LPW pﾘromania 21.2 Voting and Promo Thread

[Tromboner Man]

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The weather gets cooler as LPW rolls into the TD Garden in Boston. With Christmas coming, one LPW Superstar can’t contain his excitement. LPW International Heavyweight Champion, and Martinez Cup winner Tromboner Man bursts through the competitor’s entrance to the arena, dressed in a full fledged Santa Clause outfit.

Tromboner Man: Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way!!!

The ruckas he makes from the singing of Christmas Carols draws a lot of attention, with many people stopping to look at the top champion dancing and singing like a fool. Only one person is game enough to come and stop him however. The number one contender to the International Heavyweight Championship Eddie B walks up to him, and rips off his Santa beard.

Tromboner Man: Jin…HEY!!!

Eddie: It’s not Christmas time yet.

Tromboner Man: But it’s close enough to… besides, TBM just found out he’s going to be spending his first Christmas in the USA. He gets a White Christmas, and a Black Obama!!

Eddie: You do realise you’ve got to defend that championship against X tonight, don’t you?

Tromboner Man: But of course. That’s something huge, TBM couldn’t forget that. Beside, TBM knows X is angry because he asked someone to feed his cat, and it didn’t get done.

Eddie: X is angry all th… wait, X has a cat?

Tromboner Man: Yes, it was an early Christmas gift from TBM, he had it delivered yesterday. TBM named him “Lrrr”… after Lrrr from Omecron Perciai 8.

Eddie: Can you get your head in the game? This is the most important match of my career, and I’ve got no power over what happens. I can only sit back and watch and HOPE that you’re doing enough to make sure the best champion faces me. If X wins because you’re not paying attention…

Tromboner Man: Hey hey hey, WOAH!! Stop.

Eddie: No, listen.

Tromboner Man: No, you listen. TBM doesn’t come to you and tell you to stop being broody and moody before a title match. Why? Because TBM knows that works for you. So how about you give TBM a bit of respect here.

Eddie: I’m giving you a ton of respect Ben. I just want to make sure you’re ready.

Tromboner Man: Of course TBM is BLEEPING ready. Have you never seen TBM prepare for a big match? TBM stresses out if he thinks about things too much, so if he distracts himself, he’s all good. But no, you’re Eddie B, and everybody needs to be just like you in preparation.

Eddie: I never said that.

Tromboner Man: You might have implied it.

Eddie: No, I’m challenging the International Heavyweight Champion at One Way Ticket. When I beat them, I don’t want anybody saying I didn’t beat the best.

Tromboner Man: So shut up, and let TBM guarantee that.

TBM snatches back his Santa beard, and storms off, leaving a frustrated and powerless Eddie B standing there, as the rest of the onlookers return to what they were doing.


LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen [vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

PLUS – MORE FROM DAMION KROSS, CYNICAL AND CHRISTIAN G. SMITTEN, WE LEARN MORE ABOUT OUT NEW ROOKIE SENSATIONS, AND MUCH, MUCH MORE!!!

Promo only until 11:59PM Friday November 16th EST, Promo and Voting until 11:59PM Sunday November 18th EST, Voting only until 11:59PM Monday November 19th EST

[MachoMourn]

To Whom May Be In Charge.

The constant beeps keep ambiance of the room from going quiet. The room is a modest one, meant for those staying a time overcoming injuries. As the nurse looks over the chart for one last time, she heads to the bed and checks the patient one last time.

Nurse: Looks like you’ll be getting out of here before next weekend.

She tucks the resident into the bed. Then, after being asked to do so, she turns out the light and heads to leave through door.

Nurse: Visiting hours are through for the day.

Mourn: Here. I need some time with him.

The nurse looks over the wad of money in her hand with a gleam in her eyes counting every hundred one at a time until it reaches to ten. Once done, she folds up the bills and places them in her bra and returns the man’s words with a nod.

Nurse: I need a break anyways.

Mourn and Allana enter the room. Allana takes her perch by the door. Mourn walks over to bedside and slides the room’s lounge chair to face the bed and he sits facing the man. He leans over and turns on the bedside lamp. The man in the bed awakes and gasps at the sight of the two looking at him. Mourn places a newspaper on the side table and stares at the eyes looking at him from the bed.

Mourn: I bet you wonder what brings me here. Before you speak, I believe I should give you an apology for not showing up sooner. I have been attending to business and I thought that you would want a visitor to bring you good tidings.

Mourn motions to Allana and she walks over and sits on the arm of the chair next to him. Her dark outfit glistens in the lighting like the three of them are at a campfire about to tell a story.

Mourn: I think you should know what has been going on since the last time we saw each other so sit back and listen while I spin you a tale from the land of the rising sun.



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The fancy car speeds along the road in an urgent flair. The driver says to his passengers that they will be to their destination sooner.

Mourn: Just remember Allana, they will not allow you into the meeting until I call for you.

Allana: As was discussed prior to the flight.

Driver: We are here.

Mourn exits the car with Allana. Mourn, dressed in his usual suit, pulls out a pair of gloves out of his pocket. . Allana in her traditional garb. The interior a lavished 19th century Japanese home with thicker walls and manned security. The guards check Mourn and Allana for weapons. One gets a shocked look on his face as Allana pulls out a scabbarded Katana from her garb.

Allana: It is a gift for his father. I’ll wait down here for the end of the meeting. Maybe I can show you all some of my techniques while he is up there.

This brings a small chuckle from the guards within listening distance and allows Mourn to to get escorted alone up the stairs to a long corridor. He looks around and surveys the area for a moment and nods before walking to the door. Two guards on the outside open the doors revealing an oval table with seven men, all elder Japanese, looking towards Mourn.

Hishitogi: *smiling widely* Please take a seat. Drink?

Mourn: No thanks.



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Mourn: Now, I will not get into exactly what was said. It was all in Japanese and to be truthful, it would force me to have to exterminate you for knowing what is said within the doors during official Yakuza gatherings.

The man at the bed gets restless and looks around nervously.

Man: I am wondering why you are telling me this?

Mourn: Now Scruffy, I told you to be quiet during the story. You be a good man and please don’t interrupt me. Allana is a master Ninpō Kunoichi and it would not be hard to render you unconscious using just a bedpan or strangle you with your own bed sheet.

Scruffy: You bring any snacks?

Allana chuckles and pulls out a box of Mike and Ike’s and tosses him the candy.

Allana: Now, SHUT UP!

Scruffy makes a zipper motion with his hands and sits up listening like a 5 year old.

Mourn: *slightly smirks* Now a few minutes into my waiting…



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A noise is heard outside the doors of the conference room. This makes one of the elder men ask out if everything is okay. The door opens slightly and a Japanese Man is heard saying that all is well in the native language. The door is then shut to resume the meeting.

Mourn takes a moment to smile widely and stand up which takes everyone off guard.

Mourn: Now, in the language of the country I call home I have to inquire to you all on one thing…

He pulls out a cell phone and opens it. He looks at something and chuckles for a moment. He then shakes his face and looks back at the elders.

Mourn: Now assuming that there are procedures in effect and that I will not be offered as the successor to my *cringes* father’s seat in this room when he passes; what possesses me to stay as a good soldier and send you all a syphon of my money from America when that day materializes?

The men in the room look around at one another. Obviously insulted by his tone one of the men go to speak. Mourn raises a hand to interrupt the man, possibly the youngest in the room outside of Mourn, but this doesn’t refuse him to start to speak in Japanese.

Mourn: OBVIOUSLY… oblviously you have no knowledge what I am about. So permit me to let you in on a little secret.

Mourn closes the phone angrily.

Hishitogi: Mourn, I was going to call you but my phone wasn’t on me. We had to call from Mr Tsagi’s. The man you insulted just now. He is the one that will be with you working to bring our families into higher prosperity in the years to follow. We are indeed impressed in you. I have no idea what you are angry for. There is no need for this hostility. You are indeed the upcoming heir to my seat but this kind of response will not be tolerated by you.

Mourn: *smiles* Perhaps you should call your phone then.

Confused, Hishitogi looks amongst the men in the room. Tsagi hands him his phone.

Tsagi: What you trying to show here?

Mourn answers with a wicked grin. Hishitogi stares at Mourn unnerved, takes the phone that is given him, hits send and places it up to his ear. A phone ring is heard outside the door. This causes the room to murmur as it rings a second time.

The third ring is interrupted mid ring.

Hishitogi: Moshi moshi?

The door opens.

Allana: Konnichiwa!

Allana walks through with a bloody Katana and a phone up to her ear. She smiles widely at the stunned men as she opens the door wide to show a blood bath outside the doors as the two men who were guarding the door both with themselves hunched over on the floor. She looks back outside then over to Mourn.

Allana: I am sorry sir as it seems that I have made a little mess.

The men start to stand up. Mourn jumps up on the table pulling out a handgun.

Mourn: I SUGGEST YOU ALL SIT THE FUCK DOWN!

The stunned men sit down slowly looking at horror to the man standing above them.

Mourn: KEEP YOUR HANDS ABOVE THETABLE! The first of you to make a move Allana and I do not like will end up dead.

Mourn tosses the gun to Allana who smiles widely. She takes out a silencer and applies it to her new toy. She then brandishes the weapon steadily towards Tsogi.

Mourn: Do you all recall a Hispanic man back twenty years ago? He was about six feet, five inches? He had the body of a god and the power over a neighborhood in Portland, Oregon? Remember the name Jesus Despana? Remember when he married a woman by the name of Shone Tasigawa. REMEMBER THE BLOOD YOU SHED ON THEM WHEN HE WOULDN’T DIVORSE HER? Remember how he had a son? I have anticipated the time I would extract my retribution.

Mourn wipes his head with a napkin from his pocket. He then steps down from the table and strolls slowly to the door.

Mourn: But as the respectable gentleman that I am, I personally chose to take the honorable route and not hire someone to do the deed while I drank Sake at a bar with my comrades. I now have the opportunity…

Tsagi: Do this, you are a dead…

Allana fires a lone gunshot and hits him square in the forehead splattering the contents of his skull over the wall behind the group. This causes the room to stir.

Mourn: SHUT THE FUCK UP! You are not making this easy on you all.

He then gives a look at Allana before stepping behind the woman.

Hishitogi: Mourn…

Allana: MARRY ME OFF?

Allana starts shooting the semi-automatic handgun mowing down the men in the room. All, but Hishitogi. He sits there stunned watching his friends die appallingly. One tries to run but Allana pulls out the katana an slices his head in half crumpling the body to the floor. She continues to fire until the clip is empty and in the end takes the time to slice the throat of every man that she shot in the throat for good measure.

The sound of blood dripping stains the silence in the room as Hishitogi stumbles to his feet from his chair.

Hishitogi: You are a dead man Mourn.

Mourn: Au contraire, you are my *cringes* father.

Allana checks the room meticulously. She then hugs Hisitogi soaking him with the blood on her outfit before violently pulling the man out of the room in front of Mourn.

Mourn: I was at a drinking party at a local establishment with some of the guys from here. Allana and I went to the bathroom together to *makes quotes* get it on and that was before we left to here. So you see, I have an alibi. Also, I have worn gloves since I entered here.

Mourn motions to Allana.

Mourn: She swiftly snatched that Katana and gun from your house last night while you and I drank Sake in your study. It’s linked to you. I also had her pinch your cell from the table and once you called me, I had a text sent to me from that phone stating that they are not going to offer you your seat.

Mourn opens a closet door.

Mourn: Then once inside the bathroom, we left through the window to an arranged car. The driver, of no consequence, will be paid heavily and not mention where he was for 35 minutes. On the way here, Allana hacked into your bank account and sent your personal savings…

Allana: Some $500 million American…

Mourn: To my off shore account. When traced, it will show you planed this as vengeance for not giving your seat to your only heir and wanted to make sure I was taken care of before you did your deed. Once here, Allana took out the guards below and then ones up here.

Allana speaks like the Japanese man repeats what was said outside the door before she came in mimicking the tone in perfect inflection.

Mourn: Now, you will have two selections. Take the fall for this offense and get slayed in prison. Or…

Allana shoves Hishitogi into the closet and hands him the empty gun and Katana.

Mourn: Kill yourself and the authorities call it a mass murder followed by a suicide. You see, our hands never touched either of the tools of the event.

Hishitogi: But Allana, she stands out. There is no way you can wash your hands of that blood on her.

Mourn: Correct. Excluding a lone fact…

Allana takes off the garb revealing a shapely woman of partial Arab decent with dyed light blond hair in a bright red woman’s business skirt. Her blue eyes shine at Hishitogi. Then she takes out a plastic bag and places her garment inside.

Allana: They will never find me in that outfit.

Mourn grabs the door and smiles.

Mourn: See you in hell father. You are as guilty as the rest of them. At least you know for sure… *slams the door shut* You will never bury the man you raised.



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Allana and Mourn share a glance before she smirks.

Allana: Too bad sir, you do not get to see what I look like underneath this traditional garb Scruffy. That would make your day. Don’t you agree Mourn?

Mourn: *looking up to Allana* Undeniably. Though, I believe Scruffy needs his rest. *looking back to the janitor.* Any questions?

Scruffy: Yes. Why are you telling me this?

Mourn: Because there are those who do not believe that I cannot orchestrate something like that; ones that should learn about what to fear. But now, the tale has been spun for you. You knew what I was capable of in the first place. And besides, you ramble off to authorities about me being involved, you’ll end up dead. And we both do not want that.

Mourn pulls out a rubber band bound stack of money from his suit and places it on the night stand. He then stands from the chair and Allana slides it back into place. She returns to the door and he takes a knee in front of the Janitor.

Mourn: There’s $20k. That money combined with the money you are collecting from my harming you in the ring and not being able to work will make you the wealthiest janitor I have ever known.

Mourn pulls up the newspaper and shows him the headline of the massacre and points out how the man who looks like he committed it ended his own life before the authorities showed up.

Mourn: Now, you will do a few things for me. When I show up, you will make sure any drinks Allana and I are in need of show up in a prompt manor. I will text you in time to acquire them if they are in short demand or rare to obtain. We will tip you nicely if you do a good job so make sure that ours is the first room checked for anything that requires to be changed. I will be chartering my own dressing room. That has been part of my agreement. Pyromania pays me less, but Allana can keep from others seeing her body out of respect. At least until she wants to show otherwise.

Allana: Well Mourn, all you have to do is ask and I’ll show…

Mourn raises his hand and beams at her playfully. He then goes back to intense in a flash and snaps his head back to looking squarely into Scruffy’s eyes.

Mourn: You will not be cleared to return to work before the next show so use it to buy a big screen TV and invite your neighbors over for the next show. When I get into the ring with that masked, roided up Bill Lumbergh; you will understand that I am not one who hides behind others, but, I am capable of recognizing what others may be able to do to help me out of a bind. This will not be pretty but it will be a fight I will succeed at.

Mourn stands and takes off his gloves.

Mourn: You will see the fact that I am not a man who is a simple blowhard. I do not just speak words. I make declarations that are not only true but should be recognized as law. I am not a man who is average. If I was a chess piece, I would be the Knight. I do not think in straight lines just like everyone else does. I go about my life as if I can drive through whatever barrier that is placed in front of me. I am a rare breed.

Mourn hands Allana the gloves.

Mourn: A simple peasant that worked at a cubicle cannot equal to me and I will do whatever it is that will be necessary to show this. My opponent attempts to mocks me. He declares Allana as not worth his time? He has no idea what he is in for.

Allana sneers.

Allana: He is my master, and my friend. You do not insult his friends.

Mourn: I look at individuals like him and laugh. No one cares who his family is. And when I am finished with him they will be the only ones that will be able to identify him. He will need to bring all that he has to compete with me and I will in turn show him no sympathy. You see, my *cringes* father breathed his last breath to make sure his reputation continues. But I am a Despana and the day I pass from this realm, I know where I am bound to. Hell awaits and soon it will come to this world again; in prophecies and in LPW. If I was to die tomorrow, I will return to this world one way…

Allana: Or another. You see. We are the rare breed. Rare in the way we were chosen from birth to be so different from the norm that we must excel at whatever we decide to do. Rare in the way we can go about changing things for the better.

Mourn: Rarity breeds excellence. Mixed at birth, pure in life, we are not only different, but an evolution. This country will see more and more like us as the races mix more and more but even then we still will be more than the totality of our parts. And in LPW, we will use Joe Citizen as an example. An example of what happens to those who cross me.

Mourn motions to Allana and she opens the door for him.

Mourn: And when it’s all said and done, I will be the first to mourn his existence.

[sixxisking]

Sixx walks into a small deli, a perplexed look on his face.. He scans the tables until he finds who he is looking for. A pained look appears, but is gone as quickly as it arrived. He strides purposefully across the room and sits across from Caroline, whose eyes are red and wet as though she has been crying. He reaches for her hand as he begins to speak.

Sixx: What’s wrong?!

Caroline pulls her hand away and takes a deep breath. She seems to be steeling herself for what is to come. She stares into Sixx’s eyes, and hers begin to mist once again. She takes another deep breath, and a look of what can only be described as unflinching determination replaces the tears.

Caroline: I… I have to tell you something. Something I should have told you two years ago…

Sixx: Well…

Caroline: The baby… Do you know when his birthday is?

Sixx: No…

Caroline: It’s November 26...

Sixx: That’s only seven months after you left! Are you telling me that you were with John while we were still together?!

Caroline: No… I’m telling you that Aaron is your son!!!

Caroline begins to cry hysterically as Sixx stares on in stunned silence. He begins to reach out to comfort her, but stops himself short. He then looks as though he is about to speak, but again stops himself. He looks on for what feels like an eternity before he finally brings himself to ask the obvious question.

Sixx: Why didn’t you tell me?

Caroline: Tell you? How was I supposed to do that, Wayne? Carry my newborn child into whatever whore’s den you happened to be occupying that day? Besides that, I had already found John by the time I found out I was pregnant. Telling you before now would have risked the only chance that Aaron had for a normal life! John doesn’t know, and he won’t know. He loves Aaron, and is the father that you are not capable of being.

Sixx: How can you tell me I have a son, and then take him from me?

Caroline: I’m not taking him from you, I’m asking you to understand that the life we have now is the life he needs. If you truly love me, and you truly love your son, you will let us be. You will let him live a normal life. You won’t suck him into the hell that we lived before… You know I would come back to you if you asked, Wayne… I love you. I’m pleading with you for my sake, for Aaron’s sake, don’t ask. Do you really want your child around if you begin to see… him?

Sixx: …

With his silence being as much of a response as is needed, she begins to cry again and heads for the door. Sixx watches her for a moment before he tears his eyes away and begins to stare listlessly at the table in front of him.

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A spotlight comes on, showing three chairs sitting on a stage. Some cheesy talk show music comes on and Sixx King bursts onto the stage with a microphone and sits in the chair that is situated on it’s own to the left.

Sixx: Welcome everyone, to the first edition of Sixx Seconds of Fame!!!! For anyone unfamiliar with our format, which would be everyone, with this being the first edition and all, I will be interviewing important people from the pasts of my respective opponents.

Obviously piped in cheers ring throughout the studio as the camera pans over cardboard cutouts of people in the audience.

Sixx: For those of you watching at home, and the three people who actually bothered to show up at the studio (the camera cuts to three people in the front row wearing Sixx King t-shirts) I would like to introduce our first guest… Christian Parkes’ third grade teacher, Mr. William Markes!!!!

A short older man, wearing a tweed coat and bifocals, steps onto the stage. He waves to the crowd… When he notices that actual people are scarce, he hurries to his chair and sits down.

Sixx: Mr. Markes, it’s good to have you on the show. I must ask you, what was your first impression of Christian Parkes when he was in your class?

Mr. Markes: I knew from the moment that he stepped into my classroom that Christian was head and shoulders above the rest of the students… Of course this had a little to do with the fact that he was fourteen and everyone else in the class was nine.

Sixx: How was he as a student?

Mr. Markes: Well, if you set aside his struggles with reading, writing, math, getting along with other students, and respecting authority, he was a joy to teach.

Sixx: And his athletic achievements?

Mr. Markes: Christian always excelled in athletic competition. He was bigger, faster, and stronger than the other students. Be it basketball, baseball, football, or track, he was always the best… In fact, sports was how he finally made a friend. When it was noticed that he was so much better than everyone else, this little greasy fat kid with a bald spot and a ponytail started following him around everywhere. I think his name was Paul.

Sixx: So this Paul kid became his friend?

Mr. Markes: Oh yes. The two of them spent so much time together that some of the other students began to think that they were more than friends.

Sixx: Kind of like brothers?

Mr. Markes: More like… Um… Lovers…

Sixx: Lovers? What a bombshell! Are you implying that all of his gay bashing could stem from the fact that he is in fact a self hating closeted homosexual?

Mr. Markes: …

Sixx: Well it looks like Mr. Markes is at a loss for words at the moment, so why don’t we bring out our next guest. This man was at one time a mentor to Jeff Watson when he was getting his start in law enforcement. Please give a hearty Sixx Seconds of fame welcome to the world’s leading mall cop, Mr. Baul Plart!!!

Plart walks out to some more pre recorded cheers and takes the seat next to Mr. Markes.

Sixx: Mr. Plart, how should I address you? Mr. Plart? Officer Plart?

Plart: I’ve actually recently been promoted, Sixx, so you can call me Mall Chief Plart.

Sixx: Mall Chief Plart? Can I abbreviate that? It’s quite a mouthful.

Plart: Sure, why not?

Sixx: Alright M.C. Plart, as you know, we’re here to discuss your interactions with one Jeff Watson. Would you care to share the story of how the two of you met?

M.C. Plart: Well, Jeff came to visit me a while back because he wanted to get involved in law enforcement. He said he had heard of me, and that I was his hero. I was flattered by his remarks and decided to take him under my wing.

Sixx: Interesting… Well, how did his apprenticeship go?

M.C. Plart: There was a problem from the start…

Sixx: Which was?

M.C. Plart: He wouldn’t listen. Despite asking for my help, and claiming that he wanted to learn from me, he just did whatever the hell he wanted to… His first day on the job he beat a ninety four year old man half to death with his cane when he, in Jeff’s words, “refused to respect the badge”. By the end of the first week he had 173 formal written complaints for offenses ranging from sexual harassment to keying a customer’s car for calling him a rent-a-cop. To be blunt, it wasn’t going well.

Sixx: So how did it feel when Jeff finally turned the corner and started making progress?

M.C. Plart: Progress? He never made any progress. I had to fire him after the first week. He had more complaints than the entire mall security staff had in the previous six years in that week. After I fired him he started ranting and raving about being a “damn good” mall cop, and how I was just firing him because I was a bully and wanted him to give up on his law enforcement career. Then he pulled a gun on me and told me he would kill me if I didn’t “own up to my part in all this”. To this day, I have no idea what the fuck he was talking about. As the rest of the security guards were hauling him out, he began to scream something about killing me and hiding my body where it would never be found. Two days later I found a kitten’s head in the passenger seat of my car with a note that said “This isn’t over!” and it was signed by Watson.

Sixx: So, he never turned the corner?

M.C. Plart: Nope.

Sixx: No progress at all?

M.C. Plart: Nada.

Sixx: Well, this is awkward…

M.C. Plart: I could tell you the story of the shoplifter that I…

Sixx: That’s all the time we have this week, folks. Tune in next time for another episode of Sixx Seconds of Fame!!!

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???: It’s about time you showed up. I’m a busy man, and I have shit to do besides talk to you.

Sixx: Well, Mr. Vanderbilt, since you only gave me twenty minutes notice for this meeting, I would hope that me being three minutes late could be forgiven under the circumstances.

Nigel: It’s no matter now. Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?

Sixx: You want me to be your best man when you and Phantom Lordette get married?

Nigel: No! We’re not…

He notices the sly grin on Sixx’s face and realizes that he was joking.

Nigel: You really need to start taking things seriously. I don’t have time for your stupid fucking jokes!

Sixx: You really need to get laid, dude.

Nigel: I get laid all the… That’s not important! We need to get this meeting done so I can get to other business!

Sixx: Then you should really get to the point and stop fucking around.

Nigel: Stop fucking around! You’re the one… I have been trying to…

Nigel is so frustrated with Sixx’s nonchalance that he is having trouble finishing his sentence.

Sixx: I’m just fucking with you dude. I’m all ears. What’s on your mind?

Nigel takes a deep breath and looks at Sixx with irritation apparent in his features. Realizing that Sixx has indeed taken a serious posture, he continues.

Nigel: The network wanted me to meet with you to discuss your progress.

Sixx: Okay…

Nigel: Every week, you seem to take steps forward. We see potential greatness in you, Sixx.

Sixx: As you should.

Nigel: Quiet! I’m not finished… The stunt you pulled on Insanity by making that fuckwad Azreal face his precious Lacey was pure Gold…

Sixx: Speaking of Gold, I must point out that idea was Golden’s as much as it was mine…

Nigel: Of course, but Golden is not the man sitting across from me right now, is he?

Sixx: I guess not…

Nigel: Anyways, back to the matter at hand… You are vile, ruthless, heartless, and sadistic… All qualities that I admire… However, you still suffer from the same problem that you suffered from the last time we talked… Lack of focus.

Sixx: Ask my opponents how well I focus on the task at hand.

Nigel: The idiots you have faced to this point are of no concern to me. You could afford to be somewhat unfocused because your were better than them. Do you really think that you can go into a match with Azreal and Morpheus with anything less than 100% concentration and survive, let alone win?

Sixx: …

Nigel: Look, I am going to be candid with you… I hate those fuckers. I want you and your partner to succeed. I am in a position to help you, but not if you’re not helping yourself. Focus. Get the job done. Take those two pieces of shit out! You do that and I will make sure that the network is looking out for your best interests. Clear?

Sixx: Crystal.

Without another word, Nigel gets up and leaves the room. Sixx stares after him for a moment with a look of what is best described as determination on his face. He then cracks a small smile before propping his feet up on Nigel’s desk and apparently dozing off.

********************************************

Sixx is sitting in front of his locker when Golden walks into the room.

Golden: How goes it, fella?

Sixx: It goes…

Sixx is staring distractedly at something in his hand as he answers.

Golden: Getting yourself ready for our match, eh fella?

Sixx puts what he was looking at away when he realizes that it’s almost match time. Before he can get it out of sight however, the camera zooms in to show a picture of Caroline.

Sixx: Something like that.

Golden: Tonight, we make a statement.

Sixx: Of course…

Golden: Something seems a bit off… Are you alright?

Sixx: I’m fine… A lot on my mind.

Golden: Want to talk about it?

Sixx: It’s not the time or the place. We have business to attend to. Namely the destruction of Jeff Watson and Christian Parkes…

Golden: And what a fine sight it will be. Winning isn’t enough this time. We have to show those clowns from the Awakened that we are not to be taken lightly.

Sixx: Agreed… I don’t think making a statement will be an issue against these two, though.

Golden: What have I told you about taking our opponents lightly?

Sixx: I’m not taking them lightly, but I know I will be at my best… Do you know how long I’ve wanted to put a beating on Watson? Being ready is not an issue, I assure you.

Golden: Fair enough… I’m just a bit concerned with your focus…

Sixx: What is it with everyone questioning my focus?

Golden: Who else is questioning it?

Sixx: It’s not important now… What is important is that you and everyone else understand that I am focused on the task at hand, and that nothing will stand in our way of taking what should be ours. We will roll through The Douchebag Mafia tonight, and we will roll through anyone else that they decide to throw in our path.

Golden: I’m going to let this go for now, but I am concerned for you, Sixx… Not just as your partner, but as your friend.

Sixx: I appreciate that, Oscar, I really do, but your concern is misplaced. Everything will work out beautifully.

Golden takes his Pure Championship belt and throws it over his shoulder.

Golden: Right… I’m due to a photo shoot with my new belt. Care to come along?

Sixx: No thanks… I think I’ll just sit here for a while.

Golden: Whatever suits you then…

He begins to walk away, but then stops.

Golden: Sixx, whatever may be troubling you, I’m here to help.

Sixx: I know Oscar…

With that Golden leaves for his photo shoot. When the door closes, Sixx brings the picture of Caroline back out of his locker and begins to stare at it again. A tear forms in his right eye as the screen fades to black.

**********************************************

Time… It is my enemy. It is your enemy. While time itself is limitless, the time afforded to us is miniscule in comparison. There are only so may minutes in a hour and so many hours in a day and so many days in a month and so many months in a year and so many years in a lifetime. The limitless thing we call time is the most limiting thing in our lives. Even the greatest warriors lose the battle with time.

Faith… The basis of love. The basis of hate. A true man of faith knows no bounds to the love and adoration to what he is faithful to. That same man has no bounds to the depths he will sink to in order to protect that faith. Faith has caused outpourings of love, and faith has caused wars far greater than some could imagine. Faith is both a blessing and a curse.

I have no more time to waste, and the only faith I have left is in myself and my friends. That is quite unfortunate for anyone other than us. It has been said that there is no one ,ore dangerous than a man with nothing to lose… Well guess what? Pyromania is about to find that out first hand. Causing pain and wreaking havoc is all I have left.

Christian Parkes, you are a fool. I will not deny your talent, but you try to coast by on that alone. You have no drive. You have no heart. You’re led around by a slimy little sleaze ball that sees you as a meal ticket. Make no mistake… I have no issues with lying, cheating, and conniving… I have issues with a man allowing it to be done to him. You and I actually have a few things in common. We’re both arrogant and neither of us have a conscience. The difference? While you are complacent and expect others to bend to your whims, I am ruthless and force them to bend to mine. At one time, I was considering thinking of you as a friend… It was a rare error in judgement on my part. You are far to weak to walk the path we’re traveling…

Jeff Watson… I don’t even know where to start… What can I say that has not already been said? That you’re a loser? That you’re a failure not only as a wrestler, but as a federal agent and a man as well? I will give credit where it’s due… Most men would be broken by what you have gone through lately, but you are not… The fact that it’s because you’re too stupid to realize what the hell is going on is irrelevant… I have waited a long time to hurt you, Jeff. Every time you speak, it’s like someone is running their fingers down a chalkboard. I am looking forward to this more than any match in my career so far. I want to inflict pain on most people because I enjoy it. I want to inflict pain on you because I don’t like you, and you deserve it. Every bone that breaks will make me smile. Every drop of blood that is spilled will make me laugh. I’m going to hurt you, and I’m going to hurt you bad. There is no way around it. My advice? Embrace it because you sure as hell can’t change it.

I have been called a psychopath and a sociopath. There is even a… former friend… that claims to be able to see the good in me. These contradictions make me seem like a complex man. I’m not… That good that my old friend claims to see may have been there once, but not anymore. Any good that was ever in my heart left when she did. Am I a sociopath? Doubtful but possible. A psychopath? Who knows? Certainly not me. What I do know is that I like to hurt people. I enjoy inflicting pain. I thrive on the suffering of others. Does this make me a bad person? I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care. What I do know is that I am content with the person that I have become, and that is very bad for anyone stupid enough to stand in my way… So I have written, so it shall come to pass… Hail to the King, bitches.

[Golden]

I usually don't start like this. In fact most of the time it's saved to finish, to emphasise my point, to hit home hard and make sure everyone knows I mean what I've said. But today, this time around, I feel like I need to get something off my chest early doors...

Who am I? Your rookie of the year? The hotshot Irishman with a big mouth who you can pin your future on? Am I your Pure Champion? The man who will lift this title beyond the lamentable mediocrity that is all that this belt has known? Or am I your future World Tag Team Champion? The man, who with the help of his equally talented tag parnter will wrestle away the tag belts from people who neither won them, deserve them or treat them with the respect that they demand?

I am all of them and more.

Don't believe me? Want to stop me?...or maybe you just want to jump on for the ride? Then hop in as I drive you all to hell, where the walls are painted with blood and gold.

Your blood. My gold.

The scene opens as we see Golden walking down the busy streets of Boston, a home away from home for many an Irishman. The hustle and bustle of the street is barely drowning out the noise of Golden's rumbling stomach. A liquid diet last night coupled with a late rise this morning has resulted in an insatiable hunger. Golden picks up his pace as the deli where he and Sixx arranged to meet comes into shot.

Just as Golden approaches the entrance to the deli his phone goes off, causing him to reach into his pocket, and automatically he looks down to see who is calling him, all the while closing in on entering the building.


Tadgh!?

Before Golden has time to mentally digest any reasons why his brother might be calling him a woman rushes out of the deli door, bumping into him and causing him to drop his phone.

He clenches his jaw in frustration, ready to fire a verbal assault at the ignoramus who wasn't looking where they were going when he remembered it was he who was distracted. Usually that wouldn't stop him, but when his eyes met with that of the woman whom he clashed with the tension he was holding disappeared.


Attractive Stranger: I'm so sorry...I wa-

Golden: -Slow down, don't worry about it. It was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going.

Golden couldn't take his eyes off of hers, so wide and innocent. The fact that they were reddened and damp with tears intrigued him even more.

She bowed her head to hide her tears and sniffled awkwardly as he bent down to pick up his phone.

Golden: Are you OK?

He lifted her head lightly from under neath her chin, and gently wiped away a tear from her cheek. When their eyes met again he grinned and waved his phone in front of her.

Golden: See, not broken!

For the first time the attractive stranger broke a smile, but it quickly disappeared as a hand arrived on Golden's shoulder, pulling him back from her.

Aggressive Stranger: Is this the guy!? Is this the guy you've been out having dates with?

Attractive Stranger: I've not been having dates with anyone John! I just bumped into this guy coming through the door.

Golden furrows his brow and removes the man's hand from his shoulder before turning around to eyeball him properly. The man ignore's Golden's stares and directs all his focus toward the girl.

Aggressive Stranger: Come with me now. We will talk about this at home.

The man reaches over and snatches the girls hand, squeezing hard and pulling her toward him as they begin to walk off. After a few steps he turns around and points toward Golden.

Aggressive Stranger: If I ever see you again I'll make sure you regret it!

Golden grins at the attempts of intimidation from a man whose considerably smaller than him.

Golden: Yeah...good luck with that.

Golden watches the two walk off for a few seconds before his stomach rumbles once more. That momentary distraction took his mind off being hungry, but his body never forgot.

As he enters the deli he see's Sixx sitting alone in one of the booths, staring blankly in front of himself. He hops in opposite his tag partner and motions the waitress their direction.

Golden: You been waiting here long big man? Wouldn't believe the palava I've just went through! You ordered yet?....hello?

Sixx continues to sit, motionless, staring straight ahead as if oblivious to his friends arrival. The waitress comes over and Golden is quick to order.

Golden: Full Irish breakfast please, sweetcheeks.

Waitress: Sweetcheeks? I'm old enough to be your mother.

Golden: Really? I used to suckle at her breast....

Golden winks at her as his words tail off and the waitress erupts with a sharp burst of laughter, garnering attention from the surrounding tables before calming herself.

Waitress: Full Irish breakfast coming up.

Golden grins widely at her before looking over at the still stoic Sixx. He turns back to her and puts up two fingers. She nods, jots down the order and giggles to herself as she walks away.

Golden: Sixx...Sixx...SIXX!

As his shouts weren't bringing about a reaction Golden leans across the table and slaps his tag partner across the face. Sixx suddenly jolts back to life.

Sixx: What the fuck man!?

Golden grins and raises his hands to the roof.

Golden: He's alive!

Sixx: I've a lot on my mind...can we give this a miss?

Golden: I've just ordered you food!

Sixx: I'm not hungry. Oscar...I'll see you later bud.

As Sixx rises to leave Golden grabs his arm and pulls him back into his seat.

Golden: Sit down. Sit down, eat what I've ordered and talk to me.

Sixx: I've a lot going on in my head man, I just need a little space. We'll talk about it later, OK?

Golden: You know you've got my ear, right? Anytime, any place. I tend to make a habit of not prying into other people's business, but you've clearly got shit on your mind. As a friend, I'm hear to listen. As your tag partner and future World Tag Champion, sort out whatever the fuck's distracting you before it costs us a match.

Both men exchange a knowing nod as Sixx stands to leave once more, patting Golden on the shoulder as he moves past his friend and tag partner.

Golden inhales deeply in attempts to clear his head. The waitress arrives at the table with two full plates of breakfast. She sets down the first in front of a smiling Golden then has an unsure look upon her face as to what to do with the other. The uncertainty of what do to with it disappears as Golden reaches across and takes it off her, setting it down beside his first plate. With a mouth full of food he grins toothily at her which raises another loud giggle from her before she moves to serve the next table.

Golden's phone goes off in his pocket again and while he reaches down to take it out a reporter sits opposite him in the seat previously occupied by Sixx. He glances at his ringing phone before putting it back in his jacket and looking up questioningly at the report.


I don't have time for you Tadgh.

Golden:...what do you want?

The reporter, a slim, attractive blonde in her mid twenties, smiles at Golden's response.

Reporter: I want you baby.

Golden almost chokes on what he's eating, tilting his head and raising his brow.

Reporter: Of course you know I'm joking. In fact I've heard that Dynamo, Pope Fred and Christian Parkes may not be the only homosexual wrestlers in LPW. There have even been some questioning your own sexual preferences. Any comment to make on that?

Golden straightens up and laughs, reaching out to hold her hand and looking her dead in the eye he begins to talk.

Golden: Come to my hotel room tonight and I'll let you decide...take your sister too.

The reporters cheeks redden as she eases her hands out of Golden's grip. She opens her mouth as if to respond, but no words come out.

Golden: Cat got your tongue? Don't worry...I'll sort out that pussy for you.

The reporters gasps and her cheeks go from an embarrassed pink to a full blown red.

Golden: You're a reporter right? Make yourself useful and ask me a few questions. That little imp Larry has went on holiday. Think's he deserves it after I won the Pure Championship, so there's no episode of Golden Rule this week for me to use to ridicule my opponents. And I can't for the life of me find the phone number of my taxi driver either...anyway...fire away.

The reporter fans herself in attempts to cool down then reaches into her pocket where she pulls out a notebook.

Reporter: Are you confident that Sixx Karat Gold will beat the team of Christian Parkes and Jeff Watson?

Golden: Confident!? Stupid question. Try again.

Reporter: Um...what do you perceive as your opponents biggest weakness?

Golden: Shit, that's a long list to choose from. Well I could start with Parkes' enormous ego. You know, I didn't actually mind that guy but he got so damn big for his boots, believing he was better than he was, that a good beating might do him the world of good.

I mean the guys achieved nothing, zero...sweet F.A in this company, yet he walks around like he's the Heavyweight Champion.

Reporter: So you think playing on Parkes' ego might be key to victory?

Golden: You asked me what was their biggest weakness, not what's key to victory. And that was just one thing, one of many. I didn't even get started on Watson. The worst 'good guy' in the world. Seriously, this guys beyond a joke. His record is abysmal, his attitude stinks and he's as dumb as a stump.

Reporter: So what is it that will be key to you and Sixx winning another match?

Golden: What's key is that Sixx and I are that much better. We wrestle better, talk better and look better. We've won how many now, three, four in a row since we debuted Sixx Karat Gold? These two poor chumps are just more fodder. All roads are leading to the Tag Championships, these guys are just a couple of speed bumps, doing nothing more than slowing us down until we reach our destination.

Reporter: So will you be using this match as an opportunity to send a message to the current champions, Azreal and Morpheus?

Golden: First of all, they are not 'champions' in the true sense of the word. They did not win their title, so therefore they aren't legitimately the best tag team in the business. That accolade belongs to us, and it's only a matter of time before we've the titles to prove it. As for using this match to send a message? The only message that anyone will take from this is that once you step in the ring again us you're going to get the shit kicked out of you.

Golden winks at her as he bites down on his last piece of bacon. While the reporter is scribbling in her notebook he stands up and begins to leave before turning around and throwing keys her direction.

Golden: Room 436. Bring your sister.

The shot fades as Golden makes his way out of the deli while reporter buries her head in her notebook to hide from the bystanders glances.


Parkes, Watson...I don't envy you. It isn't your fault you were booked against us, that's just the way it's happened. Unfortunately for you that doesn't mean we go any easier. Shit, we'll probably go harder.

Parkes, you were the first pick I made for my Altered Reality team. The first and the most disappointing. You got made a fool of by Dick Dynamo...fucking Dynamo. Then brought an equally awful performance to my team, being a major part of the reason we lost. In essence, you cost me my AR moment.

Strike one.

Watson, from the day and hour Sixx signed his LPW contract you've made it your business to plain and simple piss him off.

Strike two.

Jeff, as well as routinely annoying Sixx you've also the pleasure of being one of the names on a list of wrestlers that I, for all intents and purposes, must completely dominate and destroy if I want to bring any sort of prestige back the LPW Pure Championship Title.

Strike three. You're out.

The march toward the Tag Titles is well and truly underway. Don't believe me? Want to stop me?...or maybe you just want to jump on for the ride? Then hop in as I drive you all to hell, where the walls are painted with blood and gold.

Your blood. My gold.

[Visagra]

We open our scene with a lovely shot of the Brown house. The house is still the ugliest one on the block with the house being an all brown house. It looks as if God took a shit and put a door on it. Inside the house, we see our heroes. Big B. Brown, sporting a new KoC shirt, is sitting down at his computer typing away. Brandon Brown, wearing a Faster Pussycat shirt, is pacing back and forth. Something seems to be on his mind.

Brandon: Big B, the narrator is making fun of our house again.

Big B: I really hope that isn't why you are pacing back and forth like a madman. It's bad enough you are wearing that Faster Pussycat shirt. I may be a black man who loves 80s hair metal, but even I draw the line at Faster Pussycat.

Brandon: I never turn down a free shirt.

Big B: So what's eating you?

Brandon: Nothing has happened in the last few months.

Big B: Plenty of things have happened. I joined a new group. Look here, I am even writing ideas on how I will get back on Insanity.

Brandon: No, that's not what I mean. Remember what happened in the season finale?

Big B: Of what? Pretty Little Liars? Do you still watch that?

Brandon: Oh shit, I need to catch up on that. That is not what I mean though. Remember what the Creator said on the season finale of The Brown Show?

Big B: No fucking clue!

Brandon: It has been awhile. We need a quick recap.

Previously on The Brown Show, the Browns finally found the Creator. The Creator was the one who created them. He told them of the First Being who created everything. Their arch enemy, Lord Bean, killed The Creator but was also killed. Before his death, the Creator told the Browns that the First Being was going to unleash the evilest people ever known to man into the real world to stop the Browns from finding him. Will the Browns encounter this new evil? Find out today on the season premiere of The Brown Show!

http://i246.photobucket.com/albums/gg104/lopbigvis/TheBrownShowSeason2.png

Big B: I see our budget is as high as ever.

Brandon: It is a work in progress. My point is that we haven't seen any of these evils yet. I mean we had time to film a pilot for a whole other show. Nothing has happened. Where are my bad guys?

Big B: Perhaps the Creator was wrong. He could have been pulling a prank on us, or maybe the First Being doesn't really want us dead. It's not like we have actually been trying to find him or anything.

Brandon: Actually, I have been searching for him the last few months.

Big B: Do you have a problem living a normal life? Things are going good for us right now and you want us to get into deep shit with more people who can fuck with our lives?

Brandon: Don't you want the answers to all of life's big questions?

Big B: No, I just want to beat Ryan James and become number one contender to the Western States Heritage Championship. That is what I want to do.

Brandon: You have such small goals. I tend to look at the bigger picture. You will thank me one day for helping you see what all is in the world.

Big B: I'm sure the five fans of this show out there still wonder why I haven't killed you or ditched you yet.

Brandon: I can answer that. You keep signing the contract to stay on the show which forbids leaving or killing me.

Big B: I don't recall ever doing that.

Brandon: It was when you had that fat removed a couple years back. I mixed that paper in with all those other doctor papers you had to sign.

Big B: I must admit you are a crafty son of a bitch.

Brandon: Back on topic, I bet the evil guys that the First Being brought into this world are planning an attack right now. That is the only explanation I can think of that would make sense. They will strike when we least expect it.

Big B: Only evil I worry about right now is Ryan James. You can take your silly conspiracy elsewhere.

Brandon: Hey, you should get your KoC guys to help us. I'm sure that monkey could take down any evil being.

Big B: I'm sure they would enjoy that actually. You would have to offer McDaygo something to drink probably.

Brandon: Problem is getting him to appear on this show is costly. Same with all of your stable members. Damn. We could have surely taken down all that evil with their help.

Big B: History does show a strength in numbers.

Brandon: Is that your plan to defeat Ryan James? Use that stable advantage to steal a win like last time?

Big B: I didn't plan that to happen. I can win without any help.

Brandon: History shows a little help goes a long way.

Big B: Fair point. I think I will let my brute strength do the talking against Mr. James. He is a tough competitor, but there is no matching my power in the ring.

Brandon: Well, history does show your big powerful strength works wonders. Is your winning percentage close to .500 yet?

Big B: Using history against the history major is evil.

Brandon: You are correct. We do have evil to stop. Let me turn on the television to see if any evil is around.

Big B: That's not quite what I meant.

Brandon turns on the television. The Price is Right is on.

Brandon: Sweet. This is my favorite game show after Press Your Luck. Let's watch.

Big B: How is watching The Price is Right going to help you find any evil?

Brandon: Fine. If the next game isn't Plinko, I will change the channel.

Drew Carey on the TV introduces the next game and it is the Dice Game.

Brandon: Fuck, that's not Plinko. I better change the channel.

Brandon starts channel surfing. Flashes of different shows are on the television screen.

Brandon: We got Bob Ross, college basketball, CSI, NCIS, Spongebob, a really crappy episode of The Brown Show, Star Trek: The Next Generation...

Big B: Maybe you should just put in on the news?

Brandon: The news?! Nothing ever fucking happens on the news. Okay, I will put it on the news.

Brandon changes the channel to CNN.

Newscaster on TV: Barack Obama is going to be in Chicago today for a charity basketball tournament. Perhaps the President will get to show off his skills on the court that we have seen many times over the years.

Brandon: I told you nothing ever happens on the news.

Big B: Looks like you are right about that. Do you want to go to Chicago though to watch Obama play some hoops?

Brandon: Well....

Newscaster on TV: BREAKING NEWS!!!! It appears in Washington D.C. that Hitler and the Nazi Army is trying to invade the White House.

Big B: Holy shit!!!

Brandon: You are a fucking genius, Big B. Hitler is the first evil we must stop. We have to get to the White House right now .

Big B: Here we go again.

************************************************** **********************

The Browns are in the new underground garage area where they keep all their cool vehicles. Many vehicles can be seen inside the place like the DeLorean, many different Batmobiles, the Lex Express, and the Turtle Van.

Big B: What are we taking this time?

Brandon: Only one choice can be made here.....The Bat!

Brandon presses a button on the wall and The Bat, a flying machine from The Dark Knight Rises, rises from an opening in the ground.

Big B: How did you get one of these already? Better question is how do you have one that works?

Brandon: We are rich people, Big B. We have no limits on what we can do. I bet Ryan James doesn't have one.

Big B: Ryan James lives a more normal life than us.

Brandon: Poor Ryan. He should meet this dude named Aesc the Dark. He was a fun guy.

Big B: Oh yeah, I remember him.

Brandon: No time to look back on things, Big B. Nazis are trying to invade the White House. We must get going.

Big B and Brandon jump in The Bat. The roof opens in their garage and The Bat starts to fly up.

Big B: Does the autopilot work?

Brandon: We'll leave that one up to the audience.

************************************************** **********************

At the White House, the Nazis are firing their weapons. They have tanks and other assault vehicles shooting all over. Hitler is yelling commands. The United States military is there trying to stop them. While shots are being fired everywhere, The Bat comes in from the sky. The Bat starts shooting at the Nazi tanks and blows a few up. Being a great leader, Hitler grabs a bazooka and shoots down The Bat. The Bat crash lands right in front of Hitler and his Nazi army. Brandon and Big B exit The Bat.

Brandon: Ouch. I guess I still need to work out the kinks in that thing.

Big B: Jesus Christ! You could have gotten us killed.

Brandon: There is a big group of Nazis standing in front of us so that is still a possibility.

Big B: Oh yeah. I forgot about that.

Hitler starts speaking German at them.

Brandon: Big B, do you know how to speak German?

Big B: No, I took French as my foreign language requirement.

Brandon: Time to bust out the universal translator.

Brandon pulls the universal translator out of his pocket and turns it on.

Hitler: YOU TWO AMERICANS! GET OUT OF MY WAY! I MUST STOP THE WHITE HOUSE FROM SAVING THE JEWS!!!!! ALL JEWS MUST DIE!

Big B: Dude really hates the Jews.

Brandon: I don't think we can reason with him.

Big B: Me neither.

Hitler: OUT OF MY WAY!

Hitler walks past the Browns on the way to the White House. His army marches right behind him.

Brandon: I'm surprised they didn't shoot us or anything.

Big B: Looks like they are too focuses on the US military to worry about us.

Brandon: That makes no sense.

Big B: I know. They must be determined to take the White House and kill Jews.

Brandon: What shall we do then?

Big B: Let's take some Nazi uniforms from the dead ones to infiltrate their groups.

Brandon: Now we're talking.

************************************************** **********************

Big B and Brandon are now wearing Nazi uniforms. They are following Hitler's men in their attempt to get into the White House.

Big B: I just realized how dangerous this is. The US military is trying to shoot us. Not to mention that I'm a black man wearing a Nazi outfit. That makes no sense.

Brandon: They haven't noticed yet.

Hitler hears them and turns around.

Hitler: Why is there black man in Hitler's Nazi Army? Wait, I recognize you. YOU TWO ARE THOSE AMERICANS! NAZIS, FIRE AT THEM!!!!

Brandon and Big B start running their asses off to avoid being shot.

Big B: You and your big mouth!

Brandon: Not my fault that you are black!

The two manage to avoid all the gunfire. They are able to hide behind a building to recover. Meanwhile, many Nazis and Americans are being shot or blown up.

Brandon: Listen to all that destruction. It's crazy. We can't let Hitler take the White House.

Big B: I know. I have an idea actually. Do you think we can get The Bat working again?

Brandon: It should be able to fly again. It just overloaded a bit last time.

Big B: Good we have to set the thing on self destruct and send it right into the Nazis.

Brandon: I refuse to let you blow up my super cool flying machine.

Big B: It's our only shot. So does the autopilot work or not?

Brandon: Well, of course it doesn't work. Yep, this plan is ruined.

Big B: Good. It does work.

Brandon: Damn it.

Big B: Let's save the world from Nazis.

Brandon: You are speaking my language now.

Brandon and Big B make a run to The Bat. Some heavy gunfire is shot around them, but nobody has any aim to actually hit them. The two make it to the machine.

Brandon: Are you sure there isn't an alternative?

Big B: No, blow the fucking thing into the Nazis!

Brandon: Fine!

Brandon turns on the autopilot. The Bat starts to fly up into the air. It then takes a sharp dive right into the Nazis and explodes. The explosion obliterates all the Nazis on impact.

Big B: Holy fuck, I didn't expect it to kill them all that easily.

Brandon: I told you that I put a lot of work into that thing. Those Nazis didn't stand a chance. Let's go over there and admire the wreckage.

Big B and Brandon walk over to the big burning pile of Nazi ashes. A small crater is now present. The US military is jumping around because they have saved the White House.

Brandon: You would think they actually did something with how happy they are. We did all the work.

Big B: They waged a good war, Brandon. They deserve their moment in the spotlight.

Brandon: So many dead Nazis. So how many evil beings do we have left to kill? 12?

From underneath the rubble, Hitler rises to look into the eyes of the Browns.

Big B: Of all the guys to survive, it had to be Hitler.

Hitler: THAT'S IT! YOU TWO ARE DEAD! THE NAZIS WILL RISE AGAIN! THE THIRD REICH WILL REIGN SUPREME!

Big B: Why can't you just kill yourself like last time?

Hitler: I have a special power this time. I CAN TAKE THE SOULS OF ALL DEAD NAZIS. Killing them was actually something I wanted. NOW I WILL BECOME ALL POWERFUL!!!!

Brandon: History is full of surprises, Big B.

Hitler raises his arms into the air. The sky darkens as thousands of souls transfer their way into his body. Hitler starts to grow to the size of a tall building.

Big B: I'm out of ideas. You got anything, Brandon?

Brandon: It just so happens that all my Power Ranger Megazords are in the shop being repaired.

Big B: Fuck. Wait, you have those?

Brandon: Of course I do.

Super Hitler: HUMANS! JEWS! NOTHING CAN STOP SUPER HITLER!!!!

Brandon: I see only one option.

Big B: What's that?

Brandon: We run.

Big B: Super Hitler is going to destroy the world and you want to run. He is a giant and he is goosestepping. The White House needs us.

Brandon: I'm sorry. There is nothing we can do. We are dead. We....wait.....the White House....that's it! Come with me.

Big B and Brandon run into the White House. Security is not present at the moment since the military is shooting at Super Hitler. The two men advance to the Oval Office. Brandon runs to the desk of President Obama.

Brandon: This is it, Big B. Our ticket to defeating Super Hitler once and for all.

Big B: You are going to nuke him?

Brandon: No, I have a better idea.

Brandon pulls something out from under the desk.

Brandon: I noticed this button the last time we were here. I did some research on it and figured out exactly what it was.

Big B: Well, what does it do?

Brandon: Here goes nothing!

Brandon presses the button. The entire White House starts to shake. We go to a shot of the outside. The White House rises into the air. Arms and legs start to shoot out of it. From the top, a head appears as the White House grows in size to match Super Hitler. The Oval Office has transformed into a cockpit for the White House Megazord.

Big B: Son of a bitch. The rumor was true.

Brandon: There was an actual rumor to this? I was unaware of that.

Big B: After the British burned down the original White House during the War of 1812, it was said that President Madison asked for some sort of way for the White House to protect itself in the future. This must have been what he came up with. The man was a genius.

Brandon: I'd say so. Time to destroy Super Hitler!

Super Hitler and the White House Megazord stare at each other. They are eye to eye.

Super Hitler: This White House trickery will not stop SUPER HITLER!!!

Super Hitler punches the White House Megazord knocking it backwards. Hitler uses his speed advantage to gain the upperhand throwing many shots.

Brandon: He's too fast!

Big B: Don't we have any weapons!

Brandon: Press some buttons!

Big B: Okay!

Big B presses a button. The White House Megazord starts walking over the the Washington Monument. It pulls the Washington Monument out of the ground creating a giant sword type weapon.

Big B: Wow, this is amazing. They must have made all the monuments around here into weapons that can support the White House Megazord.

Brandon: Perhaps our government knows what they are doing after all.

The White House Megazords swings the Washington Monument sword at Super Hitler striking him and knocking him to the ground and almost knocking him to the ground.

Big B: This is too dangerous. He could fall on people and we can step on people. We have to get out of here.

Brandon: That button there with a weird symbol on it might do something.

Big B: I hope it works.

Wings appear from the back of the White House Megazord.

Big B: Shit, we can fly now.

The White House Megazord picks up Super Hitler and flies him over the Atlantic Ocean.

Brandon: What should we do now?

Big B: Leave it to me! I got the controls figured out

The White House Megazord tosses Super Hitler into the air.

Super Hitler: WHAT ARE YOU JEWS DOING TO ME!!!

The White House Megazord swings the Washington Monument sword at Super Hitler cutting his head off. Without the head, the souls leave the body. The body and head of Hitler shrinks down and falls into the ocean. Hitler is dead....again.


************************************************** **********************

The Browns are in Chicago now where they are greeted by President Obama at the charity basketball tournament.

Obama: I would like to thank you two gentlemen. We have had our differences in the past. Big B has powerbombed me and Brandon has kicked me, but I believe we can put that behind us. Plus you two figured out how to work that White House Megazord. I did a few simulations. That thing is tough to control.

Big B: Thank you, Mr. President. Sorry about what happened in the past. I was having a rough time.

Brandon: I just like kicking people.

Brandon superkicks some kid playing basketball.

Obama: Haha. Well, let's play some basketball.

Big B: Hold on, Barack. I have to talk about how I'm going to beat Ryan James first.

Obama: Go on!

Big B: Ryan James and I have been in this company since 2007. Both of us have seen many ups and downs in our career. We were even on the same winning team at Altered Reality V. Times have changed though. It is 2012. Big B. Brown has found himself a new stable of Kings to help him reach the top of LPW and Pyromania. That first step to the top comes at the expense of Ryan James. I want my shot at the Western States Heritage Championship. No Canadian will stop this full blooded American from earning what is rightfully his. It's because of people like Ryan James that the Hitlers of the world got to rise to power. It's because of people like him that we have communists and terrorists. I am not losing this match. I have seen some of the odds at Vegas. People actually pick against Big B. Brown. Well, anyone who picks Ryan James over me is a Nazi. Nobody wants to be a Nazi.

Brandon: That promo brought tears to my eyes. You are a worthy cousin of me.

Obama: I'm not quite sure you are sending the right message to the LPW people out there. Oh well, I want to play some basketball.

Big B: Let's hope you can play some defense, Barack.

Brandon passes the basketball to Big B who drives into the lane against Obama and scores a layup as this episode of The Brown Show concludes.

[Jeff Watson]

Part One:


As the thanksgiving holiday slowly approaches, there are a lot of reasons to be thankful for, but right now the only thing that is important is for Jeff’s marriage to recover from this. We open the scene on a warm and gorgeous afternoon in Atlanta where the two newlyweds have been for the past few weeks. The scene shifts to a local Gold’s Gym where Ashley is approaching the building with a couple of her friends and they’ll be getting in a good workout. Once they walk inside, the trio heads over to the treadmills and start to run on the machine.

Ashley: Do you guys think that I should take Jeff back?

Sarah: Of course you should because the two of you are perfect together.

Tiffany: Are you kidding me? Did you forget about Jeff cheating on her with his partner?

Sarah: I know that and it was a huge mistake for Jeff to made. But don’t you think that it’s time to forgive him and move on?

While Ashley is running on the treadmill, a battle of emotions are taking place in her mind and she knows that there are still feelings for Jeff. But Ashley won’t allow people to take advantage of her anymore and things will have to change for their marriage to succeed. There are a lot of decisions to be made, but Ashley is smart enough to think everything over before making the important decision. As the trio continues to work on their cardio, a mysterious blonde enters the building and heads to the women’s locker room. Ashley shuts the treadmill off and waits for her friends to finish up.

Sarah: What’s wrong Ashley?

Ashley: I may be seeing things, but I swear that it’s was Jeff’s partner who just walked in.

Tiffany: Are you going to confront her?

Ashley: I don’t know what I’m going to do because I don’t want to come off as a crazy person. But I want to know why she ended up sleeping with my husband.

Sarah: Just be careful OK because you tend to fly off the handle when you’re upset.

Ashley takes the advice under consideration before maneuvering through the dozens of people that have come in for a workout. It doesn’t take long before Ashley spots the mysterious woman and her assumptions are correct as to who the woman is. Madison is wearing a pair of black yoga pants along with matching tennis shoes and a red tank top that is revealing a lot of cleavage. Suddenly one of the pull down machines open up, but Madison looks behind her to see if she’s being watched.

Sarah: Is that her?

Ashley: Yeah that’s her and we’re just going to have a friendly chat.

Sarah: Are you sure?

Ashley: Yes I’m sure, but stay close by in case anything should go wrong.

While the two friends find a different work station that is close by, Ashley casually walks over to the pull down machines and starts using the one that is next to Madison. No one is saying a word because the moment doesn’t call for that yet. Some anger is starting to build deep inside of Ashley, but she is carefully focusing that energy on the workout. Finally Ashley stops using the machine because she has gotten the courage to confront Madison.

Ashley: We need to talk right now.

Madison: Do I know you?

Ashley: Not me personally, but I believe that you work with my husband at the FBI. My husband’s name is Jeff Watson and that would make me his wife.

Madison: I’m guessing that you’re pissed at me right now.

Ashley: All you’ve got to do is tell me the truth and I won’t beat the fuck out of you. If I think that you’re lying, then you’ll get to see pissed off and you won’t like it when I’m really pissed off.

Madison understands the emotions that Ashley is going through because this is the woman who slept with her husband. The two of them head over to another part of the gym and wait for an open body bag to become free. Ashley’s friends are staying close behind, but are keeping their distance by using a different machine. Finally they’ve managed to find a part of the gym that isn’t crowded, but Madison takes a sip from her water bottle before the conversation can begin.

Ashley: So why did you sleep with my husband in Berlin?

Madison: It was one of those things where the adrenaline was flowing through both of our bodies after a huge case. Then I looked over at Jeff and surprised him with a deep passionate kiss.

Ashley: Did he try to stop you at anytime?

Madison: Of course he did because he wanted to stay faithful even as you were being held against your will. I was the one who wanted it to happen and I should’ve done a lot more to stop it from happening.

Ashley doesn’t know what to make of this news because now there is no reason to hate Jeff anymore. But what if there is something more behind this and what if there were more meetings between the two of them. There are a lot of questions that still need answering, but the most important one is the whereabouts of Jeff at this particular moment.

Ashley: So where is my husband right now?

Madison: He’s at the FBI office here in town because the director there wants to give him a good case to work on.

Ashley: Listen I know that I said that I wouldn’t kick your ass, but my friends are watching me right now. Why don’t we go into the boxing ring and take our aggression out on each other.

Madison: Are you sure about this?

Ashley: It’s the only way that this can end because I still need to take out my anger on somebody.

Madison is unsure about this, but if it means helping to repair Jeff’s marriage, then she’ll do whatever it takes. Ashley leads the way over to one of the boxing rings where a brief conversation takes place with one of the trainers. Suddenly one of the assistant trainers approaches Madison with gloves and headgear for her to wear. While Ashley is pacing in the ring, Madison reluctantly puts on the boxing gear and climbs into the ring. Thoughts of confusion are running through Madison’s mind as she doesn’t know what will happen.

Ashley: You had this coming and I hope that you can fight to save your ass.

Madison: Just shut up and fight bitch.

Both ladies are patiently waiting for the bell to ring and once it does, then Ashley tries to get the jump on Madison. Somehow Madison avoids the rush by ducking out of the way before throwing a couple of jabs to Ashley’s face. Sarah is covering her face while Tiffany is shouting encouragement to her friend to stick and move. Finally Ashley manages to throw a hard shot to the ribs which causes Madison to drop to her knees and catch her breath.

Ashley: Do you want to give up?

Instead of saying a word, Madison gets back to her feet and starts throwing a different variety of combinations that Ashley is having trouble defending. Just as it appears that Madison could knock Ashley out, the bell rings which causes Madison to get into a rage. While the two women are being helped by the trainers, the front door to the gym opens to allow Jeff to scope what is taking place. Intrigued by the commotion, Jeff approaches the reception area and tries to find out what is going on.

Jeff: Excuse me, but do you know what is going on in the boxing area right now?

Receptionist: It’s one of the sparring sessions that usually take place.

Jeff: Can you tell me who is involved in this?

Receptionist: All I can tell you is that a couple of women are settling a grudge right now.

Jeff: Thank you.

After thanking the reception clerk, Jeff maneuvers through the crowd at the gym only to find his wife and his partner fighting it out. There is a building pit of anger that is starting to build deep inside, but Jeff is doing his best to contain it. When the next round is about to begin, Jeff can no longer contain his anger and climbs into the ring to prevent anybody from getting hurt.

Jeff: Can somebody please tell me what the hell is going on here?

Madison: Why don’t you ask your wife since it was her idea.

Jeff: What’s going on Ashley?

Ashley: I wasn’t going to let her get away with fucking you because I needed to get all of the anger out of me.

Jeff can’t believe what he just heard, but maybe this was a unavoidable situation. Ashley does have the right to exact revenge against the woman who slept with her husband and now is the time that the marriage can get back on track. Finally Jeff asks everyone to leave except for the two ladies because this needs to be a private conversation.

Jeff: Now that you’ve managed to get all of your anger out, can the two of you bury any resentment towards each other because we’ve got a huge case to work on.

Madison: I’m willing to let it go if Ashley is?

Ashley: I guess I can let it go. So what did you find out?

Jeff: Our main suspect is a guy by the name of Patrick Mason who is apparently involved in a high-end drug operation. I’m taking about cocaine, heroin, and any other drug that will make him a fortune.

Both ladies seem impressed as to how this could be happening, but they return their focus back to Jeff. Suddenly Jeff pulls a couple of photos out of the file and hands them to the ladies to examine. Madison briefly looks at the photo before handing it back to Jeff.

Madison: Do we know any potential suppliers or dealers yet?

Jeff: One of our informants let us in on a mid-level supplier who is setting up shop in Boston. He’s also managed to get us a meeting with him in a couple of days.

Ashley: What do you want me to do?

Jeff: I want you to coordinate the backup with the Boston police because I don’t know if you have done any undercover work. Either myself or Madison will have a wire on us and if anything goes wrong, then you bring the troops in to rescue us.

Ashley has a look of shock on her face, but then she realizes that Jeff is only trying to keep her safe. While Ashley goes over to talk to her friends, Jeff and Madison head to a different part of the gym to discuss some matters of the case. It appears that the beginnings of a black eye is starting to form across Madison’s left eye, but Madison wants to change the subject of the discussion.

Madison: So I’m guessing that you’ve got another match to prepare for along with this case?

Jeff: Since I didn’t win the triple-threat match last show, now I’ve got to team up with the guy who actually got pinned and we’ve got to face the number one contenders to the tag belts.

Madison: From what I’m hearing is that you’ve got to team up with one obnoxious asshole and your facing a couple of obnoxious assholes. Does management have no respect for you at all?

Jeff: I just want to get through this match and get my career back on track.

The conversation goes on for a few more minutes while Ashley is busy showering in the women’s locker room with her friends. Madison is trying to find out why the supplier wants to meet up in Boston, but out of the corner of her eye spots Ashley approaching them. Instead of continuing the conversation, Madison decides to head for the locker room and give the lovebirds a moment alone.

Ashley: So I’ll finally get to see you in action.

Jeff: Yes, but I want you to do whatever I say at all times. If you do that, then I’m hoping that we’ll get out of this alive, but nothing is for certain in this business.

Ashley: Just be careful when we get to Boston.

Jeff agrees to what Ashley says and the scene starts to fade out with the two separated lovebirds walking out of the gym. They’ve started up a private conversation while Madison is in the locker room getting changed. We fade to black with the three law enforcement agents talking over the details of the case.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About eighteen hours have passed since the meeting in Atlanta and we open the scene in Boston, Massachusetts. Tonight is the night when Pyromania 21.2 will take place at TD Garden, but our focus right now is a warehouse that is about thirty minutes away from the arena. Outside of the building a unmarked police car is parked and it’s clear that it’s there for surveillance purposes only. Inside of the car we find Jeff and Madison waiting for something to take place. While the two continue to watch the warehouse, Madison decides to break the silence and what she has to say is shocking.

Madison: I’ve got something to tell you and that is what I told your wife weren't my true intentions.

Jeff: What do you mean?

Madison: Do you remember anything about high school?

Jeff is confused as to what Madison just said because why would she bring this up during a stakeout. There is a lot of things that happened during high school and how can Jeff bring up one particular detail. Nothing seems to be taking place at the moment because they were hoping that the supplier would show up. Suddenly Madison tries to ask another question about the past which is causing Jeff to divert his focus for a moment.

Madison: The reason I ask this is that I set up the whole thing where the two of us would have sex together because…

Jeff: Why would you do this?

Madison: I wasn’t one of the popular kids back in high school, but I had the biggest crush on you. So when your friends went looking for a slump buster, I volunteered and it was the best night of my life.

Thoughts of high school are starting to come rushing back and Jeff is starting to remember what happened at that particular party with Madison. What kind of person would use a woman like that and then not talk to her again? It turned out that it’s exactly what Jeff did and now it’s starting to haunt him all over again. But Jeff didn’t figure out on ever seeing Madison after high school so that’s why he kept it secret until now.

Madison: Why didn’t you take an interest in me during high school? Or why didn’t you talk to me after we had sex?

Jeff: I was a complete asshole back then because all I cared about was maintaining my popularity. Everyone would’ve made fun of me if I was to be seen with you, so that’s why I ignored you during high school. What do I have to do to apologize for my mistakes?

Madison: Just apologize to me and really mean it this time. If you do that, then I’ll forgive you and we can move on from this.

Jeff: I’m sorry that I treated you like shit during high school because I would’ve loved to gotten to know you then like I do now.

Madison accepts the apology and the two agents return to the stakeout of the warehouse. To break the silence that has been built up, the two agents discuss a potential strategy when they meet up with the supplier. Madison is looking at the warehouse and thinking of a possible exit strategy in case something goes wrong. It’s always good to find a way to escape because it will prevent more people from dying in these type of situations.

Madison: So do you feel like you’ll be ready for your match tonight?

Jeff: I’m always ready for any match, but I feel like my opponents want to end my career. Sometimes I do come off conceited, but if you actually take the time to know me, then I’m a really good guy.

Madison: Just don’t let these fuckers try to injure you because as the veteran you should be treated with a measure of respect.

Jeff: Both Sixx and Mr. Golden are part of the new rookie mindset where it’s OK to be an asshole to people who’ve been here longer. Sixx has had some personal problem with me ever since he signed on and now is the time that I’m going to shut that fucker up.

The conversation continues for the next few minutes and they discuss where Jeff’s wrestling career should go after the tag match. Ideally it would be great if Jeff could get another shot at a title, but if it has to wait awhile, then Jeff will wrestle whoever they tell him to. Suddenly the conversation is interrupted by the sight of two vans approaching the warehouse and they’re followed by a black Lincoln town car.

Jeff: OK it’s Showtime and from here on out we’re going by our undercover identities.

Madison: I’ll get the briefcase and then we’ll see what this guy has to offer.

While Madison is busy getting the briefcase from the trunk, Jeff is standing there wearing only a black suit jacket, a matching dress shirt with wife beater underneath and a pair of blue jeans that are covering up his black tennis shoes. Madison joins her partner and the two undercover agents carefully advance towards the warehouse. As soon as they reach the entrance, a couple of bodyguards approach and try to find out what they’re doing here.

Guard 1: What the hell are you two doing here?

Jonathan: We’re here to see your boss about a important business opportunity that he can’t pass up.

Guard 2: Who should I say is behind this deal?

Melanie: Tell him that a Mr. Burnett and a Ms. Richards are here to see him. We’ve come a long way and it’s important that we see him right now.

The first guard walks inside to have a discussion with his boss about whether they should be trusted at all and the two investors are waiting outside in the cold. It only takes about a minute before the guard comes outside and allows the undercover agents inside of the warehouse. As soon as they step inside, the pat down begins because they don’t to take the chance of having cops at this meeting. Finally they’re lead to a table in the middle of the room and a unidentified man approaches them to begin the meeting.

Man: I hear that the two of you are a couple of big time dealers in Miami, but why did you come to Boston tonight?

Jonathan: Before we tell you why we came here, how about you tell us your name because I would like to know who I’m doing business with.

Jimmy: Well my name is Jimmy Rivera and over in the corner is my brother Marco. How about I show you what our operation is all about and then we can talk about a deal.

Melanie: Can we make this quick because we do have other business to attend to?

Jimmy leads the investors to a back room where the production of a huge shipment is taking place and it’s revealed to them that this shipment of cocaine is heading for Canada. The precision is so orderly that the workers are able to perfectly measure and package the cocaine so that it can be shipped out quickly. In another part of the warehouse, a different team of workers are busy counting all of the money from the sales. Both Jonathan and Melanie are thinking of the best possible deal as they head back into the main part of the warehouse.

Melanie: You’ve got a real steady operation and we have seen enough to make a deal. But there are a couple of things that we’ve got to negotiate first.

Jimmy: What do we have to negotiate about?

Melanie: Where is your import site and do you have it under control?

Jimmy: We’ve managed to get it from different parts of the country and there wasn’t talk about making one location our import point.

Melanie: There is a loading dock at the Port of Miami and the whole area is under our control. If you allow your product to come in through Miami, then you will be able to control the whole east coast and that means a lot of money.

While Jimmy and his brother discuss the proposal that Melanie offered them. Jonathan is taking a look at his cell to see what time it is because there is another important meeting that they’ve got to be at. Also he manages to send a text to Ashley saying get the reinforcements ready in a hurry. Finally Jimmy approaches them and the business meeting can proceed.

Jimmy: We’ll agree to start importing our product through Miami, but what is this going to cost us?

Jonathan: The cost for us to operate our part in Miami is going to be 49 percent of all future profit. Our reason is that security and operation costs have gone up and we’re not doing this to lose money.

Jimmy: Our end can’t possibly operate with the 49 percent that you’ve just proposed. The offer from us is going to be a thirty percent guarantee with the option to raise it to forty percent.

Melanie: That offer is way too low for us and it makes us feel like your taking advantage of us. How about we go to 45 percent and we’ll assume the transportation risk of getting it into the country.

Marco is busy going over the numbers of the last proposal and gives his brother the go ahead to seal the deal. As soon as the final touches to the deal are proposed, the sounds of a police helicopter are getting closer to the warehouse and that means it’s time to go. Before they’re ambushed, Jeff pulls out his gun and shoots both of the guards that are nearest to them. Meanwhile Madison has her guns pointed and both Rivera brothers making sure that they don’t try anything.

Jeff: We’re agents for the FBI and right now the two of you are under arrest.

Jimmy: Actually your both are going to be lucky to even escape because the both of you are going to die right now.

Before the first shots are fired, Jeff and Madison run towards a part of the warehouse that will give them cover. Jeff is trying to find a opening that will allow gunfire to be returned, but these suspects are really giving them a hard time. As Madison is busy returning fire, Jeff is on the wire to Ashley and is trying to find out where the backup is.

Jeff: Hey sweetie, I really hate to bother you right now, but where the hell is our backup?

Ashley: I’m in the main car and we’re two minutes away. Can you hold them off for that long?

Jeff: You better hurry up because we might not be here in the next two minutes.

Jeff hangs up the phone and starts to fire more shots at the suspects who are trying to kill them. Somehow Jeff is successful in taking about a third of the guys and the others are hiding behind a well maintained cover. A couple of thugs have made their way onto the catwalk and are preparing to take Jeff out. Madison spots them and starts to unload on the thugs which causes them to fall to the ground.

Madison: I really hope that your wife is coming soon because…

Jeff: She told me that she is only a minute away and we’ve got to hold on…

Before Jeff can finish his sentence, a couple of armored vans bust through the walls and surprise the entire group of suspects. While the backup is busy dealing with the guards, Jeff notices that the brothers are trying to escape and the agents give chase. They manage to chase them to a backroom that is filled with explosives and Jeff is trying to be careful right now.

Jimmy: The two of you just don’t want to die, but my brother and I will take care of that.

Jeff: Just give up right now and we’ll make this easy for you.

Instead of complying with the request, both of the Rivera brothers approach the agents and a fistfight has started in the factory. Jeff is getting the better of Jimmy while Madison is holding her own against Marco. Suddenly Jeff is caught by a huge right hook and is momentarily knocked out. With Jeff on the ground, Jimmy goes over to help his brother and they’re dragging Madison out of the room.

Madison: HELP ME JEFF.

The screams that are coming down the hall are enough to wake Jeff up and get Jeff fired up enough that he runs down the hall to one of the backrooms. Inside is where Madison is getting worked over, but she is saved when Jeff openly fires into Marco’s body. As a last ditch attempt, Jimmy fires three shots into Madison’s chest and it causes her to sink to the ground. While Jimmy is making his escape, Jeff is leaning over Madison’s body and trying to save her life when Ashley meets up with them.

Ashley: Listen we’ve got to get out of here right now because the building is about to blow.

Jeff: You lead the way because I’m not going to let her die here tonight.

Ashley leads the way out of the backroom and Jeff is busy carrying Madison towards the emergency doors. Once they’ve cleared the building, the couple runs as fast as they can before a huge explosion takes place in the warehouse. It appears that all of the backup have made it outside along with some of the suspects, but that doesn’t concern Jeff right now. Jeff is carrying Madison to the stretcher and hands her over to the EMT’s to take care of. The two newlyweds are standing right next to the ambulance when Madison grabs Jeff’s hand and brings them towards her.

Madison: I… want you to… take care of her because she loves you. And Ashley…I want you to take care of him because he loves you a lot.

Ashley: Just get better for us OK.

The ambulance starts to pull out and begin the trip to the hospital where Madison will receive top quality care. Meanwhile Jeff looks at his phone and notices that the show has probably started. Ashley leads him to a police SUV and the couple gets into the backseat. While Jeff is busy getting his police stuff off, Ashley asks for a police escort because Jeff has to be at the arena right now.

Jeff: Did you remember my gloves and my hand wrap? It looks like I’m going to be wrestling in my street clothes for this match.

Ashley: I’ve got them right here and I’ll start wrapping your hands while you focus on the match.

As the SUV starts to follow the police convoy, Ashley has the hand wrap and she is busy getting it around both of Jeff’s hands. We start to fade with the lovebirds recovering from the case and worrying about whether Madison is going to pull through. Suddenly Ashley’s cell rings and immediately she knows that something bad has happened. The scene fades to black with the convoy approaching the TD Garden where Jeff has just learned about Madison’s death.

--End of Part One--

[Tromboner Man]

In a bizarre universe, you might be fooled into thinking things are fair and just. All things divvied equally, and people get their just deserts. Unfortunately, as we all know, this universe does not exist. Especially if your name is either Tromboner Man or X. Nothing that comes to these men is essentially fair, just, or worthy. But what if it was?

What if, say, by pure co-incidence, X never met, oh, I don’t know… Ben Starr for example. Instead, he met a different Ben that served the exact same purpose that Ben Starr did, while not altering his own career path. And Tromboner Man. What if his trust trombone “Karl” was never a part of his life. Rather, another individual was, one with a single syllable name as well, who proved to be the inspiration and release he needed.

This… well… is something that should never be attempted. Not even with voodoo magic and a llama. But to hell with safety warnings, nobody here is under the age of 3 right? And if there is someone under three, I’m sure there’s some glue in your parents pantry that needs to be eaten right about now. Go find it, it’s marked “Anal Lube”. It’s much more interesting than a grown adult playing make believe.

Anyway. Here’s a story about Tromboner Man and Ben Starr, and what might happen if both of them were trying to court someone with a present.

***

The Tromboner Man is a lively character. I think it goes without saying that he is fairly eclectic and over all, energetic. However, wooing a lady is something that Tromboner Man has not done in a very long time. Sure, he has scored the occasional one night stand along the way, and lets be honest, those were few and far between. That being said, TBM had never found the right lady until recently.

His fortunes changed in the lead up to Altered Reality Six, when a girl he had affectionately christened “Little Drummer Girl” burst into his life, bringing with her the trials and tribulations of her broken down marriage. If you don’t remember any of this happening, well… yes. It has indeed been that long since you’ve seen a Tromboner Man promo. Don’t worry, you’re not out of the loop.

With Little Drummer Girl now living with Tromboner Man, TBM begun developing deep feelings he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Feelings he only thought were possible towards an inanimate object. A trombone, or on rare and confusing occasions, a candle stick named “Bertha”.

You know what. BLEEP this. The Tromboner Man doesn’t even know where he’s going with this.

You might call this breaking the fourth wall, or destroying a computer screen. Which is it, he doesn’t know. What he does know is he’s got a lot on his chest right now, and can’t even think of heads or tails to match it. Normally, TBM would promote himself for a match with some zany, wacky antics. Recently, there have been cameos by friends in these promotions, but when it all boils down to it, you could take these promotions on face value. They’re funny. That’s what people want.

And that’s the secret to the success of the Tromboner Man over the years.

The humour is a part of it, but it’s only a partial portion of his success. Sure, there’ve been some tug on the heart strings moments. Who could forget the promotion “Fantaisie” on “Welcome to the Black Parade” as TBM prepared to fight N’itomniskittel. It had sheet music and everything. Very powerful. But they’re all composites of the big picture.

For those who have followed a Tromboner Man promotion for a long time, you’ll already know that this is a stray from the usual. TBM doesn’t normally talk to the audience directly. Or, if you’re reading the text version on some wrestling forum that this has been leaked to pre-show, reading TBM’s words. TBM doesn’t do this for a reason. Because it’s not what works for him. Why?

Because this isn’t what the public want.

The Tromboner Man has been so successful over the years, currently over 6 years in LPW, coming up on his 7th, because he continually gives the audience what they want. There has never been an underlying story, or realisations that follow on for promotion after promotion. The only one that has come close has been the incident with Drew Michaels, with the Tommy Skittels debacle running second.

No, the Tromboner Man has produced mindless dribble for the amusement of people. It’s what they want. It makes them laugh, it doesn’t force them to think too much, and they can relate to it quite easily. That’s the makeup of Tromboner Man’s success. Being able to give people what they want to see or read. It’s their escape. And for a long time now, it’s been Tromboner Man’s escape too.

Actually, as TBM types this out, so he can read this to you later, he’s decided the he’s only hitting the backspace button to fix spelling or grammatical errors. This is starting to make TBM feel a bit better.

And that’s something TBM’s been missing for a long time. And it’s the other part of TBM’s success. He gives the audience what they want, and it’s soo good because it makes TBM feel happy. Makes TBM feel good. He enjoys it. Well… enjoyed it.

Lately, everything TBM has done has felt like a chore. A huge chore at that. He’s dreaded opening Microsoft word to craft his zany adventures because he feels uninspired. And it’s not just the wicked little word program of doom that makes him feel otherwise.

The Tromboner Man just can’t be bothered with a lot of things he once enjoyed.

The running shoes on the ground that TBM wore daily are being ignored. Why? Because the Tromboner Man just doesn’t want to go for a run. He lives at the bottom a huge, beautiful hill that’s perfect for running up, down and around, and yet, even this natural monument isn’t enough for get TBM off his ass. Neither is the pristine stretch of beach merely 300 metres away from TBM’s apartment.

And what does this mean for TBM?

He’s now put on 6 kilograms in the past 10 weeks. That’s 15 pounds, a lot of weight. Considering 10 weeks ago the Tromboner Man was at his lowest weight in 7 years. He’s just gone and BLEEPED it up now. Why?

Because he couldn’t be bothered.

How does that make you feel, kids at home? Your all conquering role model, the Martinez Cup champion for 2012, and the International Heavyweight Champion, doesn’t do something because he can’t be bothered. It’s not a good look at all. It really makes TBM physically sick to his stomach to be perfectly honest.

It doesn’t stop there though.

He mentioned his work within LPW earlier. Allow TBM to backtrack a little. Now that TBM’s achieved the greatest achievement in LPW, he just… just… well, he can’t seem to string a sentence together at the moment. There’s been no drive in TBM’s work!!! That’s what he wanted to say.

For those in the know, you’d already know TBM is a huge influence on the running of the Pyromania brand. Some actually believe he runs it, and that cYnical is just a figure head. If you didn’t know, you do now. What all of you may not know is that TBM just doesn’t care anymore.

Actually, that’s a lie. TBM does care. He still cares about making people look good, pushing them up the card, and allowing them to reach their full potential. He is still very passionate about that. However, when it comes to actually organising and running a show, TBM’s care factor has completely gone away. This isn’t something that’s just come up either. This has been over 12 months in the making.

When the Tromboner Man came back from his exile in mid 2010, and was told he would be taking over the reigns backstage at Pyromania, making sure the roster was managed properly, TBM couldn’t contain his excitement. Pyromania once again became a huge, triving, exciting place to work. TBM was excited to turn on the computer and see what needed to be done. Things moved quickly, and some of the best work TBM has ever produced came out then.

Moving on to November 19th 2012, and the Tromboner Man is struggling to come up with ideas to tell a story. He’s lost the plot. In a way, TBM has forgotten how to do his job. He’s forgotten how to be passionate about making sure things get done.

You might have noticed the quality of Pyromania steadily dropping, and production times increasing. That’s TBM’s fault. His job is to make sure things get done, so shows can be made. A show that gives fair, balanced and exciting exposure of every roster member.

Oops, TBM accidentally “CTRL+A”ed the entire word document. Probably a good chance to save here so nothing gets deleted permanently, and the Tromboner Man doesn’t have to retype this whole promotion for the International Heavyweight Championship match with X. That would be a B-I-BLEEP-C-H.

Getting back to show production.

TBM can go days now without checking to see if people have done their job. Instead of picking up the slack, like TBM once did, he now palms off un-submitted work to others so they can do it for him. That too makes TBM feel very guilty. More guilty than anything else actually. TBM was once so inspired, he would do anything to make sure a show was ready to go early. And as TBM sits here, typing this promotion, he’s dreading finishing.

Because once he’s finished, that means he has to start organising everything to go into the 21.2 show. The vicious cycle continuing.

Yes, it might seem like TBM is complaining here. He’s actually not. These are grievances TBM wishes he had the courage, the conviction, to talk to someone about. But instead, he hides. Behind a façade of funny. In all honesty, there’s real, honest, caring person behind this façade TBM puts on. You’re seeing the most real version of him he can produce.

But at the end of the day, what TBM is doing now, is actually making him feel a lot better about the situation. Everybody goes through form slumps and motivation surges. This just happens to be the worst that TBM has ever seen.

But while TBM talks about this, there is actually another man on the roster who wears more weight on his own shoulders.

X. The man TBM will defend the International Heavyweight Championship against is the most senior member of the roster. He, contrary to his façade he puts on for the fans, will get things done. He makes things happen, and is the rock that TBM leans on when he needs assistance. Not only that, but he also watches over the Insanity brand as well.

He’s been doing this for MUCH longer than TBM. He knows the ins and outs better, and knows the tough questions to ask before things get too dicey. X comes across as a heartless bastard. He really does. But that’s the X you see on camera, much like the TBM you see on camera is zany, wacky and weird.

TBM sits back and looks at X do his work, and thinks “How does he do it?”. TBM has been doing this role for two and a half years ago, and is already losing motivation at an uncontrollable rate. Yet X seems to be unbelievably strong, controlled and motivated. He’s been here since the PWA glory days, and continues to be a dominating force in the world today.

TBM wishes he could be like X. He really does. He has done an amazing job of staying fresh, relevant and motivated, while being flexible and adaptive.

Maybe that’s the problem with TBM at the moment. Maybe he needs to change his approach.

With exception to the Drew Michaels episode, TBM hasn’t changed a lot. He’s always been that happy, odd relative that gets invited over only because your Grandmother expects him to be there. And TBM has been happy to fill that role. Up until now.

But can the Tromboner Man really change? He’s about to face the greatest, most adaptive person LPW has ever seen. Some might call him a genius with what he can do. He has seen everything, and done everything. The only thing X has failed to do in his time in PWA and LPW is become a member of the Hall of Fame, and that won’t happen until he retires.

So, can TBM change? Will the fans want TBM to change? Let’s forget about the fact here that whomever wins this match will defend against Eddie B at One Way Ticket. Right now, focusing on that would be a waste of time. No disrespect intended towards Eddie, as he is an amazing competitor. In fact he is one of the best TBM has ever seen. However, even Eddie would agree that focusing on a POSSIBLE future opponent is foolish and disrespectful to your current and impending opponent.

Especially when the opponent in question is as seasoned and as skilled as X is.

So, TBM has a huge conundrum on his hands here.

Does he change?

If he changes, the fans might not like it. TBM’s success could be jeopardised, and further impede this motivation issue TBM is having. A complete over haul would make him unrecognisable, and turn him into a faceless member of the roster. Someone without any stand out features. You know the ones TBM is talking about. Those people who are only here for a few weeks, and get forgotten about easily because they’re “Just another wrestler”.

Truth be told, take the humour away, and TBM does risk that. So, the humour can’t go completely. It does make him unique. But what can he change? He’s done this for so long, it’s essentially become second nature for him.

Wait a couple of days, get an idea, then a few days before deadline, pump out something. Sit back and watch as people laugh at it, forgetting their troubles for a moment. It’s almost become formulaic.

Breaking the formula. That’s what needs to change.

The Tromboner Man must break the formula. Change his routine, in all honesty, as that’s what kills him. He doesn’t go for a run, do his LPW word or eat healthy because his routine doesn’t have it in it. A change in routine would change motivation.

TBM hopes.

But when would be a good time to change? Right now? PFFT!!! Are you kidding? TBM is facing X, if he brings anything but his best, he will get clobbered. Or…

TBM’s best is formulaic. X feasts on formulaic. Maybe that’s what TBM shouldn’t do. Not bring his best sounds so insulting, but perhaps TBM is on to something.

TBM’s best is predictable. If TBM wants to keep the International Heavyweight Championship, he needs to be unpredictable. And to be unpredictable, he needs to change. And that change…

Well, Napoleon didn’t conquer most of Europe by saying “I’ll start tomorrow”.

And what TBM has typed out has been both incredibly therapeutic for himself, and a complete change of pace as well.

This is where it all needs to start for the Tromboner Man.

Maybe it’s time the Tromboner Man went for a run…

[The X]

I’m tired.

My brain has melted into a pile of pink goo.

My body has seen better days.

My heart is slowly sinking.

My soul is slowly dying.

I will soon wither away into the deep, dark abyss which sounds like a vacation in San Tropez at the moment. You would think I feel this way due to a new deep loss: a dying family member or friend who I have known for years. You would be wrong.

I sit here looking at all the people I am now surrounded by and I can’t help but think “this is grade A bullshit”. They go out there every night and compete to the best in the business. They lay their bodies on the line and are physically and mentally drained day in and day out. Yet, they show up for work eager and motivated to show off their talents on a big broad stage. The twinkle in their eyes as they see their name on the line up makes this dark orifice where my heart used to be feel almost…warm. Fuzzy. The chance to main event a show or receive a Championship match fills their little hearts and heads with such glee that it is almost nauseating; however, they are here in mind, body and spirit.

They don’t know this and I would never admit it to anyone’s face but I almost admire them. It’s a snapshot of what I and many others were at one point in time. Things have changed…Now…

Ben Starr: Heyyy! What are you doing back here?

X quickly shuts down his webcam and laptop from Ben’s prying eyes.

Ben Starr: …and what’s with this po-dunk setup?

We see X has set up a plain white curtain as a backdrop, one light bulb and his webcam for his promo.

Ben Starr: Who did you piss off in the props department that they sent you such crap? Was it Sheila? I know her. I can get anything…and I do mean ANYTHING you want if you catch my drift. Hehe..

Ben extends his hand for X to pound but X ignores him.

Ben Starr: What’s wrong now, X? Are you unsatisfied again? What, an International Heavyweight Championship match is just beneath you, huh?

You know, sometimes, I just can’t defend you even when I want to. You receive a lot and I will admit, it’s all without asking and you deserve it, but you don’t appreciate anything. Someone wants to give you a title shot? “Oh, that’s not what I want”.

Someone wants to team with the great X? “Oh, they stink” even though they have a better win/loss record than you.

The Mayor of New York City wants to give you a key to the city? “Why do I need a key?”

Why can you not just appreciate what you have been given? You mention how you haven’t faced Tromboner Man in passing and BOOM! Now you’re facing him and surprise, surprise, you’re not happy. What the hell is up? Seriously?

X looks up at Ben then points to the door.

Ben Starr: Of course. Throw me out. Throw out your only ally. I don’t even know why I bother….

Ben heads to the door, opens it then slams it behind him. X stares at the door a little bit longer then takes a deep breath. He turns back on his laptop, webcam and lightbulb.


You see what I mean? I’m not going to take what Ben said as a negative. This is proving my point: the passion, the motivation, the heart to say what he feels because of the respect and admiration he has for this company. This is what everyone else has developed and this is the environment this company has now become. It’s fucking great.

But…it’s not me.

I look at a guy like Tromboner Man and I see the future of this company. I see the greatness he possesses that can certainly shine bright throughout this industry. I see someone that has fought tooth and nail to get to the top. I see someone who I completely wrote off as comic fodder turn himself into a bonafide Legend in the making. He took any opportunity given to him and he made it worthwhile. Even the crappiest of assignments and matches he took and made spectacular.

Look what he has done for that International Heavyweight Championship. He, along with stellar opponents, have legitimized that title. He hasn’t released his deathgrip on it in well over a year and he continues to make himself and that Championship the main attraction on LPW television.

I am not Tromboner Man.

I cannot be Tromboner Man.

Why? I am missing what he and everyone else has around here nowadays…

Suddenly, Ben Starr bursts through the door again causing X to shut his laptop and webcam off again.

Ben Starr: And another thing, I remember you stating you were what everyone wanted to be. Why would anyone want to be as arrogant, cold and thoughtless as you? You don’t give a damn about anyone or anything. Those are not qualities of Champion, X but more than that, those are not qualities of a good human being. You’re a person. So are we. You have a heart and so do we. You fought to get to where you are and goddamn it so did we.

We are all just like you but…you don’t see that because your ego and your condescending attitude gets in your way. I bet you can’t say one nice thing about someone else. Try me. Tell me one good thing about someone. Anyone.

X rolls his eyes and stares at his closed laptop, his fingers run across his chest resting over his heart.

Ben Starr: Ridiculous. You’ve got nothing.

You are the rudest and meanest person I have ever laid eyes on…but I thought you had a heart. A glimmer of hope beating beneath that chest. Now I know…you’re just not a cold character played on TV. You’re a heartless person.

I hope you lose tonight, X. I really do. Maybe your title opportunity should be given to someone who appreciates it.

And with that, Ben Starr storms off, slamming the door behind him in the process. X, looking flustered and frustrated, opens up the laptop and turns on the webcam. This time, staring into the camera, X’s eyes are lower and glassy.


I would sit here and say that was uncalled for…

…but I can’t deny anything he has said. I am the antithesis of what a Champion should be. I can’t represent this company, hell, I can’t even represent myself as a good person. Even though I thought I was making strides to somewhat become a better p…

…I just…

X continues to rub and clutch at his heart.


…my motivation is subsiding. I am not sure how much longer I can keep up this appearance…this persona…this…being.

Maybe if I were a good person like Tromboner Man I would feel better about myself; someone who constantly looks for the positive and brings out the best in those around him.
Someone who laughs not only at others but himself as well.
A good hearted person who prides himself on his willingness on being logical yet passionate.
A regular person.

Ben Starr bursts through a door one final time. This time, X doesn’t close the laptop nor his webcam. Ben Starr stands in front of the laptop.

Ben Starr: You didn’t even run after me. ME! Your own brother! See, I show you emotions and you show me nothing. Do I mean that little to you?

Suddenly, X stands up with a menacing look on his face. Ben, not back down (but not stupid) leans backwards a little. X extends his arms and hugs Ben Starr. Ben’s face is one that is filled with shock, fear and questions. X squeezes Ben a little tighter than releases him.

X: You’re right. You…are absolutely correct. I am lacking passion. I am lacking gratitude. I am lacking the sympathy. I am lacking the means of showing appreciation. And you know one thing, Ben?

Ben Starr: What?

X rears his hand back and slaps Ben across the face.

Ben Starr: OUCH! What the hell, man?

X: I am motha-fucking X. I am exactly what you described. Cold. Calculating. Heartless and those are just a few of my gleaming qualities. I also enjoy watching the pain I inflict on people. Blood dripping from a freshly opened wound. The sound of a bone breaking as I mercilessly beat someone with a chair. That’s just who the fuck I am.

Now I will admit, I may be too much for everyone to handle but so what? I came into this place not knowing how long I would be here nor if I would enjoy it. I was everyone’s friend and confidant for years and then I went into business for myself. It has been the most successful move I have ever made and I dare anyone to deny me as LPW’s Most Hated Man of All Time. I did it. ME! I did it!

I may not be Tromboner Man who kisses babies and is the perfect representation of a company man but damnit, I AM X. I don’t have what these bitches have and you know what? I’m glad I don’t. Why? Because for years to come, everyone will remember the name of X but no one will remember the name of “Johnny Muffins” and “Blue Skadoo We Can Too”.

No, I didn’t want this match.
No, I don’t appreciate it.
No, I won’t stop bitching.

Heh…and when I walk out there to face the FACE of Pyromania, I will be sure to rearrange it in the most gruesome way. So, Dr. Phil, you can trollop out of my office and down the Yellow Brick Road to play with your Lollipop Guild. I will waltz down that ramp as X and I will leave as X…

…the International Heavyweight Champion.

Now, out of my face, pissant.

Ben runs out of the office but this time, he closes the door very silently. X composes himself and sits back down in his chair in front of the webcam.


Sorry you had to see that but I have to keep up appearances. Ben is a smart man. He’s right. I will change. I have to.

This isn’t me.

[Switchy]

Ryan James sits in his office, an uneasy feeling running through him. Amadeus had said he’d call, but he was late by an hour. Ryan didn’t dare leave though. Amadeus was known to summon those who missed his calls to his office and throw them out his twentieth story window.

The minutes continue ticking by, and Ryan exchanges a nervous glance with Natalie. He was still stinging from his loss, and he knew this was why Amadeus was calling. Failure was not easily swallowed in the Obsidian Order. A bead of sweat trickles down his face. Suddenly, the application on his computer comes up. With a shaky hand, Ryan grabs the mouse and selects “answer”.

“Hello?” Ryan says, his voice shaking slightly.

The steely tone of Amadeus answers. “You better have a good reason for the abomination I saw in your last match, James.”

“I… I don- I mean I do, sir.”

“If it’s not a good one, expect yourself to be next out my window. It’s a long fall.”

Ryan takes a breath, collecting himself for a moment. It was sink or swim now.

“Triple threat matches are very unpredictable, sir…”

Amadeus cuts him off.

“You were the one pinned. Next excuse.”

Natalie cringes at the rebuke. She and Ryan exchange a frightened look, and Ryan recomposes himself.

“Sir, I’ll be honest. I don’t have a good excuse. I fucked up, simple as that. I got overconfident in myself, and didn’t show up at my best. I sincerely apologize sir, and I hope you’ll give me another chance to prove myself to you. It’s coming up too.”

Amadeus is silent for a moment.

“Explain”

Ryan sees the opportunity and jumps on it.

“You see, I’ve been booked in a number one contenders match for the Western States Heritage Championship. Win this, and I battle Seth Omega for the title. Imagine sir, if I can win this title and go on a run, I’ll gain International Heavyweight Championship consideration. Then, once I win that title, you’ve got the leading professional wrestling organization in the world helmed as champion by one of your own.”

Amadeus is silent for several moments now.

“Very well, Ryan. I’ve always appreciated your honesty. Know this though. If you fail me again, there will be dire consequences. Do. You. Understand?”

Ryan sits back, sighing in relief before responding.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, Mr. James?”

“Yes sir. Apologies, sir.”

Amadeus doesn’t respond, instead cutting the connection. Ryan rubs his temples. Natalie stalks over and sits facing him on his lap.

“What are you going to do now?”

Ryan looks at her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I don’t know, Natalie. This is big. If I mess up again, I may not survive.”

Natalie pulls his chin up, looking him in the eyes.

“Ryan, you look like you’ve aged ten years. The stress is killing you. Are you sure this was the right idea?”

Ryan considers for moment.

“Yes. It was the only way to survive, love. I do have an exit strategy, though.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you for now. Let’s wait and see what happens”

[Lazyking]

“My Father once told me, ‘Son, asking for forgiveness upon failure is asking that failure be an accepted choice in your life.’ My Father has failed many times; he failed his wife and his son that he abandoned. He would say sorry but he would never, ever ask to be forgiven. It wasn’t because he didn’t feel bad for all the failures that he seemingly kept on repeating… It was actually eating at his soul, knowing that words couldn’t make up for the pain that he pushed on to his loved ones.



It is with that in mind that I won’t ask to be forgiven for not winning my tag match at the last Pyromania show. I failed at my goal. I failed my partner, Blackwell. I failed the LPW fans; for not delivering on my words to make an impact. I failed myself and that is something that I cannot let happen again. I’m not going to say that I won’t lose again… No Pro Wrestler is perfect but I will say that failure will not be accepted. There will be no running and hiding from it. I will approach everything head on and get better at my craft. That is one promise I can and will keep.”


Kabul, Afghanistan
0400 hours

“Wyatt, are you awake?”

Stirring on the top military bunk, Wyatt Malone cracked his eyes open to the voice of his best friend, Brian “Big sky” Thomas.

“What is it, Bri?” Wyatt sleepily asked against his thin pillow.

“What’s our tag team name gonna be when we get home?”

“I don’t know Bri… I haven’t given much thought about it honestly. I’m too busy trying to sleep and you know, not get killed over here…”

“Yeah, but Wyatt we have too much shit to still do before we die… I ain’t gonna get killed by Camel fuckers I can tell you that right now.”

“You better not because if you do, Anna will kill me”

Laughter erupted underneath Wyatt’s bunk, shaking the structure.

“I’d love to see my little woman beat the shit out of my best friend for letting me die.” Said Brian, as his laugh turned into a coughing fit.

A few minutes passed and just as Wyatt was about to fall asleep again, Brian spoke up softly.

“Promise me Wyatt, we’ll be the greatest LPW tag team of all time…..”

“LPW? Man, we haven’t even properly been trained yet.” Wyatt muttered.

“Just promise me, damn it!” Brian’s voice shook with anger and a trace of fear.

“I promise.” Said Wyatt firmly and with hope that the promise would come true.

Butte, Montana
0700 hours

“Wyatt, are you awake?”

Those particular set of words made Wyatt’s eyes pop open and look around, searching for his best friend…

“Brian…Is that you?”

Turning on the bed, Wyatt sat up and bumped his head against a woman’s arm which forced the cup of coffee in her hand to fall to the floor.

“Wyatt! You spilled your morning coffee. I’ll make you another cup.” Anna said, irritated at the mess.

Rubbing his head, Wyatt watched Rufus lick up the coffee with delight. Tiredness etched Wyatt’s face as he slipped on his morning slippers, picked up the broken mug and walked into the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you correct me when I called Brian’s name out.” He said softly to Anna’s back.

Anna turned with a mug of coffee in her hand and tears slipping down her cheeks… Wyatt lowered his head.

“I uh just liked hearing my husband’s name again. Here, drink this. You like it black, right?” Anna asked her hand outstretched her other hand smoothing out her wet tears.

Accepting the coffee, Wyatt took a sip and smiled up at Anna. “Thank you Anna… I’m sorry I made you cry.”

Anna shrugged. “It’s okay Wyatt. I was just surprised. I know you have your first LPW singles match coming up so I wanted to do something for you. After all, you have let me stay here the last few weeks.”

“Well, I need someone to look after Rufus when I’m gone and he loves you so...” Wyatt stopped and turned to look at his black lab and grinned at the dog’s lovable face.

“That’s not the reason, Wyatt.” Anna paused, fiddling with her hands; she looked up to see Wyatt looking at her. “You know, I’ve been a mess since you came home without Brian.”

Wyatt’s hands shook for a moment and then he sighed. “I just want you to be okay, Anna… That’s what Brian would want too.”

Anna smiled. “I want that too but it’s hard… Actually, seeing you live out Brian’s dream to be a pro wrestler really helps. He would be so proud.”

Wyatt scoffed at the notion. “He’d be proud that I’m on Vertigo? The LPW preshow, where one loss could mean my job? Yeah, I’m sure he’s so proud”

Anna steps forward and frames her soft hands around Wyatt. He tries to pull away but she held firm.

“Yes. He would be proud because he knows that getting to this point is hard enough and that you will not fail him.”

Wyatt puts down the coffee and a dark, grim smile appears. “I already failed him, Anna.”

Shaking her head, Anna tries to reach out to Wyatt. “No you didn’t. Losing one match doesn’t- “

“I failed him when I let him die!!” Wyatt screamed causing Rufus to bark and Anna to stand there, stunned.

Spinning around, Wyatt grabbed for his jacket and stormed outside.

“Wyatt!” Anna shouted from the doorway but he ignored her and broke into a run.


“I go running to clear my head. Meditation in the shower can only help so much. It relaxes the aches and pains I may have, but it doesn’t get rid of this dark cloud of despair that I carry with me since that day. The day Brian died. I can’t talk about but it’s always there so I do the only thing I can do: I run from it. I say that I will face everything head on, with no fear, but truthfully, the only time I feel like that is when I’m in the wrestling ring. When I run, it pushes Brian back down. When I wrestle, Brian doesn’t exist. Only my opponent exists. Yes, this was Brian’s dream and because it’s his dream, my focus in the ring is to put all my energy into making his dream a success.

Step one, train hard, so hard my body wants to break into pieces. Step two, make it to LPW. Step three, win my first match. Step three is eluding me. I know it’s only one match, but when that bell rang to end it, whose voice was in my head?

Brian almost scolding me… ‘You can’t even win your first match? I thought we were gonna be the best tag team of all time and you can’t even manage to make an impact?’
Now, I’m going into my second match in LPW against Kyle Williams and I’m not even on the main card. Brian is probably laughing at me.

So when I step in between those ropes, I need to cut off all distractions, focus on Kyle Williams and win. Not just to move my career forward, but to begin to make Brian truly proud of me. Kyle Williams, you will not stop me. You may try, but my will to succeed, my desire to not fail again?

It is stronger then you. I promise you that.”

[Al Boo Boo]

I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.
- Jack Kerouac


A man can only take so many successive losses. And Al, within the Six months prior to this particular late night bar visit, had suffered enough losses to fill a small house. Currently, he drank for each of them. He drank to Beli, the love he had lost. He drank to his Brother, whose whereabouts were unknown. He drank to the feeling of his shoulder being pinned to the mat. A feeling he had never forgotten, but had let sleep - dormant in the part of his mind he never visited. The part you had all of those things you never wish to see or think. The deep recess’ of ones inner monologue where you keep that girl who never gave you a shot, where you keep the secret you kept from your family, where there’s nothing but mysteries and enigmas and horrible truths you would never have see the light of day. Or at least your frontal cortex.

Al had lost this part of his mind. The doors were blown wide open and all of it’s occupants took up residence front and center. He lived with his demons now. He drank whiskey with them until he was red in the face on a nightly basis. He sat and stewed with the multitude of mistakes he had made. It was making him miserable.

He had begun to notice people’s reception of him had soured. He had grown accustomed to the cheers and smiles and chants that he was regularly given in the wrestling business. And sure, while they were partly there at his first return performance, Altered Reality, they were a sliver of what once was. The reason was two-fold.

LPW had changed in his absence. Not necessarily because of his absence, although Al wanted that to be the case. He badly wanted to return to the same fanfare. He yearned for the love of the masses. The eyes of 12-year-olds as they lit up like a Christmas tree as he pointed their way. He knew this ability was a rare one. To have this incredibly unique gift, and the method to deliver it, was something he had taken for granted. But he had spent two years attempting to deliver that same emotion daily to the woman he loved. And he had success. But that current venture was over, and Al needed a new fix. And yet, when he went back to the well, it was empty. His dealer was plum out. And it was no ones fault than his own, and he was coming to realize over his whiskey on the rocks.

He had returned a sad sack. He was a shell of his former self, as cliche as a phrase it is. But it was wholly true. The joy that he once shared had been wiped away from the harsh life he had lead since his exit. This business, more than any, begs the class question “What have you done for me lately?” And besides Al had nothing to show for his recent bouts except three losses and a sour attitude. He was no warrior. He wasn’t a fighter. The old Al would channel his depressive state into a anger-fueled rage, tearing through opponents on his way to LPW gold. Current Al, however, was a in a somber stupor, channeling nothing. Raging against no one but himself. He had told himself that his return was strictly for money, and while his financial state proved that to be true, whether or not his conscience did, he was realizing more and more this reason took a backseat to another.

Beli’s hospital bills drained his bank account. By the time they closed the casket and began tossing dirt on her eternal resting place, Al was virtually broke. He had forgotten the exact number, but when he was finally able to pull himself from his own sarcophagus to check his bank account, he had realized that it wasn’t long before the food in his freezer would be the only thing he owned. But the barrenness of Al’s freeze-o-matic, which contained some frost bitten french fries and Eggo’s, was - in retrospect, nothing on the ice-box his soul had become.

As some deeply depressive people would explain, the afflicted will report an empty feeling. It’s not constant sadness. It’s not feeling sorry for the horrors you’ve undergone. It’s a eerie nothingness that eats at your very core. This was Al’s past, and current mental state. His physical state, as well. He hadn’t trained a bit since his return. He hadn’t lifted a single God damn weight. He was fat. He got gassed quickly. He was weak. He hadn't even bothered to tan. And he was always sleepy. Constantly tired. And he had to consciously keep himself awake as he sat, this night, in a Boston Bar.

It was here in this seedy Boston tavern that Al would find that energy that once made him a household name. He sat at the end the bar. Alone, he huddled over his drink. He wore his usual street clothes. Nike Sneakers, Dark Blue Jeans, and a grey and black flannel under a black zip up sweat. His urban attitude seeped through the cracks of the more mature facade he attempted to convey. He ignored the rest of the pub as they ignored him. He didn’t much have to worry about being recognized anymore. And still, he didn’t risk it - keeping a low profile as he slowly became impaired.

Right then, the door flew open, letting in cold air that sent a spine-shivering shake down through Al’s very soul. He looked up to see who intruded upon the peaceful dreariness of the place only to see his future tag-team partner - Xander Kross. Avoiding eye contact, he stared up at the TV which silently entertained itself. SportsCenter. Al and SportsCenter had spent tireless hours together in hotel rooms and bars. He was tired of SportsCenter like she was his old maid.

Soon enough, it became clear Xander was here for one reason. Al looked over, seeing Xander stretch his neck in search for someone. He looked down by the pool tables, then by the back door and mens bathroom, and then right to where Al sat - where the Bar met the wall - kiddie corner to everyone else. Al didn’t much care for drinking with company these days. But he could never pass up a free drink, so when his Tag-Team Partner Xander Kross approached him with the offer of another round, Al easily obliged. Al screamed to himself inside. He wished nothing more than to just be alone at this very moment.

“Sure, man. Sit down. Same as before. Whisky neat.” Al said, looking at no one in particular. Xander motioned to the bartender that they needed another round, who then turned his attention to Kross, wondering if Xander wanted the same.

“Just a water. ” Xander ordered, who then turned his attention back to Al.

XK: “Yo, you should chill on the drink befo’ our match, nigga. I ain’t trying to carry ya’ old dusty ass. You know?”

Al: You won’t be carrying shit. I can hold my own. And you know this, son.

XK: Na, na, na. I know the 2008 Al who knew how to beat a nigga or two down. Ya’ boy don’t know this broken ass mutha fucker right here. This nigga don’t look like he could win a game-a-dominoes let alone a match.

Al swivels around to face Xander. His legs rest arched up on the barstool swivel cause his thighs to bulge. He nervously shakes one up and down the way we sometimes do without consciously knowing it. The gut he is extremely aware and self-conscience of protrudes over his belt. His jacket hangs freely at his sides, framing what has become an absolutely out-of-shape athlete. Al isn’t happy in this body. He isn’t happy period. And as he looks at Xander - he sees something that he hasn’t seen in awhile. Someone who actually gives a fuck that Al is letting himself slip through the cracks.

It was but a moment, but in this split second of eye contact between the two Al was reminded of what that felt like. He had someone expressing interest in him. And it felt good.

XK: I’m just saying, dude. You was neva’ the most yolked cats in the business, but you used to be solid, at least. Bulky, but trim - you know? Me? Well, I stay on the definition tip, know what i’m sayin’? Give a little back to the bitches and all that shit.

Al: Not interested.

XK: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, man. We all know. You don’t think eve’ryone in that locka’room ain’t feeling for you? We knew that girl, too, man.

Al’s ears perk up. This is breaking news to him. The only interaction he’s had in the lockerroom since his return has been a short, brief talk with Eddie. It went over nice, smooth, and easy and Beli, while being brought up once, wasn’t the center of the conversation. Thinking back to that brief beef-squashing moment, however - Al began to realize that she was completely the focus of that conversation.

Eddie B, a man who had done despicable things to Beli. Eddie B, the ruthless, careless enemy of Al who went to great lengths to cause the two endless torture. Al chalked up the apology to maturity and time. And while that was more than likely a part of why Eddie decided to confront Al in the lockerroom in that moment - the death of Beli was also in the forefront. No one wants to remember the harm they caused someone who soon after died of terminal cancer. Not even the barbarian Al defined Eddie as. Eddie wasn’t being nice because he had grown into an adult. Eddie was being nice to Al because Al had lost Beli.

And all of those eyes and stares, and looks out of the corner of peoples eyes that Al had been feeling since his return? Not because Al was some kind of lockeroom legend. Not because Al was an icon. Because they all knew the heartbreak Al had endured since he and Beli told the company “One Fast Move or i’m Gone”.

XK: Don’t think we ain’t all feelin’ for you, bro. We are. She was your fam, and, thus, she was all of our fam’. And Fam’ is Fam’, dog. You know?

Al stays quiet, nodding his head to accept the condolences. He had grown quite good at that little act. Solemnly accepting someones elses well-wishes.

XK: But look - you can’t do this shit to ya’self no mo’, man. This. All of this

Xander raises his arms to insinuate the entire building. Al looks up from his almost empty drink to look around the pub of his choosing. In the far corner, he spots a woman sitting alone with her own bottle of Jim Beam. At a pool table he sees a couple whose combined weight more than likely doesn’t equal that of his left leg. Sitting adjacent to him and Xander is either an off-duty Cop who’s on his fourth Whiskey Sour and doesn’t look to be finishing any time soon. Mumbling under his breath, Al gives in...

Al: you’re right.

XK: What?

Al: I said... you’re right...

XK: Damn right i’m mutha’ fuckin’ right. Beli wouldn’t want you postin’ up at some piss hole drinkin’ this god damn shitty mutha’ fuckin’ drank.

Xander takes a sip of Al’s highball glass.

XK: COT DAMN. What the FUCK is that shit?

Al: 151

XK: STRAIGHT? You a crazy, nigga, I swear. Can a nigga get some Ciroc in this bitch. Barkeep - can a nigga get some Ciroc in this bitch?

The Bartender rolls his eyes, undoubtedly labels Xander a certain racial slur in his mind, and continues to wipe down the woodgrained Bar.

Al: You think you’re the first person to tell me this, though. I can see it in you. You think you’re spitting gospel, like you’re a prophet sent here to save a soul that is damaged beyond repair.

You’re not.

Al wags a finger at Xander, as he reclaims his drink, finishing it off in one foul swig. His face shrivels, and for the first time, he realizes just how goddamn awful it tastes.

Al: You think you’re the first person to tell me i;m not alone in this bullshit?

XK: Yeah.

He was

Al: You think you’re the first person to come at me with this BS about being the better me, and trying to move forward with the rest of my life?

XK: Yeah.

He was.

Al: You think you’re the only person, since Beli, who actually seems to give two fucks about me?

XK: Yeah.

He was. He was to all three. And Al was beginning to realize this.

XK: You need to cool it with that shit. (pointing to Al’s glass) Ya’ body is a temple and all that Pilates bullshit.

Al: If my body is a temple, then i’m an atheist.

At this, Al called raised his hand for the bartender to poor him another. This one, he wagered, would be the one to put him over the top. The one that brought him from slightly impaired, to downright drunk. This would be where Al would cut himself off. He was a drunk, but he wasn’t no sloppy drunk.

Al: We got this match, man... that’s what we need to be focusing on tonight. - not my this shit. You know these cats more than I do. Omega already proven already that he can’t stand to me straight up, had to use YOUR Western States Heri- Oh, wait. That ain’t yours no more, huh?

XK: Be cool, maaaan.

Al: Yeah, thats hit now, right? Huh. You let a damn Omega take your strap. Omega is fucking right. And you, your an Alpha. WE are Alphas. Matta’ fact, maybe that’s what we should be callin’ ourselves. .

XK: Alphas?

Al: And Storme - Storme’s a run-a-the-mill up and comer type who’s hit his ceiling anything. Dude is on a hell of a hot streak - sure. But that’s going to end sometime. I’ve seen the guy. I’ve watched his promos, reviewed the tapes. Dude just doesn’t have it. But as of right now, the guy is on. He’s on fire. And it’ll be up to us to extinguish that flame early.

XK: Thas’ that shit I do like.

Al: I’m talking about just pounding him. Bring him to his knees early, take his lower body out of the equation. Just absolutely brutal shit - right? You watched my old shit, you know how I did it. We need to do exactly that. And besides - it’s your mutha fucking fault I lost last week. You couldn’t keep business outta’ my business and it ended with me getting a title belt to the back-a-the head. Pinned for the first time.

XK: Nigga, you know that wasn’t my fault.

Al: Hell fuckin’ yeah it was. What kinda’ shit was that - the dude who took your title and TBM are out there trying to screw me and Eddie, and where are you? Playing Tetris in the back? Playing Parcheesi with some bitch?

XK: Nigga Fuck You! I hustled my ass out there, dude - You know I wouldn’t pla-

Al: Not fast enough. Not quick enough. Not good enough. And I ain’t losin’ again - so you’re going to have to be faster. And I ain’t saying that I won’t be making changes. Shit - I gotta change my whole fucking gameplan. This losin’ shit is for the birds. I ain’t interested in losing no more. And it won’t happen no longer. Done.

XK: Done. I want my fuckin’ belt back.

Al: And I want you to get it back. So let’s go out there, get this win, get these swimming pools, show Steve and Seth that there’s a Storme-a-brewing when these Alphas come for them Omega Niggas. Click, Click, Mutha' Fuckas'.

Al and XK laugh, pound fists...

XK: Click, Click, Mutha' Fuckas'.

The fire that had swiftly went dim would be reinvigorated from the vitality and vigor of a young man that gave Al visions of his young self.


SYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSYSY SYSYSY



I sit in a dark room. Since you’ve left i’ve found the beauty in acting out these dark and dreary doldrums. People want to hide their depression, attempting to act what we, as a society, perceive as ‘normal’. You taught me more than anything that normal is nothing. You taught me the absurdity in calling anything normal. That was the lesson you instilled in me in showing me what this life is. How incredibly weird it is to be anything at all. To exist, period, is so absurdly strange. And we all just inhabit some plane of existence that is brought about by every tiny decision we make. Somehow, by the Gods, or Buddha, or Mohammed, we were brought together to learn these lessons.

And what a lesson I learned.

And that lesson is the reason i’m here talking to you now. I sit in this dark room with dreadful dream of your dying days. I sit in this room with only an image or the shell that encapsulated your beautiful soul. And i’ve sat with these visions of you as. You are my incubus, making it incapable for me to live the life you left behind. None of this is to say, of course, that I blame you. Of course not, my darling.

But these dark days must become a thing of the past if I am going to survive this shipwreck. These doldrums must end. And though I move to a new chapter, don’t dismiss the tremendous effect you have had. I, of course, carry you with me always. Every decision is dedicated to you, Darling.

This isn’t a break up. This isn’t a departure. But it’s time for your visits to end. The nights need to be left for me, no more being nestled up to my neck in blankets to protect from nightmares. As if you buried me awake. And just when I think I can fall asleep, your face is up against mine, and im too terrified to speak. And you’re screaming and crying and cursing and smiling and apologizing.

And in my nightmare I am falling from the ceiling into bed beside you. Body your body contains no breath. And i’m screaming and crying and cursing and smiling and apologizing.

You’ve been gone for quite a while now. And thought I wish to hold you closer, I have to let it go. I’ll spare you and everyone else the dramatics. They know you’re gone. You know you’re gone. The only person who seems to not want to realize and confirm your absence is me. And that can no longer be the case. I know for sure that i’ll never get over losing you. I’ll always wonder what our lives could have been if we lived it out the way we both intended. But that reality will never come to fruition. The reality I still inhabit has me here - isolated, lonely, and wishing for solitary. Collecting a paycheck and counting pennies.

The love I lost when you left has stolen from me the joy I felt from wrestling. The joy LPW gave me. That enjoyment, which I refound tonight in a Boston area bar, is something I need to embrace and cultivate. And that is exactly what I will do. And it will, we will hope, lead me in the correct direction.

I am a widower now. You, my Wife, is gone. Single, I suppose. Xander Kross, a kid I know you’d like very much, made me a proposition tonight, Beli. And I believe I will accept his offer. It may sound childish, but a friend or two is exactly what I need to get out of this six feet deep hole you left me in. This canyon of despair that I can’t bare to exist in needs to be the past. My future in LPW and this world is the brightest light i’ve seen since your eyes last glistened.

The depression days need to end. And I must kiss you goodnight, for now, my love. I will return to you when my time is over. And we will, then, resume our loving life. For now, this existence shall continue without Beli Jimenez. Goodbye, Beli. For now.

Although, I miss the way life was when you were my girl.

[iDeAndes]

http://i1227.photobucket.com/albums/ee422/iDeAndesLOP/xk_logo.jpg


Presents: The Come Up -
The Wicked Game




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1OTWCd40bc

Disclaimer: The following account is based on true events. The characters depicted are based on fictionalized caricatures of otherwise very real people. Any and all likenesses are purely designed to help the narrative.

I was nervous. Giddy, even.

The summer was usually a time where people just kick back and enjoy not having to stay up at ungodly hours, studying into the wee hours of the morning, cramming for an anthropology final you knew you were gonna fail regardless. But this? This was my summer of liberation. After four years of bullshitting on the bench, earning an equally bullshit degree I don’t even think I’ll ever put to use, I was finally free from scholastic slavery.

I was ready to do me again. Ready to be back home.

Huntington Beach during the summer is a fuckin’ mad house. The amount of tree, ass, and drank one can consume in a short period of time is something to be marveled at. Most people twenty-three and fresh from college would hit up a bar or spend time with the fam. Me? I preferred kicking it with old friends I left behind to pursue my dreams. Maybe it was to gloat? Maybe it was to use this all to my advantage? I don’t even know. Didn’t really care. I needed to leave UCLA and that chapter in my life behind me. I needed to leave Patricia behind me.


I left my girl back home
I don't love her no more
And she'll never fucking know that
These fucking eyes that I'm staring at

I must have been more nervous than usual because I had to have bummy ass Daniel of all people check the fit. My brother is a lot of things – Huntington Beach’s resident man slut being one of them. But his sense of style? His gift for gab? The corny ass lines he uses on females? He got it all from me. I struggled to throw the Laker Gold G-Shock over my wrist and I have to say..I felt swagged than a muahfucka. Unfortunately, my hands were too fuckin’ shakey to unclasp some loose hoochie’s bra much less tie my own shoes. I stopped momentarily to examine myself in the mirror – Hollister cargo shorts, purple Chuck Taylors with the gold laces, fresh new snap back, plain white v-neck and a purple cardigan.

Fitted from head to toe, I thought to myself arrogantly, bouncing on the balls of my feet. This only seemed to irk Daniel as he tried to lint roll the cardigan.

"Stay still, nigga!" He was really irritated.

"I'm sorry, bruh, I’m just juiced to get smammered (OOC: extremely intoxicated)..."

"Either stay the fuck still, or I'll tie this thing tight. That way, when your black ass gets too fucked up and you can’t get no pearl, you can give yaself the Stranger, bruh" He threatened and sounded totally serious about it. I stopped bouncing and instead clenched my fists. My palms were sweaty and I remember the distinct smell of Acqua Di Gio mingling with Old Spie. He finally finished, and I loosened at as usual and turned to stare into the full length mirror on my room.

"Oh you think you got style, X? Muahfucka, you aint got no style," Daniel teased. He was rocking a pair of Jordan 1s he had custom made with the “Gucci” color scheme, a matching Washington Redskins fitted cap with the logo hand stitched in, and a black, red, and green DGK t-shirt a top some Shrink-to-fit Levi’s. How this broke nigga got all his shit, one will never actually know. One could only assume that his various side bitches and crazy ass baby-mama supplied him with the ends. But the world may never know. At the time, though, we felt like kings of the world. Or at least kings of our small town; conquering heroes ready to feast on the spoils of homegrown tail and the finest liquor twenty bucks could buy.

"Aiight I’ll let you tell it, nigga. I mean maybe we shouldn’t go out lookin’ so damn fly, bruh. Might cause some of these hos to just hit the stanky leg and wet theyselves, nah’mean?"

"You're just right. She won't know what hit her when she smells yo’ kickin’ ass breff."

"Real cute, bruh. Real cute. So what’s a bitch finna say when she sees that ol’ caterpillar crawlin’ across your forehead…haha..my bad, bruh my bad. That’s just yo jacked up ass monobrow."

"Eat a dick nigga, let’s cut. Matt keeps blowin’ up my phone. We already beyond fashionably late. And Lena is trippin’. Told her we goin’ to LA for the weekend to celebrate your dumbass graduatin’." And with that he patted me on the back.

"Why you always lyin’ to that poor girl and stringin’ her along, Danny?"

"She’s just my bottom bitch, bruh. "

"She’s also the mother of your child, ‘D. Stop treatin’ her like these other lil’ sideline hos. She’s finna find out and stab you one day." He smirked his lopsided grin and just shook his head. After that he, exited the room with a single parting shot.

“Just like Freddie the Virgin Slayer to have onegina disease (OOC: serial monogamist). All talk and no game. Hurry up, bruh. You forever on CPT (OOC: colored people time).”

It was just like him to say something like that before a night where I was already biting through my tongue. My hat kept tugging against my eyebrow ring, and I know Daniel noticed that I was on edge. I was so excited about this one little house party. After years of frat parties, enjoying the bright lights of La-La Land and some of its more hood aspects, there was nothing like coming back home virtually an icon and a celebrity.

It was all part of the game.


* * * * * * * * * *


I was so incredibly nervous. Fuck my anxiety. I need a blunt to just relax. To just unwind. But ever since I broke up with Mike, I felt like I’d been free. Liberated, even. Which was stupid of me. I’m a grown ass woman. I go to school. I’m a licensed cosmetologist. I have my shit together. So why can’t I just calm down?

"Hold still." Jackie snapped and I realized my leg had been shaking. She was busy powdering my face and applying thick rings of black eyeliner. Jackie was lacing up my corset. Now don't get me wrong, I know thicker girls shouldn't wear corsets, it tends to make their arms and chest look huge, I know that. Which is why Jackie wasn't squeezing the life out of me and with the dark purple corset I was wearing a loose-sleeved black blouse and an ankle-length skirt Jackie loaned me that she said would make my Puetro Rican ass pop. I thought it was maybe a bit overdone but they insisted it was perfect and that I would stun someone tonight. I wasn’t looking for Mr. Right tonight…I was looking for Mr. (or Mrs.) Right-Now.

If that makes me sound like a slut, fuck you. You have no idea what I’ve been through.


Let me see that ass
Look at all this cash
And I emptied out my cards, too
Now I'm fucking leaning on that

"Are you sure about this?"

"For the last time," Jessica sounded irritable as she tightened the last strings, "You'll look beautiful."

"And stop moving." Jackie hissed, nearly poking me. I sat rigid, barely breathing until they both declared "Done." In unison and I stood before the mirror.
…OK, so it wasn't that bad. But I still thought I might hurl. I was SO NERVOUS it was almost comical. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time, admiring the make-up Jackie had given me. Thick eyeliner over dark purple eye shadow and pale, peach colored lips mixed with even paler blush. I looked good but I also looked like I was going out somewhere really important, and I hoped that I wasn’t overdressed for a beach party. I almost fainted at the thought. Maybe I should've asked Jackie to loosen the corset. But even as the thought crossed my mind there was a tapping at the window and the three of us went over to see.

It was Purple-Hat Matt. I fucking hated that name but that’s what everyone called him on account you only see him wearing purple hats. He gave Jackie a kiss as he stepped through the door, a bunch of local faces pouring in behind him, his pants halfway to his ankles and carrying a bottle of Hennessy in one hand with Motts Apple Juice in the other. He flashed a disdained look at Jessica who reciprocated (not that I could blame him..Jessica was kind of a holier-than-thou bitch and didn’t approve of Jackie dating the town he-slut) and smiled wide when our eyes met. It made me feel uneasy. I felt like I didn’t belong…that after a year of being up Mike’s ass every day, I had no right to be greeted as though we were all the closest of friends. But that’s what happens, right? When everything turns to shit and you feel like nothing but a huge pile of crap, you can always count on your “friends” to pick you out of a funk.

"Haven't you ever heard of a doorbell?" I asked playfully.

“You ever heard of a phone, stoner?” he responded jovially before giving me a big hug. I wish he didn’t squeeze so tightly. It only made me more nauseous, “Can’t hit no one up no more? Damn…I thought we were cool, Jazz?”

Thanks, asshole, I thought to myself. Way to make me feel like an even bigger piece of shit.

I smirk sarcastically and turn my attention to his group of friends behind him. One I recognized immediately as Daniel. He was tall, skinny, and tattooed just like Matt was. Probably why they were such good butt-buddies. With a Newport tucked behind his ear and flashing a wide grin that made his snake-bite piercing glow beneath the light, he gave me a one armed hug.

“Hi Jazzy,” he said low enough for absolutely no one to hear as the music and loud noise suddenly broke my concentration (or maybe my nerves), “here…take a shot with me! You have to! I haven’t seen your ass in ages!”

I obliged after exchanging greetings…even though I hate shots and the pained expression on my face said as much. Daniel and Matt both thought this was hysterical. Jessica was all but amused. And Jackie? Jackie was too much up Matt’s ass to really give a fuck either way. It was then I saw him. And immediately, I thought to myself that he’s just like Matt and Daniel. Same lengthy, slim build. Same manner of dress. Piercings? Check. Tattoos? Check.

Only difference was that he was black. Oh God does that make me racist for noticing that? Fuck! Pull yourself together, Jazz. He’s just another part of the “He-Slut” crew. He introduces himself as X which makes me roll my eyes and ask what his mom thought about him giving himself that name. With a flash of arrogance that was surprisingly endearing, he went with…

“Oh? My bad…you want my government name? It’s Fredrick. Fredrick Alexander Douglas. Most people call me Xander. Or X. Or Daddy Dick. Whichever you prefer.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. One thing I can’t help is be attracted to assholes. But the way he phrased it..the way that he spoke and the mannerisms he had, I just knew he wasn’t taking himself that seriously. It was refreshing.

Now…bringing him home would be something else entirely. Papa would kill me if I brought home a black guy.

Fuck that sounded a lot more racist than it had any right being. I need a blunt.


* * * * * * * * * *


Y’know it’s bad when as soon as you step through the door, there’s just one chick that really catches your eye. Daniel attributes it to my onegina disease. I attribute it to the fact that I’m a picky eater and I like what I like.
Anywho, she neglects to introduce herself after rolling her eyes and walking away. The skirt she’s wearing really extenuates her hips and ass. So much so that both Daniel and Matt have to look down at it as well. Her curled blond hair bounces as she makes her rounds through the din of loud music and marijuana smoke, the pink streaks in it gleaming beneath the fluorescent lighting. She wasn’t slender or didn’t have big tits or what have you. She was a real woman with real curves; a natural beauty with a hint of crazy white girl and a dash of ethnic booty I know gets most of my kind in trouble.

“Ey…would y’all hit?” I ask. Again, being out of the game so long, one begins to question one’s decision making ability. Both co-sign. They most definitely would.

“She gotta name?”

“Yeah,” Daniel responds, “It’s Jasmine.”

“Jasmine, huh? She gotta boyfriend?”

“No,” Jackie responds this time, finally ungluing herself from Matt long enough to come give me a hug, “She’s gay, X. You’re not allowed to talk to her.”

“That’s a damn shame.”

The one chick that immediately catches my eye and she don’t even like dicks. It is what it is. I can’t change it. Time to move on. I, too, make my rounds through the party while Daniel gets pulled off into some adjourning room by one of his little jump offs. Big titted chick named Anika if my memory serves. But it really doesn’t matter what her name is. By the end of the night, Daniel will have gotten what he wanted, chucked her the deuce, and moved onto something new. At times, I wish I had his carelessness. Wish that I could just use other people the same way I feel they use me.


Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame
Bring the drugs, baby, I could bring my pain
I got my heart right here
I got my scars right here


Bring the cups, baby, I could bring the drank
Bring your body, baby, I could bring you fame
That's my muthafucking word, too
Just let me muthafucking love you



She must have gotten more beautiful over the course of the night, or the lighting was just really bad earlier, because she was just radiant. And I could only see her face. I could only imagine what the rest of her looked like. I couldn't help but have a big smile spread across my face.

"Doorbells are for the niggas who lack the romantic imagination that I have so successfully mastered." I placed a hand over my heart and tried to emphasize as much of that sentence as I possibly could without sounding too conceited. There was vines growing the side of the house going right around her window. I thought it a perfect opportunity to do something a little cheesy, but hey. If a guy ever did this for me... my heart would be stolen. I think to myself two things: One..pause and two, I think you're getting a little too ahead of yourself there, Romeo... I crossed the yard to the vine, and sure enough, started to climb it. "Oh my..." She said completely shocked. Lucky for me the vine was strong enough, and the gate thing to support them was too. Don't look down...

Sure enough as I got higher she came more into sight. My god, she was stunning. Just glowing with beauty and radiance. I pulle myself up to the window so just about eye to eye with her. "And besides. I haven't climbed some good vines in so long. Now why, I ask you, would you deny me?"


* * * * * * * * * *


I was blushing so badly. That was just too cute! I couldn't believe he was CLIMBING vines for me. I mean, that was totally something I was telling my grandchildren. My first date ever had climbed vines for me. It would make anyone blush. And let me tell you, I felt like covering my face, I was so happy and yet so embarrassed. I knew Jessica and Jackie would have something to say about that. Well, maybe just Jackie but she wouldn't say in front of Xander and that was a good thing.

I leaned against the windowsill on my elbows, my face very close to his. I had that miraculous urge to kiss him, and I didn't feel awkward about it. If it hadn't been an actual first date I probably would have, he was that close and that perfect looking. Or maybe that was just the liquor and need to get away from the memory of Mike talking. I tried to look at his eyes but they were too deep brown that you couldn’t help but just get lost in them so I admired his hair instead, and smiled. More to myself than at him, I was just enjoying all this too much. I picked a good one.
"I am not climbing down, Romeo." I said playfully, grinning slightly. It would've been fun to climb vines but I was in a corset and a skirt. A skirt that was not mine and Jackie would hang me from my toenails or something equally brutal, if I ruined it. She loved this skirt. Which was why I resisted the urge to hug and kiss her when she had handed it to me earlier saying quite frankly that it was what I needed. I loved Jackie. Hell, I loved everyone tonight!


Listen, ma, I'll give you all I got
Get me off of this, I need confidence in myself
And
Ohhh yea
Listen, ma, I'll give you all of me
Give me all of it, I need all of it to myself
Woahhh oh

* * * * * * * * * *



I could almost feel the heat from her reddening face against my skin. It was starting to make me turn just about red as she was. And if you’ve ever made a nigga blush, you know you’ve accomplished something. She was so close to my face, I just wanted to kiss her right there and then. How Aladdin would that be eh? All we're missing is a palace, a tiger, a bigger balcony, and a magic carpet... I adjusted my grip on the vine, which was starting to rip from the side of the house. Naturally. A loose spot right by her window... I grabbed onto the window sill instead.

"Why, my dear Jasmine. I would never dream of making you climb down this vine. What kind of guy do you think I am?" I climbed up higher so I used the side of the window for support. I would like to come in, but became hesitant when I saw her two friends looking at me like they couldn't believe where I was and why. Trust me girls... I'm starting to question why I didn't just ring the front doorbell... I’m not the biggest fan of heights to be honest and having her room on the second floor was not helping at all. My legs were getting shaky. Though I'm sure it was the mix of being nervous, and being slightly intoxicated.

"Now, I almost hate to ask," I began looking back to Jasmine's gorgeous face, "but, may I come in?"


Let me see you dance
I love to watch you dance
Take you down another level
Get you dancing with the Devil

Take a shot of this
But I'm warning you
I'm on that shit that you can't smell, baby
So, put down your perfume



* * * * * * * * * *


"Yes!" Jessica said before I could even relay the question to her. She looked incredibly excited about what was happening. Considering I looked like a princess of the night and Xander had just climbed into the window she was probably thinking how cool it was that a twisted Disney romance was unfolding in her bedroom. I smiled sheepishly. Thank god I didn't have to introduce anyone. Xander was also looking rather awkward.

"Yeah, so, we'll just be going then." I said, feeling very embarrassed and quickly led Xander out the door and down the stairs. Jessica gave me the he's-cute-but-slightly-psycho look as we left and I just shrugged, leaving Jackie to chatter and the Jessica to be a killjoy. So predicable… Once out in the street, alone with Mr. Dreamy over there, I started yet again to feel subconscious about my clothes. It was the nicest thing I'd worn since my parents marriage and that was when I was nine. I didn't know how to be subconscious then.


"I take it, you didn't bring a car, eh Romeo?" I asked and Xander shook his head. It was a good thing Jackie hadn't put me in heels. I smiled at Xander since he was starting to look awkward. "So…" I said, "What are we going to do, Brain? Take over the world?"

Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame
Bring the drugs, baby, I could bring my pain
I got my heart right here
I got my scars right here

Bring the cups baby I could bring the drank
Bring your body baby, I could bring you fame
That's my muthafucking words to you
So let me muthafucking love you


* * * * * * * * * *


God, she was just so cute, I almost couldn't stand it. My neck? Who else would answer with a question like that? No one I can think of, that's for sure. I wanted to be a vampire. But she didn't need to know that right now. I have having fun stepping in the sand. I looked down at my feet and was just noticing how interesting it is to just watch yourself walk. Not sure of what you're going to run into, just looking at your feet. Evidently she had noticed this, for she had giggled and was now doing the same.

"Ever noticed how extremely fascinating your feet can be?" She looked at me bewildered.

"Excuse me?" She was laughing as she said this and I looked at her.
"Haven't you ever just looked at your feet when you walked and just realized how interesting they were?"

"Not lately, no." She was still putting some laugh into her words.

"Shame. It's such an interesting thing to do. Then again, this is me whose talking so..." I kicked some sand up in the air and watched as it just came showering down in grains. The moon was still making its way up into the sky and it was seriously making me feel more and more alive. I could hear the waves on the sand as they lapped over each other. A ferry had just left the dock again. They ceased after a while and it was silent. Not even a gust of wind was in the air. I looked at her. I could almost hear her breathing, it was so quiet. I liked it.


Listen, ma, I'll give you all I got
Get me off of this, I need confidence in myself
And
Ohhh yea

Listen, ma, I'll give you all of me
Give me all of it, I need all of it to myself
Woahhh ohhh

"So would you rather sit on the rocks, the logs, the sand, or keep walking?" I was very unbiased with this decision. As long as she was going to stay there with me, I really didn't care what we were doing.

* * * * * * * * * *



That, my dear Xander, is a very difficult question. It was really was, because what I wanted to do was go swimming. There was nothing like late night swimming, under the moon, with someone I cared about. But I couldn't get Jackie's skirt wet so that was out of the question. And I was NOT going skinning dipping with Xander, that was way too embarrassing and besides it was the first date. Too much. I wasn't even going to entertain the notion. Instead I smirked at the question and started backing up toward the water. He looked at me confused and that turned my smirk into a smile. He was adorable when he was confused.

"I have a better idea." I laughed and gathered my skirt to my knees, backing up until the low waves were halfway up my calves. Xander grinned at me. I wondered if he would come in after me. He was wearing a very nice pair of slacks and it might look silly for him to roll them up. But I was already in the water and nothing in the worlds could make me come out now. My legs were freezing where the water kept hitting them and my toes were going numb from the cold sand. I loved it!

* * * * * * * * * *


There was no way she expected me to just wade in. I was about to pick her up and collapse in the water with her, but looking at her hold up her ankle length skirt gave me the thought that she might just get a little upset with me if I did that. So instead I loosened my tie so it came off the top of my head and un buttoned my shirt, taking it off. She was still turned around facing the rest of the water. I decided that getting a black leather belt wasn't a good idea. So that rested on shirt which was folded on a log with a dry rock on it as not to blow away in the wind. I emptied my pockets which consisted of my cell phone and wallet.

Instead of turning her around, I ran from right there into the water splashing as I did so. As I got deeper, I finally just dived in. I came up and faced toward shore. She was looking at me like I was completely crazy. I couldn't help if the water was just so refreshing. After that I got out. I just wanted the pleasure of doing that once. However, it was going to be a little hard to put my shirt back on now. I guess I'll have to wait until I dry.

"That was incredibly enjoyable." I stated as I got closer to her just wading her feet in. My hair was still in the state it was when I first left home. Bless water proof moose. Only washable with shampoo or soap.

"I cannot believe you just did that!" She was smiling her pretty little ass off. I smiled at her devilishly. She seemed to read my looks. "Ohhh no. You are not getting me any farther in that water." She was backing up toward shore.

"I would never." I walked up to her right there, tilted her chin upwards and kissed her. Long, soft and affectionately. It was my moment now, and I was going to cherish every minute where our lips touched. She let the bottom of her skirt fall to her ankles and wrapped her arms around my neck. My arm curled around her waist and pulled her closer.

For the first time in a long time, I’m reminded why I love this game.

And why I loved her.


http://i1227.photobucket.com/albums/ee422/iDeAndesLOP/xk_logo.jpg


Presents: The Blow Up -
Rebound


The scene opens with a shot just over Xander’s shoulder as he pushes his way through the double doors of a dingy Boston bar. The place was a dive, to say the least. And , as it already had been established, Xander and bars don’t mix well together. Garbed in a black hoodie with a black on white fitted Boston Red Socks cap, white v-neck t-shirt, and black and white high top Chuck Taylors, it was clear he didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to himself amongst unfriendly Celtics fans. Even more ironic still was the fact the man he came to see was a an ardent Giants and Niners fan; a fleeting thought that crossed Xander’s mind as he spotted the dumpy, broken shell people knew as Al drowning his sorrows in an aged Single Malt Whiskey while watching SportsCenter on the dust-laden flat screen hanging behind the bar, isolated in a lone corner and trying to remain non-descript and inconspicuous.

Xander could relate to that pain that Al felt. Relate to the adulation of success. And also relate to the heartache of loss. Both men had stark similarities. Both were minority men in a predominately white “sport”. Both were supposed to be the jovial, care-free paragons of virtue and comic relief. And both experienced a life of duality that set them apart from the others. Even in Al’s current state, Xander couldn’t help but feel for him. And perhaps be slightly frightened as a look flit across his face that said one thing quite plainly:

Is this my future?

Xander paced quickly across the barroom floor, paying no heed to the other patrons and keeping a laser focus on the subject in question before taking a seat beside Al, not even bothering to ask if he could accompany the fellow former Western States Heritage Champion.

He should know. He should expect this is coming..

“Sure, man. Sit down. Same as before. Whisky neat.” Al remarked dryly before downing the last salvation at the bottom of the glass. He said this statement to no-one in particular as though their reaction was either unimportant or beneath his notice. Xander motioned to the bartender that they needed another round, who, in turn , gave his attention to Kross, wondering if Xander wanted the same.


“Jus’ a water, ” Xander ordered, who then turned his attention back to Al.


XK: Ayo, you should chill on the drink befo’ our match, nigga. I ain’t trying to carry ya’ old dusty ass. Y’know?


Al: You won’t be carrying shit. I can hold my own. And you know this, son.


XK: Nah, nah, nah. I know the 2008 Al who knew how to beat a nigga or two down. Ya’ boy don’t know this broken ass muthafucka right here. This nigga don’t look like he could win a game-a-dominoes let alone a match.



Xander could tell that he struck a nerve with Al as he swivels around to face Xander. Dante had taught him well about bringing out the best in people by vocally criticizing their worst. Or was it perhaps a trait that he picked up with all of his arguments with Jasmine? He couldn’t tell anymore. He was so used to being manipulated and “gamed” by people, he just assumed it came with the territory. Seth comes to mind and Xander’s blood boils for a mere instant. But for that split second once his eyes met with Al’s, he realized it was never about manipulation or control and, to his own surprise, realized that it was more about commonality and caring for one’s fellow man.



He was worried about Al. And Al’s problems made his seem miniscule in comparison. Even stranger still…this consoled Xander in his momentary rage.


XK: I’m just saying, dude. You was neva’ the most yolked cats in the business, but you used to be solid, at least. Bulky, but trim - you know? Me? Well, I stay on the definition tip, know what i’m sayin’? Give a little back to the bitches and all that shit.


Al: Not interested.


XK: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, man. We all know. You don’t think eve’ryone in that locka’room ain’t feelin’ for you? We knew that girl, too, man.


Xander, of course, didn’t know Beli well. But he had certainly met her. She had a vivacious fire about her. A great spirit. A great personality. And, from being in the same realm as Al, Xander assumed a firey temper. Just like Jasmine. The thought of her pained him slightly but in order to accomplish his goal, he needed for Al to share his pain with him and vice versa. They needed to be in unison. They needed to be on the same page. Just like he and DJ were.


XK: Don’t think we ain’t all feelin’ for you, bro. We are. She was your fam, and, thus, she was all of our fam’. And Fam’ is Fam’, dog. You know?


Al stays quiet, nodding his head to accept the condolences. He had grown quite good at that little act. Solemnly accepting someones elses well-wishes.


XK: But look - you can’t do this shit to ya’self no mo’, man. This. All of this.


Xander raises his arms to insinuate the entire building. Al looks up from his almost empty drink to look around the pub of his choosing. In the far corner, he spots a woman sitting alone with her own bottle of Jim Beam. At a pool table he sees a couple whose combined weight more than likely doesn’t equal that of his left leg. Sitting adjacent to him and Xander is either an off-duty Cop who’s on his fourth Whiskey Sour and doesn’t look to be finishing any time soon. Mumbling under his breath, Al gives in...

Al: You’re right.

XK: What?


Al: I said... you’re right...

XK: Damn right I’m mutha’ fuckin’ right. Beli wouldn’t want you postin’ up at some piss hole drinkin’ this god damn shitty mutha’ fuckin’ drank.

Xander takes a hearty swig of Al's concoction. He nearly vomits as it touches his lips but swallows with a coarse look on his face.

XK: COT DAMN. What the FUCK is that shit?

Al: 151.

XK: STRAIGHT? You a crazy, nigga, I swear. Can a nigga get some Ciroc in this bitch. Barkeep - can a nigga get some Ciroc in this bitch?

The bartender looks overtly aggravated. Xander swears he could hear the word “nigger” and the phrase “dirt dumb” clumsily tumble from his lips but makes nothing of it in particular. He wasn’t in here to get into yet another bar fight to prove his mettle to another veteran. He’d already beaten Al before. The man knew what he was capable of.


Al: You think you’re the first person to tell me this, though. I can see it in you. You think you’re spitting gospel, like you’re a prophet sent here to save a soul that is damaged beyond repair.

You’re not.

Al, doing his best Dikembe Mutombo impersonation, shakes a finger in Xander’s face while taking another snort. The queasy look on his face tells Xander the bitterness of the whiskey has finally hit him. Or perhaps the truth of Xander’s words is finally resonating with him.

Al: You think you’re the first person to tell me I’m not alone in this bullshit?

XK: Yeah.


Jasmine said this.

Al: You think you’re the first person to come at me with this BS about being the better me, and trying to move forward with the rest of my life?

XK: Yeah.

She said this too.

Al: You think you’re the only person, since Beli, who actually seems to give two fucks about me?

XK: Yeah.

She was right. All along, she was right…


XK: You need to cool it with that shit. (pointing to Al’s glass). Ya’ body is a temple and all that Pilates bullshit.


Al: If my body is a temple, then I’m an atheist.


At this, Al called raised his hand for the bartender to poor him another. This one, he wagered, would be the one to put him over the top. The one that brought him from slightly impaired, to downright drunk. This would be where Al would cut himself off. He was a drunk, but he wasn’t no sloppy drunk.


Al: We got this match, man... that’s what we need to be focusing on tonight. - not my this shit. You know these cats more than I do. Omega already proven already that he can’t stand to me straight up, had to use YOUR Western States Heri- Oh, wait. That ain’t yours no more, huh?


XK: Be coo’, maaaan.


Al: Yeah, thats hit now, right? Huh. You let a damn Omega take your strap. Omega is fucking right. And you, your an Alpha. WE are Alphas. Matta’ fact, maybe that’s what we should be callin’ ourselves. .


XK: Alphas?


Al: And Storme - Storme’s a run-a-the-mill up and comer type who’s hit his ceiling anything. Dude is on a hell of a hot streak - sure. But that’s going to end sometime. I’ve seen the guy. I’ve watched his promos, reviewed the tapes. Dude just doesn’t have it. But as of right now, the guy is on. He’s on fire. And it’ll be up to us to extinguish that flame early.

XK: Thas’ that shit I do like.


Al: I’m talking about just pounding him. Bring him to his knees early, take his lower body out of the equation. Just absolutely brutal shit - right? You watched my old shit, you know how I did it. We need to do exactly that. And besides - it’s your mutha fucking fault I lost last week. You couldn’t keep business outta’ my business and it ended with me getting a title belt to the back-a-the head. Pinned for the first time.


XK: Nigga, you know that wasn’t my fault.


Al: Hell fuckin’ yeah it was. What kinda’ shit was that - the dude who took your title and TBM are out there trying to screw me and Eddie, and where are you? Playing Tetris in the back? Playing Parcheesi with some bitch?


XK: Nigga, Fuck You! I hustled my ass out there, dude - You know I wouldn’t pla-


Al: Not fast enough. Not quick enough. Not good enough. And I ain’t losin’ again - so you’re going to have to be faster. And I ain’t saying that I won’t be making changes. Shit - I gotta change my whole fucking gameplan. This losin’ shit is for the birds. I ain’t interested in losing no more. And it won’t happen no longer. Done.


XK: Done. I want my fuckin’ belt back.


Al: And I want you to get it back. So let’s go out there, get this win, get these swimming pools, show Steve and Seth that there’s a Storme-a-brewing when these Alphas come for them Omega Niggas. Click, Click, Mutha' Fuckas'.


Al and XK share a laugh as well as give each other dap (OOC: pound fists).


XK: Click, Click, Mutha' Fuckas'.


The scene fades to black as Xander looks off to his side, his smile fading slightly as the camera pans down to his waistline where the effulgent bulge of what appears to be a handgun protrudes from the tuck of his waistband.

[Storme]

Fade in. The setting is an average hotel room illuminated only by the bedside light. The curtains are drawn and the digital clock reads: 3:49 am. A visibly exhausted Steve Storme is lying on his side in bed, while his girlfriend Jenna Phillips uses makeup wipes to remove layers of foundation and mascara at the dressing table.

Storme: Why do you wear so much makeup?

Jenna: I… I just want to look pretty.

Storme: You are pretty. You don’t need to wake up every morning and plaster your face with that shit.

Jenna looks over at Steve and smiles warmly.

Jenna: Awww. You’re so swee-

Storme: I guess I’m just tired of the fakes… the phonies… the frauds. Tired of people hiding behind masks, pretending to be something they’re not. Tired of Xander Kross and his played out thug routine; posing with pistols, reciting DMX lyrics and ‘mean mugging’ any camera in sight. But it’s not just him. They all have an agenda. They all have an image which they carefully cultivate with every promo. But I see through it, I see them for what they truly are.

Jenna furrows her brow in confusion, but continues wiping down her cheeks.

Jenna: O… K…

Storme: Maybe that’s why I like Seth.

Jenna: Aren’t you supposed to be meeting him tomorrow night?

Storme: He’s an obnoxious, classless, narrow-minded junkie piece of shit. But he’s real, and I respect that. In a business like this, authenticity is hard to come by. Not many people want to stare into the mirror and accept what’s looking back at them.

Jenna bites her lip softly as she looks at her reflection for just a moment before joining Steve in bed. She presses down on the mattress with both hands and laughs a little.

Jenna: Oh wow, this bed is SO springy!

Storme: Mmhmm.

Jenna: I remember when I was a kid, I had THE softest bed. It was so comfy; I never wanted to get up for school. Of course I didn’t wanna go to school anyway. There were some mean kids in my class that would always laugh at me for reading too slowly or whatever.

Storme: People are cruel.

Jenna: Yeah…

Storme sits up with a groan and offs the light.

Jenna: Why don’t you ever talk about your childhood?

Silence. Jenna runs her hand along Storme’s shoulder soothingly.

Jenna: You can tell me anything. I’m here for you.

Storme: I know.

Jenna: So… where did you grow up? What were your parents like?

Storme: I told you before. I don’t remember.

Jenna: You said you don’t remember MUCH, but you do remember something. I wanna hear it - pleeeeease!

Storme: Lets do this another time, I need sleep.

Jenna: Come on, babe, I just want-

Storme: I said NO.

Jenna lays back into the bed and sighs as the scene fades out into...


-------

Misty darkness. The swirling fog begins to dissipate, revealing the familiar setting of the grand hall of the Dream Realm. Huge stone statues line the room, honouring ancient gods that have since been forgotten by human consciousness. A rich red carpet stretches through these statues towards a golden throne ornate in design. Upon it sits Morpheus, Master of the Dream Realm and World Heavyweight Championship, waiting patiently. At the opposite end of the carpet, two old heavy doors creak open and Steve Storme enters the Dream Realm.

Morpheus: About time.

Storme: Insomnia.

Morpheus nods, his ragged black hair falling over his pasty white face. Storme walks slowly up the red carpet, glancing sideways from sunken eyes at the rellics of the past. When just a few feet from the throne, Storme shrugs his shoulders, waiting for Morpheus to explain himself.

Morpheus: I need to talk to you about your future.

Storme: I’ve been waiting well over a year – what about my past?

A sigh from the Master of the Dream Realm, while Storme deftly lights a cigarette.

Morpheus: Some things are better left unknown.

Storme: What do you know?

Morpheus: I know that you should focus on your future.

Storme chuckles to himself quietly.

Storme: Ones future is shaped by ones past. You told me from the beginning that you would help me learn the truth. But you lied. What gives you the right to hold secrets about my history?

Morpheus: Steve… I’m trying to protect you.

Storme: Patronizing me will get you nowhere.

Morpheus: I apologize, but this is not the best time. We need to discuss more pressing matters, such as your allegiance within The Awakened.

Storme: What allegiance?

Morpheus: Hence my concern.

Steve smiles knowingly as the smoke billows from his mouth.

Storme: So this is where you kick me out.

Morpheus: Not at all. Contrary to what you might think, I consider you a friend. The Awakened is a brotherhood, not a business arrangement. You’ve been talking of leaving recently and I want to assure you there is no need. Despite your issues with Azreal, you are very much welcome here.

Storme: Yes, I do have issues with Azreal. In fact, I even have issues with Ultramarcus. But now I also have issues with you.

Morpheus: You have issues with Marcus?

Storme: I may have made decisions that you disagree with, but I have always been committed to The Awakened. I have always been there when it counts. I have always supported our endeavours. Think about it. I was there to ensure Big B. Brown couldn’t take your title. I was there to help Marcus beat Krimson Mask and progress to the DeathCube. I was even there to stop Nigel Vanderbilt ending Azreal’s life, which I now regret.

Morpheus shakes his head from side to side.

Storme: But Marcus… Marcus hasn’t done a goddamn thing for this stable. He saw a chance to leech off of us and he took it. Before Awakened, he was floundering in the Pyromania mid-card but we gave him purpose, and the means to succeed, and he gave nothing back. You look confused, Morpheus, let me ask you something: is Marcus our team-mate?

Morpheus: Well yes-

Storme: How can he be our team-mate when I haven’t spoken a single word to him in months. When was the last time you had a conversation with him? How about Azreal?

Storme flicks his cigarette to the floor while Morpheus stays silent.

Storme: Exactly. While we’re holding this group together, he’s off playing terrorist in Toronto or some inane bullshit. So that’s my problem with Marcus. But don’t even get me started on your golden boy Azreal.

Morpheus: Yeah, lets not go there again.

An awkward silence ensues as Storme folds his arms and stares at his former mentor.

Morpheus: So you’re leaving.

Storme: I can deal with Azreal’s ballooned ego. I can deal with Marcus’ selfish isolationism. But I cannot deal with you holding secrets about my past. You know how much that means to me. You know how long I’ve waited. Either you tell me everything or I leave The Awakened.

Morpheus sighs heavily, his head resting in his hands.

Storme: I expect an answer by the end of the month.

With that said, Storme turns on his heel and walks briskly back towards the double doors from which he entered. He pulls them open and disappears into the stone corridors of the Dream Realm. A hulking figure now emerges from the shadows of the grand hall.

Morpheus: What should I do?

Azreal: We don’t need scum like him.

Morpheus: Do we want scum like him as our enemy though?

Azreal ponders the thought as the scene fades to misty blackness once again.


-------


Omega: So… The Anarchists are back in business.

The familiar voice of Seth Omega ushers us into a small seedy bar on the outside of Boston. The aformentioned is sat at the bar alongside his Anarchists partner Steve Storme. Seth is drinking from a bottle of beer while Storme sips a Screwdriver, the famous Vodka and orange cocktail. The bartender watches them from the corner of his eye while polishing glasses.

Storme: For the night.

Seth cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow.

Omega: You ain’t left the dream faggots yet?

Storme: Not yet, and even if I had, that wouldn’t mean anything.

Seth snorts in indignation before downing the rest of his bottle.

Omega: Come on, Steve. Don’t do me like that.

Storme: We’ll always be The Anarchists, but I have my own plans.

Omega: Oh is that so?

Storme: You have a title belt to defend anyway.

Omega: That didn’t stop you from winning the Tag Team Championships.

Storme: But you’re not me.

Omega: Asshole.

The former tag team partners share a laugh, which has been sorely lacking from both their lives in far too long. Noticing Storme’s glass is empty, Seth orders them another round of drinks. Steve takes a sip and looks over to a fruit machine where Jenna is hammering buttons.

Omega: That’s a fine piece of ass you got there.

Storme: Uh… thanks.

Omega: Not that I wanted her coming. This was supposed to be like the old days. The original hell raisers back together; downing drinks, getting high, starting fights and slapping bitches up in the strip club.

Storme: Sorry about that. Next time…

Omega: Next time I expect her to let you off your leash.

Storme: Fuck you.

Omega: Heh. Anyway, I thought you couldn’t make it tonight.

Storme: Oh… yeah… I was supposed to have an appointment.

Omega: With who?

Storme: My therapist.

Seth’s eyes widen as he laughs loudly, drawing a few glances from other drinkers.

Omega: You have a therapist now?

Storme: My Pyromania contract requires I attend psychiatric therapy. It’s to avoid a lawsuit from Master Chief Phillips but I’ve only been to a couple sessions. I can’t be dealing with some prick trying to analyse my mind.

Omega: I told you way back, fuck all the psychological bullshit – and that includes the Dream Realm. You shoulda listened to me in the first place. I knew-

Storme: ‘I told you so’ – that’s what you’re going with.

Omega: Pretty much.

Storme: Save it, I’m not done with The Awakened. There are cracks in the foundations, but Morpheus has the opportunity to salvage LPW’s most dominant faction in years. The ball is in his court. See, I think you’re just pissed off you never got an invitation.

Omega: Watch your mouth, pretty boy.

Seth gives Storme a playful punch, which Storme returns a little harder. Omega winces in response, backing off a little.

Storme: Oh man up, you pussy.

Omega: Gimme a minute.

Seth pulls up his sleeve and gently massages a cluster of open sores near the bend in his arm. Steve brushes Seth’s hand out the way and takes a closer look at the fresh cuts.

Storme: Seth… what the fuck?

Omega: I’ve been meaning to-

Storme: You told me you were over this. Weed and pills? Sure. Maybe even a bit of coke, but NOT heroin, you fucking moron. This shit will drain the life from you.

Before Omega can reply, something across the bar catches his attention. He nudges Storme and they both watch as a tall African-American male walks up behind Jenna at the fruit machine and starts whispering in her ear, his hands running over her hips. He’s dressed in chains and baggy clothes – the typical ‘gangsta’. Jenna turns round with a horrified expression on her face and pushes him away.

Jenna: Get away from me!

Gangsta: Shut yo stank ass up hoe! I want some pussy tonight!

He grabs her by her long blonde hair but Storme is already charging forward, punches flying furiously. The gangsta stumbles backwards, his fists coming up in self-defence as Steve throws jab after jab. A right hook connects, knocking him back onto a near-by table with a thud.

Bartender: All of you get outta here before I call the cops!

Seth and Storme nod, pulling the gangsta up by his corn-rows and pushing him roughly through the double doors of the establishment. Outside on the pavement, the thug struggles to get up, wiping a little blood from his lip. Before he can climb to his feet, Seth casually smashes his beer bottle over the gangsta’s head, sending him to the floor again. With eyes narrowed, Storme lays into him with a series of vicious kicks to the face, which only end when Jenna tugs his arm softly.

Jenna: Babe… he’s not moving…

Storme: Good.

Seth chuckles to himself and kicks the gangsta off the curb into the street. Storme spits over his unconscious body and the trio start walking down the street.

Storme: Now lets find a strip club.

Fade out.


-------

“When you can’t see the angles no more, you’re in trouble, baby.”

Decisions… but they’re not mine to be made. Regardless of the outcome, I know who I can count on. Even if he is a junkie, The Anarchists will never die. We will ride again, and tonight, we relieve the old days. Not even LPW, I’m talking indie circuit. Back when we were nobodies. Back when we would shed blood for a couple hundred hicks in some redneck town. Back when we were fighting purely for the thrill of it, not for a paycheque or a title belt. Times have changed, but sometimes it’s good to remember what made you what you are today.

Al… Xander… you wanna be thugs? We’ll show you thugs. We’ll show you brutality. We’ll show you remorselessness. We’ll show you ANARCHY incarnate. We’ll show you the true meaning of the word ‘thug’ when we cave your thick heads in and paint the canvas with your blood. Just like you told me, Xander…

This is not a fucking game.

[Omega]

Championships are a reflection of your hard work to all your peers, they define you, they define your work, they define your legacy. Every great man, no matter the sport get defined by his winning tradition. For every million that says, Dan Marino was the greatest quarterback of all time, there is another 2 million that are quick to say “he never won a Super Bowl”. For every person who tries to define the greatest wrestler of all time, the words Ric Flair have to come up just for one reason alone. Championships...lots and lots of championships.

So what happens when you finally get gold? You become the prey, and not the hunter itself. You become chum in the water, and now here come the sharks waiting to tear you apart. You've got to be fearless to be a champion, you've got to have a look of stone cold silence on you. Emotionless, and you've got to have that win at all cost mentality. And that is what I finally developed. With nothing but pure adrenaline running through my veins, you do what you have to do to win.

That's the attitude The Anarchists have had since day one, win at all costs. Now between the two of us we've got a Western States Heritage Championship, a Hardcore Championship, a Television Championship, and a Tag Team Championship. But it's not enough...not now, not ever. Our number goal is complete and total domination, and the only way to achieve that is to step on the throats of those that dare oppose us in the ring, and in life. There was no more being nice, there was only what we have to do to survive.

And now, our sights are fully locked on one thing and one thing only...more gold.

...well, that and some weed.

The scene opens up with Storme and Omega sitting on a rooftop, somewhere in California.

Storme: It's a week until Thanksgiving, and it's warm as fuck out here.

Omega: No shit...I've already had to start using the fire place back home, and this is borderline orgasmic, it's like springtime right in the dead of November.

Storme: See, I'm telling you that you need to get your ass out of Redneckville and come to Killa Cali.

Omega: Nah, I can't deal with all the people that don't speak English...not to mention I'd fit in like Kim Kardashian at the million man march.

Storme: But wouldn't sh...nevermind we're high as fuck right now.

Omega: You know what would make this better?

Storme: Snorting cocaine off a whore's ass, cause if you want I can call Jenna up here...

Omega: Nah, I was thinking having Andy Savana around here would be boss.

Storme: Jesus Christ, there is no telling how much shit would get broken.

Omega: Yeah...but man we would be higher than a Georgia Pine at all times...

Storme: Dude, you know what I just thought about?

Seth takes another huge drag off a joint and passes it back to Steve, before coughing loudly and releasing a huge cloud of smoke.

Omega: Hmm?

Storme: What happens when...nah, nevermind forget it.

Omega: C'mon man, don't play that game.

Storme: What happens if or when we get in each other's way?

Omega: You keep asking me this, and I keep telling you the same damn thing. Nothing is going to change our friendship again, no matter what we're fighting over.

Storme: I thought that the first time too, and look where it got us. Broken bones, and a 3 outta 5 falls match.

Omega: Yeah, and before we became friends we whipped one another around in a barbed wire match. What's your point?

Storme: But this time it's different...this time it's a bigger picture. More money, more gold, more everything that kept us in the business this long.

Omega: Yeah, and we could have the feud of the year...we could show these people what wrestling really is about, and we could push each other to a new limit. That's good for everybody involved...and bad for everyone that is standing in our way.

Storme: You're right...but still, I can't imagine us just dropping everything and going to war one more time.

Omega: Me either bro, me either.

For those who didn't know, I had been one of Steve's best friends for years. But at one point we had spilled more of each other's blood than we had shared beers together. We had a feud that went legit to the core, despite everything we had been through. I had never wanted to return to that point, because Steven was a man who had kept me away from the edge for so long. Our friendship went deeper than a partnership, it was a brotherhood. When I lost everything he was the first one to stick his hand out and make sure I was alright. He was the man who talked me off the ledge so many times when life had beaten me in the dirt. I didn't want to admit it, but going against him legitimately scared me. Not physically, but I didn't want to lose my best friend again. At this point he was really all I had, I wasn't married, I didn't have kids I knew about it, and nobody else could put up with the forty hells I bring to the table. Nobody else would smoke weed with me, nobody would get three sheets to the wind with me, with exception of maybe Andy Savana who was currently in a coma.

But I knew it was going to come to this, the question is now if but when. However, for now it was time for us to do what the Anarchists do what we do best. Dominate, obliterate, annihilate, and most of all win. There was only two things standing in our way, a pissed off Xander Kross and washed up Al. Two men who had a legitimate beef...Al wanted to be where I am again, and Kross just got outsmarted by someone who has twice as much experience as he does. Both men couldn't keep up with me in the ring, nor could they keep up with myself and Storme. The future of Pyromania...or should I say the NOW of Pyromania. It was only a matter of time before we owned the fucking world of LPW, one piece at a time.

Three hours later

We see Seth Omega standing in the bathroom of Steve Storme's house, in his hand is a cloth band used to tie up his arm. As he's wrapping his arm up he reaches into an Adidas bag and pulls out a syringe, one with a long thick needle full of a clear liquid. He turns on the sink to make it appear as if he's still in the bathroom, before sliding the needle into his vein. Omega releases the liquid into his blood stream and inhales deeply. It was his edge, it was his new found self, it was...

Storme interupts by knocking on the door, startling Seth. He quickly flushes the syringe down the toilet and turns off the water. However, now he has blood dripping from his arm from where he yanked the syringe out quickly. He unlocks the door and opens it to see his best friend standing there with a case of beer. Quickly Steve notices the blood dripping on the floor, and shifts his eyes towards his best friend giving him a skeptical look.

Storme: I thought you quit with the heroin?

Omega: Excuse me?

Storme: Your arm, it's bleeding...you were shooting up again weren't you?

Omega: Dude, it's not what you think I swear.

Storme: God dammit Seth, I was your fucking sponsor when you went to rehab for that shit the last time...do you not remember that?

Omega: I remember, I swear I remember....but I'm telling you.

Storme: No, fuck you Seth...how could you betray me like this?

Omega: Lay off dude, I've already told you it's not what you think it is.

Storme: That bullshit may fly with other people you know, but I know you way better than that...when I saw the syringes in your bag I hoped for the best...I was hoping maybe it was some new medication, but now you threw my trust away...and I don't even feel like I know you anymore.

Omega: Steve I'm sorry...look just give me some time and I'll explain everything. I just need to figure out how to explain it.

Storme: I want answers, and I want them after our match. I don't care if it's the night of or a week after, but you at least owe me that much don't you think?

Omega: Yeah, I do...I guess I'll take my leave now.

Storme: That might be for the best.

As Seth turns to walk out the front door he stops with his hand on the handle, and says one last thing.

Omega: Steven, you're my Anarchist Brother...nothing will ever change that. Please don't judge me until you get the full story.

Storme: If I hadn't judged you by now, I'm not going too. Don't do anything stupid...you have too much to lose this time.


With that Omega walks out the door and begins walking down the block to get his car. As he leaves his mind can't help but race.

When the world is on fire you've got two choices, either extinguish the flames and be the hero, or watch the world burn and become the villain. For most of my life I tried to walk on a very thin line between the two, pouring gasoline on the flames while keeping a calm on the blaze. Nothing happens without me knowing, and it will always be that way. To say that I'm never caught off guard would be a massive understatement, but to be frank this surprised even myself. Never did I think Steven would be angry with me the way he is now. Not after everything we had been through. It doesn't seem like a lot to those on the outside, but my best friend is not happy with me just hours before one of the biggest matches we'll have this year. We can work through it sure, but to say it is an ideal situation is less than the truth.

But for now it has to be what it is. When we are on the same page we cannot be stopped, and even when we're divided we're one hell of a tandem. Now is the time for us to show what we already know, the flame of Pyromania is lit with the fire of two Anarchists. Pride, passion, focus, hunger, desire...and the architects that will rebuild the place before our very eyes. Now you stand against us Xander and Al, now you face the wrath of two madmen hellbent on destroying those who stand against us. Anarchy is the answer, now you have to fear what is the question. Fear that which you do not understand, hate that which could destroy you, and believe in nothing until you see it with your own eyes.

[sixxisking]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen [vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

[MachoMourn]

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen [vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

[Jeff Watson]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen [vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

[Joe Citizen]

THE UNMASKING OF JOE CITIZEN

INTRO

A young man, no more than nineteen, sits behind the wheel of his sporty coupe. The car isn't new but it is the only car he has ever owned. He reassuringly shoots a smile at the woman in the passenger seat, trying to convince him self as much as her that everything was great. The effect is somewhat ruined though as he unthinkingly wipes away the sweat beading on his brow.

The woman goes to speak several times, each time opening her mouth without a sound coming out. She looks like she wants to reach out, to feel the embrace of her boyfriend, but eventually settles herself and asks.

Woman: Are you sure you don't want to come in too?

Young Man: Very.

The young man replies a little bit too quickly.

Woman: You might be waiting a while. I have no idea this sort of thing takes.

The tremble in her voice gives away the fear she is feeling but the young man either doesn't notice, or chooses not to.

Young Man: That's ok. I'll go visit Dad while you wait. His office is just around the corner.

The young woman murmurs an "ok" and climbs out of her seat. She turns her back from the young man to hide the tears as they begin to flow down her cheek and splash on the bitumen.

Young Man: Darling…

Woman: Yes?

She replies, hope springing in her eyes that she would not have to make this journey alone.

Young Man: Text me when you're done and I'll come back and get you.

Mia's heart breaks a little but she nods and walks away up the concrete steps behind her leading into the doctor's offices, without ever looking back. As she walks away James does his best to bury his guilt

This is women's business after all…

He tells himself as he pulls out of the driveway and heads down the road, toward the high rise building at the end of the street. He completes the journey in an almost trance like state, parking his car and riding up the elevator to the top floor in a daze. He steps off the elevator and is greeted by the staff. Normally he makes time to talk with them, after all everyone wants to chat with "the boss's son" but today he barely manages a wave as he fumbles his way into the corner office without knocking.

A man of middle years is bent over a large table that is covered by a scale model of the company's latest head line project. He is dressed in an expensive suit that is tailored perfectly. He is in good shape and, despite the grey wings in his hair, manages to hide his advancing years very well.

Dad: Kayla, if that's my coffee just put it on my desk and I'll get to it in a minute.

Young Man: Hey Dad.

The man spins around from his model with arms wide, this pace of his legs striding across the wide room matching that of the warm smile spreading over his weathered face.

Dad: Son! What a wonderful surprise! I thought you were working all week.

The two men share a fierce hug and the young man is unable to keep in the guilt, worry and fear that has been bouncing around his head all morning like a fart in a bottle.

Young Man: Mia's pregnant.

Dad: Really? Who's the father?

The young man goes to respond but before he can he is punched firmly in the shoulder. Before he has time to react his father is laughing out loud and grabs a firm grip of his hand, shaking it so vigorously he thinks it might fall off.

Dad: That's the best news I've heard all day. No, week… no YEAR!!

The older man begins heading toward his desk with a smile like the Cheshire cat splitting his beaming face in two. He picks up the phone and punches through to his assistant.

Dad: Cancel that coffee Kayla.

The older man grabs a decanter from a cabinet and two crystal whiskey glasses. He quickly pours two generous serves and waves one under his son's nose. The younger man grabs up the whiskey reluctantly, celebration a long way from his mind, but the thought of a stiff drink is definitely appealing and he quickly downs the shot, sliding his glass on the desk and motioning for another.

Dad: Something the matter son?

Those simple words are all the invitation the younger man needs.

Younger Man: I'm not ready to be a Dad.

Dad: I know son.

The instant response makes the young man pause. He was expecting a denial or some sort of placation but not flat out agreement. He looked over as his father poured a second shot for some joke to follow but there was nothing.

Son: What do you mean, "You know"?

Now came the smile the younger man had been expecting, but this smile wouldn't be followed by a punch line. It was a knowing smile that could only come from someone who had been a parent before.

Dad: No one is ever ready son. That is one of life's great jokes. If you wait until you are "ready" you may as well be waiting for the second coming of Christ.

Son: I'm scared Dad. I'm scared of losing my friends, I'm scared of losing my fun and most of all I'm scared of just messing this kid up.

The Dad smiled knowingly to himself once more, and placed one arm around the shoulder of his son, handing him a refilled glass with the other.

Dad: That fear is the best indication that you won't mess up. No one gets an instruction DVD to go with it but you will figure it out. You just have to make sure you stick together.

The sheepish look on the face of the younger man is all the evidence his wise father needs to know that his son probably should be with his woman right now.

Dad: It's okay son, we all make get scared.


Son: She's having the scan done now.

The father shakes his head a little, but also pats his son consolingly on the shoulder.

Dad: Ah well, Mia will forgive you if you talk to her. I promise you my boy that she is just as, if not even more, scared as you. At least you don't have to carry the child.

Son: But I don't want her to know I'm scared Dad. I mean, I guess it's okay to be scared about messing up, but I don't want to talk to her about the other stuff.

Dad: Losing your friends, your life and your fun?

A sheepish nod from the son shows he knows that he is being selfish and silly but the Dad turns and moves toward the painting on the wall in his office. He pauses briefly to make sure the office door is closed and then snaps it open to reveal a safe behind.

Dad: Hidden safe behind a painting, very cliché I know.

As he punches in a digital combination the locks click open and he swings the heavy door on its well oiled hinges. He lifts a heap of papers and other small items out the way, reaching right to the very back of the safe.

Dad: I know its in here somewhere… Uh huh!! Got it!!

The young man moves a little closer to see what his father is searching for. It is a small black box. The box has no decoration or label. The only thing breaking the matte black leather exterior is a shiny golden lock.

Dad: You really ought to be with the mother of your unborn child, but since you are already here today you can just make sure do that from now on. Instead I'm going to share something with you. Something that I think will help you understand the simple fact most scared fathers to be fail to grasp.

Son: Which is?

Dad: We'll get to that… for now listen to the story I'm going to tell you. It is the story of a man who became a to the masses at the same time as he juggled the responsibilities of becoming a father.

The box clicks open as the father had produced a key from somewhere to open it. As the lid lifted the young man's face widened in amazement at what he saw inside. He had seen it before many times. It was a mask. A very famous mask.

Dad: I am going to tell you the story of …

Son: I know the story Dad. Hell I grew up with this mask remember. Everyone in this town did, you know local guy made superhero. The guy was a living legend. Right up until he suddenly retired anyway. How did you get this? Was it on Ebay or something?

Dad: No, but I paid more for this mask than you could imagine. Son, you might think you know the story of this mask but I am going to tell you things about it that you haven't heard before. Things no-one has heard. The story I'm going to tell is the other half of this mask. It is the story of our family, but not the one you and your mother know. This is the story of how I learned to be a father. How I learnt to be a man. How I learned to love and be loved. This mask is powerful son, but not because of the public legend it created. Rather because of the man it made me become…

Son: Yeah right.

Dad: Sit down son this may take a while.




**********


PART I



I don't really remember getting home from the stadium after my first fight. Truth be told I don't really remember much of that night at all. My opponent, my outfit, the referee and even the very nature of the match itself have faded from memory over time. One thing has never faded though; the sound of the crowd.

Sure, they weren't really cheering for me. I mean 90% of them had never even heard of Joe Citizen before that match. They were cheering for the spectacle, the occasion and the wanton violence.

I remember standing with arm raised in triumph and breathing in the life of the place. I knew at that moment this was where I was meant to be, but more importantly where I WANTED to be!

Unfortunately shortly after the ecstasy of my first win I had to witness the lows of the pro wrestling world…

I will tell you now son that I've never liked hospitals and I especially don't like people who hang around in hospitals unnecessarily, but shortly after my first fight in LPW I had to make an exception. You see son, on the same night a great injustice was done in LPW. The man who did it you won't likely remember. His career was short and spectacularly forgettable, his gimmick was well I don't really even remember it was that bad, some kind of underworld linchpin vendetta type of deal… you know the type… anyway the problem that night was he had done wrong.

Not by another competitor, that would have been dealt with in the normal fashion that made Joe Citizen a household name. This man had done wrong by a civilian and it did not sit right with me……..



**********


November 2012.


A nod at the passing orderly as he carries a box full of who knows what down toward a nurses station breaks the sterility of the hallway. He nods back, perhaps a little surprised that anyone in the place even noticed him, other than to deliver another instruction.

The doctors and nurses buzz by in a flap about something or other but I don't notice them. I am here to see a patient and so as I approach the room number that I was told at reception I pause momentarily, thinking what I will say. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of voices from inside the room and I stop in place and listen to the conversation.

Mourn: There’s $20k. That money combined with the money you are collecting from my harming you in the ring and not being able to work will make you the wealthiest janitor I have ever known.

The voice of my next opponent stops me in my tracks. Was my judgement of his character incorrect? Had he come here to put right what he had made wrong? I listened intently to the remainder of the conversation.

Mourn: Now, you will do a few things for me. When I show up, you will make sure any drinks Allana and I are in need of show up in a prompt manor. I will text you in time to acquire them if they are in short demand or rare to obtain.

The attitude is confirmation enough that my judgements of this man were correct. He does not feel remorse for his actions, he does not care for the wellbeing of this "simple man" he merely wants to force a man he has physically beaten down into being his servant. It alternates between making me want to vomit and rush and beat him into oblivion with a bedpan, preferably soiled.

Regardless I wait patiently to hear out the balance of the conversation. Charging in and starting a fight in the middle of the hospital isn't exactly on my "to do list". As I wait I learn a little more about the man I am scheduled to face in the ring.

Mourn: A simple peasant that worked at a cubicle cannot be equal to me…

I listen on in disgust, saving the barbs to use for inspiration when I have to beat him down later. I listen to his claims of being a "rare breed" and think to myself that this man is nothing but a simple bully. Talking and talking of being better than everyone else. Talking as if he is somehow owed something by society just because of who he is.

Eventually the talking stops and I watch on with disgust as Mourn and his lackey exit the room. It almost makes me laugh out loud, after trying to pigeon hole me as a wannabe superhero the man has just delivered the most archetypical super villain monologue I've ever witnessed. Nevertheless I keep it in check as the two make their way out of the area, the crazy woman staring down anyone and everyone for no apparent reason. Without pause I slip in behind the door and close it.

Joe: That looked like fun

The man on the bed looks a little worse for wear physically but most of his concerns appear to be about the uninvited visitors that keep popping up in his room.

Scruffy: What now? Are you another one of his lackeys?

Joe: No sir. I am nothing to do with that man

With a flick of the wrist that belies my misspent youth attempting to master the world of magic I produce a bottle of bourbon and two small shot glasses. Setting them down on the bed table with a slam, I crack the bottle and poor a single shot into one glass.

Joe: Here, I think you need this.

I say as I slide the glass over to the now less tense janitor. He looks at it askew for a moment then back to me. Finally with hesitation in his voice he mumbles;

Scruffy: If the nurses see me with this you’re a dead man.

Without pause I poor a shot into the other glass, scoop it up and slam it into the side of his.

Joe: Bottoms up!

As I tip my head back, savouring the sweet warmth of the bourbon rolling down my throat, I catch out the corner of my eye a smile on the face of Scruffy the janitor. Possibly the first since he was told he would be put into a match with the talent on Pyromania. He tips up the glass and quickly slams it down on the table, silently eyeing off the bottle in my hand.

Joe: I thought you'd never ask.

I reply to the unasked question, quickly pouring two more shots and lining them up on the table. We both knock them back instantly and though some dribbles down the chin of the man in the checked blue gown I notice he is enjoying every bit of it.

Joe: So what are you thinking? Panasonic? LG, Sony?

Scruffy: Huh?

Joe: Your new TV…

I wink back at him without pause. As it dawns on him that I must have overheard the entire conversation that just took place in the room, Scruffy suddenly looks more than a little sheepish. He squirms uncomfortably in his bed, avoiding eye contact.

Joe: Relax mate.

I pour another shot, this time intentionally filling it right to the brim as the man looks a little nervous. I don't want that at all but I know that his last few days have scarred him.

Joe: I don't care about the money, or your new job…

I smile a little as the whisky gets sprayed across the room. Scruffy sits up in a temper and throws the glass at the wall.

Scruffy: Job… pah… I wouldn't take a job from that self important bloated scrotum if he paid me a hundred times the amount of dirty money. I'm not for sale.

With a flourish I produce two more shot glasses and proceed to pour two more shots. The janitor looks unimpressed by the show but a little puzzled.

Scruffy: Who's the third glass for?

Joe: Him.

I nod at the empty doorway, moments before an orderly burst in. He points to the broken glass and the dripping messy stain of brown whisky spray painted so spectacularly across the boring white hospital wall.

Joe: My fault friend… here have a drink.

The rage on the intern's face washes away as recognition of the man who acknowledged him just minutes ago in the hallway comes. He pulls shut the door, locks it and drags over a stool.

Orderly: Don't mind if I do.

He quickly drains the glass and shoves it back on the table alongside Scruffy and my empties.

Orderly: What are we drinking to?

He asks as I refill the glasses. I hand one back to him and with a smile hand Scruffy his and quip.

Joe: My friend here has got himself a new job.

This time Scruffy merely rolls his eyes, but not before accepting the shot.

Orderly: Congratulations man? But aren't you in a bad way to be having job interviews.

Scruffy: Well that's what I thought…

Joe: Let's just say that a mutual acquaintance made him an offer "he couldn't refuse"

Scruffy: If I ever wanted to get out of this bed anyway.

Orderly: That's shitty man.

Scruffy: You're telling me. First the guy puts me in here because I was going to make him look bad, then he throws his dirty money at me and wants me to be his drinks bitch.

I pour another shot each and pass them around. By now the drinking has slowed down a little and I continue to talk as we sip.

Joe: You know I admire you Scruffy.

Scruffy: Me…. why?

Joe: Even with all that happened I haven't heard hardly a word of complaint from you.

Scruffy scoffs at that, the air bursting from his mouth puffing out his moustache like a butterfly flapping.

Scruffy: Why bother no one listens to a simple janitor when he complains.

Orderly: Ain't that the truth!

The two clink glasses and drain the rest of the contents and slam them down for another refill.

Scruffy: Still, I wish there was some way I could make that arrogant shit and his whore pay for what he did to me.

I finish pouring two more shots and hand one to each of the men. There is not enough for three glasses and as I watch them both down the last of the bourbon I speak, partly to them but partly to myself and every other man who has been trodden on by those in power.

Joe: Leave that to me boys. It's time someone made a stand for the average Joe.

With that I give the bottle a nudge off the table sending it tumbling to the floor. It lands in a plastic bin, shattering into a thousand pieces. One piece jumps back out of the bin and spills onto the floor. It is a part of the maker's label off the bottle and the words can clearly be seen "Wild Turkey: Rare Breed". Momentarily the orderly jumps up to get it but I place a hand on his arm.

Joe: Don't worry mate, I'll clean this one up!

[Omega]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Wyatt showed, Kyle didn't...nuff said.

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen vs. Mourn Despana

I play X-box with Mourn Despana, and he makes me chuckle when I've had too much to drink.

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

Watson might of had the best promo in the match, but his partner shit the bed on him.

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Not gonna lie, this is a personal vote. I like Big B. Brown, but I've always wanted to face my friend Killswitch...this is one of the few chances to do just that.

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

Anarchists 4 Lyfe.

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

X did good, TBM did slightly better. Great standard for a IHC match.

[Storme]

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

[Golden]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone
A simple case of promo vs no promo.

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen vs. Mourn Despana
Although I enjoyed Joe's promo I think Mourn edges this one out. Good stuff from both though, and maybe the start of an interesting feud!

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson
If you ever see me vote against myself, tell me...cause it'll have been a mistake.

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James
It's a pity Ryan James couldn't have posted a promo of the quality that he's shown he's capable of or this would have been a lot closer, but Big B takes this for me.

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme
Really enjoyed Al promo. XK's banged out his usual standard. Omega didn't replicate the brilliance of the one he won the WSHC with and even with a strong showing from Storme I think it's time Al got that monkey off his back.


MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X
Nothing easy about calling this. For me TBM's entire piece felt like he was ready for a new chapter in his career, in fact X's was pretty similar in that respect....so maybe a changing of the guard at the top will pave the way for something epic for both of these future HOFers.

[EB4]

http://i905.photobucket.com/albums/ac251/lpwinferno/newpyrologo.png

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Mourn Despana
CLOSE contest. I like what both of you are doing but I like Mourn more this time.

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King
Good effort from Watson. Seriously. But I love what Sixx Karat Gold are doing right now. Keep it up guys.

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Ryan James
I think James could use the win more.

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross
Better promos and better tag team continuity. And damn, Al needs a fucking win.

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man ©
I've always marked for X. Always will. But I'd like to have a crack at TBM for the e-gold moreso than X, which shocks me to type.

[The X]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen [vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson

]I tell ya, Watson always ends up with the short end of the stick.

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

[Visagra]

Wyatt Malone
Mourn Despana
Mr. Golden and Sixx King
Big B. Brown
Seth Omega and Steve Storme
Tromboner Man

[Babe]

Wyatt Malone
Mourn Despana
Sixx Karat Gold
Big B Brown
Al and XK
X

[Joe Citizen]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone
any promo wins.

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen vs. Mourn Despana
I'm voting for Scruffy the Janitor....vote sabotage for the win... :(

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson
2 v 1

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James


Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme
Kinda annoyed right now and I stopped reading about halfwayu through the promos last night. Therefore I am just voting for who I feel like


MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X
as above.

[Tromboner Man]

LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man ©

[Morpheus]

Wyatt Malone
Mourn Despana
Mr. Golden and Sixx King
Big B. Brown
Seth Omega and Steve Storme
Tromboner Man

The IHC match was REALLY tough for me to call, so in the end I went with my bestie4lyfe. But, X... I would not be the slightest bit surprised to see him take this one, and he'd deserve it if he does.

[Lazyking]

Wyatt Malone
Mourn Despana
Mr. Golden and Sixx King
Big B. Brown
Seth Omega and Steve Storme
Tromboner Man

[iDeAndes]

http://i905.photobucket.com/albums/ac251/lpwinferno/newpyrologo.png





LPW Pyromania Presents – Pyromania 21.2 – LIVE from Boston, Massachusetts.

Tonight’s Card

Vertigo 5.2

Singles Match
Kyle Williams vs. Wyatt Malone

Pyromania 21.2

Singles Match
Joe Citizen vs. Mourn Despana

Tag Team Match
Mr. Golden & Sixx King vs. Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson
This is not a vote against Sixx Karat Gold so much as it is a vote for Watson. I told everyone right as the card was posted Parkes had quit. Unfair he puts up a good showing and doesn't get any due for it.

Western States Heritage Championship Number One Contenders Match
Big B. Brown vs. Ryan James

Tag Team Match
Al & Xander Kross vs. Seth Omega & Steve Storme

MAIN EVENT – International Heavyweight Championship Match
Tromboner Man © vs. X

PLUS – MORE FROM DAMION KROSS, CYNICAL AND CHRISTIAN G. SMITTEN, WE LEARN MORE ABOUT OUT NEW ROOKIE SENSATIONS, AND MUCH, MUCH MORE!!!

Promo only until 11:59PM Friday November 16th EST, Promo and Voting until 11:59PM Sunday November 18th EST, Voting only until 11:59PM Monday November 19th

[Al Boo Boo]

Wyatt Malone
Joe Citizen
This could be a great feud. We need to see this match on a bigger stage.
Christian Parkes & Jeff Watson
Agreed with what others have said. Golden and Sixx wrote great pieces, and they'll win - but this watch should be closer than it will be. This vote is simply to give Watson respect for what will be an undeserved loss.
Big B. Brown
Al & Xander Kross
Tromboner Man

[Tromboner Man]

Thanks everyone. By my watch, we are now closed for the Voting and Promo. Stay tuned, you'll get voting and promo for Insanity in the next few days. By then, we're hoping to have this ready to go!

In regards to the Sixx Karat Gold vs. Parkes and Watson, I have spoken with Watson. There is a plan, so don't write it off as nothing. It would have been nice for Parkes to tell me himself he had quit, but what can you do.

Word for the wise, if you're going to quit, tell me personally in a PM.