Stygian [vs.] Parker Wayde

REDEMPTION, THY NAME IS PARKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

????: A white 2012 Impala?

Parker: Is there an echo in here or something?

The tone of Parker's voice is devoid of any and all patience. Too much of his time had already been wasted looking for this piece of shit car, and now that he had found it, he found himself having to deal with dumb questions instead of carrying on with his business. It wasn't even the typical bureaucratic bullshit slowing him down at this point, just some half-witted junkyard owner that was apparently hard of hearing.

????: Son I want you to look at the name on the door. I am pretty sure, unless someone changed it since I came in this morning, that it says Gary's Used Auto Parts & Junk Cars out front. Now I am Gary Rice. I own this place. If you don't have the time to have this conversation then maybe I don't have anything for you.

This is the kind of conversation that Parker excelled at. The pleasantries were now out the window. There was no need for manners anymore. It was time to get what he came for, and possibly have a little fun with this overweight junk dealer while doing so.

Parker: I don't know if you know who I am, but...

Mr. Rice: [interrupting] Son I don't give a fuck who you are.

Parker leans forward in his chair and slams his fists on the desk in a sudden blind rage. Who did this sack of shit think he was? What gives him the right to talk to anyone like this. Parker walked around with an attitude because he has the ability to back it up. This guy.... he was playing with fire. The IWF High Impact Champion takes a deep breath and looks away from the man. He closes his eyes to regain his ability to use a calm and collected voice before he even tries to make eye contact again. Parker sits back in his chair, placing his hands back on the arm rests and then finally delivering his response to Mr. Rice, who looks like a scared child as a result of the Parker's outburst.

Parker: Interrupt me again and I will put your face through that window behind you. Understand? You don't have to answer, just nod your head.

Gary thinks for a second and then slowly nods in the affirmative without uttering a word.

Parker: You have something that I want. Something that is of little consequence to you. After all, how are you going to sell a totaled Impala? Sure you could gut it for the parts that aren't fucked beyond all reason, but that is more time and effort than you need to put into it. Here is what I am proposing, and I want to make sure you understand that this is not really a negotiable matter.

Parker lifts his forearms from the arm rests, and matches the tips of his fingers on each hand together in front of him. He stares at his hands for a moment pushing his thumbs down and curling all of his fingers so that it forms a heart. Parker stops there for a second and then shakes himself from his daze. Uncurling his fingers and looking down at the desk instead of at the disgusting excuse for a human in front of him he gives his demands.

Parker: $50,000 dollars. That is what I am offering. Or rather that is what I am telling you that you are going to take. I want the car delivered to my house; you already have the address. I also want you to go out into your yard and pull all of the parts I will need to fix the body and frame of the car, I can handle the rest. Do you understand?

Mr. Rice: I have tried to call around to the family members of the deceased so that they may pick up a few things left in the car. Nobody has returned my calls. I assume that since you are so adamant to take it with you, you knew the previous owner.

Parker: If there is a point to this you better make it fast.

Mr. Rice: I was just wanting to know if you wanted to take these items with you when you go? There isn't much but, it is all in that locker.

Gary points to the left side of the room where a row of lockers stand. Looking back at the man's hand and following the line made from his outstretched hand Parker notices he is referring to the locker on the end. He stands, moving across the room to the locker without really knowing what he is going to find inside. Mr. Rice pushes his chair away from the desk and stands up as well but Parker holds out his hand to him, a universal sign for him to stop and not come closer. Parker pulls up on the latching mechanism and opens the locker. He didn't know what he expected to be inside, but found something at eye level that made him smile. He reaches into the locker and pulls out an old friend. He lets his fingers pass along the brim, feeling all of the wear in the felt. This particular 'old friend' had seen many things in its life. Thousands of screaming fans had come out of their chairs to see it. Millions of replicas had been sold online from whatever company Parker's former associate had worked for at the time. There was only one original though, and from handling it himself dozens of times he knew that this was it. If Gary Rice had been standing next to Parker he would have understood the hefty price that Parker was willing to pay for some junked car. Mr. Rice would have also understood that there was no way that Parker was leaving without what he came for. The smile on his face was one of total joy, but there was something buried under that emotion that was unsettling. Parker turned away from the locker with JHalc's black fedora in his hands and walked towards the door.

Parker: Nobody will be here to claim the rest. Might I suggest selling it online. The guy that drove the car was pretty well know, that stuff might make you a fortune.

Mr. Rice: Is that all that you are taking with you?

Parker: That car will be at my house within 24 hours, or I will be back here and our conversation won't be so nice next time. Your money will be given to the tow truck driver so I suggest sending someone that you can trust. As for this....

He looks down at the hat, his eyes examined every single ridge, really studying it.

Parker: If anyone asks you about this... you never saw it.

Mr. Rice: I don't understand though. Why would anyone ask about a hat? There are a few things from the car that are worth a lot more than some old hat.

Clearly this man had no idea who JHalc was. He had no idea how much this 'old hat' was worth. Not just monetarily, but sentimentally. Parker had lied when he told Mr. Rice that nobody would come looking for that junk. Someone would indeed come looking for this hat. It was the signature of a man that will end up a Hall of Fame wrestler. Parker couldn't possibly hope to explain that to such a simple man though.

Parker: If anyone asks you about this.... you never saw it. Period end of story.

Mr. Rice: [confused] Not a problem.

Parker: You have 24 hours to bring that car to me, or I will be coming to you.

With that Parker pushed his way out the door and down the stairs, out of the shack that was masquerading as an office space. Just a few feet from the bottom of the staircase sat his own Impala. Same make and model as the one that he had just purchased. To be honest, they were manufactured one after another. JHalc and Parker had been the only two people to drive their respective cars. From the moment they rolled off of the production line, to right this very minute. Every single hundredth of a mile belonged to Parker. It had been a celebration of winning a world title. Those days were long over though. Parker opens the driver's side door and places the hat in the passenger seat. Gary Rice finally makes it around the desk and to the window nearest to Parker just in time to watch him drive off.





Parker: How did we get here?

Edwin: I imagine that we both drove here. I don't think you make enough money to have someone drive you around like Ms. Daisy.

Parker: Always with the salty mouth. Can't you ever answer a question straight?

Edwin: I guess that depends on what exactly you mean Parker. Its an awfully broad question.

Parker: I mean the two of us. How did we get to this point? I hate having to stop and talk to you asshole media people. Hell, I try to outright avoid all of you. I can't stand being out here in front of all these people. I have my hand on the doorknob, I can just go in.... But I don't. I am still standing here talking. Why? What exactly am I trying to prove to you.

Edwin: You don't have to prove anything to me Parker. I am just here to watch and listen. I have a blog now you know. I am not just some reporter that knows one of your former associates.

Parker: How do I know your name? You never told me it last week. Why am I standing outside my locker room when I really don't want to talk to you specifically. I know that you are here to talk about JHalc and yet I don't end the conversation. When I say how did we get here I guess I mean.... I can't remember walking from my car to this hallway. I can't remember going down the elevator of the hotel and getting in my car. I don't remember getting up to go running this morning. I can't remember getting out of bed.

Edwin: Where do you think you are Parker?

Where do I think I am? What kind of a question is that? And from who? Who does this cock sucker reporter think he is to be talking to me. Who does he think he is to be approaching me. I am PARKER FUCKING WAYDE. I am the biggest thing going in IWF. I am the INSTANT IMPACT and High-Impact champion. People are already calling me the fucking rookie of the year and this cock thinks he has the right to talk to me?

I don't have to deal with this.

If this guy thinks he is the guy that is going to be making me jump through hoops for him, he has another thing coming. If this guy thinks that he is going to harass me into telling him anything I have a more than one idea about how to mess up his face. I can't deal with bullshit like this. I don't have to deal with bullshit like this. It's time for Edwin to go. Time to teach him a lesson.

Parker turns on his heel to face the man that has been on his case for two weeks now. The man that showed up at Fallout asking about Jay. The guy that has such big balls swinging in between his legs that he thinks he has the right to talk to one of the only men in the locker room that most people of his kind ignore. His left fist is cocked from muscle memory, the palm of his right hand outstretched forward to strike the cheekbone first. The movement is over as suddenly as if began but instead of Edwin standing in front of him bleeding with his head in his hands Parker assaults nothing but the air. He could have sworn he heard Edwin's voice right in his ear but that man was not standing in front of him. Instead, a black fleece, zip-up jacket with white pinstripes with a ghost standing in it stands before him. Parker looks the man up and down, as if trying to find the flaw that makes him a figment of his imagination.

JHalc: What's wrong Parker? See a ghost?

Parker takes a step back wide eyed and in shock. The color drains from his face. Parker finds himself devoid of any emotion that isn't complete and utter terror. His body screams at him to run away from this fight. A feeling that he hasn't had in years. He continues to back away, but his deceased assailant follows him by stepping forward.

JHalc: You know I haven't felt this good in ages. Its like stepping in front of a crowd for the first time all over again. I just need to ask you one question Parker: Where are you right now? I mean if I was such a bad guy, and I am supposed to be dead.... where does that mean you are.?

Finally Parker reaches the wall with his back and he runs out of space to flee. His senses scream that he is about to meet his end right here in the hallway. Parker remembers the conversation with Edwin and reaches out for the knob that he had in his hand moments ago. The locker room could be his salvation from this situation. Frantically he moves his left hand against the wall looking for the knob.

JHalc: You think that getting into that room is going to help? You think I am an imagination? What do you think Edwin is? That man has his eye on you like he already knows everything that he needs to know. He isn't going to leave you alone.

Parker's fingers cross the doorknob of his locker room and he pushes the door inwards.

[color:b216=FF8000]JHalc: I'll be seeing ya, Parker....

The locker room disappears. The momentum of swinging his body into the locker room and through the door propels Parker off of the king size hotel bed and onto the floor. Beads of sweat roll from his temples to the middle of his forehead before dripping down into his palms. Within moments of hitting the floor Parker is fully aware of where he is, and why everything had felt so strange. He didn't remember leaving the hotel because he hadn't ever left it. The Instant Impact was here, in a hotel bed, having a nightmare as if he was a child. He knew those weren't the right words though. This was the nightmare. Tonight when he showed up for the show the reporter.... Edwin... was going to be there. That was going to be the nightmare.

Parker: [whispers to self] How do I know his name?

JHalc: [voice in the back of Parker's head] Because you are going crazy Parker.

The voice in his head is his own creation. He knows better than to let some unconscious illusion get the better of him. It was all a dream, but that doesn't mean there wasn't something he was supposed to learn. Dropping his face into his now damp hands Parker tries to reach back into his memory and pull out the information he needs to make it all make sense. He can feel it. The thought is there. It is on the tip of his tongue. For one fleeting moment he looks up from his hands with the answer in his grasp and....


Parker: 5:45am. Time to run.

He rolls over onto his back, knowing that the thought is long gone. He lets it slide away, for now. There are things to be done before stepping into the ring with a World Champion. Parker sits up and tries to forget that the dream ever happened. The last thought that he has on the subject before throwing on his track jacket to start his morning run tells how he really feels though.

What if I am going nuts? I bet the clown would have loved to see that.....

30 Pieces of Silver

A coin purse sits on the polished wooden surface of a table, next to the IWF World Heavyweight Championship Title Belt. Stygian walks in to the room and pulls out a chair from behind the table and sits down in it. He reaches for the coin purse and undoes the strings, spilling silver coins out onto the table, cupping his hand behind them so they do not bounce on an edge and roll off the table. Stygian sets the purse aside and moves his other hand so that the camera can see the small pile of silver coins. Stygian sets out a line of five coins and starts slowly stacking coins on top of them in methodical order as he speaks.

Stygian: In the bible, Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus Christ to Caiaphas for thirty pieces of silver. Jesus was subsequently arrested and crucified by Pontius Pilate. They say Judas later felt so guilty that he returned the money and hanged himself for his betrayal. Another account says Judas bought a field but was then killed in an accident upon this field later. It’s really not important what happened after that. Either way, it doesn’t end well for Judas. Biblical scholars also can’t seem to agree on exactly which coins Judas was paid with. Were they Tyrian shekels? Were they staters from Antioch, which bore the head of Augustus? Perhaps they were Ptolemaic tetradrachms. Again, it’s really immaterial. Just fodder for idle thought.

Stygian: Throughout history the thirty pieces of silver has come to symbolize the price one sells out for. For a while it just meant the price for which someone would betray their own principals and ideals to serve someone else’s ideal. These days it carries a satanic connotation. It’s the price someone sells their soul to the devil for. It’s a symbolic price. Thirty pieces of silver, even if we assume that each coin contains an ounce of silver, which currently goes for about $14.50 an ounce? That’s only about $435. I should hope the human soul is worth more, adjusting for inflation and all that. No, the thirty pieces of silver isn’t a literal price anymore, it’s much more symbolic these days. It’s something desirable offered by a sinister individual with great power in exchange for service.

Stygian has five stacks of six silver coins in front of him in a neat pile. He takes one of the coins and makes a fist, doing that trick where people flip a coin over their knuckles one-by-one, only to flip it off the edge, catch it with his thumb, put it back over his index finger and start all over again as he speaks.

Stygian: Nobody in IWF has fallen as far as Corey Casey. He was once a great champion, a World Heavyweight Champion. When he lost that he was still a great competitor and symbol of it. When the Black Dragon stole the crown and threatened to sell it off for fame and fortune elsewhere, he became it’s great savior, charging into battle to head off the dragon and try to reclaim the crown from him. But then Corey Casey was carried out on his shield. Like so many before him, he tried and he failed. Corey had to retire from the field of battle, relegated to a throne. An idle bystander as the Black Dragon turned back and bathed the Insurgency in a cascade of fire. When the fire had burned out, IWF had fundamentally changed. The old king had returned to lay claim to the throne, and he had given the crown to the Dragon.

Stygian flips the coin into the air, and smacks it down to the table with a flat hand. He leaves the coin, depicting a dragon in flight, there and pulls the title over closer towards the edge of the table, turning it up and buckling it so that it sits up, reflecting the light of the room in the polished surfaces of the title.

Stygian: Corey, Corey, Corey…you’ve become unraveled since that day in the Hellzone. I designed that match with the intent that nobody could step into that structure and walk out of it the same man. If I knew this was how you’d have come out of it, I’d have thought twice. I realize I broke your back, Corey. It was incidental. It was in the course of the battle. I never intended to cripple you, Corey. I never intended to put you out of the sport, Corey. Even you have to admit that I tried to stop it before it got that far. The ref tried to stop it. Brandon Macdonald tried to stop it. I tried to stop it. I gave you the belt and the briefcase…but you kept coming back. I should have seen this coming then.

Stygian takes the single coin and returns it to the stack. He leans back in the chair, reading his hands folded in his lap idly.

Stygian: When I came out to the ring during your farewell speech, when I threw my hands up to show Brandon and Chuck I meant no further harm to you, and when we shook hands? For me, that was the end of this. I was foolish enough to think it was over, Corey. But I didn’t realize the effect that losing your career would have on you. It’s a legend that Adolf Hitler had one of his testicles bitten off when he made a bet that he could pee in a goat’s mouth; then of course he spent the 1940’s taking it out on the rest of the world. That’s the gist of this, isn’t it, Corey? That’s what this is really all about. You’re supposed vision to burn IWF down to ashes and reforge it according to some plan you think will be better off for IWF as a whole. This isn’t about you trying to save IWF; not from me, not from Chuck…this isn’t about you saving IWF no matter what you say. This isn’t about a vision you have that we’re all going to be better off if we let you enact it. This isn’t about those of us who don’t agree with progress standing in the way of a visionary. This isn’t even about the man who signs the checks wanting control of his company. This is about the Hellzone, Corey. I didn’t just beat you, did I? I didn’t just take your career when I put you in that casket, did I? I didn’t just break your back, I cut your balls off, and now you’re taking it out on the rest of us.

About that time Lilith and Lilah come into the picture and stand on either side of the chair Stygian occupies. They’re both dressed in low rise blue jeans, and they’re both wearing pink IWF Shirts with a breast cancer ribbon logo on them. Lilah’s has been cut and tied off just beneath her boobs to be a mid-riff baring number, Lilith’s has been taken in and laced up with black laces up either side to be as tight has humanly possible.

Lilith: The funny thing is, I thing you might have with that bat.

Lilah: Oh, the barbwired one?

Stygian: I thought you girls didn’t watch the match.

Lilith: we didn’t watch it live.

Lilah: Yeah, once we knew you were ok, you know Lilith had to watch that. You nearly beat a man to death, I don’t think she put on panties for a week.

Lilith smirks.

Lilith: Though if I’d have known what that beating you cost him was going to cost later…

Stygian: Oh there’s nothing to worry about.

Lilah: You know how she gets about Remington.

Stygian: Oh but he’s moved on! Alex Remington has no desire to face me, remember?

Lilith: And if you believe that, I have a bridge I want to sell you.

Lilah: What are we going to do with a bridge? There’s like, no room for it. Our yard is big, but not that big.

Lilah turns to look at Lilith.

Lilah: And where did you get a bridge? Where have you been keeping it? Is it in a storage unit in Utah?

Lilith: I’m reasonably certain that if I’d left anything in Utah, my mother would have ordered it burned by Thomas Monson himself. No, I don’t have a bridge, darling, it’s just an old saying.

Lilah: Well it’s a stupid one. What’s it supposed to mean?

Lilith: It’s supposed to illustrate gullibility.

Lilah: Well it totally didn’t.

Lilith and Stygian chuckle.

Lilith: If you say so, dear.

Lilah: I do. So what’s this about cutting off Corey Casey’s balls? Did you do that in the match? Cause I don’t remember seeing any…

Lilith silences her with a finger on her lips.

Lilith: He meant figurati…he meant like pretend. Beating Corey the way Jason did, it…well, it made him less of a man and that’s why Corey is still mad.

Lilah: Oh, he demasculated him?

Lilith: E, honey, long E…he emasculated him.

Lilah: Really, if you’re cutting man’s balls off, isn’t it all the same?

Lilith takes in a breath as though she’s about ready to correct Lilah…then she turns to Stygian.

Lilith: You know, she has a point.

Lilah: Actually I have two if it’s cold enough!

The girls high-five, and Stygian facepalms.

Stygian: I knew that was coming.

The girls giggle. Stygian takes a breath and grabs one of the silver coins, spinning it around like a drinking game, managing to keep it spinning with the occasional flick of his fingertip. It’s enough to give away how many games of this game he played in the Air Force.

Stygian: However you spell it, that’s what I did to Corey Casey. I took away the thing that made Corey Casey feel like a man. I took away his career in the prime of his life. And now he’s decided to take it out on the rest of IWF, just like Hitler and that goat. You claim it’s business, you claim it’s not personal, yet whenever you recruit on Twitter, whenever you bring someone into the…are you calling it The Empire? Is that the best you can come up with? Why do I smell Alexander Remington all over that one? How long before you guys start dropping “The Empire strikes back,” jokes? Whenever you’re on Twitter, you tell them they should come fight me. When you enlist someone in the Empire, they have to want to take my head off as part of the resume. You’ve morphed from “the Lord” into the Devil. Because that’s the modern connotation of the thirty pieces of silver.

Stygian taps his fingertip against the top of the spinning coin and stops it, again displaying the dragon on it.

Stygian: You give the devil your soul, and he gives you what you want in return. I have no way of knowing what all of them want, Corey. I don’t know half these people. Blaze Thompson? He just wants to light people on fire. I’m sure he probably quotes that line from The Dark Knight and says, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.” Probably looks through the burning flame of a zippo as he says it and snips it closed with a flourish. I bet he thinks that’s the coolest thing ever. Who else do you have? Remington? I’ll bet he got the whole ball rolling. This whole thing, from the numbers game to the stupid name sounds like it came out of his head. I know what you’ve promised him, and I know what he promised you. He promised to destroy me, and you promised him the opportunity. Now he’s got you keeping me away from him, convinced that he has some greater plan. His greater plan was to find a job when UECW went under, and someone gullible enough in power to let him call the shots. Well done there, Corey.

Lilah: Maybe Lilith should sell him her bridge.

Lilith: From the sounds of it, he already bought Alex’s. He doesn’t need another one, darling.

Lilah: Oh.

Stygian slides two of the stacks of coins closer to him and begins lifting them along the edges, shuffling them together and then dividing them into two piles to do it all again like a bored World Series of Poker player.

Stygian: The one who intrigues me is Mr. Parker Wayde. What I find amusing, perplexing and even admirable about you, Parker, is that the thirty pieces of silver Corey Casey promised you was me. You wanted another shot at me? Really? Were you there for the last match? I kicked your ass so fast; the bell was still ringing when the ref counted 3. Arrive. Baneblade. Leave. That bell was ringing so much, people thought it was the fire alarm…and you want a second round of this? You want another shot? What didn’t you prove last time? There are 14 year old boys whose first sexual encounter lasted longer than that match. Usain Bolt couldn’t run 50 yards in the time it took me to beat you the last time. This whole thing feels like…have you ever seen An Evening With Kevin Smith? Where Kevin Smith does these Q&A sessions on tour and fields questions about his movies and such? On one of the stops someone asked him about how, for a brief time, he had been the writer of record for the eventually-cancelled Superman Lives. Kevin talks about getting that gig and how eventually they brought in Tim Burton to direct it and he had his own writers and Kevin was fired. I won’t regale you with the tale. But I do feel I need to tell you the start of it. At the start of it, they tell him there’re two other projects first. One of them was apparently based on an old “Outer Limits” episode called “The Architects of Fear” which I hear got recycled into Batman Begins, and the other was Beatlejuice goes Hawaiian to which Kevin replied, “really, didn’t we need to say all we needed to say with the first Beatlejuice? Must we go tropical?”

The girls laugh, and Stygian stops mucking about with the coins.

Stygian: So tell me, Parker, didn’t you learn enough about you and me in the first match? Corey Casey would have given you anything you wanted. He wanted you in the fold because he needed another psychopath, and I’ll admit, you’re a sadistic son of a bitch. Corey wanted another nutcase in the bullpen, and he said to name your price, and this is what you picked? I was your thirty pieces of silver? Why? Because you think it’s going to end differently? Hey, maybe. Maybe the bell won’t still be ringing when I Baneblade you into the canvas. Maybe I got lucky, I’ll admit that. Cause honestly? I saw the things you’d done and I expected more from you, Parker Wayde. I expected to win, but I at least expected a fight. So maybe I did to you what Robbie Hart did to me. Maybe I found a chink in the armor and I cashed in on a bad day. So is this your bid to redeem yourself? Hey, I can’t fault you. You probably won’t beat me. But how many guys have made their name on just surviving me? Corey Bull, Kevin Kayfabe, Alison Cooper, Steel Angel…none of them beat me, but all of them got a lift from…well from not doing exactly what you did last time, Parker.

Stygian knocks all five stacks of silver coins over and starts rearranging them into three stacks as he speaks.

Stygian: You know, it used to irritate me. I fought and worked and won my way into my place in this sport. I never held anyone down, I never made an alliance with anyone who had any sort of power, in fact, I usually went against the power, because the power sought to control or eliminate me. Corey Case knows he’ll never do the former, so he’s seeking to do the latter. That’s why you got this match. Because maybe he gets lucky with you, and you pull a Robbie Hart. Corey may have put all these people together and formed “The Empire” but in reality he’s Old Mother Hubbard and only Remington is in the cupboard. Either someone is going to get lucky, or he hopes if he keeps throwing guys at me, I’ll tire out and he can break me. And this mindset used to irritate me, as I was saying. I got tired of guys coming after me just to make their name. But when I see what happened with it, when I see what Robbie Hart did with that…I realize now, in a way, it’s sort of an honor, to be the guy people think can make their career. And if I don’t see it that way? Well it doesn’t matter anyway, does it, cause you people will keep coming after me. You will keep trying to take me out because of who I am. You will keep coming after me because I am Superman.

Stygian: Every in UECW saw what Devlin Raine did when he beat me, what it meant to him, what it did for his career. People here saw how Robbie Hart rocketed into the stratosphere. He beat me, he became the number one contender and he beat Chad Mason and conquered the world. Do you think you’re going to do that? Robbie Hart only did that because I was on the road to the crown, now I am the gate keeper. A lesser man might look at my lot in life and complain. He might say it’s not fair that he gets everyone’s best shot every week no matter what. But I revel in it. You’d better be coming after me. I’m the IWF World Heavyweight Champion. And I’m one of the bloodiest. I’ve fought in some of the hardest struggles to get back here. I fought in the to get here the first time. I went toe-to-toe in an all-out brawl with James Shark. I fought Brandon Macdonald when he came out like a rampaging beast trying to preserve his career. I fought “the most violent man in professional wrestling” in possibly the most violent match it will ever see. Everyone always brings their best to me every week, and you know what? I keep going. I just keep winning. So yeah, everyone comes after me with nothing to lose. They keep coming after me like they’re playing with house money.

Stygian: There’s no downside in being Stygian’s opponent, because there is no real losing. If you lose the match? Hey, you’re supposed to. That’s the World Champion. He got there because he is that good. If you win the match? You start calling you a Dragonslayer and you might as well buy Corey Casey a set of knee pads and a gallon of Listerine. And where other men might see that as an untenable position? I just don’t care. Because if I’m not getting your best shot, you don’t deserve to be a man. If you come after me with anything less than 100% I will dismantle you. So focus, Parker. Train hard, take your vitamins, and say…don’t just say your prayers. Don’t just pray to your god, pray to all of them. ALL OF THEM! Cast a wiccan circle to the gods of the old. Do a war dance to the spirits of the Cherokee Nation. Go to Athens, kneel at the feet of Zeus and pray for lightning. Go to the Cathedral of Notre Dame and light a candle; and get a telescope and find planet Kolob so the Mormon god can even bless you. Sacrifice animals, sacrifice virgins, take steroids and build an idol to Thor. Because this is your chance, Parker. Everyone laughed at you last time, because you put up the effort of a ten year old girl with cerebral palsy the last time I stood in the opposite corner from you. Are you going to be the next Devlin Raine? People forget Steve Relic hit me in the chin with a steel chain when Devlin beat me, but his career skyrocketed! I’m not saying he didn’t have the talent on his own, but it started with me. Robbie Hart beat me and he became the world champion. I’m not saying he didn’t earn it, I’m not saying he didn’t have the talent on his own, but…it…started…with…me! So show me what you have, Parker.

Stygian slides all three stacks of coins into the middle of the table and stands up, grabbing the world title and draping it over his shoulder.

Stygian: You’re all in, my friend. You’re playing with house money, and you have one chance. You can be elite without beating me, but the road to the top ends with me. You can’t be the champion unless you can beat him. So, let’s see if your talent matches your aspirations. You have the ambition, but can you pull it off. Do you have what it takes to be the next Devlin Raine? Do you have what it takes to be the next Kevin Kayfabe? Say what you will, the man eventually won a world title. That could be you, someday. But not if you don’t make a better showing this time around. The last time you thought you’d make a name at my expense? You did. You made the name Parker Wayde, and you made that name a fucking joke. So are you going to stand up and be the next Robbie Hart? Or are you going to fall flat on your face, again? Are you going to be Parker Wayde, again? Because if you don’t come up big, with Corey Casey watching you? Then you aren’t going to be the next Robbie Hart…but you’re going to wind up like him. And you were right there, in person, to see what happened.

Stygian turns and walks off, with Lilith and Lilah right behind. The camera slowly focuses on the stack of coins, and fades out.