Tim Patrick [vs.] Sean Libby [vs.] Gordon Fury [vs.] Parker Wayde [vs.] Steel Angel [vs.] Alex Dillinger [vs.] Alexander Remington

THE EMPEROR OF IWF HAS RETURNED! AND HE'S BRINGING THE CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD COREY CASEY WITH HIM!

That's right ladies and gents, ALEXANDER FUCKING REMINGTON HAS RETURNED TO IWF! With Chairman of the IWF Board of Directors Corey Casey as his personal manager and his Queen Tiffani Michaels by his side, Alexander Remington heads into the main event of Battle Grounds this week to take on some of the biggest and best main event talent that IWF has to offer! Each man [kinda] has a legitimate claim to the #1 Contendership to the IWF World Heavyweight Championship, but only one man will survive this Elimination Match and begin to prepare himself mentally, physically, and emotionally for the Isolation Chamber!!!!!!!!!

(OOC: Meh, my plan for this roleplay was to be much better. I still like it, but I'm obviously not gonna win with this as is. However, I'm leaving for vacation from work in the morning. So just gonna post what I've got thus far.)

Off Camera

When you look at me in your mind, do you still love me?

When you dream about me in the night, do you still care?

When you reminisce about days gone by, do you wonder what might have been?

When the bullet lodged into my brain, you wept for me. You kneeled over me and your tears wet my face as I breathed my last few breaths, but I smiled. I smiled because the last memory I would take with me into the afterlife would be staring into your eyes and knowing that you cared. That you cared for me. That you cared for your daughter.

And now you run. You flee for your safety. You hide for your protection. You know that they come for you as a stranger in the night, seeking to destroy everything you've accomplished over the years. They chase after you with a hateful vengeance, hoping that they can break you like they tried to do in the past. But even in our deaths, you would not be broken. You would remain strong. You would pick yourself up from the ground and rise from the ashes, because you are the strongest man I have ever known.

Do not weep for me any longer in the night, Alexander. Do not mourn for the passing of your daughter or I. For we are in a better place now. We have found our peace.

But now, it is time for you to discover yours.

Just know that I loved you.

"I loved you too Alyssa..."

I awakened in the still of the night, head turning from side to side as my eyes panned around the room, searching for her face. Beside me laid Tiffani Michaels, fast asleep after a long night catching up on the latest season of the Walking Dead - not usually my cup of tea, but it's amazing how one can draw an interest in a television program with a beautiful blonde wrapped up in your arms. But the lingering memory of my deceased wife and daughter haunted my mind, as it has done for nearly a decade now; each passing night a reminder of a life I once lived where I truly understood happiness without pain.

I felt insecure. I knew that I had done everything I could have possibly done in order to save Alyssa and my daughter Elizabeth, but in the end, I was unable to save them from the men whose vengeance far outweighed my might. And from that moment forward, I always kept an internal barrier between myself and any girl that ever seemed to show the slightest interest in me, for I could never trust myself to be able to keep them safe in the most difficult hours.

I watched as her life faded; her body an empty vessel where a soul once rested. I had told her that I would leave the Company in less than a year to focus on our lives as a family, and I only had two months before my contract would expire. Two goddamn months, and we would have been together forever. No more need to lie to my wife and to my daughter about where I was going for the weekend. No more cover-ups and telling them that Daddy had to fly cross-country to meet with some clients when what I really meant that I was flying halfway across the world to finish a job that involved the execution of men who were more evil than the world would ever know. Alexander Remington would be coming home to be a father and a loving husband, and my life of contentment truly would begin.

I turned and looked down at Tiffani as she slept somberly underneath the cool linen sheets, wondering if I really could take care of her if the proverbial shit hit the fan. I felt something for her that I had not felt for a human being in quite some time, and that happiness that I once felt with Alyssa, I could feel running through my veins every hour of every day. But I could not bear to see the same fate apply to Tiffani. She is too sweet and too caring a girl to suffer that same fate. She deserves better than that.

I shook my head, dismissing the thought as I slowly withdrew myself from the bed, staying quiet as to not wake her up, slipping on a robe and heading downstairs into the living room. She groaned as I closed the master bedroom door behind me, but trying to walk down the stairs as quietly as I could, I turned the corner and walked down the hallway, turning to step into my place of refuge on a troubling night such as this one.

But as I turned, I looked in horror as I saw a man standing in the middle of the room. I certainly was not expecting visitors, especially at three in the morning. He was clad in the finest of suits; his back turned to me, but I knew in an instant who it was that was standing before me...

"Corey?"

Since my sudden and immediate departure from Insurgency Wrestling, I had not heard even a peep from the one standing in front of me. He slowly turned around, that wry smirk that I had gotten accustomed to over my time there covering his face as he looked back at me. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie, not saying a word for the moment, looking at me as though he were looking at a long lost brother after years of not seeing each other.

"I wasn't exactly expecting guests," I said as I rubbed my fingers against my eyelids, allowing the sleep in my eyes to drop to the floor, shaking my head slowly. "Certainly not in my home at three in the morning. How did you even get in here in the first place?"

Surprises. I hate surprises.

"Is this the welcome I receive from my dearest friend," he smiled as he shrugged his shoulders, feigning disappointment as he too shook his head from side to side slowly. After a moment though, he reached into his coat's pocket, pulling out a golden key. "It hasn't been that long since you gave me a key to this place - the whole matter with Jessica and what not."

I didn't speak a word for a moment, knowing Corey well enough that he was just going to continue talking anyway. There really was no need for me to question why he was here because...

"How's retirement treating you Alex? Are you really enjoying sitting at home all day, flipping mindlessly through the channels or," he paused for a moment, reaching down and picking up a book which sat upon the coffee table in front of the couch, eyeing it carefully as he scoffed, "reading your books? Is this really what the great Alexander Remington has become?"

"Yes," I responded without hesitation, for I knew the day would come where Corey Casey would at the very least attempt to bring me back with his devious persuasions. "In fact I am happy sitting at home doing the things of a retired man. My body thanks me too. You realize that during my time in the Insurgency, I suffered through five different surgeries and eight different injuries, not to mention the toll this business has done to my mind over the years. Corey, look at me. I'm at peace now. I've got everything I've ever wanted. I've got the money. I've got the prestige. I've got the girl sleeping just above our heads right now, and I'm quite content with my life. There was once a time where I felt like I needed the wrestling business - like I was born to play a role in it - but now, I see it quite clearly. It was just a job. A way to pass my time and earn a few extra paychecks."

But I could immediately sense that Corey was not buying a word of what I was saying. Frankly, I had convinced myself that what I was saying was the truth, but deep within, I wasn't even so sure. He'd do his damndest to persuade me otherwise.

"That is a shame my friend. It really is. Because you want to know what the Insurgency has become in your absence?"

I really didn't, but again I said nothing, because I knew he'd tell me regardless, and there was nothing I could do or say that would convince him otherwise.

"Ethan Cage has become IWF's champion, and he is making claims that the company revolves around him, as though IWF was always about Ethan Cage. Chuck Matthews has seemingly vanished into thin air, and as much as I hate to say it, I think you might have been right all along about Jessica's ability to lead our company. The board is on my ass every single fucking day to right the ship, and it would be so easy if I had my greatest friend fighting some of the battles for me in the ring, but I..."

"Corey, you know you are like a brother to me," I interrupted him, causing him to take a step back as he gathered his thoughts too, clearly upset about the recent happenings around IWF. "But I've got nothing left to prove. I've done it all in this business. I've won my world championships. My fame extends across the globe, and I've proven that when it comes to this business, I'm one of the absolute best. I became everyone's Everest. I became the one everyone looked to beat in order to truly consider themselves 'arrived.' There was a time when I was that guy. There was a time when I walked onto another company's brand, stood right in the face of Axle Vengeance, and out of respect, I called his ass out and we put on a show for the thousands in attendance and the millions watching around the world, and on that night, we defined what it meant to be a professional wrestler. And forever, that match will be regarded as one of the greatest of all time. I've done it all Corey, and as much as I hate to hear that your company is struggling; as much as I'd love to walk right back into that squared circle and do what I've done for over a decade to improve your brand, it's just not for me anymore. I've got nothing left. I've got nothing to continue to fight for. My life is here now..."

Corey looked dejected. More sorrowful than I ever had seen him before. More saddened than the day that Jessica left him; the day that he and I sat at a local Bostonian bar well into the night, talking about what went wrong. And for a moment I felt bad, but not nearly bad enough to risk breaking my body and my spirit yet again for IWF.

"I'm honored that you flew all the way from Boston to Los Angeles to try to win back the services of Alexander Remington, but Alexander Remington as you once knew him is dead. For the first time in years, I am happy. I'm at peace with everything. I still follow your company, but I can never again be a part of it."

"You aren't known as a winner around IWF. You left as a loser. You left as a former great who had lost his touch. You know what I hear when I walk through the hallways of IWF? Oh, they still talk about you and tell stories of old. They talk about how you delivered on your promise of winning our highest prize and calling it your own. And no doubt, many still believe you were one of the greatest champions ever to be on the Insurgency roster. But you know what they are saying now? Now that you are gone. They're saying that you are a coward. They're saying you left when things got tough. They're saying..."

"Shut the fuck up, I don't give a damn what they are saying about me right now..."

But Corey slipped a wry smile on his face again, realizing that the words he was beginning to say were beginning to cut right at my heart's strings.

"That you fear the uprising of men like Ethan Cage, Alex Dillinger, and Ace Static. About how coincidental it truly was that your retirement directly coincided with Stygian's attempt at a return. How timely it was that you left as soon as these greats began to arise from the ashes and stake their claim as one of the best in the business."

"Corey, you know that's not the truth at all..."

Corey stepped forward, slipping his hand on my shoulder, staring directly at me as he continued his point.

"Oh I know it's not the truth, but for so long, you cared so much about your legacy, and now you are letting it slip quickly away. Perception is reality, and around the world, those who once esteemed you as a god now look at you as a man who dominated when the field was weakened. Alex Dillinger even..."

"Axle Vengeance."

"No, it's Alex Dillinger..."

"Alex Dillinger is his real name; Axle Vengeance is the name he goes by."

Corey shook his head.

"No, he's going by his real name now. Something about cleansing his act and changing who he is. Even got a haircut."

I chuckled a bit, not believing any of it in the least.

"Another cleansing for Axle? Jesus, what is this? His seventeenth time trying to rehabilitate himself? And let me guess, he's still hanging out with that shaky motherfucker Ace Static, isn't he? Yeah, a whole lot has changed. I give it approximately two months and one loss before drowning himself at the bottom of a bottle yet again."

I rolled my eyes, never believing in the intestinal fortitude of one, Axle Vengeance - or I suppose now, for the time being, Alex Dillinger.

"Alex, I didn't fly from Boston to L.A. to exchange pleasantries. You know that. And I don't have some amazing offer to give you this time. I know damn well that no amount of money or power will ever convince you to leave your home and go back on the road again. What I can tell you is that you're wanted in IWF again. No, you're needed in IWF again. Don't do it for the fans..."

I groaned.

"I wouldn't..."

They abandoned me in the time of my greatest need, and it was evident that they moved on since my departure. Fuck them. I'd never fight for their behalf again. I will not fight for a bunch of bandwagon hillbillies who only support you when you're on the top of the world.

"Don't even do it for the Insurgency itself..."

I scowled.

"I couldn't..."

The Insurgency also failed me time and time again. Jessica and her inept managerial skills; so-called friends turning their backs on me in order to achieve their temporary fifteen minutes of fame. Fuck fighting for those who would never be in my corner in the first place. I carried IWF on my back for way too damn long to only get spit in the face time and time again. Not in this life; never again.

"And Alex, I'm not even asking you to do it for me..."

I sighed.

"I shouldn't..."

But alas, through thick and thin, Corey Casey always did have my back. When the Empire abandoned me, he still remained in my corner. He still remained my biggest supporter, both in front of and behind the camera. He was a true friend and a true ally, and I couldn't forget that. Yet, was it really worth coming back for?

"Do it for yourself, because you're wrong Alex. You do still have things to accomplish with that great career of yours. You are indeed known as one of the greatest wrestlers of all time, but you deserve to go down as the undisputed greatest champion and legend of all time. Not just in IWF, but in the entire world. You need to come back because you do have unfinished business. I know you still want to kick Alex Dillinger's teeth down his throat yet again. You want to lay claim to that championship once more, and I can offer you that opportunity soon and very soon indeed. And not to mention..."

He took a step back, that familiar devious grin covering his face yet again.

"We still have a matter of dragons to attend to."

"Corey, I don't know if you've noticed this, but he's left too. He's found another promotion. He's nowhere to be found..."

"Ah, but he will return, m'boy, if things intrigue him enough to do so. You know that. He goes where the opportunity is greatest. All it'll take is your return and," he straightened his tie and lifted his shoulders, "and a bit of my charm, and I'll have the Black Dragon eating out of the palm of my hand. You have too much to gain by returning Alex. And it starts with Battlegrounds..."

What was he getting at? I hadn't even committed to Corey Casey's proposal - didn't even imagine that I ever would to this very moment - but clearly he had something in mind. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at him, wondering how this snake-oil salesman friend of mine would ever make a pitch to entice me out of retirement.

"Ok, I'll bite. What do you have in mind?"

Looking as though he had won the lottery, Corey began to make his sales pitch.

"Battlegrounds after Homecoming, we are in need to name a new number one contender to Ethan Cage's IWF championship. Now, you know that I'd love to just bring you back and name you that guy right there on the spot, but because of red tape and the board halfway up my ass already to make sure that IWF is run properly and without bias, they are forcing my hand and making me do things 'the right way.' I know, rubbish right? At any rate, we've decided to have ourselves a little battle royal to determine the individual worthy of taking on Ethan Cage next."

"And you want me to waltz into that ring, rusty as I may be, and throw every last one of those sonofabitches over the top rope? Sounds easy enough," I said sarcastically, with a chuckle.

"Not too difficult for the greatest champion in our company's history. I have complete faith in you that you could complete the task at hand. So...are you in?"

Just like that huh? I'm supposed to take his now-extended hand in mine, shake it firmly, and order is restored in the world of professional wrestling? Did I really care about what others thought of me? Well, to an extent...sure. If that didn't matter to me, my legacy in professional wrestling would mean nothing to me, but I wasn't truly content with just being known as one of the greats. I always wanted to be THE greatest fucking wrestler of all time.

But was that alone enough?

No. Not enough to get me to commit to the endless road trips and the countless bumps and bruises along the way, not only to my body but to my ego and to my pride. The Insurgency was more than just a company that I could dominate - it was assembled with quite the talented roster. And though I knew that I was better than each and every one of those who would enter the ring with me, was it really worth coming back for something as simple as my legacy?

For the prospect of my super fight with Stygian in the future? Not gonna lie. The appeal to me was still there, but it had faded. Perhaps it wasn't in the cards for us to ever have that war - any time we were set to have that match, something always happened to step in the way.

"Corey, you know I'd love to help you out, but it's not worth it to me anymore. Really, I appreciate the pitch, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least minutely tempted, but I just can't...it's..."

"Alex, what's going on down here..."

To be continued...

____________________________________

On Camera

A few days later, I had not left my home, having made my decision regarding Corey Casey's proposal, but not yet having made it official to the general public. I had been thinking for days about how I would go about this, and still torn about whether this was really worth the struggle that would inevitably come to me - the physical and mental abuse not the main factor for my abrupt departure from the wrestling business in the least, but still a factor nevertheless. I had lost my way. I had allowed myself to become complacent. And I knew if I were really to become the Alexander Remington of old, or rather, a better version of the man that I was in the past, I could never allow myself to fall victim to such a predator.

The fire was burning bright within the fireplace on the far western wall of the living room, creating a peaceful ambiance as I sat on the black leather sofa in the middle of the room. Upon the mantle sat six pictures within frames of familiar faces, to the IWF fan base at the very least. The camera panned around to gaze upon those pictures before staring directly at mine. It seemed like an eternity since I last had an opportunity to address the masses. Though I would never admit it, perhaps some of the nerves and anxiety that I first felt as a rookie in this business flooded my soul, but with a deep breath, I regained my composure, and began to speak, feeling like I had finally returned to that which truly brought me peace.

"I suppose this is a face you never thought you'd see again," I said with a smile as I crossed my left leg over my right in a masculine fashion, shaking my head slowly as I stared directly at the lens of the camera, speaking as if in front of my peers in this very room. "And for the majority of you, I'm sure you thanked whatever god you serve for the day that I made the decision to walk away. Because whether you want to shout from the rooftops of this very fact, or hide pitifully in the corner of your locker room and shake in fear at my name, you feared my name and my existence nevertheless. You may speak in front of the camera with the highest amount of bravado known to man to compensate for that fear, but you knew that the moment that Alexander Remington left the wrestling business seemingly for good, your opportunity to actually succeed and make a name for yourself truly began."

I stood to my feet, laughing to myself as I stood before the six portraits sitting still upon the mantle, eyeing them carefully, but not quite addressing those whose faces lingered behind me. For now, the question of why I really returned still lingered on many of the minds of those fans and peers alike who were watching me speak in this moment.

"And so you all have made a name for yourselves at my expense. With Alexander Remington out of the picture, Ethan Cage finally arose from his eternal state of mediocrity and elevated himself to World Champion status. Guess what? Never would have happened had I remained. Alex Dillinger?" I laughed and shook my head, knowing that our long history with each other would only fuel a new flame, for we had much more to this journey than we ever possibly could have initially imagined. "You want to know why he miraculously was able to clean up his act? He doesn't have to take the drugs or drown his sorrows down with the bottle any longer because he thought that the one man who brought him to his fucking knees in this industry was gone for good. Go ahead and deny it all you want 'Alex', but deep down inside, you know that a tiger never changes his stripes, and now that I've returned, it's only a matter of time before you're showing up at IWF corporate and begging them for fucking mercy and asking them not to induct you to the IWF hall of fame, but rather to their world-renowned rehabilitation program. You are pathetic. You are a failure. You think that because you've had success in this profession that it makes you some kind of a great man? No, you are a failure as a man and a failure as a human being - you are nothing more than a pathetic disgrace."

I scowled and glared at the camera for a moment, respecting the wrestler that Alex Dillinger always was, but never the man. The man squandered everything that had ever been afforded him time and time again. The wrestler was 'the motherfucking greatest' as he liked to proclaim for many a year, but even that had quickly faded away in favor of the man who now stood before the camera.

"So why is it that I've come back? Well, for many more reasons than I possibly could ever divulge in the time that I've been afforded, but long story short, I'm tired of seeing peons like Ethan Cage and the rest make a name for themselves simply because I wasn't there. IWF, you are a company that I carried on my back for so long, and the second I walked out that door, you failed me and all the work that I did for you during my stay there. You are the reason your ratings are going down the tank. You and your idiotic board of directors are why the Insurgency is now viewed internationally as the laughingstock that it has ultimately become. You've allowed an inept manager in Jessica Casey to ruin what once was a great brand in the name of equality and fairness to the little guy? Fuck the little guy - professional wrestling was built on the backs of wrestling behemoths like Alexander Remington, and it's on his back and his alone that this company will thrive yet again!"

"You allowed my girlfriend to be brutally assaulted, and still the one responsible is too cowardly to stand up and admit their fault, but I know exactly who you are," I said with anger, knowing exactly who was responsible for such a heinous attack. "And then you, 'big-whigs', didn't so much as even give her a call to see how she was doing. You're fucking lucky that the two of us are even willing to walk through those doors, but because of our friendship with Corey Casey, we've decided to grace your presence once more. If not for Corey Casey, I'd be more than happy to spit in each and every one of your fat wrinkly pathetic faces - those of you on the "esteemed Board" - and tell you to go fuck yourselves, because I bet you there's a company out there by the name of NLWF that would fucking love the services of two of the greatest wrestlers who have ever stepped foot in the wrestling business. What are you going to do? Censor your biggest star because he uttered four fucking letters that have seemingly become taboo to say around here? I could be in that hellhole of a company making a hell of a lot more money than I do here, wrestling the likes of James Shark week in and week out, but believe it or not, whether you agree with my methods, I actually did consider this my home, and I actually did want the Insurgency to thrive."

"Not anymore."

"My comeback, it's purely for myself, for Tiffani Michaels, and for Corey Casey. Nobody else. I don't give a fuck about the fans. I don't give a fuck about my peers in the back. I don't give a fuck about our idiotic board and especially I don't give a fuck about Jessica Casey - that horse faced geek that doesn't even have a fucking clue how to run this company anywhere but into the ground! I never got the respect I deserved from anyone in power but Corey Casey. Yet, those stars that you keep pushing to the top? Guess what? I brought the majority of them to this fucking place! And in a snap of my fingers," I said, mimicking that very action, "you know damn well that I could lead a mass exodus of those same individuals right out that fucking door. So no, it isn't "in the Insurgency, I trust." I've lost my trust and my faith in the Insurgency. I trust in Corey Casey, because unlike you parasites and you leeches in the back who were more than happy to let me carry this company on my back in the good times and then kick me when I was down in the bad, Corey Casey stood in my corner through thick and fucking thin. I trust in Tiffani Michaels, because when she says she loves Alexander Remington, I can actually go home at night and believe it. She understands my struggle, because the truth is, you let her share in that struggle as well. But now, we're both back. This is most certainly a package deal. And we're back to take back the company that we once loved and rule it once more with an iron fist."

"And finally, I trust in myself. My last month and a half in IWF, I was admittedly a shell of the wrestler and the man that I once was. As I said, I became complacent. I won the IWF championship, and for some fucking reason, I decided that cemented my legacy in this business. I had won world titles before, but this one...this one meant more than any of them combined. So I stopped working. I stopped trying. Ethan Cage said it best before beating me months ago - he was beating a broken version of Alexander Remington. When chastising Griffin Hawkins, he said the selfsame for what Griffin Hawkins did to me. That man that you saw in those final weeks of my previous stint here," I stated with a shake of my head, "you'll never see again. Alexander Remington has come back to claim his seat on his rightful throne. Alexander Remington has come to once again grab hold of his power and influence over this once great company."

"Alexander Remington has returned to once again establish his Empire."

Pausing for a moment, I slowly glared at the portraits standing still on the mantle behind me.

"And it begins at Battlegrounds."

I reached behind me and grabbed the picture frame farthest to the left, staring coldly at the face within before showing it to the camera, dropping my hand below my waist as I held it in my grip.

"Corey Casey came to me and told me that the way for me to get my championship back - my crown for my kingdom if you will - would happen most directly in the battle royal that has now been announced. Toss a few motherfuckers over the top rope, he said, and I would be next in line to take back that which was wrongfully stolen from me. You see, before my period of complacency, there was nobody on this fucking roster who stood a chance in the ring against me. Doubt what I have to say? Look at the track record. I was the most dominant champion this roster has ever seen - the nerds out there can shout to the masses," I began to mock the aforementioned nerds with a pitchy geeky voice, "that Brandon MacDonald held the title for 91 days in one run, and therefore is by far the best champion IWF has ever seen. They'll throw out all the statistics you can throw out to disprove my claim, but the truth of the matter is, the talent that IWF sees now is greater than at any point in this company's storied history. But you're all welcome to prove me wrong. Those relics of the past, if they want to get off the pain medication and put on their boots one last time, I'll give them a proper exit from this company for good. No more hanging on to stories of yesteryear. No more telling your kids and future grandkids that back in the old days, people did things much better than they do now. After you're put six feet below the fucking dirt, I'll even swear to you that I'll walk straight up to your kids, slap them in the face for ever thinking that any of you relics are or were better than Alexander Remington is, and remind them of the night that I murdered the career of their dear old daddy. Brandon, wherever you are, you're known by the geeks as the greatest champion to ever step foot in an IWF ring because of statistics. Numbers. But in 2013, I'm going to take everything you ever accomplished, and shit all over it, because I'm calling the entirety of your career for what it is - overrated. And if that day comes where you want to prove me wrong? You know where to find me. And when I beat Ethan Cage within an inch of his life and take my championship back, I'll be glad to even put that title on the line and give you your opportunity to redeem yourself for your embarrassment of an exit. I'll take any relic of IWF's past in the ring, because the truth of the matter is, whether the fan boys on the Internet want to applaud you for statistics that are meaningless in our sports, it doesn't matter one fucking bit to me. I prove my worth in the ring each and every fucking week."

"Why won't you?"

But changing the subject to the topic at hand - the battle royal - I stared at the picture in my hand; that of Sean Libby.

"You want to know what makes me sick? There's people in this business that make a mockery of what we do and try to act like it's nothing but fun and games. No, what I do, I do because of the love of this business - not just to get a couple fucking minutes on Entertainment Tonight for a supposed hilarious skit on a wrestling TV program. Sean Libby, for years, you have made a name for yourself turning this profession into an absolute joke. And in that time, you've accomplished absolutely nothing of note. Oh, you should be proud of that High Impact title you won, not to mention your Uprising championship," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "I mean, really, you are a real winner, aren't you? You know what's pathetic? Your claim to fucking fame isn't what you've done in the ring, but simply that you've been here the longest. Seriously? You act as though being here in this place is something to be proud of. You act as though that fact alone makes you worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as the greats of this sport. Libby, if we're going to start recognizing longevity as a factor for greatness, then we might as well consider Vino the pizza vendor in section 32c a mortal lock for the 2013 Hall of Fame induction."

"How honorable an act that the Boston bombing is your motivation for your return! I returned to kick people's teeth down their throat and re-establish myself as the greatest fucking champion that the Insurgency has ever seen. But you're fighting for a people that will never respect you or give you credit for anything you accomplish. What happened on that day was terrible, but for you to have the audacity to believe that you will even cause a blip on the Richter Scale of their emotions is an absolute farce! You'll only fail them yet again, like you've failed everyone who has ever believed in Sean Libby since the beginning of your career. You'll only let them down, and the people of Boston are only going to yet again feel like they are L.A.'s bitch when I get done with you at Battlegrounds. You are simply an obstacle. Nothing more. You aren't a threat. You aren't even a challenge. The fact that you think you belong in the same industry as me is laughable. Do yourself a favor Libby. Stay home. Leave the boots in the attic. Never come back. This business, it's too much for someone like you to handle. What IWF is about to become - you aren't ready for. You've never seen a revolution like the one that is about to take place. I'm taking my company back by force, and if you are an unfortunate casualty of that war, don't say I didn't warn you."

I just shook my head with disgust, taking one last glance at the picture in my hand before I tossed it into the fire, letting a few moments pass as the camera focused on the picture slowly wilting away under the intense heat of the fire surrounding it before the picture of Sean Libby faded away just as quickly as his meaningless career soon would, once and for all.

I finally allowed my fingers to grasp the next picture to the left - the one of Tim Patrick. Showing it to the camera for just a couple of seconds, I began my diatribe on a man who also had failed in many aspects.

"First of all, I have to say congratulations to you Tim Patrick. After fourteen years on the grind; after countless road trips and broken bones and muscle tears, you have finally arrived. After being told no so many times, after being let down time and time again, you were finally able to overcome the odds and be the champion you've always dreamed of becoming. You, Tim Patrick, are a god among men. You, Tim Patrick, are one to be revered above any other. Fourteen years in the business and you have finally ascended the mountain and become the IWF World..."

I paused for a second as the man holding the microphone above my head leaned in and whispered something in my ear.

"Wait, you mean he..."

He confirmed what he said to me yet again. I shriveled up my face as a look of confusion and bewilderment covered it completely.

"So he's not the..."

This time, he just shook his head to the negative. Boy, was I ever embarrassed in this moment. Well, not really. Of course I knew that Tim Patrick hadn't risen to the lofty heights of being able to call himself a World Champion.

"You have to excuse me Tim, but after hearing your riveting speech about how you were no longer IWF's whipping boy and about how after fourteen years you told all those who ever put you down 'fuck you', I just assumed you had accomplished something noteworthy. I didn't realize that you were the type who would throw a huge celebration for yourself after winning the equivalent of the silver medal at the Special Olympics. Tim Patrick, if someone were to look up the definition of mediocrity in the dictionary, your goofy face would be front and center in the middle of the page. Fourteen years and all you have to show for it was the High Impact championship? And you couldn't even hold on to it for more than a couple of weeks? Your championship win, it wasn't a fuck you, as you put it, to NLWF. It wasn't a fuck you to those who doubted you and said you'd never make it in the wrestling industry. No, it was a fuck you to the wrestling industry itself and to those of us who actually bust our ass and accomplish things worthy of being called great. You said that the NLWF told you that you were a loser? That you were a horrible wrestler? Guess what Tim? They were fucking right all along! You are still professional wrestling's whipping boy. Nothing has changed because of your pedestrian victory a few weeks ago. You are still a joke. You are still a nobody. You are still the curtain-jerker that the big boys like myself beg upper management to throw to us the week after a match where we actually had to expend energy and actually risk our livelihoods - you are the one we beg for so that we can nurse our wounds and practically enjoy our week off."

"At Battlegrounds, like I said to Libby, just do yourself a favor and don't show up. Or rather do show up, so that you can one day tell your children that you witnessed firsthand the greatest champion that has ever stepped foot in an IWF ring. Because you, you're no champion. You, you aren't a winner. You are just a guy who has coasted for fourteen fucking years who, for the sake of getting any credibility whatsoever, tries to convince the ignorant masses that you arrived the moment the High Impact championship was wrapped around your waist."

"This week, you have a chance to redeem yourself Tim. You have an opportunity to somehow toss every single last one of us over the top rope and face Ethan Cage for the IWF championship. But does anyone really believe you stand a prayer of a chance when guys like myself, Parker Wayde, and Alex Dillinger are also a part of the equation? Go ahead and convince yourself that you stand a chance. Go ahead and believe in your head that you are now IWF championship material. Because at the end of the night, you are going to still be exactly what you were coming into the night Tim."

"Nothing but a disappointment."

Another individual down, and another picture tossed gently into the flames, watching as they engulfed this picture in a similar manner to the first. I grabbed the third portrait, chuckling even louder to myself as I held it in front of me.

"Jesus, what do we have in this match? The retarded circle-jerk of guys who want to be called champions all because they won the equivalent of a participation trophy for their little league baseball teams? When can I start talking about the people who are even on my fucking radar? Gordon Fury, you are an interesting case indeed. You beat a couple of guys early on in your time here, and you even arose to the "lofty" heights of becoming the High Impact champion, and there were many who even bought into the idea that you would be the next big thing in the Insurgency. You beat Griffin Hawkins, and for seemingly weeks on end, you proclaimed that this victory alone proved you belonged at the dinner table with the rest of the great champions in IWF history. Then, when Axle Vengeance practically staggered to the ring sloppy-ass drunk, you were able to miraculously get him to fall flat on his back, and you beat him, and this is when various media outlets and our own IWF magazine published that you would be the one to watch out for the rest of 2012 and going into 2013. You were the one that was going to challenge me, before my retirement, for the IWF title. You were the one that was going to finally end the reign of Alexander Remington, and you were going to be the one to single-handedly take down my Empire."

Shaking my head, I slowly put down the picture face down on top of the mantle. I walked over to the couch I was originally sitting on, taking a load off as I leaned back against it, rolling my eyes as I thought about the topic at hand. For many months, I had heard all the rumors about how Gordon Fury was ready to take shit to the next level, and every single fucking time, all the speculation proved unfulfilled.

"Take down the Empire huh? Yeah, I watched last week as you told Flex Johnson about some more of your supposed accomplishments in your young IWF career. How you took down Bad Company. How you apparently took down the Empire. Gordon, you didn't do shit! The only reason the Empire isn't standing today is because I decided it was time to call it quits. Not because Philip Joseph and his merry band of homoerotic Oompa-loompas decided to take me out in the back."

I scowled, running my fingers against the top of my shoulder where one of my multiple injuries took place on that night, remembering every bump and bruise from that moment. And then, for what they did to Tiffani soon thereafter.

"By the way Phil, I haven't forgotten about what you and your boys did to us those nights. I haven't forgotten about how you tried to make your mark by attacking me from behind and snapping Tiffani's leg in two. You will soon get what's coming to you - that I can fucking guarantee."

But this...this wasn't the time for past grievances, nor was it the time for revenge. My focus was solely on obtaining my crown and re-establishing my Empire. And so I shrugged my shoulders, hearing the pop from the one once injured as I moved it into a comfortable place, still giving me some problems after all these months. I composed myself and continued with the point I was making to Gordon Fury, discrediting all of his claims that he himself was responsible for anything of note against me or my Empire.

"Not because you called the shots and saw to it that the destruction of the Empire happened. You literally had no effect on the ending of my Empire. My Empire wasn't that disaster of an organization that Philip Joseph ran to stroke his own fucking ego. They simply carried the name, but they were far from anything resembling an Empire, and Philip Joseph was nothing close to an Emperor. He was a puppet. He was a pawn. You may have played a part in disassembling THAT group, but you had nothing to do with the downfall of mine, because truth be told, my Empire still remains. You give yourself too much credit for things you yourself had nothing to do with Gordon. You think that because there isn't a line of people waving the Empire banner from side to side that the ideals of the Empire do not still exist within the walls of the Insurgency? Even when I was out of this company altogether, my Empire still remained. My Empire still thrived. My influence upon this company was stronger than you could ever even imagine. You can't kill my Empire. I am IWF's Immortal Emperor. My Empire is eternal. And if you think that you're going to destroy all that I've worked hard to establish in this company, I welcome you to try. Thankfully you're used to falling flat on your fucking face time and time again."

"Your story is yet another tale of failed potential, and I'm sorry to those of you who have somehow convinced yourself that Gordon Fury is the one whose bandwagon you will ride on - at Battlegrounds, the story of his pathetic career will continue down the exact same path it always has from the very beginning."

I stood to my feet, not even taking my time to glance at the picture before tossing it into the fire as well, turning my back to the flames as it wilted the picture to mere ashes. Motioning for the camera to be turned off, I exited the room as the scene faded to black.

_________________________________

The scene opens up in the gym Gordon Fury is always in, you know the one he has been in repeatedly over the last few weeks? If you don't know by now you don't deserve for me to explain it to you. Its a gym for fucks sake. Anyway, the camera shows the gym lockers, where Gordon Fury and Blyss Lockhart are, dressed in their Muay Thai gear, cutting the tape off of their hands, sweat slowing dripping off of their bodies. So either they have just finished training, or just finished doing something else, if you know what I mean.

Yes, yes I do.

I mean you two were fucking. That's what I was getting at.

Yes. I know.

Just checking.

I finish unraveling the tape off of my left hand, and I look at Blyss as I pick the scissors back up, and she glances over at me, before immediately looking away. She has been like this all fucking session. If he wasn't learning a technique, she refused to even look at me. She is acting really distant, but if she doesn't want to talk about it, I'm not bringing it up.

Well you did kind of fob her off last night Gordo.

I had my reasons.

Well she doesn't look happy with you.

Hold on i'll try something. I Look over at Blyss.

Gordon Fury: Come on Blyss, I know I'm ugly, but this is a little insulting don't you think?

Her mouth doesn't even twitch as she looks into my eyes with a serious expression unlike any I have seen from her before as she finishes cutting the tape from her hands.

Dude you are so fucked.

Blyss Lockhart: You hung up on me last night? I wanted to see you and you hung up on me. Why?

The monotone quiet nature of her question sends a chill up my spine. Of course this is what this is about.

Once again Gordo you have proved that the “ignore it and hope it goes away” method fails miserably.

Gordon Fury: Come on Blyss, you know why.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say as I can see the anger rising in her as her fists clench.

Blyss Lockhart: No Gordon, I don't know. Why don't you fill me in?

Gordon Fury: Blyss, you ring me up at 3am and ask to come over. I was in no condition for visitors.

Blyss Lockhart: Oh so its all about you then huh? My feelings don't matter is that it?

I'm gonna have to start this again aren't I?

Afraid so Gordo.

God damn it.

Gordon Fury: Look Blyss, I didn't see you last night for your sake?

Blyss Lockhart: How do you possibly figure that?

Gordon Fury: You told Mike what happened, and by the sound of it he didn't take it well. You were extremely emotional, and if you came over last night, you may have done something you would have regretted.

Blyss Lockhart: Michael didn't have anything to do with it! Can't it be as simple as I just wanted to see you?

Gordon Fury: Oh come on Blyss! Whether you it was on purpose or not, last night you only called me as the rebound guy. If I had of let you come over, you would have woken up this morning regretting it.

Blyss Lockhart: Come on Gordon, it's obvious to both of us that there is something between us. I... I kissed you, remember? And if I remember right, you did a pretty good job of kissing back. Did that kiss mean nothing to you? Did it do nothing to show you how I feel?

Gordon Fury: Blyss you have been having issues with Mike since you both first broke up. I know that if I kissed someone, I wouldn't bolt out the door if I didn't regret it.

Blyss Lockhart: For fucks sake Gordon! I may be having my issues with Mike, but it has nothing to do with us!

Gordon turns away from Blyss and begins to unwrap his left knee.

Gordon Fury: Whatever.

As Gordon turns away from Blyss, she goes to take a step towards him, but instead violently grabs her bags and storms out through the door.

For fucks sake, things are just getting worse.

Gordon, you truly have a gift for fucking up.

You say the sweetest things.

I try.



It's time to show the world that I am ready. I'm almost there...

The scene pauses on the determined look on Gordon's face, as the scene around him shifts and changes. When it finally settles, it shows Gordon with the same determined look on his face, but this time he is hanging off the side of a mountain. He is wearing black climbing gloves, a black tank top, brown shorts, and white sneakers.

I'm almost there.

Gordon pushes himself off the mountain and throws his right arm up, grabbing onto a small ledge protruding from the mountain. He then shifts his body and throws his left arm up after it, climbing up just that little bit further.

Gordon Fury: As soon as you step foot into a wrestling company, and step foot into that ring, you start to climb the mountain. Everyone in this industry climbs this mountain, some may start higher than others, but if you have the skill and drive, everyone gets to a certain point where it separates whether you are good at what you do, or whether you are GREAT at what you do. I have had my time standing on the second highest platform, and while I do enjoy the view from there, I have to keep moving up. I am getting closer and closer to the top of the mountain, And I'm not gonna stop until I get there.

Gordon continues climbing up the mountain, and as he climbs over another ledge, he can see the top of the mountain. He reaches up again, but his hand stops.

Umm Gordo, why have you stopped?

Gordon Fury: I have finally hit it. The area where so many before me have failed to break through. The glass ceiling.

Ah, that makes sense, I get it now.

Gordon Fury: See this week I was given a choice. Rex Evans challenged me at Homecoming, and I never back down from a challenge, but then I learn that I have also been booked in this clusterfuck main event. So I had to pick one, or do both. Of course, I did the sensible and responsible thing…

You picked both didn’t you?

Gordon Fury: I picked both. People may argue that it is a mistake, that there is no way that I can win both of these matches in the same night? My response? I’m Gordon FUCKING Fury! Defying the odds and silencing critics is my thing. I want to prove I have what it takes to break through, and Battleground is my test. This week I fight one current world champion and three former world champions over two matches. Did I bite off more than I can chew? Maybe, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let logic get in the way. Oh and before you unoriginal fucks get any ideas, please don’t do the “he already has a title, he shouldn’t be able to fight for another one!” Call the fucking wambulance boys, they might give a fuck. Cause no one else does. You see, I’m in this match because I fucking EARNED my spot in it. I have worked harder to get to where I am in such a short time than ANY of you combined. If I’m champion, its because no one can keep it from me. That sounds like I deserve to get this shot to me.

Gordon winds back with his left hand and punches the glass. Nothing happens. Awwwwkwward.

Gordon Fury: Rex, this week we go for round three. You eliminated me from survive and conquer, and you earned my respect when you accepted my challenge and beat me over in CRW. But Rex, there are two things you need to realize about me: the more I get knocked back, the more determined I am to win, and if I get momentum, it takes a lot to stop me. I currently have both. You have stopped me not once, but twice. It is now on ME to prove that Rex Evans is NOT better than Gordon Fury. Period. Not only that, but I have just won back my High Impact championship, and I intend to just keeping rolling on through.

I have a lot to prove in this match Rex, and this time, not just for me. Sure, you are here representing CRW, but you are already World Champion, besides simple bragging rights, you have nothing to truly lose or gain from this match. Nothing is really on the line for you. Whereas this time I’m not just fighting for me. I’m fighting for the Insurgency. See I don’t expect you to understand Rex, because you aren’t apart of it, but the people who watch us are as much apart of the Insurgency as the wrestlers. They aren’t fans, they are members of a faction taking this fucking world by storm. Corey Casey may be a douche bag fucktard, but he is the Chairman of the Board for the greatest mother fucking wrestling federation in the world. THAT is what I am representing this week Rex. I refuse to let you come into my house and beat me. I flat out fucking refuse. And I am not the only one passionate about this.

You see Rex, I’m no role model, but there is something about me the Insurgency connects with. Tell me Rex, the cheer of the crowd has often times driven you to near super human feats. What happens when that disappears? You see unlike in CRW, you won’t be cheered out of respect here like I was. In CRW I was cheered as a competitor coming in to test the number one contender. Here Rex, you are seen as an invader. The Insurgency sees you as someone trying to undermine and weaken us. What happens Rex, when Superman gets in the ring, and everyone is holding Kryptonite ?

I have every advantage going into this week Rex. Every possible thing that could go in my favour has done so, and you are step one in breaking the glass ceiling.

Gordon throws a hard elbow into the glass, putting a big crack in it.

Gordon Fury: Now we get to the nitty gritty of it all. The main event. Lets start from the bottom and move up shall we?

Steel Angel! Old buddy old pal! It’s good to see some things never change. It’s good to see you STILL think you are more awesome than sliced bread, and you STILL prove how wrong you are. Every. Single. Week. In our last match you said how I say the same shit everytime I fight you. Of course I fucking do, because you keep doing the SAME FUCKING SHIT!

I mean, check this out. ‘When people look at us what is the first thing they see? They see two young legends in the making, two men who have seen it all and done it all. Two men who stood on the shoulders of gaints and slayed them all, two men who are skilled and talented in their own right. Two men who have ever seen formed into this unlikely team have been the target for much ridicule as far as others go. Many call us arrogant, cocky, egostistical, self centered, traits that when you hear them being mention in the same breath as Steel Angel dosen't seem to stick at all “.

Wow… that’s…

Yeh, I know.

Gordon Fury: Are you BUTT FUCKING, ANAL RAPING, AIDS CONTRACTING, KIDDING ME?! Oh my fucking god Steel, the retardation virus must be spreading within you faster than I thought. NOONE looks at you and sees a legend. Legends are people who rise to challenges put in front of them, people who meet fights head on AND WIN. Not people that are given opportunity after opportunity, and manage to royally fuck it up every single time. You have won the world title ONCE, and some people can’t even remember it it was so forgettable. What giants have you slain Steel? Huh? Cause I wouldn’t even consider myself a giant, and I have beaten two times. The best you could do was force a draw, and even that was just because of Parker. And are you sure those things don’t stick Steel? I think that describes you to a fucking T. It’s how I’ve been describing you since I first got in the ring with you. You are the least deserving person who is in this match Steel, and considering the fact that you are a former world champion, that is pretty fucking sad. The fact that ANYONE can think that about you should tell you that something needs to change Steel. But you won’t. You will once again stay in Steeltopia and continue to believe your own bullshit, and once again you will lose. I may not win at Battlegrounds Steel, but I can GUARANTEE that you won’t. Guaran-fucking-tee.

Gordon throws a punch with his right hand, a few more cracks appear.

Gordon Fury: Lets jump up the other end shall we? You know Remi, it’s hard me to believe that I once respected you. I once thought of you as the best that we had in IWF. However, I was clearly wrong. What you are Remington, is a self delusional bag of dicks who thinks the world revolves around you. And if you are going to speak shit, could you please get your facts right? See Remi, unlike you, I say what I’m gonna do and I do it. You talk about being the emperor, about being the greatest. Oh really? So was getting taken the fuck out by Phillip Joseph part of your master plan? Was losing your title in your first REAL defense part of your plan? You see Remi, I don’t take sole credit for shit I didn’t do. I told the world that the Empire would die. And it did. But do you know what was funny Remi? By the time it did, I no longer cared. Because I finally realized, as the world realized, that you really don’t matter anymore.

In a place where returns happen every second week, this isn’t the long awaited return of Alexander Remington, this is simply a guy coming back that the whole world wanted to stay gone. It’s as simple as that. See you aren’t loved, Remi, hell, you aren’t even hated. You have become the one thing you are trying desperately to hide from everyone else. You Remi, have become irrelevant. Noone but you, Tiffani, and Corey Casey buy into your shit, and in that ring on Battlegrounds, they won’t be there to help you. Come Battleground Remi, the world will be show who you really are.

Boys, I really wanted to address you all, but time is often not on your side when you need it to be. Just know that come Battlegrounds, I am hitting this mother fucker with all I have.

Gordon points at glass ceiling.

Gordon Fury: And it may not be this week, but one day soon, I’m GOING to break it. It’s time to face the fury…

Gordon winds back with his left fist again, and strikes the glass, it finally shattering into the air.

Gordon Fury: Mate.

The camera zooms on the glass shimmering in the sky as the scene fades to black.