30 Man Battle Royal (Entrants Inside)

[Russ]

ENTRANTS: Drake Mosa, Hannah Rickman, Jade Wallace, Terry Marvin, Level-One, Anthony Bailey, Michael Callahan, Sabra Nikolayev, Jon 'Yodi' Carlson, Santana, Jose Ramon, Dan Ryan, Arkia Fisk, John Dionysus, Stu Who, Extream, Buddy Zent, David Cyclone, Dorling, The Black Black Ranger, Scott Rage, Gravedigger, Insomnia, Mikhail Vokov, Johnny Rebel, Talon Wilkins, Rex Evans, Isamu Suzuki, Leon Corbin, Lucas Payne.

One roleplay per person, rough word limit for 3,000 per RP (this is a courtesy more than a rule, I won't check so don't sweat it too much).

Deadline = Saturday 5th May at...

GMT - 23:59
North Australia - 09:29 (Next Day)
West Australia - 07:59 (Next Day)
CST - 17:59
EST - 18:59
PST - 15:59

Best of luck with it!

[Callahan]

A single, golden crucifix slowly manifests itself onto a vacant, black screen, with the cursive letters “TRI Productions” written in bold cursive underneath it. Slowly this image fades away and replacing it is a single bold number “Five” in stark white, a “boom” sound adding dramatic emphasis to the appearance. A faraway voice over, the tenor tones of one Michael Callahan recites a voice over in order to get this show on the road and make the introduction he needs both to the interpromotion community and to make the epic impact he needs to create tidal waves with his arrival in the High Stakes Battle Royale.

So what is the symbolic nature of the number five, and why has this obviously Michael Callahan voice over decided to roar it at the listener?

Michael Callahan: FIVE.

We're about to find out.

Michael Callahan: Five is a unique number. What more can be said about this simple, one digit number? Five is many things. Five is a prime number, the amount of players required for one team in a five a side game of soccer, the amount fruits in a “Five Alive” soft drink and the amount of fingers and toes we should have on each hand provided we're not horifically mutated. All of the great and ghastly symbols of Satan such as the pentagram and the pentacle are five pointed stars and conveniently enough, the Star of David also has five points. I'm Catholic though, so that's not really relevant to me. What is relevant is that in the High Stakes Battle R-

Clearing his throat, Michael Callahan's seemingly weedy and obedient assistant Chono Asahara who's been renamed “Steve Fukuyama” because Callahan doesn't like foreign names is quick to interrupt the proceedings.

Steve Fukuyama: Six...

The deep announcer voice that Michael had been using suddenly stops and he returns to his normal tone of voice momentarily.

Michael Callahan: What?

Steve Fukuyama: Six Michael, the number is six.

Michael Callahan: Really?

He almost sounds like he's in total disbelief. He can't believe that he actually managed to get the number of his High Stakes Battle Royale entry wrong.

Steve Fukuyama: Yup.

Michael Callahan: Damn. Should I start again?

Steve Fukuyama: Go for it.

Michael clears his throat and gets back into the zone, his voice dropping a couple of octaves and becoming significantly more gristly as he tries again to ominously state facts about his entry number.

Michael Callahan: Six... It's a number of great importance, and-

Cutting in to make a correction, Steve wastes no opportunity in trying to prove any level of any intellectual superiority over the bullying and smug Callahan. Even if it means getting a clip round the ears.

Steve Fukuyama: And the Star of David has six points, are y-

Michael Callahan: Do you mind? I'm trying to make a speech here.

Callahan sighs disappointedly, irked by the insubordination of his assistant. Fukuyama is always like this and it gets to a point where sometimes it just stops being funny and becomes a ruddy nuisance. A meek apology escapes the paling lips of his Japanese-American coffee fetcher.

Steve Fukuyama: Sorry.

Michael Callahan: Six... It's a number of great importance. Historically and numerically. There are six points on the Star of David in the Hebrew faith. Six strings on the electric guitars that rock stages all around the globe, every day. Six is the number of points you get for scoring a touchdown in American football. And finally, it was on the sixth day that God created man in his own image. But wait, prepare to rewrite the history books on the number six for it is the number that a true man like the one personally designed by God as the progenitor of masculinity that will eliminate twenty nine other men to win the High Stakes Battle Royale with in just a few weeks time.

Suddenly, beams of light crack through an opening door until a fully opened portal of golden rays shine through to break the total darkness on screen. Stepping out of this mystical, glowing portcullis is Michael Callahan himself who stares straight at the camera with a grin a mile wide, ready and able to introduce himself to the universe that awaits him.

Michael Callahan: Hi, I'm Michael Callahan and I'm that man. For those of you out there who have never seen me or heard my voice before, let me tell you just exactly who I am. I am the duly elected wrestling representative of the Action Packed Wrestling “Asylum” brand, and the first ever “Pro Life Champion” in the history of wrestling. As a wrestler, I am a title holder but outside the ring I champion moral social causes in the hopes that one day we may live in a better, purer, wholesome America that we as American citizens can be proud to leave to our children. It's also important to note that I have great hair.

And great hair he has. An emphatic swish of his thoroughly washed and chopped, close cropped, golden brown locks demonstrate his ruthless dedication to his own personal neatness and his “dashing good looks”. Steve coughs loudly again to try and draw Callahan away from basking in his own physical appearance and attempt to continue to address the people he claims to represent.

Michael Callahan: Having heard what I have to say, I can hear you saying to yourselves Michael, why, why choose you? Why should we support you? Well let me tell you why. In May when you turn up in droves to pledge your support for whoever it is you know and like out there, allow me to tell you why you should vote Callahan for the High Stakes Winner of 2012. First of all, in my home company of APW I am a duly elected wrestling representative. This means I am chosen by the people to wrestler FOR the people. Everything I do, I do for you, the fans. What do I actually do? Well the answer is simple. I fight the puerile filth and garbage that corrupts our viewers and proliferates the evil that lies dormant in all of our hearts. I aim to promote a cleaner, safer standard of wrestling so that people aren't in danger of early death because of this gruesome bloodsport thanks to the influence of “Extreme Wrestling”.

Michael Callahan has a hatred of “Hardcore Style” wrestling that runs deep through the veins in his body. He believes that hardcore wrestlers are selfish and that they jeopardise their careers and the lives of others in order to have a poor man's attempt at being a professional thrill seeker. No-DQ matches and “Street Fighters” brought shudders to Callahan's tender, surprisingly real spine and resultantly he absolutely refuses to use weapons when he wrestlers.

Michael Callahan: Why should it be me championing this cause though? For a start, I'm a physical specimen. Just one look at my athletic, muscular body and you can tell that I have all the physical tools necessary to do the good work of The Holy Father down here on Earth. Furthermore, I'm not just a harbinger of physical potential. I am also a vessel of academic prowess. For you see, I am a Yale alum with a masters degree in Political Theory. On top of that, my extra-curricular activities are astounding. I was captain of the wrestling team both in high school and in college as a stand-out All American athlete and I'm currently the leader of the Young Republicans committee in Washington. Oh, I was also in the US Marine Corps. No big deal.

He makes sure to understate his role in the military. Not because he was some lamer chef or something that didn't see any actual combat but because the horrors of war are still fresh in his mind having seen deployment in Afghanistan and watched friends die before his very eyes. It's not becoming of his bumbling Republican persona to recall the vile nature of humans and their selfish tendencies to attempt to kill one another.

Michael Callahan: With those skills and that history in hand, I wrestle because it allows me a platform to spread my message of honesty to the hearts and minds of common America. The type of people who turn up in their thousands for matches like the High Stakes Battle Royale to see wrestlers like me perform are the ones that will receive my message. That is why it is essential, no, PARAMOUNT to my campaign that I am victorious at the High Stakes Battle Royale. For me to stand victorious over the torn and sundered carcasses of twenty nine other heathen competitors is the zenith of mis-on-scene to define my era as the white knight that wrestling truly needs right now. It will allow me to stand tall and proud and declare to the world, “I... am Michael Callahan... American Hero... Republican... SAVIOUR of the wrestling industry.”

Now it's no doubt to anyone that Michael, a man who has the audacity to call himself an “American Hero” while routinely insulting the populace for their poor taste in wrestling is the absolute king of self promotion. He's more than just a one trick pony though and takes great delight in cerebrally and emphatically assassinating the characters of the people he has to wrestle with. Highlighting their flaws just seems to go hand in hand so perfectly as the blushing bride of his own self-promotional streak.

Michael Callahan: And while we're being honest here. Is there any candidate out there more appropriate to take the helm than me? I've taken the liberty of assessing the competition and my conclusions have been nothing short of a grim reflection of the state of today's wrestling industry. The twenty nine competitors that form a murky mist of decadence around the glowing paragon of hope that is the Campaign Trail Blazer are a loathsome bunch indeed. In order to thrive in High Stakes, I step into the ring with an ensemble cast of slaughterers, lechers, whores, sycophants and the sickly maladjusted monsters that have become a staple of what this once noble sport has become.

The secret to Callahan's success when confronted with a platitude of opponents is to isolate one target to rip into, rinse and repeat and then make a broad analysis on the rest of the competition to get a feel for his mindset going into the match. The first person he goes on to rant about is bizarrely the arch nemesis of the lady, one Sally Talfourd who's consistently haranging Callahan's efforts in his home company. The concept of “The Enemy of my Enemy Is My Friend” doesn't seem to strike any chords with the American Hero.

Michael Callahan: On the list I see the likes of men like Level One, a man who's depravity knows no limits. He is a wild, voracious, unchained animal and a symptom of the urban war zone of which he grew up in. Like a wounded beast, he lashes out wildly looking to pick on the sick and the lame to emphasize his dominance as the alpha male he intrinsically knows he can never truly be. Yet as a hero, I will take great pride in slaying the leader of this unholy wolfpack and parading his head for all to see.

Going down the list of importance in potential targets to talk about, he now directions his glazed eyes to focus on the one they call Isamu Suzuki. A fan favourite and general tough cookie, what Callahan doesn't tell you is that Suzuki is responsible for the only loss and draw on his record book.

Michael Callahan: The next name that leapt out at me was that of Isamu Suzuki, another wrestler from my home turf. He's a warrior from the far east that I've had extensive dabblings with since his arrival in Action Packed Wrestling, but the chief realisation I have come to since becoming aware of him is that he is a creature of vanity. He has an unhinged, deluded and desperate addiction to honour for which there is no cure other than to defeat those he considers rivals. His talk of his pride and justifying himself as a legitimate threat in the wrestling ring is motivating and inspiring for some, but it's a never-ending vanity trip which will end with him crashing head first onto the floor after I eliminate him from the Battle Royale.

Although he's not entirely familiar with her in-ring work and prowess, Sabra Nikolayev is someone who's reputation stood out like a sore thumb and it wouldn't take much for him to go off on a tangent about her.

Michael Callahan: But of course, I am not so blind as to only research the ones I do know. A name that stood out to me was Sabra Nikolayev. This deadly, exotic beauty would at first have me taking her as a supermodel or actress but the reality is far from my estimations. For you see, Sabra is the self-proclaimed “Queen of Sin”, a moniker she earned for her ruthless acts in Sin City Wrestling. I don't even have to begin to tell you about her skyscraping levels of vanity, but what I can tell you is that as a duly elected representative of the people, I completely object to her self-proclaimed monarch status and I shall be waiting with baited breath the opportunity to relish in knocking that crown right off her darling little head.

To make sure that all demographics are covered in his sweeping, somewhat unfounded rants about the competition, he makes sure to pick at “Ms. Busine$$” Arkia Fisk. A woman who's nickname is so offensive to his blatant nationalism, he refuses to use it.

Michael Callahan: Arkia Fisk, a woman who's nickname I refuse to acknowledge due to its abject desecration of the symbol of our noble currency is arguably the worst of the lot. For her sole motivation in this industry is material wealth and greed. What kind of person is more despicable than that? I admire her business savvy and her whole “I'm a woman” thing that she has going for herself but in the end, she is nothing but a greedy strumpet who's exploiting the people around her and her own deluded sense of self worth in order to make herself a quick buck to fund her no doubt expensive retirement plan. Just the sight of her makes my stomach churn like a mouldy cement mixer. Disgusting!

And with that, it's time for a breakdown of the rest of the competition and a special mention for his one Asylum rival that he's keenest to face.

Michael Callahan: As for the rest of the competitors? You have people like “The Egobuster” Dan Ryan and “The Real Show” Terry Marvin, people's whose abject vanity obsession will see them sucked into an apocalyptical abyss of where their overcompensation fills in their complete deficit of any real talent. Or you have selfish individuals like “Extream” and “Insomnia” who's maniacal wrath seeks to ruin both themselves and anyone they happen to come into contact with. Or in the end you have impostors like “The Promise” Anthony Bailey, a false prophet who seeks to lure you away from the true and pure Michael Callahan way of wrestling. Ultimately though when my light shines on him and all the other competitors, their true imperfections will be revealed and I, the perfect ambassador for the sport will prove beyond all reasonable doubt that I am the greatest talent to set foot in the ring.

Nobody can paint a portrait quite like Michael Callahan, his incredibly graphic rhetoric promoting powerful images in the minds of those who follow him. It's easily his most marketable skill and boy does he kno wit.

Michael Callahan: There is no loss for me, only an ode to the strength and power God has given me. It's not about winning or losing but showing the power invested in me by my cause and my beliefs. High Stakes is the single catalyst that will separate the weak from the strong and the imbalance in parity between me and every other person to set foot in that ring will never again be so evident. Winning is everything. Winning is the only thing for me, Michael Callahan. So remember to pledge your support because a vote for Michael Callahan is a vote for victory...

Delivering the classic catch phrase with a grin the size of the moon, Callahan's glowing charisma shines through his every action. Whether you think he's a doofus or not, his absolute mastery of handling people is the most impressive skill he has on top of a stack of other high rating qualities.

Michael Callahan: And THAT'S a promise.

With a sly wink to the camera, Callahan then turns and heads off stage to go get himself some Pepsi now that he's had sufficient screen time to inflate his already astronomically large ego. I tried to warn you how bad Callahan was right from the off-set but of course nobody realises how awful this evangelical nut is until he actually starts to speak. The worst part about it is though is that he manages to back up every bold claim he makes. Despite everyone doubting his credibility, he currently remains undefeated in singles competition and has yet to be pinned or forced to submit since making his debut on US soil. He's a man who won a championship in his first ever match and has held on relentlessly ever since.

The question is, can Callahan use his rampant evangelistic nature to his advantage and overcome the great odds of coming in so early to a stacked Battle Royale with some of the greatest athletes on the planet? It's only a matter of time until we find out. God bless.

3000 words exactly. Boosh. Hope you like it guys. PM me with any feedback comments you might like to add. This is my first interpromotional bash.

[Black Death]

Way of the Warrior

Journal of James Wallace

I need to release these thoughts I have about my daughter Jade or I feel that I might explode. I know it would be easier to just talk to her; I have already set up the meeting to do so. But I am dreading this talk in my heart.  What is going to be her reaction to my words?  I love her so dearly and I don’t want her to be mad at me. I can now see that she is the heir apparent to my legacy in the Experts.  But I worry so much about her. Jade is not my daughter from my current wife Lisa. Lisa is now  pageant with our first child. Jade was born to a woman that I met on my first tour in Japan 19 years ago. I was a one night fling, she never told me about the baby and Jade grew up without me in her life for the first 16 years. It was not until after her mother died in a car clash, that Jade came to my attention and enter my life.  I have to say it has been the best three years of my life. 

I worry about her now, I like any father I want their daughter to have a happy, normal life for herself Jade’s life is anything but normal as she has followed in my footsteps and entered the world of pro wrestling. Her entering wrestling really does not bother me at all because ever since she was two years old she has study in the martial arts. She can handle herself in the ring and outside of it too. I pity the poor fool who tries to take advantage of her on a date. My worry about her stems from a accident that happen about 6 months ago in VWF. She was injured in a attack by one of my rivals.  Since that attack she has withdrawn from the outside world. I have barely seen her for the last 6 months.  I am scared; I don’t know what to think. Has she given herself to her warrior ways and forgotten about be a woman.  I hope not, for the love of god I hope not. 

I want her to find her balance between life as a warrior and life as a woman. All I can do offer my advice and hope that she listens to it. I love her and will support her no matter what.  But I just don’t want to make her mad at me .   

Coffee, Tea and a Little Advice

She walks up to the entrance of one of the many Starbucks the litter the city of Las Vegas. She pauses to look at the refection of herself in the glass door for a minute. The checking of herself in the door was not look of vanity, it was more of self –refection. A moment to gather herself, to gather her thoughts before she enter the business and talk to her father. This would be the first real talk she had with him in six months. She found that her thoughts drifted back to her mother and her martial arts training. It same to here that she started her training at birth.    She never question why the training, It what she done all her life. It was all she knew, and then her world would same to change overnight after the car accident.   

 The hurt is still there, there is also a linger layer of anger under that hurt. She has always known that there is something wrong about that accident. She always doubted that it was just a drunk driver that causes that accident. She doubted that her mother was just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her training has taught here patience is a virtue. She will find out the truth about that night and then she know the truth; she will make the person or persons that where behind this pay.  It this anger and hurt that fuels her when she in the ring , it something that she knows that she needs let go of, because she knows before she can  really start to heal . She has to let it all go, but there a part of her that love the pain, loves the anger. A part of her that does not want it all gone , does not want the hurt to heal,  because if it  was all gone than her mother is truly gone also and she cannot have that. 

It has been three years since the accident, three years has passed since I went to live with my father, James Wallace. My mother once told me about him. She told me that he was man of immersive size and presence, that there one night together was special, he had an inner gentleness that was surprising for man of his size and demeanor.  She could see an inner peace in him. A quiet strength, that his touch would give you the impression that you will be safe from any harm. I ask her why they had not stayed together. I remember that she pause before she answer. 

“It was a feeling that your father was destined for greater things than me. I felt that I would not the right fit for him. I was only a stop in his journey.  I would only be a hinder in his greater destiny.”

“But you love him right?” I asked her.

“Yes I love him for that one night and he surely loves me, our love produce you, You were the reason that we met that night.  For that I am sure, but you must understand my young Jade, Love a is powerful thing, it can move mountains and change the cause of rivers . But it is not the end all be all of things. It only one element that makes up life and I knew in my heart, I was only a foot note in his life. But one day you will get to know your father and you will see what I saw and understand why it was not meant to be for us.”

She open the door and enter the Starbucks, she could see it was not that crowded for this time of the day. She took off the sunglass  what she was wearing ,  so she can get a better look at the inside. She put the glasses on the front of her blouse letting it hang.  She now could see her father in the corner of the place. He was sitting by himself, with a cup of coffee in his hand.  He was a huge man, even when he was sitting down you could see his size. Dress in a black suit with a white shirt and red tie with black slacks and wing tip shoes, one of the things is that her father love was to dress sharp. He told her once when she asked him why he dresses so sharply every day. He said that people tend to judge him the minute they first see him and it nice to give them a great first impression.   Plus it makes him feel good and it never hurts to look nice.  Mother was right, there is something special about him, and you feel it when you met him, when you talk to him. He just makes you feel…Safe.  I understood why my mother fell in love with him. He was like a giant bear, gentle yes, but vicious when need to be, mauling you if you are threatening to him and those he cares about.

He same to be lost in his own thoughts as she approached him,  At first he did not notice her , but soon He urn to look at her as she got to him. A smile, a mile wide spread across his face as he same to leap from is chair to greet her.   

“Jade … god it so good to see you girl again. You look wonderful my daughter.  “He hugs her with this huge bear hug wrapping his massive arms around her. Jade could not help but smile as she hugs back. It felt nice, warm as he engulf you her in his arms.

“Father… it so nice to see you too. You know I will be needing my ribs for little longer ” I said back to him with plenty of warmth in my voice. He let go of massive hug.

“Sorry … got little carried away … Jade, here sit down. “ He pointed to an empty chair next to the table. “I going to get you something to drink and then we can talk for little bit ok. Damn I glad to see  you again … I missed you. ”

“Ok… yes, father I missed you too. “I sat down setting the purse that I carry on my shoulder to the side of the chair.  I crossed my legs and wipe some dust off my pants leg.
Dad walked to the front counter saying “I have the perfect thing for you.” 

I watch him walk away, like a big grizzly bear looking for food. It was him that got me into the pro wrestling game.  I had train in martial arts for as long as could I remember. It same like ever martial art known to man my mother would train me in.  From Judo to ju-jitsu, from karate, to gung fu and many more forms it like she was training me for war. I could not understand why, when I was young, it was just the thing I did and I thought everyone did it too. Oh I was so wrong on that , I first struggle to fit in when I got to America .  I was lucky that my dad’s wife Lisa was happy to help me. . She became like a big sister to me. She never same to be mad that I was daughter of another woman.  She said to me,

“ I love him;  your father , he had a life before he met me and why should I be mad about that , I had a life before I met him and  you are too cute not to help.”

So training to be a pro wrestler was not hard.  My father and my uncle Johnny help me greatly and I  say I started off well. My first wrestling promotion was called High Impact Wresting, HIW for short. It was a member of the Experts and packed with worthy opponents.  I was able to win the World Title in my short time there. It felt good to be champion of that place; I felt that I earned it.  HIW closed down shortly after that with me as it last champion, but I will never forget my time there.  It help shape me into a better wrestler   After HIW, has not been good for me, injuries and other factors same to have held me back. But now I feel the time is right for me to come back and come back in a big way.  The Experts … the place where my father Black Death made famous, were he has done is greatest impact.  It is now my time to shine.

My father returns with a cup in his hand and place into in front of me as he sat down in the empty chair. 

“Here try this; I know that you will like it.” He slides the cup over to me.
I pick the steaming mug and took a slip from it. It was nice; I could taste Jasmine, green tea, tangerine in it. I took another slip and set it down.

“You like it don’t you.”

“Yes”

“It called Orange Blossom… Jasmine , Green tea , goji berries and Tangerine peel  all blended together … little known fact  in Ancient China , it was common to find renewal  in a cup of orange blossom after a long day of walking and meditating along what was then merely a “ pretty good wall” … ha ha ha ha.”

I smile at this “Yes it does feel good going down the throat.”

He takes a slip from his own mug and sets back down, the smile leaves his face rapidly “that what I want to talk to you about Jade …Renewal.”

“Renewal… what do you mean?”

He folds his massive arms in front of himself with a grim look on his face. “I am worry about you Jade; ever since King Reign gave you that beating back in VWF …  I  have rarely see you. I know you been training, you look good and fit. But I am worry about you… I am scare … are you really ok .”

That is my father ,  he may have the look of a monster , but he cares other people , even more than for himself,  I feel some anger build up inside me .  A voice saying why should he care , It my life and I can do what I want.  But as soon as that voice another one, a more calmer one speaks  tell me that he only worries  about me because he cares so much for me . You have no right to be angry because some express concern over your well being  that just irrational. 

“Jade… I know that I did not raise you, that I really don’t have much say in your actions now that you are an adult, but please just listen to my advice. You need to  find time to live  … there enough time in your life for both fighting and living. “

“Daddy …” I cut him off. “I understand that you weren’t there for me when I was young, but I do not hold that against you. My mother told me that she did not tell you about me because she knew that you were destined for greater things then just her.  Greater things than raising me , I never understood that until I met you.  I understand your concerns now,  but I am fine.  But I ask for a favor from you.  “

“Huh… ok what is the favor ?” he unfolds his arms and sets his hands don on the table.

I take those hands into mine and look him straight into his eyes. “Dad … yes I have been training … I stop contact with the family, for that I am sorry , but it because I now know what I must do and what you must do also …”

“What is that?”

“Step back from the Experts dad … It is now my time , my time to shine in the Experts , my time to lead the charge , to fight for the people , fight for the underdogs , fight for honor … I know who I am meant to be  … the next true experts champion ,  I am to be Lady Death. “

He closes his eyes for moment and I can see his lips move but I don’t hear any words come out of them. He talks to himself. Then he opens his eyes and stares at me. “Is this what you really want?”

“Yes, yes it I want, this is what needs to happen.”

“Then you got it … Honey I love you, I am proud of you and I will be behind you 100 percent.  And you know the family will also. But it not going to be easy. Trust me, it not going to be easy by a long shot  and now that I did you a favor ,  I want you do me a favor.  “

What is that?”

“Have little fun now and then… the Experts is going to be tough thing to conquer, I want you to least try to get me some grand kids in the future.”

“Whoa dad … kids … you are jumping way in the future there… ha ha ha .”
 He laughs with me and we let go of each hands.  “Hey I am not getting younger , It be nice to know I have grand kids to look forward to…” They both take slips from our mugs.  He sets it down.  “So that means that you are involved with the High Stakes match coming up right.

“Yeah.”

“Well being that I had few more matches like that than you , let talk strategy,  Plus I know a few people in that match. I can give you advice in how to handle them… also we can talk about Lisa … you know she misses you , you need to head to the house and see her .”

“I miss her too … yeah I do need to see her … now dad about the match when I get in the ring what should be the first thing I do . “

High Stakes

Jade Wallace is kneeling in the center of the screen; She is in a room lit only by candles light ,   she is wearing a green silk kimono leash up at the center. She has her head down and looks like she is praying. She is surrounded by several candles that are proving the light for the room.   She raises her head and you can now see a dragon printed in black ink on the right side of her face. She opens her eyes and slight smile appears on her face.

Jade Wallace : It is now my time ,  Black Death , My  father , was there at the start of the  modern Experts , he gave it the fuel , the energy that it need to grow into  what it is now …the leader of the Wrestling world  and now it is my time , Lady Death,  to take it to the next level . For me to lead the Experts, that will mean I must process … the symbol … True Experts title. To get the title it means I must win the  Experts Extreme Tournament that  is held in July and August.  The first step to that tournament is the High Stakes battle royal. Thirty men and women will set forth to do battle and the winner will get the prize. This prize is special; winner gets into the Quarter-finals of the Extreme Tourney and chose of which quarter-final match to enter. That advantage could be what a person needs to win the whole thing and take the True Experts title. It not a guarantee of victory. But it an advantage that will make winning a lot easier.  I want this win, I need this win and I will have to do whatever it takes to make this win happen. 

I know that winning the High Stakes match is going to one tough hill to climb. No, hill is the wrong thing to say … maybe a better word I should say is mountain.  I have to climb a mountain if I want to win this match. Now mountains are climbed everyday in people’s life.  It going to be hard, but not impossible.

Now I know that I am going to have to start at the bottom of this mountain. Just making out of the beginning of this  match is near impossible  task just look at the first nine wrestler that I have to face...

“The American Hero” Michael Callahan – This man is a definition of a two –face jackal. He may have the face of an angel and project the image of clean – cut all American male.  But underneath the surface I can see his true self, he is vicious, selfish and cruel. I will not turn my back on him, because I might get a knife in my back. I will be wary when he enters the ring. A man you must watch at every minute, at every moment.

Jon “ Yodi” Carlson – This is a man that seeks redemption for his past sins , there is something noble about that , because it take real strength   to look at one past mistakes , admit them and then try to redeem themselves . I give him much respect because he will do what he can to win just like me.   His down fall might be that he may be also motivated by money … that can make you weak.

Santana – Anger, a man cannot live there life on anger alone, It does not matter that you are gay, or that you are ex-con.  What matter is that you let anger rule your life, you let it rule your actions. You fear no man ,  well let me tell you this , I am no man , I am Lady Death… I am your nightmare come to life. You actions, your motivations disgust me and when I see you in the ring I will afflict on you the pain that you have given to others.  If you don’t think I can do it, I beg you come test me.
Arkia Fisk - Ah … I heard of you, my father has told me about you. You past deeds and the matches that he had against you and with you. He respects you and he told me that he counts you as a friend. If you have gain the respect of my father, than you have my respect also. I will consider it an honor also to face you in the ring. But don’t get me wrong I may give you respect, but I will not let up. I seek to win this thing and that means I have to beat you to do it and that I will do, Like you say it not person it only business.

Buddy Zent – Flashy, trashy, just little bit arrogant, but he is a champion and you cannot deny that he can wrestle in that ring. His nature is a ruse to disarm his opponents. He may act goofy, but underneath he is a killer.  Another person that I should not turn you back on. I will need to get rid of him quickly he can and will do some damage if left uncheck.

Black Black Ranger – Rangers are considering a joke in VWF, but the Black Ranger has been considering more serious one of the whole troop. He can do some damage, and to disregard him because he is Wrestling Ranger would not be a smart move especially in a battle royal. I will keep an eye out for him. I have beaten a ranger before in VWF and I have no problem doing it again.

Scott Rage – Another person that my father has told me about … He explains to me that Scott Rage is a legend like him and should be treated with the upmost respect.  I have look up the past accomplishments of Scott Rage and I agree with my father. The man size along will make him the toughest out of the whole match. I will say that I will be honor to face him, Challenges is what I live for, it what the Wallace clan stands for and I will gladly face the challenge of getting Scott Rage over the top rope.  Scott Rage I nod my head to you in respect and I wish you the best of luck.

Gravedigger – his name sums up who he is … the man like to put people in the ground, the man like to fight, it what he does and he same to very good at it.  The best way for me to handle him is to not get grab by him, stick and move. He is going to be another tough out in this match.

Stu Who- I have no love for Stu Who.  He is talented wrestler, but the last time he was in an Experts event I was team with him. It was the On Hallowed Ground, Experts vs. CWC and it was five man tag team elimination match. He walked out on the even before the match started. We won without his help. But I am still angry about that. He had no right to do that I don’t care what problem he had … so he on the hit list , number one with a bullet if he meets me in the ring ?I have a feeling that ?I will see him I am going to but a nasty hurt on him. Like my father’s says that is a promise.

That is just the first ten wrestlers that I will see in the ring.  This quest to win … impossible , maybe but I am still going to try to win. There is an old saying “nothing worthwhile is ever easy”.  I know Level One is in this, the last man to beat my father for the True Experts Title and the second wrestler to place in the Experts Hall of fame, I know Drake Mosa in this match, He has cut a bloody path through TFWF, To succeed there is no joke and any person that does that is worthy opponent. Doring, the man that is undefeated in SCW, Sabra Nikolayev - the Queen of Sin City, Mikhail Volkov, A survivor of Siberia, the man is animal in the ring. Yes I know about those souls in Siberia prison and the fighting that they have done.  There also Hannah Rickman , the former SCCW Heavyweight Champion   and  Jose Ramon , the ultimate survivor  of the On Hallowed Ground final match … I know what he can do because I was there when he did it .

The odds are long on me, I have a strong legacy to live up to. But I am up to doing that. Like they stay in the  old western movies  there a new sheriff in town.  I will beat all the odds against me.  I know there are many that don’t see it happening, Faith can move mountains. I have a lot of faith in myself.  You are looking at the winner of the High Stakes match. My name is Jade Wallace … I am Lady Death and Death never look so good.

Jade bows her head to the screen, and then she takes her right hand and puts it to her throat. She massages her throat for a few seconds. After she done she move her head in the head and moves her head forward splitting green mist over the candles around her. The flames die out as the mist hits it. You can see the mist residue on Jade mouth and smile that appears on her face and the screen go dark.

[Leon Corbin]

Now, some people might call me crazy. Like Steve.. I mean, Dr Watkins.. I've seen the note he made Code Red release to wrestlers. Saying I'm unstable. But I'm not. I'm just me.

And besides, they don't like him.

Oh, you've not met them? Very few people have. But they talk to me. They gave me this curse. This gift. Allowed me to know and see more than anyone could believe. One day, when the time is right, they're going to reach out and things will not be the same. It's the message I keep trying to spread, but nobody listens. I don't really understand why. My words are more true than half the people I've met.

I should tell you more about myself. See, it all started, well the interesting stuff, back in the year 2000 in a small English town. The first days of secondary school.

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Kid 1 – Oi... OI! Freak... Where you scurrying off to all alone?

We see three broad shouldered young teens following a smaller figure down a corridor. One catches up to him and trips him.

Kid 2 – Haha. The girl fell over.

They circle him as he backs into a line of lockers.

Smaller child – Nowhere. Just leave me alone.

Kid 2 – Aww, come on. We just want to talk with you. This is Jimmy and Mark. I'm Ryan. What's your name little girl?

He gestures to the two either side of him, who both lean in further and lift the smaller child to his feet.

Smaller child – L.. Leon..

The three laugh.

Jimmy – Well L-Leon. You know what we're going to do to you?

Leon shakes his head.

Mark – No? Well, I guess we'll have to show you.

Before they can do anything a bell rings, and the corridor fills with a swarm of other children. They nod to each other and release Leon, but watch him run into the crowd.

Ryan – We'll get him later.

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They did get me later. And the day after that. And the day after that. For 5 straight years I put up with their hell, from aged 11 to aged 16. Physical and mental abuse. Of course, they always had alibis for any time the teachers questioned them. It was like a game. How can we torment him next.

It was in this time that they started to talk to me. Voices, telling me to lash out. To hurt them. As much as I liked the ideas, I managed to control myself. To stay calm.

If I may be allowed, I'd like to flash forward those five years. No point in showing repeats when the main show is about to get started.

March 23rd 2005. Sunny with a slight chill. A Thursday if I recall correctly.. No wait, Wednesday.. We had double maths first. But that wasn't the fun part. No, the fun part was on my walk home from school.

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The visual now turns to a clearing amongst some trees. We see an older, longer haired Leon enter, followed by an even bigger Jimmy, Mark and Ryan.

Jimmy – Going home to cry Leon? The little baby is off to cry...

The trio laugh. Leon just ignores them, walking on.

Mark – Don't ignore us. We asked you a question

Leon goes to turn, but finds himself immediately pushed against a tree by Mark. The three start laughing, but inside Leon's head was a different laugh. And a voice.

Voice in head – Now Leon

He lunges, taking down Mark with a barrage of right and lefts. Fists going red from the force of each blow. Jimmy and Ryan immediately dive forward to pull him off. A forceful shove sends Ryan into a branch that knocks him unconscious. And then it was level. One on one.

Jimmy begins to back away. A charging tackle takes him off balance. The only one left standing is Leon, his eyes fixated on something in the grass. He reaches down, and rises again with a lighter in his hand. Flicking his thumb down a bright flame bursts to life. Through it we can see a sadistic grin.

Jimmy – No.. Come on Leon.. We'll stop. Let's be friends..

Leon steps forward shaking his head.

Jimmy – No.. No.. Noooooo

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You know when you only half remember something? This is one of those times. You could put a gun to my head and I'd not be able to tell you exactly what happened next. Whatever it was, I don't think I actually burnt him. That'd have been a whole different set of charges right?

But they sentenced me to a juvenile detention centre for 10 years. Bit harsh in my opinion, but they wanted to make sure I was safe before release. The funny thing is, I went through every major therapist the state could afford. Every one either ended up breaking down or refusing to continue treatment. I mean really, I'm not that bad.

Now, I'm sure many of you will have done the logical maths by this point. 2012 minus 2005 does not equal 10. Well, I'm getting to that bit. See, I actually only served three of those years. Mid 2008 I was taken into one of the special meeting rooms and introduced to an older man. He went on to explain how he was the owner of a top wrestling company in the UK, and had reached a deal where if he could control and tame my problems, I'd be released to a contract under him. His plan was simple.. Train me to become a wrestler.. Not only a wrestler, but the most sadistic one around.

I rose up to the challenge. Very quickly it was discovered that my sadism matched the technical style. Every hold he taught me, I found a way to make it hurt that little bit more. And they loved it. Finally we could do what we wanted.. We were encouraged to do what we wanted. I mean sure, there was occasions where I had to be pulled off people because I wouldn't let go, but that's just part of the fun.

It was this trainer that gave me my nickname.. “The Dark Curse”. A reference to the voices in my head.

The next step though was the biggest. Just a few short months ago Talon Wilkinson brought out my contract, signing me to Code Red Wrestling. It was then that I discovered my warehouse.

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We open again to a large, almost empty warehouse. All that we can see in shot is Leon and a bunch of mannequins in wrestling attire.

Leon – Hahaahahaha... Hello... Exxxxperts...

Leon weaves in and out of the figures, a few recognisable as wearing the attire of the upcoming competitors in the rumble.

Leon – I gathered you all here for a briefing on the upcoming rumble match.. HEY, NO TALKING AT THE BACK!!!

He leaps forward and superkicks over one of the figures.

Leon – Now, where was I.. Ah yes, rumble. You see, I had to warn you all that you shouldn't expect to win. No.. You see, I already know who will win.. No, it's not me. Of course it's not little me.. Oh no.. That's not their plan.. No.. I'm just here to make you all hurt..

A vicious forearm shot takes down another mannequin.

Leon – No.. The winner is set in stone. But they don't know it yet. No no.. They'll find out soon though.. I sense it...

A buzz can be heard, then Leon leaps into view with a chainsaw, hacking apart three figures before throwing it out of shot.

Leon – I'm going to hurt each and every one of you. Make you all scream.. And then the rightful heir will step up to the crown.

This time it's a petrol can. Leon throws the fuel over the whole bunch, dumping the container in the centre before stepping to the side and pulling out a zippo style lighter. He flicks it open so the flame is visible.

Leon – Hehehehe... Fools... Believing that I won't win... Of course it's me... It's what they want...

He drops the lighter and the warehouse bursts into flame. We see Leon stood with his arms out through the dancing fire, and hear him giving a maniacal laugh.

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So come one, come all to the Legacy Plaza... I'm dying to meet this Warden... He sounds fun... I'm sure he and I will get on fine...

As for the rest of you... Just hope we don't bump into one another out there.... And if we do... Just pray that hey like you... Because if they don't... We'll... It's party time...

-Fade out on another laugh-

[Hannah Rickman]

Believe you can and you're halfway there. – Theodore Roosevelt

The last time Hannah Rickman had been seen inside an Experts ring, she was a member of the SCCW roster. Back in February, it had been Team SCCW going up against Team VWF, with Hannah’s team falling short at the last hurdle. It had been an intense night for Hannah, with many saying that she had been the stand out competitor in the match, falling primarily due to being the last member of their team left standing alone for the majority of the match. Had the “old” Hannah Rickman taken part in that match, the SCCW roster would have never been forgiven for the way in which they represented their company. But Hannah was now changed, she was supportive, she knew that it was more than just simple eliminations that led to her team losing at Rival Factions.

It was more than a lack of teamwork that had led to SCCW closing its doors in early April. Now, Hannah Rickman was a member of the TFWF roster. She would not be heading into High Stakes as a member of a team; she had to face this match on her own. This was Hannah’s chance at making a name for herself, at showing the TFWF roster, the Experts alumni, and everyone who was watching, that 2012 was going to be a special year for Hannah Rickman. Having to go from a small regional company in Barrie, Ontario onto a worldwide stage in TFWF had an impact on Hannah. She felt that something was missing. With her mind; with her wrestling skill; with everything. She had left TFWF almost three years ago, and now that she was back, she realised that life had moved on without her.

Hannah knew that it was time to make life stop once again and take notice of her. The best way to do that, was to make an impression at High Stakes 2012…and making an impression was the least that Hannah Rickman intended to do. There were 30 other people competing in this match, from Experts companies, to outsiders; if Hannah was going to have her skills tested, it would be on that night. She could not let her company down, she could not let her fans down, she could not let HERSELF down. It was all or nothing at High Stakes, and Hannah intended to walk away with EVERYTHING.

-----------------------------------

“It all comes down to a number. A number could determine your future; a number could be the setting stone that propels you to greatness. Number one, number thirty, and everything in between…you can bet that before this match happens at High Stakes that presumptions on who wins and who loses will be made…all based on a number. I want to pretend that this number business isn’t having an effect on how I see this match; I can’t lie. My number means everything to me. Do I enter early and work my way through numerous others to make it to the end? Or do I walk into that ring dead last, fresh and ready to go, and work my way through the last three or four who have been fighting longer than I have? I know which situation that I want to be in, as does everyone else. Only a fool would convince themselves into thinking that entering the match early is worth it. Winning this match means that you’re hot-shotted through the Extreme Tournament to the quarter final…no need to fight your way through the opening rounds. I want this, as I’m sure everyone else does. But I’ve been fighting my way through the ranks of the Experts for too long…I need this. I need to finally make a proper statement that will solidify my name for those who haven’t heard of me before. I need to win this battle royal.”

Eyes closed, hands intertwined, resting on her stomach. Hannah Rickman lies across a couch in what appears to be a therapist’s office. However, the therapist sitting across from her appears to be her husband, Charles, a man in his 40’s, who she met in this very office. He wears a casual black suit, and has a pair of glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He is paying very close attention to his wife, who just continues to speak, as if she is unaware that anyone else is present in the room.

“I feel like I have something to prove. I used to be this selfish, ego-tistical little…bitch…who did anything she could to hurt and betray everyone in the search for her goal. But now, it’s all about the wrestling, it’s all about the competition. Sure, people have seen how I have changed at Rival Factions…but everything in my life has changed since then. This isn’t about wrestling for my company. This is about wrestling for me, and for the people who believe in me. I’ve started a new chapter in my life, and I need to make it memorable from the beginning. Walking out of High Stakes with victory in this battle royal could be that memorable statement. I have to push myself in this match; I have to believe that I can do this. Because if I don’t believe that I can win…then I’m not going to. I know that I have the talent to step into that ring with the best of them and push them to their limits. That can only get me so far…I have to be smart, I have to be cunning, I have to be tactical. I have to take all of the elements of the old Hannah Rickman that made her great…and I have to apply them to the new Hannah Rickman. The Hannah Rickman that is wrestling for the love of the sport, the fans. This moment will prove to everyone that all along I had the skills to back it up.”

Hannah sighs, and opens her eyes, looking to her husband.

“There are people who are expected to win. I know that I’m probably a long shot, but doesn’t everyone love some element of an underdog story? I know I’m not an underdog like so many people, but in comparison to many others…seeing a Hannah Rickman win would really ruffle a few feathers. I’m reliable, that’s what I’ve come to learn. People see me as the person who will always deliver, but I’ve never quite stood out and reached the top. It’s happened wherever I’ve gone; with the exception of SCCW. But even SIMCOE took a long time. I don’t think people realise that I see the way they see me. They think that I’m oblivious to it, when I’m not. That’s my problem. I want to be so much more than that, doesn’t everyone? I’m not some stupid kid anymore, I’m 27 years old, and I know what it takes. I know that I need to start making that lasting impact, not just in one place…but everywhere. Everyone has an expiration date in the wrestling business, but for women…that time comes so much sooner than everyone else.”

Hannah briefly closes her eyes again, and then sits up on the couch. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs as her long blonde hair floats down over her shoulders. Her signature sunglasses sit on the coffee table in front of her, and she takes them from the table, staring down at them.

“I’m rambling…I know. But I have these thoughts going through my head all the time. I’m my own biggest critic, and people never realise that. For so long, it was just this bitchy exterior hiding it…until I realised that was getting me nowhere. Now, I still have the fuck it all attitude…sure, nothing’s going to take that away from me. That’s what pushes me through all of this. But, for the first time, I value my life, and all the people in it.”

She goes silent again, still staring down at her sunglasses. After a couple of moments, she places them over her eyes, looking toward her husband.

“I know it’s not going to be the end of the world if it doesn’t play out like I want it to. Still…this could be it. This could be how I make my name, and how I propel myself to something greater. All I can do is hope, and believe. I believe that I can do it; I believe that this will be my moment…and I just have to hope that that tiny element of luck is on my side in Legacy Plaza. There’s nothing more that I can do, other than back up my beliefs when it comes to the match. That’s where the real battle comes into play…”

Hannah sits back on the couch, and folds her arms.

“I’m thinking too much about it, aren’t I? I mean, it’s a match…it’s just a match…”

Charles contemplates his wife for a moment, studying her composure. He could tell that this match meant a lot to her and that she was only releasing her feelings. Sitting forward, he mutters.

“It means something to you. You believe that you can accomplish something in this match, so go for it. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Charles’ words seem to strike a chord in Hannah, and she smirks.

“Nothing to lose…and everything to gain, right?”

Charles nods his head, forcing himself not to smile. Hannah seems to be the most comfortable that she has been for the entire session, as the scene fades to black.

--------------------------

The scene fades in, and we see Hannah Rickman, dressed in her always audacious attire. Her signature sunglasses (Chanel today) cover her eyes, and her long blonde hair rests on her shoulders. In her hand is a folded piece of paper, which she holds up to the camera. We cannot see any writing on the paper, but it is clearly important.

“This is my number. I haven’t looked at it yet; I’m not going to show it to you until I’m finished. It’s killing me not to look, but the best things in life are worth waiting for. No, this time is for addressing all those who I shall face in the ring at High Stakes. 29 other competitors. I could stand here and list every single one of them, and pick them apart one by one…but that’s not going to accomplish anything other than bore everyone to death. This match means something different to each of us. For some, it’s their first foray into Experts competition. For others, it’s going to be their chance to make a name for themselves. Then, for that one person…it’s going to be victory. Victory over 29 of the best competitors that professional wrestling has to offer, and a guaranteed quarter final entry into the Extreme Tournament. Not only that, the winner will go down in history as the person who won the first ever 30 person battle royal at High Stakes.”

Hannah looks to the piece of paper again, thinking to herself. She seems tempted to open it, but she resists the temptation, looking back to the camera.

“I’m an outside shot. There’s no need to fool myself, or to fool anybody else. I can see what people have been saying, and what they have been thinking. Yeah, she’s good…but they’re better. Let’s say that it will be Level One walking out with the win, because he is always a good person to place a bet on. He’s beaten the best, time and time again, and there’s no doubt that he could go and take it from everyone once again. Or if we’re going to look at someone else, let’s say Drake Mosa. He’s a psychotic monster, who has destroyed anyone who has come into his path. A battle royal would be his playground, more victims to take advantage of…and that all important prize pushing him to take that win. It’s easy to list the obvious favourites, and to look at those I have never heard of before. Leon Corbin, could he step into that ring and shock everyone? Possibly walk out with the win that we all crave so badly? He’s not even in an Experts affiliated company…imagine, a total outsider coming into the ring and sweeping it all. Oh, the controversy that would cause.”

“I’m getting ahead of myself. We don’t even know what number all these entrants are going to come into the ring at…with a match like this, anything could happen.”

Hannah lifts her sunglasses from her face, using them to brush her hair way from her face, as she places them atop her head.

“I know that this is going to be one hell of a test, for me, for everyone involved. I know that I’m stepping into the ring with some of the best the wrestling business has to offer, and they will do everything in their power to stop me walking out with a victory. But this is a warning to you all now. I want this victory. We all want this victory, I know. I’m going to hear that come from many of you. I also know that I’m probably getting way in over my head with this match. I don’t even know what entry number I am…but I believe that I can do this. I believe that I can do something that I’ve been dreaming of for a long time; winning the headline match at an Experts event. I always fall short, but this time I’m not prepared to fall short of my goal. I’ve come back to the TFWF with one goal in mind; to reach an audience that I’ve never reached before. To fix all the negatives that have occurred over the years. This is my chance…this is my chance to show everyone that I can never be underestimated. I believe, and that’s one half of the journey accomplished.”

Hannah sighs, looking down at the ground as she mutters.

“I don’t want to be forgotten when it all comes down to it.”

She looks to the camera again, and a twinkle appears in her eye.

“29 other people that have the chance to stop me. One woman against them all and we’re all heading toward the same goal. Well, this is it. All or nothing. I have nothing to lose from this match, and everything to gain. A new phase in my career has begun, and this match could be the stepping stone to something great…it WILL be the stepping stone to something great. I need to do this for myself, for those who believe in me, and for everyone who has doubted me before. I’m not going to stand here and say that I’m better than everyone and that I’m going to kick their asses. I’m going to say that I’m going up against some of the best in the business. Am I better than them all? Probably not, but I’m good enough to shock them. To shock everyone. To even shock myself.”

As she looks away from the camera, Hannah looks to the piece of paper that is her hand. With a deep breath, she opens it. She stares at the paper, no expression on her face. She looks to the camera, her face still emotionless.

“It’s time to put everything on the line in this match. 29 other competitors. The quarter final of the Extreme Tournament.”

Hannah reaches into the lining of her leather pants, and pulls out a Sharpie pen. Looking at her entry number once again, she quickly writes something on the page. As she looks back to the camera, a smirk comes across her face and she winks, dropping the piece of paper to the ground. Her heels can be heard clicking against the concrete floor, as she walks away, and the camera zooms into paper.

#29BITCH

Fade.

[Extream]

(A very well dressed, long haired man walks up to a podium set in the middle of your screen.  The logo on the front of the podium say’s Extream Inc., letting us in on who this is since not many around here have ever seen or heard of the man. Ex flips nervously through his note cards and stares out into a crowd of anxious journalist, before clearing his throat and looking up to address the room, and the cameras.)

Ex-Before I get into what I am here to get into, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Extream and I hail out of Sin City Wrestling. Up until a few days ago I was the SCW Global heavyweight champion, but alas my reign as the man in SCW came to an abrupt and unwanted end…

(Ex stares off into nothing, obviously thinking about that loss…shaking his head and flipping to the next card, he is back with us and continues.)

Ex-I was persuaded to come here to Experts and compete in the High Stakes battle royal by my fellow sinners…and what can I say, peer pressure gets me every time. I know that when the folks well known in Experts lore look at me, they don’t know what to think…who is this guy, why is he here? All the usual clichés when it comes to a new face in this business. I have never competed in an Experts event and I am looking forward to getting my feet wet…and now that the pleasantries are out of the way…why don’t we get down to business, shall we.

(Extream throws what was left of the note cards to the ground and leans down on the podium staring into the camera.)

Ex-I didn’t come here to Experts to really just get my feet wet, that was what my publicist told me to say…so I said it to make him happy. Folks, I came here to Experts to compete for a chance to get a nice head start in the Extreme Tournament this year. Over the past year I have made gigantic strides towards becoming one of the most well know and highly decorated athletes in this business. First it was climbing to the top of the SCW mountain…and now, it’s time to climb another one. I know as well as everyone else who is competing in this event, that a win here, will make you one of the most well-known personalities in this sport…and that’s what I want most of all.

I look at the Drake Mosa’s, the Level-One’s, the Dorling’s, and Insomnia’s…and I know that I am in the presence of greatness. I know that to compete in this match is to compete with the true experts in this business. This is what it is all about and Sin City Wrestling is about dominating the competition. We didn’t come to High Stakes to fail…we didn’t come here to disappoint. SCW came to High Stakes to show the wrestling world why we are the best damn place to compete in the world. We have Douglas fighting for the True Experts title, Danny “MDK” Tenegra defending his True Experts Tag titles against the likes of Insomnia with his Partner trying to take that belt. We have six competitors in the battle royal and let me just repeat this once more…we are walking into that battle royal with the intention of destroying everyone else in it.

(Situating himself before tugging at his tie, Ex moves on.)

Ex-I know you are all out there in TV land, looking at me and still wondering, who the hell does this guy think he is…and truthfully, I get that. What right do I have to come here to the Experts and start talking like I am some sort of wrestling god…that’s Douglas E. Fresh’s realm…not mine. I am just trying to warn all of you coming to High Stakes, that we are a force to be recon with. Very rarely do members of the SCW roster venture outside the company to compete in an event like this…just to fail. When members of our roster venture to another company to compete, we usually walk out of that event with our arms raised and the crowd chanting our names.

APW, VWF, PW, TFWF, how many of these companies can say the same thing about their athletes? I look at how all the TFWF members took the easy way out, getting thrown into the bottom handful of entrants and it makes me laugh. It shows me their true nature…the true thoughts in their minds where they know they are outmatched…knowing they need every advantage they can steal to have a chance of walking out of High Stakes with the winner representing their company. SCW has members entering at all levels because we know; the first few are going to weaken the entrants, while the last few are going to clean up the mess.

Yes I can stand here with a smile on my face while saying this because I know it to be true. I know the mass majority of you are completely outmatched against a man of my skill level, let alone my fellow sinners that will be competing beside me. I know that it’s not fair to the rest of you to have to compete against athletes the level that SCW produces…but it is your fate. You’ve all chosen to come to High Stakes, you’ve all signed up knowing that SCW would bring a small army of competitors like they do to every event…you all knew what you were in for and yet still, you signed yourselves up. I suppose I have to respect that…the courage it takes to enter an event you know you have no chance of winning…knowing you will inevitably be embarrassed by far superior athletes. I know that takes balls…but it doesn’t change the facts…someone from SCW is walking out of this thing the winner…and the smart money’s on this guy.

(Ex points to himself as a cocky smile grows on his face. Adjusting himself once again he bares down on the podium and continues on while staring into the observant crowd.) 

Ex-I know you don’t know who I am folks, but after High Stakes, I promise you will never forget me. My legacy in this sport has not been built off bullshit gimmicks like The Black Black Ranger and Gravedigger. I have made it to where I am because I am who I am. I don’t pretend I am a superhero or some dark soul sucking entity…I just work harder than anyone else, I want this more than anyone else. I don’t have to come out dressed like a generic high flyer or a vampire to get myself over with the fans. I just come as myself and they see the truth behind my actions. They see a man who is willing to give it all and sacrifice everything to give them a show…not because I get paid the big bucks or because I feel I owe a debt to them…but because it is what I was born onto this earth to do.

(Ex steps away from the podium, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it to the ground…he starts to tear his tie off as he keeps talking.)

Ex-I didn’t want to come here dressed like a tool, I wanted to come here as myself…but again, peer pressure from my people played a part. I want to come to Experts and make an impact…and I won’t do it being anyone but myself.

(He tosses the tie into the crowd and rips off his shirt, revealing one of his brand new Extream Inc t-shirts…then stands before the podium again to speak.)

Ex-I know I am supposed to be in awe of the challenge set before me, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I am not intimidated by empty vessels who believe they are great…only the real thing...and they are few and far between. And even though I know there is a handful of truly top notch talent in this battle royal…I know I can stand toe to toe with each and every one of them and hold my ground…and dominate. I know what the stakes are, and when they are this high, it’s all or nothing…and my fans and colleagues know I never come with nothing.

This is High Stakes at its finest, and Sin City Wrestling knows all about high stakes. We live it every day in Sin City. Every Sinner, past or present, knows that we are the best this world has to offer. We know that on our best day…no one can compete with us. And when the stakes are at their highest, our knees don’t buckle in the face of adversity like the rest of you…we get better, our nerves go away, and we give everything we have inside of ourselves to put on the most entertaining product this world has ever seen. We sacrifice our minds, body, and souls for this business just for a chance to compete. We don’t pussy foot and we don’t pretend…we are who we are and we fight to the last man or woman standing.

(Ex now kicks off his shoes and without a moment of hesitation continues.)

Ex-I know folks, I know that I will get shit for my cocky words and overconfident attitude. I know that most of you will look down upon me, believing I am full of hot smoke that I assertively blow up your ass. I know that you all think my words are empty…but let me promise you, they are anything but.  My entire career people have doubted me, told me I can’t do it, and I have always proved them wrong. From day one in this business I have picked fights with the best competitors around. I plan on doing the same thing at High Stakes. I don’t care if you are a former True Experts Champion, if you’re a hall of famer somewhere, or if you hold some of the most coveted belts in all of sports entertainment…you’re all the same to me.

You may be asking yourself, how a man with no real experience outside of SCW has the confidence that I have coming into this event. You may not be able to wrap your feeble, gimmicky minds around it…you may struggle to understand…but once I explain it to you, you will struggle to deny it.

I’ve come from nothing to become of the biggest names in SCW. I started out before anyone knew who the hell we were and have come full circle to the point where if you haven’t heard of Sin City Wrestling, people assume you live under a rock. I climbed to the top of that company, staring down the likes of Doug E. Fresh, MDK, and Insomnia to achieve the highest honor one can achieve within the company. That’s all after I was ostracized for years, spent 18 months in a federal prison, and had my legacy within the company completely erased from the record books. Yet I came back, starting at the bottom, and worked my way to the top the hard way. I turned down title shots to settle grudges. I took on the One Ring Circus single handed. I even enticed the likes of Adrien Specter and Fallen Angel to join my cause in SCW, bringing the best the business has to offer together under one cause. My impact on SCW, on the company as a whole, will be remembered for years to come…and soon enough, my impact on the Experts and High Stakes will be talked about in every dark seedy corner of this business.

(Undoing his belt, and slapping it over the podium, he continues.)

Ex-Every one of you watching this, hearing my words, will feel the impact I am going to bring to this battle royal. I know there are 30 entrants, I know most of them have Experts experience, and I know that this is no small feat. I know that when we get down to the last ten entrants in this match, where I am coming in from, the battle inside that ring will be heated. There will be bodies flying and carnage everywhere…and I know I will be coming in cold. I know that my entrance into the battle royal won’t turn many heads; people will be unknowing of what is walking down that aisle until I hit the ring. I also know when I get into the ring, the seas will part and my presence will immediately be felt by everyone already inside.

I told you all before, I didn’t come to High Stakes merely to compete. I came to High Stakes to win this battle royal for SCW, but most importantly, for myself. You see, I need this win…after losing my Global Title to Shelbi Lynn Carter at Original Sin, folks are starting to doubt me. I hear the whispers within SCW thinking I am done…that I am losing it. I know here at the Experts you people don’t know who the hell I am and that gives me a massive advantage. You may not think so…but I know it to be true.

I have assets at my fingertips that have scouted each and every one of you. I know that Level-One is going to try and just use his size to eliminate competitors. I know that Johnny Rebel is going to try and hide in a corner somewhere to survive. I know Scott Rage thinks his sheer size and experience will be enough for him to plan for everyone…even a man like me he knows nothing about. I know someone like Jon Carlson is going to try and rely on the rest of the talent in this match to do his work for him. And I know a man like Terry Marvin will try to manipulate the competition into putting their guard down, helping him, before stabbing them in the back.

(Ex’s cocky smile is growing larger.)

Ex-Your probably asking yourself, what doesn’t this jackass know…and the answer is nothing. I know that the smaller competitors like Jade Wallace and Hannah Rickman will rely on their speed. I know Callahan will try to be wholesome and pure while trying to do it the right way, and men like Drake Mosa will do everything they can to cause as much pain as possible while not caring about the rules. I know the talent in this match like the back of my hand and when we are in the heat of the battle…none of it will mean a damn thing.

I am an informed entrant in this match, but it’s a friken battle royal folks. When you walk into a match like this, it doesn’t matter how much you prepare, how much you learn about your opponents…because when you have two or three pissed off people baring down on you, trying like hell to throw you over the top rope…all the preparedness goes out the window and instincts kick in. And that people, that is where my advantage begins. You heard me say earlier that I was born onto this earth to do this…and along with that, come in ring instincts the likes of which are hard to match. If you come at me in a flurry I will know how to counter it. When you come at me low, I will go high like no big man before me. When you go high, I will take your fucking head off.

The reality of this match is starting to set in for all of us. I am back stateside for the sole purpose of competing at High Stakes and walking away the winner. I know as well as the other 29 competitors in this match know, our words won’t mean a thing in a few days. I can sit here and talk all day about how great I am, how prepared I am, and how motivated I am to win. But none of it will mean a damn thing when that bell rings and all hell breaks loose. It won’t matter if it’s people I know like Dorling and Sabra from SCW or if you are relatively unknown to me like Dan Ryan from VWF or Santana and Arkia Fisk from PW…when I step into that ring your all the same to me…fair game.

(Ex prepares for his closing statement, standing there now looking as comfortable as one can be)

Ex-I know I have said I know quite a lot here today, which is kind of funny since I don’t know much about the Experts…but I do know me I and know I am coming for a fight. I know that I am coming into High Stakes ready to sacrifice my body to achieve the ultimate honor of winning an Experts event. I know that no one will be able to contain the excitement that is sure to come with my arrival in the battle royal. I know that I am ready for this.

You may think you know me, you may think you have what it takes to beat me…but ask yourself…do you have what it takes to beat the best Sin City Wrestling has to offer? Contrary to the norm in SCW, when we venture outside our walls, we organize like nothing you have ever seen. We work together in a way that puts any well-organized fighting force to shame. We may not like each other, we may walk the other way when we see each other on the street, but when we fight together, we are the primary threat in that fight. You may think you know whats coming, but you’ve got no idea. SCW’s hardcore legend and his sinner friends are ready to take this battle royal by storm. You don’t believe me…then just wait, sit back, and watch as we take this High Stakes battle royal to a level none of you imagined it could ever go. That’s my promise, and my word is gold.

(Ex smiles, nods, and walks off out of view of the cameras. Flash bulbs go off trying to get the last shots of Extream before he walks into High Stakes. His confidence is high, SCW’s presence at High Stakes is strong , and they are surely ready to bring the fight to the world.)

[PapaPancho]

Santana sits in a locker room drenched in sweat.  The medic had just left after cleaning up numerous cuts on his face as well as the laceration on his forehead from an introduction with the ring post.  Santana’s face mask was dripping with blood and sweat on the floor of the locker room next to him.  His agent, Blake Duncan, had been talking the whole time but he had not been paying much attention.  He had a loud ringing in his head that was not going to be going away soon.

Have you heard anything I’ve said to you?

No Blake as a matter of fact I haven’t.  I’ve got this pinche ringing in my head and it won’t quit.

I told you making this personal with Keebler was going to get you into trouble.

Santana had hounded Kris Keebler for weeks prior to their Redemption title match.  He had spit on him.  He had assaulted him from behind.   He had tried to attack his fiancée.  He tried every dirty trick, every malicious thought that cross his him and pushed Keebler more than anyone else had before but in the end the title rested on someone else’s shoulder.

Look at you man your face is cut all over and you are nowhere near recovered from that broken orbital bone.

This?  That’s nothing.  You ever had a 2 inch piece of metal lodged in between your rib cage.  Now that Blake is painful.

I was saying that if you’re insisting on wrestling injured that I got a great opportunity for you.  I’ve managed to get you into the High Stakes 2012 30 man Battle Royal.  This is big news for you man cause if you can win this match you get a fast tracked to the semi finals of the Extreme Tournament.  Do you understand how big this can be for your career?

No as a matter of fact I don’t.  You’re throwing names at me like I’m supposed to know what the hell it means.  I never watched this damn wrestling and I never wanted to be in this business.  I’m here to make money because those assholes in the MMA and Boxing have too many fucking rules.  Not to mention I’ve been locked up for over half my life. So explain it to me Blake.  Nice and slow like.

As Blake continued to talk Santana’s attention would focus more and more as the ringing would pause.  The Experts and more specifically High Stakes presented an opportunity to make money and to make a name for you.  Santana had nothing in life.  No family no loved ones, just his fists and a rap sheet a mile long.  The only thing to his name was a broken down home in a piece of shit neighborhood in El Paso, Texas and the sweetest ride in the state.  No “job skills” or education of any kind he had turned to fighting to make his money.  Boxing shunned him and MMA couldn’t control him so he was left to the wrestling word.  In the wrestling world he had found there was a market for hurting people and that was something he was very good at.  He didn’t really wrestle much but hey … styles make fights.

So what do you think?  You in?

Fuck yeah I’m in.
xxxxxxxxx

Santana walks next to a stone wall whose height cannot be noticed.   He walks the perimeter for a bit before finally stopping in front of the camera.  His face still noticeably marked from his wrestling matches as well as the deep bruise underneath his left eye from his eye fracture.

Hello Experts.  Me llamo Santana and I’m here to give you an inside look at my home away from home, a state penitentiary.  It seems only fair since I am learning everything I can about you, High Stakes, and the wrestlers involved that I make it a little easier to understand me.  So as they say on the television … welcome to my crib.

The camera cuts from Santana to an overhead shot showing the entire prison.  Stone walls 20 feet high topped off with barbed wire. Towers rising above them all giving guards a proper lookout.   The green and brown yard a stand out from all the gray of the prison walls.  The camera stops at the front chain link gates that are open and where Santana waits. 

You’re now going to be stepping into my world.  Much like the other competitors will when they enter that rumble match.  Most of these punks are used to even competition whether it’s a one on one or a two on two.  How many of them are ready for the free for all a rumble ignites.  30 men, 30 different motivations, 30 different reasons, 30 different methods.  You can’t plan for something like that and anyone who think that they can map and strategize their way to victory is going to be the first dumb punk being slung over the top rope.

Santana marches down the walkway stopping in front of a building.  The door is already open and as the camera follows him he looks back and says “Welcome to C block.”  Once inside the door slams close with a loud metal thunk.  Passing through different locked gates Santana arrives to the main part of c block where the most violent of inmates are housed.  3 different tiers each holding over 30 cells. 

You’ll excuse me if I don’t get a bit nostalgic here but this is where I spent my last ten years of my life.  C block or the 7th circle of hell as some inmates called it was where they housed the most vile and vicious members of society.  If you’re wondering there in the Experts world no I’m not some liberal sob story about a man wrongly convicted.  Every crime I’ve been accused, tried and convicted of I’ve been 100% guilty of.  But WHY I had to commit my crimes again and again and again … well for those I take no responsibility at all.  You see while everyone in the public, in pop culture, and in Hollywood loves the “gay community” now back when I was in middle school there was no love for homosexuals.  A small confused boy just trying to express himself kisses a boy out of instinct … instincts his body are telling him are correct … and he gets the ass whooping of a lifetime.  Nothing like childhood memories like getting the word FAGGOT written in marker all over your body.

Santana starts walking up the stairs taking to the second tier.  His voices becoming more passionate as he continues telling his story.

Now some of you feel real sad right about now.  Poor little boy just needed help why didn’t he ask for help.  Well I did.  I went to my mother and asked her why those kids had to beat me up.  What did I do wrong?  Instead of getting a hug and some cookies while my mother called the principal I got ANOTHER ass whooping of a lifetime.  My OWN mother!!  You should have seen how she looked at her son in disgust.  You should have heard her words as she beat me repeatedly over and over trying to drive the sin out of my body.  There were no hugs for me.  There were no kisses for me.  No milk and cookies.  Just another beating.  Well I got damn tired of taking beatings at school and then at home.  So I started defending myself.  I started cutting kids up making sure they never fucked with me again.  That’s when I discovered my love for inflicting pain. 

Santana stops in front of an open cell.  He grabs on to the railing clenching the iron bars with his hands.  His knuckles and hands show marks from fights fought over a decade and a half.  His muscles flex and tighten as he looks back at the camera.

A love for pain I am going to showcase at High Stakes.  It’s going to be and 29 other victims in that ring assuming I go first, if not it’s going to be less.  Either way I don’t give a damn how many punks I got to go through to prove myself.  You see with no strategy you got to do what brought you to the dance.  If you’re a giant you’ve got to use your size to your advantage, if you’re quick then use your speed.  Me, I’m what they call a “brawler.”  I got no wrestling technique what so ever.  I can pull of a few moves here and there but that’s not what a rumble calls for.  The most important weapon in a rumble isn’t your fists or your feet it’s your head.  You have to know when to strike and when to lay low.  When to partner up and when to backstab someone.  That’s nothing a wrestler would know about but a convict?  To a convict he’s been practicing that technique since the day he stepped into a prison cell.  I’ve spent over half my life in prison … that’s almost 16 years worth of incarceration.  In that time I’ve learned to play the game figure out that’s the muscle, who the movers and shakers are, who the shot callers are and who the fish are.  Just taking a look at this roster of hopefuls and it smells like a goddamn fish market.

Santana let’s go of the iron railing and steps inside of the cell.  The cell is dark, cramped, and lifeless.  A pair of bunks sit on top one another with only a sheet and a pillow.  Not far from the bunks sits a sink and a toilet with no mirror.  Santana sits down on the bottom bunk as he takes out a pocket comb to fix his black medium length hair.

First fish that jumps out at is someone ballsy enough to name themselves “The Reflection of Perfection”.  I wonder if his mirror is broken or something because from what I see this is hardly perfection.  What’s the matter Talon you get tired of playing God with your wrestlers’ careers that you got that itch again?  Don’t worry about it I’ll scratch it for you.  I’ll scratch it hard and deep enough you bleed like a stuck pig.  You don’t have to worry about submitting because tapping out means nothing to me.  I’m going to cut you and then I’m going to toss you.

Next fish I see here I know from my own wrestling federation.  Father time himself Scott Rage.  Some of these fish might be intimated by meeting a “legend” like you in the ring.  Unless you want to announce your retirement you should stay out of this match.  You say you’ve seen everything before but I guarantee you have no idea the house of pain that’s going to come with me down that ramp.  You’re 7 feet and 320 lbs of expired meat.  You fuck with me at High Stakes and I’ll butcher you up and throw your old carcass out there.

Then you’ve got a clown fish like Dorling.  This is the very definition of a punk ass bitch.  All talk about how awesome he is.  I’ve met countless of inmates like him.  They all think there the baddest, there the best, there the end all be all.  Then when they see the sight of their own blood they piss themselves and start crying out for their mommas.  I’ll take extra pleasure in breaking you cabron.  I’m going to love seeing you dance your way around me with a broken leg.  You talk about being smart yet you make it a point to dare everybody in the match to slow you down.  Not very smart kid.  In fact it’s fucking stupid.  There’s no room for ego in a rumble match and there’s no room for you in this rumble.

Let’s take a look at our last fish, a fish so brave that she that actually had the ovaries to say my name out loud, Jade Wallace.   Oh yes Jade I heard what you had to say and I’ve never laughed so much in my life.  Jade thinks she has me all figured out.  She thinks Santana has a case of the Monday’s and that I should just learn to let go.   I’m just too angry.  Fucking bitch.  Angry is what your mother felt when your father fucked her, walked out on her, and left you in her womb as a thank you gift.  Anger?  There isn’t a word in the English language to describe what I feel.  If that story about my classmates and my doting mother wasn’t enough how about my last crime for which I was locked up for ten years?

Santana scowls at the camera seeing his emotions build up within him.

A man … a man who had grown and accepted what he was; who had moved on from his past.  A man who had actually found someone who accepted him for who he was past and all.  That man tried to live a normal life but no that wasn’t meant to be.  3 jocks having a night on their town figured drinks and molesting college girls wasn’t enough.  When they found my partner leaving a gay bar they proceeded to beat the shit out of him just for shits and giggles.  But that wasn’t enough fun either.  They beat him till bones were broken, till his voice gave out from screaming and then they violated him.  As if it wasn’t punishment enough one of those fucking kids gave him AIDS.  Again your probably asking where were the police in all this.  Where was the asking of help.  No help came to our aid.  He was gay … he was asking for it.  It got swept under the rug all because one of the guys father’s happened to be a senator.  So I used my skills again.  I inflicted more pain on each and one of those mother fuckers.  I didn’t kill them but I made sure that they remembered what they had done.  Justice had been served.  Oh but now the police DID get involved and ME … not them … ME got sent to the slammer for 10 years because the police sat on their hands because the man in power told them to.

So yes Jade anger just doesn’t quite cut it does it.  Lady Death … save the nicknames for chat rooms.  This shit is real.  I disgust you?  Does it look like I give a shit what you feel?  You can hate me all you want but you WILL respect me because if you don’t you’ll be lucky to walk out of that rumble match when I meet up with you.

Santana mouth is frothing as his words carry the emotions behind them.  He stops for a moment taking the time to wipe his mouth.  He gets up from the bunk and drags his fingers against the walls of the cell.  It is unnoticeable at first but as the camera catches the light from outside the cell it is revealed that the cell is covered with tally marks etched into the concrete of the cell.  Santana’s fingers rub against the concrete as if memories were being pulled from the walls into his body.  He lets out a sigh as he turns to face the camera again.

Thousands of days are etched into this concrete.  Each tally carries a person’s day, good or bad.  Each represents a hope that the day is coming when they will be released. 

Santana pulls out a butterfly knife flicking around a bit before stabbing the concrete and making a new tally mark.

Now the countdown begins all over again.  A  new tally will be marked until April 29th when Santana get’s released into the rumble.  Till then I will train like I’ve always trained in this 9 x 5 cell.  Everything I need to win this rumble is already here with me.  I have my mind and my body and I don’t need anything else. 

The camera steps out of the cell as the gates to the cell begin to close.  Santana stands at the gates as they lock him inside the cell.  He begins to unbutton the long sleeved plaid shirt he was wearing.  He takes it off revealing a body of artwork.  His biceps forearms chests and back are covered with elaborate Mexican tattoos.  His neck sports a pair of lips as well as writing that is ineligible.  Along with his tattoos are a myriad of scars ranging from small tally marks to large stab wounds.  The most noticeable of which is  a large gash near his right rib cage. 

Thanks for stopping by my crib Experts.  I hope you’ve gotten used to the message I’m sending because come April 29th I’m going to make it loud and clear.  I WILL do anything and everything to win that match just like I’ve done anything and everything to punish those who wronged me.  16 years locked in a place like this. All that frustration, all that “anger”, all the fury will walk down that ramp with me and be unleashed when I enter that ring.  You see Experts, sabes que, a rumble is a very dangerous match.  It only makes sense that the most dangerous man win that match; that a convict WILL win that match.  Don’t believe me?  Why else would they put a warden in charge of the damn thing?

The camera zooms out as it walks in reverse. The last image we have of Santana is a sinister smile that is betrayed by the fury which his eyes hold.  His hands griping tight around the iron bars that have locked him in the cell. 

[Reaper]

He may not have been the sole survivor at Rival Factions but he was the man who made the biggest impact. He had eliminated two of Phoenix Wrestling’s top stars. Ja Gi Kyung Moon, one of the men charged with battling EMPIRE who were determined to take over the company and the former multiple time world champion and decorated marine David ‘Bones’ McCoy. He had wrestled for the majority of the match and it was his work that carried Team TFWF to victory. It took four men to eliminate him and three of them had already been taken out of the match.

There was a new star in the Experts and his name was Drake Mosa. It was something anyone wanted, they were pushing for Kurt Noble to be the man to finally dethrone Jack Benevolence but after Dreams and Nightmares, Drake was the man that everyone was talking about. Even though he was furious that he hadn’t survived at Rival Factions and it was Joey Lupino that won the match for the TFWF. But his manager, Johnny Frost could see what was happening. The experts fans may have loathed the twisted psychopath but they were mesmerised by his brutality in the ring.

Drake was now going into a thirty man battle royal at High Stakes. The winner would have a huge advantage at the Experts Extreme tournament, not only would they get a guaranteed place but they would go straight to the quarter finals while the rest battled through the group stages and the final sixteen, the winner would be able to sit at home and watch the competition, to spot their weaknesses. Whoever won the battle royal at High Stakes would immediately become the red hot favourite to take home the true expert title. But, would Drake be one of the favourites at High Stakes?

This would be his first time stepping into a battle royal. He had very limited experience in multi-man matches with the TFWF Vs PW match at Rival Factions being the only one in quite some time. Drake was dominant when it came to one on one matches. He could outwrestle and submit almost any other wrestler in the world. But when he was faced with twenty-nine other wrestlers with rules he had no experience with, it would be interesting to see how he would cope. The cyanide pill, the move he has won so many matches with, would be practically useless in this situation.

This would be a completely different challenge from anything he’s faced before. Drake wasn’t happy with just rising up the ranks in the TFWF. He was getting agonizingly close to becoming the TFWF Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion. Joel Bryant and the champion after Death or Glory were the only people who stood in his way. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to be an international wrestling megastar. That meant venturing outside his home promotion, plying his trade in experts events and ultimately, becoming the True Expert Champion.

Not every casino in Vegas is packed with gamblers. Not all of them are incredibly glamorous, with the sheer amount of casinos in Vegas, some of them are going to be struggling. The casino that Johnny Frost found himself walking through was one of them. He was wearing a black suit with white pinstripes. There was a dark purple shirt underneath with a tie of the same colour. He walked with purpose and there was a hint of frustration on his face as he walked up the almost deserted aisles of slot machines. He rolled his eyes as he finally spotted who he was looking for.

Drake Mosa sat back in one of the leather padded chairs in front of one of the slot machines. He was wearing a loose fitting, long sleeved, white t-shirt with black jeans and converse trainers. His posture was relaxed as he reclined back in the chair and continued to feed coins into the machine, lazily holding the cup in his left hand. He didn’t look away from it, although he didn’t seem interested in the slightest whether he won or not. Money wasn’t something Drake has ever had to worry about, he just had nothing better to do.

Drake’s gaze didn’t divert away from the machine as Johnny Frost stood beside him with a frustrated expression.

“Do you even care?” Johnny asked gritting his teeth.

Drake’s focus remained directly ahead. “And that means?” He replied with a tone of disinterest.

Johnny sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. “The next few months are the most important in your career. You’ve got Joel Bryant and Death or Glory in a submission match, win that and you’re the number one contender to the TFWF Undisputed World Heavyweight Championship. Then there’s the reason we’re here. You’re in the battle royal at High Stakes, win that and you go straight through to the Quarter Finals of the Extreme tournament where you’ll be the red hot favourite to take home the True Expert title.” Johnny explained.

Drake nodded as he continued to feed coins into the machine. “Sounds good.” He said. “Although I don’t know why you give a fuck about this Experts shit, it’s not like the TFWF even recognises that piece of tin around Benevolence’s waist.”

Johnny snarled. “Do you want to be the best in the world!? Then you’re going to have to perform at Legacy Plaza. Look at what the Experts has done for Level One, Georgie Nickles, Hannibal Cage and Jack Benevolence. This is what you need to go to the next level.”

Drake merely chuckled at Johnny’s comments and shook his head.

“You find this funny?” Johnny all but shouted, his frustration clearly showing.

Drake turned to face Johnny, his cold blue eyes staring a hole through his manager. “Level One, Benevolence, Cage, they all needed the Experts to make a name for themselves. I don’t, I was already one of the biggest names in pro wrestling when I graced the Experts with my presence. I may have needed it back when I just got out of the asylum, but now..” Drake shrugged. “It’s just another appearance fee.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more than that!” Johnny snapped.

“Why?” Drake asked. “Because you want to be the fucking hometown hero?”

The Las Vegas native’s nostrils flared as he struggled to keep his composure. “That’s not what this about.” He let out a sigh. “Anyway, you’re the 21st entry into the battle royal, that gives you a great chance but you’re going to have to prepare for Level One and Scott Rage especially.”

Drake slammed his hand against the machine. “I don’t need to prepare for any of those motherfuckers! I’m the best in the world. I’m going to win at High Stakes and I’m going to become the True Expert Champion. Not because I want the title, just because I don’t want anyone else to have it.” Drake snarled taking his manager by surprise.

“Good.” Johnny said, realizing that this was the most focus Drake was going to give to the next Experts event.

Drake allowed the cup in his hand to drop to the floor and stood up. He didn’t look at Johnny as he trudged away from him with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Where are you going?”Johnny demanded with authority.

“The fuck do you care?” Drake shot back.

“We’ve still got a lot of work to do before High Stakes!” Johnny almost pleaded with his client.

“Whatever, Johnny.” Drake replied as he continued walking.

Johnny slapped the slot machines several times as his frustration boiled over. He ran his hands through his hair as he saw Drake’s chances at High Stakes becoming increasingly slim due to his attitude. Drake didn’t look back at his manager, he just continued walking towards the door of the run down casino.

He opened the doors and was met with a barrage of camera flashes and reporters desperately trying to get his attention. Then he did something that no one expected him to do, he stopped. A hush fell over the reporters for a few moments. Drake was notorious for ignoring their pleas and would leave the interviews to his manager, but it appeared he wanted to handle this one himself. He looked around at the crowd with a detached expression, then nodded to start the questions.

One nervous sounding reporter plucked up the courage to address him. “Errrmmm..” He stammered. “With your lack of experience in battle royal matches, how do you rate your chances at High Stakes?”

Drake chuckles slightly. “Very highly, no one in that match is capable of beating me down and throwing me over the top rope. Take a look at the competitors, I’m highest on the card in the TFWF out of all our representatives, which makes me the best wrestler in this match. Every other promotion is simply second rate filled with no names who couldn’t make it to the highest level. I proved that when I destroyed the now APW Undisputed Champion and Dreams and Nightmares. I’m going to walk in at number twenty-one and I’m going to outlast every wrestler in that match and be the last man standing.”

The original reporter seemed to be the only one brave enough to ask questions as he continued the interview. “But, there are several former and current experts federations world champions in the match. There’s Hannah Rickman, Level One, Dan Ryan, Stu Who?, Extream, David Cyclone, Scott Rage and Insomnia. This match is teaming with talent and has wrestlers who have won world titles, something you have yet to do.”

Drake scoffed at his comments. “I’d hardly call any of them ‘World Champions’. I wrestle in the TFWF, the best wrestling promotion on the planet and I’ve steamrolled through the competition. I didn’t do that in some dead indy fed that only five people ever saw. I didn’t do that in second rate promotions like APW and PW. I didn’t do that in some Vegas shithole, I did it in a promotion that prides itself on having the best wrestlers in the world. And on me never being a world champion, I’ll have the TFWF Undisputed World Heavyweight Championship around my waist soon enough. Inside two years of my professional debut.”

The reporter nodded as Drake continued to play down the threat of the other experts federation. “But what about Level One? He’s a former two time True Expert Champion, the 2008 Extreme tournament winner and a former four time APW Undisputed Champion. He’s got far more experience than you in this sort of situation and at over two hundred and seventy pounds, he has a considerable size advantage.”

Drake’s jaw tensed in frustration at the repeated mention of the Experts legend. “You may have answered your own question. Yes, Level One did win the Extreme tournament, in 2008. That’s four years ago and it’s been almost three years since he last held the True Expert title. His four world title wins? All won in his nice and safe APW bubble. When he tried to branch out and compete in the TFWF, he barely lasted six months. If Level One and I come face to face at High Stakes, I’m throwing his washed up, out of shape ass over the top rope and watch him fall from grace and become another Black Death.” He snarled as the veins in his neck pulsed.

The reporter was unsure if it was wise to ask another question but realized he wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this anytime soon. “Also, with the comments you’ve made and your actions in the TFWF and The Experts, don’t you think you’re going to targeted by the twenty-nine other wrestlers in this match?”

A smirk spread across Drake’s face. “I don’t care who comes after me, I’m still going to win. I’m entering at twenty-one because I can afford to bet six of my experts ranking points. I don’t care if some no talent hacks try to band together to eliminate me, I’m walking out of High Stakes with my place in the 2012 Extreme tournament Quarter finals booked. I’m sure The Experts representatives will be hoping for any other result, like Jade Wallace following in her Father’s footsteps or Jose Ramon returning to form after his heroics at On Hallowed Ground but that simply won’t happen.”

Drake glared at the reporter for a few tense moments. “This is my year, I’m going to become the biggest star professional wrestling has ever seen and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do to stop me. Not Joel Bryant, not Level One, not Scott Rage, not Kurt Noble and not even Jack fucking Benevolence! By the end of the summer, I will be the TFWF Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion and I will rise above everyone in the Extreme tournament to capture the True Expert title. 2012 is the year of Drake Mosa.” Drake growled as the reporters all took a step back. He then looked down at the only reporter asking the questions. “I hope you got the big scoop you week looking for.”

He let out a low maniacal chuckle as he continued to walk down the Vegas strip.

________________________________________

The staff backstage at the Experts High Stakes event milled around the corridors, all looking nervous and hoping that this event would go off without a hitch. There was a lot of hype surrounding the battle royal. Of course there would be, there would be thirty of the biggest names in professional wrestling all battling for a spot in the Extreme tournament quarter finals. It would be the most highly contested match in recent Experts history. The winner of that match was more important than who walked out of the pay per view as the True Expert Champion.

The winner of this match could go onto win the biggest event in the Experts calendar. If you think of The Experts, you don’t think of Black Death, Level One, Michael Thunder, the Warden or Jack Benevolence. You think of the Extreme tournament. It’s a tournament that can turn no name rookies into megastars and it can turn megastars into legends. Someone entering at the quarter final stage would be going against eight other wrestlers who battled through the group stages and made it through a round in the harsh Siberian prison.

The winner at High Stakes could very well be the one holding the True Expert title at the end of the Extreme tournament. The Experts didn’t want Drake as champion. He’d already been fairly vocal about how he thought the True Expert title was worth. He didn’t necessarily want the belt, he just didn’t want someone else lording it around making it seem more of an honour that it really is. He saved most of his desire for the TFWF world title, something he was getting closer to with every passing day. Another strong performance in the Experts wouldn’t hurt his standing.

He wanted to win this match, despite everything’s he’s said about the Experts and it’s coveted championship, he wanted to be the last man standing at High Stakes. He could see the Extreme tournament on the horizon and he didn’t want to bother wrestling at Legacy Plaza. Siberia was calling his name. The Twisted Psychopath and the Siberian Prison seems like a match in heaven. Twenty-nine other wrestlers would be standing in his way. But with the roll he’s been on for the past year, who was going to stop him?

He sat on the steel bench inside his locker room as the cheers of the crowd inside Legacy Plaza could be heard. The battle royal was already underway. The wrestlers who didn’t want to or simply couldn’t risk six points where already battling it out. The wrestlers in the match were starting to tire and with each passing second, a Drake Mosa victory seemed more and more likely. He was wearing his wrestling gear of black and red MMA shorts, black boots and his fist heavily taped. He looked focused as he stared straight ahead. There was no worry or panic in his cold, emotionless eyes.

His manager on the other hand was pacing around the room. Johnny Frost was wearing a pinstripe suit with a black shirt underneath. He constantly checked the sparkling timepiece on his wrist as the time for Drake’s entrance got closer and closer. His face was slightly flustered. Drake may have been right when he said Johnny would want to impress in front of his hometown crowd. He looked over to his client who remained unmoving.

“I hope you’re ready for this.” Johnny warned as he ran one of his hands through his hair.

Drake flexed his muscles. “Of course I’m ready.” He said with his usual frustrating tone of indifference.

Johnny shook his head as he glanced over to the TV screen in the corner of the room. “We’re up to nineteen.” He commented. “It’s getting pretty competitive now.”

“It won’t matter.” Drake said with a slight sigh. “Only one more wrestler to enter and then it’s me. Then it will stop being a contest and start being a display of my complete and utter dominance of the wrestling world.” He snarled as he leaned forward.

Johnny looked slightly surprised and relieved at his client’s focus. He chuckled as he turned back to the TV. “Entrant number twenty-one, in this city, that’s a very good omen.”

“I don’t need any omens and I don’t need any luck. This is my night, I’m going to win this match, Johnny. I’m going to Siberia and then I’m going to win the Extreme tournament and the True Expert title. And if I’m in the mood I might just throw that piece of scrap metal in the fucking trash can.” Drake commented with disdain.

Johnny nodded. “Up to number twenty, want to know who it is?” He asked.

“I don’t give a fuck who it is.” Drake replied as he sat up and rested his back against one of the lockers.

A stage hand appeared in the door way. “You’re up next, Mr. Mosa.” He stated nervously before scurrying of down the hallway. Not wanting to spend any more time in Drake’s company than absolutely necessary.

Drake stood up and strode towards the door with supreme confidence. The buzzer sounded, ‘Son of Sam’ played. It was time to see if Drake could back up all his threats. It was time to see if he had what it took to rise to the top of the pro wrestling world.

[David Cyclone]

(We join David Cyclone backstage after SCW Original Sin at the Manchester Evening News Arena in the UK. He has just successfully defended his Television Championship against Grocery Boy…wasn’t exactly Cyclones toughest title defence of any sort but nevertheless it still counted toward the win/loss record and a fourth successive win for the TV Champion was always good for his morale. Next up was the Experts Rumble; a match that could shoot David Cyclone to superstardom in the wrestling world.

This was to be David Cyclone’s first venture into the world of the Experts. It was where the best wrestlers from the best promotions would go to compete against one and other. Dream matches could be made here and once in a lifetime bouts could take place.

But this was the ultimate venture. Cyclone was going big for his first venture into the Experts. A dream match could take place here…or 29 dream matches could take place here. Cyclone was in an opportunity where he could face off against 25 different wrestlers that he’s never wrestled before. This was a chance for the world to finally discover what David Cyclone was about. This was a chance for a whole new audience to enjoy the athletic ability that David Cyclone has to offer.

But as we join Cyclone backstage at Original Sin, looking at the screen of his SCW Television Championship it’s only now that Skip Tripper stands beside him to try and find out his views on the Rumble itself. Or at least we’re about to find out until Sean Panache comes bursting into the locker room.  Cyclone pushes Skip aside and stands up face to face with him as the two face off.)

SP: “You see that? I might not have beaten him but I completely out wrestled the legend that is Stu Who here in SCW.”

CYC: “Seriously? You call losing outwrestling? I think you’ll find that if you lose, that generally means you didn’t outwrestle your opponent.”

SP: “Whatever, I put up a better performance than you did. Your match was a waste of space on the card and then you got beat up by J.T. Cash afterwards. Did you forget that he’d be coming for you still after you put him out for a year.”

CYC: “Oh don’t you worry your little head, I hadn’t forgotten about Cash. I bragged most of last year about how I was the guy who ended J.T. Cash’s career. So the fact that he has come back for some sort of vengeance doesn’t surprise me…but he doesn’t stand a chance. If he want to come for me, if he wants to come for my Television Championship, then all he had to do was ask…the bastard didn’t need to jump me.”

(Panache smirks at Cyclone, almost laughing at the thought of Cyclone getting attacked at the end of his match.)

CYC: “Anyway what the fuck are you doing in here anyway? We’re not friends, haven’t been for a while so get the fuck out of my locker room before Dorling and Insomnia come back in here and rip your head off…otherwise I’ll do it myself.”

SP: “I just came here to tell you, that if I’m not the next challenger to that belt….I hope J.T. Cash destroys you for it. After the hell you’ve put him in for the past year I hope he does the same thing to you…and finally rid SCW of “Mr Main Event”.

(Panache pats Cyclone on his title belt that was placed over his shoulder; before smirking and leaving the locker room. Cyclone is left standing there furious. Skip Tripper walks back into shot with David Cyclone.)

ST: “So Cyc…”

(Before Skip can finish Insomnia comes bursting back into the locker room with Hans and Gayle either side of him. He is looking angered by the result of his match.)

‘SOM: “Seriously? Michael Fuckin’ Thunder? I knocked that cunts head off and he fluked his way to victory?”

CYC: “I take it you didn’t win?”

(Gayle and Hans grab there cases and ‘Som as well.)

‘SOM: “We’re getting out of here. I’ve had enough with the bullshit that has been going on tonight. You coming?”

CYC: “Urgh, I’ll hang around for a bit mate.”

‘SOM: “Fine, I’ll see you in California at the Experts event. Fuck I can’t even get away from Michael Thunder outside of SCW.”

(Insomnia pulls his bag out of Gayles hand before nodding at Cyclone and leaving the locker room. Skip Tripper walks back into shot one more time and puts the microphone in David Cyclone’s face again.)

ST:  “Cyc, first of all massive congratulations on successfully defending your SCW Television Championship against Grocery Boy here in the Manchester Evening News Arena. What are your thoughts on the return of J.T. Cash?”

CYC: “That can all wait right now Skip. J.T. Cash wants to return after I put him out of action for over a year…he wants to come back and attack me? Well if he thinks that doing that is going to get him a shot at my Television Championship straight away…then he’s sadly mistaken. He needs to join the back of the queue and get behind the more deserving wrestlers who have been competing for the last year here in SCW. Fuck I never thought I’d say it, but even Sean Panache is more deserving of a shot than he is. But I want to talk about what’s next for me, I want to talk about the Experts Rumble.”

ST: “Well from what I know of that High Stakes rumble, we have six representatives from SCW taking part in the match itself. That’s 1/5 of all competitors in that match. Perhaps I should ask what your tactics are going to be.”

CYC: “Well you ask what my tactics are going to be? Well let’s put it this way you say that there are going to be 5 other Sinners in this match two of them you’d think I could trust in my fellow STD team mates in Insomnia and Dorling. So you think if I can last to a point where both of these men are in the ring with me…or if they can last to a point where I’ll be joining them in the ring, then you’d think there would be no stopping us. Are there any other three stablemates in this Rumble? Not as far as I’m aware Skip, so it’s advantage STD and advantage to Sin City Wrestling going into this event.”

(Skip smiles as Cyc also gives a little smirk to the interviewer.)

ST: “Cyc you are on your best form since arriving in Sin City Wrestling, also you have won every Pay Per View Match you’ve been in so far this year. Your confidence must be through the roof right now.”

CYC: “You’re not wrong Skip. I’m so confident that I feel like I could take on the world in that rumble match and I’d still be able to eliminate each and every person who steps into that ring. There are going to be wrestlers who I know in that match and plenty more who I have never heard of. I’ll be honest Skip I struggle to follow the goings on in SCW sometimes, let alone what is going on all over the world in professional wrestling. Hell before I got Twitter, (@TheDavidCyclone if you’re wondering) I didn’t know what wrestlers got up to on the outside of this company.”

ST: “So what you’re Twitter stalk?”

CYC: “No I don’t Twitter stalk. Although Sabra did put up a nice photo the other day…did you see it?”

(Skip gives Cyclone a shrug of his shoulders.)

ST: “I don’t have a Twitter account. It doesn’t really interest me.”

CYC: “Oh you’re missing out Skip, I’m telling you it’s the future.”

ST: “I think Twitter has been around for a few years.”

CYC: “Yeah I know that, but now that I’m on it, it’s worth getting an account just to follow me alone. And if nothing else comes from the Rumble match at High Stakes…at least I might get some new followers. But that’s not the aim Skip, the aim is to win that rumble match. My aim is to get my name out there as the greatest performer in the wrestling industry. It’s hard to believe, but not a lot of people outside of Sin City Wrestling have heard of me. Despite the fact I have done it all in this promotion and become only the Second True Grand Slam Champion in SCW, people still haven’t heard of me. Well High Stakes is where that changes.”

(Cyclone smirks to himself; he can’t help but feel confident going into this event.)

ST: “So tell me Cyclone, how come it has taken you this long into your career to take part in an Experts event?”

CYC: “It’s real simple Skip. First of all I wanted to build a legacy here in Sin City Wrestling. Before I wanted to go on to prove myself to be the best there is in the world, I had to prove that I was the best wrestler here. Now I have proven that by becoming a Grand Slam Champion and being the current Mr SCW for everything I did in this company last year. Now I come to the Experts and I enter High Stakes with all this behind me. I am the best possible representative for this company on the grandest of all events in wrestling.”

(Cyc places his hands in the air one by one as he says “High Stakes” as if to print it out with his hands.)

CYC: “High Stakes has the biggest match in the whole wrestling world. I’m not talking about the True Experts Tag Title match which happens to involve three amazing SCW Wrestlers. What I’m talking about is the Rumble that stars yours truly. There are wrestlers that I haven’t heard of in this event, mainly because I don’t follow the ins and outs of other promotions…but there is one person I am looking forward to locking up with who is outside of the wrestling world…someone who I have heard a lot about.

ST: “And that is?”

(Skip asks very anxiously.)

CYC: “Level-One. I’ve heard so much about this guy, I heard how he was the guy to beat if you wanted to have your name heard around the world. Hell ‘Som Yakuza’d his head off in his first Experts event and suddenly everyone has heard of Insomnia. Imagine how high my stock would rise if I was the man to eliminate him from the rumble. Imagine how quickly my Twitter followers will rise when I throw him from Level-One down to the Ground Floor. And that goes for everyone Skip. I am not planning on holding back this week, anyone and everyone who stands in my way of winning this match will be thrown out of that ring.”

ST: “Including Insomnia and Dorling.”

(Cyclone smirks at Skip, he continues smirking as he nods his head. With that Cyclone pats Skip on the back and walks out of shot. Skip gives a shocked look as we slowly fade to black.)

------------------------------------------------

(We rejoin David Cyclone in his home gym. We are just days away from High Stakes and Cyclone is ready to cut his solo promo. This is something that Cyclone always tries to do before a match and this one is a big match for him, so let’s join “Mr Main Event”.)

Experts Rumble

[Jennifer]

It was – sadly – not the first time that Mikhail Volkov had woken up in a brightly lit room and found himself tied to a chair.

Bleary eyed and head pounding, the unshaven Russian did his best to raise his head and take stock of his surroundings. Bare wooden floor, peeling wallpaper, a naked bulb, and a few feet in front of him, a desk.

“Glad to have you back with us, Mr Volkov,” said the man sitting behind the desk, speaking English with an American accent. Long unused gears in Volkov’s head turned, and after a few moments, he found the words to rumble a reply.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Volkov’s accent lay thick and heavy upon his words, but his English was surprisingly fluent.

“Straight to the point I see. I like that. My name is… Taylor, and I’d like you to do a job for me.”

Mikhail snorted. “I do not do ‘jobs’, friend, especially not for those that tie me up.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice here, Mr Volkov.”

“Why?” Volkov barked out the question.

“I have just one word for you; Siberia,” Volkov’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing. “Ahh… and I do believe he grasps it. You never did your time back in Siberia, did you? That Warden had such an interesting experiment going on, but barely a few months after you arrived, they came in and closed the place down,” Taylor sat back in his chair with a sly little smile. “And you walked away free as a bird, Mr Volkov.”

Volkov grunted. “Da, and?”

“And… it would be a relatively simple matter to allow the right people to ‘discover’ the right paperwork that would see you inside of a real prison for a very, very long time.”

“So, you seek to punish Mikhail for his crimes?”

“What? Oh, no. No no no. I quite honestly couldn’t give a fuck about the man that you killed, nor even if you meant it. Your past just gives me convenient leverage over just the type of man that I find myself in need of.”

“A psychotic.”

“Not quite, and please Mr Volkov, give both of us a little more credit. You’re not the beast you make yourself out to be, so drop the act.”

Volkov cracked his neck and remained silent.

“Very well… No, I find myself in need of a wrestler. A wrestler that I can rely on to keep his mouth shut.”

“So you seek to use a rabid animal? You may find yourself bitten.”

“But you see, Mr Volkov, nobody asks questions about a rabid animal.  A rabid animal does as he pleases, and nobody looks past him to see who is holding his leash, because…”

“They think that nobody would try to control him in the first place.”

“Now you’re getting it. I trust that you remember The Experts?”

Volkov nodded, guarded.

“Well, they’re holding an event. An open challenge. High Stakes, they’re calling it. A thirty man, over-the-top-rope battle royal, winner walks into the quarter finals of this year’s extreme tournament. Some of the biggest names in wrestling are going to be competing. Level One, Dorling, Stu Who, Jose Ramon. Illustrious company.”

“And you seek to set a stray mutt against the pampered pedigrees?”

“The pedigrees fight for show and prestige, Mr Volkov. The stray fights for his very life. I would say that is an apt analogy.”

“So. You have the wolf and you have his leash. Why? You know Mikhail does not follow orders or objectives. You must know that he cannot be controlled.”

“Fortunately I’m not looking for control. I’m just looking for damage.”

“Damage? I can do that.”

“Then we’ll get on just swimmingly, Mr Volkov. Certain… parties have … interests in ensuring a few competitors don’t make it to the end of that match. And what better way to do that than by using a man who doesn’t even care if he wins?”

“Clever… but what if Mikhail is simply cast over the top rope because such plans mean nothing to him?”

“Then I’m afraid I may have to let a few secrets slip. Keep your temper in check, Mr Volkov, or you’ll be behind bars in the blink of an eye.”

“Ask the river to change direction, mulak! Such control is beyond me!”

Taylor leaned forward and smiled, dripping with insincerity.

“Then, if you value your freedom, I suggest you work on changing that. And quickly,” Taylor stood, walking around the desk to pat Volkov on the shoulder. “The event is in three weeks.”

He left Volkov fuming.


~*~


A plane trip at night. Hands cuffed behind his back, a hulking man in a suit accompanying him at all times. A private jet, no more than a dozen seats. Taylor – or whoever he worked for – had no shortage of wealth.

Arrival. Volkov recognised it immediately. The United States. He had been there only once before, but its scent was imprinted in his memory.

Handcuffs finally removed. Strict instructions not to roam, not to leave the luxurious hotel without his escort. Volkov barely wanted to. For a man used to dilapidated flats, sleeping on cold mattresses, this was a paradise. Besides, there would be nowhere to run – he had no documents and no money. He wouldn’t last a day.

A few hours to recover, then the visits began. Information about the event, about who he would be facing, what was expected of him, what cover story he was to give, if asked. Advised that the press probably wouldn’t bother with him too much, not with juicier targets to aim for. That suited him fine, Mikhail had never liked interviews, or those that conducted them.

Training, actual training for the first time in his life. Real coaches, men who truly knew what they were talking about. He would never be a technician, but they showed him how to refine his style, how to strike more effectively, tempering the animalistic brawling into something no less vicious but considerably better measured.

Volkov enjoyed the training. It gave him a chance to work off his frustrations, his endless well of anger. It was… cathartic.

The interviews did come, after all. Experts men, wanting to know his motives, wanting to know where he had been, if he had been wrestling. They got few answers, but what little they gleaned seemed to satisfy them. He was of interest because he was an outsider to the Experts, but no more than a passing curiosity. His name held weight only in the hearts of those that remembered – truly remembered Siberia.

His number was drawn, looked at, cast aside. Everyone and their mangy dog, it seemed, wanted to know. Volkov took pleasure in denying them the knowledge, especially the irritation on Taylor’s face. Getting under his blackmailer’s skin became a new pastime. It was too close to the event now for him to find any replacement for Volkov, not with all the promotion that had gone into his appearance, and all the effort made to get him into shape.

So Taylor received the full force of Volkov’s acerbic nature, with more than a little satisfaction.

And oddly, Volkov’s confidence began, little by little, to grow.

Perhaps… the beast could be kept in check after all.

Perhaps he had a chance.


~*~


“Mikhail!”

The voice was hoarse. Volkov’s eyes snapped open, and he immediately knew that something was wrong.

He was back in his cell in Siberia. Haggard. Unshaven. Malnourished.

“Mikhail!”

Volkov looked around. The voice was coming from the other side of the steel door of his cell. In a dreamlike daze he stood, walked over there, put his face to the viewing slot.

Familiar eyes returned the gaze, and Volkov took an involuntary step back.

And a second Mikhail Volkov stepped straight through three inches of metal and into the room.

“You…”

The doppelganger – dapper in a cream suit, straightened his tie. “Da, me.”

Volkov turned away from his mirror image, started to hammer at the unforgiving stone walls, almost panicking. “Let me leave. Let me go. Now!”

The clone smirked, folded his arms. “That is not how this works, brother.”

Mikhail whirled around, a snarl on his face. “You are no brother of mine!”

The double shrugged. “Then what do you suggest? I am you, and you are me.”

“No, mulak. I am beating you.”

“No, Mikhail, you are complacent. It takes more than a pampering to remove me. You know this.”
Volkov laughed bitterly. “So you return me here.”

“So I return you here, where part of you will always remain. But… you in this cell is not all of you. Me standing here in my suit is not all of me. You cannot separate us.”

Volkov let out a sound that was very nearly a whine. “What do you want from me, dog?”

“Want? Nothing. I seek to remind you that the whole is stronger than the sum of its parts. You understood that, once.”

The prisoner’s hands clenched into fists, and he looked down. “I never wished to,” he muttered.

“But you did, so stop crying like a child. Shut me out – shut out the anger, and you will never be victorious.”

“So I must embrace you, and become the beast?”

“No… no, we both suffered when we attempted that. The rage must be… respected. Acknowledged. Not fought, but used.”

“And I am to trust you simply do not rip my life apart once again?”

The doppelganger gave another languid shrug. “That happened because you fought me. Hit me, and I shall hit back. I am easy to please, Mikhail. I just required my legs stretching every so often, and I will happily leave you in control.”

Volkov faltered. “So… what is it you suggest?”

“We cooperate. Because if we cooperate, our energies are directed outward, instead of inward. You loosen my bonds, and then you find the control you so desperately crave, and that, should you want to remain a fee man, you will need.”

Mikhail’s shoulders slumped. “I see I have no other options…”

“Da, and even with both of us, it will not be easy. I cannot watch my own back, and you lack my strength. It is a simple matter to bait the beast and send him to his own demise…”

Volkov nodded. “Just as a normal man has his limits. There are opponents almost as twisted as me in this match.”

“Agreed. Though not as twisted as me. We must be careful. Well… you must be careful.”

“Da. You do not know what that word even means.”

“That is true. So. Are we agreed?”

“We… are agreed.”

The two Volkovs shook hands, and in a blinding flash of light, Mikhail found himself standing in his hotel room in the United States, drenched in sweat.


~*~


“I am Mikhail Volkov. I am the wolf.”

A dimly lit room. Volkov is being filmed in his hotel.

“I am an outsider, an unknown. I am many things, and a wrestler is not one of them. I am a criminal. I am an ex-Siberian. I am a wild, untamed animal.”

“And I am coming to compete in your High Stakes, Experts. But these words… these descriptions. Do not mistake them for empty threats, or simple posturing. I have no intention of intimidating anyone, I am not trying to sound frightening, nor gain some kind of petty advantage. When it comes to wrestling… Mikhail knows that every man in this match has a more impressive record than him. Champions. Ex-champions. Future champions. Men from the rosters of the most prestigious companies in the world, men and women whose faces are on TV on a weekly basis, who have private cars taking them to and from their destinations…”

“Then you have me. Mikhail Volkov. A nobody. What fear could be held for a man who fought only for a promotion that barely counted as wrestling?”

A thin, sliver of a smile.

“What indeed? I do not posture, or threaten. I simply… explain myself. I spent months of my life in that godforsaken hell-hole known as Siberia. The place where most of you mulaks are terrified by the thought of. For you Experts, reaching Siberia is a towering achievement, it is where your competitions ‘get serious’, it is where you make a run for the True Experts championship. And Mikhail? Mikhail lived there. Mikhail grew lean and feral in that prison, where winning a match was the difference between whether you were fed a bowl of gruel or a kick to your stomach. Where the ‘wrestling’ was more pit fighting than sport.”

“No. I am not a wrestler. Perhaps that will cost me. Perhaps one of the men or women with true experience will send me over the tope rope in moments. I cannot claim to be the calibre of Level-One. I cannot claim to have the veteran instinct of a man like Scott Rage. The list goes on. The speed and agility of Hannah Rickman or Jose Ramon, the technical acumen of David Cyclone, the… good looks of Michael Callahan. Perhaps I can match the ferocity of Drake Mosa, of Gravedigger. Perhaps not. Mikhail is no oracle. The strength of my anger, the power of my fury… those are beyond compare, but it is not undirected passion that wins a match of endurance. The fire that burns brightest and hottest is also the fire that burns the shortest.”

“But I am not seeking to beat each and every one of you. I confess that… I am overmatched. Most likely, I do not have the skills or the intelligence to outlast 29 other men and women – especially 29 other men and women who have been in the ring as a career, not because they were dragged off the streets. I have not been trained, I simply fight, and at High Stakes… I do not believe that that will be enough to carry me to victory. Unlike others, I will not bluster and puff out my chest to try and hide this insecurity, hide the uncertainty of eventual triumph. So I will probably not win. But what I promise is that I will not be a footnote.”

“This is the biggest match of my life. It is probably the highest stage I will stand on in what passes for my wrestling career. It would be… considerably more respectful for me to talk about how it is an honour and a privilege to be here, how I will give my best shot and give everything I can to win. Da, that would be pleasant rnough, but Mikhail is no liar, and he does not seek to win anyone over with his honeyed words.”

“I do not care about this match. I do not care about what it holds for my future. I am here for one reason and one reason alone; to carve a bloody swathe into this battle royal. The wolf is slavering, and the wolf will not leave until he has had his fill.”

“Victory, Experts, does not matter to me.”

“And that is precisely why Mikhail Volkov is the most dangerous man you will encounter in this match.”

[Tritch]

April 20th, 2012 – Early Morning | 548 Wright Avenue, Oshkosh, WI

Pounding. Pounding.

Very slowly, my hand creeps towards my head, brow furrowed and a guttural moan escaping my throat. Gently I press my fingers to my temple, attempting to rub the feeling away.

Pounding. Pounding.

Though it’s incredibly difficult, I manage to inch my eyes open slightly. Just enough to see that my hangover has woken me up exactly a minute before my alarm.

BEEP. BEEP.

I should have seen that coming, but it startles me anyway. The sound makes my head pound ten times harder, and as fast as I can I swing my arm at it. Not only does the alarm turn off, the entire clock does… as it’s now in pieces.

I let out a deep breath before struggling to push myself to a seated position on the side of the bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and doing my best to ignore the hangover. Shouldn’t have went to the bar last night. But the guys insisted. It was a celebration. I did what no one else could. I made it.

I glance at the clock again before remembering it no longer tells time, so I grab my phone. 4:33am. One missed call. Three new messages. Fuck it.

Standing up I grab my sweatpants and pull them on, followed by the rest of my jogging wear, topped off with a black beanie and my ear buds. My cell phone begins ringing. Instead of answering, I plug my buds in and open the door.

Walking down the hallway I pound on one of the doors. After a few seconds I knock again, but to no avail. Finally I bust it open and stare at the man passed out next to his bed. He begins to shuffle in his sleep, turning his head to see me.

“Pay the fucking rent,” I turn and continue down the hallway. “Asshole.”

April 20th, 2012 – Late-Morning | Near University of Wisconsin – Oshkosh, Oshkosh, WI

A slight drizzle beats down on my hood. My feet connect with the ground in sync with the beats through my headphones. Sweat drips over my nose and I exhale quickly to blow it off my lips. I’ve been running for a couple of hours.

After heading downstairs this morning I made a quick breakfast; few eggs and a protein shake. Dipped out the door and ran for a couple miles to the gym. Pumped on the weights for a solid two hours and headed back outside to run. I’m not tired, but I don’t want to drain my body too much. I’ll have to do it all over again tomorrow.

The university’s rec center is a good establishment, but it’s not where I work out. It’s free to students, but five dollars a pop for outsiders. My gym is much cheaper, and much more geared towards people of my profession. But the atmosphere is nice, and they have a cozy little smoothie shop just inside. Every once in a while I pop in just to relax after my workout. Today is one of those days.

Walking inside, many of the women turn to look at me from their treadmills. The guys pour on more weights to try to get their attention back. College. I really missed out. I smirk and wink at a couple of them; surprised they didn’t faint. Shaking my head with a laugh I turn to the smoothie counter and order my usual. After a couple minutes I go sit at a table by the window to stare out at the river.

Reaching in my pocket I feel for my phone, deciding to finally check those messages from this morning. The first missed call was from the bank, and so was the first text message. Warning me that my funds are low. Nothing I can do about that. Yet.

The second message was from my mother. Poorly typed, she still can’t figure out how to text correctly. ‘Hi hony. I jus tex to tel how proud I am you. Wish you wold visit us more. Your brother miss you. Me too. Much love, Mom.’ Bless her heart. After all the shit I’ve put her through, she still tries. I feel bad, but I just can’t handle that shit any more. I send her a simple reply.

The third message was from my trainer, congratulating me on my entrance. He included a detailed schedule that he wanted to help me follow, and promised to devote a little more time to me. Also said he’d forget about my fees this month. Couldn’t ask for a better trainer. He’s not much older than me, but works like a dog and truly knows how to get someone prepared for anything; Joey G. He doesn’t know much about professional wrestling, but that’s where my other trainer comes in, the co-owner of the gym. Nathan Gust. Taught me everything I know. And that’s whom the second missed call was from.

Halfway through my smoothie a young guy walks up to my table. He stares at me, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I return my phone to my pocket, confident that I’ll return his call later, and finally turn my head with a glance in his direction.

“Mind if I take a seat?” He asks sincerely, seemingly wanting to pick my brain. I’m sure it’s just going to be so he can ask how to look like me. All the college guys want this. Chicks dig it. I can’t help it, I work hard for what I’ve got. I nod and look back at the river, returning to my smoothie. He sits there staring at me. After a while it gets kind of weird so I look at him again.

“What do you want, kid?” He laughs almost immediately, relaxing in his chair.

“Don’t call me kid like you’re some old man,” his chuckle dies down, but his stare never breaks. The lady from the counter walks over and sets a smoothie in front of him. He thanks her and then looks back at me with a smirk. “I know who you are.”

This peeks my interest. I raise an eyebrow and cock my head towards him. He laughs again, drinking from his smoothie and breaking his stare for the first time to look out at the river.

“Excuse me?” His laugh doesn’t return, but his cocky smirk does. He turns his attention back to me and taps his fingers on the table.

“You’re Rex Evans. College dropout. Wasted all your time drinking beer and playing video games. After failing three times to get back into school and being fired from three retail stores you turned your attention to your true passions, wrestling and your girlfriend. Worked good for a split second,” who the fuck is this guy? He’s about to cross a line. “But once your girlfriend dumped you after your proposal-“

My fists slam hard onto the table, knocking my smoothie to the ground and causing several high pitched squeals from women around us. It’s only there for a second, but a flicker of fear crosses his gaze as my veins burst out of my neck and forehead. He covers it immediately with his little smirk, but I know he’s inferior. And now I have his attention.

“I don’t know how you know all this, or who the fuck you think you are, but you better hop off that seat and walk out of here before I send you to the hospital,” my breathing has become deep and quick. He starts to speak but I cut him off again. “I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it’s an explanation with an apology attached to it.”

His smile has faded. He takes a few seconds to mull over my hospital proposal. I never blink, not once. My fist is still clenched and pounded on the table. Finally he looks away and smiles again, motioning to the people around us that everything is okay. He leans in very close; pulling something out of his pocket, and my breathing heightens.

“Calm down big guy. My name is Xander Jones,” he sets something on the table, and cautiously I look down at it. My nerves begin to calm and my fists unclench. It’s a business card. “I work for the rec center here. I heard about your entrance into The Experts’ High Stakes Royal Rumble, talked it over with my superiors, and we want to sponsor you.”

I pull my hand back, and now my lower body begins to tremble. This rise to fame has happened so quickly I’m not sure how to take it all in. I take a couple of deep, silent breaths to catch my grip and listen as he explains.

“Don’t bother saying anything right now. I know your monetary situation. You got your entrance, but you can’t afford to go. You and your trainers work out here, train a couple of our students, sign a few autographs. All for free. You agree to do that, and wear both the school and the gym’s patches at the event, then we’ll pay your airfare, limousine fares, and hotel bills,” he stands up from the table. I can’t take my eyes off the business card. He extends his hand and my gaze is finally interrupted. I look up at him, choking back my emotions, and stand up to face him. “Take the day to think about it. If you and your trainers aren’t here at whatever your usual time is tomorrow, we’ll assume you didn’t like the deal.”

I glance down at his hand. Can’t even believe what’s going on. With only a slight hesitation I grip his hand hard and shake. A simple nod is all he needs to smirk again, winking at me before he leaves me in the smoothie shop.

April 20th, 2012 – Afternoon | 548 Wright Avenue, Oshkosh, WI

I plop down hard into the tiny orange chair that decorates my living room. My hands are still trembling, and not from the workout. I chug a good portion of my protein shake before pulling my cell phone out of my pocket and dialing Nathan, finally returning his call from early this morning.

“Hey man, sorry it took so long,” he answers the phone a little annoyed.

Nathan Gust: Did you work out today?

“Yeah I ran for a few hours and did chest, back, and core for two.”

Right. Well take a break for an hour, get some lunch in you, then head over here and we’ll take you through some new training for this event. I’ve got a couple of rumble-experienced guys coming in to teach you.

“Sounds good, Coach. I’ve got some big news I think you’re going to wanna hear,” I explain the situation that happened earlier in the day. He listens intently, but never interjects. He pauses for a few beats when I’m done, and his silence makes me anxious. “Nate?”

This is the best thing I’ve heard since the news of your entrance. You’re one of my best friends, Rex, not just somebody I train. I was worried that you got this great opportunity and weren’t going to be able to pay for it. I’m glad that it worked out like this, and I will do everything I can to make them happy at the rec center. I haven’t talked to Joe yet, but I plan on having the gym sponsor you as well. We’re going to get you all new gear and pay for your food and drink while you’re out there. Don’t worry buddy, you’re about to be a star.

I honestly can’t believe this; first my entrance, then the rec center’s sponsorship, and now this. My emotions nearly get the better of me, and Nathan can sense this. Before I have a chance to attempt speaking he chimes in.

I’ll see you in a couple hours, young gun.

April 25th, 2012 – Afternoon | UW-Oshkosh Student Recreation and Health Center

A few days pass. I’m in peak physical condition. I’ve never felt more ready than I do now, and the event is just three days away. Nathan, Joe and myself have been working out at the rec center all day every day since my talk with Xander.

We moved a ring into one of the basketball courts. Joe trains me out on the weights and then Nathan trains me in the ring. People are allowed to watch both, but while Joe trains me Nathan has been teaching basics to a few students and vice versa. A couple of the other guys from the gym have come in to help as well. It’s a great relationship.

Xander was able to slide Nathan and Joe the same deal he got for me, and they are now able to come out to Hayward with me to help me prepare. Xander and a lucky “VIP” winner will also be coming out to Cali as part of my crew.

The flight is scheduled for tonight, and we all have to head out to pack and then meet up at the airport. A huge crowd is assembled in the gymnasium, surrounding the ring. My training squad, Xander and myself stand in the ring and a guy hands Xander a cordless microphone. He grabs a ticket out of a bucket and announces the lucky VIP ticket winner, a female gives out a giddy scream and climbs into the ring. She walks past everybody and gives me a huge hug. I just smirk, for the crowd, and then she disappears behind me. Xander told me before hand that he wants me to give a little speech for those who have been following me these few days.

“Well,” I approach the ring ropes. This is my first real practice with mic skills. That’s not something that’s really easy to practice with a trainer. I’m not expected to do much, but I have a promo scheduled tomorrow and it will be good to have a little experience under my belt. “First off, I hope you guys learned a thing or two these past few days.

“I didn’t come in here with the intent to persuade a bunch of people to become pro-wrestlers, because it’s a damn tough business. It’s not for everyone. But being in top physical condition is for everyone, and I want to make sure each of you know that. Don’t stop working out just ‘cause we’re not there to guide you. And when I get back, victory or not, I’ll be willing to help any of you that still want it.”

The students crowded around the ring begin to chant my name. I’m not even sure how to explain my feelings. Awestruck is the closest I can come up with. I’ve been training to get to the professional level for five years. Since… since she left me when I was twenty-one. This has been my passion. But I’ve never gotten my chance. I wrestle people lesser than me with trainers in the ring. Never like what I’m about to do. This is the first crowd I’ve ever spoken in front of. And they’re chanting my name.

The adrenaline gets to me, and I climb the turnbuckle, throwing my fists in the air and taking in all of their cheers. Hopping down I switch to the other one and beat on my chest before throwing my fists up again, and their cheers don’t die. I can’t believe it. Finally, Xander approaches me and says we need to go before things get too crazy. I hop out of the ring, slapping some hands, and get escorted out of the rec center by my training crew.

What a rush.

April 25th, 2012 – Night | Somewhere above the Continental U.S.

Reclined in my seat I stare out at the lights below us. They only peak through the clouds every once in a while, but I watch for them. It’s beautiful. I haven’t been on a plane in years. Can’t afford it.

“What are you thinking?” Nathan’s voice rustles me from trance. He’s seated diagonally across from me. Joe is asleep near the back of the plane, and Xander and the girl sit near the front. I glance at him, taking a sip from my glass of whiskey, before looking back out at the scenery below.

“That I don’t deserve this,” I pause, perhaps even choke. The words ring so true it shakes my very being. My voice is practically a whisper. “I’ve never done anything in my life to warrant such an opportunity. My track record proves that. Kicked out of school, left after a proposal. It’s just a big pile of shit that follows me yet defines me. I don’t deserve this.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Simply clears his throat, munches on a pretzel, and then releases a deep exhale. Adjusting himself in his seat he leans forward onto his knees, looking directly at me. I glance back at him, catching his gaze. I don’t deserve a friend like him either.

“Rex, if you can’t see all the work you’ve put in these past five years. If you can’t see the inspiration you’ve instilled in everyone you’ve come in contact with; those kids at the center, the people you spar with, Joey… me. Then simply put, fuck you,” he leans back against his seat, never breaking his stare, but eating another pretzel. My head drops and I stare at the floor.

“What you’ve done in the past, what’s happened to you in the past, it’s all just that. The past. Forget it. No, don’t forget it. Use it. Forgive yourself, stand tall, and do what you were fucking born to do. Wrestle,” I look back up at him, choking back a tear as he eats another pretzel. “Because you’re one of the best I’ve ever seen, and you deserve this.”

He discards his now empty bag of pretzels on the ground, not one to care about rules. Unbuckling his seat belt he stands up and slaps me across the chin.

“So don’t fuck it up.”

The following segment was originally aired on The Experts Network the day of High Stakes

The screen is black, and there is no audio. But then a spotlight clicks to life and shines down on the edge of the Legacy Plaza’s ring. A man donning black biker shorts and boots stands next to the ropes, leaning forward on his wrists with his face hidden beneath a black hoody.

“You don’t know who I am.”

His voice rings out from the silence, soft yet somehow harsh at the same time.

“And I don’t expect you to, because I’ve never wrestled a professional match in my life. But The Experts took a huge chance allowing me into this tournament, so by the end of the night…”

He reaches up and removes his hood, his head mostly bic’ed with the exception of a short, red mohawk running from his forehead to the top of his neck. Young, but with a mentally aged look about him. The camera moves from a somewhat aerial view to a frontally blocked shot, the man staring directly into the lens.

“I expect each and everyone of you to know my name. I might not have the experience of the other men in this rumble, but I have the skill. And I plan to show it.”

The camera has slowly panned in on the man’s face as he speaks, and it stops with his face fully framed.

“My name is Rex Evans. Remember it.”

[Guvnor]

“APW restored me; CWC Ascension gave me a reason to believe; now The Experts awaits; can I grasp that immortality?”
- John Dionysus, April 2012

Many years ago...

For Dionysus this was the end of his cycle. He pulled his blood soaked body from the mat, the fire on which he immolated himself, and dragged his broken, battered and bruised body back to the locker rooms. His nostrils were immersed with the pungent smell of aromatic spices; maybe someone was burning incense in the locker rooms; maybe this was just a dream fabricated by a shattered mind; maybe it was the scent of the impending self-combustion. He surveyed the scene and his mind knew that this was the nest he had created for himself. He inhaled deeply, allowing his mind to tread in every small detail, and opened his eyes to be confronted by the promoter – the match that would ignite Dionysus’ self-made pyre.

“Here’s your fee,” the promoter stated without any enthusiasm as he handed over a brown envelope. “We’re finished. I can’t rely upon you anymore; you’re a liability and I’m putting an end to you before you can waste any more of my money.”

“Just one more chance.”

“I’ve heard it a thousand times. It’s over Johnny, you and this business are done. I just can’t afford to back you anymore.”

“I’m begging you. I need this.”

“But I don’t. And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m holding a friggin’ gun to ya head. If I were this would be a mercy kill, take my word for it. But as it is, this is suicide, Johnny; you’ve tied yourself to this stake.”

“But you’re the one lighting the match. Don’t do this.”

“Sorry Johnny. I just don’t think you can be that guy, and if you’re honest without yourself, then neither do you.”

The promoter vanished like a wisp and Dionysus was left all alone in a locker room full of humanity; left to crawl into a ball in the nest of his own making and ignites into the flames of failure; ashes of contempt are all that remained.

*

2011...

The consequences of the above event are untold and represent a tragic tale that it does not befit us to explore here and now. It will suffice to say that John Dionysus’ years in the wilderness (‘those years of oblivion’ as he describes them) were filled with dark days indeed.

But in the summer of 2011 a momentous event occurred that plunged Dionysus was his slumber and forced him to break free of the shell of his brooding back into the world of professional wrestling he had left so suddenly...and, admittedly, at the behest of others.

Events unfolded that eventually led John Dionysus to sign a contract to Action Packed Wrestling where he quickly rose to the status of Xtreme Champion, and forged a reputation as a determined and spirited competitor in the ring in a number of bouts that included opponents as varied as Kurt Noble, Level-One, Terry Marvin, Keaton Saint and his present arch-nemesis Michael Harris.

At the beginning of April John Dionysus emerged reborn not as an unreliable drunk who was a liability to promoters, but as a promising talent who many felt was on the cusp of global break-out. Chance had taken him into CWC’s annual Ascension tournament and while Dionysus’ campaign for ‘Ascension’ ultimately failed, by the time it was ended by TWO Noble Neckbreakers at the quarter-final stage, Dionysus had emerged from the shadows.

But since then things have spiralled downwards for the APW Xtreme Champion. Without a win since APW’s signature Rasslemania event on March 25th, and having suffered defeats to a number of APW’s franchise stars, Dionysus is left to contemplate his true purpose in this profession. He had returned to wrestling to prove his name was one worthy of esteem, but lately the feeling the subsisted inside his soul was that he would go down in the annals as one of those ‘good, but no great’ practitioners of this fine art of combat.

This is the frame of mind Dionysus finds himself in as he begins a new campaign, this one within the realms of The Experts.

Great prestige – immortality even - awaits any combatant who can assail the competition and be crowned ‘The True Expert’ during the summer months, and although Dionysus may say he can see this goal emerging on the horizon, there is desperation in his belief that he can never reach the destination, that this is one journey that his legs cannot muster.

But he has to try. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

*

April 29th 2012...

As in the car pulled into the car park John Dionysus’ reminiscence ended and he felt the knot in his stomach tighten. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, although he hadn’t felt it in some time. He was nervous. It was less than two hours before High Stakes would go live, and for the first time in months he was nervous. He let out a heavy sigh as an attempt to relieve the inner tension.

“Well here it is, John,” said Dionysus’ agent Vern Wheeler. “The Legacy Plaza.”

Dionysus nodded silently. Wheeler knew all too well his client’s penchant for brooding and pensive moods, but these had become more infrequent in recent months as Dionysus plotted a course up the ranks of APW. Now it seemed melancholia had returned to inhabit Dionysus’ mind.

“I’m worried, John.”

Dionysus snapped out a reverie and looked at his agent with narrowed eyes.

“I’m worried your mind isn’t right for what you are going to face tonight.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you’ve got something plaguing you, you need to rid your mind of it before you walk through that door over there.”

Dionysus opened the door and started to get out.

“John, I can help you.”

Dionysus climbed out and looked back at Wheeler.

“Help me? Like you’ve helped me deal with Michael Harris?”

“That’s completely different.”

Dionysus slammed the door and walked off, leaving his agent alone in the car.

70 minutes before High Stakes...

With the clock ticking down Dionysus, still agitated by his exchange with Wheeler, decided to walk the corridors of The Legacy Plaza, bumping into fellow APW Megastar C.J. Gates as he did.

“Hey John,” C.J. greeted, “good luck in the rumble tonight.”

“Cheers C.J.” Dionysus said non-committally before catching himself and adding, “and to you too. I know the APW guys will be rooting for you.”

“Not all I suspect.”

Dionysus smiled and began to walk off but C.J. called out to him.

“Everything okay, John? You seem a little distracted.”

Dionysus blew hard, then decided he would vent.

“I just have this feeling I’m wasting my time here.”

C.J. raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“I’m looking at this match and I just don’t see a way through it for me. And even if by some stroke of luck I win, what then?”

“Well, you’ve got a great shot at making the Extreme Tournament Finals. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know it is. But am I worthy of that shot?”

“If it’s yours, of course you are.”

“Yeah, but I just get this feeling there are 29 other wrestlers who would make better use of that opportunity.”

I don’t think you really believe that. You are the current APW Xtreme Champion, which says plenty about you. Look at how you surprised everyone at Ascension. Nobody picked you for the final eight, not even me. You proved you are a future contender in Sao Paulo, and to be one of the final eight wrestlers of all CWC-affiliated promotions – that’s no small thing.”

“But ultimately I lost.”

“To Kurt Noble.”

“A loss is a loss.”

“True, but there is no shame in losing to Kurt Noble. He’s a fantastic wrestler and a great wrestler.”

“A good guy too.”

C.J. looks uncomfortable. “Yeah, that too. But that isn’t the point. Coming up short against Kurt Noble doesn’t make you a bad wrestler. And you’re not the only one around here who knows what a defeat to Kurt feels like.”

Dionysus nods and smiles; C.J. reciprocates.

“It’s not just that,” Dionysus began. “He’s beaten me twice in a month; on top of that I was beaten by Level-One in my last APW match; I have Michael Harris picking me off at every opportunity. I just get this feeling I’ve hit my ceiling, I’ve maxed out what I can do. Maybe I just have to accept I can’t be one of the best, and what’s the point if you don’t believe you can win.”

“That is exactly it – you have to keep believing, John. You think my career has been a series of endless high notes? I know the taste of defeat and I know exactly how it feels to take a few big losses. I’ve come up short in big matches on a number of occasions: the Extreme Tournament, Ascension, the True Expert Championship – they’ve all evaded my grasp. Even tonight I may lose, but I stick by the virtues that got me here to begin with, and hopefully with enough hard work and a bit of luck it will go my way one day.”

C.J. paused then added a few second later.

“Failure is never a barrier to success, John; it only makes the success sweeter. And trust me John, there’s a lot of people who believe you can win out there tonight and carry the torch for APW.”

C.J. patted Dionysus on the shoulder.

“I’m one of them.”

C.J. looked at his watch and signalled he had to get himself ready, leaving Dionysus alone to absorb the advice of the former APW Undisputed Champion and potentially next True Expert Champion.

45 minutes before High Stakes...

Dionysus walked into the communal locker room and was immediately struck by stench of liniment and sweat – that unique fragrance associated with a room full of jocks. He made his way through the melee and noted the atmosphere was already quite tense. Not much was being said amongst the constituents, but the profusion nervous glances, gestures and the general avoidance of eye contact spoke volumes.

Dionysus dropped himself onto a bench. He has spent some time thinking of the words C.J. Gates had said to him, and there was one thought resonant in his mind: he could not walked that aisle having already defeated himself. He had to make his opponents at least work for his scalp.

“It’s Dionysus, right?”

Dionysus had barely even noticed who was readying themselves next time and he turned to find a face that was familiar if not completely recognisable. An arm was extended towards Dionysus.

“I’m Anthony Bailey.”

Dionysus looked into the eyes of this confident young man and shook his hand, noting its warmth.

“A room full of jocks who usually have it all to say,” Bailey began, “but barely a word uttered now.”

“This is merely the calm before the storm,” was Dionysus’ matter of fact reply.

Dionysus ran the name through his head over and head: Anthony Bailey. He couldn’t pin it down.

“It’s great to see APW putting up a good showing at this event.”

Now he remembered. Bailey was another APW wrestler, although he wrestled on its Asylum brand, whereas Dionysus was associated with Overdrive. His memory kicked in and a flood of facts burst forth in his mind. Bailey had joined APW around the same time as Dionysus, and although on different shows, and with a vast difference in age, their trajectory in APW had been very similar. Bailey had recently acquired the Tap Out Championship, was being tutored by legend Sally Talfourd, and held recent victories over the World Champion Jason Kash and both of his #1 contenders. No doubt about: Bailey was a future star.

“Trust me, this has got nothing to do with rival factions or party politics; this is every man for himself.”

“Of course, we’re all here to win it. But wouldn’t be great if the last men standing were all APW.”

“As far as I’m concerned we’re all in the same boat here. Every man and woman I see in that ring is just another body to throw over the top rope. No offense buddy, yourself included.”

“None taken. But watch yourself out there; it might just be me throwing you over the top.”

Both men exchanged a smile; a rare thing in the next few hours. Suddenly there was a bit of a commotion as another competitor entered the room and made straight for Dionysus and Bailey. It was Terry Marvin, another one of APW’s competitors in this match.

“Well, looky what we have here. If it isn’t a couple of jackasses I will merrily toss out of that ring.”

Dionysus stood up and took a step towards Marvin, who grinned and said.

“Easy there, killer. Don’t wanna give yourself a hernia before I beat your ass in front of thousands of people.”

“And just what makes you think you’re so good,” Bailey chirped in.

Marvin guffawed as though Bailey had just told himself absurd.

“Because I’m the one they all came to see.” Terry surveyed the locker room and decided he was above sharing, took one last look at Dionysus and Bailey and tossed a bottle of lotion at them, which Bailey caught.

“There you go ladies, now you can rub each other down.”

Terry Marvin walked off chuckling to himself; Dionysus’ eyes were fixed on him until he left the room.

“What a jerk!” Bailey pointed out.

“A jerk with a plan, no doubt. If I do one thing tonight I hope it’s throwing that bastard out of the ring and shutting him up for once.”

“Amen to that.”

Dionysus sat back down and began to prepare himself both physically and mentally. He had been racked with doubt going into this match about whether he should be here, and whether he could have the calibre to compete at the level of The Extreme Tournament, but this exchange with Terry Marvin confirmed that he had to do his utmost to try and be there, even if it was to stop a guy like Terry Marvin.

It was Marvin himself, more the kind of talent he represented: the arrogant, good-for-nothing bastard who strutted about the business as though he were entitled something nobody else was. He remembered that he returned to this sport not only to be a better man and to save himself, but because he believed he could be something wrestling needed. He was part of that unofficial movement of wrestlers who believed it was ultimately an honourable sport guided by a code of ethics and virtues that men like Terry Marvin flagrantly desecrated.

Men like C.J. Gates gave Dionysus inspiration; up and coming talents like Anthony Bailey gave him hope; but men like Terry Marvin were a scourge to the industry and needed to be silenced for wrestling’s own sake.

10 Minutes before High Stakes...

As the thirty men who would compete in the battle royal congregated in anticipation of the start of the event John Dionysus stood alone with his thoughts. He already knew his number, was eager to get out there into the ring where the adrenaline and the habits born of years of training would kick in and drive out his mind all thoughts except one: victory. However, he knew he was in for a long and anxious wait.

A tap on the shoulder broke his daydream and he turned around to see Terry Marvin.

“What do you want?” Dionysus demanded.

“The time is night, Johnboy.”

“Why do I have a feeling you aren’t about to wish me good luck?”

“Look around you Johnny, survey the face of the enemy.”

Dionysus did not flinch as his gaze remained on Terry Marvin.

With a smirk Marvin said: “It doesn’t have to be that way, Johnyboy. If you’re looking to forge a last minute alliance, now’s the time to ask.”

“With you?”

Dionysus shook his head with disbelief.

“What about all that ‘I’m the one they came to see’ crap in the locker room?”

“Listen to me, Johnyboy, don’t take it so personally. I know your number and I know we’re gonna be out there together. Why not agree to a ‘friendly alliance’ to see off ‘the competition’, then when it’s me and you,” Marvin paused to say through a smile: “may the best man win.”

“What you really mean is: I watch your back out there, and when the times comes you stick the knife in mine.”

“Such a cynic, Johnboy! Think about it: when are you ever going to get an opportunity like this? I’m giving you a free pass to ride the coat-tails of ‘God’s gift to wrestling’. There is no shame in second place, especially when it’s to ‘The Real Show’.”

Dionysus snorted and a smirk of his own appeared on his face as he chewed over the proposition. Eventually he responded.

“It’s a tempting offer Terry, it really is. But you know what, I’m nobody’s bitch and, frankly, I’m insulted at the suggestion. I’ve got a better arrangement for you: you take care of yourself, I’ll take care of myself, and if we’re both lucky to be there at the end,” Dionysus curled his lip to say: “I’ll happily throw you over the top rope.”

Terry Marvin shook his head to feign disappointment.

“I gave you a chance Johnboy, I really did. But least you can say you were an eye-witness on the day Terry Marvin began his journey to becoming The True Expert.”

Terry takes a look at the APW Xtreme Championship belt Dionysus is wearing.

“Still carrying that piece of junk around, huh?”

Terry chuckled and walked into the congregation shouting.

“Outta the way you sons of bitches, ‘The Real Show’ is coming through.”

Dionysus watched Terry Marvin leave again and let his mind drift in search of some words of motivation or inspiration. He realised he had a reason to be here, but also that his presence was credible. Everything he had done in 2012 had led him to this point and prepared him for the moment that awaited him. In APW he had resurrected career and give his name some much needed dignity; CWC was the first challenge towards greatness, and although he failed, he knew failure was necessary for success right now, and success was about learning, learning about change, change from the passive to the assertive, a change from not just waiting for it to happen, but making it happen.

The chance to reach for immortality was there, it was calling out to him, and all Dionysus had to do was show the courage to reach...the abyss could not take him this time. Not anymore.

All he needed was some belief in his talents, a chance to prove his worth, and that little bit of luck.

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by someone calling his name. He looked up; they were doing the entrance draw.

“John Dionysus,” the voice repeated.

Dionysus held up a hand to signal he was present.

“#27”

Dionysus smiled. Luck had done its part; now he had to try and provide the rest.

[Dorling]

We fade in as Dorling, wearing a white shirt with black trousers and black tie, waits in front of a screen, on to which the sentence ’10 rules for winning an Experts Battle Royal’ is projected.
 
‘Hello ladies and gentlemen. Today I am going to tell you how exactly you go about winning an Experts Battle Royal. There are several dos and don’ts and I have compiled them into a handy presentation for you. I’m not going to stand here and lay out my aims and objectives with this session or anything like that; I’m just going to crack on with it.’
 
Rule #1: You Have No Friends Here
 
‘Seems like it makes sense right? Well look at me, a man entering this match with the best backup that a man of our profession could want. I have the Serial Thrillas, David Cyclone and Insomnia, in my corner. Except I don’t – and neither do any of you. That’s because here, in the Experts, you have no friends. There can only be one True Expert Champion and there’s no room for sentiment in that. I know many of you, like myself, will be heading to Legacy Plaza with stable mates, fellow fed members and people that you might call ‘friend,’ but you have to realise that literally every single one of them are prepared to stab you in the back to win this thing. Hell, I’ve already told Cyclone and Insomnia what I plan on doing to them if I need to and it’s exactly that same as what I plan to do to all of you – kick you, punch you and throw you out of my ring. This is my match to win, there’s nothing I’m surer of.’
 
Rule #2: Don’t feed Mini Black Death
 
‘He’s a three time True Expert Champion don’t you know, the last thing we need is another one. So what if he’s not in the match? I think you’ll find that any relative of Black Death is going to be a dangerous proposition. This time around Ms Wallace is here and if she’s been taking any tips from the big man I’m not fancying giving her a slap, put it that way. Oh and guess what, Level-One is a 2 time True Expert too. What does that tell you? It tells you that the field is stacked for this match, higher than a plate of ribs for the Black warrior himself. You need to focus all of your energy on the being the best that you can be, not trying to make any of these other guys look bad. It ain’t gonna happen. How the hell do you make someone that has 2 or 3 True Experts reigns look bad anyway? Simple answer is that you can’t. Flapping your gums about how naff these boys and girls are will just make you look like a tool. I don’t want to look like a tool, so I’m going to tell it like it is – with this many high class athletes in one place, it’s going to be a hell of a job to win. Do I think I can do it? Yes. Why? Because I am also a high class athlete and I deserve to be here just as much as anybody else, former True Expert or not.’
 
Rule #3: Reputation Means Nothing
 
‘Yeah, you heard me. World Champ in APW? Intercontinental Champ in VWF? I don’t care, and neither does anybody else. Basing your strategy or emotions for this match on the achievements or accolades of others is pointless. Championships don’t mean anything in a match like this – the only way they possibly could do is if you have wrestled everybody in all of the Experts member feds. I certainly haven’t. That means that the belt around my waist is as worthless as the belt around Dan Ryan’s when it all comes down to it. The bottom line is that there are 30 wrestlers who have one thing in mind, and that is throwing everybody else over the top rope. Doesn’t matter how. So congrats to Johnny Submission for winning his Tap Out Title but how many rumbles are you going to win with a figure four? We all go into this match equal, aside from the number of our draw, and that’s just how it is. You want to think you’re a big deal and make yourself look like an ass then go ahead, it will be all the sweeter when you hit the floor. In the same vein, if you fancy keeping clear of some of the guys and gals with big reps, then you’re going to get tossed out anyway. There’s no place for cowards in that ring and there aren’t many places to hide. So, reputation is nothing to be proud of and it’s nothing to fear. It’s nothing, full stop.’
 
Rule #4: Familiarity Breeds Contempt
 
‘They say that familiarity breeds contempt; that those who surround you closest for longest will end up being the ones that you hate the most. I don’t necessarily agree with that, but I can certainly see that familiarity may lead to knowing your foes and attempting to predict their actions. Take Insomnia for example; we’ve battered the crap out of each other on more than one occasion and we always come back for more. We know what to expect from each other – that’s not really a good thing in his case because he’s a fucking psycho, but you get the point. I take a look at this field and I recognise several names; Sabra Nikolayev, Stu Who, Extream, Insomnia and David Cyclone are all fellow sinners from SCW, while I have had the pleasure of coming across people like John Dionysus, Johnny Rebel and Isamu Suzuki through my CWC work. Does this mean that I will favour these people more? Does my lack of familiarity with others, particularly those from TFWF, mean that I am going to treat them differently or be at a disadvantage? Nope. To be honest, I will enjoy taking them on all the more, and that’s my beef with familiarity – it’s too familiar. I can see it and hear it now, all of the other boys and girls in my match chatting away about their hatred for a select few – the ones that they are familiar with – lazily hoping that a fierce attack on a small number of opponents will gloss over their complete lack of knowledge and research of the rest of the field. Well, that’s not me. Talon Wilkinson, Rex Evans, Leon Corbin – guess what? I don’t know much about you, as you probably don’t about me. I am, however, looking forward to facing you in the ring for the first time. I hope you enjoy it too – just not too much.’
 
Rule #5: Believe In Yourself
 
‘Seems like a fairly obvious thing to say right? Still, it’s strange how many people I see that completely ignore the basic premise of talking themselves up and showing their confidence. I haven’t got nearly enough time to pick out all of my opponents and babble on about them for a few seconds with some stereotypical trash talking. They are what they are. In overall terms, I don’t care what exactly that is. There are some good people in this match, and some not so good people. It all boils down to what kind of a person I am and me believing in myself enough to carry out the actions I need to. So who am I and why do I believe in myself? I the SCW United Champion. I’m a man on an incredible streak that I have no intention of stopping. I’m adaptable, I’m strong, I’m fast. I’ve forgotten more moves than most of you have ever learned. I enjoy wrestling, I enjoy WINNING. Winning is a by-product of my fun and I will be having a lot of fun at Legacy Plaza, that’s guaranteed. I also guarantee that none of you (except those lucky people from SCW) will have ever come across an opponent like me. I am a ball of energy, an atomic reaction, an eternal flame and a massive pain in your ass. It’s guaranteed that if you want to win this match you’re going to have to get through me.’

Rule #6: I’m a Wrestler, not a Mathematician

‘We’ve all been given a number. Some of you will make a big deal out of it, some of you won’t. Here’s the deal: I compete in Iron Man matches, hardcore matches, ladder matches, cage matches, special events. I go through hell and high water to get to what I want and I damned well do it every week. Guess what chumps and chumpettes? This number doesn’t matter, not one iota. After all the crap that I’ve been through to get where I am and achieve what I have, do you honestly think that it matters to me if I draw number 1, 13 or 30? No. Whatever number I draw I still have to get rid of everybody that’s in the ring and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. So many people get hung up on the little things, the gambling of points, the drawing of a number, the colour of your tights, the sexual preference of the opposition. It’s all small potatoes. I know I can win this, whether I get in there first or get in there last. So while I say thank you to the experts for this wonderful gift of a number, I humbly request you let me return it to you and instead just let me get on with it. Legacy Plaza isn’t going to know what’s hit it when Team Dorling arrives in town.’

Rule #7: Keep Your Eyes on the Prize

‘Er, yeah. This is a big one. I’m all about doing what needs to be done to get a leg up on the competition, especially if it amuses me – and what could possibly be more amusing that getting a bye to the latter stages of the Extreme Tournament? I can see it now, sitting back with my old buddy Captain Morgan and watching all of the other guys and girls tear each other to pieces while I remain nice and rested, ready to push their aching bones to the limit before they’ve even had the chance to congratulate themselves on progressing. It’s standard Dorling. Opportunism, dynamism, excellence. It’s like a mixture of all of the best things in the world moulded into a formidable and delectable wrestling machine. Who has anything to fear from a bunch of guys who are going to be, quite frankly, knackered? Nobody with half a brain, that’s who, and I have a whole one resting in my skull. That’s the prize, boys and girls. There is nothing else to worry about in this match, nothing at all. If I push Santana or Scott Rage over the top rope, I don’t care if they land on their face or their ass. I don’t care if they walk away with a bruised pinky or a broken neck. My aim in this match has nothing to do with hurting anybody, so I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’m a wrecking ball looking for victims. My aim is to win, plain and simple. To be honest, if the 29 other dudes and dudettes get a sudden case of ringmare and throw themselves out of the ring I’ll take it. Eyes on the prize, nothing more.’

Rule #8: Always Put Your Best Foot Forward

‘Education time for the masses. See my left leg here? Well good ol’ lefty has taken down more of the might redwoods of wrestling than you can possibly imagine. This rocket, this loaded gun, this missile of a lower appendage has broken dreams and shattered bones. Hell, I wasn’t born, I kicked my way out. I kicked my way to straight A’s in high school. I kicked my way to the SCW United Championship and beyond. I’ve always found it to be a useful weapon when removing unwanted garbage from the confines of my ring too. So what have you got? What are you going to come at me with? I’ll give you some advice; whatever you’ve got, make sure you bring it at its best. I’ve seen enough sloppy Joe suplexes and Barney Green backdrops in my time. It will take something very, very special to polish off this group of boys and girls and, most of all, me. So put your best foot, arm, head, wristlock, headlock, suplex, backdrop or backbreaker forward and for the love of everything that is holy, show me what you’ve got.’

Rule #9: It’s just Wrestling Bro

‘Oh no! Somebody called me a clown and wants to break my legs! Another guy called me a punk ass bitch and wants to slap the taste right out of my mouth! What will I do if the numerous threats of severe physical violence upon my person come to fruition? It’s time to join the stereotype bus and threaten maximum nasty pain upon my opponents while staring wide eyed at the camera and smashing my head and fists through concrete and glass! Can you feel the PAAAAAAIIIIINNNNN you motherfuckers?!

Or perhaps I could step back and reassess myself. How about we all sit down, chill out and realise that this is a wrestling match? This is my job. Granted, it’s a job I love but the fact of the matter is I’m going to find myself in a ring with 29 random people and my solitary aim is to beat them. There is absolutely no benefit in me taking my verbal swings with unfounded allegations and promises of physical injury that lay destined to be unfulfilled. I’ve heard everything before, it’s all so tiresome. Yes, my opponents between them are likely to threaten, promise, bad mouth and generally slate me. Congrats, you strung some expletives together with a fairly basic inclination of your desire to impinge on my personal boundary. Buuuuuut, did you hear yourself when you did it? Did you take note of the words coming out of your mouth when you were looking and sounding like a complete douche? Did you notice that I was laughing at you?

Of course you didn’t. So, in an effort to display my credo and my belief that my approach is far superior to that of the majority of my opponents, let me lay it out for you in terms that you can understand.

I’m going to win. I don’t care if you wanna have my babies or put a knife in my fuckin’ eye. I’m going to go into this match with 2 agendas; winning it and enjoying it. Why? Because it’s wrestling you idiot. It’s not World War 3, I didn’t kill your parents, shag your sister or set your dog on fire. I wrote my name on a sign-up sheet the same as you so why don’t you focus on what’s important, capiche?’

Rule #10: 2012 Is the Year of Dorling

‘The most important rule for all of you and myself. This is MY year. Everybody knows it, even if they think they don’t. Let’s examine the facts shall we? Unbeaten, a prestigious title around my waist, wins in more than one federation behind me and a list of victims longer than you could possibly imagine. By the end of 2012 the era of Dorling will be in full swing and I fully intend to bring my legacy to the Experts.

I’m putting the world on notice. With an arsenal of moves ranging from the sublime DORbreaker to the ridiculous TrapDOR I have nothing to fear from anybody. I have everything I need to defeat any foe that is placed in front of me. With the legions of Team Dorling behind me, how the hell can I fail?

READ MY LIPS.

2012 is the year of DORLING. SCW Global Champ, True Expert and all around legend. That is my destiny and there isn’t a single thing that ANYBODY is going to be able to do to stop me.’

The projector flicks over to one final image, this one of Erika Vanarelli.

‘Oh yeah, I forgot about unofficial rule number 11. No sexually inappropriate touching of Erika Vanarelli. Law suits are a bitch and that kind of heat just ain’t worth the pay off. I’m looking at you ‘Som, keep your grop-plexes in the ring.

You’re all on notice. There is no I in Team Dorling.’

[Buddy Zent]

“There is one quality which one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it.” Napoleon Hill

As you examine the list of names competing on Sunday 6th May, it’s unlikely that Buddy Zent caused a reaction. Recently signed to Code Red Wrestling, Zent is unheard off in the weird and wonderful world of wrestling. Amongst the superstars present at this month’s Experts tournament - Zent wouldn’t even catalyze a whisper.

Fresh out of wrestling school just five months ago, Zent had vivid ambitions. He was a natural wrestler and soared through the ranks, complimented for his fluid movement and impressive arsenal, Zent was destined to achieve.

He rise to stardom was quick at Code Red. He’d made an instant impression and bagged Television gold after just six weeks of competition. Actively arrogant with a flavour to voice his frank opinion, Zent had quite literally, talked himself into a title shot. His opinions were relevant, although sometimes bizarre, but it was his ability to seek positive attention that separated himself from his competitors.

Wrestling critics had marvelled at Zent’s radical rise to stardom. ‘How did it happen so fast?’ they would ask, well the answer was simple. Although no one knew it yet, Buddy Zent held the mantle for the future of professional wrestling. He had the ability, the charisma, and although the young American was just 24-years-old, his ability to wrestle, was quite simply, spectacular.

“Number three?!” Zent flashed with a quizzical expression. “I demand a re-count!”

He groaned as he closed his emails, shaking his head at the revelation of his entry number. “Just my friggin’ luck!”

Although the vivacious 24-year-old was indeed very arrogant, surprisingly, he underestimated himself when it came to his wrestling ability. He’d recorded four wins out of five at Code Red Wrestling, in impressive style, but that wasn’t enough to convince him that he had a God given ability to compete.

His personality was cocky, audacious and supercilious, but it wasn’t a result of his talent – he didn’t know he had it- it was simply his natural progression from entering the spotlight. Almost instantaneously, Zent had become a figurehead at Code Red Wrestling. He was a revelation with the fans, a star, but he believed it was his dazzling mojo, rather than his breathtaking ability to entertain a sell-out crowd. 

The American walked briskly, sipping from a steaming hot latte as he headed for his hotel in California. He checked in under a fictitious name, and disposed of his bags in the lobby.

“You’re on the third floor, room number 27 Sir.”

“Excuse me?!” Zent questioned, shaken by the young lady’s words.

“The third floor, room number 27.”

“27?”

“Yes Sir, room number 27.”

“27 and three, is..

“Thirty, Sir.”

“Thirty?”

“That’s correct, Sir.”

“..Thank you..”

The 24-year-old diluted the conversation in his head as he strode towards the lift. ‘Did that just happen?’ he asked himself while placing his finger on the large round button.

DING!

The lift arrived on the ground floor and dually opened. A Moroccan clerk greeted Zent as he entered the lift, smiley a cheesy grin as he held his fingers by the buttons.

“Floor three, please.”

The clerk pressed for the third floor which made Zent release a small twitch. He shook his head from left to right and waited for the doors to open.

“Thank you” said the American, as he made his way into room 27.

It was hot in the room and Zent turned on the fan, rolling on deodorant as he checked his teeth in the mirror. He was hungry, and checked the small fridge in the corner, jumping back in shock as he flung the door open.

Inside, were three bottles of water, three bottles of Coca-Cola, and three freshly made baguettes.

“Spooky,” he remarked, as he grabbed for the snack, eyeing the label before unravelling the plastic.

California BLT
327 Calories
2.7g Fat
0.3g Saturates

“What the?! No, no way,” he said trying to compose himself as he chomped his teeth through the juicy baguette.

He started to relax, his mind looking ahead to Sunday Night. Eyeing the corner of the room as his thoughts engrossed him.

There’s no way I can win this thing, the third entrant? Yeah right, at least I’ll get some exposure. Sure, we sell out every Friday for Face Off, but the Experts?! Legacy Plaza, wow! As long as I don’t get eliminated right away, I’ve done fine. I have no expectations, no one knows who I am, no one even cares. Just enjoy the moment, competing on a larger stage! Wow it’s going to be delicious! The same card as Jack Benevolence! Jesus! I have to last at least last ten minutes, that’s the plan, ten minutes, and I’ll have enough television time. Then, next time, when I enter the Experts Tournament, people will know my name, they’ll know who I am and then I can make an impact. Don’t get ahead of yourself Buddy, it’s a 30-man match, anything could happen! Just enjoy the moment and make the most of it, that’s all I can do, that’s all I can do.

Zent paused for a moment as he gnawed through his baguette, licking away a piece of tomato that had escaped his mouth on his upper lip.

"Delicious!" he said with a smile as he put the snack down, removing his shirt and facing the mirror.

"AND NOW!" he begun, in a mock announcers style voice. "Making his way to the ring! Frooom Resno, Caliifforniiaaa, he is the REIGNING! Code Red Wrestling, Teleeeevision Chaaamppion! The MAAAAIIN EVENT! BUDDY! ZENT!!!"

He marched on the spot in an excited manor, waving his hands at an imaginary crowd. He cracked his knuckles and grabbed a pillow, stepping through an imaginary rope before facing the mirror once more.

"And now, Buddy Zent" he continued in the style of a commentator, bustling with the pillow towards the bed.

"It's Buddy Zent, the young American, trying to do the impossible and win from number three!"

He grabbed the pillow, and threw it over the bed, pumping his fist as it hit the radiator.

"And David Cyclone is gone! Buddy Zent has just 26 more men to beat now!

He continued his childish behaviour, commentating on himself while throwing pillows across the room, imitating the action of a top-rope elimination.

Ten minutes passed, and he was still going, wrestling with pillows as sweat dripped from his head.

“AND NOW! It’s BUDDY ZENT! And Level-One! The last two men in this match! Going at it toe to toe!”

Zent hit the floor with a strike of the pillow, squinting his eyes, pretending to regain his vision.

“Zent has to do something quick! This one could be over!”

He rose to his feet, and ducked an imaginary clothesline, before grabbing the pillow and drilling it to the floor, replicating his finisher – The Main Event.

“AND THERE IT IS! THE MOST DEVASTATING MANOEUVRE IN THE HISTORY OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING! BUDDY ZENT WITH THE MAIN EVENT!!”

The American slowly got to his feet, grabbing the pillow with little force. Acting tired and weak, Zent grabbed the pillow, and threw it over the bed once more, dropping to his knees and raising his arms in victory.

“BY GOD! HE’S DONE IT! BUDDY ZENT HAS WON THIS MATCH! BUDDY ZENT HAS MADE A STATEMENT HERE TONIGHT!”

He sat on the floor and smiled, wiping his forehead as he thought ahead once more.

Yeah right, Buddy Zent, Experts Battle Royal victor, that’s a good one. Oh well, I can only do the best I can. There’s no expectation, remember that, no one is expecting anything, I’ll just see what happens, see what happens and whatever will be, will be.

Zent yawned and rubbed his eyes, removing his trousers as he lay on his bed.

“Time for some rest, I think that’s best.”

Zent fell asleep almost instantly, snoring lightly as he wriggled on the bed.

He didn’t know it yet, but there was a good chance he could win this match, all he needed to do, was begin to believe.

“AAAAHHHH!!!” Zent screamed as he jumped from his sleep. He’d had a nightmare than he’d entered the rumble nude. Laughing it off as he rolled on his side, he caught a glimpse of the clock by the side of his bed.

3:27am.

Maybe, it was fate.   

[Johnny Rebel]

It was one of those immensely cold spring evenings that makes you regret not putting on warmer clothes. The weather in Hayward, California wasn’t usually this chilly but was just crisp enough to penetrate one’s clothes.

In the middle of nowhere was a small bus stop where “Simply Put” Johnny Rebel sat on the concrete bench, leaning up against the glass that shielded those waiting for the bus from the heavy breeze. A green, loose hood hid the majority of his face but uncovered enough to reveal that his eyes were closed and his mouth dangling open as if he were passed out asleep.

It wasn’t long before a young woman approached the stop and plopped down a few seats down from the slumped-over Rebel. Some fifteen minutes after, a bus stopped in front of them and she arose from her seat and approached it. She found it odd that Rebel hadn’t moved from the bench and yelled in his direction:

“Get up, Rebel!”

Rebel shot up from his position and immediately began shivering due to the cold weather. He looked confused as Sarah was standing on the bottom step of the bus and waving him on.

“What…” Rebel mumbled. “Where…” He couldn’t get out a coherent thought. “What happened? Where are we?”

He was obviously disoriented and wasn’t sure how he ended up there at the bus stop or what happened the evening before.

“Come get on the bus,” Sarah said, “Those friends of yours didn’t exactly leave you for dead -- but they came close! Let’s go and I’ll try and connect the dots for you.”

Rebel stumbled on to the bus and followed closely behind Sarah. They found a seat close to the back of the bus and Rebel plopped down next to the window.

“You think you can stay up long enough to hear the entire story or would I be wasting my breath by filling you in?” Sarah with a snarky tone to her voice.

“You don’t have to yell!” Rebel exclaimed.

He didn’t know what happened last night but he sure knew that whatever it was -- it gave him a splitting headache and he wasn’t interested in listening to Sarah squall about whatever she was going on about.

“It started last night around 11:30pm…”

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Crazy Horse Gentlemen’s Club
Hayward, California
May 3rd, 2012 - 10:30pm

“Rebel!” Felipe DeLoren cheered in delight as the newest member of The Sindicate came walking in with one arm implanted around Sarah. “Welcome to Crazy Horse! It’s one of the perks of being associated with the name DeLoren. We have a holdout in every major city across the globe.”

“You weren’t kidding about this place -- it’s phenomenal.” Rebel muttered as Felipe nodded in approval.

Mr. DeLoren ushered Rebel and his girlfriend Sarah in to the special VIP room in the back. As the guard pulled back the curtain, Rebel entered in and was welcomed with a nod from Level-One who sat with both arms outstretched around two beautiful women. The two had recently become tag partners in the APW and were on a mission to eradicate the scum that had overran the one proud organization.

“This is what one would call Level-One’s guide to preparing to mop the floor with the Expert’s!” Level-One shouted over to Rebel.

“You would know better than anyone,” Rebel called back.

It was true -- the Expert’s had been Level-One’s personal playground since its inception years ago and even though the two were partners, he was easily Rebel’s biggest opposition heading in to the event.

“However, I’m going to do something that even you haven’t been able to accomplish.” Rebel cracked his trademark smile at Level-One.

“What’s that?” Level-One quipped, his interest peaked at Rebel’s jab.

“You are looking at one-half of the next EFK Tag Team champions of the world!” Rebel blurted out with his hands raised high above his head, while the obviously inebriated women sitting with Level-One, cheered with gusto.

“Right…” The former True Expert mumbled while rolling his eyes. “The only person that talented to carry your behind to a set of tag championships is sitting over here on this couch!”

Even the slightest bit of hesitation from Rebel’s tag partner was enough to put a crack in his confidence. After all -- he hadn’t been riding the greatest string of luck lately. It didn’t matter who the opponent was: Kurt Noble, C.J. Gates, or Jack Benevolence… he had come up short.

“I don’t want to hear any bellyachin’ when I’m carrying around both the APW and EFK tag belts. You know I look better with gold around my waste anyway…” Rebel snorted at his own comeback to Level-One. “I might even let you hold one of them! However, if I’m being honest -- I’d rather have you standing in my corner than Sean Edmunds.”

“Who?” Level-One says as the two share a laugh.

“It was a tough task but the EFK folks might have found someone that is as cocky as I am! The other five competitors in this match aren’t exactly pushovers -- they were all within a few rankings points from being at the top of the card and getting their crack at Benevolence and the Expert’s championship.” Rebel’s declaration wasn’t enough to sway Level-One’s opinion. “Maybe he doesn’t have the name recognition right now around the EFK circles but he showed well at Rival Factions as the sole survivor for his team.”

“Don’t bring that up.” Level-One shouts, obviously still reeling from APW’s showing during last year’s event.

“We’re up against some stiff competition though between Insomnia & Ian Credible. I know it’s hard to believe but Insomnia has been on a similar mission in the SCW that we have been trying to accomplish in the APW. There was a time when the SCW was on the rocks and he claims to be responsible to helping it raise from the ashes.”

“I would have pulled the plug -- that place is a cesspool!” Level-One retorts.

“At least I can claim that Edmunds and I are on the same page and we understand heading in to the match that we’d both do anything to claw our way to the belts!” says Rebel who’s starting to get a little jacked at the thought of walking away with the tag belts. “M.D.K. and Ramirez have had a good run but their time is coming to an abrupt end!”

“Try and not get ahead of yourself, Johnny…” Sarah pleads with Rebel.

“Try and not get ahead of myself? That’s like asking The Warden to not pull out his baton when he sees Kurt Noble limping towards him! I’m in prime position to do something that no one has been able to do in the EFK universe -- and that’s not only win championship gold on the card but then go out and make myself the number one contender for the Expert’s Tournament in just a few short months! Believe me -- if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself either!”

Before Rebel can continue, Felipe DeLoren places himself in between Rebel and the rest of the crew.

“Sarah, if you’ll excuse us…” Felipe said putting up a hand between the two men and Rebel’s secretary. “But the two of us need some time to talk alone! You’ll be in good hands with Level-One.”

“I wouldn’t trust Level-One with anything that walks!” Rebel chuckled and grabbed Sarah by the hand. “After everything that Sarah and I have been through, anything you need to say to me, you can in front of her.”

Felipe nodded and escorted the two from the VIP-room in to a much quieter section of the club -- and were welcomed in to a conference room. Rebel followed them in with Sarah treading behind.

“I don’t think that I need to tell you of the importance of EFK’s High Stakes next week.” Felipe comments, while leaning backwards in his leather chair at the end of the table. “The Sindicate doesn’t like to be embarrassed and to be honest -- we’ve become quite accustomed to our members taking home the top spot in the winners circle.”

This wasn’t Rebel first trip around the track, he fully understood the implications of losing, especially under the large microscope that was the EFK.

“I get it…” Rebel rolled his eyes. “Level-One has certainly set the bar high for the Sindicate. I don’t have any plans of throwing the good name of Felipe DeLoren through the mud.”

“Somebody up at the EFK has taken notice of you and all the things that you’ve done over the past few months in the APW and PW. They aren’t only giving you the chance to win the tag-team championships but also giving you a chance to blow by the qualifying rounds of the Extreme Expert’s Tournament and allowing you to pick your match in the quarterfinals. That’s a pretty big leap -- and will ultimately give us the platform that we need to purify the filth that these fools pass off as wrestling!” Felipe’s comments cause Rebel to perk up.

This was the opportunity of a lifetime and one Rebel had been pushing for since returning to the business. The Sindicate had done everything they had promised -- pushing Rebel to the forefront of the APW, helping to get Sarah back from the grip of her family and launching “Simply Put” to the grandest stage of all.

However, before the conversation between the two could continue, the Sindicate’s most trusted guard Oglev poked his head through the door.

“We… have problem.” Oglev said in broken English. “Follow me. Please come.”

Felipe rose up from his chair, buttoning the top button of his suit, and stretched out his hand for Rebel and Sarah to follow the security agent. They fell back to the VIP room where Level-One stood in front of the security cameras.

“Juan Ramirez,” Rebel barked after getting a close view of the monitors.

The sheer mention of the PW superstars name caused a tingle to shoot down Sarah’s neck, as she grabbed Rebel’s arm and shivered in fear. After all -- the three weren’t strangers to one another. Their feud had stretched across Phoenix Wrestling and in to APW’s Survive & Conquer back in January, and his ruthless attack on Sarah ultimately caused her to spend the following four mouths bound to a hospital bed. They were bitter enemies and Rebel had no intention of letting him leave without getting full repayment.

“Say… word… boss.” Oglev snorted.

“This isn’t the time or the place, Oglev.” Felipe ordered. “Look at his face, Rebel! Remember all of the terrible things that he’s done and said about you -- and realize that he’s the reason why the Sindicate exists in the first place. It is of the utmost importance that we break guys like Juan Ramirez and refuse to allow thugs like him to remain unchecked.”

“You can’t expect me to not go out there and knock that guy’s head off of his shoulders! He’s been a thorn in my side for nearly a year and simply put -- he deserves everything that comes his way!” Rebel yelled.

“That’s exactly what I expect of you, Johnny.” Felipe scolded Rebel. “I don’t need you flipping out and doing something stupid that gets your disqualified before the event even kicks off. This is precisely the reason why you need the Sindicate behind you because otherwise you would have rushed in there and done something that you would have ultimately regretted. You’ll get your shot -- in due time.”

Oglev stepped in between Rebel and the door as Sarah clinched tighter. Rebel had patiently waited for his chance at retribution against the PW International Champion and if he had his druthers, he wouldn’t wait any longer. However, while he’d never admit it verbally, Felipe was correct -- he had others to worry about. M.D.K, Insomnia and Ian Credible were looming.

However, Rebel’s attention had been fixed on Ramirez and would likely stay that way.

“Let’s get out of here.” Felipe said. “We have a wild evening ahead of us!”

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San Pablo’s Casino
Hayward, California
May 4th, 2012 -- 1:43am

“Have another drink!” Felipe waved for the bartender to attend to Rebel, despite Sarah’s protests.

Rebel and the rest of the Sindicate had left their previous spot and moseyed over to the San Pablo casino. “Simply Put” was knee deep in the slot machines as Sarah sat in the corner -- pouting at his debauchery, especially when they were as close to High Stakes as they were.

“Can we *please* leave now, Johnny?” Sarah was pleading with Rebel.

He waved her aside and put another quarter in the slot machine. She didn’t dare leave him alone with Felipe having his ear -- but she couldn’t handle him in the state he was in. She stormed off in a tizzy and Rebel hardly noticed and went about his own business. Felipe saw the perfect opportunity to slip in and work Rebel over without Sarah’s filter.

There was a time when Rebel didn’t take orders or direction from anyone but that time had come and gone with every moment that he was a member of the Sindicate. He had lofty expectations to live up to and Mr. DeLoren was desperate to make sure that Rebel lived up to them.

“Y’know,” Felipe began, “This battle royal contains some of the best that the six Expert’s feds has to offer.”

“I understand…” Rebel answered. “There is a large contingent from the APW that is participating and most of them are the cream of the crop. Names like ‘Showtime’ Terry Marvin, Anthony Bailey, Michael Callahan, John Dionysus: they are all a threat to winning this thing.”

“Come closer,” Felipe whispered to Rebel from across the table, “Let me let you in on a little secret… You are better than all of them! We were scanning through the list and compiling a ‘who’s-who’ of talent that’s thrown their name in this thing and honestly, it’s a toss-up between both you and Level-One. You either hold victories over half of the competitors or they entered this match for the oft-chance that they actually get a shot at competing against you!”

“You really think I ddddoo?” Rebel stuttered over his words, the alcohol was beginning to take over. “How can you bbbeee so sure?”

“It wasn’t long ago we got off the phone with the executives who have been putting all of this together and they gave me the good news.” Felipe commented while unfolding a piece of paper and sliding towards Rebel.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“It took a little coercing but we were able to weasel out the number that you have drawn to enter the match and we’re pretty excited about it,” Feliple motioned for Rebel to unfold the piece of paper.

“Twenty-six!” Rebel exclaimed. “Hot dog!”

“That’s right -- twenty five people that will be entering this thing before you. When your music plays and it’s your time to hop in the ring the majority of the people that have come before you will either be eliminated all together are completely wiped from just trying to stay alive! That means you’ll likely be in the ring for no more than fifteen minutes.”

“I can handle that -- fifteen minutes? That’s a cakewalk!” says the confident Rebel. “Who’s going to stop me?”

“Drake Mosa?” Felipe asked.

“He hardly lasted a round with Kurt Noble! No way he makes it past me!” Rebel beamed with pride.

Felipe continued down the list.

“Dan Ryan?”

“Come on,” Rebel waved towards Felipe, “At least make it a challenge! He couldn’t be bothered to rally his team when APW, captained by yours truly, eliminated SCW from CWC’s Supremacy!”

“Talon Wilkins?”

“You mean the guy who hasn’t stepped foot in a wrestling ring as an actual competitor in who-knows-how-long? It’s one thing to compete in a fed like CRW but when you bump up the level of competition like we have here than you are going to find yourself in a whole different world. Doesn’t stand a chance.” Rebel said holding his glass in the air.

“Jon Carlson? Santana? Arkia Fisk?”

“They are *nothing* but Phoenix Wrestling castoffs! It’s a shame the real talent from PW decided to sit on the sidelines. Where’s Seth Black? William Bateman? Georgie Nickles? This is precisely why I’m right where I am as a member of the Sindicate! You deserve to have your doors shut when can’t muster up enough talent to pose as a serious threat! Game-over, Phoenix Wrestling.”

Felipe cracked a smile knowing that he had Rebel exactly in the state of mind that he was after. Unfortunately, what he didn’t know was that Rebel was one shot away from blacking out and not remembering any of the conversation that the two of them have been having.

“What happens next is up to you…” Felipe says. “What are you going to do about it?”

Mr. DeLoren glanced over to catch Rebel falling forward with his head on the bar, completely passed out from the evening. He shook his head and snapped his fingers to where two members of the Sindicate security force grabbed Rebel by the arms and led him out of the building.

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“And that’s how you ended up at the bus stop,” Sarah said refusing to even make eye contact with Rebel. “I thought things were going to be different this time! You promised me that they would be -- and yet nothing has changed.”

Rebel seemed unfazed at Sarah’s moaning and instead continued to ponder the events of the evening.

“They couldn’t even take me back to the hotel?” Rebel argued.

“You’re hopeless!” Sarah says slapping him across the back.

There he was -- the self-proclaimed winner of High Stakes 2012 -- and barely able to maintain consciousness in the days leading up to the event. Sarah was frustrated and didn’t hide it well but Rebel seemed to be in his own little world, as usual.

“You love it,” Rebel said to her, “Simply put? I’m awesome!”

Sarah tried to hide her smile but she couldn’t stay mad at him. He was going to be the breakout winner of High Stakes and there wasn’t anybody to stand in his way. He might have been the biggest idiot in the history of the planet but Sarah wasn’t going leave him hanging after all they had been through.

“Simply put?” She said. “You better win!”

Rebel threw his arm up over her and slumped backwards, putting the events of the previous twenty-fours behind him. The time for talking was over -- it was simply time for action, and Rebel was as ready as he’ll ever be.