Stygian [vs.] Parker Wayde

RP Here

I Expect to be Disappointed

Stygian: [voiceover on black screen] When I was a kid, I remember Fox had a show: Parker Lewis Can’t Lose. Lasted a few years. Used to come on after 21 Jump Street. Little did I imagine that twenty years later, I’d be tapped for the sequel. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Episode 3 of Parker Wayde Can’t Win.

Fade in to the garage portion of Stygian’s man-cave at his home outside of Denver, Colorado. Lilah is dressed in dark blue jeans and a very snug pink ECKO Unlimited t-shirt and she leans over the disassembled remnants of an After Burner Climax arcade cabinet. Judging from the size of the Wolverine boots at the end of the denim-clad legs sticking out from under the cabinet; it must be the IWF World Heavyweight Champion himself ducking into the mess of tangled wires and circuitry.

Lilah: So why are you turning this into a super-cat again?

Stygian: Cab. Supercab.

Lilah: Whatever. Supercab. What the hell is that even?

Stygian sighs and extracts himself from beneath the machine, careful not to snag his black “Death of Superman” logo t-shirt as he pulls himself out. He stands up and dusts himself off, walking over to his work bench, where three cardboard boxes are stacked.

Stygian: I managed to find working and in-tact ROMs for After Burner, After burner II and After Burner Climax. And with just a little work I can make them all work in one machine.

Lilah: Don’t you have all these games from X-Box Arcade though?

Stygian: I do.

Lilah: And haven’t you beaten them all?

Stygian: Many times.

Lilah: So you’re going to all this trouble to play three games that you own and have beaten a hundred times on a different machine?

Stygian: This isn’t just…Lilah, I can’t believe you could say something so vulgar about such a beautiful thing! This is going to be a custom-built gaming experience by the time I’m done with it.

Lilah: Yeah…okay…

Lilah just shrugs as the overhead garage-door opener springs to life, whirring evenly as the screw winds and lifts the door higher up. Stygian’s black Escalade pulls up the asphalt drive and into the garage. As can be expected Lilith steps out of the driver’s seat and onto the foot ramp which extends from under the vehicle. As she steps out of the vehicle, Lilah runs over to the door and smashes the white button.

Stygian: Easy on the button there, killer!

Lilah: It’s freezing out there!

Lilith: It is a bit chilly.

Lilith admits as she closes the door of the SUV and unzips her leather jacket to reveal a deep-vee necked Runaways t-shirt and black Underarmor fleece pants. Stygian circles around to the back doors of the Escalade, smirking.

Lilah: Look at him, he’s like a kid on Christmas!

Lilith: He’s wanted to do this since before we were married. I swear to god, he used to spend a small fortune at the arcades when we lived in Japan, especially the retro arcades!

Stygian pulls open the double doors of the Escalade and beholds the cargo therein.

Stygian: Oh, it’s beautiful!

Lilah: Reminds me of the last time we pulled a shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret.

Lilith: No, he’s much more excited about this.

Lilah: Tell me about it…

Lilith and Lilah share a laugh as Stygian fetches a steel hand card from the other side of the garage. Once it’s in position he reaches into the back of the vehicle and labors to heft out a clunky black and gray monstrosity of a chair, with no legs, and an elaborate gutted electronic cavity up the back side ending in two black and yellow handles hanging overhead.

Lilah: Oh yeah…she rolls her eyes sarcastically…really pretty…

Lilith: Oh darling...look, you hurt his feelings!

Lilah: What is it?

Stygian: Never mind. You obviously don’t appreciate it. Why don’t you go outside and play a nice game of hide and go fuck yourself?

Lilah: Hey!

Lilith: Don’t make me separate you two, now.

Lilah: He started it…

Lilith: This is why I don’t have children…with the two of you I don’t need them.

Stygian sticks out his tongue and wheels the chair over by the disassembled cabinet. Lilith and Lilah follow, taking up positions along the wall at a safe distance from which to observe.

Lilah: So what is it?

Lilith: I think it’s from a helicopter or something.

Stygian laughs as he wheels the chair into place beside the machine.

Lilith: Well then educate us, Mr. Wizard.

Stygian: It’s the seat from an F-14D Super Tomcat. I figured since I had to rip the seat out and rebuilt it, I might as well go for some authenticity.

Lilah: Why do you have to do all of that?

Lilith: Because the original After Burner cabinet wasn’t built with a seven foot man in mind.

Lilah: Oh, yeah, probably not.

Lilith: Jason, you will remember to set this up so I can play it too?

Stygian sort of grunts like Tim Allen on Home Improvement.

Lilah: You too?

Lilith: Why not?

Lilah: I keep forgetting, you were a geek before you got hot.

Lilith: Quite.

Stygian stands beside the machine, tapping his fingers on the top of the seat as he looks back and forth for a few moments.

Stygian: I guess the first thing to do would be to test the actuators.

Lilah: The actual what?

Lilith: Actuators. The things that make the seat tilt and pitch with the controls.

Lilah: It does that?

Lilith: Oh yeah, that’s half the game’s appeal.

Stygian: The thing is that cheap plastic piece of shit over there…

Stygian points to a blue jet-shaped chair over by two large garbage cans.

Stygian: …only weighs about 20 pounds. And this thing, even with the ejector pneumatics and such stripped off it, weighs about 75 pounds. The motors that powered that would burn out just trying to move this, so I’ve had to scratch build my own actuators to recreate the motion.

Lilah: More powerful, right?

Stygian: Yeah.

Lilah: I bet you put in, like car hydraulics.

Stygian: Thought about it, then I remembered every episode of Home Improvement ever and I decided to go with something a little less likely to throw me through the roof.

Lilith: Good idea.

Stygian: Could one of you girls grab that air wrench and a set of goggles for me?

Lilith slides off the wall and slinks over to the air compressor. She grabs one of the many sets of protective goggles hanging around the shop, and the aforementioned air wrench, unwinding the bright yellow compressor hose behind her as she brings it over. Stygian sets his feet apart, groans and lifts the chair up, setting it down upon the steel box frame at the back of the track of the After Burner machine. He fiddles with it a bit, sliding it back and forth…

Stygian: …know I drilled a guide line for the damn…

…and then it stops moving with a sudden “CLUNK” noise.

Stygian: …found it.

Lilith hands him the goggles, which he straps around his head and lowers over his eyes.

Lilah: Why do you need goggles to screw in some bolts.

Stygian: Because they made me watch a lot of truly horrifying safety films in the Air Force. I even got to see one up close and personal. Dude was buffing a thermal shell on an F-22 intake, and he sheered off a piece of it into his left eye! Not this boy.

Lilah makes a face as if she’s going to be sick…then she grabs a set of goggles for herself and puts them on. Lilith laughs as she rests against the wall next to Lilah.

Lilith: We’re safe here, darling.

Lilah: I don’t care, that F-22 thing sounds scary.

Stygian vanishes under the chair and the sound of the impact wrench can be heard about seven or eight times before he emerges. He pulls himself to his feet and grabs the back of the chair, twisting it and shaking it.

Lilith: I think it’s secure, lover.

Stygian: Can never be too careful. But I think you’re gonna need a crane and a cutting torch to get this chair off the mount.

Lilah: So what if the actuators don’t work?

Stygian: Okay, or an impact wrench. I just don’t want the damn thing coming apart accidentally. Okay who wants to test the chair?

Lilith: I will, I have the feeling she isn’t going to play this thing too much.

Lilith steps up the side and drops into the seat.

Lilith: Surprisingly comfortable. Moreso than it looks.

Stygian: Well, a pilot might be sitting in this thin for six hours on end, with no breaks.

Lilith: True.

Stygian: Strap in.

Lilith feeds her arms through the straps and buckles the harness over her chest, which seems to cause her some difficulty.

Lilith: Lover, I think I’ve spotted the first design flaw…

Stygian looks at the smashed quadraboob the harness creates and nods.

Stygian: Well, I’m sure they didn’t have women in mind when they designed these things, much less one of your proportions. Just…uh…just feed your arms into the straps and hold on tight, this thing’s gonna move.

Lilith: I think I’ll put up with the smashed boobs, it seems safer.

Lilah: Besides it looks like it hurts.

Lilith: It does.

Lilith flashes a sexy smirk to Lilah, who rolls her eyes.

Lilah: Just like I thought. She’s sick.

Stygian: But that’s why we love her.

Lilith: One of the reasons anyway. Still, do wrap this up?

Lilah: He’s already wrapped them up.

Lilith: I mean the tests.

Lilah: Oh.

Stygian ducks into the cabinet again.

Stygian: Okay I’m gonna try the pitch controls. Left…

Lilith makes a little startled sound and grabs the chair by the base as it tilts to the left.

Stygian: Well? Did it work? I can’t see through the floor of the cab.

Lilith: Left is fine.

Stygian: Now, right.

Lilith is still holding on as the seat slides all the way over to the right and leans over.

Lilith: That’s good.

Stygian: Now back to center.

The chair returns to its normal position.

Lilith: Okay.

Stygian: Hold on, gonna try the front and back controls.

Lilith: Okay, go for it.

Lilith has a white knuckle grip out of anticipation as the chair tilts forwards and her feet dangle a little bit.

Lilith: Front is good.

Then the chair reclines back to about a 30 degree angle.

Lilith: Back works.

The chair lowers back to the default position.

Stygian: Okay I’m gonna try the feedback system.

Lilith: The what?

Stygian: For damage and such, like a dual shock controller?

Lilith: Right, right.

Stygian: That’s light damage.

Lilith: Not bad.

Stygian: Heavy damage.

Lilith: Geeze, I think I bit my tongue.

Stygian: Let me adjust that. How about now?

Lilith: Better.

Stygian: Here’s impact/crash, this one should be rough.

The whole seat shakes violently and Lilith laughs.

Lilith: I’d say it works.

Suddenly Lilith arches her brows and gasps.

Lilith: What’s that?

Stygian: That’s the default vibration for the second and third games. Supposed to feel like a plane’s engine idling. Too much?

Lilith: No…no, it’s just right.

Lilah: Are you…

Lilith nods, and then laughs.

Lilah: Of course.

Lilith: I think I’m gonna play this game a lot.

Lilah: You would.

Lilith: I’m a dirty, dirty girl.

Suddenly a look of disappointment crosses her features.

Lilith: He turned it off.

Stygian once again emerges from under the machine and pulls himself up alongside it.

Stygian: I still think that idle vibration is too much.

Lilith: LEAVE IT ALONE!

Stygian and Lilah both recoil formt eh sudden outburst, before Lilith unbuckles the harness and steps off the chair.

Lilith: I mean, it’s fine where it is. Really.

Stygian: Okay, I just don’t want to hurt you by having the machine cranked too high.

Lilah: Totally the opposite.

Stygian: Huh?

Lilith: Hush you.

Lilith grabs Lilah by the wrist.

Lilith: We’re…uh…going to the house now…you finish up down here.

Lilah: We are?

Lilith gives her a piercing, shouldering look and then yanks her out the door.

Lilah: No…wait…I know that look. Not without a spotter. Help. HELP! Rape! Dammit Jason, this is your fault…

Lilith laughs and slams the door shut behind them. Stygian just shrugs and goes back to work on the cabinet as the screen fades to black.

It’s an indeterminate amount of time later as the After Burner title screen fades into view with “Insert Coins” icon flashing at the bottom of the screen comes into view. Stygian, dressed as before in a black Air Force t-shirt and jeans comes into the shot, running his hand over the top of the seat in a manner that’s almost pornographic. Seriously, you wonder if he ever touches his wife so intimately. He lets it slide off the chair and he reaches down to the left side of the cabinet. He flicks a switch slowly back and forth. With each click, the screen changes. From After Burner to After Burner II to After Burner Climax and back though II to the original once more.

Stygian: It took a lot of work to put this together. But I take pride in my work. Oh it might not seem like much. All I did was install three ROMs in the case, put on a chair from a decommissioned F-14D, build my own actuators into the games existing relays. But of course that meant expanding the cooling system. That meant testing out a thousand different combinations of motors and valves. That meant finding this chair. It meant rewiring the whole case for about five times the power requirement. And why? Why? Because I believe in doing things right. I believe in putting myself in to everything I do. I believe if something is going to have my name on it, it should reflect the best of my abilities. So even though this is built for me, and me only, and I’m the only one who would ever see the shortcomings of any flaws or shortcuts I took…I still just can’t let myself take the easy way out.

Stygian slides into the chair and pushes a button near the coin receiver, presumably something to make the machine thing the correct amount of coinage was inserted. As the game loads up, the camera comes around to face him head on, one hand on the stick, one on the throttle, his eyes intent on the screen as the sounds of air-to-air combat are faded into the background so that the viewing audience can concentrate on the words of the IWF World Heavyweight Champion.

Stygian: Take a look around IWF now. Go head. Have a look down that roster. You know what I see? I see, maybe, three guys who I ever have to worry about getting in that ring with, and so many of them can’t be bothered to stop fighting amongst themselves to even notice little ole me. Petty squabbles and self-indulgence weighs far too many guys down. With that in mind, I have to realistically admit that there are no true contenders for the IWF World Heavyweight Championship. No real threats. You see, it gets that way in most long-running series. Eventually the protagonist is so unstoppable, so undefeatable, he’s so used to winning that whomever is presented as this week’s challenge is underwhelming. Consequently what has to happen is that a new antagonist must be introduced to really bring up the level of the challenge. If you really want to see this in effect, I suggest watching a few seasons of Buffy. When the show started, just killing a vampire was such an arduous task that she had to start banging one for fighting lessons. Towards the end of the show? She was playing whack-a-mole with gods and eldritch abominations. Hell by the end of that show, the goofy kid with one eye was dusting up vampires without breaking a sweat.

Stygian: More apropos would be to read Batman: Year One and then any sufficiently advanced Batman tale post-crisis, I personally prefer “Hush”, but it’s a matter of opinion with Batman stories. Most are good. But if you read “Year One” and the passage where he has sufficient trouble taking on three street gang kids stealing a TV on a fire escape, and then read Hush where he’s taking down most of his major villains including Joker, Croc, Ivy and Ras al Ghul in a few short pages? You see the difference I’m getting at here. My point is, any sufficiently advanced protagonist of a long-running serial is going to grow to a point where the usually chaff and offal fail to present him with sufficient challenge. And this is the point to which I have evolved with IWF. Like a Superman comic, appropriately, there are only a few people the casual fan would dare to presume offers significant threat. Really, unless Luthor, Zod or Doomsday are showing up? Nobody really gives any credence to the villain of the month actually doing any sort of real damage to Superman.

Stygian: Let’s be honest about something here, Parker Wayde…you may be saying all of the right things on twitter, telling all the reporters what they need to hear, you may be placating Corey Casey with comfortable lies, and give his current mental state or lack thereof he may even be believing them…but at the end of that day? You’re another nickel in the jar. Just another piece of metal with Thomas Jefferson on it thrown in a jar in the corner of my bedroom. There’s an old phrase: if I had a nickel for every time…well something unerringly commonplace happened. In this case, if I had a nickel for every guy who said he was going to kick my ass and make me cry…not only would I have a lot of nickels, but that’d be one really weird way to make money. Alas Parker, you’re not special. You’re not gifted. You’re not talented. Not any moreso than the last two times I beat you.

Stygian: The first time? Do we really need to recount the first time? You were a shoe-in for dumbass of the year award until Thanksgiving when Mark Sanchez bounced off his own lineman’s ass, dropped the ball, and watched the New England Patriots pick it up and carry it into the end zone for a touchdown. Before that happened? Top of every sports “worst of” list was going to go something like “ding, PARKER GETS BANEBLADED, ding”. That was going to be the capper for the worst athletic endeavor of 2012. And then? Then what happened? You…you came back for round two…and though you lasted longer, you still failed to deliver the goods; just like the kid in American Pie with Shannon Elizabeth. Now you want to try and take the title from me?

There’s a fantastic explosion of color splashing across Stygian’s face, and a terrific detonation. Apparently he just did something very cool on the game he’s playin, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Stygian: Those were regular matches, and you got your ass handed to you. Now you’re back for round 3? TO try and take the World Title from me? To do what only one person walking this earth has ever done? Challenge me for a world title and walk away with the belt? Are you out of your damn mind? What has happened in the intervening weeks since the last time I put my foot in your crack and kicked you off my mountain, boy? Did you get an injection of the Super Soldier Serum I didn’t know about? Hmm? Did a radioactive spider bite you? Did you find and were somehow deemed worthy enough to lift Mjölnir and posses the power of Thor? Maybe you got some training on an island of women and you’re gonna come down to the ring with shiny golden bracelets and star-spangled panties. What has changed about you, Parker Wayde? What sword did you pull out of what stone to think that you have the right to even look at my fucking crown, much less take it?

Stygian: Of course, even then, I will not make the mistake of underestimating you. Assumption is the mother of all fuck-ups. I don’t think that this match will be any similar to the first two. I can’t. because the moment I think I’ve already got you beaten, is the second you roll in like Johnny Football to Tuscaloosa and upset my applecart. No, I’m not going to be so arrogant as to think I have this already won. Because you see, when I can no longer count on the system to give me a challenge, I have to look elsewhere for a challenge. When you’ve already beaten the game, where does the incentive to do so again come from? How do I stay on top of the mountain when there’s such pittance for challengers. Seriously? I was looking forward to Ethan Cage, but your overinflated bowling team took care of that. Now what? Alexander Remington? Well he’s promising me hell in a hand basket, but he never delivers. Griffin Hawkins? I think Griff might soon need a lesson in manners, true. But what happens if I beat them. Being realistic, what happens when I beat them? Then who is left? Is Jason Hawk going to come back? IWF Champion vs. NLWF Champion? Please. He took that belt off his wall and came out to the ring pretending to still hold it. Yeah he was an NLWF world champion, and he could never climb above that Christmas Lights World Title of his to do anything meaningful here in IWF. The only reason he held on to that so long was because he was commissioner and he unilaterally retired it.

Stygian: Chuck Matthews and Corey Casey have both failed against me, and Corey’s back is broke. So who’s going to save IWF from me now? Is Brandon MacDonald going to come out of the woodwork and challenge me again? Hey, I’d love to see it, but we all know it won’t happen. There are only two guys I don’t know I can beat right now. If Griffin gets the Brief Case, maybe I’ll finally get to fight one. And maybe if Alex Remington’s surgery was successful and the stick was indeed removed from his ass, maybe he can rise up and present me with a challenge. But after I turn them away? I’ve effectively beaten the game here. Robbie Hart, that’s the one blemish on my record I probably won’t get to correct. SBK? Retired last I heard. So there’s nobody who can challenge me anymore. So I need to create my own challenge.

Another splash of flaming colors and impressive 16-bit explosive sound effects.

Stygian: You know, I first came across this game at an arcade in Bullhead City, Arizona. It was the full version with the chair and the canopy built around, made you feel like you’d think a jet pilot would feel at 8. I was hooked. Every last quarter I had went into this machine. End upon end, over and over. I probably paid enough in to own the fucking machine at that arcade. Hell, it was that I was there so much that the manager gave me a job there when I was 14. Even then, whenever I wasn’t directly needed and there was no customer on the machine? I was right in there. Piloting that F-14 over those mountains and through those canyons, shooting down the enemy planes and dismantling their prototypes with precision missile shots and infinite .270 rounds. It seemed like every week, once I beat the game, the initials “JMG”, Jason Michael Gabriel would climb the high scores board and eventually? Eventually it was all ten of the top scores. It wasn’t long after that, that every top score was the same score, signed by the initials “JMG” because I actually figured out how to score the maximum points allowable in the game.

Stygian: And raking up a Max Score in After Burner is hard. You have to kill every last enemy with guns, no missiles, or you lose the bonus for the ones you still have at the end of the level. You can’t even get hit once, because you’ll lose the shields bonus, and forget dying. If you die? You might as well just hit reset if you’re trying for max score. But…

There’s another round of explosions that spike the volume and paint Stygian in flashing oranges, red and yellows.

Stygian: …once you have exerted your dominance over one area so completely? There’s nothing you can do but challenge yourself. And that’s just about where I am an with IWF as a whole, Parker. It’s certainly where I’m at with you. I can’t really more thoroughly destroy you than the way I did it the first time, so now it’s about beating my own high score on the Parker Wayde level. And that doesn’t connote laissez-faire attitude and me mailing this in. No. You see, it’s like World 1-1 of Super Mario Brothers. Most famous, most played level in videogame history I’ll bet. We all could probably play it blindfolded. But that level of arrogance costs you. One second you’re saying, “I can beat this with my eyes shut”, next you miss a jump and fall down a hole. Because you didn’t pay attention. You didn’t approach with care and give the game the respect it deserved. And this is how you are in fact deserving of my respect, Parker; not as a competitor, but as a gooma who can fall down on me for a three count if I fuck this up.

Stygian: And if my ego outstripped my pride that would be the only chance you would have to defeat me. But it doesn’t. At the end of the day, my pride, my honor, my need to be the best wins out. Because what I do with this belt? It will ultimately be bigger than any who have come before me or who come after. It will be greater than any champion there has ever been in IWF or in NLWF. It will be the biggest thing anyone has done, or is doing in any company in the world today. I plan to be world champion for a long time. Failing that, failing my pride and my plans, I will not lose to a man who takes his marching orders from Corey Casey. I will not lose to a man who has for the last several months flaunted himself in the face of everything I do.

More explosions, ain’t they pretty?

Stygian: I saw the videos, I saw the little jabs and digs, I saw it Parker. Seems you don’t think too much of me. Seems Parker Wayde thinks I’m a joke and he’s going to self-aggrandizing himself at my expense. Parker, if I’m a joke? What does that make YOU? What does it make the man who lost to me in record time? What does it make the man who’s quest for redemption ended with a second Baneblade and yet another three count? You’ve lost twice to me in utterly spectacular fashion…and you have the nerve to think I am a joke, huh?

Stygian: You know, really Parker, you’ve had it in for me since that first match, haven’t you? Somehow it was my fault you came out an sucked it up so horribly that the entirety of our “match” became the lead in of my new entrance video. And what funny is? You’re not fighting me, Parker. You’re not facing down the shadow of Blackrock Spire in that ring: you’re facing down yourself. You’re still trying to live down that night in the ring. Well you know what? Nothing ever will! Nothing ever will take the stink off that night, nothing will ever take that stain off your ego. So do what I did when Robbie hart kicked me in the head and spring boarded to a world title victory over Chad Mason: move the fuck on. Get over it. Tell yourself whatever you need to. Do whatever you have to. Train harder, correct the flaw, and get yourself together. Move on with your life. Cause I’m getting tired of seeing you across the ring, Parker. Not without a serious investiture in your skills. Not without some new dedication of purpose. Because you’ve had two shots at this, and you missed both of them.

Stygian: And the special guest referee? Oh I hope that’s not your plan to save yourself. I really hope that isn’t how you’re going to pull out of this. Yeah, I saw the polls. Corey Casey has a commanding share of the lead at 56%. And do I think for one second, one millisecond Corey Casey will call this down the middle? Not on your life. I know I can’t let my shoulders touch the mat. I can’t get caught in a questionable submission hold. I’d better not even linger outside of the ring too long, because if I do? Corey Casey will find a way to give the match and the title to you. Because if there’s one thing Corey Casey hates more than admitting that Jessica Mathews-Casey probably fucks Derek Jeter when he’s on the road with IWF? It’s seeing me with his precious world title. I get it, I know, and I’ll be ready for it. And where you see a potential advantage? You should be aware that it’s nothing but a disadvantage. Because it puts that much more pressure on me to be perfect. To be better. To post that high score, even though I’ve already beaten this level twice. The last time I had the deck stacked against me with a crooked ref? Ironically enough Corey Casey was involved then, too. He was a time keeper while Brandon MacDonald was trying to gift wrap the match for Ruben Ricardo Leon. I kicked Ruben’s ass so hard it left a footprint. So if anything? The possibility of Corey being the ref for this match? It just makes it that much more worse for you. Because I know going in that I have to beat you for a ten count. I know I have to drive every last ounce of life out of you because Corey Casey is going to run to the back between 1 and 2, and 2 and 3 for counting lessons before he comes down and counts you out. Actually it seems to me that the easier way to beat you is to hurt you so badly that the doctor stops the match. Because I know Corey won’t disqualify you. I know he won’t acknowledge if you submit, he’ll probably just break the hold himself. I know Corey Casey won’t count you out an it will take a miracle for him to count your shoulders down. So maybe my best bet? Maybe my best bet is to do to you what I did to him. Cripple you, take you out of the sport. Maybe you should have Baron Thompson come down to the ring, or anyone really…just someone who can throw in the towel for you when it gets too rough. Because the prospect of maximum damage and minimal injury to myself? The prospect of having to be perfect? It doesn’t scare me.

One final fantastic explosion floods Stygian’s face with colors and lights. The camera turns around just in time to see the last remnants of the explosion, and see the plane fly off into the sunset. Suddenly the HI SCORE screen comes up, with the number 12,020.975 next to a set of flashing letters in the #1 position atop a bunch of high scores signed by initials of whomever set the scores on whatever machine this ROM was salvaged from. Stygian flips the joystick and clicks the fire buttons putting in “STYG” and hitting the “end” prompt. As the screen fades into the credits, Stygian’s reflection comes into view against the black screen.

Stygian: I’m not afraid to be perfect. In fact, I expect it of myself. I expect it of you too. I expect you to be at your best, better than you’ve ever been in that ring, Sunday night. Of course, given that it’s you? I expect to be disappointed.

The screen itself blinks and fades into a central point of light that soon shuts off, like the plug being pulled on an old arcade machine.

Parker sprints through the backstage area, one hand cupped to his head, the other holding a green handled wooden bat. The show has already gone off the air, but Parker has a score to settle whether the cameras are there to capture it on film or not. He reaches the end of the hallways and spins around looking down both of the adjacent corridors.

Parker: Remington!!!!! You might as well just come out here you son of a bitch. The longer you make me look for you, the worse it is going to end up being for you.

Parker picks a path and walks down it, dragging the end of the bat against the cinder block walls making a horrid sound. He keeps shaking his head as if trying to shake the far away look out of his eyes. The first door he comes to apparently looks a lot like Remington because he bashes the handle of it with a bat and then kicks it open. He peaks his head inside the room and finds nothing of note.

Parker: You know what? I will settle for that bitch Hawkins. I would really like to be able to finish what we started out there. Really just want to beat one of the two of you until I forget I lost. Come on out, it is only going to hurt for a few months.

Edwin: You know you aren't really making a compelling case for not having murdered someone...

The voice comes as a shock to Parker. He wheels around as if on a swivel and faces his assailant. When he turns to find that it is just the lowly reporter that doesn't know his place, the look of disappointment on his face turns violent.

Parker: Now is not the time you vile son of a bitch. Can you not see that I am a little busy?

He holds up the bat in the face of the reporter, a not so thinly veiled threat.

Edwin: You don't look busy to me. You look more like a child that was never taught sportsmanship. You are running around a nearly empty arena screaming for people that have already bailed from the arena. Why don't you stop and think about it? If you just screwed Corey Casey on national television would you stick around to see the consequences?

Parker lowers the bat specifically so that he can step up in the face of Edwin. He has wanted to crush this man from the very moment he stepped foot in an IWF arena. This was not the time to fuck with Parker and Edwin knew that he was treading a fine line.

Parker: I think you know where they are, and I think you are just here to distract me.

Edwin: Do you even hear yourself right now? These two guys just kicked your ass. Why the hell would they run if they knew it was just you coming after them. Remington is basically untouched. Hawkins didn't get nearly the beating that you wanted to give him. These are two men that have been through hell in the ring. Why would they fear some beat up midcarder with a bat.

Parker: Midcarder? With a bat? Why don't we just see how much trouble I can stir up. I want you to run Edwin. I want you to run and I am going to hunt your ass down for fun.

Edwin rolls his eyes that the bigger man and doesn't even take a single step away. At this point a crowd is starting to form around the two. The two corridors to Parker's left and right have filled with the stage crew coming out to see what all of the noise was about. The hallway behind Edwin had a couple of talents in it, along with most of the medical crew. Behind Parker was the guardrail with a set of stairs to the left that led out to the back exit. Parker drops the bat in a fit of rage and grabs Edwin by the front of his blazer. He spins around with the smaller man in tow, having lifted him up off of the ground.

Parker: You don't think that I am someone that should be feared Ed? You don't think that I am someone that you probably shouldn't fuck with? I am going to tell you something, and I am only going to tell you this one time.

Parker walks towards the back guardrail and presses Edwin against it. The drop on the other side of the rail is enough to make Edwin consider trying to talk himself out of the predicament. The medical crew and stage hands have all moved in a lot closer, one of them going as far as to scream at Parker to let the man go. The former High Impact Champion didn't so much as hesitate for a moment from the threat. At this point he has a singular purpose and that is to rip apart someone or something. Edwin is in the line of fire, and there is plenty of reason for Parker to want to remove him from the equation.

Parker: I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. If I am looking for an ass to kick, you rest assured that I am going to find one to kick regardless of who's it is. I am going to speak slowly enough for you to really understand me. You have become a problem for me. This is not going to continue. Your little press tag might get you a little break when it comes to management but I could give two shits about it. You keep pushing me, and I am going to push back.

To prove his point Parker starts to push on Edwin's shoulders, bending him backwards over the guardrail. Edwin's arms flail until they find the top bar of the railing and then they latch on with all the strength he can muster. He wanted to open his mouth to talk his way out of the predicament but no matter what he tried to say, the right words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Instead of backpedaling he just kept pressing. Instead of retreating he was reloading his weapons and praying one of them would produce an answer that he wanted to hear.

Edwin: Is this how you treat people that push you too far Parker? You bend them over a railing and threaten them until you leave them alone. Am I supposed to be any more intimidated by you right now than I am any other time that I have to talk to you? You know why I am here. You the know the kind of person that I think you are. If you think that this kind of behavior is going to catch me off guard you are as dumb as any stereotype would suggest that you are.

He searches Parker's eyes for some kind of gauge on his situation. His thoughts race so fast that he can barely keep track of them. It seems as if his back has been pressed against the railing for hours, days even. It couldn't be more than a moment or two. The people around the were not yet panicking that he was about to meet his demise. Parker seemed to try and formulate some kind of response. The wheels were turning slower with his anger getting the best of him. Edwin started to wonder if Parker would even remember this conversation. Was this the kind of action taken by a man who snaps and lashes out in a blind rage? Or was this some kind of controlled behavior? These are the kinds of questions that can drive a person nuts if you dwell on them enough. Thankfully Edwin didn't have the luxury of time.

Parker: You think you understand the kind of person that I am? You think just because you know the end game of whatever problem happened between Marie, JHalc and I you know the whole story. I can tell you this much, you do not and will not ever know what happened. You cannot begin to wrap your head around everything that is going on. How could you? you are exactly the kind of person that the right people aim to keep out of things. As far as you or anyone else is concerned a car crash happened and it was a tragic day. You do not want to know anything more than that because it makes you uncomfortable.

Edwin's eyes light up. He may have his back against the wall, or his ass in the fire, or whatever idiom you want to use to describe his situation but he was getting somewhere close to an answer. Parker didn't even realize that he was handing him everything that he wanted to hear. Edwin was getting all that he came for, and likely even more pieces to the puzzle than he knew existed.

Edwin: The only thing that makes me uncomfortable is the fact that there are people like you in this world. You are so obsessed with whatever it is your end goal is that you don't care how you have to get there. You are the worst kind of person. The kind that will slaughter anyone that stands in their way without losing a drop of sleep over it. I bet you enjoyed whatever it is that you did. I bet you still think back to it as your defining moment in your life. You are a sick bastard. I think you already know that though.

Parker lets go of his jacket and backs away from him with a smile on his face. Edwin's confusion cant be hidden. Even all of those in attendance for this act of random violence seem to let out a sigh at the anticlimactic finish to the situation. Parker reaches forward with both hands which causes Edwin to flinch backwards. The smile on Parker's face widens for a moment, and then he goes on with adjusting the man's jacket and tie. Parker straightens himself up as well, erasing all evidence that the scuffle ever happened. Before he turns to walk away though, he leans in and whispers into Edwin's ear.

Parker: Just when you think you have put it all together, you open your mouth and tell me that you know nothing at all. You are standing here with your head up your ass. What you have built up in your head is so far away from the reality of your situation that you will never be a threat to me. I am no monster. I am just as much a victim in this as your old friend. You don't want to involve yourself in this. You don't want it to eat away at you like it eats away at me every day.

Parker leans back away from him, and with one last glance turns back down the hallway. He stops to pick up his bat, and places it over his shoulders, resting his forearms over the top of it. Edwin's brain feels as if it is full of mush. Parker wouldn't have just created a story to tell him, it isn't his style. There was no doubt in his mind that he just got a shadow of the truth from him. The story was a lot bigger and a lot more complicated than he thought. The only thing left to do was to let Parker know that this wasn't yet over.

Edwin: So I will be seeing you at Pick Your Poison right? Parker vs Stygian? Superman vs the up and comer that can't hope to have a chance at winning.

Parker turns on, not unplanting his feet from the direction he is gong, but pivoting his upperbody to make eye contact with Edwin. There is something about his determination that Parker has to admire. This guy is not going to give up regardless of how far off base he is.

Parker: This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship Ed. Good talk. I hope you make it to Pick Your Poison in one piece. It would be shame if you somehow missed it.

Edwin looks back at him confused. Parker wasn't normally cryptic like this. He was pretty straight forward in is insults or threats. This was something else. Maybe some kind of hidden meaning that Edwin had earned for himself.

Edwin: What is that supposed to mean?

Parker: I don't know Ed. All kinds of things can stop a guy from getting where he is headed. Planes show up late. Traffic blocks the direct path. Maybe even things more extreme than that. Maybe you get hit by a bus. Maybe your plane crashes. Maybe you are driving your car and find that your brakes don't work anymore. A person can drive themself batty thinking about all the possibilities. I am just saying I hope you make it in alright. Think of it as me saying "break a leg."

At that point the lightbulb turns on. Parker was trying to tell him something after all. Maybe not answering the question that he wants answered, but definitely telling him what he wants to know in the big scope of things. Parker turns around and starts to whistle as he walks away. Edwin can do nothing but smile to himself as he watches the man go. The hallways have completely cleared by the time that Edwin dares to even look at the fate that he almost met. He looks down over the guardrail at the concrete floor that was dying to stop his descent. Doing some quick calculations he guestimates that he wouldn't have been too severely injured by the fall. Did Parker know that too? Was this all some kind of game of smoke and mirrors? Edwin was starting to realize that the man that he thought he had figured out was not what he seemed to be. Somehow he felt like he would sleep easier knowing this. Maybe Parker wasn't such a bad guy after all.



Parker: I suppose that brings me to you Stygian. To say that I was walking in to this match confident would be a complete lie. I am not deaf. I have heard the things that people are saying. You went easy on my the first time, putting me out of my misery without hurting me. I got lucky the second time because I had all the help in the world. I fucked up last time because I couldn't take you out. I botched the job because instead of hurting you all I did was piss you off and give you a reason to pay attention to me. People are saying that I can't survive a third meeting. I was on the roll of a lifetime the first time we met, and you crushed me. Now I have given you a reason to take your time ripping me apart, and I am on the biggest losing roll of my career heading into the slaughter. I know what you are going to say about me before you even say it. The only advantage that I have is that you have heard these things just as much as I have. There is no over estimating your dominance in that ring. i just have to bank on your underestimating me. If you give me an opening I will take it. If for even a second I can put you on the mat and steal this from you I will do so. I am crossing my fingers that you haven't given me a second thought. I have to thank my lucky stars if I can manage to even be a speed bump to you. Self deprecation isn't normally a weapon in my arsenal. This isn't an exception to that. This is merely the truth. Or rather, this is the short story.

Parker: You see there is only one thing that I have really ever wanted in my entire life. I was the kid that didn't do so bad in school. I like to think that I am a pretty smart guy. I was the kid that grew up the wrong color for my neighborhood, and yet managed to get a full ride to head to college anyways. I wanted to be that kid from the neighborhood that made something of myself. If there is one thing that would help me sleep better at night, it would be to know that I was a household name. When people know who you are it means that you matter to them in some way, shape, or form. You have touched their lives. I was an All American wrestler at Wake Forest. I got that small taste of national exposure that I craved. Anyone that paid attention to college sports had some kind of idea who I was. The people back home knew that there was a kid from down the road that made something of himself. Even if they didn't know my name, they knew what I had done. The people that I went to high school with all looked up to me as the one that set the bar higher than anyone else.

Parker: What does a kid like me do when when setting records as an amateur wrestler doesn't quite cut it anymore? When I look around, or when I walk down the street and there are people that have no idea who I am, what am I supposed to do. I had to do something more. I needed to climb a little further up the ladder. That is when I started training people. If I am not mistaken this is about the time that you got into the wrestling business Stygian. Well, at least it was the time that you got into the IWF business. I busted my ass to make JHalc a world champion. I was down at ringside when that title got held above his head. That night was just as much my night as it was his. I thought that the bar had finally been set as I as high could push it. Even if it was only by riding someone's successes to the top of their industry, I was finally a well known guy. that was when I met James Shark. A guy that you had already competed against. The guy didn't know the name of the world champion of that company, let alone the manager that was in his corner. Just when I thought that the zenith had been reached, someone came up and told me that I hadn't even started climbing the mountain yet. I followed that son of a bitch James Shark back to this company. I came here to IWF in order to make a whole new circle of people know my worth. This is an ascent that I have been building my entire life, and it was just starting to get off the ground.

Parker: I came in here and made a name for myself at the bottom of the ladder. I know you had to have paid at least a little attention to the fact that I was tearing up the undercard of this company. I know that I had to of landed on your radar as someone that was going to be a decent challenge later down the road. I won the Full Throttle title and took a step towards the big leagues. I became a legitimate professional wrestler the night that I walked away with gold around my waist. It wasn't until later that I realize that I was limiting my potential by staying in that division. It wasn't until later that I realized that the general public doesn't normally remember the guy that held the most insignificant belt in the company. I couldn't even get the respect of Steel Angel as the Full Throttle Champion. I doubt Corey Casey even knew my name back then. I knew that I had to take a big step. I had to cut off my hand before the venom spread, so to speak. I let some bitch climb a ladder to take that noose of a title off my neck. She held it up high, and then I dropped her to the mat like she was a nobody. I rose above that title only second after losing it. I wasn't going to be stopped from becoming something more Stygian. I couldn't allow my self to sit and become stagnate. If you aren't moving up in this industry, you are being left behind to die. I wasn't going to be dying any time soon.

Parker: I called out the top stars, and got shit on. None of them wanted to answer a challenge that had no gain for them. On one hand, they could crush me like the jobber I was, and gain little or no respect for doing it. On the other, some upstart could make them look foolish and spawn rumors that they had lost a step. Parker had to take another step down the road before people would take him seriously. I stole the High Impact title. I beat a world champion. That is when I stepped into the ring with you for the first time. My career to that point had been nothing but success after success but you made sure that you were not going to be another one of my victims. You put me down, and you put me down hard. Ever since that match I have say in a pile of my own filth. I haven't been able to move up. People still dont recognize me as a threat. People still dont think I have what it takes to be the face of a company. I was on my way to accomplishing the one thing that I have wanted since I was a child and you took it away from me. No matter how hard I have tried since that day, I have not been able to shake that feeling. You destroyed me before I could even become a star. You took the preemptive shot and scored huge. Stygian you broke my spirit into so many pieces that all I seem to be able to do now is lose. People are saying that this match at Pick Your Poison is a sham. People are saying that I am just some chump on the chopping block. I am the guy that softballs a win to you, so that the biggest name in the company hangs on to the title a little longer. Maybe all of that is true. Maybe I am everything that they are saying I am. I am not here to argue whether they are right or wrong. I want you to know who you are stepping into the ring with come Sunday. I want you to look across the ring and see me for the person that I am, not the character you belittle. This is my fight to win, and your fight to lose. You have the advantage, and I couldn't hope to level that playing field. The best I can do is give you an idea of the star you are about to destroy. If by chance you don't manage to destroy me on Sunday, at least you will have some idea why I was able to hang on.

If I Had A Nickle...

The blackness of screen, the silence of the screen is pierced by the dull electrical hum of Stygian’s trademarked “Shattered Star” Star Destroyer logo lighting up in the middle of the screen. The camera slowly zooms out to reveal the light is from the symbol on the chest of his ring gear, which he appears to be wearing as it illuminates his features in glowing, golden light. His silhouette is further illuminated by the glowing golden lines going down the outsides of his coat, and the ones outlining the shoulders and cuffs of the garment as well. Just as the viewers’ eyes adjust to seeing the World Champion in this light, the lights in the room he’s in click on. Stygian is in his full ring gear in some kind of bar, it would seem. He’s seated at a round wooden table, which the camera is situated across from. At the closes end of the table there’s a lidless mason jar propped on its side with a box of matchbooks under the lip of the rim to tilt it up at an angle. The custom logo on the box tells us that in all likelihood this was filmed at “Shannon’s Irish Pub & Eatery” in Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada.

To Stygian’s left is Lilith, in something she will in all likelihood wear to the ring Sunday night: a purple corset dress with black laces up the front, black detailed accents and a black mini skirt that goes about 3/4 down her thigh and the rest is under the horizon created by the table. On Stygian’s right is Lilah in something she very conceivably might wear to the ring: a sheer see-through pink top over a black bra, darker pink short shorts and black thigh-high boots that also dip out of sight beneath the table’s edge. Lilith hands Stygian two coins. He drops them on the table before him with a small concert of metallinc clangs as they bounce, but he stops them from wandering too far afield by slapping his hand over the top of them flat against the table. With his hand still over the coins, he begins to speak.

Stygian: They say the nickel is the first American coin. It’s not one-hundred percent, but it’s pretty close. The half dime, spelled with a silent s between the “I” and “M” in “dime” for some reason, was first minted in 1792, three-hundred years after Columbus “discovered” America, though he did not actually discover America, but that’s neither here nor there. 1792, nine years after the Treaty of Paris was signed and the British Government finally recognized American Independence. 1792 was also the year the guillotine was invented, just as an aside. But we’re not on about any of that. We’re talking about the coinage act, which established the U.S. Mint and effectively began the circulation of American Currency officially. I reiterate, the nickel, or “half-disme” with an “S” is considered to be the first American coin. They were allegedly smaller than dimes if you believe that. Smaller and thinner. There were about 3000 produced, and there are fewer than 10% left in the world.

Stygian lifts his hand and peers under his hand as though he hopes to discover something, then he smiles at the camera.

Stygian: I don’t have one, I don’t even have a fake. I don’t have a single one of these half dimes, not even replicas. Because who the fuck buys replica coins? Old dudes and virgins who are impressed by that shit. I am neither old, nor a virgin.

Lilith: I’ll sign the statement to swear that.

Stygian: No, the earliest coin I have is this…

Stygian lifts his hand and holds up an old “Indian Head” nickel, twisting it round to show the buffalo on the other side.

Stygian: I actually found this taped to the underside of a drawer of an old desk in an ancient fallout shelter when I was stationed in Area 51. I don’t know what it was doing there, or who put it there, but I’ve kept it with me for luck ever since. This badboy was the nickel from after the civil war until 1938, when it was replaced with, more or less, this…

Stygian holds up the ever-familiar (if you’re American) Jefferson nickel, with Monticello on the reverse. He flips the Indian Head nickel into the air and catches it in the breast pocket of the coat, he transfers the other to his right hand and twirls it around on the table, speaking as it winds over and over on its edge.

Stygian: I started an experiment about…I want to say it was about the time I came back to IWF. Simple experiment really, and I’ve touched on it with you on twitter and in my last words to you. I wanted to see how many nickels I would have if I had a nickel for every time someone threatened me. Every time someone said they were going to beat me in a match. Every time someone called themselves a Dragonslayer. Every time someone referenced kryptonite. Every time someone threatened me with the same old threats, I wanted to see what happened “if I had a nickel”. My initial thought was to actually charge a nickel, a physical…mostly copper oddly enough…nickel.

Lilith: Wait, nickels aren’t made of nickel?

Lilah: Well, they have some nickel. About 20%. Every nickel has some nickel, except during World War 2, when nickel was used in airplane engines. Solid nickel nickels haven’t been issued in over a hundred years. Nickel tarnishes easily, it’s soft, pure nickel gets deformed and dirty really quick, so they use copper, iron oxide and a few other things to strengthen them and resist corrosion.

Lilith: Lilah’s Paradox.

Stygian: I don’t even question it anymore.

Lilith: Me either. She’s actually getting handy as a ringer in Trivial Pursuit.

Lilah: What do my rings have to do with it?

Lilith: …as long as you don’t let her answer out loud.

Stygian: Agreed.

By now the coin has stopped spinning and Stygian grabs it by the edges and lifts it up for the camera to inspect once more.

Stygian: Anyway, charging nickels didn’t work out so well. First of all, not everyone who made such a threat was someone I even saw in person. A ton of people from WEW made threats they don’t want to have to get into the ring with me and back up, for example. I seem to be a popular target for gunfire from all over the world. I’ve got people in ten companies, at least, who want a piece of my ass. I couldn’t reasonably collect nickels from all of them, I’ve never met most of them, and the few I do run across hide their faces and crouch low to the ground, running away and hopin I don’t recognize them. Of course in the case of people like Vantage or Sayge Gemson, I’m the only one who recognized them. But anyway…long story short, I wasn’t getting my nickel's worth out of them. But even in IWF? Guys I see week in and week out, guys I’m on the road with 30-plus weeks a year, my opponents on each and every Battlegrounds, each Pay Per View event? Even you fuckers are cheap. You guys couldn’t even spare a nickel or, you know, six depending on how much your mouth was running that particular night. You parsimonious bastards couldn’t fork over the nickels, so I got my own.

Stygian holds his left hand out expectantly, and Lilah drops a Crown Royal bag, from the sounds of it laden with coins, into his waiting hand. Stygian undoes the strings and dumps a huge pile onto the table top, corralling them with his arm so they don’t go all over the fucking place. Once he has some semblance of a pile he sets the bag off to the side and takes up one of the, what looks like fifty dollars’ worth of nickels.

Stygian: So I take out my own nickels. I usually get a few rolls from the bank when I’m running low. You see I started with twenty dollars’ worth of nickels and a mason jar very similar to this one here. Well, that’s the end-result of the setup. The mason jar sits at home on my dresser, I don’t feel like packing that damn thing around the country and around the world. On the road I keep it simple, I have a zip-lock bag I keep them in. Heavy duty with a reinforced zipper kind of bag. You know, the restaurant-quality freezer bags? I keep one of them, it holds up to travel pretty well. Occasionally gets some weird looks from the customs guys, cause I always carry it on. Had a few memorable incidents at more than a few airports.

Lilith: Like the guy who tried to swap out ten of them with two quarters?

Stygian: Yeah, apparently I had some rare nickels from some bad press or something and he wanted them. Bastard tried to “seize” them on some bullshit 9/11 protocol.

Lilah: He couldn’t believe you weren’t a collector.

Lilith: He couldn’t believe you wouldn’t give them to him when you said you weren’t.

Stygian: I technically am a collector, just not the “hapless virgin who sticks them in goofy folders” kind of collector. By the way if that TSA agent is watching? I deliberately scratched up every one of those nickels just to piss you off. I did it the second my next plane landed. I even put up a youtube video of me doing it.

Lilith: And got quite the backlash!

Lilah: Those coin collectors are some real angry virgins and old dudes.

Lilith: With such vivid imaginations. That on who wanted to flatten you out on a coining press and make you into currency? Some of these guys should be writing murder mysteries.

Stygian: Some of these guys probably are committing murder mysteries. There is at least one of those guys who has a suit made from human flesh, wind chimes made from his neighbors’ genitals and a girl chained up in a pit in his basement rubbing lotion on her skin for fear of getting the hose again.

Lilah: Even Lil isn’t that kinky…

Lilith actually has to stop and think about that for a second, before the way Stygian and Lilah glare at her in disbelief becomes uncomfortable. Finally she sighs.

Lilith: Okay fine, even I am not that kinky…well, maybe not the lotion and the hose. I’ve been chained up in the basement plenty of times.

Lilah: No kidding…

Lilith: Look who’s talking, miss “handcuffs aren’t so bad.”

Lilah turns bright red and whispers behind her hand.

Lilah: Lil, not in front of the cameras…

Lilith laughs. Stygian shakes his head, flipping the nickel idly.

Stygian: As I was saying, I started with 20 dollars’ worth of quarters and a mason jar. That’s roughly 400 nickels. I didn’t really think I could get through 400 nickels in a year, not really. Now keep in mind, I’m only keeping track of the threats, the people shooting their mouths off, the promises of pain and destruction…what have you. I didn’t care whether they were successful or not. I wasn’t concerned with the validity of the threat. I took the threat of say, Karly Zedic just as seriously as I took the threat of someone like James Shark, for example. It wasn’t about their success or their perceived ability to carry out any of their words, just the utterance of them. And every time someone…

Stygian takes up a handful of quarters and starts bouncing them off the table to punctuate his points, beginning with the first one.

Stygian: Threatened to kick my ass…

The first coin bounces off the table with a “ting” and lands in the mason jar shortly thereafter with a glassy “clang”.

Stygian: Beat me up…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Every time someone said they were going to humble me…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Humiliate me…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Destroy me…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Every time someone dropped the word “Dragonslayer”…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Every time someone said something about climbing Blackrock Spire…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Every single time someone on Twitter called me a second-rate world champion for an “indy fed”…I put a nickel in the jar.

TING-clang.

Lilah: You’re like, scary-good at that.

Lilith: Drinking games in the Air Force, darling.

Stygian: It’s all in the wrist.

TING-clang.

Stygian: Now bear in mind, I’m not complaining about any of this, because I don’t believe a word of it. Every threat against me is a hollow threat, far as I’m concerned. Every “Dragonslayer” joke is just a hackneyed cliché. It was original the first time Devlin Raine did it, the rest of you are just tired and trite. And everyone who says I’m some two-bit indy hack? Hell I had some French bitch block me on twitter for three months because I didn’t agree with her. I’d just headlined a sold-out Madison Square Garden, I must be one hell of an Indy draw. I’m a world champion for a company who regularly kills college football, NBA and Major League Baseball playoff games on cable, and can blow away most ABC games that someone not named Notre Dame is playing in? Yeah, that’s one hell of an indy promotion. We have our own cable network. One hell of an indy promotion. Hell I had the CEO of another promotion threatening me with her father and her husband because I got tired of her bullshit one night, she called me a “second rate indy hack”, because I told her to fuck off. All people know how to do on Twitter is throw out the “indy” insult. It makes them feel better. It’s the only insult they can get away with because none of them, no matter how “indy” they think I am, want to get into that ring and try to take my title away from me. None of you have the balls to try it. And the ones who do have the balls are usually not the ones opening their mouths. None of you can do it. But, all the same, I wasn’t assessing the credibility of your threats or insults…just their presence. So…even though you all would have an easier time carrying an ice cream cone through hell than beating me? Your “two cents” worth was adjusted for the inflation of your misbegotten ego…and you produced a nickel in the jar.

TING-clang.

Stygian: I started out in May with 400 nickels. I expected to get through a year. It’s November and I was down to 20. Every threat of violence, promise of pain, every time someone wanted to “slay the Dragon”…oh god, and then the Superman jokes…

TING-clang.


Stygian: Every time someone claimed to be able to trump me because they were Batman…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Doomsday…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Some member of The Avengers…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Lex Luthor…

TING-clang.

Stygian: Or because they possessed Kryptonite?

TING-clang.

TING-clang.

TING-clang.

TING-clang.

TING-clang.

TING-clang.

TING-clang.
TING-clang.
TING-clang.
TING-clang.
TING-clang.
TING-clang.
TING-clang.

Stygian: I went through nickels like you wouldn’t believe. So many of you want to beat me? So many of you think you can? The sheer unmitigated gall of you people. Not just Alex Remington. Not just Sayge Gemson. Not just…not Corey Casey or…how many of you do I have to cripple? How many? How many of you have to walk that aisle and get carried out on your shield? When will it stop? Corey Casey, Steve Relic, Corey Bull, Damien Drake, David Cade, Tyson Rowle…how many of you do I have to break before you believe in me? Hell, IWF? IWF is almost out of guys to throw at me. Corey Casey wants challengers for my title? He’s Old Mother Hubbard, and only Hawkington is in the cupboard. And what happens when they, too fail? What if Ryan Apollos wins the briefcase again? Didn’t I sufficiently demolish him last time? What’s going to happen when I’m done with Parker Wayde a third time? When The Empire brings out a Zip-Lock and a squeegee to dust off what’s left of him? What will it take for you people to finally believe in me? How long do I have to prove I’m Superman til you just accept it?

Stygian lets the coins fall out of his hands and he slides his chair back, folding his arms behind his head and propping his feet upon the table.

Stygian: You know, despite popular belief…and I really only think it’s a belief popular amongst those same people who talk about me like I’m nothing over twitter, and in pre-recorded interviews with multiple takes and strict editing; yet shit their pants the second they’re in the ring with me when the bell rings…but I didn’t call myself “Superman”. I did not give myself that nickname. I did christen the Black Dragon monicker, and maybe if UECW’s tape library ever comes out of the lawsuits that have it tied up, I could find that interview and show it to you, but I wasn’t the dude who called myself Superman. Black Dragon was a marketing thing, something they could stamp on t-shirts and websites to sell merch…but Superman was an honest to god nickname I was given. I think it was by Chelle Fury at first. I know Alexander Remington will claim it was his idea, in fact I think I have heard him claim that. He claims he fed me that name to feed my ego so he could destroy me when the time was right or some bullshit. That shit isn’t the truth. The truth is they called me that in UECW because I demolished EVERYONE! After a certain point, other than Jaci Sovereign and Kaden Kessler? I fucked up everyone else. I had a death grip on that world title and I held it until I left that company. And now I plan to do it again.

Stygian: You see, the truth is, I left the Superman moniker behind in UECW, because I’m actually not the raging egomaniac I act like in front of these cameras. Not fully. Not really. I take every match, every opponent seriously. I prepare for each and every match as though my opponent is the most dangerous man in the world, and I have to be at my best to beat him. When I came to IWF, I knew despite what I had accomplished, despite what I’d done, nobody would take it at face value. I knew I’d have to start at the bottom all over again and build my way back to the top. So I threw out the Superman bullshit. But then? Then, one firing aside, I took IWF and did to it what I did to UECW. I knocked it down and put my foot in its throat, and next thing you know? People are calling me Superman again. Not me. Not my ego. Not some sweeping self-aggrandizing gesture to make myself feel better. The men and women I face, and usually beat in that ring match after match…they are the ones who call me Superman.

Stygian: That’s the full scope of it, Parker. That’s the full extent of the man you’re trying to defeat. I’m the most threatened, sought after, fought after wrestler in the world today. I am the man they call Superman. The fans, the haters, the people who have been in that ring with me week in and week out. I’ve made kings kneel before me. I’ve destroyed monsters. I’ve killed lower-case gods who though themselves indestructible. I’ve won world titles in three companies. I’ve had dump trucks of money backed up to my house by everyone who owns a wrestling company in the world, even the ones who profess to hate me. I am universally respected as a competitor, if not as a man. I know I’ve got my shortcomings. I’m mouthy, I’m surly, I’m confrontational, and for the benefit of the cameras, to get fans through the door and asses in the seats I play a self-centered prick for these cameras. I put on the show these people pay for. Whether they hate me and want a word for word diatribe they can feed back to me when someone finally makes me eat my words, or whether they’re behind me one-hundred percent with a dragon on their shirt…I give them what they came to see. I do it in interviews, I do it in vignettes, I do it to promote the prodict.

Stygian: But your great mistake, parker Wayde, is thinking that the man on TV is the same man you’re getting in the ring with. No, my friend, the ego is just for show. The hard truth about the man beneath is that this is his life and his livelihood and he takes it seriously. For every joke I make about these two being the only workout I need? I’m in the gym five days a week, eight to twelve hours a day. For every time I say the only move I need is the Baneblade? I’ve started studying three new martial arts. I’ve rededicated myself to a top-rope arsenal that would make most light-heavyweights take notice. Genetics made me seven feet tall. The three hundred fifteen pounds of solid muscle? That cat-like reflexes? The unmatched power? The blink and you’ll miss it speed so unbelievably uncommon for a man this size? I built that myself. God, in whatever form he exists in made me a man, I made myself into a war machine. I forged this body into what it is now with hard work and specific purpose once my path was set in this business, not some pharisaical ritualistic devotion to my own ego.

Stygian: One again we have a man who cannot separate the style of Stygian from his substance. Someone who sees the graphics, the videos, the elaborate costumes and entrances…we have someone who sees all the layers and somehow thinks the cake underneath is just cardboard filler? Well guess what?

TING-clang.

Stygian: I’ve been counting nickels for that, too. And it was never part of the plan, honest to god it wasn’t. It was never my idea to hold up this whole persona and make you think there was no talent under it. If I was going to be a subversive idiot who traps people at the last second, I wouldn’t be dominating the competition like this. You realize I’ve lost two matches all year? So this wasn’t a fluke, or an act to get you to fall for it. This has been nothing but execution at the highest level. Dedication, hard work and dominance. This isn’t something I tried to trick the world into believing, this is the genuine article. One of the biggest, strongest most prolific wrestlers in the world; that’s what I’ve been since I came back to the US two years ago. That’s all I’ve done. I’m not fooling anyone. I’m not painting corners and sneaking around the plate. I’m throwing 100 miles an hour right down the middle. Here: try and hit this. And nobody seems to be able to. I will live by that sword, I will die by that sword, then I will pick myself up, dust myself off, get back in the driver’s seat and do it again.

Stygian: I succeed because of work, I succeed because of preparation, but mostly I succeed because I’m not afraid to fail. There was a time when I was, but then I realized that this business is much more like pro football than college. Every now and then even the best teams lose a game here or there, it’s just all about getting hot at the right time and cashing it in. Do I have the title now? Yeah. Do I like losing matches? No. Is it more important to retain the title than to burn myself out trying to be Superman every week? It is. Will I lose the World Championship eventually? You’re damn right I will. That’s how the business works. Nobody stays unbeaten, nobody stays champion forever. So I go out there every week expecting to win, but knowing if I don’t? I’ve lost a belt, nothing more. I haven’t lost my pride, I haven’t lost my dignity. I haven’t sacrificed something I can never get back. And it’s because I’m secure in who I am, what I mean to this company and this business that I am unafraid. Even if the unthinkable happens. If you get lucky Parker Wayde. If Corey Casey is his capacity as Special Guest Referee conspires and screws me. I expect to come out of this match the same way I went in: the Insurgency Wrestling Federation World heavyweight Champion. But if I don’t? It’s one match. If I lose the title? I’m fine with landing on my feet and climbing the mountain again. Because the truth is? I don’t need the belt to be the best. I don’t need it for everyone to know.

Stygian: And with that knowledge comes a fearlessness, a mastery of the self that someone like you; someone who has never been to the top of the mountain, someone who is so insecure they took to parodying me and trying to bring me down to their level? Someone like you can never understand this feeling Parker. You’ve got all the talent in the world kid, you really do. You’ve got the athletic ability. I’ve been in there with you twice, and I’ve seen enough tape that I could cut you a fucking DVD right now. You’re better than you realize Parker, but you waste far too much energy trying to prove it. You’re on a quest for respect. You want the whole world to sit up and notice Parker Wayde. You’re fighting to prove something. And that’s all wrong, kid. Hell you’re going around busting people up, breaking your house, fucking up your own belongings…and for what? To prove you’re dangerous? To prove you’re hungry? To prove you’re not to be taken lightly. Here’s the thing, kid, I already don’t take you lightly. It’s not how I roll. It’s just not in me. Just because I’m not afraid to lose, that doesn’t diminish my expectation to win. You hear it in every professional sport: football, hockey, basketball, MMA…Bill Belichick, the man people seem to universally agree is the best coach in the NFL, the man who perennially is believed to have the best team in the NFL and play in the weakest division in the NFL…and he prepares his team every week like he’s getting ready to take on the 77 Steelers. This is a man who has Buffalo, Miami and the Jets in his division, he prepares for every game like those teams can beat him, and when they ask him why? He almost always says, “That’s a professional football team over there, those players are in the league because they can play.”

Stygian: So despite what I say when I speak my peace for the masses? When I try to hype up the match and sell tickets? The truth of the matter is you’re a professional wrestler. You didn’t get into the IWF because you couldn’t hack it. You aren’t here in this match because you haven’t earned it. But you won’t believe that, because unless you wind up with my belt on your shoulder and your foot on my corpse, you’re going to see this as just another failure. That’s why you’re going to lose, Parker Wayde. Not because you can’t beat me. I don’t know if you can beat me or not. The truth of things is that you can’t beat yourself. You’ve got this incredible chip on your shoulder weighing you down. You can’t beat yourself, and you’re not ready for me. You’re ready for they hype machine. They guy who makes videos on youtube and cuts his opponents to shreds with a mic in his hand. The guy you think your facing, the man you hate, the man you mocked, parodied and tried to expose? That’s just the guy I play on TV. If you’re coming down to get into the ring with that guy? You’ve already lost. They don’t call me Superman because I’m bigger, because I’m stronger or because I have some kind of magic powers in that ring. They call me Superman because I just never seem to lose. They call me Superman because I always seem to win. And I always win because I’m prepared to fight. I’m conditioned, I’m primed, I’ve scouted my opponent. They call me Superman, but it’s actually bullshit. Superman showed up on Earth and the sun made him what he was. But really, the ego, the background in engineering, the drinking, the womanizing, the whole self-made weapon thing? I’m actually a whole hell of a lot more like Iron Man.

Stygian: The truth is Parker, if I let myself believe my own hype for even one second? Then you would beat me. You’d beat me and easily. But I won’t make the mistake. It’s the one mistake I’ve never made. I believe in your ability, I really do. If you ever sort your head out, you’d be a fine world champion someday. A guy I wouldn’t be ashamed at all to say I lost to. I’ve lost, since I came back to America, I’ve lost four singles matches. I’m not gonna count that bullshit with Jason Hawk, that was a tag match and he had all of Upper Limit helping out to get him the win. You want to know who Jason Hawk thinks is the better man? Ask him to get in the ring with me again. He won’t touch it. But no, I’ve lost four matches since I came back to the US. I’ve lost to Jaci Sovereign, Kaden Kessler, Robbie Hart and Johnny Styles. Do you know what they all had that you don’t? They were fighting for something greater than themselves. They weren’t fighting for something as trivial as recognition or respect. They were secure enough in who they were, in who they would be if they beat me, and in who they would be if they lost to me. That’s the difference. You want to know what you’re really missing, Parker? Why you’re not a champion already? It’s because at your core, you need others to believe in you before you will believe in yourself. You’re young, what can I say? You need to see your name on the cover of a magazine, you need to hear them chant it before you think it’s worth a damn.

Stygian sits up in the chair and puts his feet on the floor, he reaches down and grabs a nickel and holds it between his thumb and index finger.

Stygian: I started collecting these nickels out of amusement. I keep them in a mason jar on my dresser. When it gets full, I’ll start another. Maybe I’ll get one of those big-ass jars and dump it in. From this point on, purely for my own amusement, I will have a nickel for every insult, every threat, every person who thinks they can kick my ass. But this one? This one is for you. Not for you in the sense that it’s one I’m going to throw in the jar because of your many and varied threats to my personage, my well-being and my World Title. No, this nickel is actually for you. Get a jar and put it in Parker. Start collecting nickels for everyone who says they take you seriously as an opponent. For everyone who says they believe in your abilities. Because despite what I say to the unwashed masses to get them to invest in the price of a ticket or a Pay-Per-View buy? I know the first match was a fluke. I know the second match wasn’t your best effort. Guest referee or not, I take every challenge seriously, especially one like yours. If you ever get your head on straight, stop trying to scare people, stop trying to beat respect you think you deserve out of them? You’ll be a dangerous fucking man, Parker Wayde. You can hide behind the crazy hair, the psychotic episodes, this “angry black man” persona you’ve crafted, but I know the truth Parker. I know it better than you do. You’re better than you realize, but you try far too hard to prove it.

Stygian sets the nickel on the flat tabletop and slides it across.

Stygian: And now you have a nickel for every time one of your opponents actually respected you. I hope it’s the first of many. I’ll see you in the ring.

Stygian stands and Lilith hands him the IWF World Title, from god knows where. He carefully shoulders it and turns away from the table. The three of them walk out as the camera hovers on the lone nickel, before fading to black.

OOC: This is part of the storyline, to set up the team between Baron and Parker.

Edwin: What the hell are we doing here Parker? You know what people are saying don't you?

Parker slams the trunk of his car closed, and starts to walk towards the arena with his gym bag over his shoulder. He doesn't so much as make eye contact with Edwin, who for months has refused to leave him alone. That tension boiled over not even a week ago, and as a result Edwin basically has Parker by the balls. One outburst of anger after Remington and Hawkins pulled one over on him and now the reporter has full access to Parker's life. As he starts to put some distance between them Parker answers finally answers his question, without even looking back over his shoulder. To address the "reporter" directly would be to cave into his relentless verbal assault.

Parker: I happen to be under contract here. I happen to have a match on the card.I have a locker room somewhere in this arena with my name on it. Why am I here? I am here because I am supposed to be. Win or lose I am always going to show up.

Parker continues to walk towards the parking lot entrance to the backstage area, and Edwin catches up at a slight jog. Parker reaches out for the door but the reporter throws himself in his way, putting his body weight on the door and preventing the former High Impact champion from going inside.

Edwin: That really doesn't answer my question though, does it Parker? I mean, common sense would tell anyone why you are actually physically here....

Parker: [interrupting him] Well in your case, I guess I that means that I need to explain it.

Edwin: There is that sense of humor that I have been looking for. Keep that smile on your face. I hear that is a great way to keep that temper of yours at bay.

Parker: That wasn't a sense of humor, that was my honest opinion of you Ed. You aren't looking for a sense of humor either. You follow me around either asking stupid questions all the time, or berating me with accusations of me murdering people. The only reason that I am putting up with it is because if I put my hands on you again, I am basically fucked in this company. You aren't a talent. You are here with the press. I can't touch you in this building.

Edwin's eyes sharpen, not from the insult, but from Parker touching on the one subject that he actually gives a damn about. There really is only one reason that he is following Parker around, and that is because he has an obligation to an old friend. Edwin has a debt to pay, and he was going to force it out of Parker if it killed him. Recent history would tell him that his life might be the cost of getting the information that he wanted.

Edwin: Come on Parker, I thought we had put all that hostility behind us. I mean you did almost drop me off of a balcony and I forgave you for that. Let's just talk man to man here for a minute.

Parker: I will have you note that I cannot touch you inside that building, but we aren't in the building yet, and you are the one preventing me from entering your safe haven. How smart is that? Like I said, you seem to lack common sense.

Edwin: You make a good point...

Parker: [interrupting him and reaching for the door handle] Get the hell out of my way before I move you Edwin. I am not going through this with you again, and I know that you do not want a repeat of Battlegrounds to happen and as long as we stand on this side of the door, that is a very real possibility for you.

The reporter steps out of the way of the door and Parker swings it open with all the frustration he wants to take out on his stalker. He steps through the doorway and looks around his unfamiliar surroundings, as if wondering where he needs to be. The problem with IWF traveling around so much is that all of these places are set up differently. For a person that craves his own personal solitude, this is always the first problem of the night. Edwin follows him in the doorway, reaching into his pocket to pull out his press pass that normally does the trick to get him in wherever he needs to go. Parker gives it a quick glance and then chuckles to himself.

Parker: Are you actually going to do any real work here? I thought you had just come to follow me around all night. God forbid you start asking me questions about my match. I might confuse you with a real reporter.

Edwin: Take all of the pot shots at me that you want Parker. You know that you are becoming attached to me following you around.

The subtle chuckle that Parker allowed himself at the sight of the press pass turns into an actual out loud laugh. He looks the reporter up and down and then turns down the hallway before addressing him again. Edwin knew that Parker walking away during their conversations was meant to be his way of showing disrespect and keeping control of the conversation, but after months of it, Edwin was hardly bothered by it. In fact, it had worked to improve his hearing a lot. A useful tool in his line of work.

Parker: I have started to think of you the way others think of herpes. No matter how hard I try to get you to go away, you always manage to come back. No matter what I throw at you, you always manage to bandage yourself up and come back just as annoying. I mean how many times do I have to tell you that you don't want to hear what I have to say? How many times do I have to hang you over a balcony and make you beg for your life? My guess is it will never be enough. I have resigned myself to the fact that you are going to be around for the foreseeable future.

Edwin: Just the foreseeable future? Not forever and ever like they say in the movies? I guess I have broken your resolve after all. Finally admitting to yourself that you will eventually tell me what I want to know is a big step. I guess you have finally stopped lying to yourself. Either that or you have fallen victim to my boyish charms.[/color]

Parker: First of all, I am not interested in, nor to you actually have boyish charms. However, you are exactly right, one day I will divulge all of the information that you want to know. Everything that you have ever asking will be answered. I might even grant you a few wishes while I am at it.

Parker turns in his tracks and Edwin almost runs directly into him. The two stand face to face for a minute and then Parker shows the sick smile that made Edwin almost rethink talking to him on the first day that they met. The smile that told everyone that Parker would just as easily break your bones then answer a question. The smile that said that he would cripple someone with a smile on his face. The smile that told every person he had ever come across all they needed to know about why Parker was in the business that he was in. The personal shield that this building was supposed to give him did little to ease Edwin's fears. He knew that when it came down do it, Parker cared little for the actual rules.

Parker: I guess it is just as likely though, that you will end up some place that nobody will ever hear from you again after I tell you what you want to know. I guess it is just as likely that I won't ever tell you anything, because long before you break me down, I will break you in half. Let's get something very straight here, you are a mild annoyance to me. As soon as you become anything more than "mild" you won't have to worry about tracking me down everywhere I go anymore. Understand?

The color drains from the man's face. He was not in a position to try and refute anything that Parker had said, because he had known for a long while that it was true. Edwin had learned to pick his spots, and diffuse these kinds of situations out of some kind of animal self preservation. When Parker got this kind of irritated, it was best to retreat until he cooled off, or blew off some steam. There was no way that he wanted to relive Battlegrounds again. He had come a little too close to the edge that time, and he knew he wouldn't get out so unscathed next time. This was one of those times where he needed to back off, and give the man some space.

Edwin: Come on buddy. We were having such a nice time before you had to get all serious on me. You don't want to piss away this shot at Stygian no matter how astronomical your odds of winning are.

The smile that Edwin had to force onto his face was anything but convincing. Bringing up his main event match tonight might have done the trick of putting Parker's mind on something else. Parker didn't have time for this fight right now though, and realized that he had won himself some space for the time being. With a shake of his head, he turned back around and proceeded down the hallway.

Edwin: That is the spirit! You have one really big ass attached to superman to kick tonight. No need to waste any energy worrying about me.

At that very moment Edwin had one of his reporting epiphanies. It was as if he finally remembered what exactly he was being paid to do. After all, following Parker around to show after show gets expensive.

Edwin: I guess that brings us full circle doesn't it? We started this whole thing with me asking why exactly you are here. Why are you doing this tonight? You have been on the downward slide of your life. You probably couldn't even beat one of the new guys on the roster, let alone The Star Destroyer.

Parker breathed a small sigh of relief to be back on the subject of the job at hand, instead of the decisions of his recent past. He had made up his mind about this match a long time ago. Parker thumbed the flash drive in his pocket, knowing that he needed Edwin around tonight for a different purpose, but not really knowing how to approach the subject. The only thing that was important right at this moment was finding the room with his name on it.He reached a junction in the hallway before he could even hazard an answer at the question asked of him. In the corridor on his left, he found what he was looking for though. He approached the door with his name on it like a kid on Christmas morning, but just before reaching out to the door he stopped to talk to Edwin over his shoulder./i]

Parker: I need you to do me a favor tonight. You think you can handle doing so actual work?

Edwin: Well look at how the tables have turned. You need something from me now? You think I am some kind of errand boy?

[i]There was no masking the disbelief in his voice. Edwin stepped in front of Parker and saw that the request was legitimate. This was new ground for the two. To think that they went from a near death situation just a few days ago, to some kind of cooperation tonight. Parker never ceases to amaze Edwin.

Edwin: Well I guess as long as it isn't going to affect the rest of my work here tonight. What exactly are you going to need?

Parker reaches into his pocket and pulls out the red flash drive on which he has a video answering any question that people would have for him here tonight. This was his message to Stygian. Not a plea for mercy, nor a cry of superiority. This was unedited honesty, and Parker couldn't really trust anyone to take care of it for him. The closest person that he had to him was this man standing before him, that wanted nothing more than to see him behind bars. Edwin was his best hope, because for as long as Parker held on to his secret, Edwin needed him for something.

Parker: Take this to the boys in the production truck. Tell them to post it just like the rest of my videos. I need you to do something else though. I don't much care how you do it, but I need to make sure that Stygian and the rest of the roster gets a good look at this video before the match. Think you can handle that?

Edwin: I suppose that wouldn't be so difficult.

Parker hands over the drive, and then turns back towards the door. Edwin lingers for longer than Parker wanted him to, causing the star to look back in his direction before actually stepping inside. Edwin holds up both hands, and starts to talk before Parker can get any words out.

Edwin: Yea I know. I have heard it a dozen times. "This is where the whole following me thing ends. You aren't coming in here without a size thirteen stuck up your ass for your effort." I mean I have things to do anyways.

Edwin put on his best Parker impersonation, something that he wouldn't dare have done as little as two days ago. Instead of any kind of violent or even passive aggression retort from Parker he merely got a head shake of disapproval before Parker turned into the room and started to close the door behind him. Edwin pushed forward on his heels and placed a hand on the door before it could close though. The fire in the eyes of Parker nearly burned Edwin alive, but the wrestler gave him enough rope to hang himself with instead of jumping on him.

Edwin: If I do this for you, you owe me one. I don't know why you are here tonight. I don't know why you are going through with this fight when all things are pointing to you getting crushed by Stygian and then probably forcibly removed from The Empire. I suppose this thing is going to explain all of that though, isn't it?

The question doesn't even catch Parker off guard. He knew that it was going to come to this at some point. Everyone always ends up asking him the same question. This is the reason that he has no real friends. This is the reason that Parker has no significant other to go back home too. This is why the only solace that he finds is when he can break away from all the others and be alone. He shakes his head and closes the door without an answer. The question was way too rhetorical to offer a response.


The door to the production truck swings open and the two techs inside are caught off guard to see one of the members of the press group standing in the doorway. Edwin nods to the man closest to him and then tosses the flash drive into his lap.

Edwin: Hey, Parker gave me this to give to you guys. Make sure everyone that needs to see it does so.

Without another word the tech takes the flash drive and plugs it in to the computer in front of him. Seconds go by before a pop up comes across his screen. All three men sit and watch as a video starts to play.

Parker: This is my life Stygian. What you see really is what you get when it comes to me. I mean, right now I am sitting in front of a busted up camera, in an empty house that creaks way too much for its age. Most of the lights down here don't even really work anymore because in some kind of fit of rage I broke a bulb here and there. The desk that I rest my feet on in these videos is kind of indicative of all things Parker as well. I mean it is practically brand new. I bought this desk the same day that I signed my IWF contract. Look at it now though. I mean really soak it in. The doors on the front are crooked, they don't even latch anymore. The top barely has any of the protective clear coating on it. The legs have become warped from sitting on a floor that isn't level. The scratches and dents are so plentiful that they are most likely uncountable. This desk is more or less me. This is the kind of thing that IWF does to a guy that walked in without knowing what laid ahead. I signed my name on the dotted line and moved right into this company. Since then I have had my rookie naiveté stripped off of me like the clear coating of this desk. I have had my delusions of grandeur beaten out of me so that I seem to just be hanging out without a purpose like these doors here. I have bled, sweat and hurt people inside a ring like I could only have imagined before I walked into the company. I couldn't count the number of times I spent getting patched up before, after or between shows. The thing that sits before you now is merely a shell of what it was a few months ago. It barely serves the same purpose that it used to. It appears to be years older than it actually is. Its usable life is quickly coming to an end. If you find yourself thinking that all applies to me as well, I am glad to see you are paying attention.

Parker: Aren't you basically the antithesis of that though Stygian? I mean if you really dig down deep and ask yourself honestly, would you be able to agree to that. You are a star that has aged well. You didn't even come up in this company during a time where it could be best described as anemic. You didn't sign on at a time where the best challenger to the biggest title the company had to offer was some four month rookie. I respect the hell out of the fact that you fought in this company and rose to the top in the hardest possible environment. You had to fight for the spotlight with Cody Taylor. The shows were being headlined by Corey Casey and B-Mac. You had to compete for talking time against the likes of James Shark. Who are these people now? They are the Hall of Fame candidates of our generation. These people are the ones that sold out arenas when it still meant something to sell out an arena. If any one of these people stepped into the IWF ring as a competitor right this minute, tickets would sell out in a matter of seconds. Nobody that walks into IWF today gets to have that same experience that you had Stygian. None of us are going to get to walk the path full of Hall of Famers and make a real name for ourselves. To be completely honest you are the last person still around from that group of guys. To any one of you names like Steel Angel and Robbie Hart are just one of the names on the list of guys you have already stepped on. Names like Jinx and Chris Cane are either unknown to you, or so insignificant that you already forgot that they existed. There is no real competition here for you anymore. You sit on top of the mountain all alone. Is it any real surprise that you are doing so with the IWF World Heavyweight Title draped over your shoulder?

Parker: However this leaves the powers that be with a problem, doesn’t it? How do you book a legend? What kind of challenge can you throw at a guy that is, without a shadow of a doubt, the biggest name on the active roster. They know that they have to walk you out and parade you around to make any money. So the same thing happens over and over again. You walk down the aisle by yourself, title in hand, and you take on a group of nobodies thrown together by someone with a viable name. This is the formula isn't it Stygian? This has come to be the norm for you. You are so powerful, you are so, dare I say, perfect, so unbeatable that there is really no individual that can stand toe to toe with you and give you a real fight. How many people have been brought in just to fight against you? How many names have signed on a short term contract just so that someone, anyone, could stand in the ring and force a little seed of doubt in your mind that you would walk out unscathed? Anna Stone left after her fight with you. Robbie Hart walked out after you took his title. You are superman. There is no doubt about that in anyone's mind. As I sit here I can tell you that if I were betting on Pick Your Poison, I wouldn't be putting money on me.

Parker: Who am I compared to Stygian? It took me two months against a roster full of nobodies to get a shot at the bottom tier belt. It took every ounce of my skill in the ring to beat people that you could have probably taken apart in a minute or less. Trust me when I say that, the proof is in our first match. I won something two months ago that was so far beneath you it was pathetic. What happened after that? Cody Taylor and crew walk away from IWF leaving an open space for a person to step up and take on the big crowd. In order to be that person I had to call out the likes of James Shark, who people would argue isn't on your level anymore. I had to call out someone that was beneath you, and even he told me to fuck off. I was made to jump through hoops to even get a shot at him, and look what the result was. The new kid fell flat on his face before he could break through that glass ceiling. Robbie Hart is the biggest name on my resume, and we both know what you did to him after I barely squeaked out a victory against him. You are the kind of dominant force that people stay away from. You have probably single handedly stopped any kind of big name from signing here on the dotted line. I wouldn't doubt that you are probably the single reason that JHalc never wanted to compete in this company. When you look to the guy that is at the top of the mountain, and realize that there isn't a chance in hell that you could take his place, you lose the will to try.

Parker: I guess either I am too stupid to go away, or too proud to admit the truth to myself. Sunday will be the third time that I step into the ring with you, and the third time that people will ask themselves if I even have a chance at surviving. Notice that I didn't dare say winning. I wouldn't think for a second to pull the wool over your eyes by saying that. I am not dumb enough to think that there is a single person that will be in attendance that thinks you have a shot to lose. You could come down to the ring on crutches, suddenly stricken with blindness and still the odds of me winning would be astronomical. I can't take anything that you have done away from you. I cannot sit here and say that come Pick Your Poison we will be standing across the ring as equals. We are not equals. We are far from it. Come Sunday night people will pay to see a kid trying not to shit his pants in a fight with a legend. I don't mean to talk you up or build your confidence for this match, but that is just the honest truth about our situation. We both know the score going into this match, and that is exactly the reason why you should be backstage trying to get anyone with the power to do so, to call it all off.

Parker: I bet you were thinking it was about time, right? Sitting there listening to me go on and on about how great you are knowing that there was a catch coming somewhere in the message. I never said you weren't a smart guy. Anyone that has ever watched one of your videos knows that you know more about everything than most people know about anything. There has to be a catch though. Otherwise, sitting here ranting at a camera, in a dark room, is just something that a crazy person would do. Everyone sees and everyone expects that you will walk into the match and beat me so fast that the opening bell and the closing bell will run together. I have been asked by more than one person if I thought that IWF was putting me in this match in order to break the record for shortest title defense. I wouldn't dare ask you to try and think of how that would make you feel about your ability. Those kind of "walk in my shoes" hypotheticals are a waste of your time and mine. You will never again know what it is like to be underestimated. You will never again know what it is like to not be revered as the superman of this business. Stygian is the fucking Star Destroyer. He doesn't waste his time taking out the trash on the roster, he spends his days cannibalizing the top stars and shitting all over anyone that has a problem with it. That is the reason that this company is so anemic. That is the reason why you find yourself sitting atop a pile of scrubs and rookies. That is the reason that you are in this match with me. That is why you will always have everything to lose, and absolutely nothing more to gain in this business.

Parker: This is the peak for Stygian. This is the final hoorah for the Star Destroyer. I am not just saying this to try and cut you down. You know it is the truth, and everyone can feel that it is unquestionably fact. You can never possibly get any bigger than you are right now. You have the fancy cars. You have the big payday. Any other big star that could come in and steal your thunder is going to shy away because they have nothing to gain by being your whipping boy. There are two beautiful women that just want to be around you, so they don't even fight to have you all to themselves. The two warring factions in this company would disintegrate the very moment that you promised your services to one of the leaders. You aren't just the king on the chess board, you are the fucking chess board. Ask yourself what happens when you stagger one step away from the top of the mountain though. Think about what happens the moment that you reach the zenith and take one too many steps. You find yourself no longer climbing to the top. You no longer sit on the throne at the top of the world. Instead you are on your way back down towards the ground. The very moment that you take a single step off of being the very best, you are going to be tagged as a wash out. How long do you think it would take a blogger to talk about how you lost a step if our match goes on too long? What do you think that the headlines will read if you even have your shoulders put on the mat for a two count? There is nothing for you in this match, and you have made it that way.

Parker: This will be the third time that we stand face to face against each other. The first time I wanted to shoot for the stars and you reminded the world that I was nobody. You broke me down so perfectly before that match that I had to stoop so low as to steal your video production and rip lines off of your old videos to get your attention. You crushed me verbally, and then you made a mockery of my physically. I didn't last fifteen seconds in the ring with you, and I think that might have been the moment where the last bit of doubt that you were superhuman left anyone's mind. I came into the match as a wrecking ball that had yet to be stopped, and you turned me into a used Kleenex. You wiped your fucking nose on me and threw me into a waste basket to never be thought or heard from again. That was the last step for you. It makes me sick to think of the part that I played in taking away what was left of your mortality. I was not to be deterred though was I? I taunted you in my videos. I lashed out at you until management lashed out at me to knock it off. Just as you were slipping out of my grasp Corey Casey, the Lex Luthor that he is, comes around to break me back into the Fortress of Solitude. I signed on to the big group assembled to make sure we could take you down in order to get a second chance at standing one on one with you. I had help. I had a lot of help. You still earned the victory in the record books though, and it was you who stood with his hand in the air as Battlegrounds went off the air. The one thing that I learned that night was that no matter the odds, no matter the amount of damage I could put you through, you would always come back. There would always be another ace up your sleeve. You always find a way to shrug off the odds and clean house. If Corey Casey were to tell the entire roster to line up in a gauntlet match against you, people would still put money on your name.

Parker: Sunday we square off for the third time and I do not have even the slightest doubt that if I lose, it will be the very last time I get to pick a fight with you. Corey Casey can only give a guy so many chances before he becomes a liability instead of an investment. There is no coming back for me after Sunday. I have to win, or I get to be written off as someone that couldn't hack it when it came to the big leagues. After the two matches that we have had. After the countless jabs that we have thrown out of each other, you deserve to hear these words come out of my mouth. You needed to hear every single word that I have said tonight because you need to understand why I am going to show up, against all odds. I want you to understand that when the bell rings you are standing across from a scared little kid. You will compete against someone that is every bit afraid of you as you say that they should be. I do not take you at your word that you are the best that there will ever be in this company, I have witnessed that much for myself. However, for all of the things that you have said about me, and for all of the things that I have told you tonight, there will be no doubt in anyone's mind that I am rational. Sunday night I will be fearless. Sunday night I will walk out of that arena with a title belt draped over my shoulder or I will not walk out of that arena at all. I am not going to tap out of a submission hold before you break bones. I will let you break it before I voluntarily walk out of this fight. As long as there is a single breath in my lungs I am not going to be laying on the mat for a three count. If you throw me out of the ring, I will get back between those ropes unless you break my fucking legs on the floor. I want you to understand something about Pick Your Poison Stygian. I want there to be nothing but understanding between us. You are going to have to fucking kill me. If you are going to walk out with a championship over your shoulder it is going to be at the cost of my needing to be retaught how to tie my shoes after the match. If you want to hear your name announced after the closing bell you are going to have to turn me into Stephen Hawking. I swear to you that for as long as I can still move any part of my body I will not be beaten. There is no return trip for me on Sunday. There is no living to fight another day. I am not going to run. I am not going to be admitting that you were the better man come next week on Battlegrounds. As of right this minute, I am giving you an ultimatum. You either kill me, or you walk down to that ring and you hand me a title. You are the Star Destroyer, no doubt about it. On Sunday night you are going to have to make me a star. You are going to have to take this rookie pile of shit that you have kicked around for a couple months and turn him into something that most people only dream of becoming. In one night you are going to have to make me famous and then literally end my life if you want to stay at the top of your mountain. If you don't have the stomach to do that, then don't waste my time. If you find something morally wrong with having to carry the shotgun to put an sick dog out of its misery, then you might as well change the nameplate on that belt for me. Throw any of those clichés out into the open if you want to. "Do or Die" "Make or Break" "All or nothing" Come Pick Your Poison I am going to be bringing them from clichés people use, into reality. I will walk away with everything that you now have, or I will not live to take another breath on this Earth. Failure is not only not an option, it is not even a backup plan.

Parker: Look around this room Stygian. Take a good hard look at the things that I have going for me right this very minute in my life. Then take a look around wherever it is that you are watching this from. Look into the eyes of your wife, of your girlfriend. Stand outside your big house and just admire what other people are never going to have. The biggest difference between us isn't our skill. It isn't even size. The difference between us is that you are the man that has everything, and I am the man that needs everything. I will take the things that you call your life away from you in this match, or you will take my actual life from me. There is no middle ground this time. I rolled over to Steel Angel and Griffin Hawkins twice in the last month and it has eaten away at the man that I used to be. I have watched as people, without the talent that I have, rise above the level that I seem to be stuck at. I can't force myself to be a part of that anymore. I am not going to hang on to this career while it slowly slips away. I signed my name on the dotted line of that contract to be the best that this company has to offer. At Pick Your Poison I am going to be that person, or I am going to cease to exist. The ball is in your court.

This is my final call.