Here I stroll on a different domain. Atlantis. But the fact of the matter is I remain the same mold. The Vincent has been nothing short of a trail blazer since his inception to this Omega Wrestling reality. It feels like I've done nothing of note for the past two months, yet the stature remains. For there is power in having the sacrament of god in arm, the righteous beholder of judgement. I told you all along that I was the chosen one, and it is the will of the Vincent that equates that of God's acceptance in this world. He has been destined to carry the weight of the world, and that is why I have long reigned as the Openweight Championship. Lesser beings would have been setback by now, lesser beings probably wouldn't even be carrying the prestige of this belt at this moment. The Vincent was unavailable the past few weeks, yet fate determined that the Openweight stature shall remain with God. See, lesser men have have seen the weight of the world as a burden, but not The Vincent. I appreciate the gesture, the power invested in me by God's judgement, to be the sigil to God's wraith of desire. There is still a reckoning, a rapture bound to break upon this land. Nobody is safe, if you are a disappointment, a fraud of the intentions of humanity. I will see to it personally that you not only perish, but have the family name embarrassed for centuries.

So it is up to me to make an example out of the likes of Azurine Vebbins when they try to upset the established order. God has seen to it personally that this belt is strapped across my waist, yet you wish to undermine fate? Well, there will consequences to determining you yourself are worthy enough to cross into God's Kingdom. You are not worthy, nor will you ever be, coward. But fear not, the reckoning has come today - and you will see the entire display of your own cowardice on display in hindsight. I don't expect for any of this to make sense to you, as an enlightened individual wouldn't dare try God's might as a means of a litmus test. But ignorance is not an excuse, nor will it ever be. But it is a reason for me to empower God's will. The Vincent was coined his name not by self branding, but by the tribulations of being God's most loyal servant. But worry not, if you don't believe me, there have been crusades in the path to prove God's will. The Vincent is just the symbol and embodiment of the 21st century's current crusade - and with the weight of the world - the Openweight Championship - I will see to it that you don't forget this divine lesson. There is power to be dare, for sure - but none that compare to the Vincent.

For Vengeance is God.

...AND GOD IS WAR!

(Our scene begins as The Nice Guys greet us at a table, eating - as usual - in a rather high class restaurant. Nobi is seen casually reclining in his suit and tie while the still fame adjusting Teddy Mac looks rather comical as he’s uncomfortably packed into his old Sunday best. Nobi leads the conversation with the waiter as they both order a medium rare porterhouse steak.)

Nobi: Yeah! Now, this is what I call food!

Teddy Mac: Indeed! Couldn’t travel for Olympus without hitting some of this town’s finest spots - we ARE the best eaters in the world after all! 

Nobi: Maybe behind Matt Stonie and Joey Chestnut. Maybe. 

Teddy Mac: Hey now, there’s no duo we can’t beat!

Nobi: You’re right! Anyway, while we wait for our meal to come, let’s talk about a duo we have the chance to beat AGAIN. How do you feel about facing off against GRiME once again?

Teddy Mac: I don’t want to risk losing the lunch I haven’t even had yet by speaking on those two brats who make me feel sick inside, but since this is the final encounter I guess I’ll take the high road and throw them a couple words. I’m relieved that we won’t have to deal with them anymore after this. I loved wrestling with them for months and we put together so many classics that helped a great deal in elevating the tag team division. We’re seen as the instrumental team as far as tag team wrestling seeing a revival around these parts, but they were the guys standing across the ring from us that helped us accomplish it. They helped us create change and their matches were our launching pad into the history books. This final match in a lot of ways represents the end of something special. The tag scene has flourished and this one rivalry, this unforgettable match, it is no longer needed. Our scene can move on and we can head into different directions against other teams. It’s a beautiful thing thinking about the amount of influence this match has and all of the rich backstory that surrounds it; I do not doubt people will look back on this entire timeline with appreciation.

(Teddy Mac takes his straw and stirs his drink feverishly to show off his restless behavior.)

Teddy Mac: ....But. It’s hard to enter this match with that feeling of honor, that well earned feeling of having worked hard and getting to celebrate creating something nice. It is damn near IMPOSSIBLE for me to enter this match and take it for all of the good attached to it or ever look back on it fondly when there’s this stench that ruins it….and I’m not talking from GRiME’s Mary Jane, I’m talking about the stench from their sorry ass attitudes! Tyler Bridges and TJ Burns have tainted the part they played in this tag team revolution, by shying away from their roots of being a daring, forward thinking tag team who put their love of the craft first, to being some disrespectful showoff who have a lot of stuff to say and not enough in them as men to back it up. We’ve watched GRiME transform throughout this feud into bright eyed people who had their head in the clouds but wanted to learn, to the most nasty, fake people in this federation. They don’t listen to anyone. They have this unearned entitlement. They’ve deluded themselves to the point I think they must be on some way harder substances. And worst of all, they’ve convinced themselves that people who have fought in this ring, busted their asses, and warranted their credibility, are somehow in a position to be talked down on by them.

(Teddy Mac sees the appetizers laid out on the table and pushes them away, not wanting to indulge just yet.)

Teddy Mac: People who have struggled, who have seen and traveled more roads than them, who have more valid accolades, who have had millions of fans give them their due, they’re inferior to GRiME because in GRiME’s mind, anyone who has gotten ahead of them must be some kind of asshole. Rather than bettering themselves they drag others down with their low brow banter so they can feel comfortable with their insecurities. I know they’ll hate to hear me use this metaphor…..but they’ve got a crabs in a barrel mentality.

Nobi: A SPACE crabs in a barrel mentality!

Teddy Mac: Ohhh, that’ll twist the knife in a little deeper for them! They’ve let jealousy and envy cloud their minds and now they have an axe to grind with the damn good talent of our locker room because they can’t shake that chip off of their shoulder. It’s that overinflated ego and willful ignorance that gave them such a quick loss of their tag team titles. They have all the potential in the world, the whole wrestling scene ahead of them, but they refuse to take anything in in order for them to ADAPT. Instead of looking at this match the way I should, a farewell to a wonderful series of matches, a fun exhibition with my buddies, all I’ll remember is GRiME not being able to take the heat and caving under pressure to become like every other sad sack who gets lost in the sauce and turns hollywood in this business. All I will remember is GRiME judging us, acting like we’re jokes and dismissing us because of our aesthetic while failing to perform well enough to match the relevance of OUR REIGN! I’ll remember that they fell from grace and made me come out and say that they’re only fit to be our SECOND! So you know how I feel about this match!? It makes me upset at what could have been, but it also makes me happy knowing we get to beat these goobers - yes, GOOBERS - up and give them one last lesson in humility for the road! Maybe they’ll get to nurse their egos with their wounds!

(Teddy Mac takes a sip of his drink to calm himself as Nobi sits in silence, thinking out what he has to say.)

Nobi: You know…...there is a reason why I chose to order the largest steak on the menu, actually.

Teddy Mac: It’s not because the food is delicious and more is better?

Nobi: It is partly that, but there is also more to it. I feel like a meal such as this, a big fancy steak dinner, is like us facing GRiME and defeating them once and for all.

Teddy Mac: Oh! Interesting! How's that?

Nobi: Well, for the last 5 months or so, The team of GRiME has been thorn on our side. They insulted your family. They took our belts. And they…..are just really good in the ring which makes them a pain in the ass. Both Tyler Bridges and TJ Burns are really that great. They’ve made us sweat, they’ve put it through hell. You heard it guys. I do respect your work in the ring but at the end of the day, The Nice Guys wants to win this match as much as you do, Bridges and Burns. We have to win this one because we want to make you both understand how serious we are about this division, and about you learning to be humble. We want to prove it to you that The Nice Guys is the better team and drill it into your heads to the point you both let go of your eating jokes and realize that Nobi and Teddy Mac are synonymous with world class competition. That you hear the names “Mac and Nobi” and associate them with a challenge that is too hard to deal with. Too tough to deal with. Too crazy to be tamed. Too good to lose to you fair and square. Because this is the first time both teams are actually facing off against each-other with no extra BS in the way. No more Queens of Wrestling. No more The Chaos Elite...or The Awakening now. No more Void. No more Devon Slayton and The Internal Beast. Just The Nice Guys and GRiME. And to top it all off: we are facing you both under normal, classic tag Team match rules. No weapons to depend on, no tables, no ladders, no chairs, no extra men to help you - all we’ve got is our raw ability and our own partners respectively. I trust Teddy as much as Teddy trusts me. We’re in-sync, we are oNE. I do know you both trust each-other as well, Burns and Bridges. You have your synergy. You are one yourselves. But the machine you guys exist as is operating with faulty parts. You’re a machine that lags behind us in the race. We want you both to feel the harsh wake up call of the truth. We want you to see how we cannot be messed with when it comes down to a straight up match between The Nice Guys and GRiME. Recently, I've been learning something that’s become really hard for me to admit about anyone: it is that we both are indeed too nice to you two.

Teddy Mac: Keep it going, Nobi. Share your thoughts some more!

Nobi: You see Teddy, at The TLC match we did try to slam them from the ladders and we did put them through tables. We battered them with chairs! We beat them from pillar to post! But at the end of the day we took it easy, we never made a move that wasn’t about us winning the match and doing what we had to do. We haven’t gone beyond that in the ring. It's not enough to beat them. We’ve got to let that anger run loose. We’ve got to allow ourselves to treat this personally. The leather and platinum is out the picture, now it’s all about a pure grudge. I was afraid that our emotions would hold us back but in this case we need it more than ever to beat up GRiME once and for all. This match isn’t for the love of the game; we want to knock you down a peg. We’re going to give you both a vital warning post-title loss, and we’re going to send this message with our determination, our strength, and more importantly our fists. Past all of the bad behavior and punk looks, I see plenty of heart in Burns and Bridges. They’re durable; they’re going to keep coming back even if we have their number. They’re too stubborn to fold after all of the trash they talked. That's why we have to be heartless to win this match. We’re going to let them have it. We’re going to hurt them. You know, before Game Over, they both asked me if I found it funny how much I liked to eat in our vignettes. I’d say this go around, it’s fitting. We’ve broken our backs for this company and this match, much like this steak, is us kicking back and enjoying the fruits of our labor. Delivering a “flex” to ourselves if you will. We’ve went through all of the courses, all of the matches with you, and now we’re at the final one. The grand prize. The moment we’ve salivated for. What this all has been building to, the pound of flesh that we get to tear apart…….Don't worry about what we like to do in our free time GRiME, because I like to eat out as much as I’d like to leave you both broken, battered, and shattered in the ring. You pals are in for the night of your lives, and if The Nice Guys happens to go down, then we're going to drag you down with us. Either way, it’ll be a bad night for you. We’re going to eat you two alive.

(The waiter arrives, placing the steaks at the table.)

“Put a fork in them. They’re done.”

We find our hero sitting in his office inside of his luxurious home. He sits slumped in his black leather chair behind his enormous desk. Damon stares out into the abyss, contemplating everything that transpired last weekend at Game Over. His hands are folded across his chest. His face scratched up. His lip busted.
 
Did I win? Did I win the Spartan Championship? No. But, did I accomplish what I was set out to accomplish? You goddamn right I did. You see, the grand prize for winning the Free-for-All was the Spartan Championship, but I wanted to do more than just win the title. I wanted to damn near kill every single person in the match. Why? Because none of those men - NONE OF THEM - earned to be in the fucking match. None of them. I mean, can you honestly tell me just what ANY of them did to be placed in the match? I mean, the majority of the FUCKS have done nothing noteworthy for weeks if not MONTHS. Udy of all people was placed in the match. Motherfucking Udy. The Infernal Beast. The man who I had just beaten the week prior was placed in the match. How much sense does that actually make? Jacob Knight was placed in the match. A man who has not been relevant for months now, but since he is sleeping with both Havoc and Maverick then I guess he deserved the opportunity. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! I wanted to make sure that none of them would be able to walk out of that match on their own accord.
 
And guess what?
 
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
 
Sure, I may have damn near killed myself in the process, but oh, was it worth it. When I murdered Udy live on national television, Arata Asakura got scared. He thought for a split second that it was over. There goes his title reign. Poof. Gone. But, I was the smarter man that night. I knew for sure that I would get my rematch. I knew for damn sure that I would get my one-on-one against Arata. And why did I know I would get that? Because I EARNED IT! I busted my ass in that match. My blood, sweat, and tears went into that fucking match. Arata, I saved your precious title reign. If it wasn’t for me, Arata, you wouldn’t still be walking around with that title around your waist. MY TITLE! Please, don’t get too comfortable with it, though, Arata. Tomorrow night on Atlantis, you and I will meet face-to-face to sign the contract for our upcoming title match. And when you sign your name on that dotted line, you might as well kiss that title goodbye. Sooner rather than later, that title is coming home to its rightful owner. It’s coming home… to me.
 
Damon thinks about that for a moment. Him finally being able to hold the Spartan title high above his head for all to see. Finally, he can prove to everyone that he isn’t washed-up. Soon… very soon.
 
Revy… I feel sorry for your ass.
 
I truly do.
 
The version of me that you will be getting in our match tomorrow night… isn’t the version that you saw at Game Over. I’m beat up. I’m bruised. I’m scarred. But, to be completely honest with you? Even a beaten down version of J.D. Damon is better than a healthy version of yourself on a good day. I know, I know. Pretty harsh words, eh? Sometimes the truth hurts, ya know? Much like the beating you will endure tomorrow night. You see, I view you as nothing more than a stepping stone. Someone who is just getting thrown in my way to keep me occupied until that  contract gets signed. And when it does? It's on. This company as you know will be turned upside down. So buckle up, Revy, and enjoy the ride.
 
You know…
 
You should feel pretty damn special, though. I mean, you will be sharing the ring with your future Spartan Champion. Pretty special indeed.
 
Fuck it.
 
Wolves aertenum, bitches.

The bitter taste through the defeat met by The Phantom Troupe inside of the Thunderdome isn’t a simple setback that needs to be taken lightly, but it is a lesson that should be learned through our struggles.

The Thunderdome was where The Phantom Troupe had hoped to become the salvation of the Omega Heavyweight Championship, the thing that would resurrect it from the disgrace it had become in the hands of men like Bull Connors, Gareth Cason, The Derelict, and now Nathan Fiora. Fate wouldn’t be a kind mistress to allow this destiny to transpire with the championship in the hands of one of the members who would carry that championship with the prestige and honor it had deserved for far too long, but it brought forth a lesson because we were fighting for the wrong reasons. We shouldn’t be hoping to rebuild what was already lost through the degradation and erosion of toxic ideals swimming through these waters, there shouldn’t be a renaissance of the Omega Wrestling Alliance to be reborn into the prominence it was at two years ago when men like myself ruled at the top of the mountain, there should only be destruction to leave this business laid to waste by the hands of the men who have transformed into their destroyers. The destroyers and agents of chaotic mayhem The Phantom Troupe have declared as their calling card shall bring down the hammer of desolation upon those who inhabit this business and the men who are bickering over who deserves to be the Omega Heavyweight Champion right now between The Derelict and Nathan Fiora, they are the sacrificial lambs being carried into the slaughter much like our opponents placed before us on Atlantis in Jacob Nighttime and Daniel Horror. Men who are nothing more but eyesores to stare at within this roster of talent, wastes of space who are only here to roam the halls of a paycheck to be placed into their hand and The Phantom Troupe intends to cleanse these men to the point they will be forced to second-guess their career choices at the end of the night. These are simple men who have become a part of this cancer writhing inside of this business which needs to be handled and that’s what these two ingrates who stand against Darkane and me at Atlantis are. There is no elaborate way to put this into a nice message for you, that’s just how things are. You don’t impress people when you walk into a room, we do. You’re not former world champions who have stood against the titans of this industry and sent them crashing down into the pits of Tartarus, we have. You’re not a man who has established an entire legacy of world championships and career-defining moments to his name to prove what a commodity you are to this business, I have. Darkane and I are the two men that you will wish you never had the chance to stand across the ring from because I’m not coming to Atlantis to have a competitive showcase with you or allow you to prove yourself in a match, I’m here to leave you lying and broken in that ring. I’m here to make sure that your body is mangled beyond repair, a face brutalized to the point where you’ll be unrecognizable to even your own family or lack thereof when I’m finished with you, and you'll be left to suffer underneath those bright lights from the arena cascading down upon you. You’re in this match to serve as a message that simply because we were met with failure inside of the Thunderdome match at Game Over, we are not deterred from the mission we have placed upon ourselves to snatch the Omega Heavyweight Championship from perdition within the hands of Derelict and Fiora. We have not been dissuaded from making sure the power we claim when we possess that title is fully realized on our path of destruction to inflict upon this company because our hope was not actualized in this savage match. This has only strengthened our resolve, what we endured only made us more desperate and determined to see our dreams realized, and OWA will be the place that suffers because of it.

As for what happened outside of The Thunderdome match at Game Over with a man very much adored by the people of the Omega Wrestling Alliance, I have no comment at this time and why should I have a comment for something like that? The Phantom Troupe was delivering a message that the world needed to hear and to be interrupted like that, to be disrespected like that, it is the whole reason we have united under this banner to make sure moments like this never happen again. The disrespect that has come from the people who have not only been respected by me and others in the past but the management itself that runs this company to the ground with every decision it has made since I departed from it, it won’t be tolerated any longer. The treatment all of us within The Phantom Troupe have been forced to endure at the hands of those who had all the power given unto them has been a tragedy and that’s why we intend to take back the power that has been stripped from us long ago. Take back what has belonged to us and make sure to use that power to bring forth an image of this company that we want the entire world to see: a desolate wasteland of the ruins of what once was of this place. I’ve had enough of the disrespect that has been given to me and I don’t need it coming from a man who is considered to be my friend on a night where our message was supposed to be graced to the entire world. I don’t need any distractions on making sure that my mission has become a success, I don’t need any of these people interfering in matters that don’t concern them at all, and trying to save me from myself? Forget it. That’s an excuse people use to bring me back to being the man who continues to lead the march towards a successful company, to continue pushing people and wrestling to the best matches we could possibly have, to return to being one of the biggest creative forces at work in this business. An excuse to pull me back into the place that drove me to this point of desiring nothing more than the total destruction of the places I once created with my own hands as symbols of what this business could become. These excuses won’t work because what everything I’ve worked for has now become is a farce and mockery of what I had desired it to be. Just as these men who stand against us at Atlantis are nothing but a mere joke to what a true wrestler should be in this business, everyone has played their part in making OWA a joke of a symbol for what professional wrestling should have been and that’s why you’ll learn to respect the path I walk. You may hate me for it, you may despise me for bringing ruin towards everything you love, but don’t think that this was an easy choice for me.

I’ve simply come to terms with the fact that the end of this business has finally arrived with the walking Armageddon known as The Phantom Troupe.

Nate Cage


Fuck Me, That Hurt



Nate Cage slumps in his red leather chair, still covered in bruises, burns and lacerations from the unforgiving confines of the Thunderdome. His face looks empty, devoid of feeling. His reserved, monotonous delivery does not waver at all as he stares into the distance.
 
So, this is it? After all of my waiting, my plotting, my scheming, worming my way into the minds of the people who call the shots… this is what was coming to me? My first ever chance to become world champion and all I have in my possession is a collection of wounds. As I sat in that structure, feeling the volts course through my body, my muscles constricting, feeling as though I were about to combust, the question of if I have gone too far entered my mind. Not for long, but long enough to register. All of this chaos, all of this harm, to what end was it unleashed on the world? The status quo remains the same from where I sit. The Derelict is still champion, no matter what that pretender to the throne Nathan Fiora says. I am back where I started, a Devil with no road in front of me. All roads led to Game Over, and mine simply ended with dust, blood, and disappointment.
 
To scratch and claw for as long as I have and be given this in return… it is enough to break a lesser man. I have watched on as everyone around me ascended to stand with the gods, their every want catered to by the virgin nectar of those who move the pieces. OWA is a heavily populated chessboard, but what good am I if I am not being thrown into the battle? Now, we all must suffer. We all must endure the hellish sight of Nathan Fiora continuing his useless crusade against Derelict. Never in a thousand years, with a thousand armies could Nathan defeat Derelict. It is a farce. An affront to all that I believe. But what can I do? I played my hand and while it was a fucking good one, it was not enough to get the whole pot. As much pain as I caused and as frustratingly close I came to victory, I still sit here empty-handed.
 
Do I regret the path I have taken? Never. A man who lives with regret can never be a real man. You must take ownership of your failure and your success if you want to be respected. So, what are my options? I can either cry like a child who was deprived of their lollipop, or I can address the small matter of my next opponent. Mr Keelan Callihan, The Killer himself. I must say, Keelan, despite all the barbs we traded, all the animosity between us, I did not think you were such a strong fighter. You left a part of your soul inside that structure, your pound of flesh given like every other man – apart from that feckless fool, Nathan Fiora – but we are both finding ourselves without a championship over our shoulders. How peculiar. It is not lost on me that the closest I came to winning that match was at your expense. A Death Sentence from the top of a pod. I sent you crashing down with every ounce of malice I could conjure up, and yet my opportunity was ripped away from me. My pin broken. My chances dashed. I should not be angry, even if I am enraged. For it is the nature of the beast when in an environment like that. I would have been more aware in better condition. You see, my lucidity was drastically impaired by being electrocuted for an extended period and then having that barbed wire bat implanted in the side of my head. Poetic, isn’t it? The very weapon I bring into the match is my downfall. Hubris is a funny old thing; you never know when it will select you as its mark.
 
Apparently, the powers that be are not satisfied with the hellacious beating we went through on that night. No, instead, two wounded warriors must square off in singles competition. I appreciate this is the life we lead, but a week off would not have gone amiss. Ah well, tit for tat, we lay in the bed we make and all that. For the first time ever, two of OWA’s most despised and vilified figures share the ring one-on-one. I would be lying if I said I was not excited. Until Thunderdome, I thought you were like all the rest, Keelan, a loudmouthed try-hard with nothing to show for all of his work apart from empty threats. You pissed me off, for lack of a better term. The things you dared say to me before we were locked in that arena of agony almost made me lose my cool. You certainly are a gifted wordsmith, with the uncanny ability to get under the skin of even those with the thickest hide. I have tasted your pain and dealt it out in equal measure. You are tough, you are resourceful. In many ways, your tenacity invokes my appreciation. For a man to leave a piece of himself in that ring is no easy task. You are more than just a Killer, you are a survivor, my friend.
 
The words that I am saying might come as a shock to those who do not listen. Could it be? Is the ever arrogant and deluded Nate Cage showing a semblance of respect to his enemy? Those people are lost. If you cannot admire the qualities of your enemy, then why are you fighting them? What makes them a worthy opponent? You see, this matchmaking from Tarah Nova is not accidental. She knows exactly what she is doing. Me and you, Keelan, we are the biggest threats to the status quo. Not Derelict, not Fiora. Us. We have been in OWA since it was still in the birth canal. You yourself are a founder. And what have we done with our time here other than go out of our way to exact punishment on the empty husks that pass for wrestlers these days? If either of us were to gain that world championship, the plan falls apart. Because neither of us is planned for. Neither of us are supposed to reach great heights. We are dogs of war, cursed to continue the fight until our bodies can no longer function.
 
I will not play into that hand, Keelan. I refuse to be used as some mongrel, sicced on an equally rabid hound in a bid to destroy both monsters. This is not the fate I have chosen. As much as I respect your goals and ambitions, however, I cannot allow you to take my place in the path. I have given too much, come too far. What purpose is there for me if I am not pursuing that which I have set out to pursue? I must do what I have to do, and that is eliminating you from the equation. Neither of us is going to walk into that ring with all of our faculties intact. I can still smell the burning that rises from my seared flesh. Blood still drips from the side of my head as the dressing wrapped around my cranium is soaked in my pain. You took your fair share of licks on top of the ones supplied by yours truly. This match is a test of wills, a test of who can take the other out before the body just… stops.
 
I have felt the kiss of death in that ring and I am starting to think that if I push too hard, I will feel it once more. That cannot happen. If I want to remove you from my path, there are two viable options: you can stand aside, or I can move you. I already know you will not be standing aside. I might have thought that of you before Game Over, but I know now that you are one resilient bastard. So, the only remaining option is making you move. I will strike hard and I will strike fast. The less time we are exposed to each other’s cruelty, the better it will be for both of us. I am not showing up to be cordial and present you with a sporting bout. I will give you everything I have left in my broken body. I will put myself on the chopping block because that is the only way to snuff out a killer. I will not waste your time with pleasantries, I will not be kind, nor will I be respectful. You deserve better than something as futile as sportsmanship.
 
A man of your demeanour, of your character, you deserve Nate Cage at his most sadistic and cruel, would you not agree? I am not anticipating a reserved Keelan Callihan, no. After what I put you through in that dome, I am imagining you want to beat me down until I can no longer draw breath, yes? Well, do as you must, because a blood-lusted man can be equal parts dangerous and vulnerable. If you lose control for even a second, I will take the opening and exploit it for everything I can. Never give a Cage an inch because we will take a mile.
 
When all this is over, who knows what will be left for us? There is a scenario where we are both so battered, so broken that neither can continue. I know that that is the ideal scenario for our detractors. But the more likely scenario, at least from where I am sitting, is that we show the whole world what we are capable of: unfiltered, unimpaired devastation. Take that trip with me Keelan, and may the best monster survive.
 
Nate shifts forward in his chair and leans on his thighs, before coughing up some blood and ripping the dressing from his head. Thick, clotted blood crawls down his cheek, he lets out a wide, evil grin, the force of which causes the stitches in his head to tear. As the blood cascades down, pooling over the carpet, Cage cannot help but chuckle.
 
Oh, how good it is to be alive.

 

The camera opens up inside a dim warehouse, focusing on a blood-stained mat lying in the center, surrounded by sand. Morrighan McDonnell enters from the right, passing a lit torch as she looks around the empty arena. After stealing a few more glances, she turns towards the camera to speak:
 
“What do you think, Viola? The locals here in Montreal call this place, “Le Colisée Cramoisi,” which is French for “The Crimson Coliseum.” I’ve fought here in the past, many times. A couple of years ago, this small arena was filled to the rafters almost every night, standing room only! Yes, it’s not as state-of-the-art as the OWA Arena, or as grand a spectacle as Yankee Stadium, but the fans here sure knew how to make a fighter feel truly appreciated. I still look fondly upon this place… sure, I’ve almost lost as many battles as I won here, but no matter the end result, I often left the building with a large smile on my face, a smile usually obscured by a mask of blood and sweat…”
 
The camera zooms in closely on Morrighan’s face, her smiling quickly turning into a snarl. She breathes deeply, looks up, and then looks back into the camera, her face full of rage:
 
“After Next Level ended, there was no smile on our face… in fact, we haven’t smiled since the summer started, when we realized that Odyssey’s GM had started a crusade against us… oppressing us at every turn! Ms. DeMarco, we KNOW that you “fixed” our match against April Song… YOU KNOW THAT WE… NEVER… QUIT!”
 
Morrighan grits her teeth while looking away to the side, quickly shaking her head left and right. Out of nowhere, she starts to manically laugh, as she stares back into the camera:
 
“April Song, at the end of the night, you let the official raise your arm in triumph… even though you knew that your victory wasn’t exactly “earned.” Did you stop the monster as you claimed you would? Hardly. All you did was slow us down enough to let Viola’s wicked plan unfold… For all your grandstanding, all the bravado that you went on about, tell us… do you really think that you won? Moreover… do you think that it’s all over for you? You’ll just move on to the next opponent? For the moment, our focus is elsewhere, but don’t rest on your laurels… we will have our revenge… as long as you are on Odyssey… you will never be safe… you will never be rid of us…”
 
“As for you, Ms. DeMarco… what exactly is your “endgame” here? Fixing our matches… playing mind games… refusing to book us on Odyssey… when does this madness end? Why continue playing with fire, Ms. DeMarco? Perhaps “burning” through your handpicked goddesses wasn’t enough to force your eyes open to this injustice… It seems that more… drastic measures... will need to be taken… Maybe then, we’ll finally get your attention… We could simply assault you and be done with it, but what will that prove? Physically harming Odyssey’s GM would give us a great amount of pleasure… but there is nothing to gain from it… FOR NOW… Maybe we should kidnap and torture your lover, Natalie Cage… No, Llorona already did a beautiful job of that… yeah, she beat us to the punch, and no one really likes or wants anyone’s “sloppy seconds…” Besides, we’re thinking of something… far… more… diabolical for you… Despite your efforts, we will be in Brooklyn for Odyssey... Your promises to keep your superstars “safe” are nothing more than your tyrannical “propaganda” messages intended to make everyone feel comfortable… however, all those bitches should stay on their toes, because NO ONE IS SAFE!”
 
As Morrighan yells, the lights in the building flicker off, as the flames on the torch turn bright blue. For a moment, Morrighan is replaced by The Banshee, standing on the center mat. The lights flicker back on, the torch flames return to normal. The Banshee is no longer there, once again showing a calmer Morrighan.
 
“Once again, we are headlining another Atlantis show, undeniable proof that at least others recognize our talent and potential… but we are not amused at the inside joke that’s being played upon us! At first glance, we saw that the Goddesses Champion herself, Alyssa Grace, was set to be one of our opponents… Wait… “ONE… of… our… opponents?” Yes, it was then that our disappointment set in, when we saw ourselves booked in “tag team” action against Alyssa Grace… and… Malfunction? Mal…nourishment? Wait… don’t tell us… Maelstrom… who the hell is Maelstrom? Why not just call yourself “Whirlpool?” Not only are the two terms, by definition, interchangeable… your career also resembles toilet water flushing down the drain… Unfortunately, that’s when we also realized that we were partnered up with someone as pathetically incompetent in the GM role as Viola DeMarco… Reginald Dampshaw the Third, a wanker who fancies himself a wrestler, despite the obvious lack of talent!”
 
“Mr. Dampshaw, the only thing flattering about you is that you’re more "honest" regarding your corruption… however, you’re nothing more than an offensive “joke” to us… Constantly giving yourself championship opportunities that you absolutely don’t deserve… using sedative-laced blades to keep your position… you’re nothing more than a punching bag that tries to fight back… You should remain in the locker room when your name is announced, because we don’t need you! I already have a partner, after all… my partner is THE BANSHEE! How about trying your hand elsewhere… maybe being a crossing guard is a more suited profession for your “talents,” but since you can’t be within five hundred feet of a school or daycare, perhaps you should follow in daddy’s little footsteps… If you stupidly decide to show up, then feel free to stand there like the grinning idiot you are… and if you stay out of our way, we MAY allow your name to be announced alongside us as the “winners,” but should your actions cost us our victory… we’ll personally deliver you to the Ashes, with a bloody bow on top… do we have an accord?”
 
“Maelstrom, until this match was announced, we had no idea you even existed… but isn’t that exactly what you desire? You speak about ruling your own “Distorted World,” labeling yourself as some dangerous and narcissistic god amongst men… but just like Mr. Dampshaw and Ms. DeMarco, you’re nothing more than a self-serving tyrant, trapped in your own little fantasy realm… But in reality, you possess no real powers whatsoever… In other words, you don’t matter... at all… So why are you even in this match? What are you hoping to gain? You call yourself the “Harbinger of Darkness,” but remember that WE ARE THE HARBINGER OF DOOM! The only “omen” that you foretell to the fans is when to leave their seats to take a piss, buy some overpriced nachos, or for the viewers at home, when to change the damn channel! And before you consider asking your Japanese friends for help, maybe ask Shin-SEKAI how NAMI is doing… By the way, how’s your wife? Does she often accompany you to the ring? Hell, does she wrestle for you, because she certainly does all the talking… which is probably wise, since you sound like a depressed Muppet on a treadmill… Seems like she has quite the impressive background herself, which is why you must feel so at ease putting her in harm’s way… she should stay behind, because if we see her around our ring… well, she will be harmed, because that’s our way! This match is our opportunity to show Ms. DeMarco… to show EVERYONE… that we deserve a title shot against Alyssa Grace, and we will destroy anyone that interferes with our grand plan!”
 
“Alyssa Grace… to be honest, we have been looking forward to this for a long time! We’ve watched you from the shadows, ever since Final Destination… your title reign has been nothing short of spectacular… You’ve even retired the future hall-of-famer Azumi Gato, forever ending her opportunity to entertain the OWA fans… ever… again… Does your triumph haunt you, Alyssa? Do the voices torment you? Do you hear the taunting?”
 
Morrighan raises her arms, as several different voices are heard shouting over each other. Some of the phrases that can be heard include, “You took our hero Azumi away from us!” “You betrayed her!” “She was your friend, your idol!” “You are an abomination!” Morrighan smiles as the voices become louder and more disembodied, before bringing her arms down to her sides, the voices suddenly silencing.
 
“We know the truth, Alyssa… You don’t hear the voices, do you? In fact, you’ve never experienced any tormenting taunts, right? Because deep down, inside your soul, you might be just… like… us… You’re ruthless… you’re ferocious… you’re a nasty, cold-blooded bitch… and we can respect that! However, you hide your true self by playing to your so-called “fans.” No one can argue with your success, but when our hand gets raised as Atlantis concludes, you’ll likely ask yourself, “What went wrong?” Well, to defeat a monster… you must become one yourself… You’ve done well so far… but you have yet to FULLY EMBRACE IT… and until you do, you’ll never defeat us… That’s bad news for you, because we really covet that title around your waist… One day, it will be ours… but for now, we’ll settle for punching your pretty face into nothing more than a bloody pulp on the mat... You may be known as “Odyssey’s Shooting Star,” but in case you haven’t been paying attention… WE have become “Odyssey’s Greatest Threat!” And that’s what you should consider us as well, especially in regards to the opponent that can end your reign as the Goddesses Champion: YOUR… GREATEST… THREAT! How ironic could it be, if the “Goddess” from Bray County lost her cherished championship to the Wraith of the Ring… born in western Galway, just two –and-a-half hours away?”
 
“There’s no denying your talent… but even that won’t help you escape your fate… We could always just ask you for a fair title shot, but that isn’t really how we conduct our business… especially with an evil succubus moonlighting as the Odyssey GM, one who has an axe to grind against us… because to Viola DeMarco, whether it’s… Morrighan McDonnell… or… The Banshee… we’re the complete opposite of you, Alyssa. You like to rely on all those gymnastic high-risk maneuvers, as well as using your legs more than a stunt double in a martial-arts epic… quite different from our own skills, since we prefer “brutality” over “Grace.” These knuckles of ours have been broken more times than we can remember… but our opponents always came out on the worse end of it, which makes you the next lucky one on our list… However, something tells us that your partner, Maelstrom, may be too damn stupid to stay away from what should be OUR FIGHT… so perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to leave with just a few scrapes and bruises… but let every injury serve as a reminder to you that we will continue lurking in the shadows… watching your every move… Will you prove your mettle as champion, or will you just take the “easy way out,” like all the others before you? Are you an angel… or a monster like us? Destiny allows us to finally meet on Atlantis, but in our opinion… this is only the prologue in our tale of fate… and we already can’t wait for the next chapter!”
 
Morrighan arches back her figure as she violently shrieks, causing all the light bulbs to randomly shatter, sending the arena nearly into darkness. The torches start burning a dark red, barely lighting up the ring area. The Banshee is once again present, glaring at the camera. The Banshee suddenly rushes the camera, screaming as it happens. The camera feed instantly cuts to black and silence.

So Madisyn now had a reply to do. She was seen, standing with her girlfriend, who she would introduce later. As she stands in front of her camera, still in her white and blue attire from the last promo, she speaks.


“So it comes to my attention that Niki doesn’t understand who or what I am. I mean, I plainly said, I’m a nerd. What’s more plain than that? But if she thinks I’m going to insult her? No I am not because I’m better than that. The fact that you even think I’m dumb enough to fall into your trap is laughable. I’m way too smart for that.” Madisyn stated. She stood in her library, as she had just finished reading, even if she had trouble seeing the words, even with her glasses on. Her mom had been onto her about this but perhaps something would be done later. She continues on, seated on her couch.


“First off, I said everything I did for the FANS. I could care less what you think. The fact that you think I can be made to care is baffling to me. I was introducing myself to the fans. And to say fuck you because I’m a woman of the fans is insulting. These fans pay our checks. Where do you think the owners get the money to pay us? From these fans. So before you say fuck the fans, how bout you come say that to my face?” She snapped. She was obviously getting very frustrated here. But she couldn’t let it get to her. “Next you insulted my looks. What are you, in middle school? I don’t really care how I look to you. I am proud to be wearing glasses and braces and insulting the nerdy people that can’t do so themselves. I stand up for the nerds who were bullied in school. I stand up for people who are too weak. I AM THEIR HERO! She screamed. She was one that saw herself as such and was proud of it. But the fact was that she needed to prove that heroism. But now that she had a break of sorts, it was time to introduce her longtime girlfriend to everyone.



“Fans and everyone watching or listening, this is my longtime girlfriend, Chariti Jane Stevens, or CJ for short. We met a few years ago at a show and hit it off from here. As you can see, she has everything I do. CJ, say hi. You don’t have to. I know how shy you are on camera. Get back behind the camera. I don’t want you having a panic attack. Love you babe. But anyway, Niki, you need to learn respect for these fans ad I will show it to you. The fact that you don’t respect the fans is something that needs to change and change now. I’ve dealt with people like you, and honestly, there’s no room for your kind in this world.” CJ then signaled that she wanted to say something, so Madi would then signal for her to come out in front of the camera. CJ would then say what she had to in that extremely hot British accent. Madisyn loved that accent and wanted to hear it at every turn. She was severely attracted to that accent and the gal behind it so it was clear that she was going to be with her forever. She wanted to marry CJ.


“Niki, mate, the fact is that everything you said about my baby is insulting as it also applies to me. Look at me, then her. We’re both attractive nerds, and don’t care what you say about it. Because the fact is, you can say whatever you like, love. It won’t affect her or me, as we’ve heard much worse. The fact being that even though she’s afraid to insult, I will. The fact is that you don’t belong in a ring. You belong in a straitjacket. The fact that you think we’re intimidated by you is a laugh. The fact is, we aren’t. And no, I don’t wrestle. So I’m not coming to fight you. But you will see a lot more of me in time. I will tell you that mate.” She said, giving Madisyn a kiss on the cheek before heading back behind the camera. As she thinks of how to continue, her phone alarm rang. It was near time for her to meet her mom at the mall. So this would have to close it.


“My girlfriend said it all. I am not afraid of you or anyone in this company. And your opinions mean nothing to me. To me, you’re talking horse bollocks, as CJ would say, here, and you’re also full of them too. No one buys this act you’re putting on, while I’m everything I say I am. I don’t need a “Character” because what you see is what you get with me which leaves one thing left to say. If you don’t got it, get it. If you don’t get it, figure it out.”  She said, as the scene faded. She felt she had said what she needed to say and now it was time to meet her mom at the mall.



Off Camera


Madi was now at the mall, waiting on her mom. As her mom arrives, Madi would then speak, clearly annoyed at her mom for making her do this. But, Stacy was her mom and she wasn’t going to tell her mom no. As she goes into the eye doctor’s, she sits and speaks to her mom in an annoyed tone.


“I don’t need them, Mom. CJ knows this and I know this. If anything, you need them more than me. Why aren’t you getting them?” Madi asked. She wondered why she was even being made to get them. As she heads in to the office of the doctor, she takes all the tests and then Stacy speaks again. “Does she need them, Doctor? She can barely read text right now. But it’s up to you.”

“Yes, she does. I suggest she go get them right now as a matter of fact. She’s taken all the tests. I see she already wears glasses but these will help with smaller text.” Moments later, Madi has her new reading glasses hanging around her neck. The were the same color as her regular ones but not as thick. At the coaxing of CJ and her mom, she removes her regular glasses for a pic in her readers. She wasn’t a big fan of wearing them though. As they walk out of the eye doctor’s, her mom asks her to read a text message with her reading glasses on. “Hey, I can read the messages now! Maybe this won’t be so bad!” She said, replacing her readers with regular glasses. She then joins hands with CJ as Stacy would head out to her car as the scene ended.

Holy shit. I did it. Noah Quinn is the OWA Television Champion. It still feels surreal. Days after I won the match, I still find myself staring at that belt, in awe that that thing is in my ownership. Some could call it an ego trip. Some could call me overexcited. But I earned this thing. I beat two other men and have the right to call myself the TV Champion. I brought the belt home for both myself, and The Awakening. Fiora, Eon, Michaels. Our collective has achieved their first major victories, at our first big event. That didn't take too long, didn't it. I OFFICIALLY won the TV Title. The Awakening walked out with the Heavyweight Title. I'm sure Derelict will be wanting that thing back, but we won't make it easy for him. Look at us, Eon. We did it! Finnegan Wakefield is no longer champion, and the first of many belts was brought home where it belongs. All those words, all those statements didn't matter in the end. On Saturday, we proved that we had a place in this company. Chaos Elite single handedly took out one of OWA's finest, and brought home the TV Title. Fiora was proud. The crowd booed. And we all went home happy. But Finn and I tried to deliver on exactly what we promised. I was happy to bring it home for The Awakening, but I think I was honest with my desires to become the true champ. You said that it didn't matter. You were just happy for one of us to win, right? That's what the new and improved Eon Blue said. But when you pulled me off that cover, I saw the man that I formed Chaos Elite with. I saw the man who threw me into a bathroom sink. I saw the man who debuted with me. It appears that the old Eon Blue isn't quite gone yet. But I'm fine with it. I respect whatever you want to do with yourself. You wanna be a true believer? You wanna be self serving? As long as you remember your roots, I'm here for you. I don't blame you for anything. I said that in that match, anything goes. Do what you need to do, because I intend to do the same. And at the end, you fulfilled your promise. You embraced me with open arms, because you knew that I would do the same. The fans cheered when I won. Not because they were happy for me, oh no. I wish. They were happy because they thought Chaos Elite was no more. With the crowning of a new champion, came the end of a tag team. How could any relationship last when one member beats another? But we had an understanding. Teamwork could only go so far, and everyone knew it. Only one person could win. But when the dust settled and the winner was crowned, the team still remained. They booed because they realized that nothing could break us brothers in arms. Maybe in the past, but The Awakening is here to stay. I suppose I do have to give credit to Finn as well. He certainly had the two of us beat at the beginning. Finn...I respect what you did in the ring, but you have nobody to blame but yourself. I'm sure you know that already, but just in case you make any excuses. You ran circles around us at the beginning of the match. You injured my arm. You almost ended the match via submission. So...good job, I guess. I think it's safe to say that Game Over was a major success. I won the biggest match of my career. The Awakening made themselves known. And I think that I also showed a new side of myself. One who's not just a tag team guy. One who can shine on his own, despite being part of a group. A person who will do anything to win. I plan to elevate this belt to new heights. Long gone are the five second reigns. The joke champions. Once the TV Title was a mockery, but now it's something to be proud of. Hell, it just came off of a brutal triple threat for the thing. I want to make this belt desired, but OWA isn't doing me too many favors with this thing. No matter. No matter at all. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'll do whatever it takes to keep this thing. I'm going to raise the prestige, until it's valued at it's true worth. The hard part is done. I've obtained it for myself and The Awakening. Now the true goal is keeping it where it belongs. But...

I get 15 days with the belt before I defend for the first time. In ANOTHER triple threat. On...a midcard slot at... ATLANTIS?!? So much for elevating the thing. Atlantis is a fine show. I've had a few matches there, and it's nothing to sleep on. But no way, should a fucking title be defended there. AT THE MIDDLE OF THE CARD. Hell, you couldn't slap it onto Olympus? Is the belt not prestigious enough? Come on. But I do what I need to do. I'll show up, beat these two scrubs and leave. I don't remember issuing an open challenge. Do I look like Finnegan Wakefield to you? But there it is, right on the page. "Television Title Open Challenge". Just days into my reign, I'm being put up to defend already. Is someone trying to tell me something? I well you're gonna have to try harder than Shaker Jones to get me to drop this damn belt. I've defeated the legendary Finnegan Wakefield. I've been forced to curb stomp my own fucking tag team partner. Apparently I've also made some history. First person to defeat Finn in a title match? Cool. I'm surprised that it took so long. I've done all these things, and Cameron Reckless and Shaker Jones are expected to give me a challenge? I just came off a triple threat against two of the best talents on Olympus. I was pushed to my limit, my arm was...uh...I'm a fast healter. Let's say that. I did whatever I needed to do to win, and I can't even get a title defense on the main show! Hell, not even against a competent opponent! They threw the fucking jobbers at me! And yes. I said jobbers. Cameron, Shaker, I'll get to you two individually, but let me ask the both of you. Do you think you have a chance? Despite my disappointment, I see the reasoning behind this. You two are the meat, thrown at the lion's feet. A couple of toys to play with to make me look strong. There's no damn reason why I should take the two of you seriously at all, but I'm a cautious man. The two of you are meant to lose. You were literally put into this match, expected to lose. There's a reason why this is on some random Atlantis. It's just an easy first defense for yours truly. One jobber, two jobbers, whatever. But I'm sure in your mind, you'll prove everyone wrong. You'll show the world why you should be taken seriously, and you'll start by taking that TV Title from Noah Quinn. Very cute. There's no expectations for the two of you. You just have to show up and lose. I'm sure you'll try your best. Maybe you'll even get a few shots in on me, but in the end, everything that's expected will come to pass. I'll leave the arena with that title around my waist, and you two will go back to the jobber hotel. Besides, when your match is just above the Nighttime Horrors, you know it's not going to be good.

Cameron Reckless. How generic is that? And by that dopey look on your face, you're not too smart either. Like every single wrestler in this company, you have championship dreams. You probably lie awake at night, just praying that something will fall into your lap. Or maybe you want to earn it. You're looking to take advantage of the opportunities you've been given, and look! Despite not doing anything noteworthy at all, you're seemingly handed a title shot. I guess OWA's seeing your true talent, right? It's like a dream come true, isn't it? Now all you have to do is defeat me and claim your destiny. They're laughing at you, Cameron. Nobody in this company takes you seriously at all, and for good reason. On a scale from Havoc to Jacob Nighttime, I'd put you slightly lower than Devi Krysis. At least she has a couple friends to take her under their wings. You are a fucking joke, and everyone knows it but you. But this really is a blessing, I guess. Now you have the chance to prove everyone wrong. But come on. I think we all know what'll happen. You'll fail miserably, and go back to squash matches against more of OWA's finest. You're a fucking joke. Hell, both of my opponents in this thing are jokes, but at least Shaker has a personality. You're the definition of generic jobber. God, your favorite weapon is a damn kendo stick. Can't get any more basic than that. It's like someone shoved their shitty video game character into the real world, for everyone else to laugh at. And no, I'm not underestimating you. I think I know exactly what you and Shaker can do to me. I watched that Atlantis gauntlet, in support of my factionmate Mark Michaels. And in that, I saw the two of you just fall over the top rope after a gust of wind. It feels like I've faced every clown out there. A nobody who thinks they're somebody. A delusional clown who actually sees themselves as a threat. You're just more of the same, Cameron. A generic loser who's found themselves at the bottom, with no way back up. I look forward to seeing you even try to take this thing from me.

And here's another not so generic jobber. Shaker has some spunk in him, I guess. More personality than that Cameron guy. But Shaker...you do realize that you're literally just a meme. The only reason that you're even in this match is for the comedy relief. You'll run around, scream some shit about punk rock and then get broken in half. That's how Shaker Jones matches usually go, anyways. Oh yeah, and you'll spit some mist, too. Gross. You know, you and Cameron have a lot in common, besides the whole jobber thing. You both consider yourself "hardcore" guys. You both like beating people with...sigh...kendo sticks. Where's the creativity? And you've both found yourself in this situation, set up for failure. What a shame. But man, I thought Cameron was delusional. Look at you, Shaker. I don't know where this punk rock country man shit came from, but it's not working. I get the whole "be yourself" thing, but...you're pretty bad. It only goes down from here, which is sad because you're already pretty deep in the hole already. What a shame your career has been. One match in, and you're already being treated like the garbage you are. It's good that OWA realizes what you're made of. Better now, than later I guess. Don't worry. I'll make sure you don't suffer too much.

But I'm almost offended. I've come through hell. I defeated my own tag team partner, and a legend in Finnegan Wakefield...and my next match is against a couple of jobbers? Talk about a fall from grace. When your title is being defended on the midcard at the B-show, you start to wonder if something's wrong. You really putting the title at this level? Come on. But I'll do what I have to do. I'll show up, squash these jobbers and leave. Hopefully Olympus brings something better than a match against people who don't deserve to be in a ring with me.

FANCY TITLE FOR MY PROMO 2: The Promoing.

“When I signed on the dotted line here in OWA, I knew a lot of what I had accomplished was simply gonna go away. I knew that all I had achieved was going to count for mostly nothing. The years on the road, in the ring, and even in the hospital. All the blood, and sweat, and time, and energy, and broken bones, and everything else’s that I had sacrificed all for the love of the sport, was at least in part going to wasn’t gonna matter anymore because here In OWA I was gonna be made to start all over from the bottom. I didn’t mind it, because I knew my talent in that ring is undeniable and I’d be on top of the card soon enough. I knew I’d have to climb up for the bottom, hell I relished the opportunity to do so. But right now the opportunity of a lifetime is right in front of me and you can bet that I will fight tooth and nail from bell to bell. Father Nathan, I know you want nothing more than to crush this heathen under your footage way you did Nas, and establish your Devine title reign. but indulge me this chance to prove that I am as good as I say I am, that I am as good as you believe me to be. Because Derelict deserves to catch a beating from me. For all he’s said about you, for all he’s about the Awakening, and for all the disrespect he has been showing me. When that bell rings I promise you I am gonna kick the shit out of whatever I’d left of that foul, and repugnant son of a bitch. I promise you that I am going to go to any lengths necessary, any depths that can be imagined in the darkest parts of my imagination, and sacrifice whatever I have left of my good name to beat Derelict. If I have to smash his skull into a paste from Downfall after Downfall! If I have tear his arm from his body to get him to tap in the Liberation Has Begun! Whatever I have to do, it will be done. And if for a second he thinks that I will Simply fold at the first sign of trouble, that I’ll crack under the pressure, than he is gonna learn that I am simply too stubborn and too proud. He thinks he’s gonna leave me laying, MOTHER FUCKER I DON’T LAY DOWN FOR ANYBODY! Derelict, you asked me to bring something to this match, I swear you’ll be getting every goddamn thing I got come Olympus!

Now that being said, Derelict I did take the time to see if you have anything that remotely resembled anything coming close to being interesting, or Persuading, or true. I heard you talk about how you like sleeping next to dog shit, and used needles every night. So let me get this straight, you can afford to spend the night in a hotel, but you choose instead to lay down in dog shit and rat herpes? Bravo pal. You know most people try to keep themselves sharp by either spending time in a gym, or visiting their old neighborhood, but you’re all about that dumpster life. I tell you what, let’s ask a hundred people and see if they’d rather be a member of an up and coming faction who lives in a nice home and still has money saved away? Or if they’d rather be the Heavyweight champion who still has to lap up whatever comes pouring down the gutter whenever he’s thirsty? Now usually I’m all about the love of the game when it comes to professional wrestling and to me guys just here to get a check I wholly despise. But you Derelict are the one guy who I could understand just wanting a payday. A guy I could see as Pro Wrestling’s answer to Kimbo Slice, and using this sport for nothing more than to drag yourself out of the literal gutter. But you boy, your too dumb and too damaged to even do that. As such I have zero in terms of respect for you as you’re an even bigger stain on all of wrestling than the blood sucking leeches who I normally have to send back to flipping burgers. The only thing I feel for you Derelict is equal parts pity and distain.
See I can tell you right now that even though you think that you’ll simply run through the Awakening like a hot knife through butter and get back that Heavyweight title belt that you say you don’t even care about. I know you’ll always end up the butt end of every attempt to do so. Game Over wasn’t a once in a lifetime occurrence, it’s moment in history you’ll be doomed to repeat for as long as you live because you live in mindset that condemns you to do so. Fool yourself all you want Derelict, it’s really obvious to see that you’re not pulling the Oscar the grouch routine because it somehow gives you an edge, aside from psyching out anyone who doesn’t want to risk catching rabies by locking up you, but it just that at the end of the day you are trapped in a poverty mindset. Deep down in your heart you can’t elevate yourself to anything besides the guy who was so hungry you had to eat whatever I threw away. It’s that same mindset that will always see you beaten and bested in the end. It’s a self destructive state of mind, and one that you simply will not attempt to change. You have been damned by attitudes and thoughts, while I have been set free by mine. I see myself living in more mindset of prosperity, where my past while helping to mold and shape me, does not ultimately define me. I am coming into this match knowing that every set back I’ve faced prior, has prepared me for greater victories now and to come. Victories like the one I’m taking over you on Olympus. It’s the same mindset that Nathan Fiora had, a take no prisoners, and damn what the hell anyone else says till you have what you desire in your hands. and regardless of whatever you do in the ring, regardless of how Tarah will inevitably try to screw us over, no mater what goes down, I know that I know that in the end myself, and the rest of the Awakening will be go down in history as the most dominant competitors in the history of OWA because that is what I desire.
Now hopefully my words will sink into that skull of yours, but I am not gonna count on it. I know you’ll probably say I’m just foolishly optimistic and overestimating my chances here. To which It seems that I have to keep explaining and expounding on the simplest things. Sidebar, Why is it every single opponent I face either too dumb, or too closed minded to really grasp what I’m saying without me having to expand on every little word I utter to my opponents? Take this week for instance, A guy says he’s never heard of me, or any of my accomplishments. I then proceeded to do him a favor and give a brief overview of my background and what I bring to the table, and that somehow gets construed as whining? Really Derelict? Like I said before, if you’re gonna cry like a bitch at least own up to the fact that you are. You say I haven’t done my homework on you? Which when you think about it is pretty hypocritical because you’ve done fuck all to learn one goddamn thing about me. But aside from you being a hypocritical jackass, you’re also a plain fool. I was right there watching the Thunderdome match, seeing how you moved around the ring, taking stock of every time you shook your limbs trying to get some feeling back into them after being electrocuted. How you limped around after Father Nathan has zeroed in on your knee. That daze in your eyes as you tried to stay conscious because you had lost so much blood. And what’s more I’ve gone back and watched that match again and again, studying every chink in your armor, every soft spot in your defense, every weak spot that I can exploit. Hell you know that you’re not at one hundred percent, you’ve admitted that much. But while you might be thinking this is a wounded animal backed into a corner, and thus you’re at your most dangerous. What you really are is a one legged man struggling to stay afloat in the ocean, while you’re being circled by sharks that smell blood. Because let’s put all the bravdo and bragging Aside for a moment, and take a good look at what’s really happening. Am I gonna out wrestle you? yes I am. Am I gonna pick you apart from bell to bell? You bet your ass. Will you get lucky and leave me laying like you’ve been predicting? I would be lying if I didn’t say there was a chance. But in order for you to do that you’re gonna have to stand against the most tenacious and relentless mother fucker you will ever encounter. Derelict realize that one way or another I am more than man enough to slug it out with you if need be. I’m not some glass chined asshole like those D-listers who you thought it could impress me at the mention of their names. I’ve battled with the strongest, I’ve traded shots with best, and I’m still standing right here trying not to yawn when you come at me with that week ass bullshit you call a threat! And what’s more, I’m no fool. I’m not going in alone. I still have Eon and Noah watching my back, not that I need them to but it can’t hurt to have them cheering me on.

You see things for what they really are my ass! Derelict, you can’t even see what’s right under your nose. Take your perspective on the Awakening. We’re not just a bunch of sorry, quivering, Bastards who get their knickers in a twist every time you pass by. You’ll never see the Awakening huddling under the covers because of some lumbering shit head like you. This thing betwee me, Noah, Eon, and Father Nathan, is not just a random grouping of guys just hoping to get by. We are the most underrated talents on the roster, who have conglomerated together with a clear end and the way to get there. You talk about being a blind follower, a coward, a weakling, for allying myself alongside Father Nathan. The. You turn around And day how you admire what Chaos Elite could have been if they hadn’t done the same. Chaos Elite would have dissolved their partnership and started a pointless feud with each other had it not been for Father Nathan getting them back on the same page. Under his guidance they became an even stronger unit, who went on to systematically tear apart Finnegan Wakefield and take the TV title for the Awakening. Again they went from nearly tearing each other apart, to overwhelming a man who in his tenure as champion had people thinking that he was unbeatable. because he had in fact never lost a title match. Eon, and Noah, they are a great example as to what can be achieved following Father Nathan, and changing your mindset.

Oh you’re on the warpath, ooowwwww spooky. Son you may be on the warpath, but you’re all you’re doing is swinging a plastic sword at the air my friend. Me? I’m coming in guns drawn, cocked, and ready to unload every round. You asked for the best of Mark Michaels, consider your wish granted. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you that you’d live to regret it.”

OLYMPUS PROMO 2: Prosopagnosia


(The camera opens on Derelict sitting in an alley, wrapping his wrists as his fingers still twitch from the Thunder Dome match mere nights before.  He winds the gauze pads up to his hand, wrapping his knuckles before biting the unraveled coil around his hand loose from it's roll.)

"Mark Michaels...another follower.  Another man who thinks he's the biggest bad ass in the world while surrounding himself with cowards.  A self-professed whipping boy for someone I made my whipping boy in the Thunder Dome.  I get why you'd fall in line with the other weak willed and weak minded of the Fiora fold.  You think the world owes you something that you haven't even begun to work for, so you drink the kool aid because, what? dying is easier than being wrong?  You call me some horror movie Charles Manson, yet I'm not the one creating a family of social outcasts.  You call me a poser? I don't know who the fuck Eclipse Diemos is.  I have heard of EAW though.  Some political mind field...didn't a pizza boy become a triple crown champion there? I guess the owner was a big tipper.  I'm not one to put my life out there for others to criticize, but you don't know shit about me boy, and you don't seem to hear what I have to say so I'll spell it out for you: Could I afford a hotel? yeah.  Could I afford more than just a hotel? yeah.  Could I put myself up in a four star plaza after the cameras turn off and the fans go home? yeah.  Do I? No.  I live out here because I don't want to grow soft.  I live out here because it reminds me where I've been.  You can call me a boogeyman if I scare you, but by no means am I the one pretending to have ethereal ties or an otherworldly ability to withstand punishment.  Truth be told, I took an ass kicking from four men and a boy in Thunder Dome and I'm still feeling it.  I say this to remind you that the boy in that match was your cowering, glowering, pouty puss leader who couldn't get the job done until after the bell rang and his minions hopped in the ring to help beat me down.  Were you even among them? I know Eon Blue was, because Eon Blue impresses me.  I know Noah Quinn was, because despite being just as dimwitted as Eon, he's also a strong man.  Where were you? off in some shed somewhere getting your testicles shocked while one of your cult cohorts told you that it was EAW's fault that your balls were tingling? or were you over in catering bitching to anyone who listened about losing a match on the undercard?  Maybe you were there.  Maybe I didn't notice you among the dull horde of morons who think Nathan Fiora's got their best interest in mind.  While he was converting you losers into a pack of attack dogs, I was taking over this company as a one man army that didn't need a wall of humanity to foot the bill while I paid my dues."

(Derelict tightens his hand into a fist, steadying his digits as he does so.)

"Not once have I belly ached about what Fiora did after GameOver.  Quite the contrary.  I revel at the chance to force feed him his own words.  You can't be mad about something you saw coming.  That's the difference between you and I Mark.  I see the true nature of things and resolve them.  Nathan Fiora sicking the Awakening on me because he couldn't put me down himself isn't going to define me.  After this month I'll forget all of your names, because I'm a man who can face his problems head on, resolve them, and move on with my life.  OWA didn't want me, just as your EAW didn't want you, but instead of tucking my tail between my legs and running off somewhere to cry about the opportunities not handed to me, I took what I wanted and put the doubters and pouters in my rear view.  Speaking of originality, you're not the first man to say half the words coming out of your mouth before a match, and just like the rest I'll leave you looking up at the lights with a swollen jaw, incapable of regurgitating that same old bullshit song and dance.  'oooh, I can wrestle better than you', so could Bull Connors, Jake Keeton, and a laundry list of other names that were former champions that aren't around anymore because of me.  'ooh, another hobo', yeah, one that your master had to steal from just to be relevant.  Ain't it funny how you bitches pair up into groups once I take the top spot in this company? Ain't it funny how all of you well-to-do journeymen have to amass an army just to pose a threat to my hold over OWA? For a bunch of men who claim not to be threatened by this societal boogeyman that you've made me out to be, you sure are enforcing the buddy's system quite heavily.  Five men stepped into Thunder Dome.  Five men and a boy, because that's the best that OWA could throw at me without sticking me into an overtly bias situation like a battle royal with the entire roster, and I walked out champion only for a pack of vultures to pick at my bones and take from me something that I would've freely given them if they simply asked.  I don't give a good god damn about the Omega Heavyweight Championship because with or without it around my waist, I'm still the man to beat in this company.  It was that way before I took it away from Bull, and it's like that now that Padre Nathan send his inept stormtroopers out to steal it from him.  No, I'm not complaining Mark.  I have every reason in the world to piss and moan, but I'm not.  That's what pissants and quitters do, and I'm neither.  I'll simply walk through you, through Eon, through Quinn, and take my championship back from the man who made you his subservient bitch.  That's what men do.  Unlike the rest, unlike you, I don't run from my problems once the going gets rough.  I don't crumble and cry when I realize the world's against me.  I don't stand vulnerable and afraid when I realize it takes more than a wrist lock transition to put a man down.  No corporation is my master, no man is my god, and no discipline is my end all be all.  I stay out here on the streets when I could do better for myself because it forces me to improvise, to stay strong, and to take the worst life has to offer me and still pull myself out of the gutter without someone outstretching a hand that's only going to shove me under their armpit to use me as a crutch."

(Derelict calmly stares down at his wrapped hands as rain begins to fall down between the two buildings he's bedded down between for the night.  He looks up at the sky as his still electrically charged beard curls at it's ends.)

"What's a shame is that I see a lot of potential in the Awakening.  I see men who could take that belt away from me in a straight up fight if they were able to wrestle themselves out from under Nathan Fiora's thumb.  I see a current champion and a hungry young spirit that could be so much more if he hadn't tied himself to a future company pariah that will no doubt exile himself and leave his congregation high and dry once I'm done with him, just like all of the rest.  What's funny is that I see all of these tough men, these future champions, these would-be contenders circling Fiora like a meat shield, and I don't recognize your face among them Mark and it's not because you aren't there.  You're there.  I hear your whining emitting from the pile, so I'm damn sure you're there. I don't recognize it because I have no reason to remember you after this match.  I don't recognize it because it's not worth registering as memorable in my mind.  Beating you will be no accomplishment because I don't even think you buy into the bullshit that you spout out and call gospel.  You're nobody. I was hoping I could make you into somebody, but it's clear that you don't want to be so why bother?  You think you're part of a movement, but from where I stand you're frozen in place.  You call yourselves the Awakening, but the scales haven't even begun to fall from your eyes.  I'm no savior, I'm no prophet, and I'm no great Marxist abolitionist looking to overthrow a governing party.  I don't have any answers for any of you, and even if I did they'd fall upon deaf ears.  I'm not here to save you from yourself or turn your life around.  I'm here to run through you like I have everyone else that's came at me with the tired rhetoric of dogmatic faith in a man or fighting discipline.  You say I'm not special, but you're not the first to tell me that.  I say you're not special because you've been sent on a suicide mission to take out what you claim to be an unremarkable man.  If I'm nobody, then you're a lesser nobody that people jealous of nobodies send to do their dirty work.  What does that say about you?  Maybe that's why I really don't give a good shit about you Mark? or a bad one for that matter. I look through you at the man pulling the strings, begging to not be pulled out from behind the curtain and revealed as the groveling and sniveling little failure that he is.  Before I even knew you were Fiora's footstool I was going to take you lightly, give you hope, stroke your ego in hopes that maybe you put up a decent enough fight to come back one day once your balls dropped and give me a real challenge.  I see that's not going to happen, not as long as Nathan has possession of them anyway. At least do this old, poor, unremarkable, run down champion a favor and take all of this bullshit I'm saying about you and use it to fuel you on to fight for yourself instead of campaigning in a boy's army.  Leave the other children out in the corn and step onto the battlefield of men who fight for themselves and their own sense of self-respect and worth.  As things stand right now I look at you and all I see is a speed bump in my warpath toward a brat who took something from me.  Do yourself a favor and do something worth a damn that makes it worthwhile to remember your name after I tear everything you believe in apart and leave it on the growing cinder pile of sacred ideologies that I've stacked to the sky like compost ever since I first entered an OWA ring.  I know what defines me, and it's not money, it's not gold,  it's not some false prophet, three letters, or thee will of another mere mortal that I've proven I can take in an unfair fight, let alone one on one.  Show me who you are Mark Michaels.  Not who you rep, what you believe, or where you've come from. Tell me who stands before me so that I can give you the dignity of remembering what your face looked like before I it's beaten beyond recognition."

(Derelict steps under the buildings overhanging eaves to avoid the rain, disappearing into it's shadow as he does so.)

"People will remember my face long after I'm cast into the void.  Give them a reason to remember yours."

The Awakening Presents: Derelict’s downfall:

SEPTEMBER 13th, 2020, 11:25 P.M. :

(We open on a balcony overlooking the New York City skyline. Here we find Eon Blue, Noah Quinn, and Mark Michaels toasting to the Awakening holding both of Olympus’ championship belts.)

Michaels: “Cheers boys, we got just about everything we wanted out of tonight! And-“

( a loud vibrating noise interrupts Michaels, who reaches into his pocket and brings out his cell phone. His eyes skim over the text on the home screen.)

Michaels: “Even more good news, Father Nathan will be fine, and he has something planned for Olympus. So to his health and our continued success, TO THE AWAKENING!”

Eon Blue & Noah Quinn: “TO THE AWAKENING!”

( the trio gulp down the respective liquors in their glasses. No sooner having done so does another text pop up on Michales’ phone which reads ‘YOU VS DERELICT ON OLYMPUS’. A devilish smirk creeps up on Michaels face as the full weight of what he read dawns upon him.)

Michaels: “This night just keeps getting better.”

PRESENT DAY:

“ You know for the past few days, I’ve been hearing everyone I pass by either saying it isn’t fair that I’d have to basically become the sacrificial lamb for Father Nathan, telling me how they’re worried for me having to face a three hundred pound psychopath who wants nothing more than to snap me like a twig just to send a message to the rest of my brothers in the Awakening. They ask me what am I gonna do? Where can I hide? How can I get out of having to stand against this Goliath? In turn I ask them, why would I want to run? This is everything That me, and the rest of the Awakening could hope for. See ever since last Saturday, since i came inches away from winning that little battle royal they threw me into, since the moment I heard Nikki Khan was going to get a title shot as reward for kicking me between the legs and robbing me of a victory, I had been anxiously awaiting the moment this match would’ve made. Granted it came sooner than I expected, and of course Tarah made this strictly a non-title match, while making Noah defend his Television championship, because Father Nathan our maneuvered, out thought, and out wrestled her husband from bell to bell. Regardless of all that, I have the opportunity to cement the Awakening’s Victory by demolishing that big oaf standing in Nathan’s rightful place. Now I have the opportunity to prove to the world that I should have been given a title shot, I should have been in that Thunderdome match same as Jacob Senn, or Darkane, or Nate Cage. Now I don’t have to hunting for that overgrown jackass. Now he’s gonna be handed to me on a silver platter, and I get to finish the work that Father Nathan began at Game Over, I get to rid OMEGA Wrestling Alliance of that mangy mother fucker. ‘But Mark, Derelict is a big ol’ badass, the most deranged psychopath in the OWA locker room.’ Listen here, This Eclipse Deimos wannabe doesn’t frighten me. See that’s the problem with not knowing your opponent from Adam, you don’t know if he’s seen this same bullshit he Not when I’ve come from a wrestling promotion where guys like him were a dime a dozen. Not when I saw an entire gaggle of these more emo Charlie Manson types, most of whom like Derelict where nothing more than petty posers who needed to get by playing B minus grade horror movie knock offs, because they couldn’t wrestle their way out of a paper bag. And you wanna know something, I’m still here while every other version of the whoever the hell you’re biting your whole gimmick off of. I’m still here while the other sick twisted fucks like are probably laying in a ditch and giving road head for a whopping three bucks a pop! Oh but you were probably doing so long before they were right? You don’t know me, well by all means allow me to introduce myself to you. I AM MARK MOTHERFUCKING MICHAELS! I’m the guy who is the best in ring technician you will ever have the pleasure of being in the ring with! I am the man who spent four years being held down by a bunch of bureaucrats, and other pen pushers in that hell hole they call EAW, the place where politics reign supreme! I was buried time and again till I brought my revolution right to their door step and broke the fuck through the goddamn glass ceiling. When everyone did everything in their power to deny me, I won the PURE championship, the wrestler’s title, on their biggest stage, in match where without barbed wire tables, or electric cages, or rusty railroad spikes, I left my opponents in a pool of their own blood with nothing more than my fists. And after four months of crushing whoever came knocking to challenge me for my championship, I punched my ticket into the world title scene. And when EAW tried to resign me, when they said they had big plans for me, I told them to take their plans, and shove ‘em up their ass. I sat out the remainder of my contact before coming to a place here on the promise that thing were different. And now that you know a little about what I’ve done, let me tell you about what I’m going to do. See you think I care about what people think of me. Maybe that’s a half truth. To be totally honest I don’t give fuck all about what you, the management, or the the people in the stands think about me. They could cheer me, or boo me, I don’t give fuck all about the noise that comes out of their mouth. But what I do care about is that I am given the goddamn respect that I deserve. I demand it from every man and woman drawing breath, because I refuse to settle for less that what my talent warrants. You don’t know me Derelict, it you’re gonna. Come Olympus you’re gonna find out real fucking quick that yes this match should be the main event, because I sure as hell am not just anybody walking down the street. And I sure as hell don’t need you to put lights on my name, because I’m that guy who takes what he wants, when he wants, and right now I’m coming to take a piece outta your gargantuan ass!

So Derelect, you want me to quit belly aching? Did you not listen to yourself during that five minute ramble of yours? If anyone is bitching about anything, it’s your fat ass. Now I get that I would be butt hurt too if I wasn’t man enough to silence all the critics who rightfully say shit like “Derelit has no place in society much less in a professional wrestling company.” Or “Who the fuck still uses a cab? And how the hell is he still a drifter? Shouldn’t have made at least enough to get a small apartment? Was he too fucking stupid to fill out the application?” My guess would be just that. But more than you choosing to continue having to take a shit behind the dumpsters you sleep in, you pulled the ultimate bitch move. Whining and complaining about how nobody rolled or the red carpet, which why should have they? How nobody took enough pity on you to just lay down and die in the middle of the ring, like some kid crying because he didn’t get a participation trophy. What next? Are you gonna act like a total pussy and cry when backhand the fuck out of you? It wouldn’t surprise me at this point. No it wouldn’t, because I’ve seen you whine like the little bitch that you really are, and then pretend that you totally didn’t. “I’m still the champion Mark, Nathan stoke my belt, After game over I had to play with my pretty ponies to cheer myself up.“ Fucking dweeb.
To me it’s bewildering how you can even be considered a champion, considering how you piss all over your title. You disrespect the belt that represents the traditions, the honor, basically everything that is best about the sport of professional wrestling. Anyone who knows me, knows that there is nothing I hold higher than this sport, and nothing I loath more than jackasses like you who turn my industry into a laughing stock. Guys like you who don’t care about things like competition, things like honing a craft to its finest, or putting the peak performance of a human body on display for the world to see. No, all you seemed to care about was simply having something to trade for a few twinkies and a bottle of cheep hooch. So with that in mind, can you really blame me for being happy that the belt which represents the best ideals of the sport, has been liberated from you. That it is no longer something you are holding hostage. I think the whole wrestling world is glad to see that the hunk of tin, as you call it, is in greater and better hands. Hands that will lift it up, instead of choke the life out of it like you were.
So keep on disrespecting the title belt. As long as you do, you’ll never learn the lesson the Awakening taught you at Game Over, the lesson I will teach you down in that rotting cesspool they call New Jersey. See what happened at Game Over, what happened with that belt which is so much more than just the representation of your Championship reign. What it is in this case is a clear demonstration of how one can win a battle but lose a war. Put more clearly for your simple mind to understand, you and Nathan Fiora started the match, actually Nathan had already competed earlier in the night which makes this next part even more admirable, and by the end of it he was the only one able to walk out of that cage under his own power. You got the three count, but couldn’t even hold up your hand in victory afterward. In my book, Nathan got the last laugh plain and simple, which is why I would say he’s the guy who really won in that Thunderdome match and thus is the rightful Champion. A fact that I will be more than happy to reenforce into the head of every lost sheep wondering around in the crowd when I chop you down like redwood, and promptly use to ignite the bonfire that signals that this is the Awakening’s time.

This isn’t a prophecy, this is a spoiler my friend and regardless of whether you like it or not, that’s just the way it is pal. The only thing I ask if you, is that when this match goes down, you come correct. You bring your bindle carrying hobo ass down to the ring, you take your beating like a man, and when it’s all over don’t say I didn’t warn you. Because you may be in that ghastly sight that panhandles outside every circle K. You may be the guy in every truck stop bathroom, probably with his mouth around a glory hole. You may even be the Omega Heavyweight Champion for the time being. But none of this will change the fact that When you go up against the Lethal Injection, you get put down for good.”

OLYMPUS PROMO 1: The Marked and the Damned

(The sound of crickets fills the darkness of a blank camera shot.)

"There are a lot of questions coming out of GameOver that I don't understand in nature."

(The camera opens on the Derelict's frizzed and weathered face as he walks down the side of a long stretch of highway, his eyes wide with dilated pupils as he marches along with a zombie's pace and pallor.)

"Everything I said would come to pass more or less happened.  Nathan Fiora beat Nas.  Despite winning a match that assured me a vague preferred entry number, I ended up being one of the first men in the match.  Everyone in the Thunder Dome targeted me.  Men were hurt.  I was hurt.  Padre Nathan was hurt.  In the end, no matter what the heads of OWA concocted to take my title, no matter what the opposition brought late into the fight, and no matter what underhanded beat down Nathan Fiora orchestrated against me, I still walked out of GameOver 2020 with the title of Omega Heavyweight Champion.  I say title, because the title is all that matters.  I've been clear that I don't really care about the physical manifestation of any of those lofty titles.  The belts don't matter.  What they represent does.  Yet despite me displaying my dominance as the top of the OWA food chain in a grueling match that's left my fingers twitching, my skin tingling, and my beard frizzed out straight, somehow people are questioning who the Omega Heavyweight Champion is merely because Padre Fiora did what everyone saw coming and had his goons jump me after the match and take a hunk of tin that means absolutely nothing so long as he remains a champion of nothing.  Usually I'd say 'keep the belt'.  After all, it's a meaningless and materialistic gesture that serves as nothing but garnish to my reign of supremacy thus far, just as the Openweight Championship was a worthless hunk of junk whose only power or prestige were the terms and conditions of it's true title.  However, your actions have somehow confused the weak minded johnny come lately's who seemed to only catch the ass end of the GameOver pay-per-view.  There's a small minority of OWA fans who think possession is nine tenths of the law, and that somehow merely holding that belt means you champion it and attain the title of Omega.  I have to correct this perception.  If I didn't, then they'd be right Nathan.  Who knows what I'll do with that championship after tear your congregation asunder and rip it's leather from your cold, dead, hands? I might pawn it off.  I might have it melted down.  I could even start wearing the damn thing around my waist as a warning to other sanctimonious cowards hiding behind a pulpit who want to come for my crown. You've tainted the only thing that I ever held sacred, Fiora.  You tarnished my reign with your bullshit.  You've placed my title into question, and now I'm left with only one recourse, and that's to become the literal definition of an iconoclast.  I'm going to attack everything that Eon Blue, Noah Quinn, and whatever other brainwashed masses you have behind you in a sleeper cell of cowards hold sacred; You.  My bindle's twenty odd pounds lighter tonight, but I still feel the weight of the world on my shoulder.  That must mean nothing's changed, and yet I've been tasked with the burden of proof. I'll be coming to show you who the real champion is around here real soon Padre, and I'll leave you to pray on that."

(As Derelict passes under a green illuminated highway sign, he throws his thumb out in the wind just a car picks up speed in passing.  He sneers and grumbles to himself as he takes the offending thumb, presses it up against his nostril, and blows a snot rocket out of the other.  A spurt of coagulated blood comes from his nose and hits the ground with a weighty wet thud as the Derelict keeps walking, failing to miss a step in his stride.)

"Right now I'll zero in on my opponent on Olympus.  While Fiora holds sermon with the followers of the wholly buy bull, I'll be facing a man who doesn't seem to believe in anything or anyone but himself: Mark Michaels.  Mark, I understand you have some beef with your former employee.  I know where you're coming from, because I'm none too pleased with how things are ran here in OWA.  For instance, who puts their Heavyweight Champion in the opening match?  It perplexes me that they run me through the wringer in the most brutal main event on their calendar in my first title defense against five other men, only to seemingly go easy on me this week once I've proven my mettle.  Some might see you against me in the opener and think I'm getting the night off, but I don't take nights off Mark.  Maybe it's a furthering attempt to diminish my brand supremacy? after all it looks like the false prophet is at the top of the show with his televangelism shtick.  Maybe they're even doing me a service by putting me on first because lord knows the audience will be bored to tears with what Fiora has to say.  Most of them might even hit the hay early, but I'm done speculating what the heads up their asses in charge are thinking about.  The real question should be why are you here?  You lost the Pre-Order Gauntlet Royal, and you haven't done much of note since coming here to OWA, so what gives you the right to share a ring with me? Who are you? why should I care? when I beat you, am I just going to be another name on your benign laundry list of enemies? This is what I don't get about men like you.  You think complaining and moaning about what the world's done to you, what your station in life is, or how much you lack in the ability of overcoming the odds somehow gives you a hard edge over the competition, but in reality all you're doing is exposing soft spots for the fully formed hard heads around you to exploit.  Nobody gave me the title of Omega Heavyweight Champion.  Nobody rolled out a red carpet or laid down for me in order for me to be where I am today.  I wasn't met by a welcoming committee from the heads of OWA or the locker room when I showed up, but now that I've attained a position of power, leaving a trail of tooth and bone in my path, they're left with no other options beyond respecting me or fearing me.  What do you do when faced with similar adversity? You get fired from a job you probably hated, you bitch about it online to fans who probably hate where you came from too, and then you come here and think it's going to leverage you above the rest? No.  There's no destiny here.  No divine prophecy, no prodigal sons or divine intervention; You carve out your own path through the bullshit and bureaucracy.  You do what it takes to not only survive, but thrive.  Then and only then do you get the privilege of stepping into the ring with me.  To you, all you see before you is a beaten down hobo with an ax to grind. You're not wrong.  I am all of those things, but I've never let any of those perceived shortcomings hold me back from my rightful spot at the top of the mountain. Now you can sit there and complain about me running you down, calling you out, and holding you back, or you can say to hell with it all and come try and change my mind in that Olympus ring, MY ring, and try and lay me out for a chance to get a shot at my illustrious title.  I don't think you have it in you though.  I think you'll let the scrutiny of trying to capitalize on a broken and beaten hobo after he went through five other men and an electric cage mere nights before our encounter get to you, and sadly when you lose I'm sure a lot of minds will be made up as to whether you're a true contender for anything if you can't take me out on my worst night.  I don't know you from Adam, but I get the strong sense that your legitimacy completely rides on the opinion of the cultural zeitgeist.  You care about what others think of you, otherwise you wouldn't be here in OWA trying to prove the doubters wrong. One way or the other, you're not going to disprove the hard nosed critics by winning or losing against me.  You'd think I'd take issue with that, but honestly I've never given a shit about what others think.  If I did, I wouldn't be where I am now.  Caring is a terminal weakness that only keeps the strong among us from showing their true potential.  I want you to shed this thin skin of yours and face me as a new man whose scales can't be penetrated by the sticks and stones of society.  Fill in those soft spots with thick skin and calcified bone and come at me headlong without the shrill voice of self-appointed experts and pundits ringing in your ears.  Talking heads crack under scrutiny anyway.  I want you to set your jaw, line up your sights, and shoot your shot without worrying about where that bullet head of yours is landing.  I don't want a tomato can.  I don't want some disembodied voice that lacks a body of work to back up it's words.  I don't want a night off, Mark Michaels.  I want a fight, because I have a lot of pent up frustration right now that needs some resolving.  Maybe OWA knows that.  Maybe that's why they plugged you into a match with me, because they knew I could destroy you and nobody'd care.  To them, you could be anybody else that they haphazardly landed on while throwing a dart at a roster full of nobodies.  I want you to prove them wrong and show them you deserve to stand across from me.  Hell, prove me wrong."

(As Derelict reaches a turnpike, he shoots his thumb out once more as an approaching pair of headlights slows and pulls into the shoulder.  Derelict thoughtlessly shoves his bindle through the open back window of the car and opens the passenger's side door.  He starts to step into the cab, but pauses a minute and stares ahead with a stern fatherly expression.)

"You might not win, but you have a chance to prove that they unknowingly put a somebody in that spot instead of just anybody.  Why don't you pop some Tums, take a dump, and come to the ring knowing that you left your belly aching in the back?  I'm here to put lights out, not put your name in them.  If you detached from the bullshit holding you back, the scrutiny, the questioning, and the downright lack of faith or value attached to your name, maybe you'll understand moments before that bell rings that all that really matters is the most basic and primal need for preservation.  Then again if it takes you that long to figure it out it'll still be too late for you, because you'll already be in the ring with me."

(Derelict steps into the cab, shutting the door behind him.  As the car pulls off the shoulder, it's tail lights illuminate and it's blinker springs to life, only to catch speed and disappear on the dark horizon mere moments later.)

In the way of the hunt, there are no such things as dirty nor fair. Just are there are no such things of such a nature in the wild. It is an inherently unfair practice, we humans who are of superior intellect use our savvy and tools to kill creatures that cannot even begin to understand what we hit them with. What do they know of sharp steel? What do they of gunfire and traps that spring to cripple their legs when they step on them? Those pitiful beasts, must of them don’t even see us coming before they meet their end, for our nourishment, our thrill, and any other motivation we humans have. There’s no shame in it, that is merely nature, no one complains that the wolf unfairly has fangs to rip apart the sheep.

And yet, Ms Harper, my fellow huntress, seeks to convince me she has some sort of absolute interest in fairness. Or at least, she implies it with her lecturing of me, disapproving of the manner in which I defeated Llorona, a well-known knife-wielding psychotic criminal who has never met a rule that she herself respects.

I can understand why she is so insincere in her criticism, she believes me to be ignorant of the way our professions operate. Thus, she lies and pretends, thinking there’s no way I’d know to call her out on it. Yes, despite the fact I am called a poacher and have been an athlete all my life by the ice rink and wrestling ring, people speak of me as if I’m some model who decided to become a wrestler one day. Like I’m some random blonde bimbo. They hear “Ivory Doll” and seemingly don’t grasp why I was given the code name. It all became clear to me ever since people didn’t understand that the Dollhouse wasn’t three dolled up broads with side gigs, but rather three unique personalities that all happened to be dolls on the side. To ignore me as the poacher is to ignore that Roxy was a second-generation superstar and to ignore that DiVa was a singer, it’s the height of foolishness. It’s why fat lards like Nyx are surprised I can lift them on my shoulder and drive them into the mat. It’s why Havoc and Bishop didn’t think my hands could starch them until they felt my blow in person. Everyone can think I’m some ditzy hottie until they’re in a wrestling match with me and then they end up regretting it, because I’m one of the meanest and biggest women on this roster, and I’m surrounded my pipsqueaks that forget that on a daily basis. In the past, I believed in subtlety, I used to prance around masking my size and killer instinct behind a cute laugh and vintage costumes, lulling fools into a false sense of security. Then after reigning for what felt like forever as tag team championships, besting some of the greatest tag teams that have ever done it, it became scary to me how people still literally thought DiVa was an innocent airhead despite the fact she left her mask slip on numerous occasions to show she knew exactly what she was doing and was as cruel as any member of the team. I realized the camouflage was too good, but even as I began to wear an ivory mask and would outright state the “Ivory Doll” code name was about my poaching of ivory,  there are still those who walk around as if it the name is only a nod about ivory towers. Just like there might have been people who think I wouldn’t come back out here to set the record straight tonight, a joke. Predictable, I knew you’d come out here ranting about dainty fingers and getting people to shoot for me, you people just don’t get it. I’m no sweet princess, I’m dour when not inflicting maximum pain, and my dowry would be too high for any man to touch me so that I can have a job or a successful career, My might is my own, and what is the true unfairness is that regardless of how pretty I am, none of it stops me from being a better fighter.

In the first place, “Underhandedness”, “fair”, are merely concepts people created to promote social order by convincing people that there’s such a thing as justice, so we don’t all go around trying to screw each other over all the time. Basically, part of the social contract. I signed no such thing with OWA! I don’t care about the social contract in that locker room, and I don’t give a damn about the fans sitting at home. You all hate me, and the feeling is mutual, So why would I play the good girl? Why would I care about “clean” wins? All I need is to crush my adversaries, brutalize them, and tell every single doubter to check the statistics. Another double meaning, check my wins, and check the number of people I have vanquished on my way to the top where they no longer have names but are just number. Ms Harper, you don’t need to be just another number. Naturally, I didn’t expect to talk some sense into you, that never happens in wrestling. People only ever begin to understand each other after meeting each other in that ring, after mettle is tested and we show who we truly are. Game Over is your last chance, for when the game ends so too does the time for play. You will never put your hands on me and think you’ll get away with it again, I can assure you that. I heard Diantha, she’s shaking in her boots because this is the first time she was reminded that I’m still around and I’m gunning for her, you should take notes from her instead of Grace and the other nobodies that you decided to mention last time.

Have I ever worked a hard day in my life…….forget the hunting and forget all my amateur wrestling and hockey trophies…...let us ONLY focus on OWA, do you realize how insane of a question that is? You’re asking a woman who was in the Promethean Chamber if she has ever worked hard in her life. You, a woman who I graciously gave a freebie shot at my cup, are asking a woman who had to fight through TWO Athena Cup Tournaments to get it what I know of hard work. All the ladder matches, all the battles against grown men, and being damn near the most consistent member of the damn Odyssey roster, and I’m still approached like I’m some lazy roster member. Calling the current women’s world champion a harder worker is one thing, which I don’t agree with mind you, but when you start listing off people that have only been here for a cup of coffee??? Rebecca????? Niki?????? Devi Krysis?????? And of course, the Goddess Champion, everyone’s favourite hot new piece of ass in the industry. I can’t tell if OWA’s recent lack of putting me in matches has caused a memory lapse, or if you’re just too new to know what you’re talking about, but I have put more miles and wrestled more matches in OWA than all of those women combined! You damn upstarts really do know how to get on my nerves, you even mentioned that damn Banshee, I beat her twice, including in her debut, but you’re going to say I fear your little sisterhood of travelling weaklings? I don’t care how many young brainless women OWA give a contract too, none of you will ever outpace me, and you’ll sure as hell never stop me from obtaining what I have worked for since day one on Odyssey. I’ve seen it all on this brand, the falling legends that just didn’t have it anymore, the women OWA wished and wished would finally put the work in but never would, and all you new girls in town they wish to market as the next big thing only to flop, but I have remained and stood strong, just as this cup will remain strongly and upright at my side! Hun, you've certainly been smoking too much Mary Jane, but soon you'll be going out just like any Gwen in a Spiderman movie with that name in it. See you on Sunday.

GAME OVER I: NOW VS LATER

I’ve had a hell of a ride so far since I first stepped into the Kingdom brand. I’ve been here for a few months and apparently I’m ready for a Spartan title match. Whoopie. You see, a lot of the people in this match are probably really excited to compete in the biggest match of their lifetimes, but honestly, I’m just viewing this as another bout. Sure, I’d ideally like to win this title so I can pawn it off to someplace in Vegas, but what’s the point? If you want to be the king of the mountain, you gotta have the same outlook in every match. I’m not saying I don’t care, the money as champ would be nice, but I don’t have any beef against this Arata Asakara guy. I do think he’s an idiot for getting involved in this ridiculous civil war going on, but he’s been the top guy of this division. To me, beating him and being the guy on top is more important to me than lugging some gold around my waist. I’m here for the credit and money and nothing else. That big plate of gold isn’t gonna pay my bills and it sure as hell ain’t gonna feed me. I’m not the traditional type for sure, but the fact some dudes value their legacies based on how many titles they’ve held should tell you everything. I don’t want to be one of those goobers at all. Imagine me, a dude who didn’t need any titles in prison, wanting to talk about how happy I am to get this opportunity and how I’m gonna do my best. That’s just goofy to me and I’ll never understand that mindset. These dudes look like hard workers for sure, and I respect how much they’ve learned in the ring, but their attitudes have got to change. The odds are surely stacked against me winning this but hey, that’s where I thrive the most. For the past two episodes of Kingdom, I’ve made it through a triple threat and facing a big ass behemoth who swore he was gonna murder me. If that isn’t impressive, I dunno what is. And you see, what got me the title match isn’t my desire to become a champion, it’s my passion for doing what I like most: Getting paid to beat up a bunch of dudes in front of millions of people every two weeks. I love fighting, it’s a hell of a rush. Sure, it got me in prison for a long time, but now I’m finding a legal way of scrambling with some tough ass dudes. However, I’m looking at this match now and seeing that I’ve already fought some of these guys before and I’m liking my chances. 

I’m a bit late to the party, I know, but what matters is that I’m here. The guy who has been impressing me the most lately is JD Damon, a guy who definitely loves to talk too much. Don’t get me wrong, this guy wants to fight and win, but he’s gotta put a sock in it. Maybe I’ll give him a few punches to knock him silly or something, I dunno. Now we get to that Ryo guy I faced a few weeks back on Atlantis. I’m still kinda pissed off you won via shenanigans. If you wanted to be a real man you should’ve beaten me by getting a 3-count. Now you see, when I have a gripe against someone, you learn a lesson from me real quick. I’m gonna spend a bit of time coming for your ass because we have some unsettled business. There will be no BS endings this time around and I’ll just enjoy beating the absolute piss out of you for being such a pansy-ass. Last and certainly not least, we got Arata Asakura, a guy who I just talked about a bit ago. He’s one of the main guys from the frontline and while he does impress me with his skill and drive to win, I don’t get him. How are you planning not to lose your title, dude? I’m not straight-up telling you can’t win, but you can’t pay attention to 5 dudes all at once. What if someone gets the pin behind your back or while you’re down and out? This match was built for the craziness that wrestling is, man. I’d be pretty pissed to be put in the position you’re in but hey, I’ll applaud you for actually showing up and putting on a brave face. You’ve gotta be shitting your pants right now, knowing that you might be the guy who’s losing his title. That’s fine because, to be honest, I would be too if I were in your shoes. You’re proclaiming that you know you’re gonna come out of this match with a retention, but I know you’re not 100% about it. I can smell the crap coming from your mouth, literally and figuratively. Here’s where I come in though. You guys are so obsessed with the outcome, but you aren’t thinking about the goddamn process. Everyone’s saying they’re gonna win but how? I know God isn’t gonna throw thunder in the middle of the ring and smite everyone’s opponents. I’m a slick individual and to be honest, I’m just waiting for the moment you all get weak. It’s something I’ve realized in every match I’ve been in, multi-man or not. You gotta take advantage of your opponents' weaknesses, that’s what makes you a damn good fighter. That’s how I’ve won so damn much because I’m not worried about my win-loss record or winning every single gold plate this place can offer; I’m focused on the now. What do I do next so I don’t get my ass beat? Where are we? Who’s laid out? Should I hit my Six Feet Under? Those are the types of questions hitting my head when we’re competing. I’m not fast-forwarding to when I’m a washed-up piece of garbage, accepting all my awards. I don’t give a damn about that; I just care about the fact that people know I’m a good ass competitor. Whether I win or lose at Game Over, everyone here will know the name of Oliver Harpe. Call me for any hits you need because...money talks.

The weeks go on, and my patience grows thinner.

Doing a job and not getting paid your proper due in return is the absolute worst offense someone from my line of work can suffer. Anyone cut from my cloth, those coming from the mud, doing dirt, busting their ass and handling the business assigned to you with surgical level accuracy, you know how much of a bitter taste it is when you have nothing to show for your efforts after going through it all. You've completed every task, ticked off every box for the bossman and have surely made them plenty of money along the way, but where is your cut? When you've been fucked out of what was rightfully earned with no sign of reimbursement in sight....it's maddening. It's enough to make someone choke a motherfucker. It has you cagey, blood boiling just wondering what's the hold up for what you are owed. Just how is your payment being spent? When those at the head of the table are feasting with their clique and you're left in the cold not eating, you're going to start looking at other's plates for your portion. And you're going to bloody whoever left you without a place. That's the point where I'm at here on Odyssey. We're quickly closing in one year, one full year since I first came here to the OWA and began work for the brand. One year since I started my campaign of delivering the top fight on the card episode after episode! One year since I chose to turn the locker room on its head and turn Saturday nights from a soap opera to the streets, beating up the prisses in our hallways, upsetting the veterans in countless matches, and building up my unfuckwithable reputation using a pile of cracked skulls from my opponents.


I've spent damn near 365 days in this bitch, have delivered dozens of quality performances for Viola and all the other higher ups who got the book, yet my payment is still pending. Where's my reward? Where's my Goddesses' championship purse? Where is my World Champion's payday? Hell, screw the bonuses, where are my titles, period? I went into this with the promise that Odyssey is the land of opportunity, opportunity void of politics, opportunity meant for those deserving of it. Isn't that the message this brand was built upon? Is it not the propaganda shoveled into the ears of every roster member who goes past the doors and enters the arena? The commentators jack their jaws for hours on end talking about how the cream will rise to the top and that the hardest working people in the pack are the ones who get to lay claim to the accolades around here. It's a sentiment that's shared top-down from the cornballs at that announce desk to the cornballs in the boardroom -- who have been dangling that carrot stick above my head before I even put pen to paper on my contract! 

When I graced this show with my presence on the roster - when I bound myself to this contract with all of the dates, the matches and travel requirements expected from me - I looked at it as any other transaction I’ve done. 

I do what’s asked of me: working matches, winning matches, excelling against my enemies as always, and for all of the blood spilled and broken bones created by request of my business partner, they give me what I’m after. The respect. The status. The goodies that come with being in the inner circle; obtaining the top prize possible. I fulfilled my end of the deal here on Odyssey. I’ve THRIVED on this brand. I went well beyond what was expected of me in fact. The big wigs were HOPING for the best, sure, but realistically I can guarantee that I was brought in as a near spot filler. You know someone who could round out a show here and there and likely fall off before the new year so the management team would never have to worry about entertaining their value. I took my ten, fifteen minutes every week and I made it the highlight of the show. I took my opportunity and seized it, turning each night into the genesis of Llorona for the American audience! I embodied hard work! I went toe to toe with and beaten PLENTY of the girls you all love to put at the head of the pecking order! SO AGAIN I ASK, WHERE IS MY DUE? WHY AM I CLOSING IN ON A YEAR WITHOUT OWA HOLDING UP ITS END AND GIVING ME MY CROWNING? 

I was seeing person after person eating at the table with the elite while I was heading into GameOver weekend with nothing but scraps kicked down my way, so what did I do? Like I said anyone in my position would do - I'm taking a peek at who is eating ahead of me. And who was it that got to be feasting at the front, enjoying MY seat and wasting it? None other than Natalie Cage, the "queen shit" or whatever the fuck, who has been getting rolled out like the greatest gift on God's green earth! 

Let’s look at how her grand comeback has been going: She gets the BIG last minute addition into the Hardcore Havoc elimination chamber, is allowed a good month off after that upon flopping in it, then comes back and strolls into a World Championship match with Diantha Rosso at the biggest Odyssey to date like it's all good! While Natalie is tossed two title shots, one with a big surprise advantage and the other a clear one on one match she didn't even need to argue for, I get put into a triple threat match against a woman I've already beat and a clown that didn't even want to be in the match. A number one contender's match with two hangers-on and that I could lose through no fault of my own, which is exactly what happened! I get iced out of the title picture because I can't babysit suicide watch Saxon, and that was it for me. Keep in mind, that triple threat was about as close to an apology as I was able to receive after losing the Athena's Cup final off a BULLSHIT finish thanks to Jonetta finding an easy way out with a chair...THAT was Viola being "throwing me a bone."

You can debate all you want about Natalie's track record and throw around her rematch clause, but the fact is she left her post for a good six months. She didn't need to be given anything, she forfeited the chance the minute she was unable to turn up and maintain her place in the brand. Being added to the Chamber unannounced was her "gimme", her versus Diantha was just an unwarranted second chance, the kind of break I've NEVER been afforded in all of my stay. She gets advantages, I get handicaps. She gets a match with Diantha, and I can’t even get a look at the girl despite me beating her to the point she couldn’t bear to stand. EVERYONE wants to see us lock up again, the whole goddamn world is probably speculating on how Diantha would fare if I beat that ass again and she can’t shank me to get out of the Snitch Treatment this time. I could have BEEN World Champion by now if we switched places at Odyssey 50, Natalie. Heck, if nobody saw me coming or had a chance to prepare in the same vein as the cards you were dealt at Hardcore Havoc, then I would have swept that match and got the title then and there. Let me run up into a situation out of nowhere -- ain’t nobody but me walking out of it. I wouldn’t have BRICKED either of those shots like you did. And I wouldn’t need legions of hypebeasts blowing smoke to get me what we can all expect is the third shot you’ll have down the pipeline.

The way I see it, all of the clout, the fanfare, the “payoff” for Natalie’s tenure in recent weeks, those have been wrongfully handed to her. That all should be going to me. I took over her lane, anyway. Throughout season two, Natalie might have been the girl running things on Odyssey as champion, she definitely had that main event scene and name in the marquee on LOCK, but by the end of it she wasn’t a factor. She wasn’t even ON Odyssey. There’s no denying she was the HBIC in 2019, but what does that mean now? She surrendered that title as soon as we entered the new year. I’m not even talking about her losing the World Championship, I’m talking about when she straight up vanished from the scene after doing so. She was ousted from her own yard, didn’t check it, and instead left the landscape to carry on without her, slowly erasing her influence. You can’t overlook a land and rule it with an iron fist when you’re laying with your feet up in a whole other country! Point blank: you made the mistake of leaving the niche you carved out completely unprotected. Then I stepped up. 

Who could take the world by storm after the great brute Natalie Cage retired to her couch besides the lady that many pundits have likened to being your successor. Who was seen as the other half to your Odyssey dream match when you kicked off the Chamber. Someone who knows how to throw down like you do. Who isn’t scared to hurt, who has no hesitation to kill, and possesses no fear of danger. Who RELISHES in that moment of being in a fight. Who LIVES to experience a flurry of fists flying, to go through the adrenaline rush of fighting against a tough opponent and getting to throw out everything but the kitchen sink! People have gotten to know me over these past couple of months, and even if they’re too blind to celebrate the full extent of my capabilities, they at least know that I’m a brawler. A mauler. A physical dissector. A low down, filthy, cold, twisted, uncaring, brutal MONSTER of a human being. Sound familiar? I’m everything you’ve made yourself out to be. Only I’m more real. My brothers went through actual war in our city….they weren’t playing GI Joe and making threats against toddlers like yours. I run with killers, I was raised to be one myself…...I didn’t hang out with some hipster cult that invested more in goofy wolf attire and spooky lighting to LOOK menacing in place of actually racking up a body count. I also sonned Dulce Torres in a way you WISH you could have on that fateful night when your facade, the entire empire you built, came crashing down. First couple of seconds I was staring across the ring from her - carrying the same, though much more valid, confidence as you in how it would turn out - and ten minutes later she was broken down in that ring staring at the sky. In your absence I’ve been showing out and giving Odyssey a NEW person to fear. When the order is upset and a piece falls out of the food chain, there’s a shift in who is the apex predator. In all the rush to figure out who had next, I took the ball and ran with it in a far grander style than you could. Matter of fact I won’t even say that I filled the shoes you left behind, I outgrew those long before I entered what was once your house. No, I threw that garbage out and laid out my own pair: the tattered, bloodied boots that you’re too meek to even dream of picking up.

Odyssey is MY territory. I’m the head bitch here, and tribute WILL be served to me from every person allowed to reside in my space. I’ve learned enough from my father to know that once you’ve got a stronghold on an area, you do whatever it takes to keep it. You SQUASH any opposition that shows an INKLING of potential, and if anyone is dumb enough to raise their hand and make it known they’re leading the disruption...you step down from your throne and you take care of ‘em personally. It’s clear you intend to move back in and take over what I’ve going on here as if nothing happened; regentrify the land that was practically laid out for me on a silver platter…...so now I’m going to be in your face this Sunday to give you the backhand that will put you in line and humble you with the rest. It’s time for you to face the facts, Nat. This brand isn’t yours anymore. You’re not a don, you’re a civilian. Civilians don’t get special treatment like the gifts you’ve mistakenly been receiving. Civilians don’t overstep their nonexistent power. They get with the program, or they get taken out of it. You claim you’re fine with potentially losing to me, well this isn’t going to be a regular loss. I don’t want you to walk away from this feeling like you can dust yourself off and try again. I want to crush your spirit. I want to leave you mentally as big a wreck as I’m going to leave you physically. I can’t stand the idea of you being perceived as NEAR my level, I don’t want your name even being in the same breath as mine after this. I want to establish the distance between us, the fucking galaxies that separate us in who is the better woman. I’m going to lap you so blatantly in that ring that the idea of you EVER getting picked over me is a joke….even to you….and even to your brain dead girlfriend. 

I have the eyeballs of the whole world at my disposal this weekend and I’m going to use every last BIT of that attention to make my message loud enough for everyone to get it:

I took your place here.
I surpassed your place here.
And at GameOver I will DESTROY your place so there’s no hope of you having a “return to form.”

I will get what I am owed. The utmost respect from the wrestling industry, including management. The undisputed title of the baddest woman on Odyssey. The ONE ON ONE World Championship match I should have had GUARANTEED to be lined up since season three began. Most of all, the UNIVERSAL agreement that Odyssey is my turf! I swear to you, I will get all of that and MORE this fall, and me curb stomping washed up predecessor Natalie will represent me taking the right step in that direction! 

There’s only room for one of us, and I’ve already grown tired of going without. You’ve had your fill at the table. Starting with this weekend you will learn what it’s like to starve. And unlike me I doubt you have the strength to hold out without perishing.

Nate Cage


Thunderbastard 2: We're Gonna Need a Bigger Dome


Nate is sitting in a large, leather chair. Behind him, a fire rages. He is wearing a velvet robe and enjoying a tall glass of ice water.

 
Ahem. The following is a poem that I have written with all of my friends in mind. The men who will be the object of my cruelty this Sunday. But do not fear, gentlemen, for my intent is to make you understand the need for suffering. To appreciate that in this world, there is always peace at the end of pain. The longer you deny pain its victory over you, the longer the suffering. This game of he said, she said has gone on long enough. This little ditty I have composed should clear the air and make things gel in a cohesive manner. For what I have written will provide insight, clarity and reassurance. The process is at hand, and none of you will be ready to welcome it in until you have heard what I have to say today.
 
This is “Fuck You: A Poem in Many Stanzas, by Nathaniel Cage”
 
With one swift movement, Nate produces a fine-looking book from within his robe, opening it perfectly on just the right page.
 
Fuck you, Nas.
 
Fuck your whiny, entitled, petulant spats that have made OWA such a chore to sit through in recent years. Your insistence upon being the best grows just about as tiresome as the bags under your eyes look. You bring nothing to the table now except spite. Your misplaced, aimless anger is like that of a toddler who didn’t get what he wanted for his birthday. Fuck your inability to grasp the simple concept of focus, claiming that I need to lay out a narrative of beating you when you are more concerned with calling out people who are not entering the Thunderdome – trademark. Fuck your frustration with how quickly this industry has passed you by. It is true, your peak was recent, but next to every peak is a valley. You are currently free falling down that valley at terminal velocity, hitting the bottom is coming this weekend. There is no lower a bottom than losing a match to Nathan Fiora for a world title opportunity. Fuck your inflated ego and the belief that your talent hasn’t eroded like an acid attack victim’s face. If you want to hurt me outside the confines of our workplace, feel free. Although all the times I have seen you at an OWA show, you have said nothing and done nothing. Fuck your cowardice and your boasts. Fuck your family and their confidence in a young man who is somehow going through a midlife crisis. Fuck your wife and her baseball bat – which is now mine – fuck any spawn that is brought on from your seed and unleashed into the world. Fuck your terrible tattoos and outdated fashion sense. Fuck your ever-changing hairstyles – seriously, either be Wolverine, a 90s metalcore drummer or Charles Manson, nobody needs to see the weird stages of transformation in between. Fuck your legacy and the horse it rode in on. Fuck your blindness to the fact you have done nothing but boost up your pals and bet on losing horses in a desperate bid to seek out your successor.
 
Fuck you, Jesus. Also, fuck Nathan Fiora.
 
Fuck your depressing career and the fact you are too cheap to just see a therapist. No, you could not beat Nas in his prime. Fuck the fact that you thought I was referencing your previous place of work. Nothing that comes from there is “prime”. Nas hit his prime in mid-2018. Unless you scored a victory over him then and I missed it, I would say you are shit out of luck in that department. Fuck your musical endeavours. If I had a child who was born deaf and was offered a cure, I would turn it down just so they could avoid the chance of listening to anything you have ever recorded. Fuck your aversion to hate and violence. Being a pussy is not what this business was built on, but you missed that meeting while you were busy trying to retrieve your balls from your purse. Fuck your mental impairment when it comes to theology. Heaven and Hell. Good and evil. God and Satan. Neither can exist without the other. In wiping me out completely, your own existence would be redundant. That is why I have to put you in your place and remind everyone what actual power looks like. Fuck your church. Greater men than you have attempted to lead and were failures. If you were granted an audience with the Pope, he would break every vow he has taken just to kick the shit out of you. Fuck your embarrassing track record and involvement in despicable moments. The moment you outed yourself as a simp to the world was the moment any respect I had for you as a man went down the shitter. Simps are the only evil in this world worse than serial killers and necrophiles. Simps will be the harbingers of the Apocalypse if they are not kept in check by those with the will. I was put here to destroy the simps. To put my foot on their necks and watch the colour leave their faces. Although if I had a vagina, a man like you would probably thank me for such a pleasure and whip out your wallet to tip my OnlyFans. Disgraceful. Shameful. Fuck your TV Title reign that almost killed the lineage of that title, to the point where Finnegan Wakefield has had to put himself in a handicap match against your altar boys to restore its prestige. Fuck your flat-out creepy behaviour and overall demeanour. I know not if incels have a an organised group, but I have to imagine that you would be their idol. A man whose obsession with chasing the warm embrace of the coochie has brought him to his final resting place. Fuck Honduras, too. That has nothing to do with the poem, I just do not care for their ways.
 
Fuck Darkane.
 
Fuck how amped up you get over a flippant insult. If you don’t want to be compared to Kurt Cobain in a wrestling promo, then don’t dress like Kurt Cobain or don’t fucking wrestle. Fuck your psychotic ramblings and your whole “weaponised Charles Bukowski” shtick that you have cultivated. You are not intimidating, you are a sophomoric school science project’s interpretation of a scary man. You spend your days skulking around drab, odious places, talking and talking and talking in the hopes that someone out there cares. All I care about is how big of a toothpick I am going to need to get your flesh out of my incisors. Fuck Phantom Troupe and your mission statement. Lord knows I have gone on for long enough about them. You and your best friends in the whole wide world cannot help you when you are surrounded by steel and thunder. Fuck your stereotypes. I shall present myself how I see fit. Just because I am the Devil, I do not have to be surrounded by fire and brimstone, wielding a pitchfork while I torture sinners. Sometimes, all I want to do is tell people just how worthless they are. Break them down to their core components so I know exactly what I am dealing with. I did not have to do much of that with you, Darkane. In fact, all I had to do was make one fleeting comparison to a dead rockstar and it was enough to drive you up the wall. Your fuse is short. Men with short fuses do not last in environments like Thunderdome – trademark. No, what happens to you is you get mad, you get enraged, you do silly, silly things to take my head off. Then all I do is step to one side and let you run full-pelt into electrified steel and watch you fry. I will not feel bad about doing it, either. Fuck your skin, it will look much better crispy. Barbequed Darkane, all ready to be served up at the OWA cookout. I plan on serving you up with a classic potato salad – with no seasoning, of course, as is the only correct way to prepare such a dish. Maybe I will use your shovel to serve up the various cuts of meat that were once your body. That reminds me, fuck your shovel.
 
Fuck you, Jacob Senn.
 
Well, this is awkward, you do not have the common courtesy to respond to my words. I am a little hurt, but I am sure I can soldier through it…shit, lost my place in the book…
 
Nate flicks through the pages.
 
Ah yes, here we are. Fuck your weird hair that is somehow both dry but looks greasy at the same time. Fuck your oddly shaped neck that makes you look like a hairy thumb dressed like a knock-off Power Ranger. Fuck your latex gloves that I am confident are a sex thing. Fuck your forgettable run as the top guy on Olympus that almost killed my interest in the sport of professional wrestling. Fuck your inability to know when it is the right time to stay gone. Fuck your stupidity as an in-ring competitor. If I was able to beat you with simple chicanery in our first match, then imagine what I will do to you with the full use of Thunderdome – trademark – at my disposal. You will be begging to be let out the moment it sinks in just how much of a wally you have been. Fuck you, Jacob Senn, you are nothing more than a wasteman who barely qualifies as a blip on the radar.
 
Fuck you, Keelan Callihan.
 
Fuck your weasel face that looks like you sniff cat piss in your free time. If your face were any more punchable, it would have its own prime spot in Gleason’s Gym. I wholeheartedly hate the whole of your face. Fuck your weird obsession with having great matches and subsequently subjecting us to boring chain wrestling for an eternity. Having a 45-minute exchange of moves does not a classic match make, young squire. Fuck your match with Finnegan Wakefield at Final Destination that lasted longer than my retirement speech. The only think that match surpassed was my expectations in just how much of a vanilla midget you were capable of being. The last time you impressed in a ring was, Carlos Rosso was taking his baby steps. Fuck your status as a founder of OWA. It matters not if you helped build the house I now live in. If a crazy hobo came up to me and claimed he built my penthouse suite, I would not let him come in and help himself the cake and coffee. I would tell that disgusting parasite to get off my property before I pulled out the blicky and shot him in the face. You are right about one thing though: I do rifle through your promos and wait until you bring up my name. I refuse to listen to you talk for any longer than I have to. I do not give a fuck about who is staining whose underwear with skid marks, my underwear is clean because I use Calgon – trademark. Fuck the work you have put in to make it to this point, it is not going to pay off. All you are doing right now is picking a fine plot to be buried in, good sir. But as I have already said, that is all a part of the process. I am going to make your transition even easier if you just believe in what I have to offer. Fuck Zaibatsu too. I have seen snuff films with more entertainment value than whatever that faction is supposed to be.
 
Fuck Derelict.
 
This one stings, as I quite like you, regardless, I must persevere. Fuck your odour, your stench, the lack of any notable contributions to society that you have made. Your presence in this world is one of a man who people go out of their way to avoid. You are not going to entrance me with your philosophical musings on life and death. Fuck your musings. Public libraries need to stop letting you people in so they can crack open some Nietzsche and fill their minds with nonsense. You stopped living in reality a long time ago. You have slipped into a world of oil drums and shacks. A world where spare change is valued more than the almighty dollar. Fuck your panhandling, bindle-carrying, faecal matter-infested beard self. Once you have been relieved of the Omega Heavyweight Championship, I am going to burn that belt and have a new one made. Just the thought of you taking it to all the places you go makes me sick. Fuck your boiler suit that hasn’t been washed since Desert Storm and fuck the crack dealers you shake down for bus fare. When I am through laying the rest of Thunderdome – trademark – to rest, it will just be me and you. Two great titans with nothing but their wits and their might to guide them. But you lack the drive to go as far as I can, to truly feel death coming for you. Wow, what a rush, I cannot wait for you to see it.
 
Nate shuts the book and leans forward in his chair.
 
And so concludes my little piece of poetry. I know it was not subtle or tactful, but since when was wrestling either of those things? Sometimes, you just have to really give people a blunt “fuck you” to get through to them. Eventually, you will all realise the beautiful simplicity of what I do. Until then, maybe it would be in your best interests to stand aside before I rip your throats out and feed them to you.
 
Ta-ta!
 
Fuck Michael Bishop.

The scene opens up to the outside of an old stone house that looks like it was built in the 1800s.  There’s a light on and some noise coming from inside, but every other building in the area remains eerily silent, as if they’ve all been abandoned.  Just outside, resting by the road in front of the building, is none other than OWA’s own, Jeff X, perched atop his red 1998 Harley Davidson Sportster.  He’s dressed in a pair of old blue jeans and a black button down that’s had the sleeves ripped completely off of it to reveal the inked arms of ‘The Toughest Man in OWA’.  As always, his camouflage Realtree hat sits snugly on his head.  His right hand rests over the throttle, holding a lit cigarette that shines in the darkness, and his left hand holds his cell phone pressed tightly up to his ear.


“Yeah...I’m fine babe.  Just wanted to make sure you got out of town alright.”


“Yeah.  Your mom and I made it out just like you requested.  We haven’t seen nor heard from anyone since we left.  Where are you?”

The sound of Jeff’s girlfriend, Presley Dawn, echoes through the other end of the line.  Jeff sighs and looks around him for a moment before responding.


“I really can’t say right now.  Probably somewhere that I absolutely shouldn’t be.”


“Then what the HELL are you doing there?!”


“I just...I had to come get some advice from...an old...friend...I guess you could say.”

“Just...just be careful ok?”


“I will.”


“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“When am I going to see you again?”

“I’ll be in New York by the time Uprising: New York starts.  C’mon now...you know I’m not going to miss your title defense.”


“You fuckin’ better not…(sigh)...I miss you Jeff.”


“I know...I miss you too.  This will all be over soon, I promise.”


“I know it will.  Just...keep your cool and...I don’t know where you are or what you’re up to, but PLEASE don’t do anything stupid.”

“You know me.”


“That’s the fucking problem.”


Jeff chuckles a bit, despite the seriousness of the situation.


“I have to go babe.  But I’ll see you in New York...just a few more days.”


“Good...you do realize that if you’re not here for Uprising, then I’m going to use this gun you gave me on you, right?”


Jeff smiles.


“Understood.  I’ll talk to you soon Pres.”

“Ok babe..be careful.”

“Hm.”

Jeff hangs up the phone and slides it into his pocket.  He brings his cigarette up to his lips and takes a long drag from it as he stares at the door to the house, as if waiting on something...or someone.

“Patience...they say that patience is a virtue...that good things come to those who wait...but I’m getting awfully fucking tired of waiting.  I’m tired of being patient.  I’m tired of standing in line and paying my dues and letting everyone else have their moment in the sun.  I’m tired of seeing others rewarded for seemingly just existing, while I toil away in the background, keeping this company alive and pushing it into the future with my own blood and sweat.  I’ve put more work into this place than anyone has and in return I only receive constant reassurance that I am indeed the future of OWA.  Well guess fucking what...I am SICK of being the future of this company.  I’m tired of hearing empty promises of what’s to come tomorrow.  I’m more interested in TODAY.  I am more than ready to be the present...to be the NOW...to be the reigning OWA World Champion.  And that’s not blowing smoke to hype myself up...that’s just a cold, hard fact.  I mean...face it...take whatever quality it is that you’d expect from a champion or that you’d want them to have….and I literally possess it.  You want the look?  I’m like the physical polar fucking opposite of Bull Connors.  You want the following?  Just listen to any arena in the world whenever ‘Kick It In The Sticks’ hits the speakers and you’d have a hard fucking time trying to hear yourself think.  You want technical prowess?  There’s been two Final Destinations in history and I’ve had the best damn match in each one of them!  You want accolades?  I have them in abundance...I’m the inaugural Keys to Kingdom winner and the longest reigning Spartans Champion in history.  I INVENTED winning Final Destination matches and I’m one of only TWO people to win the Clash of the Titans match!  You want a story...well have I fucking got one for you.  I’ve lost it all before only to have fought my way back, overcoming things that even I didn’t think that I could.  I’ve resurrected a career once thought lost.  I’ve been humbled and broken more than once...and each and every time I’ve picked myself up and pressed on, building a redemption arc that would bring a tear to even Michael Bishop’s eye.  But the fact is...I am TIRED of building that arc..I am tired of the foreplay and I am ready for the fucking payoff.  I’ve put in my time.  I’ve served my years.  I’ve paid my dues and now I am coming to fucking collect what's fucking mine.  Let's face it...I am thirty eight years old and I’m not getting any younger.  There’s no tomorrow for me at this point.  There’s no future.  There is only the now.  The days of Jeff X waiting patiently in line as others cut straight to the front are finished.  There is not another due to be paid..not another chance to be wasted and only one page left to be written in my redemption story...the story that also tells the death of Moongoose McQueen.”


Jeff brings the cigarette to his lips and hits it.  He breathes a heavy cloud of smoke into the night air, all while still never taking his eyes from the door to the house.

“Moongoose...you can spin your narrative any which way you want.  Try and shift blame from your actions to others...whatever...it’s not like it matters.  I don’t have you on trial here, so I really don’t care to hear your testimony.  I believe what I see with my own two eyes...and what I saw was you crossing a line.  But why wouldn’t you?  After all, you’ve done it before and gotten away with it.  Each championship bout that you’ve had before...whether it was against Scott Oasis or, more recently, Kenny Drake...you had to make things for them as personal as possible because you know that it’s the only way that anybody would care about you to begin with.  You crossed a line with them and were able to walk away from it unscathed...even managed to walk away with the championship once...so why change anything now...why treat me any different?”


Jeff finally takes his gaze off the door to stare straight into the camera.


“Because I AM fucking different Goose.  I am not Kenny Drake or Scott Oasis.  I’m not Finnegan Wakefield or Aria Jaxon.  I’m not like anybody that you’ve ever encountered before.  I am dangerous...more dangerous than you could ever imagine.  You want a war Goose?  That’s fine by me.  I welcome it.  I thrive in it because I was BUILT for war.  I LIVE for it.  I’ve had to risk my life in the heat of battle before, not knowing if I’d walk out of alive.  You?  You’re completely unaware.  You've never faced stakes like that in your life...oh but you are certainly about to find out.  'War' isn't just an expression Goose...it's a declaration that you're wildly unprepared for.  You think you know what you’re doing because, let's face it, people have threatened you before right...but you’ve faced nothing like what you have before you at Game Over.  I’ve waited my whole life to hold that championship and I’d be willing to do anything to wear it...and that was BEFORE you decided to attack my friends and family.  Now?  Now Goose, I’m fully prepared to spill your blood all over New York.  I’m fully prepared for you to be the one and only casualty of this war.  I know no limits at this point Goose...there is no place I won’t go to get what I want.  You’re right about one thing though...it’s not just about the title anymore...it’s about you...it’s about making sure that your crusade for attention doesn’t bring anyone else’s loved ones into the crosshairs of this industry.  I will do what I must to make sure that the days of you terrorizing those who are innocent in all of this are OVER.  And no Goose...I’m not worried about what you will do to get your title back WHEN I win...truthfully, it doesn’t matter what you WOULD do...because you won’t be able to do a fucking thing but die.  Dead men don’t seek championships.  And I have no plans on letting you walk out of New York alive.  And the worst part is...nobody’s even going to miss you Goose.  Even your own sister would soon cease to care that you’re gone after she inherits your wealth and is free to spread havoc however she sees fit with an expanded budget on which to do it on.  You’ll just be gone...nobody sad...nobody even caring...it will be like you never existed...nothing more than a bad dream...just a cliffnote on the history of OWA.”

Jeff eyes dart back towards the door.

“Remember what you told Presley, Goose...that night in the mud next to my battered body...yeah...that’s right...I heard you.  You told her not to allow me to come to Game Over...because if I showed up, that she wouldn’t be getting me back.  That’s clever...a real nice attempt to get into the head of a distraught woman to try and work your way out of the situation that you’ve gotten yourself in.  But trust me Goose...I AM coming to Game Over.  I AM coming for you. And Presley will be getting back much more than just her boyfriend.  She’ll be getting the NEW OWA World Champion.  Meanwhile, Shin-SEKAI will be getting back nothing but the corpse of their ‘fearless’ leader...but I'm certainly not going to make any requests for Revy or Maelstrom or The Boys to not let you show up to Game Over...nah...fuck that...I want you there.  I want you there more than anything and I want you there smug and overconfident...just like you are now.  I want you there so that I can see that arrogant look in your eyes change the moment that you realize that you’re in trouble.  I want to see your face when you realize that THIS time, you took it just a little too far.  I want to hear you beg for mercy when you finally understand that, unlike everyone else, MY threats are NOT idle.  I want to hear the crowd fall deathly silent as even my most diehard fans suddenly realize that what they’re witnessing is an actual crime.  THAT’S what I want, Goose.  I want it more than I could ever want any title.  I want to end you.  I want the next edition of Kingdom to be dedicated to the memory of Moongoose McQueen.  I want Revy to be an only child.  I want you to draw your last breath in the center of that ring in New York City.  And I want to be responsible for it.”


Jeff takes one last drag from his smoke before flicking it out into the night.

“But I’m not naive, Goose...in your own unique way...you do pose somewhat of a threat.  Regardless of how cheap your tactics might be...you did find a way to hold the title that everyone else wants to possess...so clearly you must be doing something right.  So I don’t want you to think that I’m going into this with just blind rage and desire behind me Goose.  I’m not that foolish and I don’t plan on making the same mistakes that those who came before me have made in regards to you.  I’ve done my homework.  I’ve studied the film...I know your every move.  I know your strengths and weaknesses, and perhaps most importantly, I know what it’s like to be in the ring with you Goose...and I know what it’s like to beat you one-on-one....something you have never done against me.  But even still...I know I cannot rest simply because I've done this before.  I may feel like I’m ready...and as a matter of fact...I know that I am.  But even still...I’m not going to leave any stone left unturned.  If there is somewhere I can go...someone I can talk to...or something I can learn to give me any kind of advantage towards accomplishing my goals at Game Over...then you best believe that I’m going to do do my due diligence...no matter where that might take me.”

Jeff perks up as the door to the house opens.  Jeff steps off the bike as a man emerges from the doorway.  Jeff glances at the camera one last time.


“Even if it means leaving my comfort zone...there’s absolutely NOTHING I won’t do to end you, Goose.”


We can barely make out the figure now walking towards Jeff, as he’s dressed in a black hoodie and a black balaclava that blends him in with the night.  The man and Jeff eye one another suspiciously.

“Bold of you to come here.”

“Bold of you to walk out here alone.”

The man laughs arrogantly, as he holds out his hand as if Jeff is supposed to give him something.


“He’s expecting you.  Just hand over your weapon and you’re permitted to go inside.”


“Not a chance, big shoots.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for nothing.”


Suddenly a loud, familiar voice comes booming from inside the house.

“WHAT’S TAKING SO LONG?!”


The man looks backwards towards the door, then back to Jeff, almost in a panic.


“Seems your boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

The man begrudgingly steps aside and motions for Jeff to make his way inside.  Jeff smirks as he walks past him and up the steps.  He stops in the doorway and pears into the house as we hear that same familiar voice coming from inside again.


“Strange to see you here.”


“Desperate times.”


Jeff walks inside and the darkly dressed man goes to follow him in, but he notices something on the outside wall next to the door that causes him to stop.  He reaches out and taps on a neon light that we had previously not even seen in the darkness.  The taps from the man cause the light to flicker on and the man walks inside, shutting the door behind him as the camera zooms in on the now bright-shining neon light...the light of the Wolves cross.

 
A mere twenty-four hours has passed since we last heard from our triumphant hero. He traveled many miles from Portland, Oregon, the home of his wrestling school, to the Bronx, one of the many armpits of America. A mere twenty-four hours has passed, and our hero still awaits impatiently for another competitor in his match to speak out against him. However, the only person to do that? Our current OWA Spartan Champion, Arata Asakura.
 
We find ourselves within the luxurious suite in a five-star hotel somewhere near Yankees Stadium. Knowing J.D. Damon very well, it is somewhere approximately twenty miles away from the site of this year’s Game Over event. Damon doesn’t take too well to Yankee Stadium or New York Yankee fans in general. Fun fact: he is a Boston Red Sox fan. Damon is shown relaxing in a recliner in the bedroom area of his suite. His iPad resting on his chest as he has obviously just finished watching the latest promo of Mr. Asakura.
 
Focus on preparing for the match?!
 
Damon rewinds the promo back to the beginning, as the audio of Arata speaking with Hana Nakajima in regards to why he has been so quiet can be heard.
 
Why don’t you focus on actually winning the fucking match…
 
Damon rewinds it again.
 
Why don’t you focus on the mission at hand, Arata…
 
Again…
 
Why don’t you focus on keeping your precious title…
 
And again…
 
While you’re doing all of your “focusing” and “preparing”, why don’t you get your mind ready, Arata. Get your mind prepared to LOSE the match. Get your mind prepared to LOSE your title. It’s no longer a question, Arata. It’s not a matter of IF you’re going to lose. It’s not a matter of WHEN you’re going to lose, because you are looking at the man who holds all of the answers to all of that. I won’t give away all of my answers, Arata, but I will let you in on just when your loss is going to occur. Let me set the scene for you, shall I? This weekend… Bronx, New York… at that putrid hell hole known as Yankees Stadium. Ah, fuck it. I’ll give away ALL of my answers. The man who is going to single-handedly take your belt away from you? Well…
 
YOU’RE LOOKING AT HIM, ARATA!
 
The person who you claim is nothing more than an “old man.” The person who you claim is nothing more than a “pathetic hypocrite” who is a “weakling” in the ring. That person, Arata - THAT PERSON - is going to be the one to knock you off from your high horse. And how is that going to feel? How is it going to feel knowing damn well that the new Spartan Champion is going to be a “hypocrite who can only bark like a dog?” It’s going to tear you up, Arata. It’s going to eat you up from deep within until you go completely insane. After I beat the unholy hell out of you, you will attempt to peer at me with blackened eyes and cry like a motherfucking baby after seeing me rise the Spartan Championship triumphantly in the air. And you know what? I am going to love every single second of it. I am going to love shoving MY title in your f ace. I am going to love reminding you every single week that you are no longer the Spartan Champion. That you no longer have any credibility. That you are nothing more than an after thought in everyone’s mind.
 
Not doing anything useful, Arata? Huh. Do you even pay attention when you hear yourself talk? Half of the bullshit that you spew out of your suck hole makes absolutely no sense. But, I’m sure it makes perfect sense to you in the little fairy tale that you have decided to live in. You brag about being a man with three championship belts currently in your possession. Congratu-fucking-lations, Arata, would you like a cookie? You talk shit about me talking about how long I have been in this industry or how many championship belts I have won in the past, but here you go with throwing out the fact that you are “Arata Three Belts.” NEWSFLASH, Arata… NO ONE FUCKING CARES! Do you carry around three belts in this company? Are you currently walking around with three belts in the OWA?! NO! No you are not. The only thing that currently matters, is that Spartan belt. You know, the belt that you are currently keeping warm for me? That’s the only thing that fucking matters. Not your little Shogun title from WrestleWorld. Not your tag team belt from whatever dumpster fire of a company you involve yourself with. So, please, direct all comments about your little accomplishments somewhere else. Ya know, to someone who actually might give a single fuck, because it’s not me.
 
Damon chuckles to himself, knowing damn well that he has never made any sort of impression on anyone that gives a rat’s ass about anything except himself and his Wolves.
 
I have watched your little promo over several times now, and it seems to me like I have struck some sort of nerve. What’s wrong, Arata?! Are you mad because you know damn well that every single thing that I have said about you is true? That you are nothing more than a has-been who got lucky with winning that title? That you are nothing more than OWA’s current flavor of the month? Or is the fact that you know that I am the Spartan Champion that everyone deserves?! I am the only one who can bring some sort of credibility back to that damn thing, because everyone knows that you sure as hell haven’t. Good. I love knowing that I have you pissed off. That’s exactly what I want, Arata. I want you just like this come Game Over time. I want you so pissed off that you are going to attempt to rip my fucking face off. Want to know why? Because it’s going to make my victory that much sweeter.
 
An alert suddently sounds on Damon’s iPad. Briefly startled, Damon grabs a hold of the device to see what it is.
 
A video.
 
Damon watches for several seconds before realizing who the video is even of.
 
Jacob Knight.
 
He laughs to himself before watching the video in its entirity. Without making a sound, Damon tosses the tablet onto the bed next to him, and stares out into nothingness for a minute or two.
 
Welcome to the party, Jacob. I mean, it’s not much of a party in reality. It’s bascially just been Arata and I going back and forth about whose dick is bigger… even though he knows it’s mine, I mean… he’s Asian afterall.
 
Damon laughs at his own joke for far too long, before continuing…
 
Anyways. I’ve always said, that it’s better to be late than to not show at all. You know, I thought for a brief moment that you were actually one of the smart ones in this match, Jacob. I figured that you went the route that Oliver Harpe, Theodor Pavel, and Udy went with the whole not showing up thing. Instead, you decided that it was best for everyone to open up your mouth and prove to the entire world how much of a fucking idiot you truly are. I mean, the majority of us realized that long ago when you decided to hold hands with that waste of space Maverick, but some of the shit that you said? Man, that’s worse than the broken English bullshit that Arata has been yapping on about all week. So, Maverick made me his bitch, eh? I’m not so sure if you actually watched that match or not, considering I’m sure you were too busy licking your wounds after Arata wiped the ring with you, but that’s kind of far fetched, isn’t it? Maverick making me his bitch… I don’t remember it quite like that, Jacob. He might have been the better man that night considering he was the one with his hand raised in victory, but… ya know, considering what happened after the match… it’s more like Maverick became Kenny’s bitch that night. Jacob, you should have done the right thing and kept quiet. The less you said the better. I mean, let’s be one-hundred percent honest, it’s not like you said anything with any importance. You basically said the same old bullshit that everyone else has said. “You’re nothing without Kenny.” “You’re the lesser member of Wolvesden.” “You should have stayed away.” Blah. Blah. Blah. Do you seriously think I give two fucks, or even one fuck, about what you think about me? Nope. Do you seriously think that I am going to listen to someone whose greatest accomplishment in life is being Maverick’s personal butt plug? Nope. The only thing I care about, Mister Headstrong, is making sure that you do not walk out of Game Over on your own accord.
 
Maybe you and Maverick can share the same hospital bed after Kenny rips him apart. You guys can do what you do best, suck eachother off.
 
I understand that no one enjoys listening about my children, but let me tell you all a little story. For the past week ever since this match was announced, my children have pleaded with me day and night to just “chill out.” “Take a chill pill, Dad. It’s only a match!” Only a match? ONLY A MATCH?! That’s the thing that children do not understand. I’m not quite sure why they can’t come to terms with it. But then again, it seems like Arata, Ryo, and Jacob also cannot come to terms with it, either. This isn’t just a match. This is going to be the exact moment - EXACT FUCKING MOMENT - that I prove to each and every one of you just who in the hell J.D. fucking Damon is… to show everyone first hand just what I have been talking about all week. My children have been texting me, calling me, FaceTiming me all day. Asking, begging, PLEADING for me to keep my mouth shut. That’s the problem. If anyone knows me, even a sliver, they know damn well that I am someone who can’t just sit back and keep quiet. If I have something on my mind, you bet your ass I’m going to say it. If I know for certain that I am going to prove everyone wrong, then goddamn it, I am going to fucking go on and on about it. This weekend at GameOver, is going to be an event that will live on in infamy. Generations and generations to come will be talking about it. It will be a tale everyone in attendance will be able to sit their grandchildren and their great grandchildren down to talk about. They will all remember that faithful night that the big, bad WOLF J.D. Damon stood in the center of the ring amongst his fallen foes, raised that Spartan title for all to see, and screamed… WOLVES! FUCKING! AERTENUM! at the top of his lungs.
 
It’s going to be fucking great. It’s going to be memorable. It’s… inevitable.
 
Damon looks deep into the camera. His wide, blood shot eyes nearly staring a hole into the camera lense.
 
This is your shot, boys. This is your shot for me to make you all fucking legends. Don’t blow it. I know for damn sure that I won’t.
 
Wolves…
 
Aertenum…
 
Forever…
 
and ever…
 
and ever….

“Not One Step Back!”

12:01 PM
WALL STREET
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

The camera opens on a slow-pan-out shot of a familiar sculpture to natives of New York’s Financial District, the Charging Bull. Tourists gather near the statue as various families and groups of friends marvel at the bronze beast and pose for a variety of photo ops. Around them, men and women in business attire briskly walk by as they seek to reach their destinations. As the crowds of Wall Street’s elite carry on to their meetings, the camera follows an outlier among the crowd, as we see Jacob Knight in shorts and a T-shirt weaving his way through the horde of people. With headphones in, the man continues running as sweat pours from his forehead and stains his shirt and human traffic beginning to lighten up. It’s not too long before Jacob stops for a moment’s reprieve. He catches his breath and takes a moment to find his bearings. Suddenly his eyes stop on a familiar building, the New York Stock Exchange. He scans the facade of the building for a minute, watching as men enter and exit the building in a rush. The camera comes around to face Jacob as “Another Level” by Fire From The Gods begins to play and begins closing in on his eyes, stopping only when he closes them.

“I’ve seen people be lied to by the system!
I’ve seen people be bastardized by the system!
Y’know why? Because the system is fucked up!”
*beep*
“I’m out here wildin’ the fuck out like a madman-“

As the beat drops his eyes shoot open, the lighting on his face having been changed from bright sunlight to bright flame. We cut to a shot of Jacob standing on the Charging Bull dressed in a black revolutionary uniform. Standing with him on the bronze sculpture, now bearing the symbol of the group on its side, are his fellow comrades from the Ashes of the Wake as they stand before a vast mob of people. Flames eat through the various banks and places of business, shooting out through the windows and lighting up the area as smoke clouds the sky. The same men and women in suits and dresses who filled the street before lay dead at the feet of the assembled army who eagerly await the words of the Last Real Revolutionary. With a sadistic grin on his face, he raises his hands up and slowly brings them down, signaling the crowd to quiet down.

“My dearest comrades! For the last few weeks I’ve been doing a bit of traveling across our country, and in my travels I have come to realize something... well, humorous. It’s quite appropriate that the state of Kingdom is much like the current state of the world around it. Factions stand at odds with one another, ready for the signal to begin killing each other, a sickness spreads through the land, and a select and disgusting few in positions of power are able to profit from it all. Simply put, we carry on within a state of chaos.”

“Some are broken by the disarray, others are molded by it. It brings them a moment of clarity, a chance to see through the facade of balance those with power want you to believe so that they may continue to take what they will from you behind your back. So that they may continue to exploit you. They promise you law and order so that they may crush voices of dissent among the oppressed. They promise you the world as they continue to profit from poisoning it. In chaos, we find out the truth, as well as find an opportunity to avenge that exploitation and oppression we continue to experience with every waking day.”

“We must not run from the forms chaos takes, no matter how bloody and violent it may become. As old comrades commanded in the face of peril and invasion, ‘Not One Step Back!’ Peace and politicking have failed us in attempts to achieve our goals without bloodshed, so it is in blood that our message will be written. And we will have blood, won’t we comrades? My opponents, you ‘men’, are pigs who, in your own unique ways, seek to stop US from becoming champion and taking the power that comes with it. It is with your blood that we shall write our message to the rest of this company and to the world!”

“Udy, the Infernal Snake who wants to take my place among the Ashes of the Wake. Making deals in the dark with rogues and scoundrels with no allegiances. Quite honestly and obviously, Udy, I’ve no trust for you. Havoc insists that I give you a chance as he has, but you are no comrade to us! For I recognize the danger you may bring. You threaten not only my position, but the Ashes of the Wake as a whole. You are nothing more than a leech who seeks an opportunity to embed itself in our movement, and when the time is right, when you’ve drained enough blood, you will destroy us. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen. I will be the one to bring this gold home to the Ashes, and I will cut the head off the Infernal Snake in the process.”

“J.D…. what is there to say about J.D. that hasn’t been said before? I’ve flattened him out plenty of times before, Maverick made him his bitch at Boiling Point, he constantly disappoints Kenny Drake and makes him question why he even chose him to be part of Wolvesden, I could go on and on but I’d sound like a broken record. The fact that some people probably compare him and I is insane to me. I’m stronger, faster, more ruthless, and I fight for something as opposed to someone. The only way we compare is with our recent defeats, and even then that comparison stops after GameOver when I become Spartan Champion.”

“Oliver, the one real lone wolf in all of this. One may think you don’t pose a threat in this match because of that. They’ll think that because you haven’t sworn fealty to any faction that you don’t stand a chance. But if you ask me, that’s what makes you a threat. You are a mercenary, a man who only fights for two people: yourself and the highest bidder. And I’d be surprised if you haven’t already been offered sums of money by people like Kenny Drake, Jeff X, or Udy to help them or their ilk secure more titles. Hell, maybe Havoc made you an offer and I’m just not privy to it. Either way, your greed is your motivator and it will drive you to get the job done. That, along with your unfortunate upbringing making you the ruthless man we see today, I’m not taking you lightly, Mr. Harpe. I’ll be ready for whatever little plots you are helping to fulfill for one of these other bastards.”

“Theodor, of all the people in this match, you may just be the one I respect the most. You are a fearsome competitor, one worthy of a championship and a spot in the history books, there is no denying that. My biggest problem with you is not who you are, but who you’ve chosen to ally yourself with. The pigs that seem to befriend you only wish to use you for their profit. It’s textbook capitalist exploitation. Don’t believe me? Then tell me, why do you keep Mr. Morgan around? Is that even a decision that you’ve made, or is it one that your mouthpiece there made for you? You let him speak for you, does he think for you too? What you fail to realize, through no fault of your own but at the fault of people like Banch, is that he is making money just by watching you bleed and break your body at ringside, while offering very little in return. He gets to ride your coattails for fame and fortune, while you bust your ass and work for it. And the moment you get injured or lose your drawing power, he will turn on you faster than you can say “New and Shiny!” But it doesn’t have to be this way, Theo. You can put an end to your exploitation and the exploitation of others, you can be a hero to the proletariat; all you have to do is join our movement. Think about it, Theo. We all hope you make the right decision.”

He opens his mouth to continue speaking, but he stops himself with a scoff, shaking his head.

“I almost forgot about Ryo, the Gordon Ramsay wannabe masquerading as a wrestler. I am quite impressed, Ryo, you had so much to say about me. Guess Mav and I didn’t do enough to shut you up last time I saw you. You suggested I was nothing more than a dog, Havoc’s pet instead of a comrade, and worse than that, you called me a coward… You have some fucking nerve! Who is a cook to tell the revolutionary how to fight? Here is what you fail to understand. I’ve focused my energy and efforts here in OWA because this is where the heart of the revolution is. This is where the Ashes reside, and as long as they fight here, so must I. But don’t you fear, Ryo, because I’ll be sure to spread the revolution back to Pro Wrestling Nova soon. You can count on that. Until then, you are in my path, and once again I have to lay you out like I’ve done to J.D. countless times before. Because you are right, I am a hungry dog who will be coming for you, and come Sunday you will have the pleasure of being reminded just how bad my bite is. Oh, and fuck WWH. Don’t ever mention their filth to me again. Let them be remembered as degenerates and pestilence in our industry, nothing more.”

“Last and certainly least, Arata... it seems like we are destined to continue our Cold War struggle forever, no? The Self-Made Man and the Last Real Revolutionary, the Capitalist and the Marxist, a continuous battle... But you continue to celebrate your victories over me as if you’ve won this war. Allow me to be crystal clear with you, Golden Pig: the truth is this struggle between you and I, this hatred we bear for each other does not end with one of us holding that Spartan Championship. No, that’s not enough for me. This ends with one of us burying the other. As long as we continue to draw breath into our lungs and our hearts continue to beat, this conflict rages on. But come GameOver, I’m not just looking to take your gold, I’m looking to put an end to this struggle, your legacy, and your career. So hold that belt close to you, Arata, and hold your loved ones even closer; because even if I, against all odds, am not the one to take that belt from you, I will be damned sure to be the one to take you away from your family!”

“The battle has come to our home, comrades! More pigs come to the slaughter! We cannot fail, we shall not! We will lay waste to those who seek to silence us, and leave nothing standing in our way! I will bring this Spartan Championship home to you!” He points at a man in the crowd. “And you! And you! And you!” He continues pointing at members of the crowd. “The Spartan Championship will be ours! And it’s going to take every fucking army in the world to take that belt from us! And when they come for us, remember the words of comrade Yosef… NOT ONE FUCKING STEP BACK!”

The audience roars in delight as the Ashes raise their fists in the air. The flames grow larger and larger behind the group as the mob continues to lay waste to the Financial District. Once again the camera closes in on Jacob’s face. With a blink, we transition back to Jacob in the afternoon light. The bodies and destruction are gone and Jacob once again stands in his workout apparel. He runs a hand through his hair with a grin, the sweat slicking it back, before continuing his run back the way he came as we cut to black.

GAME OVER III: A NEW AGE IS COMING

We are approaching the end of this world as you know it. This past week has been full of every bad seed humanity reaps; tensions, hatred, and jealousy. However, there has been a light, shining in this world of darkness. I’ve been given this light to expose the truth about this roster. The elites of this brand have spent ages manipulating people to believe that chaos and misery should be the norm. That should not be the case; our world started with peace and serving the divine, but humanity turned their back on god. For centuries, they’ve continued to spit in the face of the divine and praise their own horrible deeds. However, this year I’ve revealed myself to be a messiah; a being who can bring humanity back in beautiful matrimony with the holy. I am here to clean this place of elites who have normalized inequality, violence, hatred, and chaos. However, I am not surprised to say that I’ve received hate from my critics, but don’t worry my followers! We are on the right path; sinners will push back on our efforts but eventually, they will have to accept a world of harmony and conformity to its Messiah and his followers. Before anyone says that I’m not being fair, I have given all my opponents several opportunities to get on their knees and worship me. These men have all refused and thrown insults my way, attempting to use their privilege to silence my cause and beliefs. My potential opponents for the Thunderdome have been out of luck because I’ve only continued to speak truths and push them back. I’ve already stated several times that I can keep up with my opponents but they don’t believe me. The most interesting part though is the fact that I’ve been ahead of everyone this week, even our world champion, Derelict. Nobody has mentioned this fact and when I’m not welcomed to the match, it just shows me that everyone is afraid of what I can do. Nobody else has thought about the possibility that I may leave  Game Over as the Omega Heavyweight Champion and it's insulting to me, honestly. If you want to use science, I have a one-sixth chance to win this “if” I beat Nas this week. However, by faith, I can raise this to an unprecedented one hundred percent chance to win this match. No mortal force, whether it be a mountain or natural disaster can stop me from winning. I control both and the mountains will chant my name. The oceans will bow down to me and calm as it approaches my way. Humanity is the one thing that won’t conform unless you’ve become one of my believers. That is no problem though, as I’ve been in my temple, planning for what is to come. My opponents won’t see it coming and this may be the best-case scenario for them as I don’t want to devastate their morale quite yet. I’ve always been one step ahead and I continue to keep this going the third time I speak. Yes, I love to speak because people seek my wisdom and guidance to lead them to the greenest pastures. My followers have already seen results by having me on their corner, but the critics continue to smear my name across the mud. It’s okay though, I forgive you all but I think all of you need to learn the lessons of promoting false testimony about your Heavenly Father Fiora. My holy word says that you must not use the name of your lord in vain, but you all have become animals, forgetting how to read the words of your creator and holding onto your sinful nature. This is no problem, as I have the hammer of justice on my side, ready to smite my enemies out of existence if need be. Doubt my connection to the divine, I’ve already done enough to show you that I’m a holy figure. At this point, you’ve all become blind and need to be awoken via the punishment of my hands and feet. This will mark the beginning of this beautiful finale that I’m crafting with my own hands, commanding that the crown come to its rightful owner.

Nas, Nas, Nas. I’m sorry that your hatred for me is so frequent in your soul, my son. You continue to disrespect my name and cause, but I will continue to remember that you are a sinner who doesn’t know what they’re doing. You can tell me to stop believing that I’m your heavenly father, but that won’t change the facts. It’s like saying that humanity hasn’t destroyed this world, but you see forest fires, hurricanes, and pollution everywhere. You are so blind in your hatred for me that you’ve forgotten the facts; you have an identity crisis, Nas. The reason why I put all your names there is that you don’t even know who you’re meant to be. You want to be the underdog who fights the man but also keeps the clout of an elite member of this roster; those two just don’t mesh well whatsoever. You’ve been spiraling out of control because you realize that you’re fighting between these two personalities. On TV you act like you’re a saint who fights for what’s right and tries to be as humble as possible but over this week, you’ve shown your arrogance is what really controls you. You want to pretend that you aren’t self-obsessed but I have to call you a false prophet for promoting a message you don’t even believe in. You keep saying that you wished you could face someone else right now, but who was the one who decided to face me? Oh wait, that was you and your biased wife, who should know her place and allow me and the other unretired stars to thrive on this roster. I didn’t ask for this match whatsoever; I put you down to prove a point and you, in your human nature, decided it would be the best idea to come to interfere in my match against Derelict last week. Before I continue, I must ask you again: Weren’t you the man who wanted to prove yourself and work towards an opportunity for a world title? I know my hearing hasn’t gone wonky because I’m actually a million percent sure you said that. This is another blatant example of you not knowing you want to be; if you actually wanted to earn this opportunity, you would wait in the back of the line and truly EARN a title match by getting consistent wins against the biggest and best this roster offers. I was promised this opportunity and because you sleep with Tarah Nova to get your way, you thought you could get away with getting another free title shot. I can’t allow you to do that because I have bigger plans than you could ever have with the world tile. I’ve scripted and prophesied how my victory will be and how billions will convert to my cause, leaving the rest in their own personal hells. Nas, your hell will be a blatantly obvious one; the world will finally see the phony you are. You’re not an inspiring figure to look up to; you’re the biggest bully I know! You constantly bully everyone around you and have a superiority complex that is as high as Mount Everest. Now you continue to insult my changes in character, but let me explain my thought process, Nas. I was lost in this world, just like you are; I couldn’t find my purpose and wanted nothing else but death to claim its name on this vessel. However, once I beat Jesus Christ, I realized that I had been freed of my sin and needed to throw this false prophet out of the picture. Stark beating me humbled me to the point where I decided to forgive that heathen and since then, I’ve lived the life of a savior, trying to save others from their own vices. You too, Nas, need to be awoken and saved, but you can’t recognize that fact for the life of you. You are in quite an ethical dilemma with your point of trying to prove yourself because, in any other workplace, you’d be absolutely questioned for receiving a promotion by your wife. This isn’t a conspiracy theory, it’s the truth and you want to pretend this isn’t the case, but let me grab some more receipts. Your wife originally wanted you to be in this match until you decided to say no and go back on your word the show after. If the roles were reversed you’d be saying the same thing now, but you don’t realize the privileges you have as the general manager’s husband. Even if you claim they are unintentional biases later, we mustn’t ignore the fact that they do exist. If you wanted to ignore this problem, you’d be in Kingdom, but then it wouldn’t be so easy for you to win the world title. Do you see the problem here? I sure do. Now, you question my title victory against Jesus Christ and then go on to talk about the fact that you were facing Finnegan Wakefield, one of the best competitors in the game today. He’s talented, don’t get me wrong, but I was able to defeat him. I outsmarted him and took the New Breed Title off his hands, and if I truly desired the TV title, I could do the same, no problem. What does that say about you? That immediately tells me that in your current state you aren’t qualified to enter any world title programs. If you have a solid reason or recent victory that makes you worthy, please tell me right now and maybe I’ll change my mind on this point. Until then, this only shows that you’re a broken, washed up individual who should know his place in the food chain. I have the advantage over you Nas; I have rounded up the support of my followers, who will do everything in their power to ensure I make it into the Thunderdome. I said I will beat you with ease and I won’t retract my statement because you’ve been lagging, Nas. The weight of your sins will finally hold you down that Game Over and I’ll beat you quicker than you can say “I’m sorry, you were right”. You can’t hide from me and your empty threats about beating me up before our match begins are just ridiculous. I’m not afraid to say your wife’s name and how much of a biased bitch she is. Yeah, you heard me right, Mr. Moore. Your wife and kids will be backstage, watching me beat you down to a bloody pulp, trying to beat the truth into you. Your wife will have to make a miracle appear if she wants you to win that match, but she is not divine and the moment she tries to get in the way, my followers will dispatch her. If your kids want to get involved, it’s okay; The Awakening isn’t afraid to beat the truth into children either. This all sounds unnecessary, but my plans will be unthwarted; whoever gets in my way will be stopped. My followers won’t have to worry about me failing them because my drive is greater than yours ever could be. You’re trying to race a sports car with an old beat up buggy; it’s not going to end well for you. Brady, Tarah, and Maya will know and say my name and eventually beg me to save them all from your clutches and themselves. I’ll be more than willing to. How can a Messiah turn away from those suffering and in desperation for something bigger than themselves? He doesn’t and when you calm down and realize the error of your ways, you can come to my feet as well. Nas, you will bow to me.

Let’s carry on. Nathaniel Cage. A man who’s made a reputation for his violence and spirits of rebellion and retribution. You’re a man who likes to make jokes about the man who tried to save you, which in all honesty, isn’t funny. Where did all the purity in jokes go? Back when this world was founded, you wouldn’t see so many people proud of jokes like this. These jokes are disgusting and continue to perpetuate the culture of sin across the world. You have never been funny Cage; you’re a joke who is trying to delegitimize my name just like everyone else here. I’m offended you failed to mention me as your Messiah and decided to call me an unhealthy snack. HOW DARE YOU MOCK ME LIKE THIS? I am holy and I am true, you are sinful and you are a fool. I am god and you are a monster, two opposites that cannot coexist in this world. I am a person who likes to forgive, but your slander isn’t tolerated here. You are a devil and I’ve heard and seen all the atrocities you’ve decided to act on other people. Your iconic feud with Kenny Drake that was too much for the human eye; you nearly died in this match and I know you’re incredibly proud of what you did here. Your identity is your evil, but without that darkness, what are you? You are nothing without sin. If sin didn’t exist, then you wouldn’t exist either. So when I decide to clean you of every sin you’ve committed, your life will be empty and you won’t know where to go. I have to do this because you couldn’t leave this self-killing nature, even in retirement. You are aroused by the thought of blood being poured in the height of battle, which is not your purpose at all. You’ve been misled your whole life and the one time in your life that you could’ve gotten the support and guidance you need, you make it a joke. You say that I couldn’t beat Nas in his prime, but I did do that. Learn your history before you decide to spout out lies that a simple search could resolve. I beat that man decidedly too, in a similar situation where we will be at Game Over. My followers have kept up with Finnegan Wakefield, a former world champion. I am who they serve, so you can imagine that I am more qualified than them to win a world championship. You use such obscene language and hang me from a triangle, but I say go ahead. You can try everything you can to keep me down and believe you’ve won the battle, but I will show you that I’ve won the war. I will rise back up, no matter what you do; I’m already carrying your sins, so carrying your pain shouldn’t be much worse. I will defeat you and make you a believer, Cage; you will find your true purpose in my name. Believe it.

Jacob Senn, you finally showed up. I’m not sure where you’ve been, but it seems like you finally got your pills to function and decided to say something. More specifically, you finally opened your mouth about me and I was quite excited to read what you had to say about me, and to be honest, I wasn’t pleased. I’ve had an embarrassing career over the years? Excuse me? If I remember clearly, I’ve had one of the most eventful and historic careers in wrestling history. I am covered with midcard title gold, and I was robbed of the last two titles that I had. You think I’ve turned this company into a joke, but I have to rebuttal that and ask you what you left here when you lost the title back at the first Final Destination. You ALLOWED jokes like Gareth Cason and Bull Connors to hold the titles; two men who absolutely don’t deserve that honor and should be wiped from the history books immediately. They destroyed this roster and made the Omega Heavyweight Championship the b-tier belt to Kingdom’s OWA World Championship. OWA’s fans knew that the biggest champions were going to be on Kingdom and if you actually tried a bit Senn, people would take this show more seriously. I’m here to bring Olympus back to the forefront and make it my holy kingdom to rule over. The Kingdom brand will lose its prominence as the A-brand and you know what we will become once I’m world champion? The S brand. A tier that no show has ever gone after because they lacked the Messiah’s vision for the greater good. I’m here to make our world a better place because you helped ruin this brand Senn. You allowed the Moore Dynasty to take over while you were driving away on your pickup truck. You farmed and tended to your cattle as Tarah became the GM and Gareth and Bull haunted the title scene. You ate your bland corn and cheese as Derelict arrived and left in this brand to the chaos we see today. Are you truly proud of yourself Senn? You didn’t clean anything, you just left the house dirty and came back when finally felt like it. I’ve been here in your absence, working my way up the card and making the best of the situation we have now. I’m the main man coming for Derelict, not anyone else in this match. You can mock me all you want, but the truth is that I am what Olympus needs, it’s not you. We’ve been fine without you and will begin to thrive without your presence. 

Finally, we’ve arrived at the world champion once again, Mr. Derelict. How are you doing? How are you feeling knowing that some actual competition stepped up against you this week? Hasn’t that been one of your complaints, that you want to fight worthy opponents? I’ve come your way and you are the culmination of everything that disappoints me on Olympus. You have not taken me seriously at all, whether it be two weeks ago or during the build-up to our match at Game Over. You really don’t believe I can do it right? Do you not know my history during the times where the non-believers put off my existence and move on to the other elites? I shine in these circumstances and deep down, I believe you know all of this, but ignore the facts for your own narrative of destruction. You try to destroy my self-confidence, but I tell you this; nothing you can say will break me down. You are but a tool of the devil himself to keep me away from the world title, but the devil himself will bow down to me. He tries to take all my happiness away by filling your soul with doubts about my abilities, but he is fighting a losing battle. Your presence doesn’t scare me, Derelict. I don’t care about what you have to say about me anymore. You’ve tooted your “I don’t care” horn too many times for me to count and all I can say to that is that you are a man who needs to see the truth happen right in front of you. My word says that you must believe with your faith, but it seems like the lack of your moral compass is leading you towards the mistakes others have made about me in the past. I did recruit men who were incredibly talented, but you forgot to mention the fact that people like you overlooked them. Throughout the week a lot of our opponents have referred to them as the bottom of the barrel, weak, and sheep. You say that you wished these men could be in the Thunderdome with you, but the culture you perpetuate says otherwise. I’m sick and tired of this elitism agenda holding down young, hungry, and incredibly talented men like the members of The Awakening. They aren’t any of those things. Under my wing, they’ve all received huge opportunities to cement their names in the history books. A few weeks ago, nobody would’ve imagined Eon Blue and Noah Quinn to keep up with the likes of Finnegan Wakefield. A few weeks ago, everyone said that these two men weren’t good enough. But, when they fell in my hands, I made them into bonafide stars; they are the talk of the town now. If they fail against Finnegan, I will take responsibility for their loss as I did not provide enough prayers for one of them to vanquish such a foe. I take accountability for my losses; that’s why I’m here now. I used to be one of those types of people to brush off my losses and pretend that they never happened. However, now I’m someone who embraces failure and uses it to reflect. My failure against Stark at Boiling Point was a turning point for me because it led me to this world title match we are in now. You say I don’t take responsibility, but I must tell you that once again, you’re wrong. You’ve been wrong about me this whole time and even if you don’t believe that, I don’t care. The truth is obvious for anyone who opens their eyes; your desperation in shutting down my cause is sad. You think that downplaying this truth won’t blow up in your face, but right now that bomb is ticking. Every day you wake up, you’re holding onto that title as firmly as you can, understanding that you will lose this weekend. I will use every opportunity and person I can throughout this weekend to ensure my victory. However, Eon and Noah won’t be the ones defeating you; it’ll be me. I’ll be the one standing tall on my own, showing that my truths shouldn’t be doubted. I’m not even thinking about my match with Nas at this point because Nas is going to lose. Everyone here wants him to win, but I want this world to be holy and I can’t get that. This process has only taken a month and now I’m at the top of the world, competing with the likes of you. Imagine how powerful I will be by the end of this year. Every day, I see more and more people telling me that they’re willing to join my cause because the elites have let them down. They’ve promised them the world and happiness, just like every other competitor here, but guess what? It all turned out to be a bunch of fibs so these elites can keep their power unchecked. I’m here to check every single one of you. I don’t care if your name is Keelan, Darkane, Nate, Nas, Jacob, or you Derelict. All these names are the same to me; they’re all challenges that are preventing me from sitting on my throne. I tell you this: Nobody can hold me down. In victory and in defeat, I’ve shown that I can keep up with the best that this company can offer. I’ve become tired of the same, broken system you all pretend should be fixed. I’m here and I’ve shown my results in such a short span, but nobody wants to believe me. Paradise hasn’t been lost, ladies and gentlemen. Soon the truth will shine through like the sun, warming up the hearts of those who’ve lost their ways. Once again this brand will be like the Garden of Eden; it’ll be MY- no, OUR paradise.

After this week, I shouldn’t be hearing much more criticism. I delivered the best efforts of my career and everyone else has been trying to catch up. Nas won’t be defeating me and the Thunderdome will be a battlefield. However, I know who’s by my side and I will make blood turn into gold. Once Game Over ends, there will be no doubt in who is the king of this brand. It’ll be me. 

The end is here.