The Fall of the Black Dragon

I delineate between off and on-camera just because certain things wouldn’t, logically be on camera. This whole thing, except possibly the hallucination with Ric Flair is fair game for Tim to use so long as he comes up with a reasonable explanation as to how he got the off camera information, something as simple as word of mouth will suffice.

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Stygian sits in the living room of his penthouse: a monolith of dark grays and blacks. The walls are a slate gray trimmed in black, the couch and the chairs are black, the hardwood floors are stained a deep wooden color, and covered with black area rugs. Stygian sits in a black leather recliner watching For Pride and Glory 2011 on the DVR; it was his last night under contract in UECW; it was his last night as that company’s champion. It was the last time he’s been in a ring. It was a month ago, almost to the day. It’s towards the end of the match. It was a Buried Alive match for the UECW World Heavyweight Title. Stygian is lying motionless near the grave while Angelica Layne holds Lilith in a painful and compromising position, allowing Kaden Kessler to frisk her and find her trusty Taser. Kessler turns just as Stygian comes to his feet and hits him with the barbs. Stygian leans on the mouth of the bucket of the front-end loader carrying the dirt under which he will ultimately be buried. Kessler can be seen to crank the knob all the way up, and yet still Stygian doesn’t fall. He reaches up and yanks the electrified barbs from his chest defiantly, standing gallantly. Kessler wastes no time, he rushes forth and buries his foot in Stygian’s jaw. The huge man topples into the open grave. Kessler sinks to his knees. Kaden Kessler has never told anyone this, and if it’s true he never will…but do you know what he is doing on his knees? Praying. He’s praying he’s done what nobody before him could do. He’s praying that he’s finally slain The Black Dragon. He’s hoping that monster won’t climb out of that grave and put him in it. Once it finally starts feeling like a reality, he directs Angelica Layne to climb into the seat and gives the thumbs down. Oh sure, she fumbles with it a bit, but she eventually gets the motor running and dumps the bucket of dirt into the open grave. The bell rings, the match is over, new champion, yadda yadda yadaa. Stygian shuts off the DVR playback and shakes his head.

Stygian: The last thing I remember about that night, hell the only thing I remember about that night is Kaden Kessler’s foot flying into my face. I mean, I know I had the match, I know we beat the hell out of one another. But after being tazed and buried alive? Really, the only thing I remember is that foot flying into my face. Well, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.


We flash back to that fateful night. The crews who have been standing by rush out to the mound and begin digging frantically while an ambulance backs into place just in case. The capacity crowd holds its breath as four men throw dirst furiously over their shoulders while another hovers until the dirt comes to a certain level, at which point he orders them to stop digging with shovels and they switch to spades. There’s a certain delicate manner to their work: they work on their knees with the hand tools gingerly scraping away shovelfuls of earth, mindful of the man buried beneath, but careful not to make his problems worse by stabbing him with a gardening tool. It’s sort of like an archaeology speed round! Lilith and Lilah hover over the far end of the grave, barred off by a couple of UECW Security staff ready to restrain them if needed. When the finally uncover Stygian’s dirt-covered face, it becomes needed. One of them men announces it’s not breathing. Lilah’s face goes white as a sheet. Lilith pauses for a moment, but dammit, that is her husband down there, and she knows if she can get to him and press her lips to his that all will be well and he will magically come back to life! That’s how it works in the storybooks anyway. But no, in this case, it’s a pair of EMT’s who descend. One begins giving CPS chest compressions while the other has one of those forced air pump CPR masks, you know the kind? Looks like it’s got a clear football on the end? Yeah. He holds it over Stygian’s mouth and starts pumping it to force air into his mouth and down through his lungs. Six more men are working to lower a bright orange back board down into the hole. Suddenly Stygian jerks, shoves that damn thing off his mouth and coughs up a great gout of dust. He shudders and falls back to the earth. The man with the football pumping apparatus leans in and puts his ear over the former World Champion’s mouth. He tells his compatriots that he’s breathing, but shallowly. It’s good enough for them to get him onto the back board and strap him down. From there it’s quite a task. One crew of them hoists him up and out of the grave, sliding him onto the dirt mound like a crowd surfer at a rock concert. Another crew moves in and lifts him onto the gurney. The wheel him to the ambulance where Lilith is finally turned loose and allowed to ride with them. By the time the doors close, they have an oxygen mask on him. Lilah, though she shares a bed and her life with the married couple, is not allowed into the ambulance. She’s used to it by now, being “not family” and all, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. She shakes her head and moves to the locker room. Her job will be to grab the bags and the car and meet at the hospital. Devlin Raine and Corey Bull, former rivals turned friends, meet Lilah at the stage and walk back with her to help her pack.


Stygian: I suppose that’s not entirely accurate. Kaden Kessler’s foot in my face is the last thing I remember about that night that actually happened. It’s not, however, all I remember from that night…


A dirty, dusty, bloodied and battered Stygian makes his way up a long marble staircase carved into the side of a mountain. He is dressed in his ring gear, black boots, black leather pants, black Under Armor style tank top with a his symbol—the Sinestro Corps logo set into the Superman Shield—glowing yellow, but flickering with each step he climbs. He’s also wearing the duster that he wore for the last couple months of his tenure in UECW, dull black with silver pointed studs on the pack creating a reverse relief of a dragon in flight over the name “STYGIAN” in big bold letters where the beltline would have been on a classic trench. He climbs and climbs; tirelessly until he reaches the top of the staircase, only then does he take a moment’s respite before he walks down a golden path towards a raised dais made out of some kind of opaque golden crystal which probably doesn’t exist in the real world. As Stygian draws closer to this dais a shining ivory throne with red velvet cushions becomes visible. Closer still and Stygian begins to notice it is occupied. He presses on until he stands at the foot of the dais, unable to see the figure occupying the throne. He sighs climbing up and onto the platform. Once he’s there he sees clearly the figure on the throne: it’s Ric Flair. Not current, busted down, broke, four divorces and forced to demean himself by taking Dixie Carter’s money and belittling himself to the minor leagues Ric Flair. No, this is circa 1984, flying high, NWA World Heavyweight Champion, still running with the original IV Horsemen Ric Flair. The stylin’, profilin’, limousine-ridin’, Leer Jet flyin’, wheelin’, dealin’, kiss-stealin’, WHOO!, son of a gun, the Nature Boy. The real Nature Boy, in a custom-cut gray suit, a pair of sunglasses that cost more than your wardrobe and wearing a Rolex that cost more than your car. Stygian stands at the foot of the throne and looks up at Naich.

Stygian: Am I dead?

Ric Flair: Man leads the state of Arizona in double-doubles his junior and senior years of high school; passes up just about every major basketball school in the country to join the Air Force, builds spy satellites, UAV’s, something for NASA that you still don’t know what they did with it; graduates with honors; receives master’s degrees from one of the most advanced polytechnic institutions in the world; embarks on a successful professional wrestling career; meets and marries a model; wins the lottery and finds out that she’s into sharing and she’s into women, and somehow you think I’m the first face you see in heaven?

Stygian: To be honest, I never figured I’d go up anyway. If this was heaven I’d be wrapped up in Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield right about now.

Ric Flair: So you see, you’re not dead.

Stygian: Not so sure about that. Last thing I knew I was buried alive.

Ric Flair: If you’re dead, I’m dead.

Stygian: You’re in TNA.

Ric Flair: They call it Impact now.

Stygian: Close enough to dead.

Ric Flair: You might have a point. Probably why you don’t choose to remember me that way.

Stygian: Why I don’t choose to remember…what?

Ric Flair: You ain’t dead, we’ve established that. You’re a logical guy; you have to know this is your own subconscious.

Stygian: So is this a hallucination, or a dream?

Ric Flair: Does it matter?

Stygian: Probably not.

Ric Flair: So why me?

Stygian: Who better to welcome me as a brother into the fraternity of the elite?

Ric laughs at that. It starts as a chuckle, then it blooms into an honest laugh, then it spreads like wildfire down his lungs and into his belly. Stygian shifts uncomfortably as Ric carries on with the riotous laughter until Ric finally removes his sunglasses, takes the hankerchief out of the breast pocket of his suit, dabs his eyes dry and looks Stygian in the eye.

Ric Flair: Welcome you as a brother? Are you serious? You won two world titles in a company that’s slowly circling the drain. You saw it yourself. Ace Static, Axle Vengeance, Alex Remington, Joey Reyes, Salazar Darke on and on…the legends, the blue-chippers, the “a” list, they all matriculated away in the last year. Like you did. You’re not one of us, not by a long shot. Not…yet…

Stygian: What the hell do you mean I’m not one of you! Everyone they put in front of me, I destroyed. I had a death grip on the UECW World Heavyweight Title. My merchandise? Sold out. Every arena I headlined in? Sold out. Everyone on that roster was afraid to step into the ring with me, and nobody ever expected to take the title from me.

Ric Flair: And yet, someone did. Hey, don’t defend yourself, far as I’m concerned you don’t have to. You’re right about several things. You were the man in UECW. Nobody could touch you. And man, you put that company on those big shoulders of yours and you carried it. When the rats were running off the ship? You grabbed the flag, held it high and carried it into the field. For the last year or so you were UECW. Nobody can take that from you. You could have stayed there, you know. Re-signed. Mike Nelson was willing to fill a dump truck with hundreds and dump it on your lawn.

Stygian: I have a penthouse, no lawn.

Ric Flair: Swimming pool?

Stygian: Building has one. We’re not allowed in before midnight.

Ric Flair: Wonder why…

Stygian: They kept the security footage, though. Perverts.

Ric Flair: The question still stands, my friend. Why didn’t you stay in UECW? You were in a position most men dream of and never get to in this sport. You were the top dog, the main event, the world champion. You were the number one man in the company by a long shot. Tonight’s setback notwithstanding. You could have beaten Kaden Kessler in a rematch and gotten the UECW World Heavyweight Title back. All you had to do was sign back on the dotted line, collect the money, and have three more years like the last one. So why did you leave UECW?

Stygian: I…I don’t know.

Ric Flair: Sure you do, you just don’t want to admit it.

Stygian: What do you mean?

Ric Flair: Look, man, we already figured out that this isn’t any sort of afterlife; this is a dream or something like it. So when I say you aren’t one of us, you aren’t one of the elite men in the history of the sport yet, you know it’s not me saying it. It’s you. I’m not even really Ric Flair. The real Ric Flair is almost thirty years older and has a lot less hair. Everything in this vision is your making. That’s why I look thirty years younger in the prime of my life, and you look like shit.

Stygian: And this is all tied to why I’m leaving UECW?

Ric Flair: No, that’s a small piece. You need to look at the big picture, I mean the BIG picture! You had made it, you were the man, you were it…and you walked away from that. Why? The top spot in the company, the world title…most men get there and they fight like hell to stay. You get there and you couldn’t leave fast enough.

Stygian: I didn’t always want to leave. When I pinned Corey Bull, when I rescued Lilith from him and they handed me that belt, when it all sank in it felt really, really good; you know?

Ric Flair: Sixteen times, my friend, you know I know.

Stygian: And then I put him down in the rematch. Then I retired Steve Relic. Then I took a look around and I was the king of the mountain…and I realized there was only one man left worth beating in that company. There was only one man worth my time and I couldn’t get in the ring with him. It just never lined up. I realized that if I did get in the ring with Flex Johnson and I beat him, I would have done every damn thing there was worth doing in UECW. Flex and I? That match couldn’t be put off forever. It was coming, and soon. If I inked that three-year contract, I would have been a wealthy man. I would have beaten Flex Johnson and been the undisputed king of UECW. I would have been the king of a mountain that was no longer worth climbing. I mean when I signed in UECW that roster was insane. Alex Remington, Ace Static, Axle Vengeance, Salazar Darke, Matt Thomas, Flex Johnson, Tommy Glass, Joey Reyes…I took a look at the top of it and I said, “man, when I get there, that’s gonna be a fun ride.” I got there quick, and even then, by the time I got there, all those names, all those men worth beating were gone. Some feel to their own vices. Joey retired and got married right after she’d won the title. Alex got himself fired, in hindsight I think it was because he saw it before I did…the mass exodus of talent. I didn’t go back to UECW because I realized that while that’s everything I ever wanted—the world title, the top spot, the main draw—it actually wasn’t a damn thing I wanted. I wanted a challenger, and I knew the only one they could offer me wasn’t enough.

Ric Flair: Kaden Kessler kicked your ass, though.

Stygian: He did, but I can honestly say that my heart wasn’t in it. I knew I was leaving the next day. I knew I was going to someplace else and I really didn’t have it in me tonight. I didn’t give him the belt, but I didn’t give him my best, either. Because I knew that my time in UECW was up.

Ric Flair: Say it…

Stygian: Because I knew that if I didn’t get out of UECW and find some better competition, then I would never belong in the company of men like you. I want to be one of the greats, one of the best.

Ric Flair: Doesn’t it feel better to admit that?

Stygian: A little. It makes me feel better for leaving UECW, even though I did like it there.

Ric Flair: So why me? Why Ric Flair? Why, when you’re suffering from oxygen deprivation and drifting in and out of consciousness do you see Ric Flair? Plenty of wrestling legends to choose from. Hulk Hogan, The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Harley Race, The Heartbreak Kid, The Undertaker…

Stygian: Interrupting. No, not the Undertaker.

Ric Flair: Yeah, that thing they had you do in Japan…

Stygian: I hated that, you know? Pretending to be him. But it’s a copycat business, and they insisted. They paid me well for it, but I hated having to do that gloom and doom crap. I hated wearing someone else’s tux to the big dance.

Ric Flair: Fair enough. The question stands, though. Why Ric Flair?

Stygian: For twenty years now, when you ask someone who the greatest wrestler of all time is, there are three names that come out of someone’s mouth. The second and third can come in any order: Hulk Hogan and Stone Cold Steve Austin. Really, those guys aren’t 2 and 3, they’re 2 and 2a. That’s how close it is. But the first name out of anyone whose opinion of wrestling matters is always, always, always Ric Flair. It’s Ric Flair and everyone else. I know I will never be Ric Flair, but I hope if I aim at you long enough, if I strive to reach the level you reached, I might get lucky enough to get my name on that third tier. The one under you, and under Stone Cold and the Hulkster. Down with the Triple H’s, the Rocks, the Rick Steamboats and the Heartbreak Kids. To be the man, you know?

Ric Flair: Yeah, I know. So where are you going? Stamford?

Stygian: My “deviant” lifestyle in the TV-PG era? The first time I even hint that Lilith, Lilah and I all play pajama games, we’ll get a convenient “wellness violation” and locked in a dungeon beneath Titan Towers while Doink the Clown beats us with party favors and shoves rainbows up our asses until we come around and play ball. No thanks.

Ric Flair: For the love of god, don’t go to Orlando!

Stygian: Why not? I could pit myself against the legends of the last thirty years.

Ric Flair: Fifteen years after they should have retired! There’s no glory in beating any of us now, except maybe Angle. Hogan, Sting, even me…we’re all past it and you’d just be beating up crippled old men.

Stygian: Don’t say that, Ric.

Ric Flair: For the fifth time, I think, I’m not Ric. This is all in your head. I’m a personification.

Stygian: You know, you’re starting to sound less like Ric and more like me.

Ric Flair: Exactly. I’m going to level with you, and maybe you now realize that this is just you leveling with yourself; but, you have to consider that I’m here, atop this symbol of the pinnacle of your desires and dreams and I’m offering you advice because it means more coming from Ric Flair than yourself. In this case I serve as an Obi-Wan like figure. I help you to realize something you intrinsically know, but were previously afraid to admit to yourself until now: The UECW World Heavyweight Championship counts for little more than resume padding. It looks good on your highlight reel, but it’s time to put it in the past and move on. You were the most dominant UECW World Heavyweight Champion in the last few years, maybe ever; but you are no longer in UECW.

Stygian: You’re right, Ric.

The Nature Boy cants his head to the side, as if to say “really?”

Stygian: Okay, I’m right, I just needed to hear it come out of your mouth; even if the real Ric Flair probably has never used the word “intrinsically” in his life.

Ric Flair: I can’t even spell it. But you can. And this is all in your head, all in your mind’s eye. You know it’s over in UECW. You know you need to prove yourself all over again at the next stop. Don’t forget what you did in UECW, but don’t rest on it either. It’s a new fan base, a new locker room, new ownership and a whole bunch of belts your name has never been on. Now get off of Space Mountain and get your ass back to Blackrock Spire.

Stygian: Thanks, Ric. Could you just one time…

Ric Flair: Interrupting. WHOO!

Stygian laughs and claps.

Ric Flair: Now it’s time to wake up. Come on. Jason. Jason? JASON?

Stygian: Ric, why are you…

Ric Flair: Dammit Jason, WAKE UP!

Stygian: …you’re not. That’ll be Tina. Goodbye, Ric.

Stygian stands and walks across his penthouse, which seems empty. He crosses the living room to the small bar in the corner. Ducking behind he gets out a short, round glass, a bottle of Johnnie Walker: Black Label, and then he takes a knee and digs a small black sack out of the top compartment of a stainless steel mini-fridge. He undoes the laces and tips about four ice-cold whiskey stones into his hand before replacing the bag in the freezer compartment of the mini-fridge. He stands once again. Carefully, Stygian places the stones in the bottom of the glass and takes the bottle. He unscrews the cap and tips the neck of the bottle, filling the glass with just enough amber-colored whiskey to cover the stones. The bottle is capped and set down, and the big man lifts the glass and takes a drink, closing his eyes and savoring the burn down the back of his throat. He takes the glass over to the balcony and stares long out the sliding glass door across the lights of the city.

Stygian: Of course it was all in my head. Doesn’t mean Ric Flair wasn’t right, though. UECW was mine, and if that was what I wanted I could have stayed there. I don’t want to sit on the throne and pass down edicts. I don’t like the throne. I’m not a king, I’m a Kingslayer. I don’t want to wear the crown, I want to find the next guy and take his crown. It’s not about the top of the hill, it’s about the climb. Always has been to me. The real reason I left UECW is because I’ve risen above that challenge. I can be the champion, I proved that. I can lockdown a belt and never let it go. But that isn’t what I want. I want to be remembered. I want to leave a legacy. I couldn’t have done that in UECW. So the next hill came along to climb. It’s like a video game. I beat this game once, so now I play it again on a higher difficulty setting. Of course, not everyone was thrilled with this idea…

Stygian, much cleaner, breathing much more regularly, lies in a hospital room, dressed in a gray t-shirt, since there’s no way in hell a hospital gown fits him. He’s got only a pulse monitor on his index finger, he has obviously progressed to the point where medical professionals feel no further monitoring is necessary. Lilith slips quietly into the room. Most wrestling fans never get to see her dressed like this: a red Stanford hoodie and black sweats. Much baggier and more covering than what the public ever sees her wear. Her hands are in her pockets as Stygian stirs, stretches and looks her in the eye.

Stygian: Morning.

Lilith: Afternoon.

Stygian: Monday?

Lilith: Tuesday. You weren’t conscious for much of yesterday.

Stygian: I don’t remember much.

Lilith: Kaden Kessler won.

Stygian: That I remember. And then there was a mountain, a throne and Ric Flair…

Lilith: You were clinically dead for five minutes.

Stygian: So Ric Flair was wrong…

Lilith: Ric Flair? Jason, what the fuck are you talking about? Did you have some sort of hallucination, or something? Are the meds making you see strange things?

Stygian: I’m on meds?

Lilith: A mild sedative.

Stygian: Then no, it’s probably not the meds. But yes, I saw something. I assume.

Lilith: Please tell me it’s something that’s talked you out of this nonsense once and for all.

Stygian: Yeah, no more buried alive matches.

Lilith: No more buried alive matches? How about no more matches?

Stygian: What?

Lilith sighs, grabbing a chair and sliding it to Stygian’s bedside. She settles down, slides to the edge and wraps her tiny hands around her husband’s left hand.

Lilith: Jason, this was fun while it lasted. You got to let off a little steam and play Hulk Hogan…

Stygian: Interrupting. I actually played Undertaker, well, a rip-off. In Japan, you were there.

Lilith: Whatever. My point is, you got to have a little fun and indulge an adolescent fantasy, and I get it. I was indulging my own fantasy when I met you in Tokyo. But let’s just look at this objectively for a moment. You have two masters’ degrees from one of the most prestigious poly-tech universities in the world. You have a distinguished military service record. You could put that mind of yours to work for any number of private sector companies who would kill to have you leading a design team for them. You’re married to a woman who is a few hours short of her PhD, but failing that, has her own masters’ degree in Literature from one of the most prestigious educational institutions in the country.

She lets go with one hand just long enough to run her hand over the word “STANFORD” embroidered over her amble bust.

Lilith: We can go just about anywhere in the world, we can both land six figure jobs and Amber…

Stygian: Cutting her off abruptly. LILAH!

Lilith: No, Jason! Her fucking name is Amber Reed, not Lilah. She’s a ditz, but she’s a ditz with her bachelors in exercise physiology and a former UNLV Cheerleader who found out she got better money dancing in a Vegas lounge than teaching gym. Amber. Her fucking name is Amber. She’s Amber, I’m Tina and you’re Jason. Stygian, Lilith and Lilah…that was a mindless self-indulgence and we’re over it. Aren’t we? Please? Please just let us be over this crap. I had a man feel my up and hit you with my tazer before I watched him bury you alive. You did the thing, you won the belt, you were the best in UECW. Let’s just let that be enough. Please? You’re 30, I’m 31, Amber is 27, we’re not dumbass kids anymore. We did the wrestling thing, and it was fun. Playboy was a blast. But your contract’s up, you lost the title, and you nearly died.

Stygian: Only nearly.

Lilith: Oh to hell with that, you did die, Jason!

Stygian: Well, technically you’re right. But I got better.

Lilith: Jason, why? What more do you have left to prove?

Stygian: I have to prove how good I really am.

Lilith: And a year as UECW World Heavyweight Champion doesn’t prove that?

Stygian: It scratches the surface. You saw that roster. You saw how many top-level names just mass-exited and I never got so much as a stare-down with them. I never got in the ring with Ace, or Axle…

Lilith: Cutting him off. Or Joey, or Salazar, or Judas or Remington…

Stygian growls and stares daggers at the ceiling.

Lilith: Oh yeah, Alexander Remington. I said it. I’d like to point out he also nearly crippled you. For Christ sakes, he nearly killed you. You weren’t even in a match with him and he assaulted you within an inch of your life.

Stygian: I think he might have been trying to kill me, actually. He had that whole Machiavellian “win the title” thing going on.

Lilith: Yeah, and if you take the next step…I don’t even know what it is, but if you take the next step in this stupid little fantasy of yours? How many more bullets can you dodge? And for what? To prove that you can get your ass kicked? To prove that you can get your name engraved on a piece of ornamental jewelry? To prove that you’re as good as Ric Flair?

Stygian: I will never be as good as Ric Flair!

Lilith: Then what is it for? The rush? The crowd? You’re really willing to risk life and limb over a fleeting chemical reaction? A ten second endorphin rush?

Stygian: I do it…because I can. Don’t you feel alive out there, Lil?

Lilith: TINA!

Stygian: Fine, Tina. Don’t you feel it when you walk through that curtain?

Lilith: We never walked through the curtain, we came up through the stage.

Stygian: The fire, the music, the roar of the crowd, every eye on you. You can’t tell me you didn’t like that. I know you. I know you loved wearing those little outfits and knowing how many men, and probably women, were salivating at the site of you.

Lilith: Amber and I don’t have to quit wearing little outfits just cause you’re not wrestling anymore…

Stygian: But it’s not the same. What do we do, dress up and pretend to be what we once were? We were gods, Tina. We were gladiators! We were…alive and vibrant and invincible! Tell me you wouldn’t miss that! The money is going to be crazy for the three of us, we’ll make in one year wrestling what we would make in three years at some boring desk job!

Lilith: We’re splitting hairs at that level, Jason. It’s not about the money.

Stygian: No it’s not, but it doesn’t hurt! It’s about living life while we are young enough and healthy enough to enjoy it. I can work in a computer lab, building models and running simulations on flight systems and avionics until I’m old and gray; but I have a very small window of time to do this. When I’m done in the ring, I’m done. I’ll walk away and we’ll go get those lame 9 to 5 jobs you seem to be so keen on. I won’t hang on, I won’t milk my glory days, I won’t come back and wrestle old-timer matches. I just want to have this. These years right now.

Lilith: Jason, you nearly died. I can’t…I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be Lilith. I can’t stand by and watch you be Stygian. The Black Dragon is dead. Kaden Kessler killed him. Let him stay buried. Let me have my husband and our lover and have our life together. Just the three of us. Please, Jason. Just come home to Denver with me, and let’s start the next chapter.

Stygian: I can’t. Not yet. I have a lot left to give this sport. I have some things I still want to do. I don’t just want to wave a belt around like a flag of triumph and say “woo-hoo, I did it”. I want my name to be remembered long after my last match. UECW was a fine step, but it’s just a step.

Lilith: What has this business ever give you?

Stygian: Besides you?

Lilith: Don’t you dare…

Stygian: Oh really. Hmm, think about this, Tina: if I had never gotten into wrestling, if I’d never taken that job as a security guard while I was finishing my masters’, if I hadn’t punched Scott Hall, if I hadn’t gotten into this sport, I never would have been signed to New Japan. I never would have gone over there and been turned into their cheap knock-off of the Undertaker, I never would have been paired with two valets, one of whom I never would have married and come back to America with. If I hadn’t gotten into this sport, I never would have met and married you!

Lilith stands and drops Stygian’s hand. She walks over to the window, and rubs a few tears off her cheeks. She turns back to the bed and looks her husband over.

Lilith: I’m getting tired of hospital rooms and ambulance rides. I can’t live at this pace anymore. Wrestling brought me to you, and if you keep up at this pace it’s going to take me away. And Amber…I don’t care what she does.

Stygian doesn’t answer, he just stares, dumbfounded.

Lilith: I need…time. A non-specific, indeterminate amount of time. Amber and I both do. If you go back to Denver, we won’t be there. You should be released today or tomorrow. The keys to the 442 are in the bag we packed for you. Take a drive, take a road trip, take…whatever you need. Take some time and get your head on straight, Jason Gabriel. I love you. Amber loves you. We know you love us, but it’s time to grow up. It’s time to put this misbegotten adolescent fantasy behind you and be a man. We have a family, unconventional as it may be. You, me and Amber. You need to start thinking for all of us instead of just yourself.

Lilith stuffs her hands into her pockets and leaves Stygian staring at the ceiling in silence.

Stygian is sitting back in his recliner, with the bottle on the end table and the glass in his hand. He takes a long swig and sighs heavily.

Stygian: So that’s that. Not that it settles anything. Neither of them, whatever you want to call them—Tina and Amber, Lilith and Lilah—are taking my calls. They aren’t answering their texts. I don’t even know where they went. I’m pretty sure Amber went to Vegas. Hell she may never come back. She can turn her modicum of UECW fame and the Playboy cover into any modeling or hosting or reality show gig she wants. She’s smarter than she acts. In fact I’m not sure that isn’t the whole point ant it’s not all just an “act”. She might be the smartest one of all three of us. She might be the real predator of the bunch. Who knows?

Stygian: I have no clue where Tina went. Half of me doesn’t care.

He rolls his eyes and looks down at the wedding band on his finger.

Stygian: Maybe less than half. She probably didn’t go back home to Utah. She and her family don’t talk much these days. It’s kind of hypocritical when you look at it: Mormons getting mad over a man and two women. Of course, “the church” discontinued the practice of polygamy…allegedly. Yet there’re hundreds of polygamist colonies spread all over Utah, Idaho, Colorado, Arizona and Nevada…that we know about. Actually, it’s not the two women thing that bothers them as much as the bisexual thing. Either way, they’ve sent letters and exchanged words that have wounded Lilith grievously. She wouldn’t have gone to them. Maybe she went with Amber? Who knows? I just know that this is an impossible choice. Asked to pick between two things I love. Between two things which have brought such passion and fire and joy into my life? It’s cruel. It’s just as selfish as she accused me of being, when you get down to it. I’ve been pissed about it, I’ve cried, I’ve left drunken voicemails to them both and I’m sitting here, alone, talking to myself when I could be…

His voice trails off as he hears the jingle of keys, and then keys sliding into a lock. Stygian drains the last of the glass and stands up, moving towards the end of the couch which faces the door. He leans against the arm of the chair and watches al Lilith, or Tina, or what-the-fuck-ever she wants to be called steps in, wearing a long, black coat and a black winter hat. Snow melts, runs down the coat and drips onto the floor as she stares at Stygian in awkward silence for several long moments before stepping in and closing the door.

Stygian: Tina…

She shakes her head and presses a finger to his lips.

Lilith: Shh, just listen. Just let me talk. Just sit there and let me talk. Shut up until I’m finished. It’s been what? Three weeks? She sighs. I say that like I don’t know, fuck, I’ve been counting the days down to the hour. I was scared. I was frightened. I saw the line go flat before they shut the curtain and had security come drag me out of the ER and into a secluded waiting room. And Amber and I just sat there, taking turns crying. We told stories. We got calls from just about everyone. Corey, Devlin, Angelica, Jaci…Alex even called.

Stygian: Whoopty-fucking-do…

Lilith: Didn’t I say to let me finish?

Stygian: Go ahead.

Lilith: Growing up I always felt so conflicted. I mean, I was bi in a tiny Mormon town in Utah. Hell, I spent most of puberty thinking I was gay, which is even worse because that I couldn’t hide by dating a boy. I never expected to find somewhere to fit in. I was feeling things I was being told every day were sinful and wrong; god knows I couldn’t confide in anyone about it in Payson fucking Utah! I was isolated by my feelings, by my desires, by my intelligence. I…I was so far ahead of the other kids in my class, I had straight A’s and was taking college classes by my sophomore year…I spent so many years of my life alone and afraid. Even when I went to Palo Alto, I still didn’t quite fit in. It was better. I was at least allowed to be myself a little more…I probably shouldn’t have slept with my freshman roommate; that did make the rest of that year awkward. It was more awkward when I hooked up with her sister the next year…anyway…

Lilith: I’ve spent so much of my life…she clears her throat and shakes her head…I spent the first 26 years of my life completely isolated on a personal level. Then I decide that I haven’t gone far enough away from little old Payson, Utah so I decide to enter the doctorate program at the University of Tokyo. How much further from the Temple could I get? Well, mathematically I could have gone a lot farther, but let’s just say for argument’s sake that I was a long way from home. I was even farther culturally. Then some photographer sees me and asks me to take a few pictures. Then he shows them around and next thing, I’m a model and I’ve forgotten all about my doctorate. Then my agent gets a call from New Japan and he wants to know of my girlfriend and I would consider being valets for some gaijin heel playing an Undertaker clone. I didn’t know what the hell a heel was, and I’m pretty sure the mental image I had of an undertaker back then is a lot different than the one I have of The Undertaker now. Then I met you. I looked at you and it was like looking into a mirror…well, a mirror of my soul. All your life you were told that you were going to be a certain kind of person, and every time someone built a mold around you, you blew it to pieces and gave them the finger. They told you that you were going to be a basketball star, you told them to screw off. They told you that you were going to be a pilot, you told them to go to hell.

Stygian: In all fairness, I would have become the pilot if I hadn’t grown seven inches in my freshman year.

Lilith: What part of “shut up and let me finish” did you miss?

Stygian: I digress…

Lilith: Every time someone else told you how to live your life, you told them to fuck off and made your own way. It’s what I loved about you then; it’s what I love about you now. It’s why I fell in love with you and why I married you. And I was on this chair lift taking an aerial tour of Yellowstone when it hit me; back in that hospital, I’d told you how to live your life. I tried to take the thing that drew me to you, the thing you and I had the most in common, and ruin it. It’s so poetic in a way. I was a certain way, and my life, my family, the religion I followed until I was an adult, told me to be another. I rejected it. You had all these things, you could have done anything you wanted and you blew each and every one of them off until you found that ring. God, I really love that about you!

Stygian: Are you finished, now?

Lilith nods.

Stygian: Tina, I…

She holds her fingers over his lips and silences him with a look.

Lilith: Don’t.

Stygian: Don’t what?

Lilith: That name, I don’t want to hear it for the rest of the night.

She steps back and undoes the buttons of her coat, revealing a tight, short, black micro dress with purple details and patent-leather stiletto heels.

Lilith: I’m Lilith…and don’t you ever forget it, Black Dragon

Stygian: That’s the thing though. The one thing you said that really got to me. You were right, the Black Dragon is dead.

Lilith: Don’t you dare! I drove thirteen hours to get here last night, stayed with a friend so I could spend all day sneaking around Denver finding this dress and these shoes, not to mention what I’m wearing under it which is going to blow your mind. It took me another hour to get this rack into a dress three sizes too small for it, and you’re going to backtrack and have the same fight we had in that hospital room, only with each of us on the opposite side now? Are we really going to do this?

Stygian: Oh, we’re not. I plan to see everything under that dress and soon. The Black Dragon is dead. He got fat off his own legend and carelessly allowed himself to be killed I left that desiccated, bloated corpse in UECW. Stygian, however is alive and well.

Lilith: I’m not following.

Stygian stands up off the edge of the couch, closes the distance, grabs her by the neck and shoves her into the wall sharply. Lilith lets out a gasp, and then looks up at Stygian with a deviant smirk.

Lilith: Oh god, tell me this is the new you…

He takes his other hand and grabs the top of her dress, tearing it open with one firm pull, leaving it in tattered ruins. Lilith moans happily as he exposes the purple and black lingerie beneath.

Stygian: Amber isn’t as in to the kinky stuff as you are.

Lilith: Amber can go to hell…I will make Lilah love it.

[On Camera]

Fade in to some warehouse, it’s a generic stock shot. It is, of course, abandoned and empty, dimly lit, with concrete floors and bare steel beams hanging high overhead. Through the windows in the back, the last of the waning sunlight can be seen. It is a gritty scene of industrial decay. The shiny, black 55 gallon drum in the middle of the screen seems to fit here. The beautiful blonde in the purple and black corset dress is a stark contrast; as is the lovely raven-haired woman, a vision of beauty in a long-sleeved pink top tied just beneath her stermun and her snort black skirt with pink trim. The brunette is holding up a small section of her hair and looking at it.

Lilah: I still think I should have bleached it again.

Lilith: It looks fine. It looks better than fine. You look wonderful, darling.

Lilah: Do you really like it?

Lilith: I do. It’s who you really are, you should keep it.

Lilah: I thought you said he liked blonde better.

Lilith: No, he likes me blonde better, because that’s my real color. The blonde thing was something UECW played up because they were going to set up that thing with Jaci and us. He doesn’t like you for the blonde; he likes you because of your huge boobs.

Lilah: We they aren’t going anywhere! She does the obligatory grab and jiggle. He seems a little…different.

Lilith writhes and smirks.

Lilith: I know…

Lilah: I still have rope burns on my arms.

Lilith: I still have welts on my…well, never mind, he’s here.

She points over to where a door opens on the far wall. Stygian walks in, dressed in black Wolverine boots, black jeans, a black duster and a black tank top with some design on it. It looks like some kind of raised silica-type design, but since it’s black on black it isn’t discernible in this light. He carries a bundle of dusty black clothes under his right arm, and a red five-gallon gas can under the other. He hands the gas can to Lilah who holds it away from her like a child with a smelly diaper.

Lilith: What is all of this, lover?

Stygian: What does it look like?

He stuffs the clothes into the 55 gallon drum.

Lilah: It looks like the stuff you wore the night Kaden Kessler kicked your…I mean…that is he…

Stygian: You can say it, you’re one-hundred percent right. Kaden Kessler kicked my ass and took my world title.

Lilah: And you were wearing that.

Stygian: I was.

He takes the gas can from Lilah, who is all-too-happy to be rid of it. After unscrewing the top, he pours it into the barrel, emptying the whole thing into the metal drum. He takes the red plastic container, and drop-kicks it somewhere off camera. Then he has a matchbook in hand.

Stygian: You’re gonna want to stand back.

Lilith moves several feet away grabbing Lilah by the wrist and pulling her when she stops at a distance Lilith feels is too close. Stygian pulls one match out of the book, strikes it and uses it to light the rest of them. The camera cuts to a shot from between the girls. Stygian turns, tosses the burning matches over his shoulder, into the can. There’s a huge flare up, a cloud of burning fuel/air raises from the mouth of the drum before the contents of the barrel settle into a bright, steady burn. Stygian looks really cool walking away from it like nothing just happened and settling between his ladies.

Stygian: I come here first to apologize to Rick Christian and the Insurgency. I lied to you. I didn’t do it consciously or willfully. I did not intentionally deceive you. But Rick, you paid for The Black Dragon. You wanted The Black Dragon. You didn’t get The Black Dragon. I’m afraid that Kaden Kessler killed The Black Dragon in Houston, Texas and Angelica Layne buried him. If you want the money back, if you want to void the contract and send me on my way; I’ll understand, Rick. All that is left of the man you saw in UECW and signed to a contract is there. Thumbs over his shoulder to the fire. I built a pyre so that we may mourn him and send him off with the respect he deserves. But I am not here to deliver a eulogy for The Black Dragon. There will be a time to weep over our dead and honor their names so that they may hear our gratitude for their services in Valhalla. That time isn’t now.

Stygian: Rick, I’ll understand if you want the money back, but since you already have the posters printed and the tickets sold…since Tim Patrick needs an opponent anyway, I ask that you hold off on that decision until after Sunday. Just give me Violent Impulse. If you aren’t sold on me by then, call me in and I’ll sign the appropriate paperwork. I’ll even give you back the signing bonus if you want it. But let me promise you one thing, just because the Black Dragon is gone; that doesn’t mean Stygian is. You see, I’m so much more than just a man. Hell, they used to call me Superman. But while I am an alien life form, I’m not from Krypton. No, I think you’ll come to realize I am, in fact, from Gallifrey. I am Time Lord. I realize that now. I realize that because I noticed I happened to die that night. You can ask them, they were there.

Lilith: You flat-lined, I saw it.

Lilah: Yeah, the machine was all “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” and the doctors were all “CODE BLUE” and Lil and I were all “AHHHH” and then you were all…She flops her head, her tongue hanging out, looking like something out of a Romero movie for a few moents.

Stygian: Interpretive theater by Lilah…just when I thought I’d seen everything…

Lilith: You were a cheerleader at a division one school…

Lilah: I still have the uniform. It doesn’t fit anymore…

Lilith: Oh, trust me, it fits just fine…

Lilith claws down Lilah’s back and smacks her ass.

Lilah: Lil, there’s a camera…

Lilith: When has that ever stopped me…

Stygian: Ladies, there will be plenty of time to be lascivious later. I do think we’ve gotten rather off track.

Lilith: That’s what happens when you let Lilah drive.

Lilah: You never let me drive!

Lilith: Because this is what happens!

Lilah: Oh yeah, huh?

Stygian: Sighing and continuing, undaunted. You see Kaden Kessler killed me, he buried me and he took my prize. But like a Time Lord, I didn’t stay dead. I regenerated. Like The Doctor I’ve taken a new form and a new outlook on life. So if, after Violent Impulse, you don’t like what you see, you have but to say the word, Rick, and I will be gone. However…give me one night to prove myself.

Lilah: Yeah, I did…

Lilith: I don’t think he’s going to do to Rick Christian what he did to you.

Lilah: I hope not, I don’t think Rick is flexible enough.

Stygian: Oh in a way I am.

Lilah: Ew. I mean, I know we swing both ways, but not you too! I can’t handle…our bedroom is crowded enough with three people. I can’t keep up with any more than that.

Stygian: I have no plans to sodomize Rick Christian, or any other man for that matter. But insomuch as I tantalized you, amazed you stirred your senses and got you to buy into something you’d never tried before but wound up liking? I’m going to do the same thing to IWF. And it starts…

Stygian points into the camera.

Stygian: With you, Tim Patrick. You know, Tim, I really wanted it to by Ryan Apollos. After that guy shot his mouth off, interrupted what should have been my grand unveiling to the Insurgency? When I TiVoed that and watched it back? When I heard his whiny little mouth going over my fucking debut speech? I wanted to bury my boot in his throat. Then you show up with, what was that? The Notre Dame Marching Band? What the hell was that? You come down, dressed like a bum that they fished out of South Bend, Indiana? You come down and you smash a microphone in my face? I couldn’t believe you did that. Well, for one, I couldn’t believe you did that without a stepladder. It’s quite comical. You come up to my waist, you need a barstool to get up in my face. But you somehow managed to slam a microphone into my face. Okay…

Stygian: You know, there’s a phrase that circulated through the IWF locker room: ETA. Ego. Tripping. Asshole. You hang around in the back long enough, you hear it. I don’t know if the fans are privy to it, but maybe they will be. Ego Tripping Asshole. I have to say, I’ve been really disappointed with the professionalism I’ve seen here in IWF from certain people. The announcers who try to get themselves over the talent. Make cracks and jokes and bury people with their smart-assed remarks. PROTIP: Nobody ever, in the history of wrestling, turned on a broadcast because of the announcer. People have turned off broadcasts because of an announcer, the infamous Mick Foley title win and Tony Schiavone’s “asses in seats” remark comes to mind. But nobody tunes in for you guys. Why don’t you try buttoning it down and calling the matches for a switch, huh? Ego. Tripping. Assholes. And then you, Tim Patrick. Okay, you had a comeback. Had a good moment with the Notre Dame Marching Band. “God Bless Ireland”? Great song. And I had the good grace to retreat to the corner and guve you the center of the ring and let you have your moment. Your moment, which unlike mine two weeks prior, the announcers didn’t ETA all over. And then you smash a microphone in my face?

Stygian: Tim, have you looked in the mirror? I realize that you’ve done a lot in this company. You’ve had a good run, won more than you lost, made good money, got a good following if the “welcome back” chant is anything to go by. We could have just done the classic stare down, given the photogs their moment, had a great little cap for the video package and done it at that. But you smash a fucking mic in my face? Are you kidding me, here? Unlike our unprofessional announcers, I have done my homework. I know who you are and where you live, Tim. Not in the creepy “I can show up at your house,” kinda way. In the “I’ve done some research and looked into your soul,” kinda way. You look like Roddy Piper, if Roddy Piper had grown up on the Attitude Era and ECW as you and I have. You’re not particularly strong, you’re not particularly fast, you’re not especially technically gifted. What you do have in spades is toughness. You’re like Rocky Balboa, or that little robot in that Hugh Jackman flick that made the rounds a few weeks back. You just keep getting back up on the count of nine. Every time. You get pounded into oblivion, dig your fingernails into the mat and get back to your feet and say “give me more”.

Stygian holds a breath pensively and then shrugs.

Stygian: Okay. I can do that. You want a beating, I’ve got one for you. I’ve heard the talk before, you see. They say I’m a pretty boy. They say I coast on power and size. They say I’m not as tough as, well, as someone like you, Tim. I had my toughness called into question in the last place I worked, I’m sure I will have it questioned by you Sunday. Just understand that it is a challenge I am more than willing to answer. Tell me something, Tim, have you ever wrestled in Japan? Have you ever done any time in the House of the Rising Sun? No. Well, you’ve “done time”, as in, in prison, but you’ve never been in a Japanese-style hardcore match, have you? Even at its absolute pique, even if it’s Dreamer and Raven going at it, ECW was never as violent as Japanese Hardcore. The average American fan or wrestler hasn’t seen anything like it. You…maybe have. Maybe being in prison is a lot like a Japanese hardcore match; only with more explosives and less rape. Well…I suppose the amount of explosives you encounter in prison depends on the prison, really. Come to think of it, the amount of rape you encounter in a Japanese hardcore match probably depends on your opponent…but I have promised not to sodomize anyone this weekend, so there’s that. Let me tell you Tim, the barb-wire ropes? That’s just the beginning in Japanese hardcore. I’ve been lit on fire. I’ve had toxic chemicals spat into my face. I’ve been driven into broken glass and tacks. I’ve been blown up by C4, if you don’t believe that happens go read Mick Foley’s first book, or even Google some of the stuff he did in Japan with Abdullah the Butcher and Terry Funk! I’ve had skin and muscle flayed off the bone with razor wire! And then I’ve gone out, because it was a hardcore tournament, and wrestled the next match.

Stygian: So like you, I have toughness. I just don’t have to rely on it. Because I have something you don’t. I have the ability to win a match without having to absorb pain like a Mike Tyson sparring partner and then hope I land a lucky punch. So bring it all down Tim. Bring the chairs, bring the tables, bring a shopping cart full of weapons. Grab whatever isn’t nailed down and bring it to the ring. But be sure you bring that remarkable capacity of yours to do what you do best: take a beating. Every time you get up, I’ll find something to wrap around your head and put you back down. Because I intend to steal the show. It’s been a long time since I’ve opened a pay per view. I know some guys talk derisively about “jerking the curtain” but not me, oh no. We get to be the first thing the crowd sees. You and I are the first men who will storm onto the screen and into the living rooms of millions. We will set the expectations for everyone in that building, for everyone watching at home. For all the trolls living in their mother’s basements and lauding Zack Ryder and trading mpegs of indy matches, pretending to be smarter than they really are. They will see us first. The will see us and they will say “dude, you have to turn on Violent Impulse and see what the UECW guy and the Roddy Piper clone are doing, it’s insane.” It will be a fitting image as they raise my hand in victory and I go off to watch the show between two naked women.

Lilah: You mean us, right? To Lilith. He totally means us, right?

Lilith: Fairly certain.

Stygian: I will open Violent Impulse and my with a stellar effort. And I will show the Insurgency just what the Black Dragon regenerated into with your mangled, barb-wire mauled, bloody carcass being carted off. The win will mark the beginning of my IWF career. But the exquisite torture I inflict upon you will mark the beginning of the Black Crusade.

The lights, however few there are in this dismal symbol of urban decay go out. The fire in the barrel is wavering, flickering before it finally goes out. Then an eight-pointed gold chaos star lights up. For those of you playing the home version, you may conjure that this is the black-on-black symbol that couldn’t be seen on Stygian’s shirt earlier. You would be right. It glows brightly, kinda making Stygian look like Iron Man. The girls cast stunning silhouettes, faintly visible in the weak light. Then the light goes out. Or the scene fades to black. Hard to be certain.