[color:#ffffff]2022- OWA Civil War[/color]

{The event has stopped recording, but Hampton's theme song continued playing as the German fans that filled the arena start packing up. Hendrix leans against the same steel steps he slammed Hampton face first in with hopes it would have been enough to gain Heavyweight supremacy. And despite the fact that Mark Michaels cost The Don the match, he's not even mad at Michaels, he's more pissed off at himself. He failed again. He went all in and put every single chip on the table and didn't draw the lucky card. Wiping the blood from his head that was caused by the Prestige Championship during the match from his eyes, he uses the ring to pull himself up to his feet, clenching his midsection…. And everything sinks in as he watches Hampton walking up the ramp, high fiving some remaining fans as the Immortal Heavyweight Championship is draped over his shoulder, almost mocking Hendrix unknowingly. Emotions that hasn't been shown in a while pour out of Hendrix- sadness knowing that he couldn't keep his promise to his family, embarrassment for not securing the deal with an injured Hampton that most others maybe could have done, and lastly, shame. Hendrix feels like he brought shame to his family name and to everyone he is around. After making his way around the ringside area, up the ramp and through the curtain, Hendrix falls to his knees before resting his head down when someone places their hand on his shoulder. He looks up, seeing his mentor and father figure Angelo standing beside him. He grabs underneath Hendrix's arm before helping him to his feet.

Angelo: "Look Anth-"

Hendrix: "....no. I failed, Angelo. I… I failed again. I let everyone down. I let my dead mother down. I let my dead father down. I let my aunt down, my uncle down, my cousins down, you down, Tony down, Marco down, Matteo down…. I let my…. My… little girl down…. I let Raelynn down…. And that hurts the worst of all. I'm done Angelo…. I'm done."

Angelo: "Anthony where are you going?!"

Hendrix: "..... I'm taking Raelynn and we're going away for a while. I'll be back.to take control of the family… but until then, you're in charge. Take care of them Angelo, please."

{Hendrix puts his hand on Angelo's shoulder and turns to walk off. That's when Angelo grabs Hendrix's arm, stopping him from leaving.}

Angelo: "NO that's quitter talk! Look, you were screwed out of the belt by Mark Michaels! Maybe we can talk to Remington and get you a rematch for the title and-"

Hendrix: "No. Remington is seemingly done with my partnership, so even if I wanted, he wouldn't grant me anything. And Mark Michaels didn't cost me anything… I cost myself the title match Angelo. I did everything that led to to me getting speared out of being World Champion. I'll see you soon Angelo."

{Hendrix removes his arm from Angelo's grip and walks off. After having his head stitched up and cleaning himself after a hard fought match, Hendrix dressed in his best suit and tie leaves the arena with his bag before entering the SUV that brings him to the airport. As he is driven to the airport, he reaches into his phone before dialing up a number.}

Raelynn: "Hey daddy!"

{Hearing her voice…. Seemingly washed away a lot of the pain for Hendrix at this moment.}

Hendrix: "Hey princess. I'm… I'm coming home… and um… we're going on a little vacation."

Raelynn: "Where are we going?"

Hendrix: "Wherever you want sweetheart."

Raelynn: "Can we go to Disney World?!?"

Hendrix: "Heh…. Yes we can go to Disney World. Daddy is about to arrive at the airport so I'll see you when I get back."

Raelynn: "I love you daddy!"

{Hendrix looks down at his lap, wiping his face from the tears that are producing right now.}

Hendrix: "... I love you too sweetheart."

{Hendrix hangs the phone up and sets it down on his lap. He just finished a chapter in his life, and he's semi ready to start the next.}

[Color:#ffffff]2025- High Stakes[/color]

“The Lyons Den. What's a Den when the supposed King of the Den isn't even the biggest name in the fight? The King is supposed to be the most feared of the Den, but you're not even the most feared in your own house hold. And one day, your little group of followers will seek to move away from you and leave you to rot in the jungle. You're a fraud Leader against a true Mafia leader, and you should know if you done your homework, that when facing the Don of a Mafia, we do anything and everything it will take to get rid of someone in my way. It's why I'm a former Champion. But even with that, I'm still locked past by everyone and thought to be something… bad even though I would have match of the night.


But, like always, I walk through those curtains and I'm met with applause. Every fucking time I do a match, I walk to the back and get greeted the same way- "woah Brandon that was really good! We didn't expect that from you! Great job!". Fuck all of you. This bullshit has to stop. Everyone single one of you treat me like I'm some special needs child that you feel like if you don't shower me in praise and glory even for losing, I'd quit or kill myself. It's almost like it's hypocritical of many to believe that the only time I quit a company is when those motherfuckers had to force a change of results in order for their oldies to remain at top because that's all they know. It's almost comical that it's always the case of "Good job, but almost there!". Bro I'm so tired of being the case of "almost there" while other undeserving fucktarts get opportunities after opportunities just because of their name.

They will put on horrible performances and lose four, five, six, ten times in a row and still get chosen over those that have been winning and busting their ass to not only improve in their craft, but to show their bosses that they're ready for the weight of the world to be dropped on their shoulders. And after so many years of busting my ass in the independent scene or in the spotlight of places like Omega Alliance Wrestling, Revolution1, Level Up Wrestling, and so on of busting MY ASS to become the man and star I am today to be passed over time and time again, it's disgusting. It's disturbing. And after the match I had with Mark Michaels, the praise I've gotten, I figured this time, I would get somewhere farther. I actually believed that I would get the respect I thought I deserved.

What more do I have to do? What more do I have to sacrifice? What would I have to change for a sniff of something big? Would I have to die and come back from the dead in a triumphant blaze of glory? Maybe if I joined a stable then maybe I'd get a bigger opportunity? Maybe if I walk up to the World Champion and tell him to gargle my ballsack and be edgy like these others are doing to get main TV time? Oh and before you ask who the fuck do I think I am, go back to last time I spoke where I told you all you will know and remember the name of Brandon Fucking Hendrix, and those fans and all my past victims know exactly who the fuck Brandon Hendrix is. But I can't get people that put me in these fucking matches to know who the fuck I am?!?! This is seriously Project Honor all over again."

"Ain't nobody on this brand is going to work harder than me in any way shape or form. If it comes to the gym, I will outrun you, out lift you, outperform you. I will do anything it takes to outdo you in the gym so the attention is on me and not them. On the mic I have practiced and practiced in the studio for ways to neutralize my victims in every single way possible. Hell, I have the dictionary saved on my phone and in my library so I can look up creative ways to tell you that you suck and that I'm better than you. Hell, I did an entire promo using different teachings: math, history, science, and so on explaining how I'm superior to others. And in that ring, I will adapt to any style need to be to outdo them. You throw in some seven foot four hundred pounds powerhouse and I will body them with the strength of one thousand strongmen to bring them down. You put me against a luchador and I will take to the sky like never seen before to steal the show. Throw me with a technical guy and I will show you my amateur wrestling background from college when I wipe the floor with you. Put me in an Ultimate Submission match versus the best submission artist in the game and I will use hundreds of ways to make you tap out with a fucking armbar. I will box with the best strikers in the world and get a first round knockout on their bitch ass.

I'm truly befuddled, but I know what I must do. I must let that dawg out in me. I must let that motherfucker out that broke a man's spine, then his spirit, then broke his lifeline on earth. I must be that motherfucker who will murder the entire horde of SCW. Maybe that's what is wanted of me? They see a man at six foot and six inches tall that weighs in at a clean two hundred and fifty pounds of pure pissed off muscle that can decapitate anyone's head from their neck. There are two hundred and six bones in the human body, but none of them will matter if a snapped spinal cord sends their body into shock.

If last week proved anything, it was that I was too complicated with my talent. I got distracted by the shining lights and standing ovation I was getting and it cost me the first chance I had in my OWA Redemption Arc. Because of that loss I had to punish myself by waking up at three in the morning and punching the bag until noon. I HAVE TO PUNISH MYSELF SO I DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE! AND IF I LOSE TO KONY THEN I MIGHT AS WELL BE LIKE MY CHILDHOOD HERO ROBIN WILLIAMS AND ERASE MY TIME ON THIS FUCKING EARTH! FOR YEARS I'VE GONE TO COMPANIES AND THEIR FUCKING OWNERS WOULD LOOK AT ME AND SAY "GOLLY BRANDON! YOU CAN DEFINITELY LEAD OUR COMPANY AS WORLD CHAMPION!". BUT THEN CONTINUE TO SCREW AND HOE ME OUT OF ANY OPPORTUNITY THEY HAVE FOR THEIR FUCKING GIGGLES AND HEHES!

As far as I know, the Roulette Championship match, that could be the last time I ever get a title match ever. When I first stepped into this, I was given everything I needed to become Champion. And I GAVE and I GAVE OVER AND OVER AGAIN, AND THEY TOOK AND TOOK AND TOOK ABSOLUTELY EVERY FUCKING THING OUT OF MY SOUL JUST TO THROW ME AWAY LIKE I WAS BROKEN TOY WHEN THEY ARE TIRED OF TOYING WITH ME AND TRIES TO SEND MY CAREER TO THE ABYSS CALLED "WASTED". ALL THIS TIME PEOPLE CALLED ME "WASTED POTENTIAL BECAUSE I NEVER GOTTEN THE MAIN GOLD! ALL THE OTHER TITLES I'VE WON MEANT NOTHING TO THEM BECAUSE IT'S NOT THE BIG ONE AND BECAUSE IT'S NOT THE BIG ONE, THEY MEAN NOTHING! AND WHEN TIMES GOT WORSE, I'VE BEEN STOPPED AND ASKED "BRANDON WHY DO YOU KEEP KILLING YOURSELF FOR A DISTANT DREAM THAT MOST LIKELY NEVER COME TRUE?!?".

……… It's because I need this. It eats away at me every single day. It's like a sickness worse than the one slowly killing my heart that's picking away at my brain. And when I'm being told "You can't do it!", it's there in my head saying "YOU NEED THIS! DON'T YOU QUIT ON YOUR DREAMS BRANDON! IF YOU FIGHT FOR THE DREAMS YOU HAVE, THEN THEY'LL FIGHT EVEN STRONGER FOR YOU!". You see, I've been gifted with a trait called the "It Factor". I can walk into any room I'm in like nothing, make any conversations up no problem. I can do signings, media, photo shoots, get two hours of sleep, and go to that ring soon after and steal the show. And I did that……… I did that EVERY FUCKING NIGHT! I DELIVERED MY ALL EVERY. FUCKING. NIGHT! NONE OF YOU HAVE THE RIGHT QUESTION OR DISCREDIT ME! I DO THIS THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE DAYS A YEAR! EVERY NIGHT I DO THIS AND I'M STILL SHOCKED THAT MY DEDICATION AND LOVE FOR THIS BUSINESS CAN GET QUESTIONED DAILY!

I looked at my daughter and I promised her that daddy would place a title in her hands again so she can stand in between the tombstones of my parents so I can hang that picture up in my office so I can say "Mom, Dad… I fucking did it. Your son did it for you!". And I will say that by the end of this……… even if it's the last thing I ever do. I told you all that you will remember my name, and after it's all said and done, the name of Brandon Fucking Hendrix……… is never forgotten. Vincent, I promise you you will never forget me. And you will never forget the gamble you did that cost you the Roulette Championship to the Don.”

[Off Camera]

(From The Past)

{Brandon went from having the world in his hands… to watching his world shatter right before him. It was at OWA's Game Over pay-per-view event where he did his last match, and it was one of the worst nights of his life. Brandon was moments away from winning what could of been a career changing Championship win, but then… his greatest fear came to life. He saw his little girl being threatened by a grown man, his hand wrapped around her neck. Feeling hopeless, losing the match wasn't even the worst part of the match. It was the fact that Brandon couldn't protect his daughter from danger. The one thing in Brandon's life that he swore to protect and he couldn't. Now, he's sent her to his aunts…. And that has killed him on the inside to send his number one pride and joy away.

(From Today)

A year after that day, and sometimes it keeps Brandon awake still. He stares up at the ceiling, wondering if one day, it'll happen again. Brandon gets a alert on his phone



[On Camera]

(Brandon Hendrix is way over his head on this. Maybe he doesn't deserve his name next to his friends… or "friends" as he says. A man wants the world, always willing to do whatever it takes to take that world. But what if the world doesn't want him? What if that world wants him gone, too? What if the world wants him to crumble beneath it's weight because he wants to reach for the stars? Brandon wanted the best for himself for a first, and he feels like he's been belittled for wanting to. SCW YouTube Channel transitions over to a room filled with the darkness of the night, only for a small light to shine down at the floor below, and in that singular light is Brandon sitting on the floor, his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped about his legs, and his head resting on his knees.)

".... what's there to even say anymore? It's becoming a cliche at this point now. I go somewhere, talk stupid shit about how I'm going to be the man of the place, and disappoint early on. I.. I'm so sick and fucking tired of it dawg."

(Brandon chuckles as he rubs his eyes with his right hand before letting out a defeated sigh.)

"Why continue to hype myself up only to be a loser? Why hype myself to the point I'm sending myself bat shit fucking crazy that people are saying that I should lose my daughter before anything happens to her? Fucking hell am I that crazy to you all? Huh? I'm I'm THAT FUCKING INSANE TO ALL OF YOU HUH?!? And to top it off…. It's the people I trust the most saying this. Let me tell you guys a story. And trigger warning, it's not for the faint of heart. It was um.. not too long ago that I was told that my… My mother passed away. She was my number one fan in the entire world, especially when nobody knew who I was. She was my motivation to stick to wrestling and do my best to become the best damn professional wrestler in the world. She almost got into a fight during a show IN JAPAN might I add. She flew to Japan to watch me wrestle. Anyway she almost got into a fight with someone in the crowd because they said I sucked…"

(Brandon chuckles a bit before wiping his face of the tears that start falling down his cheek.)

"And when I got the phone call from my father that she died… a part of me died too. That sent… my head into another universe. I have nightmares of that phone call to this day… the sound of his voice haunts me.. and I pictured in my head that… I had people around me for that shoulder to cry on… when in reality… I was all alone…..

Time started to move on, and I was slowly recovering mentally from her passing. So I was at a hotel after a show I was on, and I get a knock on my door. Of course, I open the door and there are two cops there, with looks of sorrow on their faces. That's when I find out that my da…"

(Brandon can't help himself. He puts his head down on his knees, and you can hear the muffled sounds of his cries. He cries into his knees for what feels like a century before lifting his head up, his eyes splashed with red and his cheeks stained from the years he shed.)

"I found out my dad killed himself… and there I was.. a twenty four year old orphan pretty much. That's… that's when I became.. crazy. I can still feel… the metal from the blade running across my wrists… as I sat there, wanting it to be my end… only to become the biggest coward in the world. When I couldn't make one fucking slice…. I went for my nine, and I put the barrel to my head. The echoes of me pulling the hammer of the gun runs through my head on a constant and it scares me sometimes. The sound it made puts fear in my heart. I wanted to pull that trigger… I wanted to END IT ALL!!

….. but I couldn't. I dropped that gun and cried. I went to the morgue he was brought to, and I felt… anger. I wanted everyone else to suffer like I did…. I still do. I mean… this is bullshit man. My friends get to have happier lives. Married, happy families…. Like any of the care that I have nothing….

Or I thought I didn't. Soon later, I get a call from an ex of mine, saying meet at a Cafe. So I did, but she did not show. Suddenly, this small child walks up to me with a note. The bitch couldn't even tell me that I was a dad to this amazing little girl."

(Brandon reaches up to his shirt and lifts up his necklace. It's one of those ones that have a picture on it and it's a picture of his daughter, Raelynn. He looks down at the picture, and for the first time, a slight smile appears on his face.)

"This….. is my motivation. But there's comes a point when everything becomes too much. I loved these fans. I fought through injuries for them. I did everything in that ring for them. But to chant "DIE Brandon DIE", "Go Away"... to verbally attack me in public when I have my daughter with me… to tell a five year old that her dad is a fucking loser… that's when you all turned me to the man I am today. I had to change from that kid to The Don. Now, I've become one of the most respected wrestlers in the world today. Like I said… I'm going to die sooner than anyone else here will. My heart…. Is not okay. Given a maximum of… hell a year at point…. I've made it my vow in this ring to kill each and every single person that gets put in front of me. You want to stand in my way, you have to pay the price of the judge, pray to the jury, and fear the executioner.

Bill, the second time we go one on one, and the second time I will beat you. I know what you can bring in a regular match, but now with us not knowing what the stipulation is, many people told me that you are a different animal in that environment. I plead for that beast, because you don't know the monster inside of me. I gave myself the belief that soon I would be in the main event and I would win the World Championship because it's what I was born to do. I never doubted that I have the abilities to be the guy I talked about being for three years. I have the IT Factor that a professional wrestler needs to make it in this business. Need someone to make you love them, hate them, make you smile, make.you cry- I can do that. You need someone to do something last minute to save our shows- I'm the guy people have deepened on. You need me to go to a bracket tournament to defend OWAs Honor- I'm in. You need a great match to put someone over- I'm the guy who can. Need someone to strike up a conversation with anyone, do media, step out his comfort zone, do all this on no sleep and know that I'll still step into the ring and give you the career making performance every night and I know I say that a lot but it's the truth! I do it every single night….

EVERY NIGHT!

EVERY FUCKING NIGHT!

I have delivered!!!! And what do I get? I get pulled to the side, told "Hey keep your chin up? I think one day you'll be the best. You're not doing this right, you have to do this." People want me to play a carbon copy of others to succeed. Speak mythical like most, want blood like a demon, be the hero like warrior, be the underdog like others, be the battling badass like fighter, be the workhorse like a rookie, be the OG like a veteran, be the Villain like the rest. Everyone trying to tell me that I'm doing it wrong means I'm doing it absolutely RIGHT! Everything I've done is to be better!

 EVERY NIGHT I DO IT TO BE BETTER THAN EVERYONE! A BUSINESS ABOUT THE TEAM MAKING THE COMPANY BETTER WITH SELFISH NEEDS! YEAH I'M THE MOST SELFISH OF THEM ALL BECAUSE I NEED THIS! I FUCKING NEED IT!!!

Bill, the first time we faced off, you stood there and criticized me for never achieving anything in SCW, and yeah, you're right I have and I know that I have a lot to prove, not only to the fans of SCW and other wrestlers, but myself. And I'm tired of you OGs thinking that because I have not achieved anything here, means I am not a threat to the big dogs in the yard. The dogs roam the yard, but the owner of the yard just came back and is better than ever. And Billy Boy, the second time we cross in that ring, I'm taking you, the oldest dog of the batch, and I'm taking you behind the woodshed, and I'm putting you down, Ol Yeller.”

[Off Camera]
May 2021

(Brandon had just tackled Addy that sent both men off Camera. Addy gets up, but Brandon doesn't. He's clutching his chest, groaning in pain. Medics rush in to aid Brandon as producers and staff watch on. Next thing Brandon remembers was waking up at the hospital, tubes down his throat, hooked up to monitors that are checking his heart rate. Brandon looks around in a panic when the nearby nurse eases him.)

"It's okay. Go back to sleep."

(Brandon stops his panic and ends up falling back to sleep. The next morning comes and Brandon's mother is standing by his hospital bed as the doctor comes in.)

"What's wrong with my son?"

"Ms. Roberts. It appears your son has a heart defect. His heart will have irregular quickness in beats per minute, decrease in beats per minute…. and a possibility that he can suffer a heart attack. I'm sorry. I'll leave you two."

(The doctor leaves the room, leaving Brandon's mother to stand there in shock. She turns to Hendrix, who's laying asleep as tears fall from her to his hospital gown.)

[On Camera]

"Lord, allow me to rise from the shadows. Allow me to cast from them, not be confined to them. Ahem."

"You can cast them or live confined within them"

You know, Bill. I’ve prayed for you, but more so for me. I pray that your family is taken care of. I prayed that my daughter is well taken care of. And I pray that God still lets me into Heaven after what I'm about to do to you. Ah Shit, Here We Go Again, another Brandon Hendrix beats Bill Barnhart for the second time in three shows. And while it's going to be a Heavyweight War, it'll be your last Heavyweight fight. Because either I'm going to retire you old man, or maybe your last breath takes place in this ring. The Don promises you either or. Take your pick.

Bill, I'm crazy, and crazy kills.”

The place is so tranquil, with the occasional breeze rustling through the leaves of differing shades of green being the only thing to be heard. The sun is bright, the weather is that of a typical Summer day. We flip shot to SCW superstar Brandon Hendrix sitting alone on the end of a walkway sticking out into the lake. The type which people use to board small boats. Brandon sits quietly, almost silently with his feet hanging off the walkway, much more pensive than usual.

'When we are young, we come into this world a blank canvas, influenced by nothing and believing in nothing. The world we live in changes us, moulds us around our experiences and the trials and tribulations we endure as human beings. The person we become as an adult is the result of every experience, every decision, every significant moment we experience in our lives. Am I proud of everything I have ever done to get here? I'd be lying if I said that was the case. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't cut a corner, taken a deal or acted unceremoniously to become the man I am today. What counts however, is that it got results…"

We join a local Wrestling show mid-match, the shot focussing on a much younger Brandon Hendrix. He runs out of a turnbuckle, ducking a clothesline from his opponent, leaping to the second rope in the opposite corner, executing a backflip before landing horribly. His knee crumbles beneath him and instantly all play stops. The referee hesitates for a moment to make sure it isn't part of the show before throwing up the familiar "X" signifying a problem before the match ends. Confusion in the crowd as Brandon holds his knee in agony...silence.
We go forward a few minutes. Hendrix is being helped to the back by two fellow babyfaces in an effort to maintain character. He is lowered into a chair in the corner, before the First Aider on call for the show starts to take a look at him. Mike, Brandon's trainer paces nervously.

"How you feeling, mate? That bump looked ugly!"

"Man...it feels like my knee just fucking exploded. I've landed that shit a thousand times picture perfectly."[/color]
 
Hendrix grimaces as his knee is poked and prodded by the examiner. His pain, both physical and mental are obvious to everyone. This was to be his big night. The night that punters from around the area, as well as a Talent Scout for another company were to witness him winning the Championship. This was to be the start of a big push for a lad who had worked so hard to receive a break. Giving up his job, time at home and missing countless engagements with his girlfriend. The examiner tapes up Brandon, advising him to stay off it for a while before disappearing.

"So?"

"So what? It doesn't look great right now. I'm off home to wash down a few painkillers with a couple of beers and see how I feel in the morning. I'll keep you posted."

With that, Hendrix throws his stuff into his bag, puts his coat on and hobbles out of the back entrance to the venue in the best way he can.

PRESENT DAY

"Many people like to judge what they see before them. The man that graces their venues, their TV screens and their homes. They think because they paid their money or sat down with an oversized bag of crisps each, that they know me. They know what shaped me. The fact is that no one ever asked. No one ever wondered why I make the decisions I do. Am I just a dirty player? Or is there something else?"

We come back to a house in Walsall. Brandon Hendrix is walking to the door. His knee appears to be better. His rehab was a success. He has his kit bag on his shoulder. Maybe he has just come home from the big comeback show that his girlfriend was too sick to get to. A shining title belt adorns his other shoulder, just catching the moonlight on the clean, metallic plates. His family witnessed it, even his elderly Grandfather. It was the first and last time he ever got chance to see Brandon in action. He puts his key in the door and unlocks it, expecting to see his girlfriend in her familiar seat in the lounge, watching some late night crappy TV show. Nothing. The lights are off and there are no signs of life down here.

*What's that?*

Brandon hears a sound upstairs. He moves towards it and starts to head up the stairs, before tripping on a pair of shoes he doesn't recognize. Switching on his phone to gain a bit of light, he sees that the shoes aren't the only thing on the stairs. Discarded trousers, shirts and his girlfriend's familiar underwear, the set she bought to wear for him as a Birthday surprise last year are cast along the floor on the landing. Now we know what those sounds were. Hendrix creeps up the stairs. He wants to catch them in the act. On reaching the door, it seems he hasn't been noticed. He hesitates for a second. The other side of that door, the girl he had been with for five years was with another man. He seems to ponder the consequences of his actions. Seconds seem like hours right now.

*In thought* I have two choices. I break this door down and we see what whoever it is inside my missus is really made of. That's not like me. I prided myself on being a good guy. That's what won her over when I met her. I wasn't like the other jerks and dickheads that hit on her. But the nice guy act isn't what she's into at this minute right? This could change my life. What's the alternative? I leave them to it? Offer them a cuppa for afterwards? Shit, maybe she wants the sheets changing. That's our fucking bed!! I'm...no....cuck!

BOOM!!
Brandon's foot thunders against the wooden door. The door flies open, smashing into the dresser behind it. Makeup flies all over the place as Brandon's girlfriend and a man sit bolt upright. It becomes apparent as Hendrix's eyes adjust to the light that the man is none other than his own best friend Ray! The guy he has been best friends with since pre school! The man that was there in the Hospital as Brandon was told that if the operation didn't work, he was finished. What a fucking betrayal!

Brandon looks heartbroken. In one night, the night that was supposed to be his greatest night and the culmination of years of hard work, his whole world had come crashing around him. He leapt across the bed, tackling Ray to the ground. Ray is rocked, dazed by the speed of the guy who two months back couldn't make the stairs. He hits the wall hard. Hendrix is on top of him, raining down lefts and rights into his face. His nose explodes, covering the beige carpet in bright red blood. The contrast is astounding. Ray manages to wriggle free and gets to his feet as Brandon gets up.

"Man I'm sorry! It meant nothing!"

"NOTHING?! This woman was the woman I was to marry, and you of all fucking people, the man I told about the plan to propose next month, the man I was going to ask to be my best man tears it all down for fucking NOTHING??!"

"Look, I'm sorry! Man, come on! You're not being yourself!"

Ray is backing away from Brandon. Pleading with him to stop the onslaught as he tries to gather his clothes. Brandon reaches onto the shelf above the bedroom door and pulls down a black bat that they stored there in case of intruders at night. The purple tape on the handle makes it look somewhat familiar. He grasps it tightly in both hands and takes a swing at Ray as he is putting on his trousers!

WHACK!

Ray drops to the ground. Holding his head in pain in a semi conscious state. Again, the bat comes down.

WHACK!

Down onto the left knee of Ray. The same knee Brandon injured himself three months prior. Was this when this all started?

"Get up, prick!"

Hendrix hauls Ray to his feet, forcing him up against the wall at the top of the stairs. The moonlight coming through the window catches the look of sheer hatred and intensity in Brandon's eyes. Similar in emotion to the slightly dazed fear emanating from Ray's eyes. One push was all it took. Ray tumbled down the stairs clumsily, trying to grab a rail on the way down, to no success. Ray hit the floor, trying to get back to his feet to thwart the next attack. Hendrix is bearing down on him. His girlfriend is in hysterics, screaming and begging for him to stop. If only he wasn't right by the trousers her phone was in, so she could call for help. He hits the bottom of the stairs and Ray is frantically trying to open the door.

WHACK!

Another swing connects with the hand Ray has against the door, breaking two fingers. Ray screams in agony as he collapses to the ground. His fingers pointing ways in which fingers shouldn't point. Brandon casually kicks the clothes Ray didn't manage to collect away from him, so he is positioned bat in hand between Ray and his clothes.

"Well, Ray. You have about three seconds...The times it's going to take me to warm another swing up to get the FUCK out of this house. If I ever see you, hear from you or even hear your name, trust me...this will be just a fucking warm up for what you'll get."

"Brandon, man I'm sorry! Come on!"

"You want me to finish this count?!"

Ray high tails it to his car. Fumbling with the lock, hopping in and in seconds he has gone. Brandon stands in the doorway of the house that just played part in his personal destruction. Picking up his title belt and his kit bag, still bat in hand he walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He gets to his car, throwing his bag and belt onto the passenger seat. He takes a look at the bat, decorated with the fresh, warm blood of his former friend.

"Well I guess you need a name...How about the name of the one woman it appears I can rely on...I'll call you Beth."

PRESENT DAY

"Now I stand here… I don't know honestly. After this, my personal life went to hell. First suffered from my heart condition, then gotten screwed out of a wrestling company, and nearly took myself out of wrestling all in general. Then, a few things happened. I found an amazing woman named Carina who has kept me strong throughout everything I've been through. When I was… just carted out of her."

FEW MONTHS AGO

Brandon shoots up from his sleep: head drenched in sweat, his breathing rapid, his heart beating at an uncomfortable rate. He clenches his chest, taking deep breaths to calm himself down, but to no avail, his heart continues to ache and ache until he couldn't handle it any longer. He scurried his hand over to his phone and retrieved it, dialing 911. 

"911 what's your emergency?"

"I… I need… ambulance.."

"What's your address you're calling from sir?"

Brandon proceeds to tell his address, in a state of deep panic.

"Okay, an ambulance has been dispatched to your address. What seems to be the situation?"

"M-my heart… I have… heart condition… it's… not.. good."

"Okay just stay on the phone until the paramedics arrive."

PRESENT DAY

"I'm battling my own demons." Brandon taps a spot on his left pec, signaling his heart. "This fights me everyday. Some days I wake up and I think it's my last breath I ever take. I step inside this ring, my HOME, and I could collapse dead in this ring. This demon ruined everything I had. Everything I spent months of work on. Demon nearly cost me my career, let alone life. The pain of not knowing what could have been drives me to this day. Because instead of thinking of the "what ifs" I think about the "I wills".

I WILL be victorious in this fatal four way match. I saw who I got in this match: two former World Champions and another talented possible former world champion. Hell, who am I in this match? I'm just some muscled up punk who lost his debut match. Why am I in this match and why should I win? I can't answer why I'm in this match, but as for why I'm going to win this match is what I can answer: I need to win this. I set the goal that anywhere I go, I was going to make an impact and be a wrestler that fans can be proud of. How if a guy that can drop dead at any moment can do this and be successful, that they can do it too. Jack Washington, Austin James Mercer, Ken Davison, are you prepared to have to put down a man to beat him? Because that's what you're going to have to do to me in order to pin me. And don't worry…"

Brandon lifts his arm up, with "Beth" coming into view.

"Because I'm willing to do the same to you three. See you on Climax Control."