, Kenny Drake and Myself who all came from the same circle, this former land we inhabited which we have now quickly come to realize is simply one small corner of the entire world of wrestling. On the inverse however, we have new faces trying to etch their name into history for the first time. Scratching and clawing for every opportunity to make an impact in our modern day business. Such blue chip prospects as Scotty Adams, Gareth Cason, Christopher Sabertooth, Bull Connors, and Nate Cage. These guys aren’t pulling any punches as they realize any and all momentum they can snatch away from us veterans will benefit them immensely! But lemme stop speaking so generally. Let’s cut to the chase shall we? Let’s speak specifically on my Championship Defense. The Omega Heavyweight Championship and my two contenders. We have men who fit into both slots of men I described just now. A veteran who’s become a Pillar in this industry, and a young gun who is firing on all cylinders to reach the top as soon as humanly possible. They’re both damn good, I cannot deny. I have all the respect for what they are capable of inside of this ring. However as people I don’t care for them for their own individual reasons. On top of that my motivation is to not only survive, but THRIVE night in and night out with this here Omega Heavyweight Championship! I will hold on to this title for the foreseeable future and not a single individual will ever faze me! 

[[CM Nas takes hold of the Omega Heavyweight Championship sitting on his desk as Rick Walton claps for him.]]

Rick Walton: Now Nas, don’t forget in about a week’s time you’re gonna have to return to Mexico City to defend the Azteca De Lucha Heavyweight Title in a fatal four way match!

CM Nas: Yes, I know all too well Rick, then I’m flying back out to Newcastle to put my Proving Ground Wrestling World Championship up in a Falls Count Anywhere match.

Rick Walton: And of course your obligations to the Phantom Troupe in Strong Style Wrestling,

CM Nas: I dominate all forms of our art. I’m not just a jack of all trades, because that implies you are good at everything, but not special in any significant area. I am The Best in every single category you can think of!

The Best in British Mat Wrestling

The Best in Lucha Libre

The Best in Puroresu

The Best in good ol’ American Wrasslin

Rick Walton: You name it and my client is the man on top of it! Grappling, Striking, High Flying, Submissions, Promoing, Promoting, and the list goes on, and on, and on!

CM Nas: Everyone already knows all of that though. But it needs repeating for a world wide event such as Hardcore Havoc, just so it truly seeps into everyone’s skulls! 

Rick Walton: Proudly proclaim yourself to the world Champ!

CM Nas: C! M! NAS!

Rick Walton: Absolutely!

CM Nas: Now let’s get down to business about the men themselves. Let’s start it off with the new blood, Miltiades. I like your attitude. You’ve got the in ring ability, you present yourself like a true competitor. You speak like wrestling royalty. You carry yourself as if you’re already a champion. If I had it my way, I would take you under my wing and fly you all the way to the top. And clearly you have good taste as you recognize the good in me as a champion and a wrestler. But trust me Miltiades, you are a damned fool. You pride yourself on certain qualities, then turn right around and downplay others for the exact same things. My matchup with Gareth is something any man including yourself would be proud of win, lose, or draw. Don’t you dare lie to me. I created a masterpiece in that ring on that night. I put that kid on a pedestal! Not that he couldn’t carry his own weight, he most certainly did. BUT at the end of the day, it was just another day in the office for yours truly. I compete in highly dangerous matches all across the globe for a multitude of promotions on a weekly basis! You simply cannot stack up to me as you are Miltiades. Perhaps in a couple of months at the very least once you’ve built up more of a resume before attempting to size up with The Best Wrestler Alive! At your best you are a poor man’s CM Nas, and at your worst you are someone who needs to be carried full on by your Tres Comas Club boys to even stand a chance of making it to this Triple Threat Free Per View Matchup! 

Rick Walton: And I presume Andre Virgo won’t be an issue either?

CM Nas: Naturally, if I see Andre out there once that match has started, he’s a dead man just like Miltiades. But let’s talk as far as Jacob Senn is concerned. Talk about a man with an obsession. After EVERYTHING that’s gone on. All the travelling, all the politics, even you taking over as the head guy for Strong Style Wrestling...and yet you STILL cannot get over the fact that I’m just a better wrestler than you Jacob. It’s just pitiful if you ask me. You truly are a sad sad little man. You don’t belong in the same ring as me anymore Senn. I’ve proven my dominance over you time and time again. At this point it’s not even enjoyable to see you suffer in defeat anymore. It’s beyond old and beyond annoying. You didn’t do ANYTHING to earn this matchup or your place in it. You just waltzed on in and flexed your seniority and got your way. You can do that and no one bats an eyelash, but imagine if I did the exact same thing. People would be outraged. I would never hear the end of it. But that’s fine. Because you know what Jacob Senn will never hear the end of after his defeats? “HERE IS YOUR WINNER, C! M! NAS!” Miltiades will not be building his roman empire, nor will Jacob “regain retribution” against me for “past crimes” against him. What will happen is an example of what WILL happen at every Free Per View. CM Nas walking away still as Champion as his opponents lie in defeat, their dreams shattered to pieces and their bodies broken in half. I triumphantly raise the Omega Heavyweight Championship which I make the single most important title in all of Professional Wrestling. And More and More people begin to follow my almighty gospel. My word is absolute. I am divine justice. I am the law. And the law of this land is stay out of CM Nas’ way or you will be destroyed! Jacob Senn and Miltiades are simply the examples that will be set for those who are too foolish to keep their heads down.

HAKAI!

[[The camera fades away as Rick Walton pats CM Nas on the back and the two smirk towards the camera.]]

HARDCORE HAVOC: MIS PALABRAS SON DE ORO.

DESERVED.

I am a man who deserves the best treatment, women, facilities and especially OWA’s most prestigious belt.  The Spartan’s belt has been looking at me with eyes of lust, begging for a conqueror to snatch her away from the hands of nothingness.  I’ve seen the way she looks at me, knowing that I’m the right one for her; the one who will hold her with dignity, honor y respeto. These other hungry and one-and-done perros would just use her as a prize instead of her meaning; the Spartan.  I can’t imagine a reality where these pedazos de basura throw around their weight and make this championship feel less than the rest. For weeks, this American authority and their puppets are keeping me away from holding you and showing you off to the rest of the world.  However, this stops now because I will prevail and hold this championship, no matter what the rest of my opponents say! I stay here with no more toleration of my mistreatment and how I’ve been cast aside from these average peasants. I am a gem this world has not seen shine yet but I’m not letting them ignore me.  Every man in this match wants to make a moment for themselves here, but I highly doubt anyone else here will be able to stand up to what I have planned for this match. Tengo estrategias y estos putos no van a ver lo que tengo planeado por esto. This company deserves my revenge after what I’ve been put through for the last couple of weeks, especially last week.  Ese viejito loco set his kingdom of gringos to assault me after they disrespected me. Vernon knows that I can wipe them all out with the snap of my fingers, but I’m too classy to do such a thing as that. I want to slap that fat perro in the face and make him respect me, so I will do this by winning the Spartan’s title and shoving it in his face. He deserves this more than anyone he’s signed; he knows he’s trying to hold un hombre real chingon like me from being accomplished en este país.  

Scotty Adams, you got lucky, cabron.  You only managed to take me down when I was unjustly attacked by these salvages!  Esos gorillas almost killed me and you supposedly take me down with your own strength.  That’s a load of basura! Everyone saw how abused I was and how much heart I still had to fight you.  If you were a real man, you would’ve let me regain my strength and let me finish you like I’m going to finish you off this Sunday.  You keep a calm composure and talk a tough game, but I’m going to dissect you like the pig you are. Scotty, you are nothing compared to me.  You are just like your wife; a nobody who no one would care about if you never showed up in OWA. Why should these people even care about a no-charisma puppet like you?  The agenda of this company want you because you are so easy to mold. Your face is going to end up on posters and mugs yet they’ll frown at the idea of me getting a shot around here.  How is that fair to a man like me? A man loved by his people back home and respected by his peers, yet can’t get the mere opportunity to main event a show or get anything in return. I don’t need to work hard for it because I’ve already worked hard enough to get here.  You remind me of average wrestling Joes that I can find in underpaid promotions, but hell maybe they’ll make a better match for me. I’d be more impressed in their motivation than you because you’d rather go the cheap way out than actually defeating me. I’m unimpressed with your supposed streak Scotty because you don’t deserve it in my eyes.  What makes you so much more better than I? It’s not like you have more charisma and emotion than me. I’m full of both while you stand around like every generic superhero! Meanwhile I’m a man with a troubled past; someone who has to defend himself every day from his opposition. You don’t have to deal with this burden every day and come defend his honor in front of an American audience.  You aren’t constantly disrespected by American authority and told to “fight” for what deserves to already be mine. I’ve been screwed since my first week here and they expect me to fight? This organization is full of injustice, yet I am told that I have to keep fighting under their biased regime? They continue to push me to the edge of my tolerance and once they break it, I will make sure every single member on this roster regrets it.  

I don’t care about every other man in this match but me, I can talk about myself for the rest of my life.  Look at me; I’m going to be champion in less than 24 hours! I will be going into business for myself and nobody else.  The Spartan’s title is going to be OWA’s top title under my reign and I will start el era de CASPIAN. I’ve been laying low for too long now and this event will bring out the side of me that everyone has yet to see.  El Capitan will lead the charge in OWA and this is going to be my first step to doing that. The Ultimate X match will be my place to shine and I will show why I’m a survivor and not a typical gringo loser. Voy a ganar para mi gente at Hardcore Havoc y voy a enseñar mi valor a todo el mundo.  Este Hondureño va a chingar este putos hasta que no pueden respirar. Voy a matar estos perros como maté a todo esos líderes de los carteles. It’s my time now. Cabrones y viejas, welcome to CASPIAN’s cage.

MINE.

[With Hardcore Havoc only being a day away, Isaac made the relatively short drive to San Diego from his LA home. He is in the Viejas Arena, standing a few inches from the ring. He has his headphones on, in an attempt to zone everything and everyone out. He is in his own little world. Next, he grabs a towel nearby to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He must have just ended a brief training session. He takes his headphones off as the camera gets more near. Before speaking, he takes it all in. The arena, the ring, the seats ... just visualizing the crowd being their normal rowdy selves. He looks at the ring and tries to play as many scenarios this match could go/end in his head to help him prepare. Isaac looks a little worried since he doesn't have that signature cocky grin on his face. Could Isaac be having stage fright.]

Isaac: What if ... what if they are right? "They" being my opponents, when they talk about how my professional wrestling career will only end up floundering ... just like my acting days? You see, since the moment I signed my name on the dotted line, I have come off as one confident motherfucker. Being cool as a cucumber, even when facing the most difficult times ... or acting as if nothing gets to me while I frequently deal with the harsh criticism and negative reviews that come from my peers and fans' mouths. The gig is up, it was all a facade. I can no longer take that mental toll. Unfortunately, the honeymoon period has come and gone. The ink has dried and cooled off ... and so have my expectations for myself. Last night I had an epiphany, right? And I just don't know if this career path is for me anymore. Maybe, just maybe, being a professional wrestler is nothing more than a phase or an experiment? I mean it's only been a few weeks and my heart is no longer in it, so it must be the case. I guess this is it. This is the end of Isaac Thornton: The Wrestler. This is me putting my two weeks notice in. Is that a thing in wrestling? Meh, who knows. But I am done. And I am sorry, just so sorry to OWA management for wasting their time. I am leaving this arena and I am driving back to my house and sulk about my poor life decision making. I just want to thank my opponents for helping me see the light! They made me realize that I am not cut out for this business and hey, that is okay. I can proudly hold my head high, knowing I at least gave it a shot ... HAHAHAHA...

Nah fuck that,  I came here to collect. And let me tell you, that Spartan's Championship will look real good in my trophy case, especially when my Oscars start overflowing in it, just busting through that glass. But speaking of the Spartan's Championship, I clearly want it. However, I don't need it. Just like I don't need to win it tomorrow night, because I see plenty of title shots in my future. It's just funny how guys like Gareth talk about how they are "obsessed" with the Spartan's Championship when it's only been around for a few weeks. Unlike him, I don't have some forced emotional attachment to it. I just want it because it may very well end up being my first title as a professional wrestler. I also want it because the post-match salt would be unreal. "Oh my god, Isaac doesn't deserve it. He hasn't paid his dues yet! He doesn't know about the hardships, the sacrifices we make! WAAAAAAHHHH!" Who doesn't know about sacrifices? Me? That's preposterous! I am making a big sacrifice this Sunday. I mean, in case you didn't know, it's also Mother's Day this Sunday and I really want to celebrate my mother because she has always been there for me and if it wasn't for her, I obviously wouldn't bear .. tough luck for my opponents. They would have a real shot at winning if I didn't exist, but ah well. But yeah, I won't be able to see my mom because OWA clearly hates mothers, but I digress. I am here to address my opponents once more. You know, the same opponents that desperately want me gone because they know that deep down I am their biggest threat going in. And they will laugh it off to mask their insecurities. Rinse and repeat. 

So let's start with some new blood, shall we? Someone I haven't talked about yet, that being, Scotty Adams. Fun fact, I started playing his video message in the background just because I wanted some sound since I hate silence and before he stopped talking, I found my wife, got married, had two beautiful kids, they went to college, found the love of their lives, and had my grandchildren. For real, I thought your gum-flapping would never end! For future reference, if you feel the need or urge to speak, don't. Instead, just shut your fucking yapper Scotty boy because I have things to do and people to see, you selfish prick. I'll tell you what, put that video on good ol' Rotten Tomatoes and you will get a score of 0. No, give that video to an interrogator and it will make even the toughest SOB's crack because they could no longer handle the torture. No, get a time machine, give the audio to Vincent van Gogh and he will cut off both ears instead of just the one. You get the gist. Anyways, I had high hopes for you, Scotty, because I only heard good things about you heading into this match. Just kidding, nobody talks about you. At least not to me and I can understand why because the topic of Scott Adams isn't a great conversation starter. Seeing as how you clearly read my bio on OWA.com, in return, I read yours. Even the bio that some OWA intern most likely wrote was a little too wordy but then again, it is about Scotty Adams, so it makes sense. So all I really got out of it is you're a mastermind and you see yourself as some gatekeeper to the honor of professional wrestling. But let's backtrack a bit ... you of all people, are a mastermind? Um okay, yeah, I don't see it. At least not from when you talk. Well to be fair, I just fast forwarded to the part you talked about me. And even with the fast forwarding, it still took about two hours to reach that part and in the end, I was unimpressed. You just made generalized statements, statements that I have already heard countless times and this is my only second week here. Just like everyone else, you went on the attack about my acting career, hoping to strike a nerve, to get my blood boiling, but in the end, all I do is pity you and your lazy zingers. Believe it or not, I am not here to talk about my Hollywood career. I am here to be a professional wrestler and be a god damn great one, might I add. But I must say, I do enjoy the fact you take an interest in my life outside of the ring. Unfortunately, I won't be returning the favor because you don't interest me in the slightest. Hell, the only reason I am giving you the time of day is because I wanted a change. I wanted to talk to someone not named Gareth or Christopher but now, I see that was a mistake. So ta ta for now, Scotty. 

Then there is the big man, Bull Connors. *A ten second pause* Man, I'm debating if I actually take the bait here, you know? Such as giving him the satisfaction of a proper response to his half-assed comments. Is he worth it? No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. But ... actually nah, I don't know. See, I just tried to convince myself to go on the offense, to let him have it ... and by doing so, putting him in his place. However, is that really necessary? Because after our match, once I have the Spartan's Championship firmly in my grasp and he walks away empty-handed, I think he'll have a pretty good idea of where he stands in terms of the pecking order around here. Then again, I love talking shit, hmmm. It's like I have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel is telling me to just zip my mouth, mind my manners and move on. But then, the devil is screaming at me, telling me to roast this Pillsbury Doughboy. Soooo, I guess we'll just play it by ear here. And action! Listen here Bull, you, yes YOU, are a main reason as to why I hate being in matches with multiple people. Actually this is my first match with such conditions, well more than two opponents at least, but I have studied up on them in different places. You know, doing my homework for a role? It's what stars like I do because I like to be thorough, so I wouldn't expect you to understand. Anywho, I noticed that leading up to these kinds of matches, the opponents just rehash bullet points from the others. Leading to these men, or women, to travel in circles instead of progressing in any shape or form. It gets tiring, you know? Repeating yourself over and over again. It's actually kind of stressful because it feels like I'm going mad! Plus, I don't want these beautiful locks to turn gray yet, or better yet, lose them altogether, but you guys are really pushing it. Because this week alone has felt like its aged me twenty years. If this is what it's expected for every week here in OWA, then maybe I'll take Gareth up on his offer and he can go right on ahead and end my professional wrestling career before it even officially gets off the ground. It's really tempting, I must admit. But then again I'll probably bang my head against a wall here shortly, maybe to the point I fracture my skull, who knows, but fingers crossed either way. What was I saying again? Or better yet, who was I even talking to? Um, Bull right? Silly me, how could I ever forget such a forgettable man? Sorry! Please accept my sincere apologies. It'll make me feel better, which is the only important thing in that equation. But yeah, fuck you Bull. That ... that didn't feel natural. Take two! C'mon Isaac! You can do better than that! You can deliver that line so much better! Deep breaths! You can do this! Okay! And action! FUCK YOU BULL! Cut! Too dramatic. Plus, too much shouting. It felt forced. And the reason why it felt forced is because there is no bad blood here. You're right, I don't take you seriously. No one does. You have the appearance of a teddy bear and when you get all worked up with these flimsy insults of yours with no merit, it's cute really. For instance, when you say something like you're surprised I made it past school plays, I just wanna give you a pat on the head, give you a big ol' bear hug, or at least try to, because I don't think I can lock my arms around you, 'cause fat, and comfort you by saying, hey, at least you tried! That's all we can ask out of someone like you. Someone who has had the deck stacked against you from the very beginning. I can only imagine the difficulties, the hardships of resembling an ogre. Hey, maybe they should make a movie about your life?! I think it would be a hit because you just scream Average Joe to me. And the masses can relate to that. I would even be willing to play the part of Bull Connors! I'm just gonna need a few years to pack on the pounds and to grow whatever that is on your face. But in the meantime, this is about you as my opponent. 

This is about me debunking your claims and providing a bulletproof rebuttal in response. A speech with no filler. A speech with facts. A speech with tons of information, a speech that has plenty of meat and potatoes to it. I feel like that last line got your attention as the drool begins to seep out of your mouth. See, this is a two way street, Connors. You're the kind of guy that takes everything for face value. You hear that I have acting experience, so you jump on it as if it's a freshly baked pie. See? You define me as a failed actor because why else would I be here if my acting career didn't pan out?! So since all you see me as is a failed actor, then I'll match that laziness and define you as a fat slob, you're welcome. But hey, I don't fault you for scraping the bottom of the barrel with those comments of yours since my other opponents have followed suit. But who is to say my acting days are done?! Who's to say that I can't multitask? You guys. It's because you guys can't fathom the thought of life outside of this sport. You put all of your eggs in your basket, well except for you Bull, you probably already ate them, shell and all, but you put all of your eggs in the professional wrestling basket. There is no plan B, which is a dangerous game, seeing as how no one has ever heard of the likes of Bull Connors, Christopher Sabertooth, Scotty Adams, Gareth Cason, etc ... before OWA's existence. What's so bad about that? Oh I don't know, maybe because OWA wasn't a thing until two months ago? Now, I wholeheartedly believe that OWA will rise to the top, just like when it comes to talent, the cream always rises to the top. That being me of course. Because guys like you Bull aren't used to the limelight. You, like the others in this match, are nothing more than supporting actors, while I am the lead man. You don't realize it yet, but this match itself is a movie. It's a movie about how a man with all the talent in the world, Isaac Thornton, must overcome seven other jealous men that will do everything in their power in stopping Isaac from beginning his legacy as the only wrestler that truly matters on this planet. You'll get your shots in, that much is true because after all this will be an action packed film, and if I just go out there and win in five seconds, it lacks the drama and suspense. It'll get bad reviews and we wouldn't want that. Just like we wouldn't want Bull fuckin Connors as the first ever Spartan's Champion. Imagine fifty years from now, OWA fans look back at the history of every championship, right? And they stumble upon the Spartan's title history and they see who was the first ever to hold it and they'll have a confused look on their face ... "Bull Connors? Who the fuck is that? I don't even remember him." And then some know it all, most likely a guy who refreshes wrestling rumormills every five seconds says, "Oh yeah, that's Bull Connors. I thought he had great potential back in the day but he only lasted in OWA for three months. And because of his lackluster run as champ, they actually destroyed the Spartan's title and pretended it never existed." See? We can't be having you devaluing a what should be prestigious championship. We need a star to hold that title ... a star like me. 

Aka the guy who called himself the Marlon Brando of this generation. Something I said days ago. Something that wasn't all that important in the grand scheme of things, but for whatever reason, you held onto it and didn't let go. I guess you go against the grain. While others focus on the actual nuts and bolts of my speeches, you pick the oddest parts you want me to elaborate on. Um, okay, sure. The reason why I compared myself to such a legend is because just like Marlon, I have stunning good looks, charisma for days, and am multi-talented. That is the summary of it all. I could further dive into this topic. I can talk all about how he stole the show, or I guess film in such masterpieces as "A Streetcar Named Desire" or "The Godfather" or  "Apocalypse Now", just showing off his range in each and every one of them. I mean, we could talk about this all day, Bull, but in the end, does it really matter who I compare myself to? I don't owe anyone an explanation, especially someone named Bull Connors, so I think it's best if we just move on. Lastly, I want to talk about how I supposedly haven't left my mark on OWA yet. When you said this, I could tell you thought you had me on the ropes! That you finally got me! How will I ever defend myself! Quite easily actually ... I've only been here for two fucking weeks. Actually a little less than that. What did you expect, Bull? Me draped in championship gold already? To be in the main event every week? To be the face of OWA?! Like I said, I've only been here for a week. I've only wrestled one match in my life, this match at Hardcore Havoc being my second ... and just imagine when I acquire my first ever title, in only my second match? I can't wait to see the look on your faces when this does indeed happen. Well, to be fair you'll be knocked out, so it won't matter much. As for you Bull, what have you accomplished here that is considered "noteworthy?" See you talk this big game, almost as big as that gut of yours, and what exactly do you have to show for it? See, two can play this game. But the reason as to why I never brought this up in the first place is because I actually have a brain my noggin. I look at the facts before I speak while you have no filter. The process should be think, speak, reflect. And you just do the second one. See, I don't expect many, if any of you at all to have countless of accolades during your short time here in OWA because like I fucking said, OWA hasn't been around long and good on them for not just handing out titles and shit, but I digress. You know Bull, I liked it better when you didn't talk. It was far more pleasant with your mouth stitched shut and hell, you provided just as many insights back then as you did today. 

And lastly, there is Christopher Sabertooth. You know how the old saying goes, "You save the best for last?" Yeah well, that doesn't apply here. So once again I pretty much fast forwarded through his video and believe it or not, I don't actually mean that as an insult. It's just because it's the day before Hardcore Havoc, and a Saturday nonetheless, so I'm on a tight schedule. So I watched the very beginning, and he did that thing where he has his opponents' pictures up on the wall, you know, the thing that's been done before countless times in various wrestling companies across the globe? It's just my opponents rehashing more shit. Again, quite tiring, but it's to be expected when you factor in who my opponents are. Anyways, I guess this was him introducing us to Christopher Sabertooth Show! The pilot episode! Aka the only episode that'll be in its existence since it will get cancelled tomorrow morning. What did you expect? The content was focused on Christopher Sabertooth of all people. The ratings and views were doomed from the start. I think as you can tell by now, my patience is wearing thin. I'm sick of talking about my opponents ... that's right, even I, the guy who loves talking perhaps the most shit in this match just because I like to stir up the hornet's nest, has pretty much reached his limit. I mean nothing new has been said. No new concepts have been introduced. No new tidbits have been shared. No new points have been made. Like I said, we are just going circles at this point and I don't know about you, but I'm getting dizzy and I'm gonna vomit ... which would still be less disgusting than the words that come out of their mouths. I tell you, the things I put up with for that Spartan's Championship, man. I deserve it just from listening to these men yak about promises they won't be able to keep in the short or long run, as well as the thoughts they shared, thoughts that should have been left unsaid because it served no purpose. So as for Christopher, I talked to you last week. I talked to you this week. I'm talking to you right now. So I think it's fair to say we know each other pretty well at this point, or at least, as well as expected, given the small sample size. Since last week, I see you haven't changed your tune. You still think you're the last real professional wrestler in this business or whatever. I am truly puzzled here because I don't get how you laugh at someone like Cason for his "legit dangerous" shtick while you say shit like that or you know, the alpha to your omega line. Even the Havoc shit.

 After connecting some dots, I have realized what a coincidence this has been. Wait, what were those last two words? Has been? Hey imagine that, a synonym for Christopher Sabertooth, but I digress. Before I got sidetracked, I was of course talking about these coincidences. For instance, you call yourself the alpha and you wrestle for a company called Omega Wrestling Alliance. Not only that, but you have a persona named Havoc and the OWA special event this Saturday is called Hardcore Havoc. Shiiiiiit man, you must really be a big deal since they are naming all of this stuff after you. That or you're just ripping it off and hmmm, I'm gonna go with the latter. What I don't get Christopher is why are you so mean to me, when all I've ever done is show you respect and sing your praises to every man, woman, and child I cross paths with? Saying I don't have talent. Saying I don't belong here. It's like I'm the new kid here and it's lunchtime and I go to sit at a table and there you are, telling me I can't sit here because this is for cool kids only as you pop the collar of your Letterman's jacket. Then I go and sulk in the bathroom as I eat my meal. We coulda been the best of friends, you know? We coulda been two peas in a pod! You coulda been Shake and I coulda been Bake! But you ruined it! You pissed it all away! Now ... now I must destroy your life as a result. I must take everything you love and desire in this world to get even and it starts with the Spartan's Championship! Nah but for real, fuck you. Fuck everyone in this match. I am walking out of Hardcore Havoc with the Spartan's Championship on my shoulder because I am me and you guys are you. Again, I suggest you start thinking of your excuses as to why you lost to some "failed Hollywood actor", as you like to refer me as because once I have that gold in my hands, you are never gonna hear the fucking end of it. They don't call me "The Thorn In Your Side" for nothing boys ... and you'll soon see why. 

[With that, Isaac is done talking for the week. Before he exits the arena he once again looks out at the seats, then the ring and pats it, almost saying see you soon. The camera fades to black.]

 
The scene begins in a dark room. Nothing can be seen or heard apart from the ticking of a grandfather clock. As the clock strikes midnight, the bells are heard in a distance. They become louder and louder as a man approaches the camera frame. Suddenly, light switches on that only illuminates part of the room. Standing underneath it is Christopher Sabertooth wearing a suit and a top hat. He takes out a cigar cutter and cuts off the foot of the Cigar. He lights a match and lights the Cigar by rotating it to get an even burn. Chris has a look at the Amber as he smirks and takes the first puff. The smoke from the Cigar fogs the camera and nothing else is visible till it clears out. When the smoke finally clears, we can see a pin up board behind Chris. On it are photos of seven familiar faces… The very men, Chris faces at Hardcore Havoc in an Ultimate X Matchup for the OWA Spartan’s Championship. The Camera zooms in on the faces and pans out to focus on Christopher Sabertooth, once again.
 
“I believe you have noticed the familiar faces situated behind me. Seven men that I will be sharing MY ring with, this Sunday. You heard me right, it’s my ring. Wherever I go, when I step into the ring… It is mine. NOBODY can do what I do in that ring. You may be a NCAA Division I All American or a proficient bare-knuckle brawler or a failed movie star or even a leader of a cult for all I care… Though, I have done that one too. Seven very different men with different motivations but the only thing common between all of them, is the goal of becoming OWA Spartan’s Champion. I can go on and talk about these men on interviews or backstage or whatever Scotty Adams does. But why should it be a boring affair…. Hardcore Havoc is this Sunday…. Why not make it into the most talked about thing in professional wrestling today. So, why are we here? Why do I have these photos pinned up behind me? Why the hell do I look so good in this fancy suit? Don’t worry people as all of your questions will be answered tonight. Welcome to the Christopher Sabertooth Show with me, your host, Christopher Sabertooth. Tonight, we have a great program planned out for everybody watching at home. Do you guys like plays? Well, I don’t care, because we are going to have one on here tonight. It’s a beautiful story, about a man overcoming the odds at every step of his life to become a living legend. I’m telling you, it always brings a tear in my eyes. So, grab some popcorn, and relax as you travel through a magical story of a man they call Christopher Sabertooth. Enjoy or do whatever you people do.” screams Chris as he bows to the camera with a huge grin on his face.
 
“Oh! By the way, I am playing myself because nobody has the acting chops or the talent to convincingly be me. So, deal with it Isaac. I am better than you at your own day job.” The camera backs out as we see red velvet curtains closing in on the stage. After a small pause, we see the curtains open up again.
 
“This is the story of a man and his dreams. Born to a family of wrestlers, he was destined to be a part of the family legacy. Born and raised in Aberdeen, Washington, he quickly became the man he was always meant to be. A prodigy in every aspect, a physical specimen like no other. He struck fear to the minds of anybody that opposed him.” Said the Narrator in a melodramatic tone.
 
A young Chris walks on the stage and wrestles other kids of his age and some even older. He takes down all challengers as his hand is raised, bout after bout. He becomes better with every match, as nobody was better than him on the wrestling mat. The curtains are drawn out again as the scene changes.
 
“Nobody could walk in his shoes, as he got older, he only got better. Destined to be an Olympian but young Chris has his eyes on something else.” Exclaimed the Narrator.
 
We then see a teenage boy watching television, fascinated by the larger than life characters that he saw. From that very moment, he knew he wanted to be a professional wrestler. Another boy of the same age walks up to the stage.
 
“What are you watching, Chris?” asked the teenager.
 
“You have to check this out, O’Shea. This is better than anything else on TV! Look at all the people watching these men wrestle in that ring. They are completely in the palm of these wrestlers… They react to whatever these men do. Look at that guy, he carries a snake to the ring. A real snake! And the other guy and all of his tassels. This is so fascinating!” exclaimed Chris.
 
“It really is. Do you want to be like them, Chris?” asked O’Shea.
 
“Yes…. I want to be just like them. I want to go around the world and fight new people. I want to listen to these people chant my name.” Said Chris.
 
“In that case, I will join you! I want to be just like them too! We will wrestle together all over the world and people will come to see us.” Exclaimed O’Shea with excitement.
 
There was a glimmer in the eyes of these two young boys. Awestruck by the dynamic performers that they saw on TV… They had promised to become one of them as a teenager. That’s all they wanted to be. The curtains close up again.
 
“With this, we go forward in their journey. Young Christopher had made up his mind. There was nothing his father could say to change it. But as years went by, a lot of things changed. O’Shea’s father forced him to join the Police Academy just like him. With that in mind, Chris now lived the dream for both of them. He made a promise to make it big in the world of professional wrestling.” Said the Narrator.
 
“But, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Life is like a rollercoaster ride, with its ups and downs. Christopher had seen the highs but he wasn’t ready for the lowest of the lows.” The Narrator's tone changes. 
 
The curtain opens at a parking lot set up. We see Chris, now played by himself, walk out of a car.
 
“Hey Sabertooth!” a man called out.
 
“Donavon? What do you want?” asked Chris.
 
“What’s with the attitude? I was just here to tell you that we face off in the ring tonight. I know, we don’t really eye to eye with each other…. But, tonight we should put on a great match for the people here. I know, this is a small gym and there are what, 80 people out there? I am not used to this small environment but I am sure you are well versed with it. You have been here for like a year now, right?” Donavon laughs.
 
“That’s really.... funny, man. We’ll see how funny you are when I beat your ass in that ring.” Said Chris sarcastically, as he walks away.
 
“Tough guy, eh? How about I break your leg right here and make sure you never wrestle again, huh? How about that, tough guy?” said Donavon.
 
“Man, this is hilarious. How about this? Take your best shot. I would love to see you try.” Said Chris as he called out Donavon.
 
Donavon laughs. He then approaches Chris with a smirk on his face and pushes him. Chris pushes him back. As they’re about to brawl, they hear a voice from the gym shout at them.
 
“What the hell are you guys doing there? The show is about to begin! If you want to get paid, you better get your asses in here at this moment.” Screamed the Booker as he went back inside.
 
Chris calms down and begins to walk away.
 
“Yeah… Run away, pussy!” screamed Donavon. Chris turns around and punches Donavon right in the face. Donavon falls down and Chris walks away.
 
Scene changes to a wrestling ring with about 60 people sitting around it. Chris prepares to face Donavon in the ring… It was time for their match and the crowd were chanting for Chris. His music plays as Chris makes his way to the ring, high fiving the fans. Donavon’s music hits to a chorus of boos but nobody comes out. They wait for a good 4 minutes before stopping the music. The booker comes out and asks the audience to leave as the show was over due to unforeseen circumstances. Confused himself, Chris walks up to the booker.
 
“What’s wrong?” asked Chris.
 
The booker ignores the question and drags Chris by his arm backstage. “All I want from you is the truth. I saw you guys fighting in the parking lot. I can’t believe you would go that far. Donovan was found…. bleeding out in the parking lot as he was stabbed. The Ambulance has taken him to the hospital but it doesn’t look good. The Police are on their way and should be here at any moment. Confess what you did…. And maybe that will help reduce the punishment in some way. I pray to God that Donavon survives.” Said the Booker.
 
“Wait…. What are you talking about? Confess my crime? I haven’t done anything. He was mocking me and maybe it got a little heated between us and I punched him. But that was it! I did not stab the guy.” Screamed Chris.
 
“You tell all of that to the cops, man. I don’t know what to say.” Said the booker as he walked away.
 
The curtains closed once again.
 
“That night, everything that could go wrong went wrong. The CCTV camera of the gym facing the parking lot, hadn’t been functional for a week at that point. Chris was the last person, Donavon saw. Yes, Donavon succumbed to his injuries because of the multiple stab wounds. The murder weapon was nowhere to be found and all hands pointed at Chris. Everybody knew that Chris and Donavon hated each other… Chris was taken under custody. Was the dream over? Was this the end?” asked the Narrator.
 
The curtains open up again and we see a desk and two chairs with Chris sitting there handcuffed. O’Shea, walks in and sits down in front of him. Chris looks at O’Shea with all hope lost.
 
“Look…. Chris. You would tell me the truth no matter what you did right?” asked O’Shea.
 
“You…. You really think I would do such a thing? You have known me for pretty much my entire life…. You know me. You know I did not do this...” said Chris.
 
“I know…. I know Chris. I know you didn’t do this. But the evidence is very circumstantial. Mr. Davidson told the Police that he witnessed a fight about to happen between the two of you. Since the CCTV was not functional, we cannot run through the footage to prove your innocence either. Our best hope is to find the murder weapon which we’ll run tests through and find out who did this. Trust me, Chris. I will find out who did it and you will be out of here. But until then, don’t lose hope. Okay?” said Officer O’Shea.
 
Chris nodded slightly as he sat there bound to the shackles. The curtain closes in again.
 
“Christopher Sabertooth was about to go through the worst period of his life. Due to the lack of evidence against Chris, he was not given bail and was stuck in prison until his innocence was proven. The court hearings weren’t in favour of Chris either. With all signs for a motive, Chris was the prime suspect. Chris was stuck in prison for something he didn’t do but he still held on knowing his best friend, continuously sought out for the truth. Prison wasn’t easy for Chris either… People always mocked him and beat him up but Chris wasn’t going to lose his cool. But one day…. He had enough of the pain. He was done sitting quietly, waiting to be out of this hell whole. When people mocked him again, he decided to fight back. And fight back, he did. Brutally beating up the man that mocked him all this time. And on that day, he was given the name Havoc. Time passed by and the little gleam of light that was slowly fading away, shined bright once again. O’Shea had found the murder weapon that proved Chris’s innocence. Chris was free to go. But O’Shea had made him a promise, a promise that he intended to keep. O’Shea will catch the culprit that put his best friend through all this pain and suffering. A week passed by…. A day that will change Chris’s life once again. He receives a call from the Aberdeen Police department. Chris was shocked…. They had caught the man who had stabbed Donavon and robbed him. But, he had put up a fight. And in that fight, a noble Police Officer was shot and fatally wounded. That man was O’Shea. His best friend kept the promise but at the cost of his life. Chris screamed in anger and grief as he was alone, once again. Chris was a free man, but he lost his will to live.” Said the Narrator.
 
A moment of silence followed.
 
“But, he too had made a promise. He could not let O’Shea’s dream die with him. As teenagers, they had promised each other to wrestle all over the world. The passion for this business still burned inside of him, like a flame. Just like a phoenix rises from the ashes of the fallen, Christopher Sabertooth stood back up from everything that he went through. He intended to keep the promise he made to his best friend…. What a hero! They say, time heals every wound, but Chris never forgot. He was going to be the best wrestler in the world, not just for himself, but for O’Shea as well. He was not going to stop at anything to achieve his dream. As the years passed by, Chris wrestled for Next Gen Wrestling. There he teamed up with Rocky Hollywood to become the best tag team in the business as the Hollywood Cabinet. Then came North Atlantic Wrestling. Christopher was done being the lacky of the rich and maniacal Rocky Hollywood. He set down his own path, to the top of the company. But in that path, he met a man named Jacob Cass. A brash, cocky wrestler who had all of his opportunities handed to him. The man was not afraid to bring back Chris’s painful past and mocked him and his friend O’Shea. That was the last straw for Chris…. He had enough of the mockery. He was done with the backstage politics that gave guys like Jacob Cass and Rocky Hollywood everything that they ever got.  Was Chris losing his mind? Whatever he was becoming, changed his path to the top significantly.” Said the Narrator.
 
The Curtain opens to Christopher Sabertooth staring at his reflection in the mirror. He is gently swaying around as he continues to keep staring at his own reflection.
 
“Is this who I am?!” screamed Chris. “Weak…. I am not weak. I will no longer let others control my path. They made fun of me… They made me think that I have lost my mind. But, that’s where they’re wrong. I am not losing my mind…. I am simply discovering my true self. I am not a weak human being… I have been through a lot of pain and suffering all my life. This body…. Chris’s body isn’t weak. His soul is…. But I am not. All this time, I did everything that was told to me…. Only to become what I always wanted to be. But what did the system ever do for me? I was always lost in the shuffle to guys like Cass or Rocky Hollywood who could just throw some money and be whatever they want. It is time that somebody around here does something about it. I will no longer be bound to the shackles of this system…. I am no longer a slave to the machine. I am free.” He stares at his reflection for one last time before picking up a bottle of paint. He dabs his fingers into it and runs it across his face. The curtain is drawn out once again.
 
“A new man was born that day. Christopher Sabertooth was lost and out came Havoc. Havoc was not like Chris. He mauled his way through the competition and rose to the top. Nobody could stop him…. But as time went on, Havoc had taken full control over Chris’s body. He had become an emotionless monster who only wreaked pain and suffering to anybody who stood in his way. But somewhere down in his mind, Chris still existed. Havoc could say that he killed Christopher Sabertooth, but deep down he knew, his essence still existed. And that caused the conflict in his mind… Drunk with power, he was slowly becoming what he hated. And that’s when the inner turmoil was too much for a man to handle. He was gone and nobody thought they will see this man again. But being the hero that he is, he fought through his inner turmoil and the man deemed weak, prevailed. Christopher Sabertooth was once again, himself. It was a long, painful journey but one that he had to take. And now we are back to the present…. As Christopher Sabertooth prepares himself to face seven other men, to once again prevail. But, it wasn’t the same Christopher Sabertooth that broke down and turned himself into the path of darkness. No…. This man has a different demeaner. He is more confident than ever. He has finally forgiven himself for what happened to his best friend. He has finally become what he always aimed to be. A legend in the business, Christopher Sabertooth has returned to the squared circle at Omega Wrestling Alliance to continue what he started. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together, for the REALEST man in professional wrestling, Christopher “Havoc” Sabertooth!” screamed the Narrator.
 
The curtains open again and Chris is back wearing his suit in the middle of the stage.
 
“Where the fuck is my Tony Award? Who needs Broadway. Anyway, how did you like my sad story? Is it sad enough for you sick fucks who enjoy these kinds of things? Now, I don’t want to toot my own horn here, but as you just saw, I have been through a lot in my life. Not everybody goes through all of this and comes out the same. I didn’t either…. You see, in these past three years, I embraced all the mixed feelings I was going through in my mind. Havoc doesn’t have to be a sperate man altogether. What he did…. Excuse me, What I DID as Havoc was beautiful. I tore down my opposition with ease… And I am not afraid to admit it, I was enjoying it. Being Havoc was far more powerful than being Christopher Sabertooth. Sure, Chris was a great wrestler but he lacked the cutting edge that is needed to become a star. So, when Havoc took over the business, things were going great as he amassed titles after titles. But there’s one thing he lacked…. The swagger. He was too preachy. ‘You will never walk alone’ he said as he started to gain followers who believed in his way of life. But I wasn’t here to bring down the system… I wanted to be the best wrestler in the world. And that part was lost somewhere that I had to find again.
 
 So, you may wonder, what if I combine both of these personalities into one? Because you shouldn’t need to. You’re looking at him. I still love my best friend, O’Shea. But if people think they can manipulate me by using that name against me then they’re in for a shocker. I don’t need to dig deep down anymore to become Havoc again… In fact, I don’t need to be Havoc again. Everything he could do, I can do the same. And with that, I don’t even have to cover my pretty face. I am not here to save anybody from their problems…. No. I don’t care about anybody else but me. So, I invite you all to delve deep down into my past, as I have laid all out for you to see, tonight. Try your best to get under my skin, but don’t be disappointed when you fail to do so. I was always brilliant at wrestling, that was never the fault but yet, something held me back. And then it hit me; I held myself back through my ideals and moral code. I wanted to be surrounded by fans who would cheer on my name so that I could validate my performance. But, I don’t seek anybody’s validation or approval anymore. That just unnecessarily complicates things. People are fickle minded. Validating yourself by their opinion of you is like asking a ten-year-old to correct a calculus test. These people have never been in the ring…. Then who the fuck are they to decide over the fate of a wrestler, that to a REAL wrestler like me. I have been asked by many, why do I call myself the real wrestler? The answer is simple…. Nobody can go toe to toe with me, in that ring. People watch wrestling and think, that it’s easy. Which is probably why, guys like Isaac Thornton even think of stepping into the ring. A failed acting career doesn’t exactly transition well to be a wrestler. Sure, the man can talk but so can everybody else. These wrestlers don’t deserve to be in the same ring as me.
 
All of this tonight, wasn’t really something I do. Since, everybody thinks I am a man in conflict with myself, I put this out there to prove that I am comfortable about my past. What happened, happened. Would I have done things differently if I had a choice? Probably…. But if you think I am a man defined by my horrible past, you’re terribly mistaken. So, to all my opponents in the Ultimate X match digging deep into my past to get into my head, you might have to find another way because this isn’t going to work.
 
I began tonight with a set of pictures behind me…. The pictures of my opponents this Sunday at Hardcore Havoc, which haven’t really played a part until this moment. Let us continue the show, shall we? Let’s see…. Who’s first on the list? Caspian. The self-proclaimed ‘King of Carnage’. Now, let me get this straight…. A Drug Cartel leader thinks he can be a wrestler just because he beat some wimps back where he’s from? I don’t want to get into the legalities of this, as that’s none of my business. I presume, you have gotten into a fair share of fights being from the drug cartel background. You say you have been stabbed, beaten down and you walked away from it to live another day. Well, newsflash buddy, I have been through all of that too. But you know what separates the two of us, I am a wrestler and you’re not. Beating people senseless when it’s not much of a fight must be enthralling I presume, but in a wrestling ring, your brute strength will not be able to compensate for your lack in experience. I have been doing this for years! You are right, passion doesn’t get the man to where he wants to be, I know because I tried that route. Kicking ass does and I have done a fair share of that myself. So, you may be the kingpin of whatever that you do, but in that ring, you are nothing but fodder to my ego. It’s guys like you who think wrestling is as easy as pulling the trigger. You’re not going to have a gun to save you this time around. To me, you’re just a business man wasting my time. You should have stuck to what you do best…. “said Chris. He takes out a red marker from his pocket and crosses out Caspian’s photo.
 
“Gareth Carson… Careful people, he’s LEGIT DANGEROUS… to 10-year olds. Your claim to fame is that you tapped out the World Champion… That’s commendable. So, you do talk a lot of shit and so far, you have backed it up. But, that’s about as far you get into your journey. You have a legit MMA background from what I have heard about you… A LEGIT BADASS, ladies and gentlemen. Yet, you talk trash like it’s no mans business. I would have thought, a guy like you would let his actions speak louder than words but by God, you fucking talk too much. Have some dignity and actually try to act like the Badass you claim to be. Your fighting background will definitely play a factor in this match, there’s no denying that. But, the problem arises when you start looking into what I have been through. I was in prison where I was beaten down, shanked and left to die but I didn’t give up. So, whatever you have to bring to the table, I can take it. I would have been scared if I had a glass jaw but there’s nothing you can that I haven’t already been through and overcame. And when it comes to wrestling ability, you can’t even lace my boots. So, you’re no threat to me, Gareth.” Said Chris as he strikes out yet another picture.
 
“Stefan St. Sigmund. Where do I begin about this guy…? When I think of underdogs, you’re the first person that comes to my mind. Like, you’re tiny. And you care about the fans and what they want…. All the positivity…. Stop giving people a sense of false hope. You know exactly what you have been through. It’s a tough world out there and guys like don’t stand a chance of surviving in this business. All your positivity, and your fake smile is just an act to hide all your insecurities. You’re not a glimmer of hope to these people, you’re just a poster boy of false propaganda. Nothing good ever comes out by being the nice guy…. What good has it ever brought you? I know, you have been made fun of before. Is that what you really deserved? No. But that’s what you got. That’s reality my friend so, get used to being beaten down because the underdog story will not be told this Sunday.” Smirks Chris. He pulls out Stefan’s picture from the wall and throws it away. “You don’t even belong here.” Said Chris.
 
“Moving on… ‘The Righteous’ Nate Cage. Never before have I seen a ‘cult’ leader suck up to someone like Nate has to Kenny Drake. You and your constant military references does not make you a tough guy. I know a thing or two about ‘fate’ and ‘cults’ and all of that nonsense. I am shocked how easy it is to fool people into believing the words that you spit out… As Havoc, I had lost touch with reality when I tried to change the world for what it was and people bought all of it. Just like they’re buying into your bullshit. Just remember, these loyal followers of yours will change belief when they see their so-called leader get his ass whooped back to reality. All the words you spew, mean nothing to me. Frankly, you don’t even deserve my time. Talk to me when you have actually accomplished something worthwhile…. And no, being a pet to Kenny Drake doesn’t count.” Said Chris with a disgusted look. He simply crosses out Nate’s picture and moves on. He is absolutely appalled by the next picture in line, of Isaac Thornton.
 
“This guy…. I don’t even feel like talking about him anymore. A failure in Hollywood has stepped foot to the squared circle to fail again. I beat this guy already…. Why is he even on here? Even Stefan can probably beat him if he tried hard enough. It’s obvious that he stuck to his acting roots because he is trying to make himself and the others watching the show believe that he’s a real wrestler. And he sucks at that too, since nobody is buying your bullshit. You don’t belong here Isaac… You’re just a guy with a loud mouth who is trying to stir the pot as much as he can before he fizzles out into the background. Strike the iron while it’s hot Isaac, because this is probably your last shot at anything. You had a chance to prove everybody wrong on Kingdom last week but you failed to do so. Call me a con man all you want, that’s how this business works. We all go in to the ring to win and I won…. But you wouldn’t know anything about that or this business. You are a man with no talent and no reason to step into the ring… Take my advice and walk away before you are unable to do so and maybe then you might have a chance at acting…. But let’s be honest, you’re just terrible at everything you do. “said Chris as he crosses out Isaac’s photo. “Actually, while I am at it, I might even put you where you belong.” Chris pulls out Isaac’s photo, crumples it and throws it in the trash bin.
 
“That was hard to go through… Even talking about him disgust me. Either way, I have to finish this now. We’ve got ‘The Unbreakable’ Mr. Bull Connors. Connors, I am not going to resort to fat jokes to put you to your place like the rest of my opposition… No. Though, it’s hard believing that you got as far as you did in the NCAA. You are one of the few wrestlers that I actually respect. Yes, I know it’s hard to believe that seeing your performance so far in OWA. You were a force to be reckoned with in collegiate wrestling and I give you props for that. You and I, both share an amateur wrestling background and you have the titles to prove for it. But you see, as good as I was on the mat, I always wanted to be a professional wrestler. Maybe, you can give me a run for my money on the mat but we are not going to be there, are we? Ultimate X… Probably the stipulation itself is your biggest enemy. I was expecting a lot more from a four-time NCAA Division I All-American…. But from what I have seen you do so far in OWA, has been very disappointing. I was rooting for you, Bull. You were probably the guy I wanted to face the most when I came here… But, with every week, you just failed to live up to the hype. You claim that your addiction is winning, but when you lost, you try to justify it by assaulting the man after the match and calling it a statement. Bull Connors is nothing more than a hypocrite and a very apt choice of words on my part. A word befitting your nature… You may be the collegiate champion but you have never faced a challenge like me. I don’t doubt your capabilities as a wrestler like the other opponents do… I have myself learned to not be fooled by one’s size… But you don’t phase me.” Said Chris.
 
“Of all the people on here, you’re the one that I expected better from. Everybody else is delusional, self-centred idiots who don’t know any better. But you…” Chris sighs in disappointment as he crosses of Bull Connors’s picture.
 
“And finally, we get to the last and probably the least of my concerns, in Scotty Adams. You can try your manipulative hoopla on others to some success but please do spare me with your bullshit. The Pinnacle of Purity? Do you live in the same world as the rest of us or are you too ‘pure’ to admit that you’re living inside a bubble that you refuse to come out of? I was dumbfounded by the things you had to say about everyone involved in this match… With such great articulation and precision. Man, I haven’t seen a faker person in my life and I am the crazy one. I am the one who’s become an emotional construct? You said something about mirages, right? Yet you talk like Jesus lives within you with all the ‘purity’ bullshit. You’re telling me that you haven’t done anything wrong in your life… I see, you’re a charitable person and if I actually gave a shit, I would be impressed with your commitment to your act. Man, who even talks like that? You are so full of yourself that you are blind to your own issues. Look into yourself, the two seconds of palpable ecstasy dissipates to a sudden realization when your ‘act’ is over. It’s ironic that you talk about the delusions that fester me when you have to live with yourself, whatever you are. But, let us all be real for a second… Even if this man can do nothing wrong, doesn’t translate into a ring general now does it? So, you can spew all the bullshit that you believe in and be the ‘purest’ man in the locker room for as long as you please, but I am still going to destroy you. I know you’re trying to compensate your physical incapability with all the shit you like to say.  But, that’s all well and good until you get in that ring. I’ll see how well your purity holds on for when I kick your ass back to reality. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Get used to these words because the Spartan’s Championship is not coming your way anytime soon.” Said Chris. He marks the cross on the final opponent as he steps forward towards the camera.
 
“You see what I am dealing with? Hardly anybody actually qualifies to be a wrestler here. A drug lord who thinks too highly of himself…. NOT a wrestler. An MMA fighter who yaps about how dangerous he is based off a fluke victory…. NOT a wrestler. A failed actor who I don’t want to fucking waste my time on… NOT a wrestler. Two delusional people, caught up in their own bullshit that they spew…NOT a wrestler. A jibbering oaf who believes in false hopes and dreams… NOT a wrestler as he barely even qualifies as a man. And a man who should be a lot more than what he is…. NOT a wrestler in my eyes. And then they say why I call myself the last real wrestler in this business. I am not going to talk about how the Spartan spirit lives on in me and all the other bullshit people have made up to make belief. I am going to speak the harsh truth that they’re not ready to hear…. I am going to win the OWA Spartan’s Championship, this Sunday. Why? Because, my name is Christopher Sabertooth and I am the GOD of wrestling walking amongst peasants. All of you should thank me for saving OWA from these pretentious know-it-all’s who have nothing on me. And that, ladies and gentleman, is Divine Intervention.” Said Chris as he takes a bow. The curtain closes and the scene ends…