[Peter Vaughn]

~As the cameras slowly come up, we once again recognize our surroundings as the private warehouse that Peter Vaughn owns, somewhere in an unknown location (although it's likely in the Dallas area, all things considered). This time, there are no large-scale constructions in the warehouse. Instead, it looks like a circular running track has been drawn into the floor, covering the span of what we can see in the camera. Slowly jogging towards us, a calm look on his face, is Peter Vaughn. The camera follows him as he continues to make his way around the track, while turning his head to speak to the people at home.~

Peter Vaughn: When I first made my way to Sin City, the federation that everyone was talking about, I had two goals in mind: helping Mac Bane win the championship, and getting another crack at Matt Knox. Well, I succeeded on the first part, but Knox's quick retirement, brief though it was, was enough to derail my early plans here. Instead, as a member of the Saviors, I looked to build up my reputation in this company.

~Vaughn makes the small turn easily, showing no loss of breath as he continues his jog. For him, this must feel like a relatively tame exercise, when he's used to moving at full speed while inside the squared circle.~

Peter Vaughn: I thought I was making some headway. I took down two former champions in Milo and Washington, getting myself a fairly decent payday with a pay-per-view victory. It seemed like I was going to start on my way up to the top, along with the other Saviors. But then... things took an interesting turn. The Blast From The Past Tournament came and went, and suddenly I found myself back at the starting line: once again facing off against Milo on Climax Control. You could say it felt like I was running in circles...

~The jog continues. The cameraman has to be feeling it by this point, but being a true professional, he's not asking for a break. He keeps the shot continuous as Vaughn passes another turn, back to where he had been running when we first came on the air.~

Peter Vaughn: Things didn't go particularly great with Milo the second time. I didn't get a second victory. Instead, we went to a time-limit draw, with many believing that Milo should have won. Well, that's not what the record books say, and he sure as hell didn't get the three count on me, so it looks like things will remain the way they are. But once again, the circle seemed to continue. There was even talk that people thought we should have another rematch...

~Vaughn shakes his head, even as he continues around the track. Hopefully none of you viewers are feeling any dizziness at the moment.~

Peter Vaughn: In the meantime, things seemed to be going wrong for the Saviors. Injuries have limited some. Mac had his championship stolen. One member came and went in a short period of time, bringing back some memories of my time as an Exile. It seemed like every reason I had come to Sin City for was quickly dissipating into the air, vanishing into nothingness. It appeared like my time here might be coming to an end.

~Vaughn shakes his head, looking away from the camera for a moment. But when he looks back, his smirk is back on his face, as he starts to speed up, forcing the cameraman to keep up with him.~

Peter Vaughn: Anyone who thinks that I would just walk away, though, is fooling themselves. I am a competitor. I am a warrior. I am a champion. And now, I've found a way to break the cycle. I've found a way to turn one Savior's struggles into a gold mine. I find myself with the opportunity to become the SCW Roulette Champion. Which means that the path... has changed.

~Suddenly, Vaughn branches off of the track, at a prearranged spot, jogging straight forward. He ends up near the entrance doorway to the warehouse, stopping there as he turns to his right, flipping up a cooler and pulling out two energy drinks. The camera is visibly shaking, thanks to the fatigue of our brave cameraman. Vaughn, showing his respect for the man in keeping up, tossing him one of the drinks.~

Peter Vaughn: You earned it, boyo. And I damn well earned it as well. Because it's time that Peter Vaughn once again takes the road less traveled, and makes his way into golden territory. I'll see you there soon, cameraman.

~Vaughn departs into the sunlight outside, still carrying his own drink, as the cameraman seemingly chugs down the fluids. We eventually cut away, as there's nothing else to see here.~


~We come back up showing a large crowd of people making their way across a street, most dressed like they're going to a western-themed movie party. They all seem to be in good spirits as the camera follows them, showing that they're headed into a large stadium. A banner nearby proclaims that this is the Dallas Ranching Rodeo, a three-day event taking place this weekend. We join the crowd, making our way inside. The camera pans around the auditorium portion, where different stalls have been set up. Some are showcasing goods for sale, others have livestock for photography (or a good deal for some meat). The camera eventually stops on the man making his way into the area: Peter Vaughn. He's wearing his usual coveralls, which makes him stand out even more than usual in the place like this. A couple of cowboys nearby guffaw as soon as they see him.~

Cowboy #1: What the heck are you wearing, son?

Cowboy #2: You look like a damned fool! The Comic Con is probably down the street, hah!

~In response, Vaughn turns and stares at the two men intently, as if memorizing their faces. The look in his eyes is enough to make the first cowboy take a step back, bumping into the second one.~

Cowboy #1: Now, sonny, that's just a joke... uh... we'll be getting out of your hair now.

~The two men move off, both a little shaky from the stare they just looked into. Vaughn watches them go, then seems to think to himself for a moment. He looks down at his outfit, then turns and walks over to a nearby western gear store, set up just for this event. The man behind the table awkwardly coughs before getting up, never one to turn down a potential sale.~

Salesman: What can I do you for, friend? We've got the finest knives and pistols here the world has ever seen...

~You would think someone like Vaughn would be interested in the lethal weapons. But instead, he steps to the side, grabbing at a black cowboy hat that was hanging there. He looks it over, putting it on his head for a second. If anything, it amplifies how bad the coveralls look, but Vaughn seems satisfied. He turns back to the salesman, who's got both eyebrows raised.~

Peter Vaughn: I'll take it.

~Vaughn flips through one of his many pockets, pulling out a fifty-dollar bill and dropping it on the table. He turns and walks away, even as the salesman scoops up the bill, quickly making sure it's not a forgery. Satisfied, he waves after Vaughn.~

Salesman: I've got some great vests as well! Come again anytime!

~Vaughn doesn't look back. He's headed into the stadium area of the rodeo, where the competitions are already beginning to take place.~


I've never been one to be too concerned about my looks.

Back in the day, when I was a... slightly different person, even then, it was more about the work than the image I portrayed. I wanted to be respected for everything I did. I may not be a supermodel, but I was a super worker. At least, that's how I saw it... before everything took a twist, and I became the man I am today. But now, it's even less about my appearance and more about what I'm bringing with me to the ring... including my five World Championship reigns.

I made it my goal that any federation I went to, I'd find a way to get a championship, and for the most part, I've succeeded in that goal. The only two stand-outs for me are Level Up Wrestling, which is still on extended hiatus, and the world-class federation known as Sin City Wrestling. But now, I've been given my opportunity to change that... with my first opportunity at championship gold.

Of course, my opponent this week, Malachi, has had his opportunities here to claim a title or two. Too bad he's blown every one of them, most recently by taking the loss to Goth at Blaze of Glory.

It must feel like an amazing stroke of luck, Mally, that the man who beat you and retained his championship had to then forfeit it, and somehow the powers that be decided that you deserved yet another shot at it. There must be some strong reasoning somewhere there, something they saw in your match with Goth that made you worthy in their eyes.

All I really remember is you tapping out to Goth's submission, giving up once again on being a champ. But maybe they saw something in the way you nodded your head or something.

Here's the thing, Mal: you and I both know that you were not on Goth's level. I mean, there's no shame in that. Goth is a hell of a wrestler, one of the best in the business. I mean, I'm 1-0 against him, having eliminated him from a tournament, but that doesn't change anything for you... because you're not on my level, either.

If I were you, Mallard, I'd be thinking about how Into The Void XII is just going to be another paycheck for you. It doesn't seem like you're highly rated enough to find a way to get that victory. But then, maybe you learned something from your most recent loss, just like I learned something from my time limit draw.

Or maybe you're just stubbornly going to do things your way until they finally cart you out of this place, with no more chances on your bingo card.

I gotta say, Mal... it doesn't look good for you.


~We rejoin Peter Vaughn inside the stadium, where the ground has been covered in dirt for the events taking place. On one side, we hear the countdown, followed by a buzzer. A gate swings open, and a cowboy comes flying out, riding a furious bull, who works with all his might to send the brute on his back flying. The cowboy gamely hangs on, as the crowd counts along, loving absolutely every second. The buzzer goes off again at eight seconds, earning a wave of respect from the audience, as the cowboy quickly dismounts and rolls away, while some rodeo clowns move in to distract the bull and keep him from goring open the pest who was riding him. As the audience settles down, we find ourselves in a small sitting area to the side, where a well-dressed cattleman in a white hat is nodding along in appreciation.~

David Schoeder: I tell y'all boys, there's nothing finer than seeing a grown man conquer a bull, no sir! What a ride!

~The other men around him, clearly yes-men by the way they're already nodding, are in full agreement. There's just one guy who doesn't seem to join in the affirmation.~

Peter Vaughn: ... I don't get it.

~Schoeder and the rest turn and look at Vaughn, taking in his 'interesting' appearance as Vaughn stares out into the small arena setting. He watches as they corral the bull, driving him back into the stocks to keep him out of harm's way.~

David Schoeder:  What's not to get? It's a majestic sport!

Peter Vaughn: But... they only have to last eight seconds. And they don't even have to take the bull down and slaughter him. What's the point?

David Schoeder: I don't think I quite understand, sir, what you are referring to.

Peter Vaughn: I'm just saying... in my profession, sometimes you have to fight 30 minutes straight against your competition. Occasionally it's more like 60 minutes or more. It takes everything you've got, with the goal of completely annihilating your opponent until they can't get up. Here, you guys applaud somebody staying in there for mere seconds. Yeah, I doubt I'll ever understand it.

~Schoeder looks at Vaughn in disbelief for a few moments, before breaking into laughter. The other men around him immediately laugh as well, following his lead. Schoeder finishes off his cackle before turning back to Vaughn, who still is shaking his head.~

David Schoeder: Well, I'll say, my boy, you've got a unique view of the world to be coming in here thinking like that. What, may I ask, drove someone of your... caliber into an event like this one, anyway? It doesn't really feel like you're comfortable here.

~Vaughn shrugs his shoulders, tapping his new black cowboy hat, before turning back to Schoeder's gaze.~

Peter Vaughn: It's true. This will likely never be a place someone like I fit in. But I don't mind it. I've always been better at standing out. That being said, you ask why I'm here, and it's simple: I'm looking for you, Mr. Schoeder. I heard you'd be here today. I also heard you're one of the top representatives in the Dallas cattle union I've been seeking an audience with.

~Confusion spreads across Schoeder's face, before recognition finally appears.~

David Schoeder: My lord, you're that new owner of the old Venkman ranch, aren't you? The... the PPV one?

Peter Vaughn: The PMV Ranch, actually, although I like the way you think. If you're able, I'd like to have a few private moments of your time. If your... friends there can let you go, that is.

~Schoeder looks around at the men around him, all of whom seem a little uncertain to leave their boss's side. But Schoeder just pushes himself up, nodding towards Vaughn with no concern.~

David Schoeder: It just so happens I have a private little lounge here at the stadium. One of the perks of being a long-time supporter. Follow me, and sure, we can talk.

~He gestures to Vaughn, directing him to start moving off, and walks after him. Schoeder then looks back for a second, giving one of the guys a dark smirk and shaking his head, before they continue on their way.~


So let's talk about the man who's going to have the power at Climate Control: the surprise referee, "Bulldog" Bill Barnhart.

I say, Triple B, you seem like you should be the one I'm wrestling, not Malic Acid over here. You've actually had success in the SCW, holding that Roulette Championship twice. I mean, that's extremely respectful, showing you've got more of a warrior's spirit than the man I'm currently set to fight.

That being said, you, too, lost to Goth, right? Losing the championship to him? It seems to be a streak going on here, where all the men who fell to the former champion are now getting their second chance back up the ladder. It doesn't fit for me, but I'm still hoping for my shot at a brawl or two with Goth here, a Saviors Special, if you will. Until then, it's only fitting that I find a way to keep his title warm from him, away from the vultures.

Now, here's the thing, Bulldog. Logic would stipulate that I come into this match kissing your ass, saying you're such a wonderful wrestler, to get you on my side and have you help me eliminate Malfoy from the Fatal Fourway. But that's not really my way. I call things how I see them, and if that brutal honesty bothers you, well, then we'll see what happens at the contest, won't we?

But if you call things straight down the middle as you're supposed to, there won't be any problems between us. If you try to screw me over for some reason, though, just because Mally has been here longer or because you maybe don't like the Saviors, then I guess we're going to have problems. Both at Climate Control and at the PPV. But I suppose that's on you, and how you want things to be.

Back to the actual punching bag I'm going against, Malpractice. I'm sure you're planning to deliver some Pure Malice to me, touting how you've got such incredible moves in your repertoire. I've heard that all before. Milo and Washington both thought that, too, actually. And yet, things turned out poorly for them, and I'm thinking it's going to be even worse for you.

If I truly dominate you, Mal, would you consider this an 'elimination' match? Would you willingly drop out of the Fatal Fourway once you realize how much my wrestling skills outclass yours? Or will you continue to be the stubborn fighter who won't deal with the truths that are sitting right in front of him? Judging by past history, I'm assuming you're still going to compete at the PPV, as is your right.

But I want you to at least be the lesson for Barney and the Mysterious Stranger. I want them both to see you and think "Well, hell, we know who the biggest threat in this contest is."  I want to set a high bench mark for all of you to ponder, and see if you think you could possibly reach it.

I also want to just get another victory added to my totals here at SCW, and I can practically guarantee that's going to happen... as long as the bull god follows through on his responsibilities. Worst case? I deliver a two-pronged lesson to both men. I guess we'll see how it goes down.

There's no limit to the number of plunges that can take place, after all.


~The private lounge door shuts quietly behind them with a simple click. Vaughn steps into the lounge, taking in the two couches, as well as the balcony in the back that seems to overlook the stadium itself. He steps over to the couch, taking a seat, as Schoeder heads to the right, getting out two glasses.~

David Schoeder: Can I at least assume that you're a man that can handle whiskey?

Peter Vaughn: Over the past year rooming with some strong-willed individuals, my drinking abilities have definitely been on the upswing.

David Schoeder: I suppose that's good to hear.

~Schoeder laughs to himself again, before bringing over the half-filled glass and handing it to Vaughn. He keeps one for himself, sipping at the whiskey and smacking his lips at the taste.~

David Schoeder: This is a rather potent variety. I managed to get my hands on it thanks to a lucky run of cards. I would take my time in...

~Vaughn sets his empty glass down on the table, with Schoeder looking over at it in surprise. Vaughn doesn't seem to be showing much of a reaction, other than giving it a nod.~

Peter Vaughn: A decent taste. Is that a Woodford Reserve?

David Schoeder: I... why yes, I believe it is. Incredible.

~With a slightly increased amount of respect, Schoeder sips at his whiskey again, before looking back at Vaughn.~

David Schoeder: So what is is you want from me, sir?

Peter Vaughn: Simple. I want your support and backing in my claims to earn a cattle license here in Texas.

~Schoeder doesn't look shocked, having expected this request. He nods to Vaughn, telling him to go on.~

Peter Vaughn: As you probably know, I've been looking to expand my new ranch into the cattle business, but have met a great deal of... resistance... from the local ranchers. Each one of my attempts to speak at one of the union meetings has been denied in one way or another. I've also had some... costly setbacks on my ranch, thanks to the actions of a select few in this group. It's come to my attention that, for this style of business, I'm going to need some support. And from what I hear, you've got the most connections on the board.

~Schoeder sits forward, puffing up slightly at the flattery. He's the type of man that loves to hear compliments about his power and skill, something that Vaughn has likely picked up on.~

David Schoeder: It's true, I do have a great deal of respect from the members of the union. They'd likely listen to me, if I wanted to go that direction. Sad to say, though, Mr. Vaughn, I'm not quite inclined to step in on your side.

Peter Vaughn: May I ask why not?

David Schoeder: Well, I'd say it's fairly obvious. You, sir... are not a rancher.

~Schoeder gestures towards Vaughn's wardrobe, sticking his nose up in disgust.~

David Schoeder: From all I've heard, you're just a city slicker who got some lucky wins in the wrasslin' business and decided to buy your way in to our way of life. But it's not that easy, Mr. Vaughn. Families here have worked for generations to make themselves into successful ranchers. You can't just come in with money and 'join the club'. Quite frankly, son, you're a bit of an embarrassment to all of us.

~Vaughn looks down for a few seconds, as Schoeder finishes off his drink. He sets it down on the table, then begins to stand up.~

David Schoeder: If you'll excuse me, I need to get back. One of my boys are riding later on, and I'm sure they're going to set some tremendous records out there... even if it's, as you say, only eight seconds.

~Schoeder turns to leave, walking towards the door. That's when the glass comes flying past his shoulder, shattering in front of him. He stumbles back, surprised, then turns, as Vaughn is now on his feet, grinning at him. It is not a pleasant look.~

Peter Vaughn: Do you have time for my rebuttal... sir?

~Schoeder, suddenly realizing that he's without any security around him, steps back to the wall, as Vaughn picks up the second glass, tossing it slightly in the air before catching it. He looks over at Schoeder, as if working out the best angle for a toss. But he doesn't let loose of the glass... yet.~

Peter Vaughn: I've got two points I'd like to make for you, Mr. Schoeder. The first one is, you're right. I grew up in the city. I worked hard there, earning my keep, earning my strengths, and finally found a way for me to get out of there and become a man I wanted to me: a champion. But it's true, I did happen to win a million-dollar tournament or two, which earned me the right to purchase the PMV ranch. If you think I did it without a lot of blood and sweat, you're badly mistaken.

~Vaughn steps closer to Schoeder, who looks more nervous now. But Vaughn then steps away, instead heading back over to the bar. He fills up the remaining glass with more whiskey, as Schoeder nervously glances at the door, trying to judge his ability to get out before he can be caught.~

Peter Vaughn: As for my second point.... 05291-23628-99732...

~Schoeder, who has taken a tentative step towards the door, freezes in place as the numbers get recited. He looks over, his face losing all its color as he realizes what he's just heard.~

David Schoeder: Where.... where did you get that account number??

~Vaughn has comfortably sat back on the couch now, this time enjoying the whiskey a little more before answering.~

Peter Vaughn: You see, Mr. Schoeder, I'm not just a wrestler, and I'm not just a rancher. I'm many things, including an individual that has lots of contacts all over the world. One of these such contacts happened to be in your employ at one time. You know, you REALLY should invest in a shredder, rather than simply throwing your papers away into the trash. Why, they're easily recovered there... including secret oversea bank accounts like the one I've found. Ones with hundreds of thousands of dollars in them.

~Schoeder almost looks like he's ready to have a heart attack, sliding partially down the wall. Vaughn, seeing this, gets up and comes over, hauling Schoeder up and helping him over to the second couch.~

Peter Vaughn: Now, now, take some deep breaths, Mr. Schoeder. I still need your help, after all. You see, I know that you've made some choices for the union based on... donations to your special account there. I assume it's basically a retirement account for you, one your current wife doesn't know about. The thing is... it'd be very easy for all that money to just... disappear one day, wouldn't it? You'd have no way of proving who moved the funds, after all.

~Vaughn offers the left-over whiskey to Schoeder, who quickly downs it, coughing heavily from the burn. Vaughn smiles, before leaning down and looking Schoeder in the face.~

Peter Vaughn: On the other hand, it'd be just as easy to transfer MORE funds into this account, wouldn't it? And all you'd have to do... is what you've done in the past. It really sounds like a simple choice to me. But then, it's all about what you want to do. I'll see myself out. I'm sure you know how to contact me, being a man of your... knowledge and experience. Enjoy the rodeo.

~Vaughn pats the suffering man on the shoulder, then turns, heading right out the door. Schoeder looks after him, still gasping as if he was short of breath. He slowly recovers, leaning forward and putting his hands to his head, as we slowly fade out.~


By failing to prepare, you're preparing to fail.

I always have my plans in place, and I always know where I'm going next. The first step of the latest plan? It's all you, Malady. You will serve multiple purposes for me at spreading my message across Sin City. When you've been defeated and I move forward, I know I'll earn the targets of the other two men competing for the gold. But then, I want them to see me coming.

You're the first among them to fall, Mal. In some ways that's an honor. In others, it's a shame.

You're going to have to live with the fact that you couldn't beat Goth. You can't beat me. And you won't be winning the Roulette Championship. Maybe you should go back to competing in the tag division. Hey, I admire you for getting wins there. I never work well with others, which is why I've always been a star singles competitor. You should always go with your strengths, and have someone to tag out to when you've had the holy hell beaten out of you.

Unfortunately, I doubt Bulldog will let you tag him. So your options are pretty limited.

It's going to be fun, Mal. For me, at least. I'll see you on the battlefield, on the road to Into The Void XII. Don't get too lost, now, after you've taken the Plunge.