Outskirts of Waco, Texas; December 22nd, 1983

The cheers ring throughout the entire bar known as Earl's, as the final bell sounds.  "Where Eagles Dare" by The Misfits blasts over the speakers as a much younger Erik Staggs stands up from over a fallen opponent, looking out into the crowd of bikers and their many fine women.  The nineteen year old breathes heavily as the referee walks up to him, lifting his arm into the air.  The dirty blonde catches his breath as his icy blue eyes flash in the lights as the bikini clad ring girls walk around, getting the crowd even more excited.  Erik hunches over slightly, almost unable to believe this win had even happened.  He doesn't have much time to celebrate when someone comes crashing into him from behind, knocking him down to the ground.  Erik rolls over onto his back, eyes on fire as he gears up for a fight.  However, he is met with laughter as he stares up at his dark haired, older brother, Robbie Staggs.

Robbie:  Shit dude, you actually did it!  You knocked that dipshit out after mouth raping his girlfriend.  That's harsh!

Robbie reaches down and ruffles his brother's hair before leaning up, helping Erik back to his feet.  Robbie raises his brother's hand into the air as he spins around, pointing to his brother as the more obnoxious Staggs brother shouts out to the fans.

Robbie:  NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!

He looks down to the two men lying out on the ground, some generic cowboys with long brown hair, brown leather get ups with tassles and all, and mullets... God, how Erik hated that hair style with a thriving passion.  Erik looks down, admiring his handiwork with his brother's approval to top it off.  He smiles and nods his head, getting into the music, and the cheering of the audience.  He even goes as far as to boot one of the generic cowboys from the ring as Robbie laughs and does the same to the other one.

Robbie:  Get outta here, Double Mint Twins!  Run and tell it to your mothers!

Erik:  Here, go get better gimmicks while you're at it...

Erik grabs the cash from the promoter's hand, tossing it at them as they hold onto their heads, glaring back at them.  The bills rain down as Robbie looks at Erik, stunned.  He quickly drops to the outside, picking up a few of the bills from the ground as he shakes his head.  He turns around, playing to the crowd as he leans back into them, letting them pat at his glistening chest and arms as they praise him.  Erik comes to the outside with his brother, but he doesn't play it up nearly as much.  Above the roar of the small, yet rowdy crowd, Robbie mutters to his brother.

Robbie:  Do whatever you want with your money, but don't throw mine away.  How else am I gonna buy my drinks for the night.

Erik:  Drinks?  Wait, but isn't...?

Robbie:  Bro, chill out.  I'll buy you one, they won't card you.  We're in Cousin Fuck, Texas.

Robbie leans in, whispering that last one to Erik before going back to playing it up to the crowd as he walks to the barricade, leaping over it as he works his way through the crowd and up toward the bar.  Erik follows through, a look of concern and confusion on his face as he goes.

Erik:  Robbie?  Wait a minute... Before you get drunk off your ass... won't you at least call home?

Robbie:  Geez, why didn't you marry Lori?  You're obviously more concerned with keeping up with her than I am.

Robbie winks at a woman in a denim mini skirt and a black crop top, boasting a white trash cowboy hat with boots to match.  She blushes and turns away, but occasionally looks back to bat her eyelashes.  Robbie rolls his eyes nonchalantly as he leans onto the bar, waiting for the bartender.  With his brother's head turned, Erik narrows his eyes angrily as he shoves Robbie's shoulder a bit.

Erik:  Screw around on her all you want, but you could at least call your son on his birthday.

Robbie:  The little tit sucker won't remember that I didn't call him when he's older.

Erik:  Yeah, right, because those therapy sessions he's bound to go through won't uncover that.  Some freakin' parent you are, Robbie...

Robbie shakes his head as he signals to the bartender who nods before she heads off toward a small fridge at the center.  She returns with two Budweiser bottle necks, popping the top off of them as Robbie slips a bill over her way.

Bartender:  All entertainers drink free.

Robbie smirks as he reaches into his blue wrestling trunks to pull out a market.  He jots something on the bill and then winks.

Robbie:  Best tip you've gotten all night then.  My hotel room number, right on the other side of the interstate.

Bartender: Gee, thanks...

With little to no enthusiasm, she picks the bill up, sliding it into her top.  However, one look into the enchanting blue eyes against the dark hair, and she changes her tune just a little as a blush falls upon her face.  Erik winks as he picks up one bottle, handing it over to Erik, before taking a sip off of the other one.

Robbie:  It's like shooting fish in a barrel with a rocket launcher.  Ridiculous, right?

Robbie slaps Erik's arm, just in time to point to a pair of twins staring from the other side of the bar.  Two blondes with the body of Tanya Tucker, and the chest of Dolly Parton.  The girls get up slowly and walk over toward the brothers... brushing past Robbie, and right up to Erik.

Twin 1:  You were impressive out there.

Twin 2:  Stella, why don'tcha just ask him to whip it out here and now.  Though, I did always wonder if wrestlers were too tired to show a girl a good time after a match, or if the adrenaline makes them more vicious...

The girls lean in and share a giggle as they stare Erik up and down.  Robbie doesn't seem to happy about being passed up for his little brother.  He butts in next to his brother, but basically knocking him a few feet to the side.  He covers up his jealousy with a laugh and a bright smile as he licks at his teeth.

Robbie:  Only one way to find out.  Why don't you ladies join us at the hotel for the after party.  Got some party favors if you're interested?

The two country girls stare at the alternatively dressed brothers, and the contrast in style seems to intrigue them even more.  They nod their heads as Erik groans, looking completely unsure of this.  Robbie claps his hands, rubbing them together with an almost giddy laugh as he brushes Erik on.

Robbie:  Awesome.  Let us get changed and we'll head on over on our bikes.

Stella:  Okay... We'll meet you outside then.

Robbie continues to walk on by, pushing Erik along as they walk toward a small locker room at the back of the bar.  It is dimly lit, and a bit on the grimey side.  Robbie rushes around, collecting his things, sliding his tattered blue jeans over his trunks before pulling his Ramone's t-shirt on.  Erik stands there, glaring, and Robbie goes to question his brother, but Erik doesn't give him the chance before he lays into him.

Erik:  You're an asshole, Robbie!

Robbie:  Yeah, yeah... whatever bro.  It's twins... TWINS!  I wasn't expecting two tag matches in one night...

Erik:  You actually expect me to participate in that?  Nose candy and bar sluts is more your thing than mine.  But if you think for one second I'm going to participate in this, you're insane.  On your son's birthday on top of that?  What's wrong with you?!

Robbie picks up his leather jacket, but he doesn't put it on.  Instead, he turns around and stares right at his brother.  Anger is burning in his eyes as he glares ahead.

Robbie:  Then don't participate in this.  Play along until we get to the hotel, and then disappear for a few hours.  Just don't ruin this for me, or I'm gonna kick your ass.  Are we clear?

Erik:  You've got problems.  You're disgusting, and one day, you're going to regret it.  The day your wife finds out what you do on the road, she's going to leave your sorry ass.

Robbie:  That's fine.  I'll manage, but how's she gonna move on with a kid clinging to her saggy tits?  Or, are you going to take over?  You couldn't take care of a hamster, let alone a woman and her illegitimate child.

Erik looks completely disgusted by this as Robbie shakes his head.  He picks up a wadded up outfit and tosses it at Erik, who barely catches it.  Robbie stares for a minute as the two cowboys come walking into the room, glaring at the two of them.  Robbie fakes out a lunge at them, causing them to jump a little before he looks over to Erik.

Robbie: Just get dressed and meet me by the bikes.  It's going to be the second dick down we've given to twins tonight...

Robbie sneers as he turns and leaves the room.  Erik shakes his head as he pulls on a pair of dark jeans with the knees blown out, and a black tank top with the Misfits logo on it.  He puts on a studded leather jacket as he leaves the room, walking through the crowded bar and to the parking lot, all in a fog.  Even as he gets on his bike, placing a black helmet over his head, he barely even feels the warm caress of the woman behind him as he starts his bike up.  Robbie takes off first with Stella and Erik reluctantly follows.  They leave the dusty parking lot and make their way to pavement, weaving around to go over the interstate before pulling into a seedy motel.  They go down to the middle of the strip and get off the bike.  Erik hangs his helmet on the right handle of his bike before looking down to where a watch should be on his wrist, sighing.

Erik:  You know what, I forgot I need to go to the store for... Twizzlers.  I can't sex without Twizzlers.

The girls laugh at this as Robbie shakes his head, mouthing something toward him in anger.  Erik shrugs his shoulders as the girls turns back around.  Robbie wipes the angry look from his face as he fumbles around for a room key.

Robbie:  No worries, bro.  We'll just get the party started, and you join in when ever...

Robbie looks to Erik and shakes his head in the negative, slowly.  Erik rolls his eyes as he starts walking up the path toward a convenience store with large white, orange, and green signage.  He looks back to see their room door close, and he lowers his eyes.  He places his hands into his pocket as he kicks at a rock on the ground.

"Not that I never realized my brother was an asshole before, but by today's standards, he was a douche bag of the highest order.  He was a terrible human being in every imaginable way, I think.  We had been wrestling on the road in dive bars for a few years at this point; we had won some, and we lost more.  But, this was the first time I got to shine.  It was the first time I got to carry my weight on the team, and get recognition for all of my hard work instead of playing second fiddle to Robbie.  And what happens?  We don't celebrate it... he shirks his responsibilities as a parent, and he celebrates his own way.  Big brothers are supposed to teach you valuable life lessons, and in his own way, he did just that.  He showed me what I didn't want to become.  Some demons are just too hard to overcome, but I never stooped to his level.  I never would..."

Erik pulls some change out of his pocket as he walks over to a small phone booth.  He drops a nickel into the coin slot and begins dialing a number on the rotary.  He places the receiver to his ear as he closes the booth behind him.  Taking a deep breath, he sinks down near the ground as he closes his eyes and sighs out his breath.  Suddenly, his eyes shoot open as he rubs his free hand through his ruffled blonde hair.

Erik:  Lori, hey... yeah, is Spike still awake? ...  No, no, don't wake him. ...  Yeah, Robbie fell asleep too. ... We won, and I got the pin this time. ...  Yeah, I know. So, how are you and Spike holding up? ...

Erik's worries seem to almost disappear as he calms down drastically talking to Lori.  They go on for a minute, as Erik even laughs a little.  His eyes almost twinkle after a moment as he lets out a surprised, yet delighted, gasp.

Erik:  Heyyy... what are you doing up, kiddo?  No, not daddy.  It's Uncle Erik...  Hey, I wanna sing you a song while I got you, okay?  *Ahem*  Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday dear Spikey... Happy Birthday to you...

Happiness has found it's way to Erik tonight as his paternal instinct seems to kick in.  Fulfillment possibly?  He continues to chit chat with the three year old over the phone, humoring the youngster's babbling with responses as the scene fades out...

---

St. Louis, Missouri; March 31st, 2002

"Ohhhh... OHHHHH! Oh yeah, right there. There, there, there, oh yeah uh huh..."

Wet skin slapping against wet skin rapidly echoes through the room as the bed creaks loudly.  The only source of light is the moon pouring in through the open balcony double doors, illuminating Erik Staggs' half naked figure as he rapidly and precisely thrusts.  The end is fast approaching now as we pan in slightly, catching the primal glare on Erik's face as he practically growls like a rabid wolf.  He grabs onto a leg as he picks up his pace, causing the female moaning to become more rapid, but broken up by the force until she can't contain it any longer.  A curled up lip is a warning sign, and it isn't long before the show is over.  Sweat pours down Erik's face as he breathes rapidly, playing it cool with a smirk and a stifled laugh before he rolls over onto his back and wipes the sweat from his face.  He looks over to his nightstand and picks up a pack of cigarettes, flipping it open to pull one out.  He lights it and takes an extended drag, holding it in before letting it out.

Woman:  Honey, that's so disgusting...

Erik holds the cigarette between his fingers, fumbling it around a little as he doesn't even acknowledge her at first.  He takes another drag, this time waiting only a few short seconds before exhaling, and then looking over to the surprisingly beautiful, young ebony goddess before him.

Erik:  Believe it or not, I quit three years ago.  Truly a filthy habit...

Erik presses the cigarette between his lips, letting it hang there for a second before the glowing ember finally intensifies.  He puffs it out like a dragon before finally pulling it out from his lips, fumbling it around a little more.

Woman:  It don't look like you quit, bear.  Most people who quit don't leave packs layin' around they houses.

Erik:  I guess I'm just stronger than most.  You know, I only smoke after sex now.  So, by my calculations, I'm down to a pack a day.

Woman:  Erik, you play too damn much...

She gives him a playful shove as he smirks.  However, something about the way his face twists, he's shamefully admitting a partial truth.  Settling down wasn't his bag, and it never was.  Having gone from a somewhat awkward punk kid to the Ladies Man, he never gave it much thought before, but he's about to.  The woman curls up against Erik's bare chest, running her fingers along the light fur of his chest that had accumulated since his time in the ring.

Woman:  It must be lonely having all these girls throwing their bodies at you, but keeping their hearts from you.

Erik looks off into the distance, trying to act as if he hadn't heard what she just said.  However, she doesn't change the subject as he'd hoped she would.  He painfully looks up to the ceiling, groaning a bit at this.

Erik:  No, not really.  It's sort of liberating to rely only on myself while still having my physical needs met.

Woman:  What about your emotional needs?

Erik:  You act as if I have emotions that need fulfilling.  I'm perfectly fine raising my family and running my business.  Plus, I'm too old to suddenly find love, not that I would even know what to do with it if I found it.

The woman nuzzles her head into his shoulder, finding comfort in his physical maturity, while trying to use her own emotional maturity to quell Erik's immaturity in this area.  While her efforts are intended for good, Erik finds it a bit uncomfortable.

Woman:  I've known you for years now, and if anyone could unlock that heart... she would be one lucky woman.  It's never too late.

Erik:  No... it is.  Women like to call me daddy, and awkwardly grand daddy in a recent case, which just shattered my ego completely... It's never about a connection, and that feeling is mutual.  I'm complicated, and I'm far too set in my ways to ever change for anyone.

Woman:  Call it whatever makes you feel better about it, but you don't have to lie.  If you don't want somethin' serious, I can't make you want it.  But, I do, and if this will never turn into somethin', then it needs to turn into nothin'.

Her words have gotten much more firm as she leans off of his chest.  He looks at her as she gives him an ultimatum.  He stamps out his cigarette before replying with a simple shrug.  She tilts her head to the side as if asking him if he's serious.  When he doesn't budge, she scoffs and leans over the edge of the bed, picking up articles of clothing, sifting through them to separate her own from his.  Erik rolls his eyes as he rolls onto his side, staring at her as she pulls her shirt on.

Erik:  Portia, come on... You act like I wasn't honest about what this was from the very beginning.

Portia:  No, you right.  You did, and it's my bad for thinking that could change.  I ain't mad at you.  I'm mad at myself.

Pulling on her white lace panties, and her mini skirt, she stands up from the bed.  She finds her jacket on a chair next to the door, and she picks it up.  Erik crawls to the edge of the bed as he lies his head at the edge, looking up at her in an almost pleading manner.

Erik:  You're being dramatic again, and I have to admit... it's turning me on.

Portia:  It ain't cute, Erik.  Not cute at all.  I can't do this anymore, and I don't have to... I quit.

Erik's jaw hangs open slightly as he questions her.  She doesn't give him much of a chance as she opens the door and walks out into the hallway, leaving the door wide open.  Erik sighs and clicks on the lamp by his nightstand.  As he does, he notices a late teen's Spike Staggs walking toward the room.  He looks down the hallway at Portia as he lowers his eyes.

Spike:  I assume this is a bad time.  I can come back later, when you're not... naked...

Spike practically gags at the thought, though even the thought of his uncle with clothes is disgusting enough.  He turns to walk away when Erik rolls his eyes and pulls the covers up higher onto his body as he reaches for a pair of pants.  He slides them on, securing them as he looks to his nephew who is turning to leave.

Erik: No, it's okay.  My assistant just quit on me... What do you need?

Spike turns to look to his uncle as he approaches the door frame once more.  He lean into it, not wanting to come in any further.

Spike:  Well, I hate to be the second one to quit on you today, but I'm going to have to give my notice to you as well.

Erik shakes his head in shame as he runs his hand through his now messy hair.  He reaches to the nightstand and picks up a glass of water, taking a sip before letting it clank against the table.

Erik:  Quitting already... I don't know why I expected anything more from the most fickle person I've ever met, but how do you plan to support your child with no job or high school diploma?

Spike:  Wait, isn't that exactly what you've been trying to do since day one?  Get me to quit?  If not, then you have a really weird way of letting someone know you value them...

Erik:  Why should I take it easy on a playboy such as yourself?  You've been doing this for a few years now, but you're still so green, and you lack any real discipline to grow as a competitor.

Spike rolls his eyes now, trying his best not to show his boiling anger.  He looks away from his uncle, and to the door frame itself.

Spike:  I must be doing something right, because Global Championship Wrestling offered me a contract, and I'm taking it.  Roxanne, Sebastian, and several others got accepted.  It's the big leagues.

Erik:  I can understand Sebastian, and even Roxanne.  Some people just get handed opportunity after opportunity, unable to appreciate or utilize them.  You are your father, and...

Spike:  So what if I am?  My dad was a good man, in and out of the ring.  Just because he was always better than you, it's no excuse to treat me like a male Cinderella... Well, the shoe fit, unk, and now I'm going on to bigger and better things, something you never got to do.

Erik:  You ungrateful sonuva...

Spike sneers, though his defensive stance lets us know he's anything but casual about this conversation.  Erik grits his teeth, stopping himself where he is.  He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.  Erik bites his tongue until the anger is choked back.  Instead, he just clasps his hands together over the comforter as he calmly says...

Erik:  Best of luck to you, Spike.  It appears our business is officially over now.

Spike nods his head as he leans off of the door frame, turning to leave.

Spike:  It is...

Before Erik can say anything, Spike takes a step away.  Pain comes over Erik's face as his words seem to have registered fully.  Residual words that were meant for Robbie has come out to his son, a true chip off the old block.  He closes his eyes, feeling a bit of pain as he turns off the bedside lamp, bringing up back to the rays of the moon coming in through the opened doors before we fade out...

---

Gimnasio Nilson, Nelson, Brasilia, Brazil; April 28th, 2013... SCW Hostile Takeover

The laughter ringing through the gymnasium is almost deafening, matched only by the loud cheering for Nick Jones, Mark Ward, and Christian Underwood as they celebrate their massive win, vanquishing the remainder of the rebellion from Sin City Wrestling for good.  The look on Erik Staggs' face says it all; embarrassment, anger, betrayal are at the forefront of emotions as he walks through the back, wearing his #TeamErik t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.  As he walks backstage, no one says a single word, but their laughter rings through his ears as they begin throwing trash at him, and talking about him as if he isn't even there.  He simply lowers his head, trying his best not to react.  He even passes Pussy Willow and Ms Rocky Mountains, who barely even give him a second glance.  He has to accept the fact that he's already old news, and that the cause he risked everything for was nothing more than a failure, and the butt end of a joke now.  He makes his way to a locker room labeled "Team Erik", and without hesitation, he opens the door, entering it, and quickly closing it behind him.  It was quite empty, considering how many people he had recruited to his cause.  There is a solemn quietness amongst the three visible talents... Bombshell Champion, Misty, Roxanne, and Giani Di Luca.  They simply look up at Erik, who finally lets his true feelings show, looking completely crushed.  The Queen of the Damned almost sheepishly walks up to Erik, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Misty:  This isn't over, Erik.

Erik slowly turns his head to his left to look at Misty.  He is almost white as a ghost now as he slowly nods, unable to speak at first.  He finally musters up the words, as they seem to roll painfully off of his tongue.

Erik: No... it kind of is.  Not "kind of", it really is over.

Roxanne:  No!  We can still fight this, Erik!  We...

Erik shoots a glare over at the redheaded amazon, gritting his teeth as he barks at her.

Erik:  IT'S OVER!  I'M... over.

Giani:  We might'a seen people jump awf like rats from a sinkin' ship, but we're still floatin', Erik.  It ain't over 'til Cookie S'Mores sings.

Erik looks around at the papers scattered amongst the floor, and the mess left behind by all of the non-loyalists of the cause and he can't help but lower his head once more.  And, as if it were a sign from God himself, the faint sound of the hefty former Bombshell Tag Team Champion can be heard coming from the hallway.  Giani turns his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as it sinks in.

Giani:  That's irony right there... but it still ain't over.  You can abandon this ship, captain, but we decided we're gonna keep fightin' for ya cause.

Misty:  You're still got a determined rookie, an unstoppable, bloodthirsty Bombshell, and a champion on your...

Before Misty can continue, she is cut off by the sound of a door opening.  Everyone turns to look at the person standing in the doorway, as their voice cuts through the air like a knife.

Necra:  Make that two champions...

Necra Octavian Kane adjusts her Bombshell Roulette Championship on her shoulder as she walks back into the room with Ex following closely behind.  She stands in front of Erik as her eyes flash red.  Sshe nods to Misty in a sign of respect as Misty returns the gesture.  Necra looks back to Erik, focusing all of her attention on him.

Necra:  Don't you find it funny that we have won almost every battle, yet they win the war, but only because they played a dirty trick on us?  They have so many more loyalists than we do, yet we still defeated them at almost every turn until Nick Jones turned on Tom Dudely tonight.  The heart of this revolution is still beating strong, and it is right here in this room.

Erik:  It is ridiculous to even consider the notion.  Besides, after we return from the two week break, I'll be officially served my firing papers.

Misty:  Then let us continue to fight in your honor.

Necra:  Change is still needed around here, whether the heard of sheep known as the fans want to admit it or not.  Whether you support this or not, we're going to change the face of Sin City Wrestling.  Your vision will be realized.

Erik goes to protest this, but he isn't given the opportunity.  Necra looks back to Giani, Misty, and Roxanne, and without her having to say a single word, they stand up and make their way to the open door, leaving the room along with Ex.  Erik and Necra are left alone now as Necra slowly walks over toward the bench where she lies her Bombshell Roulette Championship down to rest.

Erik:  I don't see a point in trying to convince me to give my blessing.  We've done all we could, they tempted our members to leave us with title shots and other benefits, and those who weren't bought off like Amy Marshall and Kevin Carter, have left due to sheer embarrassment.  You four are great talents who will go far around here if you just leave well enough alone.  After tonight, I won't see your faces ever again.

Necra:  I would not be so sure of that, Erik.  Our paths will cross again one day, and who knows?  I may need your help, just as you needed mine, to realize a dream.

Erik:  My road in the wrestling world ends here.  You and the others can do whatever you want, but it is going to be without me involved.

Necra tries to protest this, but Erik clearly will not hear any of it.  He walks past her on the bench and goes to a locker.  Twisting the combination pad of the lock, he quickly unlocks it and opens the door where he starts rapidly pulling articles of clothing out before setting his bag on the ground, tossing the clothes inside of it.  He leans down to zip the bag closed, leaving several items sticking out sloppily from the zipper.  Last but not least, he pulls out his favorite jacket, a studded leather bikers jacket that he quickly puts on.  He leans down and picks up his bag as he walks over to the door.  As he places his hand on the door knob, he turns back to Necra with a look of regret on his face.

Erik:  Regardless of what happens, I want you to know that I appreciate your support.  Not that it is likely, but if you ever need the favor returned, I will do my absolute best to be there for you.

Necra:  It is more likely than you think.

As if Necra knows something, she flashes an almost wicked grin to Erik.  However, Erik doesn't quite pick up on it, finding it more of a maneuver to try getting him to stick around.  He gives an almost sheepish smile before opening the door and disappearing through it.  Necra's eyes flash as she continues to sit in the locker room, completely alone.

Necra:  I will see you a lot sooner than you think, Erik...

With that, the scene fades.

---

Unknown Location; Unknown Date

"I've seen the number of the beast, marked on the goat-like head.  The clocks are stuck at 3:33am, and have been this way for hours.  Every evil deed I have ever done has come back to haunt me.  Is this a mere dream, or is this really happening?"

Like an overplayed metal song of yesteryear, Erik Staggs is seen lying in his bed, his eyes almost sunken in completely as sweat drips down his forehead.  The flames dance down the walls as the smoke billows slowly, and in a manner that defies physics.  He can't even react as he is paralyzed in a state of shock.  His bed begins to rock back and forth slowly as it rises off of the ground, coming to the middle of the room where is slowly spins around.  Everyone that he's ever hurt is there, standing by, shouting at him with painful reminders that blend together for us, but their sheer presence is enough for him to understand.  It is too much for him so he brings his hand over his ears, but as he does, the sound of their voices only amplifies, torturing his ears as a light crimson stream begins to leak from them.

"I always knew I would be here, but I never imagined it would be so soon.  I am not ready for this, mentally, physically, or spiritually.  I am in Hell."

Erik's thoughts echo through the room despite his lips not moving.  His last word bounces off of the wall, attacking him from all angles as his ears bleed painfully.  His bed continues to spin around, stopping right in front of his brother, Robbie, whose skin is blistered from the heat.

Robbie:  You never tried to save me little brother.  You let me go on my path to self destruction, while you just watched and waited.

Erik:  No.  I tried to stop you many times, but you wouldn't listen to reason.

Robbie:  It was all a cry for help, but you were too much of a chicken shit to try to save me.  You let me fall apart, and then you took my family, and let it fall apart as well.

Erik:  No, I...

Erik doesn't have time to protest this any further as the bed begins spinning around again.  Like a twisted game of Wheel of Misfortune, it is all a gamble on who would get to rip into him next.  Who should we land on now but Spike Staggs.

Spike:  You let my father die, and you would have let me go down the exact same path had I not wised up.  You never cared about anyone other than yourself, and you never will...

Erik:  No!  I sacrificed my career for you boys.  I could have made something of myself, but I decided that you and your brothers deserved your best chance.  I am not perfect, but I gave up everything to be what your father couldn't be!

Spike:  Liar!  We had no one left, and you were stuck with us, and you let us, especially me, know how much of a burden we were every day after that!

Erik:  I'm not denying that I'm a selfish prick, but to say I never cared about you and your brothers is the most ignorant and crass thing you've ever said!  I was more of a father to you than your own, even before he passed away.  I might not have shown it, but you guys are my world, even today.

Spike shakes his head as he looks up at the ceiling.  The horned beast wiggles his fingers in a stirring motion as the bed goes spinning once more.  Still unable to move, Erik is forced to watch as the sea of faces seems to grow by the minute.  He lands on a woman in her early thirties, dark brown hair, and the prettiest blue grey eyes one could ever behold.  Erik's own lip quivers as he tries to address her first.  However, she doesn't give him the chance as her seemingly angelic face twists into rage and anger.

Lori:  You let me live the life of a blind fool, Erik!  Your wickedness disgusts me.  The only thing worse than what your brother did by cheating on me, and putting my own health at risk, was lying to me about it, and then... taking advantage of me in a vulnerable state when I found out...  You're sick!  You wanted what your brother had, and you let him self destruct so that you could take it for yourself!

Erik:  Lori, I... I...

Lori:  "I... I..."  You're pathetic, Erik Staggs.  You're a disgusting human being, a ratfink...  And the sad part is that you're in denial.  Embrace it...

Erik goes to respond, but his face twists into confusion at the last line.  As if this hellish nightmare is ending, the flames and smoke are sucked back up the wall, leaving no trace that they were ever there.  Every face in the crowd disappears except Lori's, who soon turns into that of Necra Octavian Kane.  The smell of rotting meat soon takes the place of the smoke, and death has surrounded Erik.

Erik:  I don't understand.  Why are you here?  What is this all about?

With the wave of her hand, the bed falls to the ground in the center of the room. Erik jolts back to life as he raises his hand, finding himself in full control of his body once more.  She saunters across the room to the foot of his bed as Erik looks up at her in bewilderment and a tinge of fear.

Erik:  Is it... my time?  Are you taking me?

Necra laughs as she waves his comment off, dismissing it as ridiculous.  She takes a seat on the very edge of the bed as she looks over at Erik, seeing if he gets it yet, but he clearly does not.  She sighs as she runs her fingers over the pattern on his designer comforter.

Necra:  Your soul is dark, and it screams in torment.  You are quite arrogant for a coward, and I've always liked that about you.  I can't wait to collect your soul, but now if not the time for that...

Necra raises her finger from his blanket as she brings it up to her long, black hair.  She gently brushes it to the side, out of her face as she flashes her dark, dead eyes at him.

Necra:  You've been terribly difficult to get a hold of as of late.  You must be busy preparing for our match...

Erik: Oh... I am.  Very busy preparing for it.

Necra:  It's just a shame that you have been unable to find time to meet with me to discuss a strategy.  You're a busy man, and I respect that, but I have your promise that you will do everything in your power to help me when I need it most.

Necra looks disappointed in Erik as she stands up from his bed.  Her slender frame is almost appetizing to him, but he is too stricken with fear to even lead this on as he simply stares at her.  She shakes her head with an exasperated sigh as she slowly begins to circle the bed.

Necra:  You've never been a man to go back on your word, but I don't think you understand the magnitude of the situation.

Erik:  No, I do.  I have been in the gym every day since the card was announced, working away feverishly to be the best partner I can be to you.

Necra:  That bitch somehow found her way past me at Inception, and just before that in the Nether Realm.  I have to get back at her, and take what is rightfully mine. I won't rest until she's paid for what she did to me, and what she did to Sara.

Erik fidgets with his fingers nervously as Necra continues to circle him like a shark, sizing up her prey.  Erik flashes his eyes quickly at her before bowing his head again.

Erik:  I mean no disrespect, but she paid for it when you took her life.  You're lucky she came back and didn't press charges.

Necra:  You call that luck?!  It is the furthest thing from luck.  She still lives.  I call that failure on my part.  You made a promise to me almost two years ago that you would repay me for my loyalty to you.  Nobody goes back on a deal with me.

Erik:  I don't intend to, but you have to realize that I am taking this as serious as a heart attack.

Necra:  You better, because that heart attack can easily be arranged...

Necra says this nonchalantly, but there is a slight hint of venom in her tone as she stops circling around him, staring down at him as he lies in bed.

Erik:  I might be a changed man, but there are certain things that never change.  Loyalty has come to mean a lot to me over the years, and I have a vested interest in our match, more than you even realize.  I haven't been in a wrestling ring for almost twenty-five years now.  I'm trying to clear my head and focus my training again, because I want this win more than any other in my entire career.

Necra:  Now you're just trying to persuade me not to inflict harm on you, and it is pathetic.

Erik sits up in his bed, making sure to cover the lower half of his naked form as he looks into Necra's deep eyes, literally staring death in the face.

Erik:  You're wrong about that.  I appreciate the fact that you remained loyal to me, in your own way, ever since the rebellion.  But, this runs deeper than that.  I know I can't face Darknyss personally, but she showed her true colors to me the second the rebellion ended, and she walked off with Raynin and Gothika, as well as the Bombshell Tag Team Titles that they barely held on to thanks to you and Misty.  I was used, and I am not one who likes being used...

Erik narrows his eyes in anger, causing Necra to soften her expression a bit.  She can see the truth in his conviction, feeling it in his words.  She takes a few steps back to let up some of the intimidation she'd been dishing out to him.

Necra:  Then it seems we are on the same page...  We both have our own agendas here, but they culminate this week, working to our respective benefit.  This... now feels a little unneccessary.

Erik:  Indeed... unless you really do want to give me a heart attack, rendering me useless, of course.  Perhaps we could continue this conversation over the phone, or over lunch... but not over my dead body, please?

Necra:  You take the fun out of everything, Mister Staggs. As you wish...

With the wave of a hand, Erik's dream switches over to something much more appealing as he is sitting on a beach lounge chair in a tropical climate, with a cool drink in his hand.  The crystal blue waters of the ocean lap against the white sand as the breeze wafts through the palm trees.  His tense body slowly loosens up as a tanned woman approaches him with a platter of fresh fruit, picking up a bunch of grapes and hanging it above his head.  Wantonly, he looks up at her as she lowers the juicy red fruit down to his lips.  He pinches one off with his pearly white teeth as a few more women approach, topless, and covering themselves.

Woman:  Excuse me sir, but we seem to have lost our tops.  Have you seen them anywhere?

Erik looks over off screen and an almost goofy smile comes over his face as he raises his eyebrows in a wiley manner as we soon fade out as the music of the island leaves a relaxing impression upon us.

---

SCW home office is a distant memory already as the Las Vegas based company travels across the world.  Not that this is something new or different to SCW, but it is the first time that returning to Las Vegas wouldn't be happening for an entire year.  Many were excited for this, getting a chance to see the world, all on SCW's dime.  Others were nervous and showing signs of being home sick. There is one person who felt neither emotion, a man who is well traveled as it is, one who has seen almost every corner of the world.  This was nothing new to Erik Staggs... well, mostly.  As a promoter, he's traveled across the globe, but this was the first time that he would wrestle overseas.  Any nerves that Erik Staggs was feeling had nothing to do with the location.  Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since he last stepped inside of a wrestling ring as a serious competitor.  Many of the SCW stars weren't even 25 years old, let alone imagining shaking off that much ring rust.

Though Erik Staggs has been diligently preparing for his match against Patient #078 and Darknyss, he finds himself handling his staffing obligations for the better part of this day.  Sitting in his hotel room, he looks at his computer screen, wearing a red cigar jacket with matching pajama bottoms, and a white t-shirt underneath.  His black horn rimmed glasses are perched on the edge of his nose as he types away at the laptop sitting before him on the table.  He closes his eyes and reaches up to rub at his temples.

Erik:  These demands are ridiculous...  "Exactly 35 green and 27 red M&M's in a candy dish must be the centerpiece of my otherwise Vegan friendly spread"?  Do the Irish even know what Vegan is?  If you cut out meat and dairy, you're left eating potatoes and parsnips, Delia... Stupid bit... Oh, hello!  I didn't see you there!

Erik looks up, acknowledging the camera as he removes his glasses from his face.  He folds them together, tucking one earpiece into the collar of his white shirt.  He gently lowers the screen of his laptop as he furls his brow in confusion.

Erik:  You guys are awfully early, aren't you...?

Erik waves his right arm slightly as the sleeve of his jacket rolls up his arm, revealing a Rolex on his wrist.  He looks at the time, and then a slight red shade of embarrassment befalls his face as he bites onto his upper lip, mouthing a slow "soooorrrrryyyy..." as he holds his hands up apologetically.

Erik:  It appears that time has gotten away from me this morning, and I apologize to you for that.  I didn't intend to do my first promotional video in my pajamas, but when you're as busy as I am... you make due.

Erik swivles around in his office chair to face the camera fully as he laces his fingers together.  He tries to remain as professional as he can in the given situation, remaining as poised as he would in full dress suit.  His hair is a bit of a mess as he gently runs his fingers through it to fix it.

Erik:  It appears that Hell has officially frozen over as I've agreed to take place in the Blast From the Past Tournament this year.  In the short time since it was announced, I've heard a variety of very funny jokes, including... "Aren't you worried about breaking a hip, Staggs?" or "I'm excited to see you wrestle.  It was very nice of the retirement home to give you a pass for the day."  But, I'd have to say that my favorite joke has to be... *ahem*  "You suck, Staggs.  You have penis "breathe" and "your" going to lose and have heart attack."  Grammatical errors aside, I rather enjoyed this one.  Does penis even have a smell that would resonate in the breath?  I certainly wouldn't know, so it is a legitimate question.

Erik pauses as the cameraman says something we can't hear.  Erik tilts his head to the side, furling his brow as his hand traces down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.  He looks down to his crotch and then back to the cameraman as if he doesn't quite understand.

Erik:  That's just... I don't know how to feel about that.  I would imagine if one had "penis breath" it would come from performing felatio on someone who was unclean, which can't be good for the health.  So, this random Twitter handler not only thinks I'm a homosexual, but worse, he accuses me of having poor taste in sexual conquests?  I think I'm most offended by the latter.  And the death threat was just overkill.  But, I enjoyed it nonetheless.  It just seems that nobody has faith in my abilities.

Erik looks as if he is a little hurt by this as he places a hand on his chest, patting at his heart, however, he grins as he exaggerates this.  He chuckles half-heartedly before shaking his head and lifting one leg over, resting his ankle atop his knee as he returns to his poised position.

Erik:  The wrestling business has become filled with prima donnas and sensitive types.  In homage to Bruce Campbell... Wrestlers, a bunch of bitchy little girls.  It is a sad state of affairs when a stable formed on the bases of vanity, sisterhood of brainlessness, and egocentric ideals aren't the most insulting thing in a business that people such as myself helped to build.  The Mean Girls aren't the worst thing about wrestling I've noticed, and that really bothers me.  Some would ask why I've decided to have a short stint when things are in this sort of state, but the answer is quite simple.  Sometimes, people need to see a legend do it so that they know how to do it right... and unfortunately there wasn't a legend available, so they asked the oldest fart that they knew to step up instead.  I've got to learn how to say no sometimes...

Erik shakes his head as he takes in a deep breath.

Erik:  Anyway, I've got a match coming up, and I've already stressed that it is the first one in nearly 25 years.  That puts me at a great disadvantage.  To make matters worse, I don't know who my male opponent is.  From the sound of things, it looks like Mark or Christian went above my head and signed a couple of guys from the looney bin.  I'm going to have to beat up a handicapped person, like I need that on my conscience...  I could be facing someone with dementia who doesn't know his fist from his face.  Or, I could be facing someone so hopped up on anti-psychotics that he doesn't even realize where he's at.  Could I even face someone with post traumatic stress disorder from the war?  He heards a loud boom, and then he goes into killer mode, snapping my neck because, in his mind, I'm Vietnamese in disguise.  I'm starting to see some people's gripes that SCW operates loosely in the safety guidelines.  This proves it.

Erik holds a finger up as he reaches across the table to pick up a notepad and a pen.  He jots down a quick note for a possible agenda item for the next staff meeting before scratching the pen with one final stroke.  He sets the pad down on the table and resumes his train of thought.

Erik:  With my luck, I'm making a big deal out of this, and I wind up facing some cog in the machine who tried to hang himself with his tie because he couldn't stand how dull his life of working in a cubical really was.  He probably decided that he needed to spice up his life by learning to wrestle.  That's great, I would normally encourage this of anyone, but I didn't come here to perform community service.  I signed up for this tournament because I want to win.  I owe it to myself to have one last hoorah before I hang up the boots for good without exception.  Whoever SCW's latest inmate is, he is in for a rude awakening at my hands.  I might be considered past my prime, but I know this business inside and out, like the back of my hand.  I know every inch of that ring, and I know every Suplex, Drop, Slam, Toss, and hold that has even been thought of.  Am I an expert with them?  No, but knowledge is key.  I have the mind games down, and with someone as fragile as Patient #078, I won't even need to brush up on them.

Erik smirks, but he remains quiet as his point settles in.  Curiosity settles in and he opens his computer back up.  With a few keystrokes and a couple rapid clicks, he turns the laptop around to show the scwrestling.net home page.  Once he's sure we've seen it, he runs the pointer to the Locker Room tab as he continues talking.

Erik:  Many people have been asking me, "Erik, who are these Patients?  You're the Head of Talent Relations, obviously you signed their contracts, and have some knowledge of them."  One would think I'd be in the loop with such a matter, right?  It makes sense.  But, I'm not... I'm just as in the dark as you are, maybe even more so.  The business is full of people who belong in a nut house, but who has recently been committed?  I don't keep up with the no-namers affairs on Twitter.  I'm not Liz Smalls or Delia Darling.  Perhaps if I was, I'd have some sort of advantage here, but I don't.  Mark and Christian have some inkling of who these guys are, but the person who is responsible for keeping the talent happy?  The one who handles their paycheck delivery.  The one who basically handles every aspect of ensuring that the talents show up for work every Sunday... he has no idea who these guys are.  That is the part I have an issue with.  Throw whoever you want in front of myself or Necra, and we'll knock them right back down.  Stop me from doing my job properly, and ensuring the safety of our talent, and I do take exception to that.

Erik has a stern, almost father-like expression on his face that reads "I'm disappointed in you, Mark and Christian."  He lets this resonate for a moment before tilting his head back to an upright position once more.

Erik:  It takes a very special kind of pussy to hide in the shadows while you run around, collecting information on your opponents.  Sitting back and watching your opponents trying to figure out who you are while you have their name, age, birthdate, height, weight, credit card number, the weight of their last bowel movement...   And what do I know about you?  Absolutely nothing.  I have suspicions, but I haven't even a single certainty in this matter.  I could be going up against a tiny twig weighing a buck fifty who flies around more than Equinox on acid.  I could be facing a four hundred pound, seven foot tall, shit brick house who could snap my and the ring like a twig.  I could be facing Mark Ward's mother, for all I know.  Hell, stranger things have happened.  But what is certain, is the fact that this person knows every little detail about me.  And that's fine.  As a matter of fact, allow me to tell you some things not found on my bio page, or on Wikipedia...

Erik uncrosses his legs, instead switching his right ankle to his left knee as he scrolls through the locker room page, showing no sign of his opponents names, not even a mention, then coming to his own biography.  He opens it, scrolling down to allow people to get a quick glimpse of his information.

Erik:  As you know, I am Erik Staggs, born in St. Louis, Missouri.  I am six feet, three inches, and I weigh two hundred and thirty five pounds.  I now reside in Las Vegas, Nevada.  I am the patriarch of the Staggs Family, a family that has dominated this business over the last decade.  However, I do enjoy long walks on the beach under the moonlight.  I have an affinity for ginger women.  I don't like foods that are phallic in nature.  I am a firm believer that once you pop a can of Pringles, you can't stop until they are completely gone.  I am a Virgo.  My 8th grade English teacher, Mr. Odom, was the one who inspired me to be a better person, and I single-handedly led the class in standing on our desks to recite "O Captain, My Captain"...

Erik looks up from the camera slightly as he reminisces in the moment.

Erik:  ... unfortunately there was a substitute teacher that day, and I got sent to the principal's office... My favorite color is orange, and it is also my favorite word because no other word in the English language rhymes with it... it is a rebel word.  I've watched It's A Wonderful Life approximated 48 times in my life, every year on Christmas Day.  Capricorn's steal my heart.  I am a no-bullshit kind of guy, with nothing to hide, and I find it degrading to your own reputation that you have to hide behind a proverbial mask in order to gain an advantage over a nearly fifty year old man.  The simple fact that you feel the need to do that lets me know I already have you beat.  Your partner in pussiness might have his opponents shaking in their boots, going crazy trying to figure out who he is, but you've got no one fooled, son.  No one is shaken on our side.  Necra can handle herself, but it's down to you and me, man to man... and I use that term very loosely in your case.

Erik lowers his head again, narrowing his eyes as he looks directly into the camera with precision in his eyes.

Erik:  Tell me, what are you going to do when you get your ass kicked by an old man, jacked up on Metamucil and Ostocal?  Are you going to disappear into the shadows once again, waiting for the shame and embarrassment to die down before you find another, weaker opponent you can trick with your pathetic little mind games?  Or will you even bother after that?  If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't.  All of that effort, all of that embrrassment that you're putting yourself through to get inside of my head, all for naught... and you still lose.  Sucks to be you...

Erik gives an arrogant smirk.  He chuckles as he stares at the camera before just waving it off, looking down at the ground for a second.

Erik:  Whatever, there is no use beating a dead horse, which is exactly what their career is going to be when I'm done with them.  Instead, lets talk about someone I am more familiar with... Darknyss.  Hello hon, it has been so long.  I hope you are well?  The last time I saw you, you and your girls were pledging allegiance to me and my cause.  My *air quotes* rebellion, if you will.  Of course, we all know how that turned out, and there are no hard feelings on my movement going by the wayside, because I believe that I was able to accomplish great change within Sin City Wrestling.  Since I've lended my expertise to the company, we've flourished.  We've never been better or more exciting than we are now.  No, I would even go as far as to call it a victory, with harmony achieved...

Erik's optimism almost seem misplaced upon his face.  He traces his finger along the scar on his right cheek before a more sinister look crosses his face.

Erik:  Many of the people I foolishly relied on to help bring about this change, they are the ones  who deserve my wrath.  The ones who abandoned the cause the second Mark Ward or Christian Underwood dangled an incentive in front of their faces, such as Amy Marshall and Kevin Carter.  Even the ones who watched me take the fall for them, and didn't come to my aid, or stepped back and washed their hands of me once I failed.  People such as... well, The Fallen.  Since you are their guide in the world of wrestling, I blame you specifically Darknyss.  Call it petty, but a part of me wants to watch Necra tear you limb from limb.  Sure, it is bitter of me, but I've never once claimed to be a perfect person.  It isn't even about the business aspect of things, for me at least.  It is purely personal.  I could care less about winning a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.  At my age, I'm not sure I could do it any justice anyway.  No, this is about returning a favor to an old friend who was loyal to me.  And an added bonus is that I get to watch a rat drown in the waters in which she fled to escape the *air quotes* sinking ship of a movement.  That's not a win.  It's not even a win-win.  It's a win-win-win-win...  Now, once I've seen your dreams crushed the way you stood idly by and watched mine become crushed... then we can work on reparation.  An eye for an eye, lovely...

Erik winks his right eye for emphasis.

Erik:  I've taken up far too much of your time by talking about two people who aren't going to matter after three more days.  Allow me to wrap things up by wishing my partner the best of luck, though I don't think Necra will need it.  She has all of the tools of a great competitor, despite the way the fans take to her.  She has had a glorious wrestling career, and I only see things getting brighter for her whether we win this tournament or not.  We have a mutual understanding about things.  I think that alone will lead us to the finals.  Unlike most of these teams, we have worked together in depth in the past.  We have all of the tools to make it, if we apply focus.  I'm relying on you, Necra, just as you are me.  We're in this together, and we're not going to allow a coward and a deserter to knock us off of our path.  I'll see you three on Sunday.

The seriousness in Erik's voice shines through as he places his laptop back on the table.  He turns back to it and resumes business as usual as the camera slowly pans out.  Erik feverishly types away at his computer, answering e-mails.  Eventually the scene fades out completely... TO BLACK!

 The deadline for Climax Control 98 has now passed. Thanks to everyone who got something up!  Now, get working on those segments to make this show... SPOOK-tacular... Yes, I went there

 The first Deadline for Into The Void III has now passed. Anything after this post will count for the second RP Period, ending on FRIDAY July 18th, 2014 at 11:59pm EST.  Thanks and good luck to everyone!

 The deadline has now passed

 The Deadline for CC 56 has now passed

 

 My time in St. Louis helped me to realize what needs to be done.  This Mister Nice Guy needs to disappear.  I am tired of getting raped at every corner I turn.  Whether it be schedule mix ups, or young punks named Kevin Carter who want to take away what is mine, or someone like Jordan Williams who takes advantage of a slight lapse in judgment… it comes down to me looking like a fucking fool, and that stops right here… right now.

The past two years, I have made it my mission to watch other people’s backs.  I have been looking out for the best interests of everyone around me, but who has had my back?  Nobody is exactly right.  I have been nearly stripped of my SCW title, had schedules mixed up on me twice, dropped on my head, smacked with a chair and pinned in a match that, in all rights should have been a disqualification, banned from competing in a match I was rightfully admitted into, framed for a beat down on somebody while having my locker room trashed, and verbally smashed by people who only wish they were good enough to come near either of my titles.  I had taken the majority of it in stride, but I am tired of looking like an idiot.

I am not the champion of my region, AND of the world, because I am this spineless, dishonorable piece of shit that everyone is making me out to be.  Call me lucky all you want, but it wasn’t by luck that I won and defended my NWA World Heavyweight title.  It wasn’t by some coincidence that I have held onto the SCW Heavyweight title for over five months.  I have earned every single one of my accomplishments, and I’ll be damned if I stand idly by and allow it to happen.  If Sean Jackson is good enough to beat me, then he is going to get me at my best.  He gets to meet the real Spike Staggs, the monster that has been dwelling inside of me, begging to be let out, even just for a few moments.  The insatiable bloodlust from within me will get a small taste, Mr. Jackson.  That is a promise…


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


Today, the sun has prevailed on this beautiful day in St. Louis, Missouri.  The birds are chirping, basking in the warm reverie of Spring time.  A gentle breeze wisps by as the families flock to the world famous zoo in Forest Park.  The joyful squeals of children echo throughout the parking lot.  Off to the right, a little league team plays baseball on the small diamond as their parents competitively cheer them on.  Just behind them, children fly brightly colored kites with their friends and family.  All in all, it is a perfect day to be outside.  Just about fifty feet away, Spike is seen sitting on a concrete wall, enjoying the shade and the crisp breeze that comes along with it.  He has his feet propped up as he lies across the upward slope of the wall.  His eyes dance across the scene unfolding before him, wandering over to his 14 year old son, Tim, and his 5 year old daughter Eden.  He watches as his ginger son chases his daughter around the green field before him.  She is carrying a Frisbee, but rather than throw it, she simply runs from her big brother, squealing in delight.  Spike slowly lifts his sunglasses off of his face and tucks them into his shirt pocket.  He dangles his black boots off of the side of the wall as he sits up.  He soaks in the joy of his children that he has missed so much with being on the road.  He watches as Vixen comes into the fold, playfully shouting with them as she chases them around in a circle.  Eden turns around and hands her the Frisbee and runs far into the distance, shouting for Vixen to throw it.  Spike’s lip curls up into a smile as he leans his head back to observe it.

Spike:  Sometimes, you just have to take a step back to really enjoy what you find most important to you.  My family has always been, and will always be, number one to me.  I am fortunate enough that my children have grown up in this business, and they understand.  I miss the opportunity to tuck them in at night.  I miss the opportunity to hear their laughs.  The last four weeks have been hell for me in that respect.  Finally, I have the opportunity to truly unwind and spend time with those most important to me.

Spike eyeballs Vixen and the kids to make sure they aren’t looking right at him.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.  He breaths it in deeply, enjoying the bittersweet tingle in his lungs.  He holds it there for a moment before slowly exhaling.  He leans back slightly, holding the cigarette between his fingers as he leans off of the wall.  He drops down to the ground, leaning against the six foot wall.  He takes in another puff before turning to face the camera.

Spike:  I have been criticized for allowing my children into the spotlight.  I have been told I use them as a storyline.  Sue me if I have pride in my creations.  I love them more than life itself.  I might have had my issues in the past, but my children make me a better person.  It is because of them that I feel like I have a reason to be an upstanding person.  Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to convey to them how to be strong, integral, and independent.  For them, I feel like I must undergo another metamorphosis.

Spike takes another long drag from the cigarette, flicking the ash off of the end before exhaling a big cloud that gleams silver in the sunlight that pokes through the budding leaves of the trees surrounding him.  He kneels down as the camera follows him.  He takes in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the fresh cut grass around him.

Spike:  No more Mister Nice Guy from here on out.  Being naïve has never been my forte.  I was much better off when I only trusted people as far as I could throw them.  If I haven’t spent a great deal of time around someone, the chances are, I will take my eyes off of them.

Spike kicks his feet out, trying his best to conceal the cigarette from his children who run in his direction.  They swerve, shouting to get his attention.  “Dad! DAD!” He smiles and waves at them as Vixen winks in his direction.  Spike chuckles a bit as they circle around the tree and back onto the field.  He slowly brings the cigarette back to his lips, taking in another puff before he continues talking through the exhaled cloud.

Spike:  Right now, I don’t trust my opponent Sean Jackson.  Out of any opponent I have faced in recent years, he is the one I will have my eyes wide open for.  Does he have talent?  Yeah, he does.  Does he have intelligence?  Minimal, but yes.  Does he lack common sense?  Hell yeah he does.  I understand trash talking your opponent as much as the next guy, but damn son…

Spike takes the last long drag from the cigarette, putting it out in the nearby grass.  He savors the last bit of smoke, holding it in a few extra seconds before slowly releasing it.  He slides the butt into his pocket as his eyes wander back to the camera.

Spike:  Let me speak to you directly, Sean.  I’m not good at talking about someone because I like saying things directly to them.  Since it is in your best interest to stay hundreds of miles away until we meet up in ACW, I have to settle for talking to a camera, visualizing you are right in front of me… You are poking a sleeping lion, and you think it is funny.  I know your type, Sean, and you want to get a rise out of me.  Everyone likes to get a rise out of good old Spike Staggs.  I have to ask you something, kind sir...

Spike leans forward; his eyes wide open as he pauses for emphasis.  His joyful expression melts from his face as it is replaced by a very stern, serious look.  He takes in a deep breath, doing his best to stifle his anger.

Spike:  Is it funny?  Do people think it is humorous to piss me off?  There seems to be a lot of that going on around me, and since you are the mind master, please answer this for me…  Are you a masochist, son?  I can understand the first few people thinking they are tough shit, so stuck in their own little world that they don’t pay attention to the asshole before them getting their ass handed to them.  I get that, but what I don’t get is why every stupid fucker lines up to throw shots at me like I were some outcast in high school that the populars like teasing, only to get their heads bashed in ever… fucking… time!

Spike shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head in a mimicked confusion.  He rolls his eyes, sighing as he leans back against the wall.  He takes a moment to adjust his demeanor, refocusing on the matter at hand.

Spike:  I find it pretty funny that you think I am like the suits that run this company, Sean.  I find it fucking funny, as a matter of fact.  You come around, making accusations, telling me that I am this, and that I am that, right after accusing me of doing the same fucking thing.  Let me tell you something, Sean…

Spike slowly stands up and the camera follows him.  He stares deeply into the camera, showing off the intensity of his eyes.  His nostrils flair up as he tenses his body.  He takes in a few forced breaths before continuing.

Spike:  You don’t know a fucking thing about me.  At least I admitted I don’t know you.  I know your type, but I don’t know you.  See, you act like you know my whole life story, which if you looked hard enough, you could find it in paperback now.  You think you can get inside of my head by comparing me to Brad fucking Batee.  You think you can get to me by talking about my girlfriend?  You want to go on down the line and insult every fucking person I ever came in contact with?  Go right ahead, Sean.  Beat around the bush some more.  Tell me I am worthless.  Tell me I rely on suits to win matches.  Bring up the fact that I *air quotes* LOST to Spectre.  Ignore the facts, man.  Prove your own fucking ignorance without me having to say one word.

Spike stretches his arms out to the side, popping them loudly before doing the same with his neck.  He begins walking forward toward the blacktop walking path, stepping into the sun.  He walks as we follow him along the way.

Spike:  The truth of the matter, Sean, is that I abided by the rules through my entire match against Spectre.  I played it clean, because ‘thems’ the rules.  If I wanted to play dirty, I am no stranger to extreme, hardcore, backyard, underground, bar room brawl-style fighting.  I would have knocked Spectre out in three hits and put him through a flaming table if it were allowed.  The fact stands that they were not.  Spectre bashed me with a chair when I wasn’t looking.  He should have been disqualified for doing that, and I would have walked away with my title.  Instead of whining and complaining about it, as I am sure someone like you would do, I spun him around and I knocked his ass out…

ONE! *clap*

TWO! *clap*

THHHREEEEE!

With one final clap, Spike continues walking again.  He has an almost wicked smile on his face now as he continues on.  A child runs a few feet in front of him with a dog on a leash.  Spike pauses just long enough to let them get some distance before starting back at his original pace.  He looks over to his side at the camera as he moves along.

Spike:  Batee can take credit for restarting the match, and claim that he is the sole reason I am still the champion, but the fact of the matter I that he helped me save face.  Instead of walking out with a win by disqualification, I walked out with a pinfall victory.  If you think that I don’t pay attention to what is going on around me, then you are the fool, Sean.  You and Batee might think I am his champion, but I am the World’s champion.  I am not owned by anybody.  Of course, you will find that out come next Sunday.

Spike comes along to a bench now to bask in the sunlight.  He has the perfect view of his children and girlfriend now, watching as they frolic around together.  The joy of watching them mixed with the anger boiling within him is shown as a purely stone-like expression.  He studies the scenario a bit more, stroking his chin lightly in his silence.  He straightens out his black jeans, removing the annoying ruffle as he speaks again.

Spike:  And then you want to talk about blindsiding a champion who had no idea he was supposed to defend his title.  You have the nerve to call me out for the way things went down with Spectre and I, yet you went way below the belt by doing what you did to him.  He came out to promote the match he and I were about to have, and you put a knife in his back.  If you are trying to lecture me on honor, then anything you have to say on the subject is falling on deaf ears.  Pot calling the kettle black?

Spike shakes his head, baffled by the claims of his opponent.  He offers a soft chuckle at the ridiculousness as he lifts up his shirt just a little bit.  He shows off the NWA World Heavyweight Championship belt, giving Sean one last look at it before their meeting as a silent warning that it will never happen.  He brings his shirt down with a cocky, devious smile on his face.

Spike:  Each second that passes makes me want to kick your ass that much more.  Hearing the hypocrisy that comes spewing out of your mouth makes my blood boil.  At no point have I ever agreed to get help from Batee.  As a matter of fact, I don’t want it.  I don’t need it.  See, the reason I asked you to meet me in the real world is because you are so delusional, dumb, naïve… I haven’t figured out which of those yet… and you jump to all of these conclusions about me.  When I asked you to join us in the real world, it was a legitimate request.

A gust of wind sends leaves blowing past him on the bench.  Another crowd of children, carrying balloons and stuffed animals from the zoo, walk by, chattering with each other as they move along.  Next, a bicyclist rides by on the path, but Spike hardly pays them any mind as he is focused on the task at hand.

Spike:  Your head is so far up your ass.  Am I repeating myself?  Yes I am, but that is because you just… don’t… get it!  I am the best in the world, and you couldn’t hold a candle to me.  I find it heartwarming that you believe you are.  It almost makes me sad that I have to crush your dreams, but I am not done realizing mine.  You are right about one thing, though.  I knew I could beat Jack Kraven.  I was even more sure that I could beat Chris Xtreme.  The difference is that I could, and I did.  Call me a cocky prick, but there is no way in hell I will ever let you beat me.

Spike gets intense as he goes along with his rant, poking his finger into his chest as he speaks.  He is leaned forward on the bench, his eyes and nostrils are nearly the size of saucers as he pauses.  He takes in a long, deep breath as he tries to calm himself down a bit.  He closes his eyes and moves his lips as if he were counting to himself before slowly opening them to speak once more.

Spike:  I called myself your nightmare, because I am the one who will shatter your preconceived notions of this sport.  I will take you to your limits, and I will make you feel pains that you never though possible.  I am making it my mission to make you regret coming up against me, and I will make you wish you never tried getting inside of my head.

Spike knocks on the side of his head for emphasis.  He straightens his back out, popping it as he leans back on the wooden bench casually.  He places his hands on his knees as his eyes darken.  He relaxes his posture a bit before flicking his tongue across his lips, getting a sick joy out of the demented things he is beginning to imagine for Sean Jackson.

Spike:  Now… as for your claims about my girlfriend…

Spike’s eyes wander over to Vixen who is still running with the kids.  As if she knew he was thinking of her, she looks back to him and gives him a heartwarming smile.  He forces one of his own in return, but as soon as she looks away, it turns even darker than before.  Spike lets out a bellowing laugh and then quickly covers his mouth to stifle it.

Spike:  I’m sorry.  Is it unprofessional for me to laugh?  Better yet, am I going to be in the dog house for laughing, or even better, what I am about to say?  You must think you are carrying some big balls, don’t you Andy Kaufman?  As if it is supposed to impress anybody that you beat on a woman who is half your size?  Trained military or not, it is still sad my friend.

Spike nods his head along with his statement.  His skin crawls in utter delight as the demented thoughts continue to pile upon each other.  He flashes his pearly white teeth at the camera as his eyebrows jolt up in ecstasy.  He knows he shouldn’t feel this joy building up in him, but the wait is simply killing him.  However, he controls it as his eyes continue to dance over Vixen as she tumbles onto the ground with Eden.  They laugh as Spike turns back to the camera.

Spike:  Vixen is pretty headstrong about things, I will give her that.  However, where I come from, you don’t hit a lady.  It is disgusting, and it proves just how much of a man you really are.  If it were strictly business, unfortunately the lines are rather fine in this line of work, but you enjoyed it…  You must be awfully proud of yourself for it, aren’t you?  You busted her open.  You made her bleed and the thought of it makes my blood boil.  I didn’t say a thing because it was Vixen’s decision to get involved with BACW, and I have to respect her decision.  See, it is one thing to get through the match and win because that is what you were booked to do.  To take things as far as you did speaks volumes about your character.  Where I come from, people would line up to take turns kicking you in the balls, because you don’t deserve to have them.

Spike pulls on the crotch of his pants to emphasize his point.  He gives them a couple jiggles before letting go and leaning forward.  He scoffs at the thought of Sean Jackson being a member of the male gender, leaning back on the bench as he runs his hands over his head, sliding them back over his messy black spiked hair.

Spike:  You brutally attacked her she had to get stitches all over her body.  You thoroughly enjoyed it, and it makes me fucking sick to my stomach with just how despicable you are, Sean.  And the icing on the cake is that you are bragging about it!  You really, truly do make me sick.  I will take pleasure in manhandling you to the point that you beg me to stop. I want to hear you plead with me, Jackson.  The thought of doing so makes me feel all tingly inside.  And that is all because you are a creep.  You are despicable, and I will make sure someone like you doesn’t get to represent this company as their World Heavyweight Champion.  I will ruin you, and as long as I am the champion, I will make sure you never lay a finger on MY championship.  Not to mention that I have been waiting for the time when I could get a match against you to treat you the way you treated Vixen.

Spike watches as his children come running in his direction from across the long field.  They shout out for him in excitement as Spike gives one final thought on the matter.

Spike:  This match is more personal than any match I have competed in recently.  I am dying to get in the ring with you.  I am itching to kick your ass all over that ring.  I long to watch the crimson regrets pouring out of your body.  I yearn to hear your screams of pain.  But most of all, I am looking forward to putting you exactly where you belong… back in the shark tank after I pin your shoulders to the mat for the three count.  If I have it my way, you will be on the verge of a career-ending injury.  But I won’t destroy you, because I want to see if you learned your lesson.  I will see you on Sunday, Mister Jackson…

Just as Spike says this, his daughter comes crashing into him, nearly knocking the breath out of him with her velocity.  His mood changes like the flick of a switch as he begins laughing with her.  Vixen comes up to them, her chest heaving as she smiles.  She sits down on the bench next to him as his son reaches the bench. Eden begins incoherently chattering on about something as the scene fades… TO BLACK!


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


Whether she likes it or not, I will avenge her.  I will avenge my own honor by proving to the world that I am not a champion because of luck.  I get to kill two birds with one stone.  I am counting down the days, Mr. Jackson.  The opportunity to achieve your greatest dreams is ticking away.  Your days of hopes and dreams are numbered.  If you don’t believe me, let’s consult the angels, shall we?  Let us see what the cards have to say about you and your chances of winning this match…

Interesting.  What have we here, but the “Freedom” card.  The angels never have a negative message to convey to the reader of the cards.  They have put it in a delicate manner.  You are free, Sean.  You are not to be saddled with the weight of being a World Champion.  You are free to do whatever you please, whenever you please without failing anyone.  You feel trapped by life conditions.  By drawing this card, the angels ask you to realize that you are your only jail keeper to surface in your own life.  Everything that you do in your life involves choice.  You are free to choose and choose again.  Ask God and the angels for guidance in your choices, and they will show you alternatives.

The angel cards are always peaceful and positive, and they never put things in a negative manner.  Unfortunately, I am not quite as positive.  This card means you WILL fail.  It means that you better start making a back up plan for what you are going to do after I humiliate you.  It says that you fucked up royally by pissing me off, and you better pray to God that I can stop myself from putting you on the shelf, son.

In other words, you don’t stand a chance…  If you want to live under the delusion that you do, then by all means, please continue.  It only means that when your dreams come crashing down on top of you, shattering into a million pieces, that you will feel the crushing blow of it that much harder.

I look forward to meeting up with you in the ring, Sean.  I have been waiting for a very… very long time.  Good luck, because you are damn sure going to need it…

 I am not one who likes dwelling in the past.  Sure, I could sit here, pissing and moaning about how bad my childhood was, but what is the point?  What good would that do me right now?  At the end of the day, I would still be sitting here, polishing up MY SCW Heavyweight Championship that is sitting next to MY NWA World Heavyweight Championship, reading MY Twitter feed, laughing MY ass off at these jokers who want to put me down, and put my organization down.  And for what?  Because they tried to screw me out of my SCW title, and it backfired on them?  First off, you have my uncle all but denouncing me all over Twitter, saying that his meal ticket, Kevin Carter, could beat me any day of the week.  If that were true, why did he have to single out the one day of the month that I am unavailable for SCW booking?  Why didn’t he come at me for a fight when I would actually be there?  It is because he is a coward, Erik.  He couldn’t beat me on my worst day.  He couldn’t beat me if he barged into my house at four in the morning, waking me up with a chair shot to the head.  It just couldn’t happen, kind sir.  Side note, both of those words are used VERRRRRRRRY loosely.

Speaking of Mr. Carter… Oh, I have got a lot to say about him, but most of that will have to wait for my lovely interview.  However, he said many things about me.  He is more ENTERTAINING than me?  Funny, because when his face winds up anywhere near the fans line of sight, you can hear them yawning between boos.  The asshole gimmick was played out by Blade Alexander.  He is more OVER than me?  Interesting, because people in the locker room are still trying to figure out who the hell this guy is, let alone the fans…  He is BETTER than me?  Like I said before, if this were true, he would have cashed in his title shot on a day where I would actually be there.  He is BIGGER than me? HA!  Literally and figuratively, I tower over him.

And Ms. Andretti… The bubbly little dim-witted blonde from Los Angeles.  We have had many problems in the past with you sticking your nose in my business, my brother’s business, and my ex-fiancé’s business.  Of course, we were on opposite ends of the spectrum at that time, as everyone hated the sight of my face back then.  Then, you come back into our lives on Climax Control last week.  I had to wonder what my uncle told you that would make such a sweet, innocent little girl decide to join up with him.  Then I realized, any idiot could spin a web of lies around you, and you would believe it was cotton candy.  Just know that when he is done with you, he won’t hesitate to have you disposed of very quickly.  Then your shockingly, half way witty jab at me on a social media site from hundreds of miles apart might not seem like such a good idea sweetcheeks.  Unlike my uncle, some broad with an open mouth can’t persuade me to put my neck on the line for her worthless ass.

Now children, I have said this before and I will say it again.  I don’t plaster my every thought and every grudge over Twitter.  I promote my matches and promos, say an occasional thought on a match, and sign out.  I am not a child who thinks it is “cool” or “awesome sauce” to flame others online.  Maybe I am just ”OVER the hill” that way.  Call me old-fashioned all you want, but I prefer to keep the trash talk for my promos, and the ass beating in the ring.  I have never, and will never, back down from a challenge.  Call me a coward all you want, but if any asshole wants to jump in the ring with me, I will put them in their place the way I have for the last year and a half around here and through the NWA.  If not, I will give it all I got, but I will NEVER run away from a fight.  EVER!

I swear I had a point that wasn’t about childish actions.  What was it, what was it…?  Never mind, it was about my uncle Erik, so it actually was about childish actions after all.  If I had one thing that ever bothered me the most, it was how my uncle and I got to this point.  He used to be the cool uncle that would slip you candy when your parents said it was too late for it.  He was the guy who would come over with “WWF: There Goes the Neighborhood” on NES, and play on two player with Jamie and I, letting us win so we felt like hot shit.  How did we go from being best buds to going for each other’s throats?  If he and I could have a civilized conversation, I would ask him that…


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

The young, spiky raven-haired kid sitting in the back row of chairs is wearing a numb expression on his face.  He doesn’t move his head, only his eyes.  Everyone around him is crying in their fanciest black clothing, which for a lower middle-class family, that doesn’t say much.  He is wearing a cheap little black suit with a thin black tie over a pressed white shirt.  His hands rest calmly in his lap as he hunches over, taking in the entire picture.  His mother is wailing loudly next to a display of white roses.  She falls into a much younger looking Erik Staggs’ arms, weeping into his shoulder as he leads her off to a side door with a curtain hanging in front of it.  He can’t help but hear the elegant music playing in the background because it makes him think of a classy dinner party in a big banquet hall, like off of The Shining during one of Jack Nicholson’s famous hallucinations.  He finds it tender and comforting for only a mere minute until he looks around the room of strangers who are weeping.  He spots a five year old Jamie walking with a baby Tommy, holding his hands up above his head, taking it extra slow with Tommy as he whispers words of encouragement.  Spike looks just a little to the left, seeing an elderly man pulling out a padded bar from in front of the shiny black box everyone is making a big fuss over.  The man kneels down, placing his index and middle finger against his forehead, before moving it down to his stomach.  He moves it to his right pectoral, and then to his left before pressing both hands together.  He whispers some prayer as he runs his fingers over a set of rosary beads.  This intrigued Spike just a little bit as he watched the silver cross dangle from the necklace.  Each glossy bead holds onto his attention until the next one comes along.  There might as well be nothing else in the room besides the man, the beads, Spike, and that soothing music.  A few minutes later, a hand jolts Spike back to this past reality, and the young boy jumps.  He looks up at the person the hand belongs to, studying the sweet elderly face of the woman staring back at him.

Spike:  Oh, high oma.

Oma:  My sweet, dear Spike.  My poor boy, come give your oma her hugs, ja?

The thick German accent almost makes it hard to understand what she is saying at first.  Spike lets a faint smile appear on his face as he reaches over and gives her a big hug.  The sweet woman nearly purrs, speaking kind words to her grandson as she caresses him gently.  He sits there as she goes on in words he couldn’t even begin to fully understand as she rubs her fingers through his hair.

Oma:  I never thought I would see the day when mein Robbie would leave this Earth.  No parent ever should, mein kleines Wunder.  Ohhh how you look just like him.  As he looked like his father, and his father looked like his father before him.  Let me see that sweet face, kind.

Spike pulls back for just a moment.  He looks back at her, a single tear forming in the corner of his eye.  She forces a smile on her own face, but she isn’t as successful in holding back the flood.  The overhead light causes her face to become illuminated to the point she almost seemed to glow.

Oma:  It is okay.  Let it out child.  You are far too strong for a boy your age.  The burdens you carry…

Mutter, ist es Zeit… (Mother, it is time…)

She chokes back her tears and gives Spike one last strong embrace, speaking indistinctly in German once more in between sniffles.  Spike nods his head as the elegant elderly lady stands up from the seat.  She walks toward the exit as Spike watches her.  His eyes follow her as she meets up with Spike’s father in the doorway.  Spike smiles slightly as his father tips his top hat in Spike’s direction before the two disappear into a haze of light.  Spike doesn’t have much time to relish in it before a small hand tugs on the sleeve of his jacket.  Spike is sitting sideways in the chair as he slowly looks over.

Jamie:  Tommy pooed his self.  Dumb babies don’t know how tuh use the big boy potties.

Spike:  You just stopped pooping in your pants last summer, Jamie.

Spike rests his eyes on Jamie who scrunches his face up at him.  Spike nudges him playfully, but Jamie doesn’t find it very funny as he slaps Spike’s arm.  Meanwhile, Tommy is fussing as his knees buckle.  Jamie keeps his hands held tightly while pushing his upper lip against his nose in dismay.  Spike sighs and picks Tommy up along with the bright blue diaper bag.  He drags the bag on the way toward the viewing room’s exit.  He shoves his way into the bathroom, on his way over to the changing table stall.  Tommy cries as Spike sets him down on the cold steel table, flinging the bag up next to his little brother.  He clinches his eyes closed as the floodgates open.  He whimpers as he tries to power through the changing.  The door flings open as a low toned grunting is heard, followed by a loud, drawn out sigh.  Spike sniffles, trying to hold it back, but it doesn’t seem to work very well now that his guard has been let down.  He unclips one side of the diaper before letting out a whiny voice as low as he can.

Spike:  Ohhh, Tommy… What’d you eat, a skunk?

Soon after, he hears a familiar voice call out his name questioningly.  He tries to choke it all back, letting out a small whimper.  The door slowly opens as Erik walks in with his eyes planted firmly on the ceiling.

Erik:  Are you okay, kiddo?

Spike wipes at his face quickly and sniffs up what he can to hide the evidence of crying, but it is of no use.  Erik slowly looks down with a grimace on his face.  He pulls off a few pieces of tissue and cleans Spike’s face up before leaning down to his level.  Tommy kicks as he squeals in dismay, but Erik tunes it out for just a second.

Erik: This is the kind of garbage I told them about.  You are not an adult, you are a kid.  You shouldn’t have to change shitty fucking diapers.

Erik sighs, running his hands over his slicked back blonde hair.  He unsnaps the other side of the diaper and winces, making a face as he pulls out a few wipes.  He hesitates for a few seconds longer before getting hands deep in the mess.

Erik:  You should be running around, playing with your cousins, trying to get your mind off of things, not taking care of your brothers.  I should be the one doing this for you after such a loss.

Spike:  It’s okay.  I just miss him.  I read in a book that it’s okay to feel like that when you lose a parent.

Erik:  That… that right there is maturity well beyond your years, and I hurt for you every fucking day I hear you sound more adult than your own parents ever fucking did.  I have half a mind to get custody from her and let you be a damn kid for once in your life.

Spike looks at his uncle with bloodshot eyes as the tears start to dry from his cheeks.  He lowers his head in disappointment but doesn’t make a sound as Erik continues on with his speech.  Erik throws his hand up in the air, looking up and shaking his head in response to what he is saying.  Finally, Spike looks up slowly with a quizzical look on his face.

Spike:  Did I do something wrong, uncle Erik?  If you want, I can run around with Sebastian and Gunter and Jamie, but mom needs to watch Tommy.

Erik drops the diaper in a waist basket as he dusts his hands off for a job well done.  He slides Tommy’s pants up and picks the child up.  He leans down and looks at Spike with a bit of life we no longer see today.  He gulps a bit as he studies Spike’s face, looking apologetic and disappointed at the same time.

Erik:  No, you are just being who you have been taught to be.  The only thing wrong with it is that you haven’t been allowed to properly mature to the age of nine.  You went from diapers to silently wearing the pants in the family.  You are the strongest man in that house, and you always have been, but you should be allowed to be a kid.  If you want to play with them, I will watch Tommy.  It’s your choice.

Spike thinks it over for a moment and then a smile creeps onto his face for a faint moment.  Erik goes to ruffle Spike’s hair, but stops, shaking his head side to side.  Spike pushes the unlocked stall door open and they both move over to the sink.  Erik puts Tommy down and he holds onto Erik’s leg as both men wash their hands.

Spike:  Before I play, I want to see him.  I’m afraid to look all by myself and Jamie won’t look at all.  He’s too scared.

Erik:  Let’s go take a look.  I will be there the whole time.  It is a good way to say goodbye one last time.  If you change your mind, it’s okay too.

Spike nods his head as he grabs onto the towel machine and wipes his hands dry.  He picks Tommy up as Erik does the same, and they both walk out of the bathroom together.  They walk back into the room and Spike would swear to this day that it was the longest walk he has ever taken.  He steps slowly toward the casket, one inch at a time.  Erik puts one hand on his shoulder as they move forward.  Everyone around them whispers to one another as they watch Spike move.  Spike gulps once they pass the chairs, and he looks back to Erik who gives him a warm smile.  Spike looks back to the box and continues walking with Tommy in his arms.  Spike gets to it, but can’t look yet.  His eyes rest on a senior picture of his father.  Spike clams up a bit, wanting to shy away when Erik starts to pull him away.  Spike shakes it off and walks over to the casket, looking on the other side of the roses.  They feather across his line of vision, softening the tone ever so slightly.  He looks down at the pasty man.  He looked like he was wearing lots of make up, but in essence, it still looks like his father, sleeping peacefully.  Tommy’s dark eyes light up as he reaches out.

Tommy:  Dah-dah!  Wekup dah-dah.

Erik purses his lips, showing the same restraint as Spike.  He gently takes Tommy from his arms as Spike places his small hands on the casket.  He looks down as if he was trying to say something in his mind.  He stares there for a total of a minute, but it felt like an hour.  He nods his head, as he and Erik walk off.  Jamie comes running up to them quickly as if he were so amazed.

Jamie:  You looked?!  Whudareyou crazy?  Yer gonna have nightmares for like a year!

Spike shakes his head gently as Tommy looks back at the box, grabbing his hands out at their father’s body.  He fusses to go back, so Erik takes Tommy from Spike to return to the casket.  Spike shows a relieved face.

Spike:  No.  I kinda feel better coz I feel like I get to see him again.  He just looks like he’s asleep.

Jamie:  Nuh uh!  You just want me tuh have nightmares too and I ain’t gonna look!

Spike:  I promise.

Jamie:  Cross yer heart?

Spike:  And hope to die…

Jamie:  … an stick a needle in yer eye?  You really mean it?

Spike nods his head slowly so Jamie understands how serious he is.  Jamie reluctantly turns as Spike holds his brother’s hand.  They walk up to the casket and Jamie puts his hands over his eyes.  Spike nudges him a little and Jamie slowly pulls his hands out like blinds.  He stares for a moment at his father as Spike holds an arm around him.  Erik wraps an arm around both as they pay homage together as a family.


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


I don’t know when it happened, but I know that there is no turning back from it now.  What is done is done. Moving on to the present, we have a power hungry jackass who has a large portion of the Sin City roster drinking his Kool-Aid.  He has so many people fooled into thinking he can magically attain power from “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward and Christian Underwood.  I have not heard him come out with any real information that would make me believe it was true.  The only way it would be true is if more and more people step forward and side with him.  Then it isn’t about him anymore, it is about the roster and the empty promises he is making them.  When it is time to cash in those promises, he will find a way to get rid of them, or get rid of you.  That is how he is, and how he always has been.

Never once has my uncle been successful in his career aspirations.  He tried to be a top tier wrestler.  He failed.  He tried to run an underground wrestling company in St. Louis.  Aside from getting some notoriety for a few current SCW stars, he failed.  He tried running a wrestling talent agency that showcased wrestlers abilities once every few months.  After a year… he failed that too.  He tried coming into a wrestling management role where he was sure he would be successful with two of the hottest wrestlers from five years ago.  What happened there?  He failed, so he through a big baby fit and started organizing a rebellion.  If the past is any indication on how that’s going to turn out, he will fail there too.

The only thing he didn’t fail at was pushing me further into my dream of becoming a professional wrestler, and showing me how to attain any goal I set my mind to.  No matter how much I try to show my appreciation, the jackass rubs it in my face while hiring someone to drive a knife in my back.  He raised me from the age of nine, and played a significant role in my life since I was born.  Over the last decade, that role has been a pain in my ass.  I always showed respect toward him for everything he’s done, but I will not stand by any longer.


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


The screen is dark, but a low buzzing sound can be heard in the background.  There is a mediocre pop as the light flashes on for a brief second.  During that time, you are able to see a leather chair sitting in the middle of a room.  As you try to take in more of the scene with your eyes, the light goes out.  That buzzing sound gets just a little bit louder, causing a tinge of feedback in the microphone in the form of an electrical squealing that lasts about four seconds before dying down to a background noise.  Another surprise pop shows a championship belt sitting on the left arm of the leather chair.  It is the NWA World Heavyweight Championship.  As our eyes try to focus in the short timeframe we have to study the scene, the light goes off again.  Within a few seconds it pops back on, making a crackling noise.  We see the SCW Heavyweight Championship sitting on the right arm of the chair.  We catch a glimpse of what appear to be snowflakes gently wafting along in the air.  After only a second longer, the lights go out again, but not before we see the image of a ghostly face moving in from the shadows slowly.  With the lens focused on the chair, the face is blurred beyond any sort of recognition.  The footsteps echo within the dark room as they slowly approach us, getting louder as they come.

”These are dark times.  These times where hopes are merely quick flashes of light, surrounded by nothing but darkness.”

The low toned, booming voice belongs to none other than... Spike Staggs.  Well, who did you think it was?  What?  You knew?  Even Michelle Andretti knew that one?  DAMN!

The footsteps creep up upon us as yet another flash of light shows Spike Staggs sitting in the chair, dressed in his usual black leather jacket, stylishly tattered black jeans, studded leather boots, a tow chain wrapped around his neck, and a ring on every finger.  The gem upon his face is the piercing blue-grey eyes, staring directly at us, as cold as the arctic tundra.  He simply stares into our souls as the lights flicker out once again.  A soft chuckle escapes Spike’s lips in the dark, echoing throughout the large, mostly empty space.  Periodically, a few glowing embers fly across the darkened screen as Spike speaks once again.

Spike:  To borrow a line from Aaron Eckhart, a la Harvey Dent of The Dark Knight… “The night is always darkest before the light.”  People are probably laughing at me right now because of the context.  How could I possibly compare the reign of Terror on Gotham City caused by The Joker to what is going on right now in SCW?  It is simple…

A loud popping noise causes a faint flicker of light, followed by another as the florescent light above the chair fights to stay on once again.  It fails its first attempt, but another pop causes an intense light to pulse through the long bulbs.  Spike’s eyes are still training on the captivated audience or the camera lens at least.  The look on his face is more serious than any other time that we have seen him.  The light fizzles out once again, as the gentle stream of white flakes turn to small, glowing orange dots, floating along the cameras line of sight.

Spike:  With the exception of last week, we have seen multiple attacks on Bombshells and male stars alike.  Even I fell victim to these attacks.  All of NXT did, and many others.  Very few have put the pieces together, but the orders and executions all came down from our very own version of The Joker, and his thugs.  Furthermore, no one has been able to stop them.  They sneak in when we have our guards down.  They terrorize us, and few have stepped up to try stopping them until last week.  We are united, but that doesn’t give us an advantage over them.

Another pop sends the lights back on long enough to see Spike sitting forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, and his palms pressed together, tapping the soul patch of his chin.  He is slowly shaking his head from side to side.  The light fades out, and then pops again, and again, causing a strobe effect for a few moments as Spike’s eyes widen.

Spike:  Why would it?  They have shown time after time that they are more united than we could ever be.  Think about it.  Other than Giani Di Luca considering jumping ship, they have shown us nothing less than a united front.  They get along with one another perfectly.  Even two arch enemies have buried the hatchet, and not in each other’s backs for once.  No matter how much we try, many of us will never be able to trust Mark Ward.  We try to deny it, but we won’t.  I hardly respect the man, but I fight by his side because it is what I feel to be right in my heart.

Spike looks up to the camera just as the light crackles on once again.  He remains silent through the flickering for a moment until he adjusts his posture.  His back cracks loudly, followed by his neck as he jerks it to the right.  His jaw tightens as he sighs in relief.  He closes his eyes as the light goes out again.

Spike:  The only thing I will agree with my uncle on is that Team Erik isn’t a joke.  Everyone watched us clear house last week, and they loved every minute of it.  It boosted morale in the locker rooms for Team SCW, but I hardly found it worthy of celebration.  If I know my uncle at all, it is because we think alike.  If it were me, I would be plotting revenge of the worst kind right now.  I would step up my game, and stick it to each and every person who made a fool of me.  With a group of such immensity backing me up, I would expect a lot of retaliation this week.  My point is that we are still a while off from the darkest moments of the night.  I am considering this the twilight.  When the time comes, call me… Batman.

The light struggles to come on once again, but to no avail.  The burning embers floating across the screen grow in size as an orange flame ignites to the right of Spike.  It crackles as it slowly rises, half an inch per minute on average.  Spike takes in a deep breath as the flame only illuminates the upper left side of his face.  The flame dances in his eye as he continues on.

Spike:  As your Dark Knight, I am ready for a battle.  Clash of the Champions part two and it is an honor to be in it.  It is a time when the Heavyweight and Roulette Champions must find a way to team together, despite the fact that neither has likely ever worked together before.  We must face off against a group of men who have made it far enough as a team to take out any other tag team in the company, many of which share such strong bonds that have been able to withstand the tests of time.  In Sin City Wrestling, you have to be prepared for anything.  I am more than ready to prove myself once again. As a matter of fact, I am giddy as a fucking school girl to get the opportunity to step in the ring for this match.

The corner of Spike’s eye curls up slightly as it narrows, glowing joyfully in the light of the flame.  He lets out a muffled giggle as he contemplates the possibilities and the brutality that will likely take place.  He is completely overcome by the thought, but he finds the restraint within himself to compose himself once again.  After a deep breath, he focuses once again.

Spike:  Before I send out messages to my opponents, let me first show a sign of respect to my partner.  Thatcher Rex, I am happy about the opportunity to team up with you.  I have seen what you can do in the ring, and I am very impressed.  You represent exactly what the New X-Tremes is all about.  You go against the grain, you do it in style, and you get results.  I understand the lone wolf act, but if we expect to give Team SCW the edge in this match, we need to co-exist in the ring together, and figure out a way to get on the same page.  If we want this match to swing in our favor, we need unity, because our opponents definitely have it.  Do you think you could make an exception, just this once, in the name of loyalist unity?

Spike hangs on the question for a moment, allowing his message to resonate.  He softly blinks as his eye seems trained on us again.  The flame has risen up enough to where only his eyes, his defined eyebrow, and the mess of black spikes are seen now.  The soft glow gives an almost menacing look as it goes higher.

Spike:  “AMAZING” Ace Baldwin… Simply amazing, you say?  You definitely have potential here in Sin City.  Sadly, you killed it the second you decided to join Team Erik.  You could have gone places if you stood on Team SCW instead.  Now, you are on a slippery slope to the bottom of the barrel along with the rest of his angry and jealous team of misfits.  Many of us in SCW are making it our mission to ensure my uncle doesn’t make it very far, and every one of you will be remembered only as those people who threw a bitch fit because they weren’t handed unearned opportunities.  It really is a shame, because you have the talent.

Spike looks as if there is some sort of regret in his eyes.  A faint shadow of Spike’s shoulder rises up beside him as the regret melts away from his face.  He sighs and then looks over toward the flame.  He studies it for a second and then returns his focus back to the camera.

Spike:  Had you decided differently, this match wouldn’t be as exciting, now would it?  Not only is this the second installment of Clash of the Champions, but it is also Clash of the Alliances.  Thanks to your poor choice, at least we have the opportunity to get more recognition for this match, and make it a true Main Event.  Because of your idiotic decision, there is more than just pride riding on this match.  Whoever wins this one will put an important mark in the win column for which ever side takes it, leading up to Hostile Takeover.  I hate to break it to you, buddy, but that will be Thatcher Rex and Spike Staggs bringing it home for Team SCW.

Spike’s eye opens up widely as he steadies it on the camera.  Another loud pop causes the light to turn on for twice as long as it had previously been on.  As it fades out, the flame is seen as more intense than it had previously been.  They lash out from the corner of our line of vision, barely making their presence known aside from the faint light cast upon Spike’s body.

Spike:  Let’s see.  Who am I forgetting to mention…?  Who has been a pain in my ass for the last couple of weeks?  It is someone who I am very happy about the prospect of wrapping my hands around his throat and choking him until he turns blue in the face.  Hang on, it will come to me.  It is someone who has this undeserved sense of entitlement that walks around here with this expression that makes me think he’s got a stick up his ass… and he is loving it.  Who could it be… OH!  Erik Staggs.  No… He matches the description, but that’s not right because he’s too old to do anything inside of a wrestling ring these days.  But I can’t help feeling like I’m getting warmer here.

Spike thinks about it really hard.  He taps his chin, deep in thought.  He points up as an excited look takes over his face before quickly disappearing.  He shakes his head from side to side in disappointment.  He throws his hands up in frustration.

Spike:  Obviously this person doesn’t mean shit around here, or I would remember them.  Is it Giani Di Luca?  That has got to be it.  Wait, he’s too afraid of actually getting near an SCW championship, or else he would work his ass off to try getting one.  Plus, no one could stand him long enough to be a Tag Team Champion with him…  Hawkes couldn’t be it for the same reason.  I’m going through this list, and I’m not coming up with anyone who makes sense.  “Primetime” Matthew Kennedy talks big game, but he always comes up a little short.  I think that is why every bombshell laughs when he walks by.  Tom Dudely was dead to SCW since he lost the tag titles a year ago…  Kevin Carter?

Spike’s eyes light up once again, but this time they stay that was as a silhouette of his lips curls upward.  He chuckles in satisfaction before leaning forward for the camera.

Spike:  DING! DING! DING!  We’ve got a winner folks.  The self proclaimed “Main Attraction” of Sin City…  That is very debatable.  See, a Main Attraction fights to win matches.  He doesn’t rely on count outs and disqualifications to win matches and maintain championships.  He goes out there and gives the fans a worthwhile fight that leaves them satisfied when they leave the venue.  I think I fit that bill way better than you ever could, little man.  I have held the championship you tried to screw me out of two weeks ago.  I held it for five months now, and I have done so by going out there and putting everything I have into winning.  If somebody told me I would be in a wheelchair by the time I was forty, I would tell them it has been worth it.  You would follow in the Nick Jones tradition and find easier ways to cheat for an easy victory.

Spike furls his eyebrows, becoming aggravated with the idea of someone like Kevin Carter becoming any champion.  He nearly shakes from the intensity of the anger he feels from such an absurd idea.  His hands contort in an odd formation as he tries to pull himself back to a state of calm.  He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath through his flared nostrils before finally calming down.

Spike:  Unlike my feelings toward your tag team partner, I actually hold a contempt for you.  I have this deep-seeded hatred for you, Kevin.  You remind me of Nick Jones, the man I worked so hard to defeat so that I could restore honor to our top championship.  Worse than that, you remind me of Blade Alexander, a self-entitled little prick that bitches and moans when things don’t go his way.  Both men made a mockery of me, and both had their dreams and aspirations gutted right before their very eyes.  I have been in this business for more than a decade, and I have dealt with your kind before.  They are a dime a dozen

Spike adjusts himself in his seat, crossing one foot onto his knee.  He leans back in his chair, tapping at his labret piercing as he contemplates.

Spike:  The ones who surprise me are the cocky ones who talk the talk, and then step in the ring and back it up without having to use cheap tactics.  Unfortunately, that isn’t you, Carter.  If it were, then you would have called me every name in the book, and then waited for me to get back from Manhattan to challenge me for the heavyweight belt.  Instead, you wanted to try to make me look like a jackass and challenge me when you knew I wasn’t going to be there.  You tried to break a fragile Team SCW by taking away my championship, my pride, and my fans.  Not only did you fail in all three of those categories, but you made Team SCW stronger and more united.  You fucked up, Carter.  You lit a fire under my ass, and now I’ve got the scent of your blood on my mind.  You’ve awakened my bloodlust, and it won’t be satisfied until I see you bleed.

Spike gets a wicked grin on his face as he pauses, allowing another moment for his point to get through.  He puts his foot back down on the ground, leaning down and putting his hands together as he licks at his teeth.  He doesn’t allow the raging fire to his side to distract him any as he continues on.

Spike:  You might think that you are what every wrestler in this business wants to be, but last time I checked, nobody wants to have they nose up Erik Staggs’ ass.  Nobody wants to stroke an ego to get recognition in this world.  Of course, you are so full of yourself that you don’t even realize what is going on around you.  You think he is kissing your ass because you got some defunct championship belt that I held for a year, and several after the company went under.  He pried my name off of that belt before he gave it to you, Kevin.  You are lusting after my property so bad, because what?  Do you want to be me?  Is that what this is all about?  Are you some grade school child who has a crush on someone, and instead of having the balls to admit it, they sit behind them pulling their hair and throwing spitballs at them?  Get a fucking clue and grow the fuck up!  This isn’t the second grade, it is adulthood.  Please join us at your earliest convenience.  Maybe when your testicles drop from your abdomen, then I will take you seriously, Kevin.  I am bigger, better, stronger, more over, more talented, more experienced, more entertaining, more liked, and more hung.  Face it. I am better than you in every possible way.  That is why I come home to someone like Vixen while you dredge along on your home to someone like Amy Marshall.  That’s got to feel like making love to a herpes infested paper bag, you ball-less sonuvabitch!

Spike nearly hisses at the camera as he lunges forward.  His eyes are wide and his nostrils are as round as saucers as he stares, shaking.  He holds onto the arms of the chair, keeping himself seated for the moment.  The burning to his side snaps him back to reality finally, and he simply clinches his jaw before calming himself down completely.

Spike:  Who do we have to thank for this man child running around acting like he means something in this company?  That’s right, Erik Staggs.  His ego is contagious.  Look at Giani Di Luca under his leadership.  He can’t own up to a single loss even though he has suffered a number of them.  He is the only undefeated wrestler that I know who has lost like three times in recent history.  My uncle has that effect on people because he has never earned a damn thing in his life, other than my momentary respect as a child, and he shit all over that.  He is pompous, and that is his most redeeming quality.  He wants to take this from a beef with the bosses and make it personal?  This is a realm I am familiar with, uncle dearest.  Send your boys my way, and Thatcher and I will turn them into Bitch Du-Jour.

Spike finally stands up from the seat, pulling a small chain on the malfunctioning light.  The buzzing in the room stops as we see bigger chunks of flaming embers fly in the direction of Spike.  He stands amidst them, pulling his jacket over his bare chest and abdomen.  He picks up his titles, putting them over his shoulders and smiling as he slowly walks toward the flames, one very slow step at a time.  He pauses just short of the wall of fire, turning back to the camera with a finger pointed in the air for importance.

Spike:  I am going to walk out to that ring on Sunday, Erik.  I am going to stand side by side with Thatcher Rex, and I am going to dominate your little meal tickets and prove that Team SCW has the best of the business.  Do you want to know why we always get the title shots, Erik?  Unlike your pathetic fools who follow you, we win… consistently.  We climb up the ladder, one rung at a time.  We don’t expect things to be handed to us because they are worth nothing unless you fight for them.  TRUE champions prove their worth so that their title belts mean something.  Not only will we beat them, Erik… we will watch as they go up in flames!

Spike takes a few more steps forward, standing right in front of the fire.  His sweat begins to trickle down his chest as his jacket falls open once more.  His hair slowly sticks to his forehead as he smirks.  He poses for the camera, putting his arms out to his side as if flexing.  He holds it there for a second until he slowly points up at the ceiling.  He nods his head as he begins laughing a sadistic laugh.  The camera slowly works up the walls of fire to see the flames eating up two twenty foot banners with pictures of both “Amazing” Ace Baldwin and Kevin Carter.  The flames whip at their faces, leaving scorch marks as Spike’s laughter gets louder.  We focus on the raging flames that consume the faces of both men as we fade out… TO BLACK!

 We fade into a dimly lit living room where E.T. is playing on the small television.  Elliot has just discovered his best friend is dead.  His light has been extinguished as Elliot wails over the vessel.  His cries continue as we pan out to see clutter strewn about the tired looking home.  A young four year old boy colors in a magazine on the floor, humming some nursery rhyme.  His dark brown hair is combed over to the side as he sits there, completely amused, and paying no mind to the faint yelling going on in the other room.  He sighs as he chooses a different color to put on young David Bowie’s face.  About ten feet behind him is a boy no older than eight years old is seen sitting in a black leather chair, holding onto a little blonde haired baby boy.  The raven-haired boy rocks back and forth as he tries tuning out the yelling by becoming absorbed in the movie.  He taps his foot impatiently and takes a big gulp.  The young baby whimpers in his arms, prompting the young boy to give him a bottle from the nearby end table.  The baby is fine now as he suckles away at the bottle.  The little boy on the floor looks back at the older one with a quizzical look on his face.

Jamie:  Spike?  Why do some boys wears make-ups on their faces?  Do they want to feel pretty?

The oldest boy scoffs at the notion and rolls his eyes.  He tries to ignore his younger brother as he watches the riveting alien come back to life by the frivolous notion of love.  His young mind doesn’t tune this out as impossible the way an adult mind would.  Instead, he nearly sheds a tear.

Jamie:  How come uncle Steve said I looked like a fruitcake when I painted my face with mom’s make up, but Davie Bowie can do it?

Spike:  I don’t know, Jamie!  God, why are you such a doofus?

Jamie:  I AM NOT A DOOFUS!  You’re a nerd bomber, ass face!

Before Spike can even try to reply to that, the baby in his arm spits the bottle out and starts crying loudly.  He screams and causes Spike’s cheeks to turn a bright shade of red.  He props his little brother up against his chest, patting his back gently as he bounces up and down with him.  He sends a glare at Jamie, accented with an ever so poignant raspberry.  Jamie throws a crayon at Spike, hitting him dead in the center of his forehead.  Jamie watches to see that Spike isn’t going to react before going back to drawing in the magazine.  Spike settles back in his chair, looking extremely aggravated.  Jamie goes back to humming as Spike tunes it all out.  He focuses only on his baby brother, bopping his up and down as he gets up from the chair.  He walks back and forth, kicking Jamie in the side as he goes.  Jamie shakes his fists in anger as he gets up.  He is ready to unleash his fury on Spike until they both hear the back bedroom door open.  A stone-faced man looking much like Spike as an adult emerges from the bedroom, followed quickly by a vase of a dozen roses.  The dark man clinches his eyes and looks back into the room.

Robbie Staggs: NOT … in front of the children!

He tries to whisper, but his harsh tone echoes off of the walls.  The conversation continues, but the yelling has turned to harsh whispers.  Spike stares down the hallway with a look of disdain on his face for many moments until the front door opens up.  A young blonde man walks into the room with a big smile on his face.

Erik Staggs:  Geez, is this the Staggs’ residence, or a vampire’s nest?

Erik walks up to Spike and his jovial expression turns a bit solemn as he sees what Spike sees.  He takes a deep breath and then takes baby Tommy from him.  He coddles the child gently against his chest as he gives Spike a gentle pat on his back.

Erik:  You’re a great big brother, Spike.

Jamie:  No he isn’t.  He’s a mean big brother.

Spike grumbles to himself until he just boils over.  He leans down in Jamie’s face and shouts as loudly as he can while he scuffles with Jamie a little.

Spike:  Shut up dipshit!

Erik:  Hey, hey, hey… You two need to cut it out.  And Spike, you shouldn’t use that kind of language at your age.

Spike shows restraint, getting off of his little brother and hugs onto his uncle’s side.  In the mean time, He gets a better grip on the conversation between his brother and his sister-in-law.  He hands Tommy off to Spike once again and walks half way down the hallway before turning into the small bedroom.  Spike’s hopeful eyes soon disappear as he sulks back over to the couch with the crying infant still in his arms.  Jamie is lost in defacing the celebrities of the early 1980’s.  Spike closes his eyes, wishing he could be somewhere else right now.  It isn’t long before his mother, a short, petit red haired woman, comes and takes Tommy from Spike’s arms.  She coddles him, and immediately his crying ceases.  She plants a kiss on Spike’s forehead as a thank you and she walks off into the kitchen with the baby.  His father comes and takes a seat next to Spike, putting his arm around his son.  Through his disdain, Spike can’t help but melt in admiration.  His look of anger fades to a smile as his father runs his fingers through Spike’s slicked back hair.

Robbie:  Thank you for everything.  I know it is a lot to put on a child, and I am sorry that things are the way they are right now.

Spike:  Can I go with you?  I wanna see you and Uncle Erik wrestle in Texas.

Robbie smiles with pride as he presses his son’s head against his chest.  Spike gets excited at the anticipation, but the look in Robbie’s eyes says the one thing that would break Spike’s heart.

Robbie:  No, son.  I’m afraid the road isn’t the best place for a little boy.  We are going to be gone for two weeks.

Spike:  I am adult enough to watch my two brothers, but I am not allowed to go on a trip with you during the summer?  That’s not FAIR!

Spike pushes away from his dad.  As much as it may come as a surprise to his father, Spike is but a boy.  He begins throwing a fit, kicking his legs in the air violently and pounding his fists on the couch.  His father tries to calm him down, but Spike bats his hand away.  His eyes are on fire as he bares his teeth at Robbie.  He breathes frantically, puffing his chest in and out as his father looks alarmed.

Spike:  You only treat me like a kid when it is good for you!  I only wanna see you wrestle and you won’t let me.  You never let me!

Robbie:  You know that isn’t true.  You saw me wrestle in town last month at the Chase.

Loretta:  That’s right.  Your father doesn’t want you to interfere with hunting for hussies.  That really isn’t something a child should be exposed to.  You wouldn’t want to turn out like your father, now would you?

Spike doesn’t answer.  He doesn’t fully understand what his mother is saying as she leaves back toward the bedroom.  Robbie shakes his head from side to side, sighing loudly as he attempts to embrace his son.  Spike pulls away, still giving attitude.  Robbie runs his hands through his slicked back raven hair and looks down to Jamie.

Robbie:  The road is too dangerous, Spike.  I don’t want to see anything happen to my boys.  No one will be there to watch you two while Erik and I wrestle.

Spike:  Bull!  I will be there to watch Jamie.  I am obviously good enough to watch him and Tommy all the time, so how come this is different?  Is it because of the *air quotes* huskies?

Jamie turns around with a quizzical look on his face once more.  He quickly gets a grumpy expression on his face as he folds his arms across his chest.  He stares his dad down with that childish sort of injustice in mind.

Jamie:  Why does dad get a puppy?  I been asking for one for like a million-ty days!

Spike:  I don’t think they were talking about a puppy penis breath!

Jamie:  Hey!  If I can’t say ass face then why can you say penis breath?  Just i-cause it was in the movie doesn’t mean its okay for you to say!  Nothing is fair in this family!

Robbie chuckles as he leans back against the sofa, trying to find the safest way to speak to his children about the dangers of the road.  He doesn’t have long before Erik emerges from the back room carrying several bags in his hands.  He drops them down on the ground, revealing his Misfit’s T-shirt.  He dusts his hands off before looking directly at Spike.

Erik:  You think you are big enough for the road?  I packed bags for you and Jamie, now let’s see if you can handle it.

Robbie:  Uhhhh… Erik?  Don’t you think we should have talked about this before…

Erik:  Talked about what?  Do you mean, we should have talked about the welfare of your children?  I have a few opinions on that myself, ones that you don’t seem to see because you are too close to it.  But the point is that a little road trip might do some good for our future champions of the world, don’t you think?

Robbie clinches his jaw as he shoots visual daggers at his brother.  He forces a fake smile on his face as he tries to think of a nice way to object in front of the children.  When he isn’t presented with the proper opportunity, he only forces the smile on even bigger as Erik matches it with a sense of pride.  Robbie nods his head slowly.

Robbie:  Ohhhh-kay.  I… I guess we are all going on a road trip, just us men.

Spike:  Do you really mean it, dad?

Robbie:  Yeah.  Yeah, I really mean it son.

Jamie snaps out of his trance and jumps up excitedly.  He and Spike dance around the living room in excitement as Robbie shoots a disgusted look at Erik.  Erik shrugs it off and joins in on the playful dancing of the children.


The tiny pupil surrounded by an icy blue iris slowly begins to dilate a bit as Spike stares into the morning light.  It had been ages since Spike had remembered his father so vividly.  In a rough sort of way, it was like looking into a mirror of the future.  There were many things that Spike would fix within this image, but some things just couldn’t be changed.  Destiny had a hand in many things, and Spike’s track record with relationships wasn’t much better than his father’s.  The only difference is that Spike has never been married, and his father maintained relationships outside the sanctity of his marriage.  His thoughts begin racing at the speed of light through his mind as he sits up in his bed.  The only person that has seen Spike’s emotional scars and loved him even more for them is fast asleep in bed next to him.  He leans over, his expression changing from a deer in headlights to serenity.  He gently brushes back the chestnut brown hair with blond streaks, revealing the angelic sleeping face of Vixen.  He tucks the hair behind her ears and gently kisses on her cheek.  The morning star is doing its best to beckon Spike from the warm refuge of their white comforter and incredibly comfortable bed.  He isn’t having it as he just watches Vixen.

”This is unlike anything I have ever felt before.  I am more now than I have ever been.  I am loved by the fans.  I am loved by my children.  That hasn’t changed, but what has changed is the single most wonderful woman in the world has come into my life.  She doesn’t exploit me, or use me, or blame me.  She simply loves me in the deepest way possible.  And now, she has encouraged me to chase my dreams.  She showed me that I am not done doing what I love.  I am at the height of my career, eleven years into it.  I have the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Championship as well as the National Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship.  My region looks up to me.  The whole world looks up to me…”

Spike watches as Vixen takes in a deep breath, slowly exhaling it from her nose as she turns over in her sleep.  She buries her head in Spike’s chest without even realizing it as she continues to sleep.  Spike smiles and holds onto her gently.

”Of course, this doesn’t come without a cost.  I have to do what every other man who has run this course has had to do.  I have to work twice as hard to keep both belts around my waist.  I have to defend one of my belts in SCW and the other in any region they want me to go to.  I could be in Las Vegas one day, and say… Manhattan the next?  I am up for that challenge.  I live for that challenge.”

Spike smiles in satisfaction as he nods his head.  He runs his fingers through his messy black hair and basks in the morning sun.  As Vixen slowly turns over to her back, Spike takes another glance at her.  He gently moves her hair from her face, watching the hard-edged woman sleeping so peacefully.  He slowly moves his way from the bed and pulls on some flannel pajama bottoms.  He straightens out his black a-shirt and does one final stretch before moving toward the bedroom door.

”I was just informed a few days ago that, at the end of this month, I will be facing a man I know just a little about… The Spectre.  I am honored to say the least.  Who would have figured?  The champion is honored to face the challenger?  Doesn’t it usually go the other way around?  Shouldn’t he be excited to challenge me?  He is a great competitor with a lot of experience under his belt.  There are a few key similarities that I must admit will make this match one for the books.”

Spike walks down the hallway, peaking into his young daughter’s room.  He sees that she is still fast asleep, but not for much longer.  He steps into her room and looks down at her, admiring the one and only good thing that ever came from his relationship with Misty.  He gently tucks her blanket in and walks toward the doorway.

”I have come too far to let him win without one hell of a fight though.  I didn’t put my body through hell against Chris Xtreme to just let Spectre yank it all away from me.  Just because I have a sort of admiration for the guy, which is not to say that I would just lie down and let him pin my shoulders to the mat for the one, two, three.  I have a duty to the NWA and SCW to fight with everything I’ve got in me so that I remain a double champion. Part one against Rage for the SCW Heavyweight title has been taken care of.  My next challenge is going to be just as difficult, if not moreso.”

Spike walks across the hallway and peaks inside another room where his son is fast asleep.  He stares around, taking note of the mess the teenager has left about the room.  Not even this could ruin his cheerful mood.  He sees the mess of red hair and blanket stretched out and he simply shakes his head before leaving.  As he continues towards the stairs, he sees his black cat, Dero, and he reaches down to stroke the cat behind the ears.  Dero purrs before Spike slowly walks down the stairs.

”I am up for it.  I am actually excited to be taking part in one of the alliances biggest events, even if I am not in the main attraction match at Grinder 2013.  Last year, the world was shocked to see a Staggs taking part in Grinder, but this year they will be flat out astonished when they see what I am capable of doing.  We Staggs’ have a thing for drawing blood.  Jamie did quite a bit in the Grinder last year, taking out a handful of competitors.  This year will be no different if Spectre is as intense of a fighter as I think he is.  Between the two of us, we might just make the entirety of Grinder look like a skinned knee by comparison.  Anything for this championship belt, right?”

Spike walks into his study and picks up the NWA World Heavyweight belt and props it up on his knee.  He slowly begins shining it up, making it look as clean as possible.  He wipes away all of the fingerprints from Chris Xtreme and Mike Sloan, in a subconscious way to try removing any history either man has had with the belt.

”I want nothing more than to keep this belt on my shoulder.  I will do whatever it takes to make sure it stays there.  I will travel to any region and I will continue to amaze audiences across the world by putting on the best show possible.  I will fight only the best, to prove why I am the best of the best.  I let this belt go once before, but I will not let that happen again.  A near-death experience, saved only by the “One-Winged Angel” might have shaken me up then, but every time I go out to that ring and defend either title, I am taking a great risk on my life.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  From now on, I will not let this belt go without giving it two hundred percent at all times.  That is what a champion does, and I am ready for this responsibility now more than ever…”

Spike continues to polish the belt up as he hears the soft footsteps coming down the staircase.  He runs the rag over the brand new name plate as his eyes wander up toward the doorway.  His focus stays on it as the soft footsteps become just a touch louder.  He smiles a sensual sort of smile as he watches Vixen peak around the corner. She is wearing a black and red graffiti style New X-Tremes t-shirt that is a few sizes too big for her, almost looking more like a dress as it hangs just above the bottom of her perfectly toned glutes.  She is also wearing long black and red striped socks that come up to her knees, slowly walks over to Spike.  Her hair is slightly a mess as she leans over on his lap.  She pulls the NWA belt from his lap and smirks as she straps it around her waist.  His jaw drops down, but she slowly leans in and nibbles on his bottom lip.  He groans a little as she pulls away.  She leans back so that he can see her wearing the belt and she gets up to model it off for him.

Vixen:  This belt looks great on me.  Don’t you think?

Spike:  Would it be disrespectful to the National Wrestling Alliance if I said that it would look even better on my bedroom floor?

He smirks at her and she raises her eyebrows seductively, tempting him toward the door.  He quickly gets up from the chair and goes to grab the belt from her, but she holds onto his wrist.  She turns around, looking deep into his icy eyes and licking at her lips.  Her French-Canadian accent tickles his senses as she invites him in for the “chase”.

Vixen:  No need to be selfish, Spike.  You already have one.

Spike:  How about we make a deal.  You can wear it for two more minutes, and then I make good on my word, seeing how it looks on the floor?

She pouts her lips out, but Spike doesn’t give her a chance to answer as he presses his lips against hers.  He places his hand on the back of her head as they kiss for a moment.  Vixen removes her hands from his shoulders and then nudges him back a little bit.  She turns and walks toward the stairs, making sure he gets a good view of her backside, placing one foot on the bottom step.  She turns around and bites on her finger nail.

Vixen:  It is early yet.  We still have an hour or two before the kids wake up, and…

Before she has a chance to finish her statement, Spike perks up and a devious smile spreads over his face.  He runs up behind her, scooping her up as she squeals in delight.  He carries her up the stairs as we fade out…





”There is NO WAY!”

Spike is standing in the middle of the ring at his wrestling school, Staggs Dungeon.  The fans are blowing heavily as the music playing over the speakers comes to a dead stop.  Jamie blinks his eyes as he watches Spike give Vixen an almost deadly stare.  Jamie notices the key signs of a meltdown from Spike.  Eyes are nearly rounded? Check.  Flared out nostrils? Check.  Visible shakiness? Check.  Puffed out chest? Check.  Oh wait, he isn’t grinding his teeth.  Jamie looks a bit relieved as he leans against the turnbuckle.  One loud CRRRRRRUNCH echoing under the fans changes all of that… CHECK!

Jamie:  C’mon, Spike… It isn’t like you have never been in some seriously fucked up situations as a wrestler.

Spike’s eyes widen even more, as if it were possible, as his glare slowly works its way over to Jamie.  Jamie’s eyes widen and his lips make a closed “O” shape as he backs up completely against the turnbuckles.  He takes a few slow and steady breaths as Spike blinks only once.

Spike:  Mind your own goddamn business, Jamie!

Vixen:  The same might be said for you, Spike.  This is my choice to enter Grinder.  I hate to say this to you, Spike… but you can’t stop me.

Spike:  Like HELL I can’t!

The fire has now entered Vixen as she takes a few steps closer to Spike.  She purses her lips in a no-nonsense sort of way as she looks up at Spike.  He refuses eye contact with her because of her weird voodoo-like spell she casts on him any time he looks into those deep, creamy milk chocolate pools she calls eyes.  She puts her fists on her hips, puffing out her own chest.

Vixen:  This is not what I signed up for, Spike Staggs…  You will not control me like you did for the… other unmentionable females from your sorted past who don’t deserve to be mentioned.  We are New X-Tremes for life, but that doesn’t mean that you can play big macho man and stop me from doing what I was born to do.

Spike:  Hold your fucking horses, Vix… I am not trying to control you.  I’m trying to save your life!  So sue me for caring about you.  After what happened against Sean Jackson, I really don’t think it is safe for you to compete in this match where the whole roster is fighting in a first blood cage match!

Jamie:  Awwww… It is your first couples quarrel…

Spike and Vixen: SHUT UP JAMIE!

Jamie holds his hands up in surrender, raising his eyebrows in shock at their unity on this matter.  Perhaps they should thank him for bringing them back together in what has the potential to be a major ruiner for their relationship.  Instead, they look back toward each other, their fire being tamed just a bit.

Vixen:  I appreciate it Spike, I really do but I came this close to beating Sean Jackson and I beat a seven foot tall Phantom so this match isn't going to be any more difficult.  I risk everything when I step in the ring all the time but it is my choice.  So let's just drop it and train okay?

Spike takes in a deep breath through his nostrils, flaring them out once more temporarily.  Jamie makes a whip lashing sound as he compliments it with a flick of the wrist.  Spike rolls his eyes as the inevitable eye contact is made with Vixen.  He quickly looks away, but it is too late.  The damage to his pride has been done as he takes a few steps closer.  A bit of a devious smile creeps upon his face as he runs his hand down the inner bust line of Vixen’s camouflage wrestling top.  He looks down into her eyes and lifts her chin up for a peck.

Spike:  This conversation isn’t over, Vix.  But maybe it would be better to continue it without someone giving color commentary?

Vixen:  I’m not sure there is any more to say on the topic.  I will not change my mind.

Spike:  And I won’t change mine either.  I saw what Jamie did last year in the Grinder, and it would kill me to see someone do half of that to you…

Spike backs away, not giving Vixen a chance to counter his argument with the obvious “It doesn’t matter” sort of reply.  He claps his hands and turns the music back on, playing “Agenda Suicide” by The Faint in the background.  Jamie pushes himself off of the turnbuckle, smirking at his brother’s reference to the mayhem he had caused just one year ago.  He throws his right arm out, then his left, popping them both as he jogs from side to side.  Vixen rolls her eyes at Spike and then focuses on the two locking up in the middle of the ring.  She watches as Spike easily takes control over his younger brother, sending him flying over toward the ropes.  Jamie ducks a jumping kick from Spike, and as he comes back, he leaps up for a Hurricanrana, but Spike flings him down with a powerbomb that shakes the ring.  Jamie crashes his knees together against the sides of Spike’s head and rolls back.  He bounces off of the ropes and catches Spike with a dropkick that rolls Spike backward.  He leaps over Spike, but Spike pushes himself up, his legs like a “V” in the air.  Jamie wraps his arms around Spike’s knees and uses all of his strength to lift his brother up.  Spike wiggles out of it, holding onto Jamie’s shoulders as he thrusts his legs out with a Dropkick of his own.  Jamie writhes from the face shot, and Vixen claps her hands for Spike.

Vixen:  You are getting your edge back, Spike.  Keep it up.

Spike:  I will maul over The Spectre, huh?

Vixen:  Hmmm, maybe.  You have to do a lot more than that to convince me you will breeze by him.

Spike is about to respond, but Jamie leaps up onto his back and drops down with a Falling Backbreaker.  Spike holds onto his back as he rolls around.  Jamie scoffs at Spike’s discounting of his abilities.  He drops down with a Falling Headbutt, but Spike moves out of the way and rolls over Jamie in a somersault.  He watches as Jamie gets up, holding onto his head and he flies off of the second turnbuckle with a Shining Wizard.

Spike:  I am not saying he will be a breeze.  He has a hell of a lot of talent, but I have just as much, and a lot of drive to prove myself against a rightful legend of BACW.  All I am saying is…

Jamie levels Spike backward with a Reverse Rolling DDT.  He is quick to climb the turnbuckle, but Spike is up much quicker than Jamie would have thought.  As Jamie turns around, Spike darts up the turnbuckle and leaps up for a very fluid Frankensteiner that sends Jamie rolling, landing on his back.  Vixen nods her head in approval.  Jamie holds onto his neck.

Jamie:  Time out, brother!  I said I would help you train, not get my ass kicked…

Spike:  I am sorry, man.  I’m just really intense about this match.  It is my first one as champ again and…

Spike sighs and nods his head, realizing he was taking it to his brother.  He reaches his hand down to help Jamie up.  As Jamie grabs onto it, he sits up and racks Spike with a low blow.  Spike falls down to his knees and Jamie grins.  He stands up over his brother victoriously.  He is ready to gloat until suddenly he falls down to his knees as well.  He is not only in a world of pain, but in shock.  Standing behind him with her fist still clinched, and a big smile on her face is Vixen.  She reaches down a hand and helps Spike back up to his feet.  Spike looks a bit shamed, and he gives Jamie a stiff kick to the side.

Jamie:  Hey!  Low blows aren’t against the rules in BACW.  Anything goes, so you gotta be ready for anything.  Just ask your girlfriend about that one…

Spike pulls Jamie up to his feet, both men still in a bit of pain from the low blows.  Vixen shrugs her shoulders innocently as she rubs the small of Spike’s back.  Spike and Jamie share a wary chuckle as they shake hands.

Spike:  You should know better than anyone, Jamie… We came from a hardcore background.  That is why I am most excited about this match.  If I would have signed a contact with any other alliance federation when I signed, it would have been BACW.  You know how much I miss the flaming tables, Jamie.

Vixen:  It is important to remember that this match isn’t under extreme rules.  You have to abide by NWA regulations.  Just because you are competing in that region doesn’t mean you are going by their house rules.

Spike:  I know that, but that doesn’t mean I won’t test the limits to please the audience.  I would only expect the same from Spectre.  It never hurts to be prepared for whatever comes my way.  That is one reason I wanted both of you here with me today.  You both have experience in BACW whether it be past or present, and it is time for me to sit back and be the student.

Spike leans against the ropes for leverage as he prepares himself for a lesson.  He is shocked at the only piece of helpful advice that is tossed his way.

Jamie:  Look, scro.  The only way to be fully prepared for the Bad @$$ Championship Wrestling world is to realize that you can never be prepared for what is to come.

Vixen tries to correct Jamie, but the dumbass actually had some amazing words of wisdom.  She nods her head toward Spike and pats Jamie on the back.  He smiles as if he just told them both the true meaning of life.  Spike soaks it in for a moment, slowly nodding his head as the information becomes real.  He smiles as he is excited for the challenges ahead of him, and his chance to prove himself to be more than just SCW’s Golden Boy.  He is the National Wrestling Alliance’s WORLD Heavyweight Champion, and he intends to stay that way for a very, very long time…

 ”Some of the critics have said I barely escaped my match against Blade Alexander with my championship still in my possession.  What do they know?  I did exactly what I always do.  I put a punk in his place like I did the last time I called his ass out and challenged him for the championship.  Why do the feel the need to discount the fact that I beat the prick twice?  Fucking critics…  My point is that I am still the champion and no one is going to take that away from me.  I am in my forth month as the champion and there are no signs of slowing down any time soon.  As a matter of fact, I have the fullest confidence in myself that I will walk out of WrestleClassic as a double champion.  I defeated Blade Alexander, and as hard as it is for me to say, he is a much more technically sound wrestler than our “champion” Chris Xtreme.  Plus, people don’t seem to remember that I did get my start in a hardcore environment, so adding a cage to the equation only works more in my favor.  It is almost as if they want me to walk away as the champion, because they know I will restore the integrity that the belt used to hold.  If you are waiting for a savior, that savior has arrived…


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


Outside of the red brick home, sporting black shutters and trim, the wind blows lightly through the rose bushes lining the front of the Staggs residence.  The dead flowers crumble with each wisp of wind that beats viciously at them.  The bright sunlight gives us false hopes of a beautiful day as the blustery air sends a wintery chill down our spines.  The crisp sound of stepping on the hibernating lawn starts us on our journey up toward the front porch where a black cat greets us.  We lean down and pet the cat gently before it hisses at us and goes on about its business.  After taking a moment to deliberate, a pale white hand reaches up and knocks on the door with authority.  The hand is slender and lady like, adorned with red nails and a couple silver rings with various designs on them.  There is a moment of silence as the wind dies down temporarily.  The hand fades from view as he stand there, admiring the “Welcome” sign hanging on the black door.  After a moment of waiting, we look down at a ladies wrist watch before finally hearing footsteps from inside.  A light murmuring voice is heard from within as the door swings open.

Spike:  Ohhh, somebody is going to get a show when…

Spike’s jaw clinches as he takes a deep breath through his nostrils. He is standing there in nothing but a pair of tight black leather novelty underwear, a chain necklace, and steel toe work boots.  His eyes flare with an intensity of a different kind as he starts to close the door.  The hand reaches out and stops him from doing so.  We turn to the side to see a red-headed Amazon of a woman standing there in a black mini skirt and tank top, covered with a long black fur coat.  Her green eyes sizzle with intensity as she clutches the door, clicking her stiletto heels against the concrete porch.  After a moment of asserting herself, Spike finally speaks again.

Spike:  It’s bad enough you taught Misty how to be a crazy fucking stalker, but now you are returning to those games too… Can’t you two just leave me alone after kicking me to the curb instead of putting this mindfuck on me?

Roxanne purses her lips, flicking her long lashes in the direction of the crack of the door.  She lets up on her grip of the door and waits for Spike to open the door back up.  When he finally does, he is covered in a black trench coat.  He stares at her for a moment as if to ask if she had a reason for being there.  Given their past, she picks up on this and offers her explanation.

Roxanne:  I wanted to come by and wish you luck on your big NWA Heavyweight title match.  You really deserve it.

Spike folds his arms across his chest and raises a curious eyebrow to Roxanne.  As easy as it was for her to get the hint that he was waiting for an answer, he could see right through her lies.

Spike:  That’s great.  Where were you when I had my first match against Jack Kraven?  Oh, or the second one where I won the title?  Or what about my SCW Heavyweight title shot?

Roxanne:  No offense, but there was never a match I was more confident that you would win than the match against Chris Xtreme.

Spike:  Among many reasons for us not working out, you suck at flattery.

Roxanne shrugs her shoulders and gently nudges her way past Spike.  He stands there for a second in shock as she comes inside without any qualms.  He slowly turns around as she sheds the thick fur coat, laying it neatly on the arm of the couch.  As intoxicating and familiar as her perfume is, Spike has to fight back with all of his might so that he doesn’t vomit.  Roxanne takes a slow lap around the living room, admiring the pictures of Spike and his two children, namely the red-headed teen boy, the fruit o her own loin.  She runs a finger over his smooth ivory cheek before Spike rips the picture out of her hand.  He places it back where it belongs as a flicker of a pained expression flashes across her face.  Spike sits down on a reclining rocker in the corner of the room, just staring at her.  He is doing everything he can to keep his hate in check as they maintain eye contact for a solid minute.  Finally, she breaks it and walks over to the couch, sitting down seductively.

Roxanne:  Despite the lonely feeling of the house, you have maintained a beautiful home.  How is Eden, it has been a long time since I’ve seen…

Spike:  You have five seconds to explain why the hell you are here before I kick you out.  4… 3… 2…

Roxanne:  I told you already.  I wanted to wish you luck on your match.  Does that make me a bitch all of the sudden?

Spike tilts his head back, offering her a laugh in response, as if to say “There is nothing sudden about it, honey.”  She bites on her bottom lip so not to say something too cross toward Spike.  He rolls his eyes as he sits there, just shaking his head.

Roxanne:  I understand that our past is sorted, Spike.  We had a lot of downs, but you seem to forget that we had a lot of upside in our relationship as well.  We fought to make it work for a long time.

Spike:  If you are trying to win me back, that ship set sail nearly a decade ago when you stuck your ass out to other men and humiliated me by hiding it from me. It seems like I was the one who did all of the fighting while you pissed it away like it was nothing, so how fucking dare you come into MY home and try to appeal to my emotions with this garbage!  How dare you, Roxie?  Especially because I am in a happy relationship with Vixen.

Roxanne:  I don’t want… *sigh* I am not asking you to forget that, or even forgive me for that matter.  All I am asking is that you hear me out.  I am genuinely sorry for everything I have done to you, Spike.  Everything…  Everything…

Roxanne’s eyes lower to the ground.  If she was capable of feeling full emotions outside of anger, she would most likely be crying at this point.  It is almost as if her brain had somehow learned to feel guilt and regret, but it could not communicate it to the rest of her body.  Her jaw clinches as she tries her best to look back into Spike’s eyes.  His diamond eyes seem to block out any of these signs, and they reject her attempt at eye contact.

Spike:  That’s nice.  Does sorry take back all of the men?  Does it take back all of the hell you put me through because I told you I had enough? Does it bring back the two years of a relationship that might have lasted if you didn’t put us through the ringer?

Roxanne:  Oh please!  You love making me out to be the asshole.  I am, I admit it, but you rubbing it in makes you one also.  And a stupid one at that.  Misty stuck with you because of me.  I had gold, she wanted it, and what better way to appeal to the bookers than to be the girlfriend of the champion’s obsession?  Every time I said I loved you, I meant it.  I can’t say the same for Misty or Vixen.  When you had gold, it was only a bonus.  To them, if you didn’t have it, you wouldn’t have them as Misty proved…

Spike:  You don’t know the first thing about Vixen, Roxie.  If you aren’t going to say something worth my time, you can leave now.

Roxanne’s cheeks are flushed with anger that overtakes her previously sullen look.  She clinches her eyes together as she takes a deep breath. She slowly exhales and nods her head.  She slowly raises herself off of the couch and picks up her coat.  After unfolding it, she slides it over her shoulders.

Roxanne:  Just so you know, I didn’t want you back, Spike.  I only wanted to ask for a favor, but now I realize you are incapable of doing the smart thing.  Instead, you are going to watch as you and everyone around you falls to the darkness.  I tried appealing to your heart, but you don’t seem to have one anymore.

Spike:  And you are surprised by that?

Roxanne:  When you ask the Wizard for a heart, you might want to ask him for a brain too.

Roxanne gives him one last look of attitude before walking toward his kitchen, which strikes Spike as odd.  He gets up from the chair and follows after her.  Her heels click against the tile flooring as she rushes over to the back door in a huff.  Spike seems curious about this as he opens his mouth to speak.  He doesn’t make it in time as Roxanne walks through the back door.  She slams the door behind her and makes her way across the long back yard.  She stops at the small tombstone at the edge of the yard, stopping to give it a nod before she climbs over the fence and starts on her journey across Misty’s yard, leaving Spike even more bewildered as we fade.


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


”As I said before, every woman that has been placed in my life has impacted my life in a major way, whether it be through shaping me into being the man I am today, or simply just by being there for me.  They have motivated me to straighten up my life, or they have momentarily wrecked it.  Even if I am not pleased with them, I have to give them thanks, because without them, I wouldn’t be in the position I am today.  I wouldn’t be headed down the path I am, walking onto the grandest stage of them all at WrestleClassic with the top prize in the industry on the line.  I simply would not be the man who stands in front of you right now.  I owe this to every tear I have shed.  I owe this to every time my heart was broken.  For every warm embrace, for every kiss, for every reassuring glance, for every precious moment that you have given me, I thank you…


I can tell she is hiding it from me.  I just know it.  As I walked into the hotel room, I could sense the many tears of sadness and anger that had been left on the ground, leading over to the bed, on the pillow, and it tore at me.  Anyone with eyes could see that she needed someone to act like they care, even just a little bit.  As my eyes rest on the Australian Bombshell, Odette Ryder, I could tell that pearly white smile was as fake as my uncle Erik.  I stared at her and just waited as I saw the tears being sucked back in for the sake of appeasing me.  What was only about thirty seconds seemed like hours as I watched her cheek twitch slightly.  Those emerald green eyes were shining like the dews of a warm summer morning, giving off the false impression of her normal warm demeanor.  She didn’t think that I would notice the ever so slight pout in her lips as she slowly waved her arm in the direction of her couch.

Odette:  Where are my manners?  Please, come in Spike.

I nodded my head as I walked through the doorway.  I looked around at the massive interior of this signature Luxor Suite, admiring the spacious design for the slightest of seconds.  There was even a private hot tub in front of a window overlooking the beautiful Vegas skyline.  You could see for miles and miles, lit up like a Christmas tree, all from the comfort of 110 degree waters.  I broke from that for a moment and walked over to the couch as she offered me a drink.  Why not?  I nodded my head as she poured a small glass of Gentlemen’s Jack over four filtered ice cubes that sparkled like diamonds.  She brought it over to me and then resumed her place at the other end of the couch.  She tossed a blanket over her feet as she looked back over to me.

Odette:  I am never unhappy to see you Spike, but to what do I owe the pleasure?  Do you need a sitter for Eden?

I broke my gaze off of the warm fireplace to look over to Odette.  Her eyes were starting to show off her true feelings as she blinked them.  The faintest of tears got caught in her eyelashes, but most would not notice this, so she didn’t worry about it much. As I inspected the bombshell, noticing the ruffled tissues on the end table, I reach over and wipe the tear away.

Spike:  I wanted to come by just to check up on you.  It seems like you have had a lot going on lately, and could use a friend.  Lord knows you have helped me out in that aspect more times than I can count…

A smile tries creeping onto her face, despite the fact that I had caught onto her game.  This one was genuine, struggling as much as it could to spread from the corner of her mouth, but it fails.  She slowly shakes her head from side to side.

Odette:  If you mean babysitting, it is never a problem.  I love spending time with the kids, Spike.  They are wonderful.

Spike:  Thank you, but that isn’t what I am talking about.  You and I have a deeper friendship than that.  It transcends teacher-student, even.  You are like a sister to me, O.  Family doesn’t abandon each other when times get rough.  That is when they step up and help each other

Odette:  I am just going through a few minor changes.  It isn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before.

I watched as her eyes screamed out “I AM LYING!!!”  In a sort of goofy display, I raise an eyebrow at her and move my head from side to side with a snap of the fingers.  She bursts out with a laugh as I give my signature half grin back at her.  After a light roll of the eyes, she looks away and wipes at her eye, getting the remainder of a tear.  I took one respectful scoot closer to her, placing my hands on my knees as I turn my ear to her.

Spike:  See this ear?  Do you see it? Here, look at it…

Odette: God, yes I see it, Spike!

She slaps my shoulder playfully before adjusting herself to look at me.  I turn to look into her eyes to emphasize my point.

Spike:  It is there so that I can listen.  If you need to talk, I am here for you, Odette.  Don’t be afraid to talk to me, because I am more than meets the eye.  Sometimes, I give pretty good advice even.  I don’t like this distance, but I will respect it because I understand it.

Odette:  Sometimes, I just need a minute to collect my thoughts.  It isn’t anything personal.

Spike:  I understand that.  We all need to get away sometimes.  We all need our space, but it doesn’t help when no one seems to notice we’re gone.  My point is that I notice.  I am giving you space, as a friend, so that you can collect your thoughts, but when you need to talk, come to me.

Odette reaches over and gives me a gentle hug and nods her head.  This time, the smile on her face works its way half way across her lips before she leans backwards.  She sighs, and looks into the fireplace.  I watch as the flames dance in her eyes and I can see the light in her has been tainted by Misty.  I can see her fighting it off with every ounce of her being, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is still there.  We sit there in silence for a good ten minutes.  The relaxing flames dance against the glass of the fire guard.  There is nothing that she wants to volunteer to get off of her chest, and I respect that but after the ten minutes, I turn back to face her.

Spike:  You know…?  Once upon a time, I was the most miserable bastard that ever graced God’s given Earth.  I was so miserable, and I refused to say a word about it to anyone.  I plastered a fake smile on my face.  I cracked jokes in front of the camera.  I played practical jokes with Jamie.  I went out in front of those fans, and I played to them with every fiber of my being.  I played this happy fan favorite who was so full of cheer.  On the inside, I was no better than I was when I was cracking chairs over guys like me, brooding over those who were getting ahead of me.  Especially after the date of March 25th, 2012, I wanted nothing more than to shout at everybody and break things and hurt people.  Sometimes that asshole showed, but overall I choked it down with all I had.

She nods her head, completely understanding where I am coming from.  I can tell she relates to me at this very moment, as she is hanging on with a thread.  As if I were a tailor, I begin stitching the proverbial tears, slowly and precisely.

Spike:  I had my entire world crumble down around me five times in my life.  This last one nearly destroyed me, O.  It almost killed me literally.  I was trapped inside of this dark place with no hope of escaping it.  The woman I was bat shit crazy over, the woman I planned on spending the rest of my life with, kicked me in the balls and told me she detested me, in front of thousands of people, then broadcasted over the internet, in front of friends, and our closest family members, including our daughter.  Can you imagine how dark I felt after that?  I could have crawled under a rock and disappeared.  If I didn’t have children, I probably would have.  I looked around me, and all I saw was the next failure.  I was all but destroyed when all of a sudden, I saw this light… It was a light that shined brighter than anything I had seen in a long time.  This light just made me see thing more clearly than I ever had.

Odette listened intensely to every word as she folded her arms over her legs, sitting Indian style on the couch as she is turned completely toward me.  It almost seemed like a child listening to a telling of their favorite story.  She lowered her head, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile as I paused for a second.  I picked up my drink and took a small sip of the remainder before continuing.

Spike:  This light gave me hope.  It made me realize that things could get better.  It made me see that I had a dream even grander than anything I ever expected.  I saw that light, and it illuminated truths I had been hiding from in this darkness, and I knew I needed that light in my life.

Odette:  I get it, Vixen is your light, and the story is meant to make me realize that…

I shook my head from side to side and Odette seemed surprised by that.  Instead of following my little story, she just throws her hands up in the air in a sort of frustration and turns away for a second.  When she turns back, I give her a smile in return.

Odette:  Alright, then what is this Hallmark story supposed to mean?

Spike:  This light guided me to where I am now. I am the leader of the New X-Tremes, a very successful stable within SCW.  We have had many champions within our stable, so no matter what others say, they can suck it… Anyway, I am leading the next generation of wrestlers to glory.  I am the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion.  I am competing for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship in just a few short weeks.  I own a wrestling school.  I am a wonderful father, I am a wonderful lover, not to toot my own horn.

*TOOT TOOT*

Odette laughs as I make the motion and whistle.  I see the first true glimmer of happiness come from her as she sits there, curious for the ending of the story.

Spike:  I have accomplished a lot ever since that light entered my life.  I thank it for everything I have gotten, and I owe a lot to that light.  That light needs to understand how… how awesome it is.  And if that light ever needs to talk to me about anything, it is the least I can do for it.  I would hate to see that light go out…  And in case you hadn’t picked up on it yet, you are the light I am referring to, Odette.


With every ounce of fight she has in her, she held back the tears until there was no doubt in her mind that I was speaking of her.  She clinched her eyes, and the tears flowed out like two rivers.  Her warm red cheeks became drenched, causing my eyes to lower for just a moment out of respect.  I had a comforting smile on my face as she leaned over and buried her head into my chest.  I reached around and gently patted at her back, nodding my head in reassurance.  She might not be sure of what is going on around her, but she can be sure that there is a true friend who is there to listen to her, to help her in her time of need.  She has someone who can offer her perspective, who knows what it is like to fight the darkness.  I will be the one man of honor who would never betray trust, or cross boundaries.  I have respect for Gabriel, he is another man of honor who is trying to be in her life, but it is not my place to tell her that.  While Gabriel is a friend of mine, Odette is family.  I have to respect and support her decisions regardless of how blind some of them may or may not seem to me, because they are hers to make.  All I can do is support the way she supported me in my time of need…”

Spike’s irises slowly expand in diameter as he shakes off the daydream.  He looks around to see his daughter running around in front of him.  One of the females in his life that has impacted his life the most had no clue what a blessing she was to him.  He watches her with a proud smile spread across his face as his son Tim runs behind, chasing her.  Once she reaches the window overlooking the airport runway, she stops and sinks to the ground chuckling.  Tim scoops her up in his arms and spins around with her, playing the way a big brother should.  She squeals excitedly as he lifts her up into the air and over his shoulders.  He sits down with her in a chair and takes a picture book from under his arm and she snuggles in close on his lap as he begins reading to her.  She looks up at Tim, hanging on every word, and Spike knows he must have done something right.  He takes a deep breath as reality slowly starts to sink back in.  He turns his attention to Ms Rocky Mountains who is sitting next to him with a microphone in her hand.  She adjusts her glasses as she reads his expression and smiles herself.

MRM:  Those are some inspiring stories, Mr. Staggs.  Tell me, does any of this have to do with Valentine’s Day?  The whole idea of love…?

Spike:  Not necessarily.  Last week, I was sitting back and thinking about how I have dealt with some seriously screwed up things in my life, and believe me when I say these cameras have only witnessed the tip of the iceberg.  I thought about the two main culprits of this, Roxanne and Misty.  I started wishing I could take it all back, and never have had them in my life at all.  I truly meant it until I realized what that would mean.

Spike’s eyes wander back over to his two children sitting across the lobby, passing time until boarding would begin for their flight.  He nods his head slowly as if to hear something that the rest of us are not.

Spike:  I realized that they couldn’t be one hundred percent evil, or else they never would have given me my angels.  I owe them thanks for that at the very least.  I thought about all of the other women in my life that I have taken for granted, and never thanked, such as my family, such as my mother, Vixen, Jessie, and Odette, and even you Ms. Mountains.  I request you by name for my interviews.  I can trust that you won’t make a mockery of me, or stray off topic.

MRM:  Why thank you, Spike.  It means a lot to know that I am not being taken for granted once in a while.  Since you mentioned that I don’t stray off topic, let’s try to stay on this one, shall we?  What does all of this have to do with your match?

Spike stops and thinks about it carefully for a moment.  He formulates his explanation in his head before taking a deep breath.

Spike:  These women have shaped me in so many ways.  They are my friends, my parent, my lovers, my joy, my misery, my motivation… They all pushed me in one way or another to get ready for this opportunity.  I was more than happy putting all of my focus on Sin City Wrestling because it is the region I feel I helped shape.  I was willing to avoid the grand stage to help build up the region that gave me the opportunity in the first place.  It was Vixen who encouraged me to do something for myself.  She let me know that if I worked hard enough, I could not only lead the New X-Tremes.  I could still lead SCW as their champion, and I could go on and lead the NWA as well.  I am a natural leader, and a born champion with wrestling deep in my bloodline.  Had it not been for Vixen, I would probably have turned this opportunity down, and focused strictly on my region.  I felt I owed a major thank you to the women that push me to keep myself in order…

MRM:  Very nice.  So, you are on your way to Puerto Rico, and I see you are proudly carrying the SCW Heavyweight belt.  How do you feel about your chances to return with the gold?

Spike:  I am fully confident in my chances.  Within reason, I am ninety percent sure I will return with that belt.  I am not a lazy champion.  I fight with every ounce, and I carry SCW pride on my shoulder when I walk down that ramp and into that cage.  The days of a lazy champion are over…

Spike nods his head confidently as he adjusts the SCW title on his shoulder.  He leans forward just a bit, puffing his chest out confidently as he listens to the vague announcement over the intercom.  He quickly pulls his attention back as Ms Rocky Mountains who brings the microphone back to her lips, brushing one of her dark, curly locks of hair behind her ear.

MRM:  I can only assume that you are talking about Chris Xtreme.  Do you have any last official words for Xtreme before you head off to San Juan?

Spike looks directly into the camera with a serious look on his face.  His eyes are full of that fire as he silently stalks his imaginary prey, presumably thinking of it as Chris Xtreme.  He makes sure to get the Sin City title belt in the shot as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck.

Spike:  Chris Xtreme… you had better spend these last few days with that title belt. You better cherish it for as long as you can.  Shine it up really pretty for me.  Show it off at every chance you can, because those days are numbered.  Sleep with it, eat with it, shower with it, treat it like it will be dead tomorrow, because once they lock those cage doors, I will be hell-bent on destroying you to the point where I can just walk out of that cage with not one, but two championships held up high in the air.  I will spare nothing to make sure of that, Chris.  I have nothing for you, the way you have nothing for me, so I have absolutely no qualms about destroying you in that ring and making the world praise my name for ending your short title reign.  I will resume my place at the top where I always belonged.  You will go back to nipping at my heels where you belong, son.

Spike takes a deep breath, his eyes shooting around for just a moment before returning his icy glare to the camera.  He hears an announcement over the speakers, but he doesn’t stop just yet.

Spike:  I was meant for this, Chris.  You were meant to be but a mere placeholder champion for me until I was ready to come back.  That time has come, so at WrestleClassic, be prepared to grieve for your loss, because it will be the most devastating loss you have ever encountered.  When you feel the Spikey Plummet, you will know it is D-Day.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Chris…

With that, Spike gets up from his seat, beginning to gather his belongings to board his flight.  The camera turns to focus in on Ms Rocky Mountains as a big smile spreads over her face.

MRM: Some powerful words from our SCW Heavyweight Champion going into his match.  You can tune in to see this and a lot more on Pay Per View on February 28th, 2013 when NWA’s WrestleClassic is delivered straight to your living room.  Who knows, Sin City Wrestling might be home to 4 NWA Championship belts with Sinful Obsession and Vixen also competing for gold.  Contact your local cable or satellite provider for ordering details!  What is in store for us at WrestleClassic?  There is only one way to find out…  Tune in LIVE!

With that, Rocky puts the microphone down in her lap, maintaining her smile as the scene fades… TO BLACK!