Hollywood's Fucking Finest [vs.] ASS & Johnson [vs.] Neart le Cheile Axle Vengeance & Ace Static [vs.] Flex Johnson & Desmond Young [vs.] Tim Patrick & Sean Libby

---------------------------------------------------------------
Nowhere 2 Run
---------------------------------------------------------------
The Se7en Deadly Sins
Part III
---------------------------------------------------------------
By: Ace Static
---------------------------------------------------------------

*******

BOO!

Did you jump? I hope so. I thrive on fear. Born in the shadows, lived in the gutter, DARKNESS and pain are what I know. Nothing but fear surrounds the IWF when I walk through its halls. I’ve seen the looks on the faces of those that occupy the locker of Insurgency Wrestling Federation. They all know what I’ve become capable of. They all know what awaits them when the walk into the ring with me. I exude GREATNESS and POWER. Bow before me.

Week after week my words will cut through the FLESH. I’m here to prove a point. A point that people continue to ignore. A point that I’ll carve into the carcasses of my opponents week after week. SINNING is winning, let that trend you fucking sheep.

Feel the wrath of this menace as I burn through the entire locker room. One by one. I’ll cut each and every member down. Take a walk in the darkness with me. Embrace the hate and live in the darkness. DRINK the darkness. EAT the darkness…SWALLOW it whole. Never again will you be free from SIN. This is my gospel.

So it is SAID!

So it shall BE!

---------------------------------------------------------------
PRIDE
---------------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------
PRIDE
---------------------------------------------------------------

... SLOTH...
...PRIDE...
...PRIDE...
...PRIDE...
...PRIDE...

Representing a country that is NOT mine. Fighting for something I need not stick my nose in. While my hairline may be receding it is all you whom I am misleading. A good guy? Maybe. Truthfully a lady. I’m weak and feminine certainly lacking the strength of a gentleman. Look at the flag I wave fighting to protect a land from invaders, yet me not a native fall under the same category. They don’t take me seriously in Ireland and certainly not America. Boasting false bravado I come to the rescue. Standing tall I accept my beating. They call me Tim Patrick…I call him PRIDE.

Too old to know when to quit. Striving on a regular basis for acceptance. I’ve spent my career wallowing in inadequacy. Doing my best to be NOTICED. Yet I still struggle to break through and get over. They put sheets over my head to hide my hideousness. I’ll never achieve levels of greatness that I desire. Regardless of my issues my heart won’t let me quit. Stubbornness is my mortal enemy. Someday I’ll probably die in the ring. They call me Flex Johnson…I call him PRIDE.

Not allowing myself to leave the spotlight I FIGHT in a ring instead of on a field. I should’ve called it quits years ago when my football injury put me on the sidelines. My hair color gold, my blood runs COLD…out of fear I tremble and shake. An ass is an appropriate name making an ass out of myself in the ring and feeling no SHAME. My desire to stay famous will bring me to my knees and destroy me permanently. No one takes me seriously and no one should. They call me Desmond Young…I call him PRIDE.

... SLOTH...
...PRIDE...
...PRIDE...
...PRIDE...
...PRIDE...

Look into my eyes and feel what I say. These men are SINNERS even to your dismay. I’ll keep them coming, one by one. Running through the list proving my point day after day, week after week, month after month and fucking year after year. The PROOF is in the pudding. Look around you and open your eyes.

Stop walking the fine line and give in. Ignore the book of LIES. There are no consequences to your actions. No repercussions. Every man and woman in the locker room is walking proof. Set for life with money loaded accounts and every modern technological device that MONEY can buy.

No more need to DENY the TRUTH. Everyone will learn one day. Be it now or later. Soon enough everyone will follow my LEAD. I’ll spread the gospel with these fists. Either follow me and embrace the darkness and the obvious truth that sinning is winning…or I’ll force you all to submission one by one.

---------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE 1
---------------------------------------------------------------

The Fremont Street Experience at night is truly a sight to behold. What was once one of the most recognizable streets in the city has been changed over the years. One of its most prominent landmarks- the Horseshoe- is no longer.. now simply brandishing the name of the casino magnate who made it famous. Vehicles can no longer traverse the street except for the bicycles that the yellow-jacketed security officers and Metro police officers use. Tonight is a quiet night. Thankfully, it's not as crowded as it would be on the weekend, when everyone comes out for the free concerts and of course the infamous hourly light show that turns the metal canopy above into a myriad of images and music.

At one end of the Experience is the Neonopolis complex. Housing a movie Cineplex, restaurants and smaller souvenir shops, this cornerstone of the Fremont Street scene goes normally unnoticed- some say it's on its last legs. In front of Neonopolis is The Cantina. Tables outside allow patrons to watch the action on the Experience without actually being right in the thick of things.

A young Ace Static is sitting at one of these tables, Ace of today has no-eyeliner and no tight pants he sits there sipping on a coffee waiting for someone, Ace is attired in a black ACDC t-shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts. After about five or six minutes Ace is greeted by a man.

This man has long black hair and is give or take 5’5. This man is dressed in all black and smiles as he looks down at his Rolex watch. The diamonds sparkle as he shakes Ace's hand. He holds a clip board with a stack of papers fastened to it. He glances down before he speaks.

"Acer baby.. I got some bad news for ya. Do ya mind if I take a seat?"

Ace's jaw drops as this man takes a seat. Obviously not expecting nor wanting to see the man that sits down across from him. He has a devious demeanor about him as Ace looks him up and down.

"Acer, impressive win last week but seriously when I look at the whole outlook of IWF I don't see a future for you if you don’t make good on your promise. So either you make good on the promises or else. And we obviously both don't have time for that. I figure I’d come to you first and make light of the situation at hand. You see it’s quite simple really, either you do as you’re told or well bad things all around you will start to happen."

Ace Static's jaw drops even more as he is oblivious to what just happened. He knew what he had to do and the time had come for the change to take place. Regardless of his resistance and not wanting to follow through…the process needed to take place, it needed to begin.

"You know what we want Acer, it’s really quite simple. Make good and it all goes away. If you need extra motivation I’m sure they’d be more than willing to oblige. However more time is not something we can grant you anymore. It’s now or never, take it or leave it kid."

Ace sits there in utter awe of what just happened within this five-minute meeting. The longhaired man was obviously done playing games. He needed to act and he needed to act fast. The clock was ticking. Ace nodded his head grabbing the clipboard and reviewing the documents. He put them face down on the table and looked the man in the eyes.

"Guess it’s better me than him huh? Consider it done. I need two months. Give me two months and you can keep this information to yourselves and I’ll do your dirty work. TWO MONTHS is all I’m asking."

As Ace leaned back in his seat an uncharacteristically concerned look displayed across his face. He sighed loudly as the man with the long hair flipped it and shrugged his shoulders.

"I can’t make you any promises…I’ll put the word in for you to them. But Acer, if you don’t do it by the time frame you know what will happen…you know EXACTLY what will happen."

---------------------------------------------------------------
SCENE 2
---------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting at home tapping his fingers spastically on his coffee table there is nothing but silence and darkness all but a single light shines down on Ace Static. Unsure of what to do or what to say…what to think Ace shakes his leg uncontrollably his ADD kicking into overdrive.

"Fuck me, this is bullshit…"

Contemplating everything suddenly there’s a knock at the door. In walks Axle Vengeance, Alex Dillinger, Ace Static’s best friend in the world. With a bottle of Johnny Black in hand Axle’s ready to drink. Ace cracks a halfhearted smile. Axle dawning a James Shark t-shirt with a pair of black skinny jeans and black TOMs comes strolling in.

"What’s up doucher. You look all sad and shit, someone piss in your cornflakes Goldilocks?"

No witty retort from Ace as he folds his hands in front of himself. He’s obviously not acting himself as Axle sets the bottle down on the table looking down at Ace.

Damn, no comebacks or nothing? The fuck happened? Who died? Someone HAD to have died for you to be looking like Nancy Kerrigan after she had her hopes and dreams crushed by that one bull dyke.

"Honestly bro I don’t feel like talking about it right now…but open that bottle up let’s get stupid drunk and go out. This face needs to be buried in some snooch tonight. Maybe pound out a farthole or two...I love skanks and skanks love me. They bring make my penis a hap-penis."

"You don’t have to tell me twice. Let's get properly fucked up and go club hopping down at Sunset. Damien is gonna meet up with us later too. Cheer up fagbot."

Axle looked suspiciously at Ace wondering why he was so stressed out. Doing as his friend pleased Axle cracked the bottle open and poured two massive cups for each. Lighting up a cigarette Axle toasted to Ace who toasted back and the two of them began to drink heavily. The Sunset Strip was calling their names…HFF party time.


---------------------------------------------------------------
CORRUPTION
---------------------------------------------------------------

Corruption is a phenomenon that is not limited by politics or geography. It exists in rich countries and in poor countries. The economic impact of corruption is difficult to establish with precision; in fact, available data is often inconsistent. Nonetheless, we are dealing with enormous amounts of resources that are taken away from the economy, from production and from social programmers. The costs are borne by the citizens: using monies intended for the legitimate use of society pays the price of corruption.

The fight against corruption requires a greater conviction, by means of the consensus given to moral evidence, and a greater awareness that this fight will provide important social advantages. According to the teaching of Centesimus Annus: "Man tends towards good, but he is also capable of evil. He can transcend his immediate interest and still remain bound to it. The social order will be all the more stable, the more it takes this fact into account and does not place in opposition personal interest and the interests of society as a whole, but rather seeks ways to bring them into fruitful harmony". This is a very effective and realistic criterion. It tells us to aim at the characteristics of virtuous behavior in men and women, and also to encourage these characteristics; to think of the fight against corruption as a value, and also as a need; that corruption is an evil, and that it also involves a great price; that rejecting corruption is a good, and also an advantage; that abandoning corrupt practices can lead to development and well-being; that behavior marked by honesty is to be encouraged and behavior marked by dishonesty is to be punished. In the fight against corruption it is very important that responsibility for illicit acts be exposed, that the guilty be punished with reparative measures aimed at restoring socially responsible behavior.

---------------------------------------------------------------
THE SHOOT
---------------------------------------------------------------

---------------------------------------------------------------
By: Ace Static
---------------------------------------------------------------

Roots 'down the shore’ a local shop. A small quaint plaza. Built probably fifty to sixty years prior to the electronic age. This once busy landscape is beautiful. The architecture design is priceless. Unlike most of the cookie cutter shopping plazas of today. A butcher shop. Patrons scurry in and out buying random slabs of beef and meat. They hold their white packages of meat proudly. The amount of patrons drastically changed throughout the years thanks to corporate America. No longer is this little shop raking in a profit but barely clinching to life! Barely making ends meat. The glass door opens.

Behind the acrid smell of raw meat steps out IWF's resident "Mr. Controversy" Ace Static. Ace Static is dressed per usual. A blood stained white sleeveless Ramones shirt is stretched across his torso but tucked into a pair of black tight, tattered skinny jeans. A solid black studded belt holds the pants up as Static sports his beaten Chucks. Ace smirks as his eyes are accentuated with just a hint of Black eyeliner.

Static smirks and shakes his head before he takes a seat on the curb. Ace looks around as the plaza is EMPTY. He shakes his head and frowns before he speaks.

"Remember a time of innocence. Remember when you could just leave your doors and windows unlocked. A time of bliss and harmony. A time where everybody in the community knew everybody. Not like now. Everybody knew everybody because there was unity within the community. Not because you peaked out your blinds or watched through a window. You see where has that gone? Now-a-days society is a wasteland. You can't even leave your door unlocked when you’re home. It's sick that society has become what it is. A true WASTELAND!

Take this butcher shop for instance. Say 50 years ago this parking lot would be full. People would be waiting in a single file line out of this store to buy freshly cut meat from "mom and pop" inside, but now people take their business else where. The general public has given up individuality for conformity. You see there is NO recovery here, NO beauty here. These people sold out mom and pop for what? Just to enjoy a sale saving like 30-40 cents on some fucking salami? You see that 30 cents you save is killing a family. Pushing people like mom and pop in this butcher to foreclosure. Pushing them to bankruptcy. This isn't monopoly once these people here fall into the red it's game over.

That means this person’s whole life gets flushed down the drain for what? I mean at what cost? How is Mom and Pop going to buy their essential needs? A la Medication, Food and how are they going to keep shelter? In an age of struggling, social security I doubt they'll receive that."

Ace Static shakes his head and bits his lip as he looks up to the sky… He continues to talk. Though growing more and more agitated throughout his speech.

"The trade of individuality for conformity seems to be the hot trend now a days. Look at where we work. Everybody has something. Every single person inside of IWF has some kind of ridiculious back-story, look at one of my opponents this week. Desmond Young. He is billed as "The A.S.S" Lets jump inside this. Young is nothing but an utter failure. He couldn't cut it as a professional football player so he decided to find the next best thing. I mean seriously, do you think the carnage that comes to play in that IWF ring is anything compared to a football game!? I think not. YOU ARE WRONG SIR! You see regardless what it is when you look deep down at someone’s back-story they've sold out. Signing IWF's six figure contract means you've sold out. Whether you take it and run with it or dread like I have. You get accustom to it after awhile. Like all the pain and agony that’s been trusted upon me.

It all gets buried away deep down in your soul. You see rumors circle around because no one knows how to keep his or her mouths shut. You can't trust anyone. You see Ace Static has sold out! Hell I'll admit it. Hollywood came calling… I didn't sit idly by and pass up a chance at fame and fortune…

Sure my one main goal in this professional wrestling business is to rid this sport of the fascist pigs that monopolize it. That’s still dead locked in my future. Like this week...

I face. Two different teams full of people striving to make a name for themselves yet failing to do so.

The Marque has been set. Lights, Camera and Action. Come Sunday night the IWF faithful will have their popcorn handy and will be sitting on the edge of their seats witnessing a public execution. This execution will receive two thumbs up! Why because Ace Static is that good…and HFF…we’re simply unstoppable."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night has fallen over the Garden State. The sun has just set and the streetlights are just beginning to flicker on. The weather is still hot... Even though the sun is absent the humidity is still here.

A parking lot full of cars. Nearly full. The big bright neon lights shine down onto this parking lot illuminating every single foot. At the top of this massive parking lot lays one of largest chain discount department stores, the worlds largest corporation via revenue. Wal-Mart.

Tonight appears to be a typical night of business. Patrons... no faceless drones scurry in and out with their discounted items.. Sitting in the rear of the parking lot on a toppled over shopping cart glaring at the entrance is Ace Static. Ace is still dressed as he was earlier.

"This is it, this is what happening to the entire civilization.. Individuality for conformity. I mean if you think about it… All of these drones here are the same exact faceless cookie cutter drones that buy IWF tickets. These are the same people that claim to be diehard fans."

"These are the same people that know NOTHING but what they are fed by Chuck Matthews and Jessica Parker Lewis Matthews Robinson Stevens Casey…whatever the fuck the cunt’s name is. You see, these are nothing but stupid marks who will sit there and say I've followed his whole career but are clueless. UTTERLY CLUELESS on what we've done on the Indy scene. They are clueless on how hard it took us to cut our teeth in the minors let alone the struggle to dominate UECW for YEARS. These people wouldn't appreciate us even if we drove 4 hours both ways to perform in front of 50 people for what on a good night 60 bucks?"

"IWF yearns for a hero, I refuse to be that hero. I refuse to belittle myself and take that. I'm too good to cater to these fans. I've never given a fuck about them and they’ve never given a fuck about me... Enough about these fans it's all about my opponents this week."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Fact! The hardening of the heart's arteries is like rust developing on a car, and sad to say after Nowhere to Run the rust will begin eating away at all of your arteries boys, each and everyone of you are destined to end up like Parker Wayde. Flat on your back! BEATEN AND BROKEN! Don't feel bad about your date with the devil; just consider this a merciless gift of mercy. I may spare you your careers and if you’re lucky maybe, JUST maybe your pathetic life. So let’s put a smile on that face!"

"Turn your frowns upside down."

"Jesus didn’t have to go through half of the pain I’m experiencing now. At least he knew he was special. I have no such assurances. I’m just another outbreak of the human virus, which has contaminated Planet Earth."

"You see I'm sick, SICK of watching the same thing happen here in IWF that’s polluted the human society for years. When I came to IWF, Parker Wayde dropped dead... The cancer I've plagued him with took over his insides and shut down his vital organs. Needless to say he fucking QUIT."

"Chuck Matthews and Jessica Rabbit can't stand me. They look down at me as if I'm sort of second-class citizen... The whole basis of America is everyone should be INDIVIDUALS. So when you show your individuality you get put under the magnifying glass of life. The judgmental eyes of the society burn down upon you. Casting you as the outcast, melting your persona to what the typical public consists of. Chavs, Wannabes, Goths, Emos... It's all there. Ever single person gets categorized... Sorted and separated... "

"Well if you didn't realize or you realize now, I'm not one of you guys. I'm not in the same class as "Remington" or Stygian. I'm different. I don't melt under heat and pressure. The strain of society put upon me doesn’t make me buckle. I thrive on it."

"I can remember back to high school, Ehhh what was it? Every week or so Principle Benson would pull me out of class. As embarrassing as it was, it put me on everybody’s black list. No one wanted to hang out with a kid that got pulled out of class on a regular basis. Well every single time Benson pulled me out of class I'd sit in her office and hear the same story and got asked the same questions. Why do you look so sad all the time? Where is your high school spirit? Needless to say, my high school spirit was smoking pot under the bleachers. My high school spirit was getting physically and mentally abused by my parents. Just like Chuck and Jessica, Principle Benson considered me a plague. A Plague infecting the school draining the student body into utter madness. I guess they were right. As is Chuck and Jessica, I was there to shake things up…"

"As I am here. I'm here to shake things up. That’s always what my mission in this wrestling business has been. You see now a day it's not about all against one and one against all but, it's about securing my spot. It's about make my name even bigger than before. I'm here to leave a bitter after taste in everybody’s mouth."

"A bitter after taste is something Jessica Cuntsworth shouldn't be un-aware of. We all seen her sex tape I’m sure... Heh. You see IWF is just like High School all over again. I'm outcasted by popular kids... Well that all changes now. With the help one man... "

"Axle Vengeance."

"A fellow insurgent. A rebel not recognized as a belligerent. Someone who shares the same views as me. Someone who was outcasted by society. You could say we're like family just without the constraints of blood. We both know what it's like to be outcasted from the wing of society and cast out alone to rot in our own lives...we both understand what true hardship, we both know what it's like to live with society looking down on you like you're scum. You see Axle DIDN'T choose me! And I DIDN'T choose him. To be honest, it was almost like fate! We were brought together by the STRAIN! By the strain of society. By the corruption of a former place I’d rather leave in the past. Axle Vengeance and I have the same Fight to win, Fight to survive mentality."

"You see I for one am tired of the joking. I'm tired of the heartache. Why do people tell you to believe in what you want to but then tell you not to believe in the one true thing you should believe in? You see People like Axle and I are lost. Lost in a world of hate...and ignorance."

"We will claim our spots! We are revolutionaries plotting a revolution. Our legacies will be painted crimson with your blood IWF!"

"The massacre continues this week."

"The other four men in this match up will bear witness to the rise. The RISE of the Renegades... Axle and Myself will take no prisoners in this dog eat dog world. You see Axle and I changed things, There is no going back. We’ve pulled the system down. We brought UECW to it’s fucking knees... We have everybody in the palm, THE PALM of our hands. It's people like Tim Patrick and Sean Libby, people like Desmond Young and Flex Johnson who forced our hand! You see you guys; you've brought this upon yourselves. You all begged and pleaded with your sins themselves to become infected, to become the latest victims, the latest men to fall."

"Desmond. You're all about victimizing people. You're all about giving people nicknames talking them down giving them their own personal taste of hell via the tongue...but do you REALLY know what hell feels like? Do you understand what it is to be outcast from everything, to be picked apart, day in, day out, to have even the BEST of your friends drive you away? Yes, sure, you like to say a little joke maybe romance an ugly broad, sure, you like to get your jollies by supposedly victimizing people, but Desmond, all you did was turn everyone against you. All you did was make yourself the biggest target possible for a true infection to set in. You can forget cheap abscesses, what you're looking to get a taste of within this pyramid match is something that will scramble your body for good. Cancer, the most dangerous, the most villainous of ALL infections, and Desmond, it always comes to those who deserve it most. A fitting end for someone who is put simply, a disgusting, foul excuse for a human being, someone who deserves not only to die, but someone who deserves punishment that even waiting on death row could not gain."

"Desmond, look at how you live your life. The gold chains, the hair to match, the fancy whip, the money, power and bitches right? Living the life of a rapper instead of a wrestler. Fuck you. When I see you it illuminates everything that I’ve grown to loathe. The ASS is just about right. You’re the ASS of this match. A complete and utter joke. Nothing short of a walking billboard for what plagues our once great nation. I hope you choke on a chicken bone before our match."

"For once in my life I feel as though things will be moving rapidly in this revolution. Things are changing. Times are changing. The landscape of IWF is receiving a much-needed face-lift. As my good friend and brother Axle would say, a face-lift with a pair of rusty scissors."

"The ASS teams with The Johnson. How appropriate."

"Flex Johnson. A man that I’ve known for a while now reemerges in IWF. Flex you should’ve stayed retired. No one wants to hear you. No one wants to see you drag your forty plus year old ass out to the ring and try to stand with GIANTS. You can’t. You won’t. You could never. Beat us. Axle and I are on a totally different level than you and your shameful partner. Climb the beanstalk if you dare. The fall from grace will be treacherous."

Ace Static flicks on the light switch and before him is a table covered in championship belts, wrestling magazines, awards, trophies, plaques and other trivial bullshit. With a smile he looks up at the camera.

"All of these things I’ve achieved over my career. Yet I find myself unsatisfied to this day. When I look around I see that I’ve yet to bring change. Yet to accomplish my goal of riding the world of these conformists."

"Tim Patrick and Sean Libby, the retard with ties to Ireland and the other downs kid that likes to sing and dance. Sure Timmy doesn’t fall into the same category as Libby. Surely Tim fights for a purpose, however stupid that purpose may be it’s still a certain purpose. One that he has no business fighting for. He fights because he wants to belong. Tim is as much a joke as each and every other IWF superstar in this match not named Axle or Ace. I don’t see how a man so weak and so frail could fight for anything. Tim Patrick has never amounted to ANYTHNG in his career let alone his life. I spit on everything associated with Tim from his friends to his family. Fuck Tim Patrick and Fuck his fake movement. At least HFF is real, at least HFF has PURPOSE….TRUE PURPOSE!"

Standing up and focusing his cold blue eyes right towards the camera…Ace’s lip curls and he looks on in disgust as the rage begins to subside for the time being.

"Libby on the other hand…Libby conforms by doing his STUPID worm dance that I’ve seen before of course, definitely NOT original. He only does it for attention. I’m sure he’d even tell you why he did it. He did it for the sole reason of getting over. The fact that one has to do a dance to get over makes me puke. Be yourself and TAKE what you deserve. I’ve always done it and Axle taught me just that. You go out and COMMAND the ring. You DEMAND respect and for all those that try and cut you down or take it away from you…you beat them until they beg for mercy. You beat them until they’re ready to admit defeat. Once they’ve reached that point, you END them."

Waving his hands in a “he’s safe” like motion Ace double fist pounds the table shaking a few trophies and titles off the table with his force. With his right hand he runs the hand through his blonde greasy hair.

"Casualties are just a small part of this war Axle and I will wage. As we pile decaying carcasses to the sky we will paint our legacy with your blood."

"This revolution is as new to me as it is to you. That’s why this one is different. Unlike anything we've witnessed prior before. Axle and myself will do this together. We will tear the fucker down and WE WILL build anew. We will let the both teams find their excuses and their loopholes in the sentences we speak... Let them rape and ravage every sentence we speak and every message we convey. They’ll seek to abandon this, but we will not be held down another fucking second! We will rise and challenge every fucking thing the righteous stand for! We are only taking our first steps. There is a dream out there to be had; let them hold it high for us to strive for. Every hero needs a villain. We’re taking what’s ours. Nowhere to run will be our FIRST STEP…the beginning of the END."

~~~~DISCLAIMER: This RP contains a storyline with a sensitive subject, child molestation. It's something that the real life Tim Patrick experienced as a child, and writing about it in this way is a form of therapy for me. I struggle to deal with the reality of this situation every day, and so does my character. It will be an ongoing storyline. While not being overly descriptive or graphic, this RP may be a trigger for anybody else who has experienced such things. You have been warned.~~~~

February 18, 2013
Shortly after the end of Battle Grounds 67
Memphis, Tenn
FedEx Forum
Backstage Locker Room
11:50 PM

The scene opens with video footage of Tim Patrick leaving ringside as Battle Grounds goes off the air.


Battle Grounds ended about 50 minutes. Most of the wrestlers who performed have been seen by medics and have left the arena. Tim Patrick has stayed. After being roughed up and busted open by Axle Vengeance and Ace Static after his tag match with Sean Libby against Farmer Dick and Johnny Cage, he has refused medical attention. Instead, Tim has changed his clothes, smoked several cigarettes, and started drinking cheap whiskey straight from the bottle since trying to save Blyss Lockhart as Battle Grounds was going off the air. He has been standing in front of the mirror, watch the blood drip from his face. He's been smiling, and frowning, and grimacing and grinding his teeth, and laughing. Obviously, he's been going through a manic episode for the past several minutes. He noticed the cameraman and walks up to him and begins to speak.

Tim Patrick:


I can remember the very first time I ever saw my own blood. I was 3 years old. You see, in my childhood house in New Jersey, the staircase leading up the 2nd floor began right in front of the front door. One Saturday morning after I was done watching cartoons, I got a wild hair up my ass and decided to do something stupid. I didn't think it was stupid then, I was just bored. I took these gigantic coloring books that I had and I brought them to the top of the stairs. I sat down on one of them and slid down the stairs and out the front door and down the steps of our front porch. It was so much fun for the first few seconds. It felt like I was flying down the steps at a million miles per hour. But I didn't land on the grass, I landed on our paved sidewalk, face first. I remember feeling no pain. Hell, I was going to do it again. I picked up my coloring book and ran back inside and I remember the look on my father's face. It was like he saw a ghost. He picked me up and ran into the bathroom where he sat me on the sink. I looked behind me at the mirror and saw that the skin on my forehead was missing almost entirely. He cleaned me off the best he could before realizing that he had to take me to the hospital. So he picked me up again, and it didn't hurt so I started laughing. We rush through the house and when we got to the kitchen, we ran past my older brother and sisters. My sisters screamed and my brother looked at me with his eyes wide open. I was never special, I never had any talents. All I ever wanted to do was be different and do something impressive. When I saw the look in my brother's eyes when half of my face was gushing with blood, and heard my sisters screaming, and saw the panic in my military vet father's eyes, I knew that I finally did something impressive. They had never seen anything like it. And I remember being held in my father's arms, just laughing. And not some kiddy giggling, I was roaring with laughter. I don't know why. It seemed as if I finally had it all figured out. My destiny, my future. I knew that for the rest of my life, that I wouldn't be looked at as “normal”.

As I got older, I experienced violent, graphic, horrific sexual abuse by a neighbor. I was bullied by classmates. I was shunned by teachers for being a weirdo. I was confused and suicidal. Have you ever seen a suicidal elementary school student? It's not a pretty sight. But with each thing I went through, I knew it would all be okay. That I would make it through as long as I could still bleed. You only bleed when you're alive, and I knew that. So I would find razors and knives and cut myself. And I would bleed, and bleed a lot. And the more I bled, the better I felt. So when I would get abused and bullied, I would step back and in front of my tormenters, I would slice my arm open with a razor that I kept in my pocket. Even in the eyes of the worst child molester or the worst bullies, the sight of a child slicing his own flesh to prove a point was too much for them and they'd stop harming me. When the blood came, the pain would go away. And I wouldn't have to cry anymore. I could just sit back and laugh.

Then when I got a little older, I saw professional wrestling on television. Tough men with crazy life stories would fight to see who was the better man. Then the late 90s came, and wrestling got more intense. Cage matches, weapons, and best of all, lots and lots of blood. And kids all around the country joined backyard hardcore wrestling groups.

I remember one time in 7th grade, I was hanging out outside of the school's main entrance and saw this kid who I would sometimes talk to with stitches on his forehead and a black-eye. I walked up to him and asked him what had happened. I thought he just fell off his bike or got in a fistfight. He took me aside and whispered in my ear what had happened. Over the weekend, he had his first hardcore wrestling fight in front of a crowd of 500 people at an abandoned parking garage in Trenton, 30 miles away. That he had been training and finally had his first fight. That he made $50, even though he lost. The thing that got my attention the most was when he told me that after the fight, he had the respect of everybody there. That as a 13 year old, he fought a 17 year old and took chair shots to the head and body, along with hits from Singapore canes and a rusty pipe. And that he's going back next weekend, and that I should come. My life was forever changed that day.

I went on to win multiple championships in that illegal promotion. And I cemented myself as a hardcore legend in the New Jersey/Philadelphia area.

Axle, do you understand why a man like me is so dangerous to punks like you? The two of you thought that you'd send a message to Libby and I when you jumped us tonight. I'm not sure how it effected Sean, but all you did to me was wake me up. I haven't felt this way in years. I'm energized, alive, I have a crazed British man who is threatening to follow me around the country and hurt me, and I'm in the middle of my first title hunt in years. You did something that nobody who wants to hurt me should ever do. You made me bleed tonight, boys. And the rush I get from seeing my own blood is better than sex!

Ace, you and I have a lot in common, believe it or not. We were both born and raised in Jersey. Hell, we both probably saw the same wrestling shows at the Asbury Park Convention Hall. We had chaotic childhoods that shaped our adult lives, and we both got our start in underground wrestling promotions. You pride yourself on being extreme and sending the crowd home with memories of ridiculous violence, as do I. But you're just like Axle. You care more about Hollywood than you do about this business. You guys fight for greed and the Empire, I fight because if I stop fighting...I die.

The very best thing about this entire situation is that our match is going to be inside of a cage. I made my mark in this world of hardcore wrestling inside of a cage when I won my first title in one when I was 15 years old. And a few years ago, I came the closer than anybody at the time to beat Corey Casey inside of his famed Double Cage Horror. And I would have gotten the job done if it wasn't for his outside help. How fitting is it that the people I'm going to take my first major wrestling championship from are Corey Casey's “Empire” lackeys.

You know how “unstable” I am. And Sean Libby is crazy. He's so crazy that I'm surprised that I haven't found him sitting in the middle of a highway somewhere eating dog shit out of a bowl and wearing a purple bunny costume. I can barely have a conversation with the guy without him hallucinating “nyan cats” and running off to chase them. When you think about it, he's the perfect partner for me. His diet consists of milkshakes and crazy pills, and I enjoy bleeding in a pretty creepy and disturbing way. And this “Pyramid Cage” match that we're having, Libby has had some experience in it and came damn close to winning the High Impact Championship in it at From the Ashes 1. What experience do you guys have in this sort of fight? Some Minor-League UECW titles? A lifetimes worth of tattoos and bad haircuts? You two “Tiger Beat” wannabes may have beaten Sean and I before, but that was our first time as a team and my first match in many months. Sean and I have some experience as a team now, and should not be taken lightly. You guys like you got thrown off of the Good Charlotte tour-bus after you went into a rage after running out of methadone pills. Your Championship belts are not safe...neither are your lives. You should go back to getting more ridiculous neck tattoos and leave the business entirely.

That brings me to our other opponents. Flex, Desmond, you guys got real lucky last time.

Desmond, I have been paying close attention to the both of you. It was so inspiring to see that you turned down membership in the “Cobras” in the promo you had leading up to your match with us last time! I mean, the streets of Minnesota must have been real rough as a kid, with it being so cold outside I can't imagine the horror of drive-by snowball attacks. And this street gang sounds like rejects from West Side Story. Did they dance? Did they have choreographed dance fights? Did you offer to battle them in a game of basketball? Is that how you fought to survive as a child? Did you get by on being a good athlete? Or did you have to scar your body to impress people like I did? Instead of having an “After School Special Presentation: Desmond Young says NO to gangs”, I would have sent a very clear message. Instead of letting a group of them beat the shit out of you, I would have snapped their leader's neck on the spot. That's the difference between you and me. You'd rather perform some stupid back-flip or an arm-drag or shoot a basketball somewhere. Trust me, Desmond, you're going to wish that you did something else for a living this weekend. This cage that we're stepping into, that's my world. That's Sean's world. It's not about who can run the fastest or the longest, it's not about who can jump the highest. It's not about any of this athletic bullshit that you pride yourself on. This match is all about blood, sweat, and tears. And when it's over, the men with the experience, Tim Patrick and Sean Libby, will be standing tall.

Your partner, Flex, doesn't have much of a prayer for this match either. I can relate to you in a lot of ways, Flex. We both would watch wrestling with our fathers as children. We both had very damaged childhoods, also. You lost family members to violence, and I lost a lot of friends in the same way. We both had to grow up quick. But then, the differences start being pretty noticeable. You went to some professional wrestling school, and you went into the business the easy and painless way. I had to brawl and fight for my life in backyards and parking garages and back alleys. You went on to get a sneaker deal with Nike and become friends with every C-Level rapper in Hollywood, while I went to Belfast and Derry City and the hills and farms of Northern Ireland to fight an international superpower and their military and police. Often times I was out there with nothing, by myself. You see, most people didn't want to go stand beside me and fight with me. I was just a little bit too crazy to serve with. And when I ran out of bullets, I used my fists and feet. I would fight in bars and in the street. I fought for my life, not a shoe company. Now I fight for the people, for abused kids and battered women. For the working class and for every person out on the street everywhere around the world. I fight for everybody who struggles. I don't fight for Hollywood. I fight for blood. There will be no music producers to mask your shitty performance with AutoTune, there will be no Nike representatives, and there will be no Afro-Sheen or hairspray for your horrendous haircut in the cage this weekend. All there will be is pain.

And I think when you and Desmond really get hit, when your faces are dragged along the rusty cage fence, when you see the blood fall from your skull and drop onto the canvass...I'm willing to bet all that I have that you guys will seek a new occupation the next morning, if you're psychically able to get out of your hospital beds that is.

Now that I'm done speaking to my “Nowhere to Run” opponents, I want to address what happened when Battle Grounds went off the air tonight. I was sitting right here in this room, with Sean Libby. He was on top of the world after our win earlier and we were about to have a beer. Then I heard Jessica Matthews scream in the other room. We both went running and saw what was bothering her. She was watching what was happening in the ring on the backstage monitor. I want to make something very clear, there is nothing that sets me off more than when a man hurts a child or a woman. When the members of the Empire decided to bully, hold down, and assault Blyss Lockhart, it was a mistake that will follow every member of the Empire to their early graves.

Phillip Joesph, you were the one who did the deed. You were the one who crushed Blyss with a chair. You were the only who wanted to make your mark in this company by putting a woman in the hospital. If there is anything left of you when Stygian gets finished with you at the PPV, I don't care if you're a bag of bones or a fucking pile of dust, I want you at the next Battle Grounds. And I want your ass in a Street Fight. You should ask Corey Casey why I first wanted to fight him a few years ago in a rival wrestling promotion that I won't bothering naming. He bullied and threatened and assaulted Chuck and Jessica's sister Ashley backstage at a live event one night. And he thought he could get away with it. I made sure that he had nightmares about me, that he would always have to look over his shoulder in fear that I would be there. You're going to meet a much worse fate, Phillip. You're going to go through hell and you won't come back from it.

The Empire is on it's last legs. I'll be there, pissing on the ashes when it goes up in flames.

~~The camera zooms in really close~~

Tim Patrick:

Shit is about to get very, very real around here.



~~The Scene Fades~~

****The following scene is a flashback dream of an event that happened in the year 2000, when Tim Patrick was working for an illegal backyard wrestling promotion****

July 9, 2000
Trenton, New Jersey
Second floor of an abandoned parking garage
Ultimate Wrestling Federation Presents: Caged Animals


Over 500 bloodthirsty Central Jersey hardcore wrestling fans have packed into the middle section of a parking garage that hasn't been used in 3 years. It's riddled with graffiti and it has basically become a crack den. Once a week for the past year, a former mainstream wrestling promoter named Pete Heyman has been running a very dangerous and very sleazy illegal extreme wrestling promotion featuring underage teenagers. Most of the teens that compete for his company are social outcasts and this wrestling promotion is the only thing that they're passionate about. The fan-base for this promotion includes local drunks, Trenton gang members, and local high school students. They come on Saturday nights and pay $20 each for a ticket. The corrupt Trenton police department has been paid off, and there is no law-enforcement in sight. The matches are all filmed by a single hand-held camera. They produce videos of each show and sell them outside legitimate wrestling shows. Pete has made a lot of money doing this, in 2000 hardcore wrestling is all the rage. He sits ringside does the ring introductions for each match with a mega-phone.

Tim Patrick has been performing, mostly at the bottom of the card, for the past year. However, he has been on a 15 match winning streak and has earned himself a shot at the UWF Championship.
~~We go to the ring~~

Pete Heyman:

Ladies and Gentlemen, the next contest is the Main Event of the evening! A Steel Cage match for the UWF Championship! The only way to win is to make your opponent tap out, or via pin-fall. Introducing, in the ring, the Challenger. Weighing in at 130 pounds at 15 years of age, Tim Patrick!

*The crowd, consisting entirely of degenerates, boos Patrick unmercifully*

Pete Heyman:

And his opponent, weighing in at 200 pounds, coming in at over 6 feet tall, at 17 years of age, from Sweden, the meanest foreign exchange student ever in the history of Trenton City High School... “The Swedish Killing Machine”, Bork Laser!

*The Swedish National Anthem begins to play and Bork Laser walks out.*


Compared to young Tim Patrick, Bork is huge! The crowd of mostly teenagers watches him walk to the cage in awe. He grins as he walks to the ring and slowly enters through the cage door. Bork, towering over Tim, walks up to him and gazes down at his opponent, smiling. A bell rings and the fight begins.

Bork dominates, literally throwing young Tim Patrick against the cage. Almost immediately, Tim is busted open. Through his crimson mask, he smiles with blood in his teeth. While creepy, this doesn't stop Bork's aggressiveness. He batters Tim with power move after power move. It's total mismatch. The referee, with a visible flask full of whiskey in his back pocket, doesn't seem to care about Tim's well-being.

The turning point in the match came suddenly, and if you blinked you would have missed it. Bork Laser Irish-whipped Tim Patrick into the ropes and tried to throw a clothesline, but Tim ducked, stopped running, turned, and hit a fast-paced spinning heel kick to the side of Bork's head. Connecting right below his ear, knocking him unconscious. Tim rolled Bork over, and got the 1-2-3.

But sadly, like most of Tim Patrick's dreams, the good memories get masked by the pain of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The glory he was feeling from winning his first championship quickly turns into misery as he starts to dream about his child abuse.

The scene turns and focuses on an 8 year old Tim Patrick's left eye. A banging sound and grunting from his neighbor and gym teacher, Mr. Smith, is heard in the background. A tear forms in Tim's eye, and rolls down his cheek.

Tim quickly wakes up, in a cold sweat. He sits up and looks very disturbed.


Tim Patrick:

I know what I have to do. I have to go to New Jersey and kill Mr. Smith....

~~The Scene Fades~~

****TO BE CONTINUED****

Disclaimer: Tim, I responded a bit to your post. All the comments are directed to the "character" Tim, and I hope they aren't too harsh.



Father Time

The shot opened up inside of an arena. The camera panned around the arena a bit; it isn’t a large arena, probably mid-sized. Eerily, most of the lights in the arena were turned off; the arena was pitch black…

…Except for two spot lights. The spot lights illuminated what appeared to be some kind of ring, wrestling, perhaps boxing even. The camera zoomed in to get a closer look. The ring’s mat was a dark grey color; it appeared to be hard, like there wouldn’t be any give at all if someone were slammed on it. There were three ring ropes and they were all dark blue in color; the ropes also appeared to be tight, with little give to them as well.

This was a wrestling ring.

Suddenly, a subtle “clicking” sound began to echo throughout the arena. Every few moments the “clicking” got a little closer, a little louder. As the sound got louder, it became clear that the “clicking” sound was really the sound of footsteps.

A few moments later a man walked into the arena. He slowly walked towards the ring, looking and observing the surroundings with each step. The man was an older man of average height, African American, and had long, flowing hair. The man was wearing a pair of black wrestling tights; there were yellow slash marks on the left tight leg. The man was also sporting a pair of yellow and black kickpads.

There was a set of steel steps near the ring; the man slowly walked over to the steps and ascended them. He pulled on the ropes a little bit; they were tight. The man hops over the ropes and then walked to the center of the ring.

The man then began to speak to himself.

“Well, might as well started.”

The man started off by running the ropes; back-and-forth, back-and-forth. The man then moved to the center of the ring and began to practice is dropkicks.

…

The next shot showed the man sitting in the middle of the ring; sweat was pouring down his face, and his hair was disheveled.

Suddenly, the man turned his head; he thought he heard someone entering the arena. In the western section of the arena, a shadow formed; the man could hear the “click-click” of the man’s boots. “Who could this be?” the man thought to himself as the “click-click” sound drew closer.

A younger African American male approached the ring. The younger man had thick, long braids. As he approached the ring, a large grin came over him.

“What’s up old man?”

The older man ran his fingers through his hair; then picked himself off of the mat and walked over to the ropes.

“What’s good.”

“Care to spar?”

The old man laughed lightly.

“Think you can hang?”

“I should be asking you the same thing”

The old man took a few steps back and spread his arm, as if to say “come on in.” The young man slid in under the bottom rope. As he picked himself off the mat, he adjusted his black and white trunks.

The two men stare at each other for a little bit; then, both rushed toward the center of the ring and lock up. The young man swiftly cinched in deep headlock; he cranked down on the older man’s neck as he talked trash.

“Losing your strength? What a shame.”

Slowly but surely, the old man powered out of the headlock and pushed the young man off; like a bullet the young man went flying into the ropes. As the young man was rebounding back, he collided with the old man’s shoulder; he crumbled to the mat.

The old man reached down and stretched out his arm.

“Ha, need a hand?”

The young man slapped the arm away as he picked himself up.

“Let’s stop playing around!”

The young man rushed in once again; the older side stepped and connected with a drop-toe-hold. The older man then rolled over the younger man’s back and cinched in a grounded locked of his very own.

“I see you are still a hot-head.”

“I see you still talk too much.”

The young man raised himself to one knee before grabbing the older man’s left arm. The older man’s arm crashed against the young man shoulder; the younger man kicked his opponent in the knee and stood up to increase the pressure on the arm.

The older man got down on both knees and then rolled through, landing on his back. He then grabbed the younger man wrist and used his right foot to break the young man’s hold. The older man stands up and put pressure on the young man’s wrist.

“Had enough?” the older man asked.

“Not quite.”

The older man stepped behind his opponent and transitioned his wrist lock into a hammer lock. He suddenly released the hammer lock, threw his arms around the young man’s waist and hoisted him into the air, only to power him back down with a German Suplex. The older man did not release the hold.

“Come on Flex, you used to be some much better than this. Where’s that youth at?”

The young man rolled over until he was in a seated position. He then gave the older man a stiff elbow, stunning him. The young man spun around and grabbed his opponent by the head; the young man lifted his opponent and slammed him down with a Falcon Arrow.

The older man popped up swiftly, but was caught with Shining Wizard.

“Youth, it’s a wonderful thing,” shouted the young man as he climbed to the top rope. He rested on the tope rope for a few second before pulling off a beautiful Shooting Star Press. After landing the move, the young man hoped up and raised his hands, as if he you enticing the crowd.

“You wish you could still do that don’t you?”

The young man has his back turned; the old man got up off the mat slowly, trying not to make any sounds.

“School is in session holmes,” said the older man. The older man then jumped onto the young man’s shoulders; “and here is your first lesson.” The older man drives his opponents head to the mat with a reverse hurricanrana. The older man then grabbed his opponent’s legs; he spun around and put on a cloverleaf. Ever so slowly, the older man dropped low, he then put his right knee of the back of the young man’s neck.
With nowhere to go, the young man had no choice but to tap out. Once he tapped, the young man disintegrated, his body turned into thousands of pixilated particles.

The old man fell to the mat; he closed his eyes and tried to breathe. After a couple of minutes, the man sat up.

“Axle Vengence…

“…Ace Static; I guess I really should thank you guys.

“Why?

“Well, you two helped create this monster that sits before you today. You see, when I first got into the business I was young. Well, I guess the better word would be inexperienced; I wasn’t privy to the ends and outs, the politics. I thought I needed was to work hard; I thought if I worked harder than anyone, that I’d be the best.

“I was wrong.

“Yeah, hard work will get you far. But to some wrestlers, to some promoters, hard work doesn’t mean shit!

“Ace and Axle knew that fact before I did. So, while I was sending sleepless nights in the gym, those two were off ribbing people backstage, starting trouble, and banging the owner’s secretary or daughter. You know, I was on the receiving end of many of those ribs. But the biggest rib of all was watching you to rise to the top, while my ‘hard work’ landed me on the middle of the card facing scrubs.”

The old man picked himself up of the mat and walked towards the ropes.

“I used to wonder why; but know I understand clearly. You see, all this happened back in that old fed. And even though I was rough around the edges, people saw something in me. Being ignorant I tried to befriend these people, and simply ended up with knives in my back.

“So who were these wrestlers? Well, they were people like you Axle. You see Axle I looked but to you, but you despised me. You didn’t despise me for who I was at the time—you saw who I would later become. You foresaw all the fame, the recognition; you foresaw me taking your spot—and you feared me!”

The man laughed a bit.

“I’m not some punk any longer Axle—I’m elite! People dream of accomplishing a third of what I’ve done in this business. Hell—I’ve done more in this business than YOU have Axle. You see, while you were stuck in jail for about, what two years, I was out there traveling the world. Mexico, Canada, UK, Germany, Japan. Hell, I’ve wrestled in the Tokyo Dome Axle, something you will NEVER be invited to do. I’ve done things you can only dream of doing!

“But, I know you Axle; you probably think I’m just blowing hot air right now. In fact, you probably aren’t even listening right now. You are probably off smoking, getting high somewhere. That’s cool holmes, all the better; keep on underestimating me; I’ve be glad to prove you wrong snatch that title away from you boney hands.”

There was a slight pause.

“And speak of all bones, that leads me to YOU Ace. You know, you and I have never seen eye to eye have we sir? Maybe it is because you are a raging drug consumer; or, perhaps it’s because you have the tendency to make racist comments. Or, maybe it’s the fact that you are just SO overhyped. Yeah, I think I’m going to choose the later. In UECW, everyone praised you! The owners thought you were the messiah; they thought you were going to be the one to take the company to new heights, and pull the company out of the ‘Dark Ages.’ But, little did everyone know, you were really contributing to the downfall of the company. Wrestlers started leaving; arenas were empty—all because of Ace Static, ‘God’s Curse’ on professional wrestling.”

The man took a few steps back from the ropes. He then began to laugh to himself.

“You have claimed for years that you and Axle are the best—individually and as a team. But you know what’s really funny? Throughout all this history, all this animosity that we’ve had over the years, neither of you every defeated me. All, we’ve only been in the ring one-time, during that handicap match. And even fight the two of you by myself, I put on one hell of a showing.

“But that was almost three years ago Ace, and lot has changed since then. I’m older, and yet I’m stronger, wiser!”
The man paused for a second.

“You know, sometimes life only hands you one opportunity. This may be the only time that Desmond and I are able to challenge for those tag teams titles. Hell, this might be the only time that I actually get to face you and Axle together. But you know what, I’ve never been one to simply let a good opportunity just pass me by. If this is the only opportunity I have to prove to you both that I’m a better wrestler than yall’, then sure enough I’ll be gunning to bash your brains. And, if this is my only opportunity that the IWF tag titles, then I’ll be striving to place them in the hands of two WORTHY wrestlers!”

The man then sighed as he walked back towards the ropes. He put his arms on the tope rope and leaned on it a bit.
“And speaking of unworthy wrestlers, I might as well introduce Tim Patrick and Sean Libby. You know, it’s kind of weird ya’ know. A few weeks ago Tim and Sean got their asses handed to them—disgraceful! Then the next week, they challenged me and Desmond to a match OF THEIR CHOOSING, and still lost. And somehow they are still in the title hunt?

“What kind of fucking logic that that make?

“But I won’t bash the IWF management…not today anyway; I’m here to talk about Sean and Tim. Let’s start with Tim shall we.

“Tim, you have been talking shit ever since I’ve met you. And yet, you never seen to back any of that shit up. You claimed to be hardcore, extreme, violent—Desmond and I made like work of you and your tag team partner. Tim, it’s clear that you have tried to instill fear into your opponents throughout your career. And sure, that may work on some people, but it damn sure doesn’t work on me holmes. Tim, the fact of the matter is you are no one to be feared; hell, if anything you are just a confused man who we all should have pity on.

“I mean, that is why you told us your ‘sad’ story in your little promo right?

“Am I supposed to care about how your military dad rarely showed you any love? Newsflash Tim, there are millions of deadbeat dads on this planet; a father is neglecting his child right now as we speak. Oh wait, maybe I’m supposed sorry for you because you got touched as a child. Guess what Tim, people get raped and molested everyday—that’s the cold, harsh reality of this world. It doesn’t make you special, and it damn sure doesn’t give you a pass to grow up and become a delusional fool!

“And make no mistake about it Tim, you and I are vastly different. I got into wrestling because I loved it; you got into wrestling because you thought the pain might fill some unbillable void in your life. I got into this business to be the best in the world! But, most importantly, I got into this business to prove all of you wrong. Every single person told me that I was crazy, that I should have focused on getting a real job. They all told that I was wasting my time, that I’d never make it big. And even when I became a wrestler, it was fools like you and Axle that believe I’d never be shit.

“And yet, I’d proved every single one of them wrong. Hell, I proved YOU wrong two weeks ago!”

The man burst out into laughter.

“You know Tim, it’s such a shame that you had to resort to Wikipedia to do a promo on me. Hell, you literally could have walked up to anyone backstage to dig up some dirt on me. But nope, you took the easy route—that’s what you have been known to do. You didn’t want to go to wrestling school, so you backyard trash fed. You didn’t want to learn technique, so you just became a hardcore. You never moved on from your childhood problems, so you just decided to become a delusional lunatic.

“Regardless of what you think about me Tim, I worked my way up from the bottom. And once I got more polished and made it to the top, people started to appreciate me. That’s why had a shoe deal with ‘Reebok,’ that’s why I can call up some of YOUR favorite celebrities and invite them over for lunch.

“And for some reason, you are jealous about all that!

“But, you see, I figured it all out. Your problem is that EVERYONE wishes they were ‘Flex Johnson,’ but NO ONE wishes they were ‘Tim Patrick,’ not even you!”

The man smirked.

“I could say more, but I know that last comment is going to leave a mark, so I’m going to move on to Mr. Libby.

“Now, Mr. Libby, I must say that I’m a bit disappointed in you sir. I mean, it’s quite clear that you are the ‘strongest’ member of your little rag-tag team. But two weeks ago, it seemed as if you were barely putting up a fight. I mean, leading up to the match, you and Tim thought you had it in the bag. And then when the bell rung you both realized that you all had written a check that your asses could NEVER cash. Well, I’ve got some news for you Libby—this match is going to be more of the same.

“Now, I don’t want to hear you complaining, because are lucky to even be in this match. You lost to BOTH of the other teams in this match; your ass should be sitting at home right now. So, if you really think about it Sean, it’s YOUR honor to have yourself kicked by me and Desmond once again.

“Ha, you know, I think this is going to be a lesson for you, just like it’s going to be lesson for everyone else in this match. You don’t like me? That’s fine. You want to disrespect my birth-given name? Ok, that’s fine. You hate me because I’m arrogant? Sure, duly noted. But if there is one thing you are going to do Sean, you WILL respect me for my work in the ring. Even a ‘crazy man’ like you should be able to get that through your head.”

The man then pointed directly in front of him.

“IWF, I want you all to make this day down in your calendars. You have only seen me in three matches so far. And to be honest, all those matches were amazing. But you have only seen the tip of the iceberg. The younger me would have just sat back and went along for the ride—but I’m not the younger me. I’m not a nine time champion for nothing. Axle, Ace, the rest of IWF—I’m done playing games with you all.

“I’m going to unleash Holy Hell on you all—with occasional aid form Desmond of course.”

The older man hoped out of the ring. He then walked out of the arena.

A few seconds later the lights went off.

END.