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Ain't No Rest For the Wicked
#NP "Ain't No Rest For the Wicked" by Cage The Elephant
Locale:  BeeHoldzil Fighting Scouts Events Center; Fort Defiance, Arizona



Just because you don't see me, it doesn't mean that I wasn't there.  I am an icon, but when my signature black spikes are covered up with a hat, I blend into the sea of Nobodies, at a rate that is almost scary to me.  After everything that I've accomplished, people in this company don't know me from Adam.  A man who helped to transform the very foundation of this once hodunk promotion, to the massive heights that it is today, and people treat me like a stagehand.  The very reason I left this business, and it's being thrown back in my face.  So much for my change of heart.

After telling the umpteenth stagehand that I don't know where Mark or Christian is at this very moment, I give up on searching for any kind of action in Arizona.  I planned to comfort my son after his loss to the newcomer, Dmitri, but he apparently wasn't that upset, because he ran off with Alexis Edwards to search the back of her throat with his tongue.  I had hoped that with my presence in SCW, I might be able to fend off the likes of Brother Grimm and Belladonna Grey, but they still find a way to get past me.  Connor has left the venue after his win, and he's likely finding a drink, or Tessa's g-spot, so that leaves me here, all alone, as the crowds thin out.  Well, I wished I was alone, but the sad truth is that... I am not.  I think I would be much more at ease if the brash Celeste North would just lay into me.  With a fist?  Or maybe a good verbal motherfucking?  But no, she just sits there, staring at me, as if my very presence is just the biggest possible imposition in the world.  She scoffs, and rolls her eyes, as if she were as disinterested in her surroundings as Delia Darling.

I simply blink my eyes, waiting for a text or call from Vixen to update me on the home front.  I'm sure she will contact me soon, and I want to be able to give her my full attention, so I stay put, sipping on a bottle of water.  However, after the ninety-ninth scoff, I close my eyes, flaring out my nostrils as I try to stop the verbal vomit I'm about to lose, but...

Me:  Can I help you, Celeste?

My voice comes out even much more annoyed than I had expected in would, and I knew it was going to be shitty.  Though, I try to soften the harsh edges as I say her name, my point has been conveyed crystal clear.  She pauses for a second, but her own shitty attitude doesn't allow her to find a way to at least be cordial to me.

Celeste:  Yes.  You can leave now.  I'd like a moment alone now, thanks...

Me:  Oh?  I'm sorry that your night of doing fuck all has exhausted you so much, but I'm not going anywhere right this second.  Thanks for the invitation though.

Celeste:  And I wondered where Tim got his shitty attitude from, but answer is staring me right in the face.

I crinkle my nose with pride at her comment, smiling and relishing in the fact.  This earns me the one hundredth scoff of the night, and even a Delia hair flip.  I must be good at pissing people off...

Me:  Don't mistake the following question as me caring too much, but why are you being extra shitty tonight?  I mean, I'm sure I'm not your favorite person in the world, but have I done something...?

Celeste:  In a manner of speaking... though it wasn't you exactly, but the expulsion from your nut sack...

Me:  Oh?  Do tell.  Color me curious now.

Celeste closes her eyes, and this is where I know I've struck a nerve.  She shakes her head, as if she isn't going to tell me, but I've learned that it is a classic girl move.  All I have to do is strike another nerve, and I think I know just the one.

Me:  Oh, I guess now you're going to pretend you don't want to tell me.  It's cool, I don't really care too much, honestly.

And she flips around, just begging to scream out the answer.  That, my friends, is the secret to melting away the frost of the cold shoulder, but you must be prepared to deal with the fire that comes along with it.  Don't say I didn't warn you...

Celeste:  Well, of course not, because you raised him to be a man whore who sleeps with people's boyfriends.  It doesn't matter that I was his best friend, who stuck by his side through everything, and came to his aid whenever I possibly could.  He didn't seem to remember the fact that I gave him a roof over his head when he wanted to play little orphan runaway, when he slept with my boyfriend, in my bed no less.  He seemed to have forgotten the fact that I helped cast the protection spell that keeps the boogeyman out of every dark corner, from his closet, or under his bed when he was on top of mine... with my boyfriend!

I'm kind of shocked at what I'm hearing, to the point that I can't even speak.  She just shakes her head, and it's clear that she is fighting back tears at this point.  I drop the asshole act for a moment, and just nod my head, despite my mind being stuck on this news.  Celeste tries to process the thoughts running through her head, but she purses her lips as she tries to verbally express too much at once.  She steps toward me, holding her finger up in the air, before slowly pointing it at me.

Celeste:  And let's not forget the incessant bullshit I had to go through with him, over... and over... and over... and over again with Alexis.  Little lover boy can't make up his mind on which way he swings, so he's just giving it and taking it from anyone who will give it and take it...  I'm no angel, not by a long shot, but that?

Celeste digs her fingernail into my chest, but before she can apply too much pressure, she stops, and lets it slide down my chest, and back to her side.  I notice a small tear rolling down her cheek, even before she realizes it.  She looks up at me, and her glossy blue eyes shine under the light of her tears.

Celeste:  That was... so... fucked... up...

I almost didn't think it was possible, but here it is, happening right before my very eyes.  Celeste North is crying.  Real tears, with no discernable motive in place.  She leans against my chest, despite neither one of us being comfortable with that.  She lightly pounds her fist on my chest as she sobs.  I gently pat the back of her head to comfort her, and she lets me.  I'm the luckiest, unlucky bastard on the planet as I get possibly the only glimpse into the vulnerability of Celeste North.  But, it is only fleeting as she pushes away from me, sniffling and quickly wiping away at her eyes, smearing her mascara.

Celeste:  Your precious baby boy did this.  I don't even know why I let you see me cry, because it's obvious that you, of all people, won't take my side in this.

I nod my head as I look into her hurt eyes.

Me:  You're absolutely right.

Celeste:  Figures.  I mean, from what I've heard about you, you're a heartless, sadistic asshole, so why should I expect your spawn to be any different?

Me: That is where you are wrong, Celeste...

Celeste tries to scoff, but it comes off as highly forced.  She turns away from me, though she is staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror.

Celeste:  Oh, right... you're a changed man.  A family man, now...

Me:  No, you were right on the first part.  I'm no saint, by any means.  I've done some pretty fucked up shit, and I'll probably continue to do some even more fucked up shit, the longer I let this sport get to me.  The drive to become a Somebody again is really starting to kick in.  At some points, I almost feel like I'd be willing to do anything to get back my SCW Heavyweight Championship.  Even the ones who remember me around here, most of them don't remember what I'm actually capable of.  I got a taste for the cheer of the fans, and I liked it, but as that faded away, I grew bitter, and angry again.

Celeste:  You know, I hear a whole lot of "You're right, Celeste" and literally no "You're totally wrong, Celeste" going on.

I pause and stare at her.  Clearly the girl doesn't have the patience to see a story through, so I make her wait a moment longer, just because I fucking can.

Me:  My son is nothing like me, and I'm thankful for that.  The only similarity that we share is our love... and hatred... of this business.  I'm crass, jaded, and cruel.  Tim is jovial, naive, and kind.

Celeste snorts, like literally snorts, at the last comment.  I give her a death stare, because no one is going to talk shit about baby bear to papa bear and truly get away with it.  The warning seems to be effective as she slowly folds her arms over her chest and listens.

Me:  Tim might have made some mistakes, but he's still trying to forge his own path in life.  I thought I was doing him a solid when I sheltered him for most of his life, because I had screwed up so much early on.  But, I didn't help him at all with that.  Now, as painful as it is, I'm trying to give him the space he needs to grow into a better man than me.  A man doesn't learn from being hidden away for his whole life, like Siddhartha Gotama.  The kid has to make some mistakes so that he can learn from them, and grow.

Celeste:  And so I'm supposed to just forgive him for stabbing me in the fucking back, when I've been loyal to a fault since day one?  Un-fucking-real...

Me:  Oh, I never said that, Celeste.

Celeste looks confused as she turns around.  A simple, almost dumbfounded "Hm?" escapes her lips as she readies herself for more sarcastic retorts.  However, I stare her dead in the eye, and give her the only piece of advice that she could have never seen coming...

Me:  I never said that you should just be the bigger person and forgive him.  You have every right to be angry.  As I said, I'm not a saint, and I don't believe in turning the other cheek.  For the good of The Nobodies, we've got to get past all of this tired, stale, childish bickering.  It's getting old, and it's holding us back.

Celeste:  Oh, I'm sorry for being angry that YOUR SON...

I hold up my hand, because I'm tired of the victim routine.  Everyone is a victim, but we don't need to broadcast it to the world like my son's new squeeze does on Twitter all day, every day.  I slowly lower my hand, and shake my head, making sure she knows not to proceed.

Me:  I'm letting Tim run the show, but this intervention thing must not have been heard by you.  Suck it up, buttercup, and find a way to get past it, for the sake of this stable.

Celeste:  Oh?  And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Papa Smurf?

Me:  Well, you could just get revenge.

Celeste:  Uhhh, what?

I smile.  Of course I don't want to see my son in pain, but I also don't want to see him being an asshole.  Celeste seems confused, or possibly just shocked at my suggestion.  In case it is confusion, I step forward, my smile growing wider as I do.

Me:  Yeah... He'll never learn if there aren't any real consequences.  At least, I know I never did.  Why don't you think about the most legal, yet gratifying way that you could possibly get revenge on him... and do it.  Even the playing field a little.

Celeste:  So, you... his father... are telling me to get even with him?  I just want to make sure I'm hearing you right.

Me:  Yeah!  It would be a hell of a lot easier to just get it out of your system now, so that you guys can move forward.  And, truth be told, he could use a little corrective action as of late.  He thinks he's untouchable now that Grimm is mostly off of his case.

Celeste:  I could totally break that spell and let Brother Grimm take care of him!

Celeste clinches her fists in pure excitement, all while my mouth hangs open.  I guess it is legal, but I was thinking in another direction.  My face must say it all as Celeste sinks down a bit, saddened by this new limitation.  After a few seconds, her eyes light up, and a devious smile comes over her face.  She grabs onto my shirt collar, and yanks me down, ready to plant her lips against mine.

Me:  Woahhhhhhhhhhh!  Hold on, now...

She lets go, and I adjust my collar.  This almost got too weird to handle.  I clear my throat, and Celeste looks momentarily embarrassed.

Me:  No, that could have worked... if it didn't involve me, so thankfully I stopped that.  But keep thinking it over.  I'm sure you'll figure it out.  Just do me a favor and make sure that it's good, okay?

Before Celeste can answer, my phone goes off.  It is Vixen, and it's my chance to be on my way, and away from this revenge seeking, hormonally crazed woman.  I reach into my pocket, and pull my phone out, just as the scene fades.




Ground Zero
#NP "Dragonfly" Shaman's Harvest
Locale:  Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada


Lucy Seraphina and I had a good conversation at Lestat's Cafe earlier today.  I felt like prior to today, we had established a very self-centered approach to this tournament.  Both of us could have cared less about the other, but only our own interests.  The fame of winning the Blast From the Past tournament, and the title shots that followed, were the only things that we cared about.  This week could be a real test for Lucy, as she gets a taste of Samantha Marlowe, and their encounter could be talked about for months to come, especially if Lucy gets the upper hand.  But, for me, I stand to gain very little from this encounter.  The only thing that could be proved is a win over Rage, which is something I already possess.  Advancing to a bigger goal is the only thing that I've got my mind set on right now.

But, after the conversation Lucy and I had over lunch, I feel like she let me in to her world.  Whether she meant to or not, she showed me a vulnerability that I feel few others have seen.  That means that she trusts me enough to let me in, and I haven't really done that for her.  Besides that, I owe her a training session, since I ran out on her before the last one could even be started.  It isn't much to look at, especially from the outside, but it is my world.  Outside of my family, this is what I have in the now.  We walk up the sidewalk of the warehouse district, and Lucy seems surprised when we leave the broken down sidewalks, to walk down an alley.  While she is not scared in the least, she is surprised that the streets of Las Vegas could actually get more dilapidated than what she's seen.  We approach the gym doors, and much to my surprise, the lights are on inside.  Lucy's eyes look up, seeming to take in the red embossed lettering of the sign above her head.  I place my hand on the door handle, and open it up, motioning for her to enter first.  She obliges, offering a gentle smile, as she steps foot inside.  However, once inside, she doesn't move.  I step around her, as I hear the voice of my lovely wife, Vixen.  Yet, it is accompanied by another female voice that sounds all too familiar.

Lucy:  Are you offering me a surprise gift, Spike?  Because, this is something I could really sink my teeth in to...

Me:  Literally...

The unexpected sight that befalls us catches me off guard.  On the other side of the gym, Vixen is seen with a look of disappointment, or regret, on her face, as she talks softly with none other than Samantha Marlowe.  Lucy clinches her fists as a smile comes over her face.  She takes a few steps forward, but I place a cautious hand in front of her, as a silent plea not to act rashly at the situation.  Instead, I walk over toward Vixen and Samantha, and as I approach, both seem to become quiet.  I look to each of them, with a curious smile on my face, as Lucy approaches at my side.  Lucy's animalistic eyes stare right at Samantha, burning a hole through her very being, while Sam, sweet as ever, simply offers a smile to both of us, perhaps blissfully unaware of Lucy's pre-match animosity.

Samantha:  Well hey there, Spike.  I didn't expect to see you here.

I looks over to Lucy, a serious bloodlust coming over her, so I step over to Samantha, and offer her a friendly, yet worried, smile.

Me:  Hello, Samantha.  I must say, I didn't expect to see you here tonight...

Vixen:  She was actually just leaving, amore.

Vixen comes over to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist, as I lean down for a kiss.  However, she seems to beg for something more, letting her kiss linger.  I stare into the chocolate oceans of her eyes, something that has always calmed me down in any given situation.  She sighs and then smiles.

Vixen:  I've offered Samantha a place to train with Ben Jordan.

Me:  Oh?

Vixen is silent as she simply nods.  As if she could read my mind, something we've both become really good at over the years, she looks over to Sam, and then back to me.  Her French-Canadian accent trickles through, in a cute manner that seems to lull me, as if I were merely a little boy, listening to the soothing songs of his mother.

Vixen:  Conflict of interest, and all... I figured it was best that I took a week off.

Before I can react to this news, one way or the other, Samantha reaches a friendly hand out to me, which I accept without question.

Samantha:  Good luck to the both of you this week.  It's going to be a proper battle between two worthy teams.

Me:  Good luck to you, also, Samantha.  May the best team win.

Samantha looks over to Lucy, and while she seems sweet, she's not nearly as naive as one might expect.  She offers a friendly wave to Lucy, one which is not returned, and then she bows out.  Vixen looks over to Lucy, and she seems to catch a glimpse of the same likeness that I'd seen just a few weeks ago.  Lucy Seraphina is no stranger to our radar, but something about her seems to feel familiar to Vixen as well.  She simply leans toward me and plants a kiss on my cheek before lifting her bag from the ground.

Vixen:  You two must have a training session planned.  I'll leave you two alone.  The twins must be missing mommy about now.

I grab on to Vixen's hand, and plant a gentle, yet firm, kiss on top.  I hold on to it, and smile as she grips my hand in hers.  After a few seconds that feel like minutes, Vixen releases my hand and walks away, giving a respectful nod to Lucy, who returns the favor, though she is unsure of why Vixen would feel the least bit uneasy.  After a momentary locking of eyes, Vixen reaches the door, and exits the gym.  The lights are dim, so I walk over toward the wall, turning the lights above the ring on.  They click on slowly, but very brightly.  I shed my jacket from my body, and drop it on the bench, revealing my old sleeveless New X-Tremes shirt, faded from years of wear.  Lucy approaches the bench, setting her bag down, though she is ready as she is, having the ability to tolerate the cold much better than even myself.

Lucy:  That was... interesting?

Me:  I think you mean, unexpected?  If you didn't, I definitely mean it.

Lucy:  And here I thought you were serving the Bombshell Champion to me on a silver platter.

I chuckle as Lucy wraps her wrists in tape, clearly ready to go harder than I had expected to.  She tosses the tape over to me, giving me a playful look of warning to be more prepared.  I give a toothy grin as I begin to wrap my first wrist.

Me:  Unfortunately, I can't take credit for that, but I'm honestly surprised that Vixen refused to train Samantha this week.  I would have never asked her to do such a thing.

Lucy:  Her loyalty runs deep.  You are a very lucky man.

Without saying it, I'm certainly thinking out loud that she couldn't be more right about that.  We have been through some trying times, but no matter what, we've always been able to count on one another.  Plus, have you seen her?  I'm probably drooling, even after all of these years, so I shake it off quickly.

Me:  Anyway... as you see, I've got a perfect replica of the SCW ring, as most of the wrestlers I train wind up working for Sin City Wrestling, so this is the perfect place for us to spar.

Lucy:  While it is somewhat pointless, because you and Samantha are two totally different people, and I can't exactly face off against Rage due to the gender restriction.

Me:  Consider it a bonding experience.  Neither one of us can truly prepare for our match, as one never knows what to expect, but that doesn't mean that we can't challenge one another to keep us on our toes.

Lucy shrugs her shoulders, though she smirks, because she knows that I'm not expecting a challenge, and yet, that is exactly what she intends to bring my way.  We both climb up onto the apron, stepping inside simultaneously.  We walk to the center of the ring, and while I tower over Lucy, she doesn't seem the least bit intimidated, as I would hope she wouldn't.

Lucy:  Please tell me that you can focus on more things than one at a time?  Tell me your story.  I've told you mine.

Me:  What exactly do you mean?

We tie up in the center of the ring.  While it is second nature for both of us, I use my power to back her against the ropes, but unfortunately, that is exactly what she planned on, and she uses her size to wiggle free, and send me against the ropes with amazing strength for someone her size.  As I bounce off of the opposite ropes, she shouts across the ring.

Lucy:  You said, just three weeks ago, that you were a... monster!

She thrusts her elbow toward my head, pulling no punches, and taking no mercy on me as her partner.  I might have mildly impressed her when I duck the elbow, and grab onto her arm, and wrench it behind her back, while my other arm wraps around her waist in a varied German Suplex combo.  I stop here for a moment, feeling the memories that are as cold, but much more dead, as Lucy's very touch.  Memories of my many training sessions with Misty come flooding back, stopping me in my tracks, as Lucy uses this to her advantage.  She twists out of the arm wrench, and breaks from my other arm with such ease and grace, but it is too late for me as I break out of the trance.  Lucy jerks my arm down, bringing me to my knee.  I pat her arm while I wrap my brain around the chance to break free from her iron clad grip.

Me:  There is no story, really.  I've always liked hurting people, so I made a career out of it.

Lucy:  One doesn't just decide to be a monster and make a job out of it.  One becomes a monster.

Lucy wrenches the arm again, but this time, I surprise her with my own agility for my size, and I kick my legs out, almost leaning back Matrix style, before I twist my body, bringing Lucy over with an Arm Drag.  Lucy skids across the mat, on her feet, as she quickly regains her footing.

Me:  Like foster father, like son.  I'm not sure what else I can say.  My uncle was a sadistic bastard, and to survive that, I had to become one myself.

Lucy laughs.  She doesn't chuckle, she straight up laughs.  I come toward her, stalking closely, but she is stalking me too.  We circle around one another as her laughter calms down, perhaps realizing that she won't lull me into submission so easily.

Lucy:  Your uncle is a lot of things, but sadistic is not one of them.  He strikes me as more of a masochist than a sadist.  What hurts you so badly that no amount of pain you inflict on another human being is enough to move past it?

Me:  I'm not one for sob stories, sister, so...

Damn it!  Reading her is nearly impossible, as she uses the split second of distraction to lunge at me, putting a well placed headlock on, wrenching until I'm brought down to one knee.  However, this one isn't just about utilizing the distraction, but yet there is a bit of anger in her movements.

Lucy:  I trusted you enough to open up to you.  I thought for one brief moment that we could possibly be friends, but I guess I was wrong.

Lucy lets go of the hold, and just drops me.  I rub at the side of my neck as I look over at her.  She waves me off as she walks over toward the ropes.  The Russian temper is clearly in effect, though I can't say that I don't deserve it.  I approach her, and she simply growls, so I hold my hands up despite her not being able to see it.

Me:  My life story in a nutshell is that I was rejected and dejected by just about every person I've ever encountered.  Everyone leaves me, and no one can appreciate that I am a human being.  My father was in the business, and he was always out on the road.  I've heard stories that he was a man whore, and a drug addict who used his time away from his family to live away from the burden.  He died.  My mother killed herself because my father was her life, and she couldn't give two shits about her children.  My uncle loved my mother, and we were the thing that stopped him from moving in on his brother's territory.  My brother looked at me like a father... our father... and he grew to resent me.  My first love tortured me, and toughened me up.  My second love gave me my second beautiful child, before destroying me in the center of the ring.  Any friend I've ever had has ditched me at the first chance they could.  And the worst part is that the beast in me grew to full capacity about half way through all of this.  So, if you want to know why I'm a monster, pick and choose any combination of that, and I'm sure it's a sufficient enough reason to explain why I need to redirect my pain.

Lucy lets it all soak in for a moment, not saying a word.  Perhaps my desperate attempt at making up for the lack of trust on that level was just too little, too late.  Who knows?  All I know is that she isn't speaking to me.  I shrug my shoulders and turn away from her and walk back toward the ropes to make my exit.  As I get one leg through the ropes, her voice cuts through the air like knives.

Lucy:  I thought you said you weren't one for a sob story?  And I never took you as much of a liar...

Me:  Excuse me?

I turn and look back at her.  She has no idea what she's talking about if she feels that any of that was a lie.  I stare daggers back at her, my nostrils beginning to flare up.  She walks toward me, not giving an inch.

Lucy:  Omission is still lying.  I don't know much about your personal life, but you clearly have a wife who thinks the world of you.  You have your children, and you make it no secret that you and your brothers, and even your uncle, are a closely knit family.  If you are a monster, it isn't because you are your father's son.  You just feel like you have to be.  You are limiting yourself to being a pale imitation of your father.  Who is your father, anyway?

I blink, taking her words to heart for a moment.  I slowly nod my head, though I'm not sure where she is going with this.

Me:  "Heartthrob" Robbie Staggs.

Lucy:  I have never heard of him.  But, I have heard of Spike Staggs.  You are your own man, and so long as you continue to live like you are your father, at least as far as your career is concerned, then you have already outlived your career.  I might as well think of another way to get to Samantha Marlowe and her Bombshell Championship.

Me:  Who exactly do you think you are?  You act like you know me so well, but up until five minutes ago, you didn't know anything that wasn't on my Wikipedia page.  I am not my father.  I'm world renowned.  I'm not a cheater, or a drug addict, and I sure as FUCK don't like being away from my family!  I am not my fucking father!

As I shout at her, she has once again goaded me, though this time, her smiling expression spells it out for me.  She pats me on the back, though she might as well be patting herself on her own back, because the pride is within herself, and not within me.

Lucy:  Great.  Now, just convince yourself of that.  I mean, truly convince yourself.  Light the fire within yourself, and then we might stand a chance at getting past Rage and Sam on Sunday.

I breathe heavily, the anger still fresh within my head.  I am pumped, and ready for a true fight now.  Lucy takes a few steps back, and we go back to sparring, a session that will go on for hours, well into the night.  I try not to appreciate what she's done for me, because the fire within me won't burn as brightly, and with the challenge ahead of us... we need to bring all of the heat we can...




Nostalgia
#NP "Freak on a Leash" by Korn
Locale:  Location Undisclosed


There was a time where SCW was my life.  I lived, breathed, ate, and shit all things Sin City Wrestling.  In the beginning, I didn't even want to be part of this thing.  I retired, and it was meant to be just that.  But, "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward always has a way of getting what he wants, and I found my way to the ring.  I almost seemed to pick back up right where I left off.  I went to the center stage, and for a while... I commanded the fucking thing.  I was the face of SCW, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.  I don't think I should have to repeat myself, but for the sake of what I'm about to show you... I will...

I took this company from it's meager beginnings, and I lead a charge through the entirety of the NeWA.  Within months of SCW becoming a territory, I led us to the front of the line, bringing more attention to SCW, and allowing others to capture many of the NeWA titles, or at least compete for them.    I made SCW what it is today, so the fact that I'm truly a Nobody... it's a bit discouraging, I'm not going to lie.  People barely know my name, and the only ones who do, don't seem to want to admit that they shit their pants when I took off my mask just a couple days before my special, limited time return.

It all got me thinking about the days when I was a Somebody.  The days when the crowds cheered my name.  The days when everyone knew exactly who I was.  The days when people actually got excited to tune in to Climax Control.  I took a little visit to the SCW Merchandise Shop online, where they keep at least a little bit of everything ever released on hand.  I went through the list, and found things that were interesting to me.  Things that inspired something within me.  Before I knew it, I believe I had one of almost everything in my e-cart.  I walk into what looks like a merchandise warehouse, but is actually my hotel room, rearranged to display everything I bought.  I walk by the first item, a Jessie Salco men's t-shirt.  You know, from before she became a dirty bitch who hazes young children on Twitter.  I stop and look at it, as I mutter aloud...

Me:  One of the first, truly loyal members of the New X-Tremes.  We saw you win a few titles, and go from zero to hero.

I nod my head in pride at that thought, though it quickly fades as I pack the item back into the box.  Next to it, I find the "Freight Train of Pain" t-shirt that I helped design myself for Casey Williams.  Aside from myself and Jordan Williams, C-Will was the first man actually inducted into the New X-Tremes.  He beat even myself to competing for NeWA gold, despite it not coming to fruition.  He enjoyed many title reigns under my guidance, and even made for a good friend in the meantime.  But, all things much come to an end, as I place the shirt into the same box.  I ruffle through every NXT shirt on hand, tee's and tank tops, and even the hooded jacket that inspired the Nobodies uniform look.  I place them into the box, and fold it back up.  I move on to the next pile of crap, looking down at it fondly.  My own personal tee, the tee featuring Giani Di Luca, Misty, Ben Jordan, Jon Dough, Party Horde, and the many Vixen t-shirts.  I look at each one, cherishing a special memory, before packing them up as well.  I move over to the Simon Jones shirts, as well as the Despayre and Drake Green shirts, and everything in between.  I can't help but smile.  Looking at them, I know that we all helped to build this company, along with so many others.  When I say that I built SCW, I don't mean that I did it alone, but I certainly did lead the charge.

I look through the posters, when I start to notice the decline.  Delia Darling, and all of the Mean Girls merchandise that I ordered with full intention of burning, sits spread out over a box.  As much as I hate to admit it, Mean Girls was an empire, one that moved in to take the place that the New X-Tremes left behind.  They were annoying as hell, but even they made the impossible... possible.  While I wasn't necessarily there, I tuned in each week.  I'd hoped someone would destroy them, but in true Delia Darling fashion, the only person who was allowed to destroy them... was them.  Poetic in a way, really.  For that reason, I won't burn their stuff.  I'll simply tuck it away in a dark corner of a basement closet, far out of view.

Though, there have been a random treasure here and there, SCW has been missing such a spark from a unique stable that makes sense, and draws in dollars from the fans.  The Mean Girls was the last of a dying breed.  The Nobodies is about the exact opposite, and for that reason, we... they... will never reach such a status as The Nobodies.  Nothing excites.  Since my return, it feels like I've just been going through the motions, hoping to recapture that feeling that I once had for this business.  Instead, all I see are dead memories, packed away in boxes, and a firm reminder that the past will always stay in the past, and no amount of wishing will ever bring it back.  It's sad, but a reality that we must all face.

However, one last item that I had nearly forgotten about comes to mind.  I'd forgotten to show it off, because I'm wearing it.

<img src=http://i1253.photobucket.com/albums/hh598/SinCityWrestlingBucket/RageSinOfWrathTShirt01_zps266f2d0a.png>

Ha!  There's no way that anyone should forget that they are wearing something like this.  Remembering that one moment that Rage had hair, and wishing he'd kept it to hide the fact that he's got a peanut head is just priceless.  This shirt is the perfect embodiment of Rage, too.  Each time I look at the picture, I see a big baby.  The only thing it's missing are some tears flying from his eyes.  He's throwing a big childish tantrum, and trying to pull all of the attention on to himself.  Instead of being a normal person, and... I don't know, not sucking at wrestling, or being a choke artist... Rage throwns fits.  He storms off when the going gets tough, but he will always mope around like he doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone, but when the attention isn't on him?  He blows a fit.  When it is on him?  He throws a fucking fit.  My children were never so childish... and they are children.  I have to wonder if Rage actually has what it takes to get past me, or will it be another instance where Samantha Marlowe pulls him through the tournament?  He clearly doesn't have what it takes to get a World title match on his own, and his temper tantrums and "quitting" as if he were Alexis Edwards, have worn thin on the bosses.

Rage has to rely on Samantha to get him through the tournament, because Rage is a classic choke artist.  He is good at getting just to the cusp of greatness, and then failing, and fading.  I've gotten past him before, and I have it on good authority that I will do it again.  if he couldn't beat me when we were both in our prime, and he's clearly let himself go much worse than I have... then how does he expect to get to James Huntington-Hawkes the third?

You see, Rage... you want to fight for the top prize in this business.  You want to earn your shot at the title, so that you can (no matter how delusional this sounds) be the champion that we need.  The strong champion who bats away any and all competition.  Sorry to break it to you, Jakey boy, but you will never be me.  You will never be the original, and you will never even be a knock off of me... or a Drake Green as I like to say.  You will have to find another way to James, because this is my path.

This isn't even about you, Rage.  You're just an annoying obstacle, the same way that CJ Sharpe was.  You see, I've got some business with J2H... haha... and I want him to see me destroy any and all obstables that come in my way.  I want him to shit his pants, knowing that I'm coming for him.  And just to be clear, I'm not coming for his title.  I'm coming for him!  The bastard that sold my son out, in true cowardly fashion.  He might have inked himself up.  He might have spent time in the gym with Austin Parker, but you can't change colors unless you are a chameleon, and James is no chameleon.  He is a C-word.  Cock sucker?  Chicken shit?  Cunt?  All of the above, but first and foremost, he is a coward, and he proved that a zebra can't change it's stripes when he sold my son out.  I'm ready to go round 2 with the little bastard, and no title in the world matters to me.  The only thing that matters is wrapping my hands around his neck and ringing it like a motherfucking bell.

But, Rage... the fact that you want to delude yourself into believing that you stand a chance?  I can actually respect that.  It shows a bit of backbone that I didn't realize you had under all of that muscle and body oil.  It doesn't show that you have any brains, but that's besides the point.  You are not a coward.  You are simply a dumb shit who has taken one too many chairs to the head, and no, I'm not talking about in the Blaze of Glory game I played earlier on my X-Box 360 where I repeatedly hammered away at your head with endless steal chairs... which totally happened, and it was definitely hilarious...  No, I'm talking about real steel chairs.  I'm talking about being concussed to the point you literally see stars and birds flying around your head like you were Roger Rabbit.  No, I didn't choose that rabbit because of your speech impediment either... Okay, I did.  I really did...

My point, Rage, is that I'm a determined man.  I'm not a man child, but a real man, who has his eyes set on something far beyond you.  I will get past you on Sunday, Rage.  I will Suplex, DDT, Armlock, Headlock, punch, kick, and choke my way to victory, because I have to.  I don't want to.  I HAVE to.  I have a few things to prove before I go after the sonuvabitch who put my son's life in needless jeopardy.  You might be my "biggest" challenge yet, but you won't be my toughest.  I've got my eyes on you, Jacob, even if it seems like I'm looking passed you.  Be ready for hell on Sunday, because I will bring every bit of that hell, and oh so much more.

Oh, and just because I can...  we take a look at the many sensual Vixen posters as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

 <img src=http://38.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0wedli8Ux1r30e2y.gif>


The Aftermath
#NP "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin
Locale:  Eureka Municipal Auditorium; Eureka, California



The show must go on, it would seem.  My son and I left it all on the mat, and we put on one hell of a match together.  Credit is most certainly due to Lucy Seraphina and Amanda Cortez for putting on one wicked display, but the world was on fire the moment I stepped through those curtains, and everyone felt that heat.  My own son was the only person who knew that I was behind that mask, and not even then was he certain.  I'd like to think that we stole the show, but reality settles in as I watch everything going on around us.  Camera crews are on the hunt for a new story to cover.  Ring technicians are getting things cleaned up for the next match to begin, and we are simply two guppies in the pond, swimming against the current.  Literally no one bats an eyelash at the two of us.  I had this image of coming back to the show, and proving everything that I had thought about my relationship with this company wrong, but all it had done was solidify why I left in the first place.  It proves validity as to why Misty felt the need to return each time after she retired.  No one gets that more than I do, especially now.

But, the more painstaken detail is seeing the look on my son's face.  He had always mentioned that one day, he wanted to do battle with me, and he got his wish.  Granted, it didn't turn out the way he had hoped, and there is a part of me that wishes I had pushed things in his favor a bit.  No parent likes to see their child disappointed, but I stand by the fact that it would have been a major disservice to him to hand him an undeserved victory.  But the pain on his face is beyond that of the outcome of our match.  He just put on one of his best matches to date, and not a single person noticed.  Not a one approaches him to tell him what a great job he did out there.  I remember those days all too well, so they hit a little bit closer to home than one might imagine.

I wrap an arm around him as we approach the Nobodies locker room.  I look to him, and the worry in my eyes must be showing, because he immediately pulls out from under my arm and he stares right into my eyes.

Tim:  Don't worry.  They won't tear you to shreds in there.  Truth be told, I don't think any of them even like me anymore.  Not that I give a shit at this point.

Me:  Truth be told, I don't care what three little girls think of me.  Not enough to stop me from facing them, anyway.  I'm more concerned about you.  I'm worried because you have been starting to go down the same road you went down when you were friends with that douche, Johnny Tsunami, and Liz Smalls.

Tim stares at me, but there is an air of uncaring there.  Behind that mask, there is an extreme fear, anxiety, worry, self doubt, and anger that forms what is apparently an explosive emotional maltov cocktail.

Tim:  You don't even know the half of it!  I've done things that would make you cringe, and that's just since losing the tag titles, and Connor as a friend.

Me:  You have not lost him as a friend.  Sometimes people just need a bit of space to breathe.

Tim:  I'm going fucking crazy, dad!  It's no secret that I slept with my Blast From the Past partner, and her wife, and we did some things I may never get over.  Degrading, hot, self loathing, wonderful things!  I'm tattooed as Rose's "Bad Boy" for life!  Right there on my left ass cheek!

Without me needing visual proof, Tim pulls down the back of his tights and flashes his newest piece of body art.  It's such a plain font choice, even for a prison style tattoo, but that was the last thing I needed to see at this point.  I turn my head and let out a disgusted grunt, shielding my eyes.

Tim:  And now Celeste is mad at me, because she facilitated something between her boyfriend and I, and then when it actually happened, she blew up about loyalty and some other bullshit!  I'm not playing a victim... not since leaving Amanda's dungeon at least, but why would you dangle a carrot in front of a rabbit, and then get pissed when the rabbit fucks the carrot?!

Me:  Ohhhhkay... I know I've always been one for promoting total honesty, and that is my mistake.  Some things are better left unsaid, because I can't unhear that.  As much as I wish I could... I can't.  Not that I am one to judge, because I've experimented many times in life, but a father just doesn't need to hear about his child's sexual escapades.

My mild indifference to Tim's honestly surprising sexual preferences almost seems to shock, yet underwhelm, my son.  He seems as if he's unsure of how to continue, while maintaining the fiery emotional explosion.  He almost seems aggravated that I'm not upset about his bi-curious exploration, so he turns away from me.

Me:  I'm not going to look down on you for choices concerning your sexuality, so long as you play safe.  I don't necessarily want to hear about them, as you're my child, but I'm more than happy to lend an ear for advice.  I just don't want you to feel like you have to work your way through this without any sort of guidance, son.

Tim:  I don't need to hold your hand while I'm having sex.  I'll be 18 in just a few weeks now, and truth be told, I lost my virginity back in Japan.  This isn't new territory for me... well, Chad was, but in general?  No.  I just don't feel comfortable in my own skin right now, and I know that won't change until I find it in myself to change.  I just can't seem to get someone else off of my mind.

Me:  Alexis?

I ask in a horrified manner, though I know I don't even need to ask.  She has dragged his heart through the mud for as long as I've known of her existence.  Since the day I walked in and found her crashing on the couch in my office at Staggs Dungeon, as a matter of fact.  I stare at Tim as he nods his head.

Me:  Look, I know this won't do a damn bit of good, because it didn't stop me from pining after your mother... but everyone warned me that she was trouble.  Everyone told me that she would drag me down, and that I would never rebound from the damage she would do to me.  Granted, I did my own damage in return, but I didn't listen.  She was like a wildfire that just swept me up, and for the longest time, I enjoyed the burn.  I just didn't realize that I was also a wildfire.  We burned together, until we caused explosions, and our flames separated.  We were not good for one another, and unfortunately, you had to feel the burn as well.  Alexis is your mother in so many ways.

Tim:  Yeah, but I'm not you, dad.  I'm not Roxanne, either.  Alexis might not be good for me, but that doesn't stop my heart from wanting her.  But, since that just isn't going to happen, I'm going to live my life, and I'm going to set it all on fire.

Me:  You aren't me.  You're right.  But do you realize that you sound exactly like me at your age?

Tim goes to speak, when the Nobodies step out from the janitors closet we had been using for privacy.  Tessa stops and stares at me, as Celeste avoids looking at Tim.  Alexis looks right at him, though it is clear that she hadn't heard anything Tim just said about her.  Celeste leans in and whispers to Alexis, who doesn't seem phased by her words at all.

Tessa:  What'er ye two doing out here gabbing all private like?

Celeste:  If I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with fucking boyfriends?

Alexis stares out of the corner of her eye at Celeste, an obvious look of surprise comes over her face.  However, there is no confusion on what Celeste meant as Alexis tries her best to shake it off.  She looks to me, seeing that I'm about ready to explode on Celeste, so she quickly changes the subject before Tim and Celeste have a chance to look to one another to start a war.

Alexis:  That match was fuckin' awesome, guys.  I swore that Tim had it a few times there.

Me:  He did a wonderful job out there.

Celeste:  Oh?  I didn't even notice, what with getting his ass kicked by a legend and all.

Tim:  If you need references on any "jobs" I do, why don't you ask Chad?  He might tell you that I... blow...

Tim smiles as Celeste rolls her eyes.  I step up between the two of them, and I give both of them a firm push apart.  I look to each of them with a stern father look that I instantly wish I hadn't done.  While I'm worrying about rewinding the dad look, I do something even worse.

Me:  KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!!!

Tim:  Yeah, C...

Me:  BOTH OF YOU!!!

Tim quickly zips it up as I stare directly at him.  I then turn to give the ever defiant Celeste a look.  Neither one of them says a word, and while I regret intervening, it is too late to turn back now, because it's already begun.

Me:  As a matter of fact, why don't the four of you shut the hell up and listen to me.  I don't mean stare at me with contempt, Tessa and Alexis.  I mean drink in the knowledge I'm about to drop on you.

I stare to Alexis who crosses her arms over her chest as Tessa holds her hands up in a dramatic surrender.

Me:  I was the original Nobody before most of you had your first long term memory.  I am the Underdog Story.  I went through everything that you guys are going through right now, and then some.  And do you know what happened?

Alexis:  You sold out to "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward?

Me:  Yes, but you are too far ahead of that.  I formed a group, much like this little one... except much less vagina.  People came, and people left.  The parallels are great in numbers.  But, the second we all actually got on the same page, and stopped fighting over petty bullshit like someone fucking someone else's boyfriend, who they were trying to get rid of anyway... we actually accomplished things.  I'm not talking about championships.  I'm talking about getting noticed, and appreciated, to the point that, yeah, someone like Mark Ward Junior noticed my potential, and gave me a platform to go on to bigger and brighter things.  I became a Somebody, not only because of myself, but because my stable mates and I weren't at each other's throats constantly.  We worked together as a cohesive unit, and that is something that you guys have yet to do.  So I suggest that you four work out whatever issues you have with one another, or at least find a way to choke them back to help each other instead of hindering.  That's how you become a Somebody...  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to take Tim to an emergency clinic to get tested after his training sessions with Amanda...

I pull Tim by the arm as we walk away from the three ladies, and they all look to one another, stunned at what they are hearing.  Tim doesn't protest, though he does give me a dirty look as we head toward the Men's locker room to collect our things.



The Natural Order
#NP "Alive" by Nekromantix
Locale:  Tucson, Arizona; Location unknown


Walking through the streets of Tucson at night is a much more tame time than walking the streets of Vegas.  Some might even say that we are in the middle of nowhere.  Despite the smaller demographic than I'm used to, there are plenty of similarities.  Such as the woman standing on the corner of the street, smoking a cigarette, and dressed in clothes that shouldn't be worn for another month or two out of respect for the seasons.  If she were in Vegas, she would be wearing some kind of small mini skirt, with a sequin top.  The costume is different, but the intent is the same.  She is a predator, seeking her next meal.  She watches the streets like a hawk, and each passing car could be her ticket.  One approaches, and little does she know, this duo of wolves is also in search of their next meal.  The skeezy look matches those in Vegas to a point, the trucker hats, dirty blue jeans, and unkempt hair and facial hair.  There is something different about these men.  The wolves have devious intentions, though the degree of which may vary.  She gets in the car, and aside from the two wolves in hillbilly clothing, I just might be the last person to see the hawk alive.  It's a gamble one takes in the urban jungles.  The concrete dwellings might replace the foliage, but the rules are always the same.  Stay alive for as long as you can.

As I watch the tail lights fade on the beat up car, I turn to see another specimen.  One that is much less aware of the dangers surrounding them.  There is a stray cub, no more than fifteen years of age.  He is seated on the sidewalk, covered by a piece of cardboard that reads "Will work for food".  A man dressed in a Mr. Rogers cardigan and slacks, approaches him, likely with false promises of his next meal.  But what I see in the urban jungle, is a serpant, with devious intents of his own.  He leans down and whispers to the young man, but one can only imagine what tempting words of pure venom drip from his eager fangs.  The boy gets up from his spot on the sidewalk, and readies himself for his next job, which just might take away everything.

This is when the anamoly enters the equation.  The wild card.  The factor that no one can count on as a certainty.  I walk over to the two, and I stare right at the snake, my very own dead eyes glaring right at him as I step between them.  I notice something dead in his eyes as well, though the deviant thoughts are almost too much for even me to take.  I reach into my pocket and pull out a fifty dollar bill.  I turn to the kid, and I place it into his cupped hand, unexpectedly.  The man turns me around and tries not to cause too much of a scene as he speaks to me.

Snake:  Hey man, what do you think you're doing?  Go get your own...

I'm sickened to my core.  I understand desire better than the next man, but this is nothing by comparison.  I scoff at the man, shaking my head as I turn back to the boy, who cuts me off before I have a chance to speak.

Cub:  What do I gotta do for this, sir?

Me:  You have to go down the street to the diner, eat and drink to your heart's content, and find somewhere off the streets to sleep tonight.  It's not safe here anymore.

The boy nods his head as he stares at the snake, his plans now foiled.  He looks angry with me, but because of my size, he makes no attempts to get physical with me.  Though, we gaze upon one another as if we were the next meal, following a grueling battle to the death.  The cub scampers off as the snake is struck with the realization that I was not after the boy, but instead, after him.  He slowly backs up, but I do not relent.  I have a Punisher Complex tonight, and I'm not going to stop until this scum bag has learned his lesson.  I stalk forward as he chuckles nervously.

Snake:  I, uh... needed my lawn mowed, and...

Me:  At 11:30 at night?  The noise pollution laws must be different than where I'm from.

Snake:  He was obviously homeless, and I have a spare bedroom for him to get a good nights rest.

I wink at him and click my teeth as he continues to back up.  Anxiety takes over his face as he quickens his backward pace.  I know I don't need to quicken mine, because I am the most fierce warrior of the urban jungle.  I seek justice, as well as my next meal.  I am man, the true king of the concrete forest.  I don't need to use fear tactics, because his fear is already real enough.

Me:  As a man with a son not much older than that kid, I find predators like you to be the lowest form of humanity.

He trips over a trash bin on the sidewalk, and I hover over him as he tries to slither away on his ass and hands.  However, I grab onto his throat and I stare down at him as I begin to tighten my grip.  I see the reflection of myself in his glossy eyes, and it's a look I haven't seen in ages.  My teeth are gritted, and I'm shaking with rage and anticipation for his lights to go out completely.  The smile on my face almost makes me sick for a moment, but the moment quickly passes.

Me:  The world would be better off without your kind, preying on children because you aren't beast enough to admit to yourself exactly what you are.  You can't man up to take on the other creatures of the night, so you ruin children instead... heh, well not today, Satan...

Lights approach us, and I quickly turn.  Like a chameleon, my smile changes to that of a helpful one as the police car comes over to us, slowing down as they shine a light on us.  I laugh it off as I only turn to face them, blinded by their spotlight.

Officer:  Is there a problem, gentlemen?

Me:  None at all, officer.  This man tripped on the sidewalk, and I was just trying to help him up.

The officer shines his light over to the man who is catching his breath.  I can see the steel blue eyes, searching over the man, and waiting for the truth to come out.  Luckily, I retained memory of my old ventriloquist act from grade school, and I speak to him without moving my lips at all.

Me:  If you tell him what happened, so will I... the whole story.

The snake nods his head as I grab onto his arm to jerk him up almost violently.  He finishes catching his breath, and then forces a smile onto his face to convince the officer.

Snake:  Yes, officer.  I've just been a bit clumsy tonight.  But I have a feeling that this won't ever happen again.

Me:  It better not, right?  It would be a shame to have your knee caps shattered from another slip...

The officer sighs and rolls his eyes, taking off slowly again.  As he turns the corner, I bury my knee into the pit of the snake's stomach.  He doubles back over in pain as I walk off, leaving him to his own tortured memories.  Just outside of the slightly urban cityscape of Tucson, I find a hill, the grass as artificial as the idea that grass could even possibly grow naturally in this region.  The plastic feels almost realistic, minus the mosquitoes in search of their next fix.  I sit there, and watch the city.  Despite not having much going on by comparison to Las Vegas, I seem to be able to hone in on more here.  The faint gunshot that I would have taken for granted in Vegas.  The echoing scream of drunken delight from the girls leaving the bar.  Every little noise seems much more crisp here, and the inner workings of the jungle are more clearly heard.

Me:  You know... there is a natural order to things.  It is, well, the nature of it all.  Every creature is one of habit, and form.  We all take to our niche in life, and we don't ever question it.  Only those who do, are destined for great things.

I stare out as the lights of the city slowly start to die down.  This is something else that Tucson has on Vegas.  Smaller numbers of predators, and the shadow of the night as a blanket for the dirtiest of deeds.  As the city tucks itself in for bed, I stare at it all, a cigarette between my lips.  The glowing ember lights up my face with each drag I take.

Me:  I have never been one for complacent thought.  I do not accept the reality of what is placed in front of me.  By natural law, man is not at the top of the food chain, as we would like ourselves to believe.  There is no food chain.  There is only the circle of life.  We are born, we consume, we grow, we deteriorate, we die, and we become fertilizer for another organism to continue on with the same process.  There is no true rhyme or reason to what is going on.  The mightiest of beasts can be taken down by the tiniest, simplest of organisms.  It happens every day.

The near silence is almost deafening to me, taken over by only the sound of cars driving up the hill to pass me by.

Me:  This is why I do not take my opponent this week for granted.  CJ Sharpe is a mere single celled oranism in the SCW Animal Kingdom.  While I would like to deny it, I am the elderly wolf, who is standing on his last leg.  Sure, I appear to be big, and bad.  I've done some pretty sickening things in my time, and I've earned the respect of most of the pups running around this place, as well as my peers.  On paper, this should be an easy match for me.  I should walk in, stomp CJ out, and continue on in the tournament.  Though, in my years of great wisdom, I can't say that with any kind of certainty at all.  Last week, I was the wild card, but this week?  CJ is a complete unknown to me.  For all I know, he could be the next... me.  Is that arrogant sounding?  Good...

I take another drag from my cigarette, finishing it off before flicking it out into the street, very non chalant.

Me:  CJ Sharpe could be the next phenomena, and he could be waiting for the perfect opportunity to take down the weakened beast with the highest of decoration.  He might go into that ring and destroy and embarrass me, the way Andrew Watts did to my uncle in last year's tournament, in the second round no less.  Who knows?  It could very well happen.  Though, logic tells us that I could just as easily walk into the ring on Sunday, smash him to pieces, and win the match within seconds.  That will likely be the outcome, but it is due in part to not thinking that it will.  No one should go into a match expecting to win, and listing off their accomplishments as a way of convincing themselves why they are going to win.  List them as honor, not that you held the titles, but that you were part of something much bigger than yourself, building it up.  What has CJ done here in SCW?  I couldn't honestly tell you, because I have not paid an ounce of attention.  It is the order of things around here.  I pay attention to that which is necessary, and I never viewed CJ Sharpe as "necessary".  No one is perfect, myself included.

I reach into my pocket and pull out another cigarette from my pack.  I place it between my lips, and just savor the cool touch on my lips.

Me:  This match isn't so simple, of course.  It isn't just about me.  It is about Lucy Seraphina and Kate Steele.  Both ladies have their accomplishments, but on paper, Kate has the advantage of being a champion.  She is the Bombshell Roulette Champion, currently reigning.  Kate is a beast all her own.

I size up my cigarette for a moment before I light it up.  Taking one harsh drag, I pause and shake my head.

Me:  I've come to realize that people don't remember anything in this business past two weeks.  Kate just won the belt.  Lucy held a belt of higher tier.  She defeated Amy Marshall to get that honor, a woman who I consider a dear friend, and a woman who is no laughing matter.  She is the only Bombshell to Grand Slam all four title, and Lucy found it in her to best Amy.  Lucy is a beast by nature, both literally and figuratively.  Her and I work so well together, because we both have a thirst for blood.  Mine isn't a need as much as a desire, but still.  Lucy and I are both skilled and controlled, which is the most lethal kind of beast.  In the jungle of SCW, we are the anomalies, and we will prove this week why we are absolutely nothing to laugh at.  We both have our sights set on the trophies, and we will not stop until we have won them, or can no longer move.  I will not repeat what my uncle did last year.  Lucy and I will advance past the second round, come feast or famine.  CJ, I hope you watched what I did to my own son last week.  I hope you studied it really hard, because that is but a mere taste of what is to come for you.  I'll see you on Sunday...

I wrap this up quickly as my eyes get lost in the rarest of sights.  The starry sky mesmerizes me into a trance-like state as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

 <img src=https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6GZfTP0tQUA/UFqpv_NNuII/AAAAAAAB-DQ/778jAOyVI6M/w800-h800/V5Fis.gif>


Epilogue of Epic Proportions
#NP "The Nobodies (Stepane K Rock Mix)" by Marilyn Manson
Locale:  Everywhere and Nowhere all at once...


"S"

Greetings from beyond the grave...  Salutations from outer space.

Mystery surrounds us all, does it not?  Answers to questions unasked, while asking the questions that go unanswered.  We live a paradox, and I couldn't be happier.  I wear my hood and go about my business just as unnoticed as any other member of the Nobody Nation.

The chatter amongst us is that the hood conceals all.  Some find it a prison, anonymity as the keeper, and Tim Staggs as their warden.  Others find it to be the most freeing, exilirating feeling they could imagine.  Moving amongst the shadows as nothing but a blip on the radar of the masses.  An invisible breeze that goes unnoticed by anyone and everyone.  Though confined by a mask, it truly allows someone to be themselves to their fullest.

In my study of the human race, I have found that we only show a mere fraction of our true self to the world around us for fear of, well many things.  Ostricization.  Scrutiny.  Rejection.  Ah yes, rejection.  There are so many forms.  As an observer of the human race, I've found that the primary objective is to copulate and procreate in order to leave a lasting mark on this world.  Rebellion is in, so we're all wearing it like it's a next season Raf Simons original.  All the while, conformity is the next season.  Conformity is Anarchy, and I am above the law.

This is why I don't mind pulling on some black horned Halloween mask, and wrapping a gangster bandana around my face.  I don't find the black turtle neck we bought from Walmart, or the dollar bin black gloves, or the thrift store black jeans and hooded jackets we got on bulk discount from Amazon Prime with free two day shipping in a variety of mislabeled sizes.  The conformity serves as a message of solidarity that I've been a part of since day one.  Well, more like day three or four, when Tim asked for my help.  But, it is something that I've always held near and dear to my heart.  I am a celestial being, gender neutral for the time being.  Though, despite that, I've been assigned a gender role of male for the Blast From the Past Tournament.

I just find it funny that having bangers and mash defines ones gender in such a simplistic, black and white way.  A man must watch sports, drink beer, fix cars, mow the lawn, sit around in piss and sweat stained undergarments, beating on their hairy chests, and ordering a wife around in neandrathal fashion, while women must raise their children, cook, clean, satisfy every man's needs, while also looking as presentable at all times as June fucking Cleaver.  Our ideals have not changed at all since the 1950's.  Masculinity and Femininity are two separate things, and yet?  We all possess them, as we are a product of both of them, all the way back to Cain, Abel, and Seth.  Why do we decide to deny ourselves based on archaic ideals of gender specific roles?

Though, I'll bite.  I'll puff our my big burly chest, and pass some gas while using my body language to suggest that I've got a penis.  But, not until I've taken off this mask to show exactly who I am.  Don't worry, I'm not a very patient person, so you will find out exactly who I am at the end of this promotional piece.

Until then, I will use big words to confuse you, and wrap your simple minds around my riddles.  Mindfuck is my middle name, and winning the third annual Blast From the Past tournament is my game.

My mission is to blow your mind, and I will not stop until I have done so.  But first, I wanted to explain what it's like to be behind the mask, under the hood, and a complete unknown.

Imagine you are Angus... from the movie... Angus?  No?  Really?  You've not heard of that?  Did you not live in the 1990's... Oh wait, everyone here is in their early twenties, and some were born a year after that came out, and it isn't old enough to be a classic... Let's try this again.  Imagine you are E.T. ... Ha!  There we go.  But, the comparison doesn't really hold up.  I just wanted to see if you knew the fucking movie.

Imagine you are Adam, the Christian Slater character from Untamed Heart.... Oh for Christ sake, go see a movie that doesn't star Channing Tatum or Liam Neeson or Ryan Renolds... unless the Ryan Renolds movie is Deadpool, then turn this promo off and drive to the nearest theater, buy a ticket, and a medium popcorn.  I'll see you in about two and a half hours, pondering the whole time why you have not been slapped for not seeing what is clearly a cinematic piece of fucking gold.  *Waits*  Anyway, Adam is a character who was an orphan who almost dies from having a damaged heart.  Other than one unrealistically nice nun, nobody gives a shit about Adam.  He doesn't talk.  He is just kind of there.  People laugh at him, call him stupid, and once they've made themselves feel better about their shitty situations, they go back to forgetting that he even exists.  The viewer likely feels bad, because we all know that he's a sweet guy with a heart of gold, but much like the latter parts of the movie, that doesn't pertain to the moral of this story.  No one feels bad for The Nobodies, because no one cares about The Nobodies.  The fans don't care, because they can't see the struggles we go through to just make it through our lives.  Many of us just come to the shows to collect a small paycheck.  Some of us drink it down, while others shoot it up.  But, just like Adam, we get to move along and do anything we want without anyone ever noticing.  Except, I'd never sneak into a girls bedroom to watch her sleep like I was Edward Cullen.  Not since the restraining order(s) at least.  But, we could if we wanted to.  We might all just sneak into your room tonight and watch you sleep.  How would you like that?

Since you've likely tuned out everything I've said over the last ten minutes because you either didn't understand half of the words, or the imagery I painstakenly mapped out for you, here's something tangible (or relative to your interests)... I will be facing the man who has singlehandedly built a future empire.  I will be facing the man who has led a group of talentless, or aimless, or otherwise uninspired people or wrestlers to express themselves.  While we wear a uniform, there is not a single Nobody who is like the other.  We each have our own story, our own reason for being the way we are, and for wearing the hood.  It has nothing to do with wanting to be uniform.  It has everything to do with making a statement about how we are seen.  No matter what our story is, we are on the blind side of every other star or Bombshell.  Of every member of staff.  Of every person who rests their eyes on us.  But that only makes our accomplishments that much more impressive.  And Tim Staggs is the man who has made this possible for us all.

Tim and I go way back, and that makes this that much more difficult.  However, I know that he would not want me to give him any less than the best I have to offer.  I refuse to give him anything else, because he deserves that.  I may be a nameless, faceless question mark on the card, but my opponent knows me all too well, and I know him even better.  It is just a shame that we have to face one another so soon, because I'd wager to guess that we would meet in the final round otherwise, and this match would be all the more sweet.




Faces (Part One)
#NP "Where Eagles Dare" by The Misfits
Locale:  Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada


"T"

Standing on the outside of the ring, with my hood drawn closely over my head, I look around the gym to see a crowd of the faceless hoods, and yet I am just another one of them.  Tim is centered in the ring, staring out at us as we watch him, waiting for some kind of a reaction.  However, he just stares.  He's gone through his fair share of problems as of late.  Prescription drug addiction, being attacking by the boogeyman, and the troubles of a world tour on someone so young.  However, his mind seems very clear as he studies us all.  We know who he is, and he knows who we are, while only the unmasked are known to me at this point.  There are many different shapes and sizes in the crowd, some male, and some female.  And possibly everything in between for all I know.  I look around at them, making my own guesses on the twenty or so people standing outside of the ring.  However, I glance over at Tim, who grimaces and shakes his head.  He points directly at me and points to me, then his eyes, and finally to himself.  Like an obedient child, I simply nod my head and give him my full attention through the eye holes.  He gives a satisfied nod as he lifts his hood back to reveal a new haircut.

Tim:  Things around here are about to change.  I feel like I have been fair as of late.  I've given the opportunity to each and every one of you to do as you please.  I've given the freedom that each of you need, with just one tiny request.

Tim looks across the crowd, and his eyes rest on me, narrowing them for what seems like an eternity before he continues to sweep across the crowd.

Tim:  The only thing that I've ever asked of you is to keep your mask on during gatherings, and to keep a certain level of secrecy with your affiliation to the group.  I am a lenient leader.  I don't think I ask too much of any Nobody.  Would you say that's accurate?

Tim pauses and holds his hands out in front of him, welcoming even the most harsh of criticism from The Nobodies.  Celeste simply folds her arms across her chest, while the rest of them nod along with me.  It is the truth, but perhaps I am partial.

Unknown 1:  Isn't that the exact opposite of freedom?  Asking us to keep who we are a secret?

Tim:  In a sense, that is right.  But, in the mask, you are free to express yourself in any way you see fit.  It makes you a sense of anonymity that gives you less inhibition.  I haven't asked you not to be yourself, but only to unleash your most inner desires.

Celeste:  That's a common theme around here, I'd have to say.

There is a tension that could be cut with a knife, and it smothers everyone in between Celeste and Tim.  There is a moment where no one says a single word, and the two just stare at one another.  Not a single person in the room, masked or unmasked, wishes to share a single peep while this is going down.  Tim finally breaks the awkward silence with a smile and a light chuckle.  He waves off Celeste's comment as nothing more than a joke.  He steps over to the ropes of the ring, staring right past me, and any other masked Nobody, to look right at Celeste.

Tim:  Celeste is a soldier, isn't she, ladies and gentlemen?  She has gone above and beyond since day one.  She has been loyal to a fault.  Never once have I questioned that.  She was so eager to make an impact that she signed a contract even before her identity was revealed.  She wrestled in a mask for a month, just to prove her loyalty.  And it was for that exact reason that I have never felt the need to give her the official initiation.

His eyes are on fire as he continues to stare at her, and from the heat I feel on the back of my head, I'd say that she's giving it right back to him.  I take a step to my left and slowly turn my head to see an unexpected smirk on her face.

Tim:  Loyalty is a virtue in The Nobodies, and has been since the day I took the reigns.  However... I was thinking something.  Celeste, would you join me in the ring?

She pauses for a moment, studying the young Staggs in a curious manner.  She finally pushes her way through the crowd and rolls in under the bottom rope.  As she stands up, her and Tim share something that shocks us all.  There is the most heated hug I've ever seen in my life.  There is an explosion of animosity cloaked in a friendly expression, which is something I've never expected to see.  The tension all but dies as they release their embrace.  However, Tim suddenly straps a pair of handcuffs on Celeste, and drags her arm over to the top rope, where he clicks the other cuff.  Tim takes a step back as he looks out into the crowd of Nobodies.

Tim:  I think that I know Celeste better than anyone else.  I think there's a bit of a resendment that she hasn't been initiated as the other unmasked.  This is my mistake, and one that I hope to fix, right here... and right now...

Tim smiles widely as he waves his arms at us, welcoming us all inside of the ring.  We look to one another, unsure of what is going on.  I think I have a good idea, so I hesitate on entering the ring.  The others roll inside as I remain standing on the outside.

Tim:  As we are not on an SCW broadcasted program, I wanted to give Celeste a full on welcome... officially.  I trust that each and every one of you have all required Nobodies uniform pieces?

Alexis smiles as she steps to the front of the crowd.  She drops a mini baseball bat from her sleeve and rubs her hands together.

Alexis:  Fuck yeah!  I've been waiting for this one for a long time now...

The female members of the Nobodies all drop their weapons from their sleeves, and into their hands, ready to start beating on the surprisingly eager Celeste.  Tim looks around with a smile and steps in front of them all.  He studies them, and then shakes his head with a disappointed sigh.

Tim:  No, this just doesn't seem right.  Ladies, go ahead and start a little pregame beating, but guys?  Yes, men, I want you to welcome Celeste, too... I mean, it's not like she hasn't been beated with Johnny's baseball bat already, am I right?

He giggles as Celeste's face goes white.  Tim looks at her, waiting for her to object.  While she appears scared, she doesn't try to stop anything from happening.  She tries to hide her fear, but we see it.  This is just wrong.  I go to speak as Alexis jams her bat into the stomach of Celeste, doubling her over, as Tessa lashes at her with a chain, and the other masked ladies beat on her with everything under the sun.  Several of the men brush past me, and begin laying into her, while a few seem to share the same apprehensions as I do.  Again, I go to speak up, but I'm cut off as a voice comes from across the gym.

Spike:  WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?

Spike Staggs walks into the gym, and he wastes no time in rolling inside of the ring.  He walks to each Nobody and yanks the weapons from the men's hands, and tosses them to the outside.  He then walks right up to Tim and shoves him to the corner in a rough manner.  He tries to keep his anger in check as he quietly talks with his son.

Spike:  I thought I taught you better than this, Timmy.  You NEVER beat on women.

Tim:  Yeah, but beating on children is perfectly acceptable, right?

Spike is caught off guard for just a second, especially as the women begin to wail on Celeste once more.  Tim takes advantage of the microscopic silence as he continues talking.

Tim:  Besides, I wasn't beating on her.  The other guys were.  I didn't touch her in a violent manner, and she was loving it.

Spike:  You are never to promote that kind of violence.  Do you understand me?  I can't control what you do, but I can tell you that this shit right here?  It will NOT take place inside of my gym, or any other roof I own.  If you want to appease the sadist, take it elsewhere.  But, if I ever catch wind that you laid an inappropriate finger on a lady... or female, as that one is no lady... I will beat your ass.  Comprende?

Tim simply smiles, clearly finding Spike's words to be a joke.  However, he obliges with an insincere nod of his head before brushing past Spike.  He leans on the shoulder of a couple weaponless men, as he watches Celeste get beaten.  Part of him feels like he needs to stop it, but instead, he giggles, clapping his hands together.

Tim:  That's right, ladies.  Let's make up for lost time.  I'm starting to see flashbacks from the aftermath of the match with Jessie Salco.  Very nice!

I slowly walk up to Tim.  Something about this still doesn't feel right.  Something about this new Tim seems to almost intimidate me for a second.  I hesitate, despite raising my finger to tap the back of his shoulder.  Right before I'm about to do so, he stops and looks around at everyone shy of the person who wants his attention... me...

Tim:  You guys look bored.  Kind of like you are feeling left out now?  I got your blood pumping, only for you to be let down by my father.  Why don't we...

He spins around, and latches a pair of cuffs onto my wrist as he drags me just a few feet over to the ropes.  He gives me the same treatment as he gave Celeste, with a hug before stepping back.  He drops a pipe from his sleeve, pointing to me with it, and that sadistic Staggs grin spread from ear to ear.  I look from side to side as I watch the guys close in on me like a pack of hungry wolves.  They slap their weapons against their palms, as Tim holds a hand out.

Tim:  Today, we will see another member of The Nobodies inducted.  This man right here will be my opponent on Sunday, as I enter the Blast From the Past tournament.  To avoid any future problems with people not feeling fully welcomed, we make him feel right at home.  But I want to take a moment to make it clear that I'm not doing this to gain any kind of upper hand in our match.  I just want to make you feel like an official member of The Nobodies.

I nod my head.  It is a natural human reaction to feel a bit of fear when you are cuffed to something, and you have nine guys standing around you with blunt objects and chains in their hands.  It's even more natural to sweat when you look over and see someone, undergoing the same treatment, and they are barely hanging on to consciousness, a bloody mess as they stare over at you, the life starting to disappear from their eyes.  However, I gulp and puff my chest out, ready to take the brunt of the beating.  Tim steps forward, before all else, and he swings the lead pipe at me, and instantly, I feel the beautiful pain tracing from my ribs, around to my back.  The swelling starts when one of the men hits me with a slap jack against my jaw.  I hear the sickening crunch as my jaw pops slightly.  My head turns as I feel a chain smash against my forehead.  I feel a shot to my crotch, and this doubles me over to my knees.  They attack me like a hungry pack of vultures, starving for my blood.  Steel, leather, metal, arms, fists, and feet smashing into me from every possible direction.  My arm is the only thing keeping me on my feet.  I'm no stranger to violence and being outnumbered, but this is a whole new level.  I feel the blood pouring from my busted lip as I look over to the ladies, who are finally letting up on Celeste.  She is hunched over, her nose busted and flowing onto the white mat, and her eyes just stare over at me.  Alexis crashes her boot over the back of Celeste's head, knocking her out, as I pray for the same treatment.

Tim:  Welcome to The Nobodies, soldier!

The mentioning of my name seems to cause several of the members to stop dead in their tracks.  However, Tim doesn't let up as he hammers away at me with the pipe.  There is an inner anger that seems unquenched by the damage I've taken.  It would take the blood of a thousand men to quench his anger, but I feel as though I am the start.  My vision goes blurry as Tim leans down to get into my face.

Tim:  Don't think that I plan on taking it easy on you next Sunday just because of our relationship.  I've got far more to prove than you do, and I will do everything in my power to prove it.

With one final blow to the back of the head with the steel pipe, I watch as blackness takes over slowly, and I join Celeste in a painful world of nothingness, even for just the slightest of moments...




Faces (Part 2)
#NP "(We Were) Electrocute" by Type O Negative
Locale:  Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada


"A"

I stare into the mirror, despite being covered up completely.  I look into my own eyes, despite the constant whirring of vision from the screaming headache I've got going on.  i lift up the corner of my mask, just from the bottom, and all I see is my blood covered chin.  I grab the rag to my right, and I begin dabbing at the chin, cleaning it up slightly, though it leaves a rosy tint to my skin.  However, my focus is on the eyes.  I stare into them, and every cold thought reflects from my blue eyes.  They are like ice, as every life long memory flashes through them.  All of the pain.  All of the anger.  Every mistake I've ever made.  It is like staring into a crystal ball that is my life, and it captivates me so that I almost forget about the pain coursing through my brain.  However, one sharp pain causes me to close them, and groan.  I reach over to my left and empty a few small brownish red pills into the palm of my hand.  I reach them under my mask, and dry swallow them.

After a second, the horrible taste causes me to let out an exasperated sigh, before I lean down and lift my mask up entirely.  I can't bare to look at my own face right now, so before I get the chance, I look down.  I cup my hands under the running faucet, and splash the cool water over my face.  I watch as it returns to the white sink with a deep red tint to it.  For just a slight moment, I feel a relief from the pain, but just as quickly as the water splashes off of my face, so does the relief.  I repeat the process quickly, many times over.  Each time I do, the less red seems to be in the water.  My face is tender to the touch, but as soon as the water is almost completely clear again, I stop splashing, and I take the rag from the side of the sink, and I run it harshly across my face.  I scrub away most of the blood from it, but at the same time, I seem to aggravate some of the wounds as they slightly open back up.  I place the mask under the running water to rinse it out.

After a moment of this, I stare at the water running down the drain in a swirling motion.  Occasionally, I see a drop or two of blood hit the water, only to get spun around in the whirlpool.  I seem to be momentarily mesmerized by it, while remaining in this position to give myself a rest from the pain.  Suddenly, I look down at my phone.  A text arrives for me, but it is only the thing that makes me think to look at the time.  It is 2:37pm.  Shit!  I was supposed to meet with my partner for the tournament to discuss some strategy, and have a bit of a chemistry lesson.  I'm already running late to the party, but fortunately, I'm already in the right place.  I take another rag and pat my face dry.  Being one with a flare for the dramatics, I place my mask over my face, and pull my hood back up as I stare back into the mirror.

Me:  You can do this...

I look toward the door to the private bathroom, and I walk toward it.  I hesitate for a moment as I unlock it.  Soon enough, I open up the door and step out into the gym.  I look around, and the only person standing inside of it is Tim.  He doesn't look as confident as I thought he would after such a precise beat down on his future opponent.  There is something different about him in this moment, as he rests on the bleachers.  He seems lost in thought, and part of me doesn't want to disturb him.  However, I know from personal experience, that getting too lost in thought becoems a bad thing.  I walk over toward him, and sit down next to him.  I do everything I can to hide any sign of pain as I bump into him lightly with my shoulder.

Me:  Is something on your mind?

He looks up at me for just a split second, with a look that screams "No shit, Sherlock" before he looks back down to the ground.  He doesn't say a word, and I respect that.  I stare at the door, expecting my guest to walk through it at any moment.

Me:  Just so you know, Tim?  We aren't opponents until the bell rings on Sunday.  You don't have to follow in your father's footsteps by playing mind games with me, and with yourself.  We're allowed to rely on one another for advice and support in the meantime.

Tim:  I still wonder, in the back of my mind... if I'm really strong enough to be a leader.  If I am, I should be able to handle whatever I'm dealing with on my own.  Besides, how do I know that you're not just playing mind games with me?

Who says that I wasn't already, right?  We both know that wrestling is just as psychological as it is physical.  But I do care about Tim, and I wonder what exactly is going on with him.  He has gone from one extreme to the other.

Me:  I just wanted to make sure that you were able to bring your best to the ring on Sunday.  I don't want you to half ass it and make my win look less than deserved.

I chuckle as I nudge him, but he doesn't seem to find the humor in it the way I had.  He just keeps staring at the ground silently.  I sigh and run my hand against the back of my head as I join him in staring at the ground.

Me:  I won't make you talk to me about what's going on, but know that you can if you need to.

Tim:  You're not my keeper, okay?  We are stable mates, and you support the cause I started.  That will be appreciated forever, but we are not personal.  Not as long as you and I are opponents.  Do you understand me?

With that, Tim stands up and walks off, leaving me to stew in that comment.  I am not really sure how to react to that, given his state of mind lately.  Despite being in a clean mind, he has never been more disoriented.  He pushes his way through the door, and right past a woman in sunglasses. She doesn't move at first but slowly she turns her head like she was glaring daggers at Tim. When he is out of view she slowly turns back to me. She gently removes them as she looks around the gym.  I see the side of her face, as she removes the cloak from around her body.  She is wearing a black tank top and a pair of form fitting jeans.  She definitely seems like someone I would have hung around with in my earlier days of wrestling.  I stand up from my seat, and place my hand on the hood of my jacket.  She turns to face me with a smile on her face.

Lucy:  Hello there.  I received a mysterious message from my partner for the Blast From the Past tournament to meet him here, and...

As I stare into her face, something seems awfully familiar with her.  It is like a ghost of the past, and one that I couldn't forget, even if I tried with every fiber of my being.  She seems like someone that I've had an awful lot of dealings with in the past.  Memories of her come back to me, like a flash of lightning.  The good and the bad, all at once, and I'm stuck with my hand awkwardly placed on the back of my head as she looks at me curiously.

Lucy:  Excuse me?  Hello? Anyone in there?

She walks toward me, studying my posture and smelling my own confusion and fear, which immediately puts her on the defensive.  She holds a hand up to try to ease me, but it only causes me to take a step backward.  I rest my hands at my side, and I can't help but just stare back into the animalistic eyes of Lucy Seraphina.

Lucy:  Are you the mystery partner I'm supposed to be meeting here today?  I got a text from Tim Staggs on your behalf. Said to be here around this time and all that jazz.

Me:  Yuh... yes...

She smirks.  I can't tell what her intentions are with it, which is a rare thing.  I'm usually great at reading people, but Lucy is very different.  And despite being different, which is usually a quality I admire in people, she makes me nervous.

Me:  I was thinking that it might be a good way to get to know each other before the match this Sunday.

Lucy:  I would have to agree.  It must be hard to wrestle in a mask like that, so I would hope you might consider removing it beforehand?

I chuckle at her comment, despite how serious she is being.  I reach back and pull my hood back.  I'm shaking, and it takes a few tries, but I get it down.  She stares at me, as if I hadn't made any attempt to reveal my identity to her as I am still wearing a ski cap and the black devil mask.

Lucy:  What are you so afraid of?

Me:  I'm not afraid of anything!

I snap at her as she tilts her head to the side.  She takes a moment as I turn away from her.  It is then that I notice the salivating at the sight of my jugular vein.  Despite the thirst, she doesn't make a single move to satiate it.

Lucy:  I could smell your fear from the moment I entered the door.  If you want this team to work cohesively, then I'm going to need for you to trust me.

She places a hand on my shoulder.  A cold hand that sends shivers throughout my entire body.  Part of me would rather feel the death coursing through her veins, than to look at the hauntingly beautiful face that reminds me of the past.  I stare straight ahead at the ring as she gently removes her hand.

Me:  I don't trust anyone as far as I can throw them.

Lucy:  That's pretty ironic, considering the fact that you look like you could throw someone pretty far judging by your build.  But, I don't need you to trust me very far.  Just until we both get what we want.

Lucy's words show little compassion.  As a matter of fact, they seem quite selfish.  Yet, somehow it is the most sensible thing I could ever imagine coming out of her with all things considered.  I let it soak in for a moment before my hand once again reaches for my hood.

Me:  So then you agree?  We shouldn't concern ourselves with matters such as trust, as long as we both understand that one wants this just as badly as the other?

Lucy:  That is exactly what I'm saying.  We only have to work together for the next six weeks.  If you don't trust me beyond that, or if I don't trust you beyond that, then we lose nothing.  We only stand to gain from this partnership.

I turn back to face her, and our understanding seems to spark something within me.  I pull my hand down, just to flip my hood back on my head.  I stare at her once more, but this time, I look only into her eyes, as steady and precise as a wolf, and just as unyielding as one as well.

Me:  Then I ask you this... Do you really mean that?

Lucy:  I most certainly do.

She cracks a bit of a smile.  One that lets me know she does, and she refuses to apologize for it.  I adjust the hood in a stylish sort of manner as I lean back against the ring, making myself comfortable.

Me:  Then... I guess you won't mind if I keep my identity a mystery?  I could be anyone from the pizza delivery guy you ate last night... to the owner of this company... or anyone in between, and you aren't the least bit curious about that?

Lucy:  Of course I am, in some small way.  You are a curious creature, but I don't need anything personal out of this arrangement.  I just need to know that you're going to show up to the ring, and fight as if you were fighting for your very life.  Because, if you don't... you may very well be doing just that.

When anyone says such words to me, I usually laugh it off.  Perhaps it is my healthy ego, but I find such threats to be tedious and meaningless.  Though, this time, I know she's serious.  However, I am serious as well, which puts us on the same page.

Me:  Don't worry, Lucy... I will lose the mask before our match, but I'm just having too much fun with it, so I think I'll keep it for a little longer.  But you need to know one thing.

Lucy:  Oh?  And what is that?

Me:  I plan to give this everything I've got in me.  I have been training seriously since I agreed to do this.  Since I inked my own contract with the bosses, in my own office, I've been taking our partnership seriously.  You strike me as someone who is on the same page, and therefore, I'm not worried.  I can't read you like I can with others, so I don't know if you are worried about my motives.  Just know that I've been waiting for this ever since the last time I stepped foot in an SCW ring, and left so much unfinished business.  I didn't come here for a one off match.  I came to right many wrongs, and that's going to take more than a couple weeks.

She stares into my eyes, and suddenly, a spark of recognition seems to shine through.  Something about the look she gives me, scares me again.  She narrows her eyes, and then she gasps as she steps closer to me.

Lucy:  Erik...?

Rarely does anyone look into the eyes and recognize someone they know so little about.  However, her detective skills cause me to choke.  I struggle to find my breath, and the mask definitely doesn't help any.  I made a promise to Tim, and I won't destroy it so quickly by taking my mask off.  Before I know what's happening, i turn away from Lucy and I run off toward the bathroom door once more.  I fling it open and run inside where I feel like I'm about to throw up.  Maybe I'm really not ready to take off my mask and show the world that the same broken person they had last seen, is back to try it again, even if only for the tournament.  I look at my own reflection in the mirror as I rip my mask off.  Before I can do anything, the nerves of it all overcome me, and I vomit right into the sink.

"G"




Faces (Part 3)
#NP "Meet the Creeper" by Rob Zombie
Locale:  Location Undisclosed


"G"

The Staggs family is a dynasty.  We are at the very foundation of Sin City Wrestling, and wrestling as a whole.  I could go on about championships our family has held in other promotions, some of which are worldwide.  But, what exactly would that prove?  The six sided ring changes the entire game, and anything that doesn't take place within it, doesn't count.

<img src=http://img.supernatural.com.tr/iu/4oi0rBx.png>

The sad part is that only one man is ever remembered, and that is only because he's the man you go to with all of your problems.  He's your whipping boy.  He all but licks your boot clean at the end of the night.  He is a paper pusher.  He is nothing more than a behind the scenes fall boy.  He was one of wrestling's most notorious in the Indy circuit well into the nineties, when he stepped away from the ring to open his own Indy promotion, known as Ultimate Championship Wrestling.  This spawned many names that SCW has seen on screen, and he alone discovered them.  Right from his three newphews, all the way to names such as Roxanne, Michelle Andretti, Chanelle Martinez, who all achieved greatness in other organizations such as GCW, GXW, and 3WL.  He has an eye for talent, but most forget that he is not someone to be taken with ease.  He stepped into an SCW ring after lacing up his boots in last years Blast From the Past tournament, where he moved to the second round with Necra Octavian Kane, only to be knocked out by the team of Misty and Andrew Watts, who went on to win the tournament.  Some say that he's expressed feelings that he never truly got to showcase his talents to the SCW Universe.  To say that he's got unfinished business would be the understatement of the century.  Could this truly be my true identity?

<img src=http://cs323930.vk.me/v323930151/7f68/4XIaqsLvBts.jpg>

Or perhaps it is I, Spike Staggs.  The Godfather of Sin City Wrestling.  The man who got the small territory noticed by the world in the very first place?  Many of the conceited members of the roster... or more accurately, today's roster as a whole... might not remember Sin City Wrestling's humble beginnings.  Not that the venues have stepped up in quality since the beginning, but from day one, Spike Staggs appeared on the broadcast, and gave it his all.  Going to war with "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward, he became the household name.  Granted, the household only held downwards of a few hundred each night.  Upon the interest to be absorbed by the National eWrestling Alliance, Spike Staggs worked his way up their rankings, oddly enough, next to his now wife, Vixen Lafabvre-Staggs who is total hotness, by the way...  and before long, he received a shot at Jack Kraven for the NeWA World Heavyweight Championship.  This is when the world started paying attention to Sin City Wrestling, even if only to laugh at Kraven's newest victim.  The term Sin City Screwjob (part one) was coined at this event, when Staggs walked away in an extreme upset, felt through the entire inter-fed promotion.  However, during round two of Staggs-Kraven, Spike walked away with the championship, and hence, solidified SCW's place as the crown jewel of NeWA, as their posterboy.  After a couple defenses, Spike lost the title, but was approached by a scumbag by the name of Brad Batee, to save the title from embarrassment, and go for it one more time.  The world was not surprised that he took down said opponent, whose name... well, does not live in infamy.  Honestly, no one remembers who it was, and their records have been since "lost".  Spike defeated all major contenders placed in front of him, including Kai Kennedy and Sean Jackson.  All, but Nick Jones, a man he had a very sordid past with.  The two were set to compete, and in wrestling's stupidest maneuver to date, Brad Batee cancelled the match on suspicion that Spike Staggs was somehow set to purposely tank to Nick Jones so that he could make his exit, and Nick could carry the torch for Sin City Wrestling.  Batee banished either man from competing in any inter-promotional matches ever again, (where Sin City Screwjob part deux took place), getting "Sean Jackson'd" even before Sean Jackson was "Sean Jackson'd"

The publicity alone caused Sin City Wrestling to become a self-sufficient brand, along with the Staggs name.  After Spike was stripped of the title, yet never relinquishing the actual belt, he soon retired, giving only one more match for his wife, Vixen, so that they could compete in her dream match, as a team.  After this, Spike and Erik opened up a gym, and the entire Staggs family has run it ever since.  He enjoys success as a trainer, and a former five time World Champion... but he has made it no secret that the terms he left on were... less than admirable.  Unfinished business?  Obviously...

<img src=http://www.eonline.com/eol_images/Entire_Site/2010513/300.margera.cm.61310.jpg>

No stranger to the debacle known as the National eWrestling Alliance, Jamie Staggs competed cross promotion for the better part of SCW and NeWA's business relationship, competing across the country in Bad Ass Championship Wrestling, starting an interfed feud with former SCW World Heavyweight and Roulette Champion, and BACW Empire State Champion, "The Italian Stallion" Giani Di Luca.  Jamie felt the sting of the Sin City Screwjob through denial into certain events due to his relation to Spike.  Any event he had entered around that time, he was treated as a joke, if he was allowed to compete at all.  He never took it out on his brother, but since the interfed relationship dissolved, Jamie had mostly disappeared from the ring, other than a short stint in RWF.  It has been said that his ire for the sport rages on.  Throw these rumors next to the ones that claim Jamie Staggs is secretly a genius with a 214 IQ, and you can chalk this up to another set of "unfinished business" that could easily mean that I am... him.  *Wicked, maniacal laugh inserted here*

<img src=http://www.altpress.com/images/uploads/news/Sum_41_Deryck_Whibley_2015.jpg>

While the Staggs family eyes aren't exactly present with Tommy Staggs, his history deserves to be taught in this lesson.  Don't worry, he is expecting you to fast forward to the inevitable reveal at the end of this promotional video, but let us not forget his name.  Tommy Staggs is a man who is not as well known in SCW.  His glory days were at the tender age of 18, where his brothers broke him into the business.  He quickly won the GCW Extreme Championship under the name Tommy "The Terror" Edmond, holding on to it for quite some time before exiting the company.  Now, only beaten out by Tim, he was the youngest champion ever in the Staggs family.  In my... I mean, the first promotion run by the Staggs family, he became the UCW High Flyer Champion, remaining undefeated through the entire year long existence of the company.  He has seen his fair share of hard times, many of which hit since he signed with SCW.  Due to his family connections, people expected great things from him, only for him to choke at the cusp of said greatness.  With so much failed expectation, would it not make sense that he would hide behind a mask, and find his way into the signature tournament of SCW?  Unfinished business seems to be a theme for the family, no?  And, would it be too much of a stretch to say that he could very well be mystery man?  Me?  It would not be a stretch at all.  It is a very REAL possibility.

<img src=http://www.rupert-grint.us/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/HungerMagRup1-295x300.jpg>

How fucked up would it be, if I was my own opponent?  How insane would it be for me to have entered twice?  Just imagine the eptitude of that kind of awesomeness, right?  Either way, I'm would go on to the next round.  I mean, it is possible that the son of the "Most Sadistic Bastard" and "Wrestling's Original Mindfuck" could pull the wool over your eyes, no?  Tim Staggs is the definition of unfinished business.  He couldn't even finish a doughnut from the catering table.  He can't finish assembling a team of people who want to be seen with him.  He can't finish telling a girl how he feels before she goes off and screws wrestling's grossest man since Drake Green retired for the fiftieth time.  He can't finish a feud with Brother Grimm without nearly overdosing on Xanax, and shitting his underoos.  He still hasn't finished The Sixth Sense.  Spoiler alert, Timmy... Bruce Willis... is dead... *Eerie Twilight Zone music*

Yeah, obviously Tim couldn't finish a plan to ensure he makes it to the second round of the tournament, because God, Jesus, Joseph, Mary, even Stevie Wonder can see that his skills won't do it.  I can say it.  You can't.  I'm family.  In case you didn't notice all the whispery bold letters spread kind of cryptically throughout this promotional video, it has spelled "S-T-A-G-G" and somming up soon, it will throw up another "S" to complete the name "Staggs".  Oops, I forgot to say "Spoiler Alert" again.  Too bad you're probably a moron and didn't get it on your own.  I'm now sad for the human race *Sad face*

Tim Staggs is a future star.  Emphasis on the word "future".  It is not his time yet.  He needs to learn the business and earn his way to greatness.  He's asked over and over again to get noticed for something other than his name, but that would require he actually do something worth noticing.  Holding the tag title is something that only Spike has never done before.  Even Jamie has held the tag belts.  Freaking Jamie Staggs!  Maybe the useless crab apple doesn't fall far from the tree?  Again, I can say it, you can't... My point is that the tag belts are like something you throw to someone who whines and cries about not getting any exposure, while the people with actual skill and appeal go for titles like the World Championship... um, at least when I last wrestled, that's the way it was.  We didn't aim for belts where we have to rely on another person to carry them.  We didn't aim for the low card belt that put our bodies through hell in fire, barbed wire, thumb tacks, and other forms of torture, because... I don't know... the wrestlers who go for higher belts usually have actual skill.  We don't need weapons or jaged broken pieces of glass to beat the ever living fuck out of someone, because we're capable of doing that with our own two hands and two feet.  We didn't need to bleed on the outside, because internal bleeding and hemorraging was badass back then.  I tell you what, I've taken note, and the next time I wrestle, I'll light the announce table on fire and put little Timothy through it.

What is that you say?  Every member of the Staggs family, short of Tim, was known for hardcore wrestling?  Multiple hardcore titles were held by Staggs?  Of course.  And then we got better than that.  Tim thinks he is, so he doesn't gravitate toward them, but somebody needs to teach him how to swing a steel chair, because judging by his third grade tee ball games, he can't swing for shit.

Basically what I am saying is that, even with Amanda Cortez at his side, Tim Staggs stands no chance of winning.  I point to my head because this is where he needs to be.  He needs to get inside of my head, and out of his own.  He needs to rape my ears, and fuck my brain.... oh.... wait.... that breaks all kinds of taboo walls down, doesn't it?  Fuck you and your one take bullshit!

The lights have been on to reveal each picture placed in front of us, including one of Vixen, who needs no introduction as the woman who swept through every title SCW had at the time, to become the first Bombshell Grand Slam Champion, before the Internet Championship was introduced.  Plus, she's hot, and she doesn't leave anyone's memory, amirite?  I mean, this gorgeousness?  I point down to her picture and nod my head as I do the giddy up motion and nod my head.  Gorgeousness like that haunts your dreams.  I'd like to tell Spike that I'm sorry in advance, but I'm not much for lying these days.  I'm so not sorry, brother.

Now that we've caught you up on all of the history of the family... oh, wait... here's a picture of Kittie, but we've got devil horns and mustaches drawn all over it, as well as a terrible rendition of a pube infested penis ejaculating in her left eye, so it's not very recognizable.  She divorced Jamie, and ran away like Misty, except she waited until after a Vegas Wedding to run, instead of doing it before.  But, both women knocked a pair of Staggs nuts on their way out.  We've come to accept it as part of the breaking up process in our family.  *Shrugs*

Also, there is a redheaded dominatrix that held a few titles in other places, and beat the ever living fuck out of Misty to give us our most bloody match to date.  She also birthed my opponent this week.  Roxanne... ick...

I think we're done with our history lessons, you beautiful, beautiful self absorbed morons.  I lift up my mask so that you can see the signature Staggs smile.  I can still keep an air of mystery, but I find it very important that Tim and Amanda see the words coming from my lips as my heels click against the concrete floor of this warehouse.  I walk closer to the camera, yet I remain far enough away that the shadow hides certain features that may give away my identity.

Me:  I hope that you have enjoyed your history lesson, but we are not finished.  You see, behind this mask, rests the man who will do what no other Staggs has done... or will do, Timothy.  I am going to win the Blast From the Past Tournament... with Lucy Seraphina.  Timmy, you asked me if I was playing mind games with you the other day.  I wasn't.  However, I've been in your head since the day I signed up for this tournament, and learned you were also involved in it.  I'm not like this current generation.  I do my homework.  It doesn't matter if it is my nephew, my son, my great nephew...?  It doesn't matter at all.  This business is very cut throat.  You can think of this as a lesson in the business, Timbo.  I am doing you a kindness, really.  This match is going to be the time where I show you that it is better to have than to been had.  I could go out there, and I could lie down on my back so that you and Amanda get an easy win.  But, what would that teach you?  It is a disservice to you, kiddo.  It does exactly what every fan is thinking... no, saying... It is giving you a free hand out because of your bloodline.  It won't make you earn a damn thing, and it's time to put up or shut up.

I step in front of Tim's picture, and I look into those big blue eyes of his, full of innocence, and dark circles from Xanax abuse.  The middle fingers serve as the only essence of hope his picture offers.  I sigh as I gently stroke the red mop of hair on his head, at least where it is represented by the picture.  I runb my gloved hand down his cheek and to his chin as I talk right to him.

Me:  You may find it to be a slight to you.  I mean, a win over me could really push you into the stratosphere, but the likes of Jessie Salco and Steve Ramone would only say that it was handed to you, like everything else.  And, sadly?  They would be right, for once in their miserable lives.  Well... okay, maybe not once, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.  My point being is that you have a multi time Tag and Bombshell champion in your corner.  You have advantages all on your own.  I don't know Lucy that well, but I am all too familiar with Amanda Cortez, and you couldn't have drawn a better partner, so long as you keep your eyes off of her chest, boy.  Though, I'm afraid that you might feel a little too comfortable with her.  I tell you what, I will give you another bit of friendly advice.  A true kindness... Don't find familiarity in her, Tim.  I mean, she is a sultry redhead without a single fetish unexplored, who has a penchant for leather, and owns a fetish club in California.  Short of the club, she is a shorter version of your mother... except looking at her, she has a right to be a whore, because... well... hmm... yeah.  Sorry, that truly was inappropriate.  I'm sorry for that.  Neither woman is a whore, because neither accepts payment for their "services".  I know a member or two of the family who has tried.  Amanda is so kind, she won't even take a tip... just THE tip.

I crack a grin, and wave almost apologetically at the camera.  Of course I don't mean it, because Amanda has only ever had sex with her wife... and Max Burke... and Holly Wood... and she tried with Delia and Angelica many times, so who knows if either of them ever cracked... It's not like she is a slut or anything.  But, I'm not going to say that out loud, because I like people to think that I'm a nice guy, even though I'm a manipulative asshole.  That wasn't a hint, because it's almost a standard trait of the Staggs family...

Me:  Of course it's just the mind games.  I'm getting inside of your head, because that's essential to the game.  It is as I told you, Tim.  Thirty percent physical, and seventy percent mental.  But, now that I've given you your fair share of mind games, I almost feel like a show off.  I tell you what, son.  We're going to put this on an even playing level.  I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what I'm getting into on Sunday, but you don't... So, in the interest of fairness...

I lift the hood off of my head, and drop it to my shoulders.  After resting there for a moment, the lights come on to show off the mist going through the room.  I turn my head to the side, and I lift the mask from my face, almost pain stakenly slow...

<img src=http://45.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2t74jvGPs1r9kkb1o1_500.gif>

Me:  I'll see you Sunday, son...

I grin wickedly at the camera before reaching my hands into the air, snapping my fingers, and causing the scene to face out entirely... TO BLACK!

 <img src=https://45.media.tumblr.com/f648d30c3437adcc104966a68977f7a4/tumblr_my0wzs358c1t8u5o8o1_500.gif>


Homecoming King
#NP "Trip the Darkness" by Lacuna Coil
Locale: Staggs Family Home; Las Vegas, Nevada



"One, two, Grimm is coming for you,
Three, four, lock the doors,
Five, six, grab your crucifix,
Seven, eight, stay up late,
Nine, ten, never sleep again...
Hehehehehe!"

The way he looked the entire way home was hard, Vixen said.  Not that any of these last few months had been easy on anybody, but it is especially hard seeing him in this shape.  Xanax barely made him content enough to get him on the plane.  The shaking had stopped, but he was just a shell, as if Brother Grimm had already beaten him.   All I wanted to do was be there to do what I could to comfort my baby boy.  I thought I was respecting his wishes by letting him live his life, but it was premature.  I guess the rumors are true.  I'm an awful parent.

As soon as the car pulls up into the driveway, I dart out of the front door.  My sights are set firmly on the passanger's side door as I rush over the walkway and to his car door.  Misty is close behind me with Owen, despite the cold breeze.  I don't hear or see anything as I fling the door open.  There he is, shaking so badly that his teeth are chattering.  As if he were six years old again, I scoop him up into my arms.  It nearly brings a tear to my eyes as he rests his head on my shoulder, wrapping an arm around me, sobbing.

Tim:  I'm sorry, dad.  Can I come back home, please?

As if he needed to ask such a question.  I nearly kick the door open as Misty turns toward us, just staring.  This is the exact moment that I realize he is not just a rebellious teenager.  He wasn't calling me a bad father because I wouldn't let him hang out with his troublemaking friends.  He was calling me a bad father because... I was a bad father.  That bullshit ends right this fucking second.  I set him down on the couch as I rush to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and a bag of pills sitting on the kitchen counter.  I tear open the bag to remove a pill bottle emergency rushed from Tim's doctor.  I crack open the bottle and pour a couple tiny white pills into the lid.  All while I hear Tim wailing from the living room couch.  Eden wipes at her eyes, weary from the broken night of sleep she had gotten.  I give her a pat on the head as she sighs and follows me.  Once we are in the living room, Tommy has Kit in his arms, and Vixen has Bijou.  Uncle Erik and Jamie are standing next to Misty, trying hard not to crowd Tim as he looks around, shaking and blinking, speechless.

Eden:  Did Timmy see the Boogeyman?

Tim:  Oh yes, Eden!  I've seen the Boogeyman, and he's real.  Ohhhh is he real!

Eden:  He's... real?!

Eden cries out as she looks to me. I shake my head softly, but my eyes are locked firmly on hers.  My family has always been able to communicate with a stare, so she quickly calms down.  However, the thought still lingers in her mind.  I've seen some crazy get ups with wrestlers over the years, but this Brother Grimm has got to be one of the craziest.  That's something coming from me.

Misty:  Timmy, honey, can I get you something?

Misty is about as clueless as the rest of us on what to do right now other than to let him go into a Xanax induced "I Don't Give A Fuck" coma.  I hand the pills over to Tim, and he wastes no time in gathering them up and gobbling them down without water even.  He gets up from the couch and immediately hugs onto me tightly.  I hug him back, not wanting to let go.  He reaches out his hand to Misty as he tries his best not to tremble.  After a moment of all the eyes resting on him, he looks toward the kitchen, a cold sweat dripping down his face.

Tim:  Dad?  Can I have a minute uh... alone with you?

Everyone gives a nod as I try to put on my strong face.  I pull away from the hug slightly, forcing a warm smile onto my face as I give an affirmative nod.

Me:  Yeah, son.  Do you want something to eat?

He just shakes his head as he tugs on my arm, taking me toward the kitchen.  As we enter, I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of orange juice.  I bring it to the island, and retrieve two cups from the nearby cabinet.  Pouring a glass for Tim first, I then pour one for myself.  Tim takes a sip as he just stares at me.  I can tell he's confused, and unsure of what to say here, so I try to break the ice.

Me:  No matter what's happened in the past, son... I'm very proud of you.  You did something that not even I've been able to do in winning the tag titles.

He just nods his head, though his mind is clearly not on the topic of the tag belts.  He rubs the back of his head, the beginning effects of the medication coming into play.

Tim:  Dad, I'm sorry I punched you on the cruise ship.  I was so mad that you brought Roxanne on the cruise ship, but that's no excuse for...

I shouldn't, but I don't want him feeling worse than he already had been feeling, so I shush him gently, shaking my head.  He purses his lips as I cut him off from this course of action.

Me:  That is in the past, kiddo.  What's important is here, and now.  You're back home where you belong.  Where you are loved and respected.  Where you are safe...

He laughs.  I admit I wasn't expecting that, though I should have, given the predicaments I've left my son in through the years, but I'm completely shocked.  There is almost a gleeful, sinister, crazy gleam in his eye as he looks up at me.  Most wouldn't understand this stare, but I know it all too well.  He inherited it directly from me, but I must have kept him safe and sane enough up until now, because it's the first time I've seen it in his eyes.

Tim:  Am I?  Am I really?

Me:  Yes!  There are some pretty sick people out there who don't just endure getting beaten up for a living, but rather, they enjoy it.  That's all this sicko is.  He's a man in face paint who drugged you and kidnapped you, and...

I can't even imagine it as I slam my fist angrily on the island counter top.  It causes my glass of orange juice to splash back at me a bit, and I can feel a rage coming over me.

Me:  That fucker messed with your head.  You can't let him win.

Tim tears up a bit again, as his voice squeaks out.

Tim:  You... weren't... there, dad... You... you don't know that...

He places his hands on the sides of his head as he begins pacing back and forth along the island.

Tim:  Celeste's mom said...

I rub at my temples, and my temper is starting to boil over with the situation.  This time, I slam both fists down on the counter as I look over at Tim, shaking my head from side to side.  I am not going to listen to this bullshit.

Me:  Celeste's mom is a whack job.  Where do you think Celeste got that from?  Push that all out of your head, and we'll get you worked out, okay?  I made an appointment with Dr. Liddell.

Tim:  Dr. Liddell can't help me, not with this.  You weren't there, dad.  You didn't see the things I saw.

His voice starts to squeak as tears form in his eyes again.  I just nod my head, but he knows I don't believe it to be what he does.  Ramblings of a mad man, and some old woman who probably put all of that nonsense into his head to begin with.  Either way, now is not the time to try to talk sense into Tim.  Now, he needs the father he's been without for four months... well, longer than that apparently.

Me:  The best thing to do is to push this all out of your head.  Dwelling on it isn't going to do you any good.  Just relax, and let the medicine do it's work.  I won't leave your side until you feel ready, okay?

Tim just nods his head as he takes another small sip of his orange juice.  He wipes all signs of tears from his eyes, leaving only a hot, red stain around his eyes.  There is nothing but a redness, bloodshot eyes, and not even from the medication.  No light in the eyes, and no sign that it was ever there.  I have half a mind to show up at the Gold Coast Casino on Sunday and knock the ever living fuck out of this Brother Grimm, old school Spike Staggs style.  Tim yawns as he looks over at the clock, reading a quarter past 9 in the morning.  Without having to say a word, I nod my head.  Tim exits the kitchen, but instead of going to his room for peace and quiet, he passes the staircase, and walks straight to the living room.  I follow, a bit confused, but he walks right over to the fireplace, and curls up in front of it.  The murmur in the room goes completely silent, save for my childhood blinking Santa lights on the tree that chime in with "Little Drummer Boy".  Tim closes his eyes, and I grab a blanket from the back of the chair, and I cover him up.  Eden brings a couple decorative pillows from the couch and props his head up, but he's too far gone to notice.  She kisses him on his forehead, and then looks to Misty.

Eden:  Is Timmy going to be alright?

Misty:  Yes, honey.  He's got so, so many people who love and care about him, and we won't let anything bad happen to him.

Everyone in the room nods their heads, but me.  It goes without being said.  I've failed him too many times in the past, and I'll be fucking damned if I'm going to do it again...

[Fade]


<img src=http://www.netanimations.net/Animated_santa_reindeer_flying.gif>


Santa Claus Is Coming?
#NP "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" by Frank Sinatra
Locale: Staggs Family Home; Las Vegas, Nevada (Yes, again...)


Eden, Vixen, dad, and the twins are all bundled up as they stand by the door.  They look at me as if I must be crazy.  I know that's exactly what they are thinking, but honestly I can't blame them.  I sit with a mug of white hot chocolate in my hand, and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.  Bad Santa is playing on TV, and I'm actually doing okay.  Though, the last thing I feel like doing is going to the theater to watch a scary-ish movie.  I've had enough of that in my nightmares the last few days.

Dad:  Are you sure you don't want to come with us?  You've been dying to see this movie.

Me:  I think I'll wait for the Blu Ray, but thanks.  Besides, I need a break from you guys.

Eden  Hey!

Me:  Except you, Eden...

She smiles all smug like as she looks at the rest of the family as if she were the only exception.  I give a smile so that everyone knows I'm just kidding.

Vixen:  You could always come and see The Good Dinosaur with us, right petit?

Vixen looks down to Eden who smiles and nods her head.  I hope they didn't see me roll my eyes at that one, but I'd really rather not.

Me:  Thanks for the invite, but I feel like sitting in alone tonight.

Eden:  Your loss!

Snappy that one is.  I snicker as she spins on the heels of her favorite snow boots to take my father's hand.  Dad uses his free hand to pull his phone out of his pocket, making sure the volume is turned up, though a funny look comes over his face.  He stares at me for a moment until I wave him off.

Me:  Go!  Have fun.  Just don't spoil it for me when you get home.

Dad:  I should just to spite you... but if you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me.  I'll answer no matter what.

Me:  And ignore the commercial at the beginning that threatens to ban you from the theater for life if you don't silence your phone?  I'll be fine.

He keeps looking at me, so I turn back to the television just in time to hear Billy Bob Thorton say "My fuck stick!"  Ha!  Classic...  The front door opens, and they make their exit.  I appreciate everything they've done for me over the last few days, but I feel like I could use a few hours of peace and quiet.  There is a loud thump, and I swear it sounds like it's coming from the roof, but it was probably just the car door slamming.  I shrug my shoulders as I continue watching the movie.  I reach over to the table and grab a white chocolate cranberry cookie from the tray, and I snap off a piece between my teeth.  Buttery and crispy, just the way I like them.  I hear another rustling noise outside, as a little bit of soot falls in the fire.  Okay, that's a little weird, right?  Nah, it's probably just a squirrel.  I slowly turn away when my phone goes off with a loud text alert that makes me jump, spilling a bit of hot chocolate on my foot.  Gah!

I get up and do a dance as I mutter partial curse words under my breath and I walk over to grab a tissue to wipe up the mess.  As I'm doing so, I grab my phone and unlock it to see a text from Celeste.

"Hey, are you there?"

I respond with...

"Yes...?  You made me spill hot chocolate everywhere, C! LOL "

I go to lock my phone and slide it into the pocket of my skully pajama bottoms, but as soon as I let go of it, I get a very fast response.  I blink a couple times before slowly pulling it back out.  I unlock my phone and then read her text.

"I'm coming over.  Be safe xoxo"

Uhhh... What?

"What?  Stay in bed and heal yourself.  I'll be fine."

This time, I stare at the phone for a minute, waiting for some kind of response.  After a minute, there is still nothing, so I lock my phone and get ready to slide it in my pocket.  I hesitate, because I know she's going to text me back.  I hold it there for a second, but nothing.  I drop it into my pocket and settle back in the couch.  I pick up my mug of what's left of the white chocolate drink, taking a slow sip as I feel it warm me up from the inside out.  Ahhh... Wait, what's that?

I stare over to the fireplace to see a rusty hook on a tow chain, with a teddy bear hanging from it.  What... the... fuck...?  I pause the movie as I walk over to the fireplace.  Of course, I'm not stupid enough to touch the bear, but I just watch the fur gently singing at the bottom of it's feet.  I bet this is some sort of attempt by Despy to cheer me up.

Me:  Despy!  Angel's feet are burning!  But hey, I appreciate the thought!

There is a loud bang as the power flickers in and out for a moment before finally staying off.  The fire crackles as a freezing cold gust of wind comes from the fireplace, nearly sweeping the fire out.

Me:  I don't know how you're doing that, but uhhh... yeah, that's not helping, man...

I hear a high pitched giggle coming from inside the chimney that makes me jump.  So damn demented...  This kid has good intentions, but there's no way I could deal with this twenty-four seven.  I slowly lean over the burning embers that are barely putting off heat.  I look up the chimney to see a fucking goat head at the top!!!  I knock my head as I jump back.

"Yoo-hoooooo... Hehehehehe!"

The teddy bear starts moving, trying to free itself from the chain as five gingerbread men slide down the chain.  I know I took a Xanax earlier, but I don't recall tripping acid!  I fall flat on my butt and I scoot backward as they walk menacingly toward me.  The teddy bear frees himself from the chain and joins in on the pursuit.  The teddy bear grabs a fire poker and the gingerbread men grab a letter opener, a broken shard of an ornament, a leaded looking gift from under the tree, and a pillow?  They laugh as they rally around me.  I jump up to my feet and I open up the front door as a gust of cold air comes charging in at me, along with a shit ton of snow?!  I look out across the street to see that there is no snow outside of the perimeters of my yard.  The neighbors are looking at us, some clapping their hands, while others just shake their head.

Me:  HELP!  HELLLLLLLPPPP!!!

Ted, the neighbor:  Hey, hey!  Your dad went all out this year, eh?

Chatrice, the other neighbor:  Show offs!

Chatrice slams her door as she thinks its some sort of elaborate Christmas display.  I charge out into the yard barefoot, but I don't care.  I trip over something as I stare at the gawkers, hooping and hollering about the show they're seeing.  As I scream louder, so do they.

Ted:  Yeah!  YEAH!  Gotta love the animatronic snowman!

WHAT?!  I look over to my left to see a snowman headed in my direction ever so slowly.  This is a nightmare... a real living nightmare!  I pick up a snowball and throw it at him like I am some sort of retarded B-rated horror movie soon-to-be victim, and of course it only laughs a sinister laugh.

Me:  HELP!  THIS ISN'T A SHOW!  IT'S REAL!!!

Ken, Ted's Boyfriend:  This is just amazing, Teddy.  He's really committing to his role.

I have to get out of here, because their stupidity is just pissing me off now.  I run back toward the house, feeling like I'm near the point of hypothermia.  The gingerbread men cheer in this high pitched voice that makes me cringe as the teddy bear cocks a pellet gun.  He starts shooting at me, and just barely missing.  That's it.  I am not about to get my ass kicked by a bunch of cookies and a stuffed animal.  I jump over the barrel of the gun and punt the teddy bear's head right off of him, causing the gingerbread men to look a little concerned.  I make a run for the kitchen.  There's knives, there's pans, there's a blender.  I'm bound to find something that will help me out here.  The gingerbread men jump over the teddy bear head.

Gingerbread Men:  GET HIM!

The only clear thing they've said so far, and it's a threat on my life.  Great.  I skid into the mess of a kitchen, and immediately over to the knife drawer.  I pull it open to see nothing but butter knives.  The gingerbread men giggle as they whistle to get my attention.  I turn over toward them and apparently they have decided to hoard the knives for a throwing contest, and I'm the lucky target.  The first one misses, but the second one catches me with a flesh wound across my cheek.  A small trickle of blood comes out of it, but it's not deep at all.  This only serves to piss me off.  I look at the blender, just in time to see that it is cracked, and the blades are mangled beyond recognition.  I grab a pan from the rack and I'm able to deflect one knife, despite another digs right into my shin.

Me:  HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!!!

Gingerbread Men:  WOOHOO TEN POINTS HAHAHA!

That's it.  I might be near a code brown moment right now, but that doesn't stop me from getting a bit crazy.  I run over to the refrigerator, and I grab both gallons of milk.  I shake them up , and look over at them, doing my best Bruce Campbell impression.

Tim:  This... is my boomstick!  Hail to the king, baby.

I unscrew the caps to both gallons of two percent, and I charge over at them.  I swear it's in slow motion, because that's how these actions scenes always play out, but the process probably took all of eight seconds.  I miss with the first splash, but thanks to the small spout on the gallon, I still have plenty on reserve.  I swing my other arm and splash one of them, sending him into a soggy mess against the wall.  I swing my arms rapidly, but I miss both times.  However, with my next attempt, I catch three of them, and they get the same treatment of becoming nothing but a splat against the stove and counters.  I think I got them all, so I drop the gallons of milk and quickly pull the knife from my shin.

Me:  SWEEEEEEET baby Jesus!  FUCK!

I grab a kitchen towel and wrap it tightly around my leg, before going for another.  However, I'm hit in the back of the head with my frying pan, and that hurts every bit as bad as you would expect it to from the movies.  I fall down to one knee as another Gingerbread man waves at me before grabbing at his crotch.  My vision goes a bit blurry as he raises the pan for one last swing.  However, good old Dero, our family black cat, jumps up on the counter and tackles this curious toy.  He play bites at it's face as it squirms and screams.  This only serves to make the play more intense as he begins taking bites out of the cookie man.  Finally, it stops moving, and the cat kicks it aside, bored now, as he looks up at me with an innocent "Meow?"

Me:  Groovy...

I reach down and pat Dero on the head as I lean down to whisper a secret for just the two of us, while watching the gingerbread man bleed frosting from all of the bite marks.

Me:  Thanks for saving my life.  I won't tell on you for jumping on the counter.

I wink at him as he cocks his head to the side with another "Meow", though this time the inflection proves to be less of a question, and more of a statement.  He jumps down and licks at the milk and cookie mess on the floor.  The draft from the front door lets me know I never did shut the front door.  I walk into the living room and stare at the snowmen, keeping a safe distance from the heat of the house, flipping them off before slamming the door shut.  I go to lock the door, when I hear this creepy sounding croaking noise.  I turn around in time to see the... creepiest freaking things I've ever seen in my life.  They look like charred, supersized Jigsaw dolls in tattered green cloaks and elf hats.  Their big, black, empty eyes rest on me as I slowly back up against the door.  Code brown?  Not quite, but we definitely have a code gold situation as my socks slowly become soaked.  I gulp as I fidget with the door handle, but for the life of me, I can't get the damn thing open.  It doesn't matter as the three elves quickly snatch me up and tie me up with Christmas lights, so tight I stand no chance of getting loose.

Me:  No?  Please don't do this.  I... I don't even know what you want!  Tell me, and I'll... I'll make it happen.

They look to one another like prison guards, and two of them lift me up over their shoulders.  I wiggle as fast as I can, but its no use.  Their grip is extremely tight around me.  I just give up, because after everything I've been through this week, it's of no use to fight it.  I'm toast.  The third one attaches the lights to the hook and tugs on the tow chain.  He drops me on top of the burning embers of wood in the fireplace, but it's so minimal that it will be lucky to leave a small blister.  I stare at them as the chain slowly starts to raise, toying with me.  I've seen this somewhere.  I'm fully expecting to see some sort of goat beast in a santa cloak, from the old German tales uncle Erik used to tell me.  I guess after the stuff I pulled earlier this year, I deserve a visit from Krampus.  But, as soon as the blizzard hits me, I see a nicely pressed santa suit under a matching bright red cloak, and a horned helmet atop the head of Brother Grimm!  Code brown is officially under way as I shake in pure and utter fear.

Brother Grimm:  

He dumps me over the edge of the roof, letting me dangle as he prepares to... I don't know, skin me alive?  Killing me is definitely on his mind.  That is, until I hear a raspy shout coming over the harsh winds that slowly start dying down.

Crystalline North:  Blessed be, shithead...

Through the clearing snow, I can see Crystalline and Celeste North with leather bound books in their hands, and satchels over their shoulders.  Celeste is still bandaged pretty much in every visible part of her body, but that doesn't stop her as she walks right next to her mom, pointing at Grimm as they chant.

North Girls:  If spirits threaten in this place, fight water by water and fire by fire! Banish their souls into nothingness, and remove their powers until the last trace!  Let these evil beings flee, through time and space!

Celeste waves some sort of ball thing, smoke of incents coming from it?  Kinda like at Easter mass.  Crystalline splashes some sort of water in front of her, melting the snow immediately.  I must really be tripping, because with the snap of her fingers, the snowmen disappear into nothing but a small gust of snowy wind.  

Crystalline:  I summon the power of Athena, Goddess of War and Wisdom, for guidance against this creature of the darkest depths.  Watch over this young boy and give him protection from the pure essence of fear.  This orgonite and black tourmaline pendant, I present to him to help ward off this evil.

She hangs it on my half frozen foot.  Um, untie me instead of giving me a gemstone!  But, whatever it is, I see a blue sphere surround me, and Grimm doesn't look very pleased.  Celeste begins throwing salt in our direction as she chants more.

North Girls:  Any unwanted spirits and entities, please leave now.  Any evil or negative energies of presences, please leave this space.  You don't belong here.  I am sending you home.  Go back whence you came.  Please leave NOW!  Only light and healing energy is allowed on these grounds.  Thank you.

Please and thank you?!  Really?  If I knew that would work, I would have said it to begin with... oh wait, I did...  But, Grimm seems hesitant still.

North Girls:  Any unwanted spirits and entities, please leave now.  Any evil or negative energies of presences, please leave this space.  You don't belong here.  I am sending you home.  Go back whence you came.  Please leave NOW!  Only light and healing energy is allowed on these grounds.  Thank you.

After repeating this again, Grimm seems to feel threatened enough to fight this.  However, he simply vanishes into thin air.  Along with him, the snow quickly begins to melt as I'm a mess.  I'm hanging from the roof still, and I want to ask them to let me down, but instead, my teeth just chatter.  My dad pulls up in the driveway and jumps out of the car as he charges forward.  Celeste's mom stops him, and I can hear him raising his voice, pointing at me and the house as she talks calmly to him.

Dad:  The neighbor called me and asked me why there was a man in red on my roof!  Of course I'm going to rush home, only to see you two casting spells on my son, hanging from the fucking roof?!

Celeste looks back at the commotion as the neighbors rush over.  Yeah, now that it's over, they know how fucked up that entire thing actually was!  Go figure.  Celeste looks genuinely concerned as she turns back to me, untangling the lights slowly.

Celeste:  Unlike certain girls you keep company with, I actually care.

Me:  How...?

Celeste:  We were in our circle when mom showed me a vision.  At first, I was like "Um, that's Krampus, bitch."  But then, I'm like "Wait, when did Tim get a role in Krampus?"  And we came from our suite at the Gold Coast Casino to save your ass.  You know?  It was almost too easy.  Punk ass Brother Grimm...

One final knot undone, and I come crashing down four feet to the wet ground, splashing in a puddle of melted snow.  Celeste pulls the pendant from my foot and hangs it around my neck.  My dad looks like he finally believes me when I said Brother Grimm will stop at nothing to get to me and devour my soul.

Celeste:  Don't ever take this necklace off.  Ev...

Something catches her eye as she walks up the porch.  She looks at the wreath hanging on the door, and she gently touches it, before leaning in to smell it.  She looks over to her mom and my dad as she holds the wreath up.

Celeste:  Meadowsweet!  Fucking meadowsweet, mom!

Crystalline:  Oh, Goddess, no...  Never keep meadowsweet anywhere near your home, Spike...  That's a great way to lead any evil to you.  Luckily you have us, now.

Celeste throws the wreath out into the street as she walks over to her mom and my dad, staring back at me with concern in her eyes as I sit there shivering in the puddle, rocking back and forth in the filth of the earth as well as my own filth.

[FADE]



Voice of the Voiceless Vlog
#NP "Thoughtless" by Korn
Locale: The Intrawebz


Hello...hello...ello...llo...

Can anybody hear me?  No?  Figures...

See, even since winning the SCW WORLD Tag Team Championships... yes, a World sanctioned title... nobody gives a crap about The Nobodies.  Three championship belts in our possession, and the only one who gets any kind of recognition is Alexis Edwards, and that's only because she plays nice with Mikah.  Hey, who am I to judge?  Whatever works, right?

Well, Tim Staggs is a man of conviction.  He does not play up to the type of person we are fighting to rid this company of.  I don't stick on Twitter all day, every day, playing nice to the biggest threat to this sport, people such as Drake Green... or literally almost any name on the SCW roster.  The Nobodies will be the next generation of stars in Sin City Wrestling.  We are not a new breed, but an original breed.  We're going to bring this sport back to it roots, at any and all costs.  We don't care who we piss off.

I've already made waves with several names, because that is the first stage of the plan.  We are the low card, and it would be silly to jump in and attack the big dogs, right?  We need to take out those who are at our level, and earn the respect of the bosses and the fans, one step at a time.  It's a onder to me how we are so hated for simply trying to do things the proper way.

Ah, yes, there is a point.  You see, one of the people I've pissed off in all of this, so happens to be my opponent for this week.  Steve Ramone, a virtual Nobody, who acts as if he is a Somebody, didn't like the fact that I started with him and his former tag team partner, Joshua Acquin.  He didn't like the fact that we bloodied him up.  But, what absolutely crawled up his asshole like a thorny cactus, is the fact that we said what nobody has had the balls to tell him.  He's a Nobody.  Who cares about Steve Ramone?  Do the bosses?  Nope.  Do the fans?  Fuck no.  Do his fellow stars?  Hahahaha, no...

You see, Steve Ramone subscribes to a certain kind of thinking.  Instead of admitting he is just like Connor, Alexis, and Celeste... he fights to prove he's the exact opposite.  I've gone past hating Steve, and being angry with him, because I realize that he's in the greatest form of denial.  He doesn't want to admit that he could use some improvement, and in a matter of months, could be challenging the best in the company, which is actually pretty laughable at the moment.  No, instead of seeing things the way Connor did, and he is a champion now.

Steve, I'd be more than happy to defeat you on Sunday.  I'd be happy to show you the error of your ways, and give you yet another chance to join our ranks.  I'll even give a hood to each of your goons, despite them doing their best to help you fend off the inevitable loss for just a few moments longer.  And, as an added bonus, I will forego the intiation ass kicking, and count the ass kicking I give you in the middle of that ring as your welcome into our ranks.  This is your last chance, because these days, black hoods are selling fast, and quantities are limited.  Pick yours up today!

If you think I'm joking, Steve, I am not.  You are a perfect example of the type of person we would welcome into our ranks... except with a much shittier win to loss ratio.  It would actually be perfect, though, because when you look better by the company you keep, people will attribute that to The Nobodies, and we will be on our way to becoming Somebodies.

Either way, Steve, your ass will be handed to you on Sunday.  You can choose to make something of it, or you can let the pain and suffering be all for naught.  It's your choice.  I'll see you in 3 days, on my home turf...

Peace!

 <img src=https://31.media.tumblr.com/d24a563a711f5b1bac6c0372f3c55551/tumblr_inline_npg1375vuR1rerlyv_500.gif>

Mommy's Little Monsters
#NP "Mommy's Little Monster" by Social Distortion
Locale: Dive Bar in San Juan, PR (Three weeks ago)



If he wanted an experience, he was about to get one.  We pan inside of a local dive bar somewhere in San Juan.  It is rather Americanized in its decor, meant to appeal to tourists, despite the dilapidated state the bar is in.  We go around the bar to see men dressed in a variety of styles, dancing with girls that appear to be more showgirls than anything.  Sequins and feathers aplenty, and gold dripping from all over their bodies, their hair done up beauty queen style, and make up that makes them equal to Helen of Troy.  Dare I say even surpassing the beauty.  There are the wallflowers who are nursing their beers, watching the action, yet too afraid to participate in the freestyle salsa dancing going on in the center of the bar.  One of said wallflowers is Tim Staggs.  However, he is nursing a virgin drink under the guise of a mixed drink.  The red cocktail has fruit around the rim, and even a decorative umbrella in it.  Tim doesn't see how effeminate this appears to others, and he'd be better off nursing a soft drink, so he lightly bobs his head to the music.  One of the most beautiful women walks by the line of wallflowers, her fiery Latina eyes sizing up her next victim.  The spider pendant resting neatly on her ample bosom gives away her moniker, La Viuda Negra, The Black Widow.  The men standing by suddenly get excited in hopes of attracting the attention of this lovely lady of the night.  Naivity settles in with Tim as this flies over his head.  As La Viuda Negra walks down the line, Tim's fruity drink, and his ginger hair, seem to attract her immediately.  She walks over to him, taking his drink from his hand, and she wraps her arms around his neck, swaying to the latin beat.

La Viuda Negra:  Muy caliente, papi.  You must dance with me.

Without waiting for an answer, she drags Tim onto the dance floor where she demands the attention of every patron within the bar.  To call her a show stealer is a true understatement.  She is the center of attention, whether you want her to be or not.  Her hips sway as she shimmies around Tim, captivating the youngster as she threatens to seduce him.  Her hands rest around his neck as her eyes demand him to place his hands on her hips.  Without hesitation, he does.  He almost doesn't know how to handle having all eyes near him, as he's used to being ignored by his peers.  The dance goes on for several more minutes, and it appears to be a game of cat and mouse.  The more naive Tim seems, the more La Viuda Negra wants him for herself.  She kneels down slightly as she shimmies up his body slowly.  She presses her lips against his, leading the inexperienced Tim into her web.  At this point, the war is won, and the song ends.  La Viuda Negra smiles and winks at Tim before leading him off of the floor.  She looks from side to side before walking to a table at the very back of the bar.  Despite it's location, it is quite lush.  A black wrought iron spider with a ruby red hourglass symbol on its back rests on the wall above the booth.  As she walks with Tim, Tim insists she enter the booth first.  She winks and blushes, gingerly sitting down as she lifts the bottom of her evening gown just enough to comfortably move in the form fitting dress.  Tim sits next to her, and she sinks into him, taking a small sniff of his essense, moaning in a pleased tone as she unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt.  She reaches in and runs her fingers over his smooth, and surprisingly toned chest.  With her free hand, she snaps her fingers three times, pointing down at the table with annoyance.

Tim:  That was a great dance.  It's the first time I've ever felt noticed by such a lovely lady...

La Viuda Negra:  Awww, that ees so sweet of you, Rojo.

A few seconds of awkward silence passes before the gritty bartender whose entire body, from the neck down at least, appears to be a demented childrens coloring book page.  The amber liquid splashes all over the place, causing La Viuda Negra to begin spouting off in Spanish at him.

La Viuda Negra:  Oh mi dios que puto idiota! Cuidado con la forma de manejar su negocio mientras este chico dama maneja el suyo, hijo de puta!  Thank you!

La Viuda Negra's snappy, angry tone quickly changes as she looks back up into Tim's icy blue eyes, cooling her down as she melts back into his arms.  She takes the shot glass and tosses it back in a precise gulp.  She goes to hand the half empty one to Tim.  As she does, Tim contemplates taking it.  When he figures he's got nothing to lose, he places the glass to his lips when a bejeweled hand, with black manicured nails slaps it clear from his hand, causing the glass to break against the wall.  La Viuda Negra looks highly offended as she brushes a piece of hair from out of her face.  She stands up at the table and speaks very pointedly to the person standing in front of their table.

La Viuda Negra:  Ex-CUSE me, puta?  I dun know who you think you are, chica, but...

"I am his mother... puta..."

The camera turns to see Tim's biological mother, Roxanne, standing in front of him.  She is wearing a black leather dress fashioned to look like a mixture of a fetish garment and an evening gown.  She glares at La Viuda Negra, causing her to laugh in Roxanne's face.

La Vuida Negra:  You might be old enough to be 'ees mother, but don't be mad cause he upgraded.

Roxanne:  Don't mistake me, bitch, because I will bust you open and smear you all over this shitty fucking bar.  If you don't believe me, I'd be happy to prove how very fucking serious I am right now...

La Viuda Negra looks at Tim, who is both embarrassed and angry as he looks down at the table as if he can't believe this is happening to him.  La Viuda Negra rolls her eyes and holds a hand up in Roxanne's face as she exits the booth.

La Viuda Negra:  I seriously doubt it, mami, but I didn't spend good money on a manicure to get slut cuts in my nail beds.  Sorry Rojo...

She walks off as Roxanne bends over, resting her elbows on the table, glaring right at Tim.  However, she is surprised to see him staring right back at her with the same intensity.  He pounds the table in frustration as he literally screams at her.

Tim:  YOU FUCKING COCK BLOCKER!!!  I told you I didn't want to ever see you again!  Why are you even here?!

Roxanne:  You will NOT talk to your mother that way!

Tim:  Damn right I will not, but you gave up that right when you signed custody over to Misty eleven years ago to go play Amanda Cortez.  Now, if you will excuse me, lady, I'm about to lose my virginity.

Roxanne shudders at the thought, almost unsure of how to respond to that, for many reasons.  She takes a deep breath, and takes a seat at the table.  She grabs onto Tim's hands gently, in a manner that begs him to sit and hear her out.  However. Tim rips his arms free and stands up, leaning down into his mother's face.

Tim:  Don't you dare touch me, bitch.

Without a warning, Roxanne slaps Tim across the face as hard as she can, taking him by surprise.  She then shoves him down into the booth, turning the tides on him as she is now hovering over him as he holds his reddening cheek tenderly.

Roxanne:  Don't you dare talk to an elder like that.  Your father might have accepted that type of language, but I won't.  Nobody calls me "bitch", are we crystal?

Tim doesn't respond as he simply stares into Roxanne's eyes.  She waits to make sure he fully understands.  When he doesn't move much, she slowly sits back down in her seat, crossing her legs as she pulls a black clove cigarette out of her handbag.  She lights it up, sucking in softly and almost seductively before she exhales the plume of fragrant smoke.

Roxanne:  This isn't you, Timmy.  You were always a respectful boy.  You minded your manners everywhere.  You know, no matter how fucked up Spike and I were, we always heard compliments on your behavior.  Well-mannered.  Courteous.  An angel...  I'm not asking you to tell me what changed, because you've made it abundantly clear that I don't reserve that right.  I'm okay with that.  But, as a concerned citizen, I think you should go back home to your father.

Tim:  As far as I'm concerned, I'm an orphan right now.  Misty has her son, dad has his second chances with the twins.  There is nobody for me, and I'm finally used to it.  Everyone passes me off as a fucking problem, and I'm done giving a shit about it.  That well behaved boy disappeared when you tried to butt back into my life six weeks ago.  He disappeared the second my fucking fist met Spike's face.  It was that moment where he proved he doesn't really care about me.  Not even a little.  If he cared, he would know that, no matter what the circumstances were, you are the last person I would ever want to see.  Comprende?

Tim leans his elbows on the table, staring with an almost familiar sadistic glare in his ice blue eyes.  He locks on to Roxanne's, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to scare her, even.  She does her best to put up a fight, but the emotion of the moment gets the best of her as she breaks the stare.  Tim leans back in the booth, tucking his hands behind his head as he watches Roxanne smooth out her skirt before standing up.  She picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulders as she turns and looks back to Tim.

Roxanne:  I just hope that you know that the road you are going down is not an untravelled one.  It isn't you being rebellious.  It makes you a chip off of the old block.  You can still stop yourself before you turn into your father.

Tim:  Sometimes you have to be what you hate, to beat what you hate.

Roxanne gives a friendly, yet highly passive-aggressive, smirk as she adjusts the strap on her black leather handbag.  She studies Tim for a moment, trying to disguise the tears welling up in her eyes with a light chuckle.

Roxanne:  That isn't beating, boy.  That is replacing.  You are replacing the monster with an even darer one.

Tim:  I... don't... care...

Tim picks up a glass on the table, holding it up to his nose as he takes in a deep breath of the cocktail.  He brings the rim of the glass to his lips, taking in a light sip, before guzzling it all down, while watching his biological mother sour in disgust before she turns and walks away.  Tim picks a piece of ice out of the glass and places it between his teeth, grinning at his mother as La Viuda Negra walks back up.  He wraps his lips around the cube as she takes a seat next to him.  He brings his lips to her bust line, kissing up to her neck, sending chills down her spine as she gasps, moaning and holding onto his head, as if asking for mercy that she doesn't truly want.  Tim glares at Roxanne as she walks out of the door, and he chuckles as La Viuda Negra crawls onto his lap and the scene fades out.



Taking It In Stride
#NP "Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks
LOCALE: Las Vegas, Nevada


The sun is burning brightly as we get a close up on Tim walking down a run down street in Las Vegas.  Not exactly a tourist attraction spot.  He has his headphones in as he whistles along to the music playing through his headphones.  Despite a bandage on the side of his head, he looks to be in a very good mood, even with the events of the last few weeks.  He has a bit of a swagger in his step as he rounds the corner, facing Staggs Dungeon's entrance.  He looks down at his iPod, taking note of the early hour of 6:30am before he places a key into the lock of the door.  He raises a cigarette to his lips, taking a final drag before flicking it down the street and opening the door up.  It is dimly lit inside, as he removes his black hooded jacket and tosses it to the ground.  He takes a deep breath as he walks deeper within the gym.  He flips the light on, ready to get in a work out before the gym opened to the students.  However, what greets him comes as a bit of a surprise.  Connor Murphy is standing in the middle of the ring, and he is not alone.  Spike and Vixen Staggs are standing on either side of him.  Spike seems rather uninterested, though it is clearly a facade, while Connor has a guilty expression.  Tim's face sours as he looks to be on the verge of a meltdown.  However, he quickly silences the boiling anger, and simply scoffs as he shakes his head.  He locks eyes with Connor as if having a silent conversation with him for a moment before making a verbal response.

Tim:  I honestly can't believe you did this, Connor...  That's pretty fucked up, man.

Tim leans down to pick up his jacket from the ground when Connor exits the ring.  He approaches Tim, who is pulling his jacket over his arms in a flustered hurry.  He grunts in displeasure as Connor walks toward him, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder.  Tim shrugs it off, only to have Connor assert himself as he leans in, pulling a cigarette from Tim's chest pocket, along with a lighter.  He takes a long drag as Connor exhales next to Tim's ear before speaking.

Connor:  You got to man up eventually, me boyo.

He gives a few hard pats of encouragement to Tim before making a sour face.

Connor:  Menthols, really?

Connor opens the door, hanging outside of it as he continues to smoke.  Tim couldn't look any more displeased until he forces a similar look of disinterest onto his face as his father is sporting.  He just stands there, staring at the couple inside of the ring.  Spike remains silent as if waiting for some sort of an apology, which is clearly not coming.  Tim shakes his head as he once again sheds his jacket.  He thinks to himself that he's not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity to work out before he has to catch his plane.  He walks over to the punching bag where he unbuttons his flannel shirt and tosses it to the ground, showing off his impressive physique as he begins to casually bat the bag, causing it to fly up and knock against the ceiling.  Spike watches for a moment before he becomes sickened, shaking his head as he looks to Vixen.

Spike:  I don't have time for this right now.  If he's not going to talk, then I've got paperwork to go through in my office.

Vixen looks disappointed in Spike's attitude, but does not object to his exit.  Spike looks over at Tim, however, with no one else looking, a pained, almost guilty expression comes over his face before he walks to his office, closing the door.  Vixen takes a few steps over toward the ropes, watching Tim and his technique.  Tim takes no notice as he places both headphones into his ears, boxing along to the beat of the song.  His eyes are focused, and only focused on the bag.  He seems to go into a trance that lasts several minutes, but seems only like mere seconds.  His concentration is broken as he feels a hand on his shoulder.  He turns around, in the zone, and raises his fist to swing, until he sees Vixen standing there.  He lowers his arm out of respect, though he clearly does not want her near him right now.  Without removing his headphones, he addresses her.

Tim:  I'm really not in the mood to hear you defend my father to me right now, especially when you don't even...

Vixen:  ... know the full story?  Maybe not, but I know enough.

Tim shakes his head.  He'd never had a single bad feeling toward his step mother, but right now, he was really getting pissed off, and he needs to turn away.  He goes back to boxing the bag so not to let any actual disrespect show.

Tim:  You don't know shit.  Sorry, but you don't.

Vixen:  I do know "shit", such as... if you really want to improve your boxing technique, you might want to...

Vixen steps in and begins to box the bag just as quickly as Tim, but in a manner that seems to be much easier, making it seem easy as pie.  Tim watches the bag bounce rhythmically for a moment as Vixen slows down just a bit to let Tim absorb the technique.

Vixen:  It's all about posture, and the proper extension of the arms.  Making it look easy is the tricky part.

Vixen turns her head to face Tim as she keeps the proper rhythm going.  Tim can't help but crack a bit of a smile, chuckling under his breath, which brings Vixen to smirk in satisfaction.  She brings the bag to a stop and then holds it still before stepping out of the way, allowing Tim to try it once again.  He might not have it down as flawlessly as the SCW Hall of Famer, but it looks much more polished than it had before.  Tim sits there in silence as he boxes the bag, still unsure about having this conversation.

Tim:  I'm sure listening to my father's holier than thou rants probably has you thinking I turned into a big problem child, but he deserved that punch to the face after everything he's done to me.

Vixen:  He did...

Tim misses a punch that throws his rhythm off, causing him to trip up just a little.  He turns to Vixen with a bit of a surprised look on his face.  Vixen nods her head, offering an apologetic glance toward Spike's office, but she shrugs her shoulders as she turns back to Tim.

Vixen:  Some circumstances might be a little different, but our lives are not much different.  What you are going through now, I went through also.  I joined the military when I was not much older than you, and it helped me, but I was just like you.  I held a hatred deep inside of me, that ran my life.

Tim almost rolls his eyes, but out of respect, he stops himself.  However, the sarcasm that follows, he might as well have rolled them

Tim:  And let me guess, you found wrestling to be an outlet, and you were finally able to let that hatred go?  It sounds pretty fucking cliche, considering wrestling has only intensified my hatred.

Vixen:  I never did let that hatred go, but I put on a pretty good act, do I not?

Vixen gives an almost cheeky grin as she sticks her point.  Tim turns to see it, and just as he does, the bag comes back and smacks him hard against the side of the head.  It dazes him for a second as Vixen lets out a small chuckle.  It is clear that this is about a geniune concern that does not come from a parental place as she doesn't so much as offer a gasp of surprise and worry for Tim.  Somehow, this is the exact response needed, as Tim blushes, rubbing the side of his head in embarrassment.  He lends a laugh at himself as he walks over to the pull up bars against the wall.

Tim:  Things have just been so tough for me, and nobody seems to get that.  Everyone says that because of my last name, I have the world in front of me.  But, it's just not true.  I have to fight harder because of it, and every time I fall short, people rub it in my face and call me a slacker.

Vixen:  To a degree, they are right, Timmy.  The whole world is in front of you, ready for the taking.  Some of it does have to do with your pedigree, four world champions having parented you, but not all of it.  When they say you rely on your name, it is a lazy insult that only makes them seem lazy in return.  Just think of it as Mean Girls mentality, and then maybe you can laugh it off as I did for most of the time that Paris trash was trying to torture this family.  Just take it all in stride.

Tim:  ...

Tim is ready to respond, when Vixen's words seem to resonate with him.  Such a simple mantra, but one that would certainly get to the attention seekers and keyboard trolls hiding behind smartphones and computers.  Instead, he nods his head, smiling a bit.  He doesn't waste any more time before jumping up and wrapping his fingers around the bar.  His feet dangle for a second before he starts lifting himself up, listening as Vixen continues talking with Tim, and we fade out.




#NP "The Resistance" by Anberlin
Locale: Kingston, Jamaica


We pan in to the campus for the University of the West Indies, the site of the next edition of Sin City Wrestling's Climax Control.  The campus is buzzing in anticipation for the show as Stars and Bombshells can be found in various spots, selling merchandise, signing autgraphs, and mingling with the fans.  However, in one spot of the campus, we can see various people passing by in black hooded jackets, all walking over to a table with a white banner with crudely written red lettering reading "Nobodies".  The hooded figures approach the table with blank pieces of paper in hand.  Like machines, the hooded figures at the table accept the piece of paper, and scribble "Nobody" on the paper, before handing it back.  Next to the table, is a lackadaisical photographer, in a hooded jacket.  In front of the camera, is another hooded figure.  Other hooded figures approach, and pose as the camera snaps.  The hooded "fans" shake hands with the hooded poser before moving along for the next person to get their picture taken.  They then approach a table with hooded jackets hanging up.  They point to one, and hand money to a hooded cashier who then hands them the jacket.  They place the jacket over their current jacket before moving along.  This process goes on for what seems like forever, until the pattern is broken by the brightly dressed blonde drag queen interviewer, Mz. Holly Wood.  Her hair is done in stylish dreads, and a Jamaican flag printed sequin dress.  She has a microphone in hand, but as she tries to approach the table, a masked bouncer shakes his head and points to the back of the line.  Holly is about to protest when the bouncer steps closer, asserting his size.

Holly:  Okay, okay... no need to get rough...  Who am I kidding?  I like it rough.

Her joke isn't appreciated as the bouncer continues to shake his head and point.  Holly walks back, behind roughly sixteen people, standing in line.  She taps her foot impatiently as she moves slowly through the mechanical line.  Once she finally makes it to the table, she raises the microphone to her lips.

Holly:  Tim, I...

The hooded figure at the table shakes his head slowly.

Holly:  Damn, is that all y'all know how to do?  Damn...  Where can I find Tim Staggs?

The hooded figure reaches his hand out for the blank piece of paper, which Holly clearly doesn't have.  She stands there, waiting for an answer that just won't come.  She scoffs and turns around, ripping a piece of paper from the person behind her's hand, and slaps it down on the table.  The masked figure signs it "Nobody" and hands it back, gently shaking Holly's hand.

Holly:  I go from a stable where bitches don't shut the hell up to interviewing stables that don't say a word.  I can't win, gurl...

Holly shakes her head as she walks over to the posing masked Nobody, and she stands next to it.  Just as the camera is about to flash, she grabs a handful of his crotch, causing the quiet person to yelp in surprise and confusion simultaneously.  This causes a bit of a chuckle to come from Holly, who takes her Polaroid picture, fanning her face with it as she slowly walks to the hooded jacket table, looking back at the masked Nobody and signals for him to call her.  She turns around and holds her hand out, signalling that she is quite impressed with his large member.  She slaps a bill down on the table, but retracts it slowly as the masked cashier goes to accept it.

Holly:  You got any of them in chatreuse?  Burgandy?

The masked cashier signals to the extensive collection of plain black hoodies for her to choose from.  Holly picks one and pulls it over her head.  She flings her dreads freely before she ties it in the most stylish and feminine way one can possibly wear a big, bulky black hooded jacket.  Just as she's met her fill of the game, she sucks in a deep breath as she prepares to get a little hood.

Tim:  Mz. Wood, because we're nasty... I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but I've never been a good liar.

Holly:  Who are all of these...

Tim:  Why ask when you know I won't tell you?  I hope you've enjoyed being part of my demonstation of pointless consumerism that drives economies the world over.

Holly:  I didn't understand half of that, but I assure you, I only enjoyed grabbing a handful of that dude...

Holly points back at the posing Nobody, who one would imagine is blushing pridefully.  Holly turns back to Tim, collecting herself with a shallow breath, exhaling loudly.  She brings the microphone to her lips as she prepares to do what she's come to do.

Holly:  Now that I got ya here, can I ask you a couple question?

Tim:  You can ask whatever you want, but whether I'll answer them is something entirely different.

Holly:  The first question I have is about the mixed tag team match at High Stakes V.  What are your thoughts on the outcome?

Tim stares with an almost wicked smile on his face.  Holly waits for an answer that doesn't come.  She mouths "ohhhhkay" as she looks back to the camera, she tries to hide her annoyance as she continues along.

Holly:  Fine.  What are your thoughts on the attack by Kris Halich?  Do you have any plans of revenge?

Tim:  I have no real thoughts on that sad excuse of an attack by K-Halc other than it was a desperate attempt at regaining some kind of notoriety after high tailing it out of this company because he couldn't handle the pressure of being a true Nobody.  I refuse to react one way or another.

Holly:  That sounds like a punk bitch response to me.

Tim:  Call it what you will, but I refuse to indulge him, or anybody who wants to prove some sort of point by attacking me, or my crew.  Especially a backstabbing, trecherous coward like Kris Halich or Johnny Tsunami.  I just won't do it.  My reaction is simple.

Tim turns to his left slightly, raising his hand to point at his cheek to signal turning the other cheek.  Holly nods her head, though she is clearly underwhelmed by the response.

Holly:  What are your thoughts on the outcome of Celeste North and Alexis Edw...

Tim:  Look, this isn't 60 Minutes.  This isn't the Presidential Debate.  There is only one thing that is pertainant to the moment.  The one thing you should be asking me about is my match in two days.  Doesn't anybody care about the heart of the sport, the WRESTLING?!  We aren't a soap opera, and I get so fucking sick of this business getting treated as such.  That's what's wrong with this business, is that the focus is on all of the wrong things.  It sickens me, quite honestly.  You would rather know who is sleeping with who, and who is teaming with who.  You reporters and fans don't focus on what is important.  The sport itself.  The athleticism involved in wrestling is so unimportant, that is makes my grandfather turn in his grave.  It is disgusting, so unless you want to ask me about my MATCH... then this interview is over.

Holly looks almost shocked by Tim's outburst.  He seems to calm himself down with the reptition on the line of masked figures moving through a slow, dull production line, his nostrils returning to their normal size as he relaxes a bit, turning back to Holly.  Holly actually sees where Tim is coming from, and she nods her head before proceeding.

Holly:  This match has been talked about since it was ann...

Tim:  Don't lie.  Nobody cares about this match but... well, The Nobodies.  Not even "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin cares.  Do you know why?  Because he's one of only a handful of people who knows I'm going to kick his ass.  People are calling this a David Versus Goliath match.  How much more accurate could that possibly be?  David slayed Goliath, and who is everyone calling David?  It surely isn't Seven Foot Sebastian.  Will it be easy?

Holly:  No?

Tim:  Yes.

Holly nods, but a look of confusion comes over her face.

Holly:  Yes, as in no?  Or yes, as in yes?

Tim:  No... Wait, now you're confusing me!  Yes, as in yes.  And do you know why?

Holly:  I'm not sure I do.

Tim:  Because, I took him, along with his nephew, out already, and I did it on my own.  I had exactly no help from anyone, so when I meet up with the big useless sack of shit inside of the ring, one on one, it will be like a fucking breeze.  And that's if he even decides to show, because, as we know, the Hardin's are known for phoning it in.  I'm not even remotely concerned, because I've been training hard for weeks, thinking I might have some sort of a challenging opponent. And then I get the card, and see I'm opening up against "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin.  It's almost insulting, but you have to play the cards you are dealt.  And, as usual, I was dealt the shitty cards this round, because I'm screwed one way of the other.  If I beat him, it doesn't do anything for me.  I've already done it, so I stay at the same level I am at anyway.  But, if I lose, I am the laughing stock of the company, and considering the fact that I'm clearly on the bottom rung with opening this show, that's still a long, hard fall.  I can't lose.  I won't lose.  Sebastian had better...

Holly:  How do you feel about the distractions of the group in recent weeks?

Tim is ready to continue, when he stops, his jaw hanging open as he just stares at Holly.  He scoffs at her and throws his arms up in surrender.  He shakes his head as he walks off, leaving Holly amidst the crowd of masked Nobodies that seems to flood the immediate area.  She just sighs, and signals for the camera to cut off.  After a moment, the scene fades out... TO BLACK!