Celebrating our milestone 200th episode... Warfare is coming to you LIVE from the Oracle Arena in Oakland, California!

Tonight's card:

A1E's 200th Warfare Celebration!

Surprises and celebrations galore!

This is THE thread for RP for Warfare. Everyone who's signed in or wants to particpate on the show, post in THIS thread. It's a free-for-all. Go after anyone. Go after everyone. For any reason. Have fun! Be creative!

At the end of the RP period, the BC will put together a card building for the A1E Cup, and everyone's RP will be taken into consideration for the show. Post well, post often, and may the A1E Cup be yours! The winner (or winners) of the A1E Cup will receive a benefit for their efforts, so this is NOT a throwaway show.

This show DOES mean something, and there's a reward at the end of the rainbow.

You never know - we might throw in a title match of some kind. A gimmick match. A #1 contendership. But it's all going places, and it's something you want in on. Go for it!

Edited to add: I imply by this that anyone that signed IN would be involved in a match, so I would obviously expect those people to come in and RP. Anyone else that's not signed in but wishes to participate just need to post something.

RP deadline is Tuesday, August 3rd at 11:59:59 PM Central.

Check profiles if needed.

Ná déan dearmad go deo

It's a simple phrase spoken in Scottish Gaelic which means "to never forget". A phrase that many wouldn't hold much value to because let's face it, they're only words. However to one particular man its meaning runs deeper than the blood that flows through his veins. He owes his very existence to these these words, and because of that, he had the phrase tattooed around his neck as a personal reminder to always remember that which defines him.

(CUT TO:) A close up of the tattoo written across Rayne's neck. The camera slowly zooms out as you see the long oily hair covering Rayne's face, and underneath that greasey hair lies the eyes of a man who has seen & experienced more than anyone could possibly imagine in a life time.

RAYNE: I've been called many names over the years. Be it out of fear, anger, or even stupidity... names are just words and words have no meaning unless the one using them can back them up with action.

Just ask Haven what it's like not to be able to live up to his words. In his eyes I was a rabbit, a poor dumb rabbit, who ventured off the wrong path and into a hunter's territory. He was going to do everything in his power to show the world what a dumb big rabbit I was for calling him out. He told the world of how he would break his own body just to see that I failed.

But I didn't fail.

I did to Haven exactly what I promised, I left him bloodied & broken in the middle of the ring.

Words are only as good as the man who uses them. You can never trust a man in what he says, but by his actions, do you truly find out what a man's worth. In Haven's case, he failed to live up to his promises, like many before him and the many that will after him.

Haven wasn't the first person to fall before me and I guarantee you he won't be the last.

The camera zooms out a bit more and you see Rayne, who has such an enormous physical frame, his suite is barely able to contain him. He's wearing his signature out of the ring attire, an outer black denim motorcycle jacket with cut off sleeves that is worn overtop another black leather jacket & blue jeans. You also notice the outer jacket has small metal spikes sticking out around the shoulder area.

Then there's another man who's words and actions take on a whole new meaning. I'm talking about Castor V. Strife. A man who's says one thing, but does another. He'll call you friend but won't think twice about hitting you in the back of the head with a baseball bat. His ego is bigger than the HPSC and the AOC combined, which is saying something when you compare Marcus Westcott's & Ken Cloverleaf's egos in the same f'in sentence.

That's right pencil dick, I'm talking to you! Or did you not hear the challenge I gave you from this previous Warfare? I know you've been too wrapped up in your plans for Duchess, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt you missed it. Especially since I know that selective hearing of yours only cares about the crap that comes out of {or into} your mouth.

So I'm going to repeat myself, but just this once...

I've challenged you to a contest, but not just any type of contest, a BODY SLAM contest. And by the stipulations of that shiney belt you like to parade around with, you have to accept EVERY challenge that's given to you.

Of course to make things more legit I have a little something for you.

Rayne pulls out a piece of paper and a pen from his jacket. The big guy props the piece of paper against a nearby wall and scribbles something on it. He then holds up the piece of paper in front of the camera lens.

It's a contract approved by Houston himself that basically says you'll accept the challenge and all the rules that follow with it. I know you're kind Castor. You're sneaky, deviant, and think the world revovles around everything you do. This contract is to basically make sure you abide by the rules of the challenge.

Rayne pulls away the contract and puts it back in his pocket.

Of course you could decline, take a sick day, and just go back to your dumpster diving for your next movie star. You don't have to prove to anyone Castor, we already know what you are...

A coward.

But if you change your mind, I'll be at Blue Dog Tavern off North Viking Way in Long Beach.

I'll be waiting, contract in hand.

Rayne flicks off the lights as he exits his suite, taking the contract with him.

FTB

Detroit, Michigan. Inside A1E superstar Big Wreck's home, Big Wreck is stretched out on his sofa, legs crossed at the ankles, with his arms behind his head. Ducky (~!) is seated on Big Wreck's chest.

Big Wreck: What a week, huh Ducky? I mean, WOW! Look what you did at Warfare! You PINNED Rick Challenger! YOU won the match, Ducky! This is ground breaking! It's history making! It's damn demoralizing for Badd Company and Rick Challenger, if you ask me. How would it feel to be the only man in professional wrestling to ever be pinned by a duck?

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: It's absolutely hilarious! And they said you weren't real! You really showed them! This is so awesome!

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Hey... don't let it all go to your head, now! No, I DON'T need you to beat up Damon Blackburn for me, thank you very much!

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Yeah, what the hell IS up with him, anyway?! It's really sad, Ducky. He's not the Damon he was before. Now, he's nothing more than just a stuck up, snooty, egotistical poopy head.

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Yes, poopy head. We're not on PPV, so I can't swear.

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: I don't care if other people do it, Ducky!

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Man, you're such an asshole sometimes.

(Beat.)

Big Wreck: *GASP*! (quickly covers his mouth)

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Uh oh. I'm in so much trouble.

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Yeah, sorry for calling you that. Got a little wound up there. But Damon gets me going like that now. He's surrounded himself with these morons. "Smiling" Ricky Valentine is just a blood-wait, money-sucking leech. How much does he take in fees? And Brock Titan? He's just an overgrown steroid freak with a tiny brain.

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: Yeah, I AM pissed off over this! That's TWICE now that those guys have attacked me and tried to beat me down!

(Cut to Ducky, and then back to Wreck.)

Big Wreck: I don't know what I'm going to do about it. All I know is I'm not going to stand for it any longer. We need to figure something out. In the meantime, you're getting a special treat today because of your giant historic WIN!

(Fade out.)

(FADEIN: 1960’s era 12-inch television set. The picture is static, and it’s scrambled audio screeches like a digital showerhead. Soon a color image appears, if spotty and inconsistent. It is running up and down as an out of control reel would, but quickly comes to full focus. The image: CASTOR V. STRIFE sitting in a director’s chair wearing a tweed coat, his hair wet and combed neatly to the side like a Mormon proselytizer. Of course, in true Hollywood form, his conservative look is balanced out by a pair of translucent red-lense sunglasses)

CASTOR: As such that life imitates art, so must life imitate STRIFE…

(Camera shifts to the right to show Castor, live in studio)

CASTOR: By now it’s become clear that there is no proper substitute for my celebrity. In the beginning, some of you doubted my sincerity and magnitude…and I haven’t forgotten that. For those among this group, and they know who they are…good luck to them.

This time next week, live on Warfare television, I will unveil a contract deal that not only will change MY career, but the entertainment industry as we know it. A1E will change. YOU…will change. Or you’ll be finished.

To clarify, this deal is NOT the challenge issued me by Rayne, though I have every intention of signing that as well. Rayne, as a 7’4 400 pound monster of a man, thinks he has one-upped me by making a body slam challenge. A man of my stature couldn’t POSSIBLY slam him once, let alone multiple times. HOWEVER…I should warn Rayne that he’s wishing on a monkey’s paw. For I happen to specialize in making the impossible possible, and he might just get exactly what he asks. Well, except for the part about me coming to his house to sign it. Fax machine not working, Rayne? Is this like Karate Kid Part III, where you follow me around town harassing me to sign the contract? Have your people call my people, and we’ll see about making your dreams come true.

On to more pressing matters: ME, and my game-changing deal of a lifetime. I want, I DEMAND a proper time slot in which to announce it. It’s bad business to start the show with the payoff, lest the masses have no reason to continue watching. Besides, it’s high time we gave them something to talk about other than the Passion of the Cross. And that brings me to a sore subject…

It is disturbing to me, nigh INSULTING, that the majority of focus in this company is being placed on Cross and his perpetrators, and not on ME. Who knew that two thousand and ten years later, martyrdom would still be en vogue?

There he was on a Golgotha Hill named SUDDEN DEATH, a Christ and his Roman hangman, nailed to a splinter in the sky. They screamed, they cried, they prayed, they puked…and they applauded.

Let me be the first to say I was UNIMPRESSED by your performance, Cross. It doesn’t take a hero to suffer, only a weakling or a masochist, and I think you’re both. I think you LIKE the pain, you like to suffer, and that…is your weakness. The emotional pain my precious whore Duchess caused you was tantamount to orgasm, and your public crucifixion was like reaching for Heaven only to have your fingers graze it’s doorway.

If it’s suffering you’re after, I can be your inspiration. It is I, not Jesus Christ, who offers you salvation- Silver Screen Salvation. There is only one true religion, it is CELEBRITY, and I am its greatest prophet. You want the marquee? The headline? You’ll have it on my terms.

The Highland Park Social Club, is that what you call them? They are of no consequence- not after next week. Nobody is. Not the Age of Chaos, not the Grammercy Park Knitting Circle, or the Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club…not the Seaside Heights Fistpumpers Association…NOBODY!

You won’t have to suffer for humanity’s sins, Cross- only your own. For your crimes against celebrity and your affront on me, you will suffer. And as much as you might enjoy that, remember Icarus who reached the ultimate height.

Xandor Cross, your wing will burn. I promise.

(FADEOUT)

***Rick Challenger is standing in front of a room of wrestling bloggers, internet radio show jockeys, and magazine article writers. His press conference is joined already in progress.***

“When it comes down to it… We aren’t bad guys. We are what the fans want… we aren’t the villains. Just the opposite, we are what they wish they could be… And how they wish they could express themselves. We just don’t care about these morons who whine and complain about what has happened to them and how they never catch a break. Grow a freaking backbone… grow some balls… make it about you in a way that no one can go on the defense over whatever you are fighting for.”

“Do you know what Badd Company fights for? Well, I’ll tell you… Respect… Hate us or love us but you damn well better respect who we are and what we have done for this business. Fear… Even if you don’t ever man up and you keep embracing your hypocritical status, Riley and I know for a fact that there is a stroke of fear somewhere in your mind or body. You cannot escape it. It’s that feeling you get knowing that you are going to take on the greatest tag team that have ever slid on a pair of wrestling boots but all the while knowing too that you are about to get the ass beating of your life and you can’t do anything to stop it. All you are is an add-on to what is becoming the best wrestling biography ever written. The luckiest you will be is when you are mentioned in the index in the back of the book.”

“The next stop on Badd Company’s “What do we fight for?” train… We fight for the team. the Unit… to put it simply, Us. I seriously doubt that anyone has ever come close to who Badd Company is.. as a team. Sure, there are the muscle bound cretins that have worked out together and think they are a unbeatable or unstoppable force, then there is the little fly boy team that is loved by all the little girls and it is those two who have their egos so bunched up their ass that they think they can do no wrong. I could go on and on and on, the mysterious masked team, the armed forces team, the formerly jailed team, the revenge seeking team… it keeps going and going… the flavor of the month just comes and goes… Badd Company has been here over 20 years.”

“Do you get the comparison that I am drawing, here? Unfortunately…In the beginning, I had morons teaming with me like the miserable Tommy Idol. What a useless piece of space. Then came Johnny Dream.. to even think that I gave that so-called wrestler a chance to team next to me. He was such a loser, he tried to make his own Badd Company team. He and his partner were left bloody and beaten in a cage. Then came the one and only tag team partner that was the very epitome of what I meant for Badd Company to be. Rick Riley just isn’t someone I meet up with here at the arena before the match and go over a strategy. He is my friend and my family. You all wish that you had someone in your lives that you didn’t have to keep your eyes wide open so that they won’t turn on you, steal from you or even kill your livelihood. Badd Company is so much more above the usual tag team begging for someone’s approval.”

“When we stopped making it about the fans or making it about the money… all of it came rolling in. The fans wanted to dress like us and cheer us. That’s fine with Riley and I, but it isn’t necessary for us to move ahead. We made each and every fight about us. There is never any doubt that Riley has my back and I have his. We are more than just a tag team… we are family. It’s a brotherhood of two. No one needs to be brought in to help us or to side with us. We… don’t… need… you. We… don’t… want… you. We aren’t hired assassins either. Don’t come to us and beg for help. We might help when we want to help but you should be worried that after we do help you out with your little cause… we most definitely will have an agenda of our own and we will leave you in the same fetal position we left your enemies. It’s just business. It’s what we do.”

“Don’t get Us.. wrong. We are willing to dress up and look good for the camera and focus our loyalty for the company we work for. Hell… You just saw on the last show that I will wrestle a toy duck just to get ourselves over. We don’t need the money… We already have it… All of our business ventures are outside the ring. We don’t need to prove ourselves… we have done it over and over… time and time again. What we do need though is Prestige. Riley and I know that if you are kicked out and too much time passes… You are forgotten. In this business, you cannot be forgotten or the best you will get is a table at the Legends Fan Fanfest, signing autographs… or the worst will be a semi fond memory and a life of half healed broken bones.”

“We won’t cry about what you think of us. To be hated means that you are relevant to what is going on the people around you. It’s more than just your average fifteen minutes of fame. You see when we were blacklisted… we became irrelevant in North America. But once we found a home in Uganda, we because South America’s most relevant resource…next to the civil wars, of course. In a country of poverty, we lived in luxury.. why? Because we were needed there to keep it all together. We kept their social economics above water. You really didn’t think that we had our call center to our internet store in the United States did you?? We made up half of Uganda’s gross national product. Since we left, more bombings… more deaths… less porn… we aren’t there to take the noose of the people that are hanging themselves. We were icons there… and we still are.”

“Now that we are gone they are all drowning in the abyss. Look at the whole continent of North America since we have returned home. Awareness of Badd Company and A1E has increased by the tens.. the hundreds.. of thousands of people wanting to know what happened to us and what is in store next. You had better believe that we are Nathan Houston’s car wreck and he is just loving the ratings spike that A1E has experienced and will continue to get because we pull in all the on-lookers to check out everything that we are doing. Why do they stop to look? Because we aren’t boring like half the morons in this company… after all these years, we are current… you will never know what is coming next from us. We are the epicenter of what professional wrestling needs and wants to be like. We are followed and revered like a national hero.”

“It really doesn’t matter if we mention anyone during this promo… why, you may ask? I’ll tell you why… Everyone in this whole company can kiss our asses. Kayla.. Sal.. You can kiss our ass. Wreck.. Ducky.. Duchess…wherever you are, you can kiss our ass too. Marcus Westcott… There’s a special place reserved for you, assclown. Toby, Dexter, Jecht, Cruise, Roberts, Cloverleaf, Damon, Hart, Cruise and that poor lounge singer, Mr. Entertainment… yes sir… you can all kiss our asses too. We are equal opportunists."

“Call us mean, cruel, unforgiving, crazy, funny, casual, stupid, ignorant, devious, worthless, gay, whatever adjective that you want to use… and then let me say this to you one last time. We Don’t Care. Badd Company gives not one miserable $hit about any of you. Rick Challenger and Rick Riley are and always will be above each and every on of you in every single way imaginable. Plain and simple… Bring it on. Doesn’t matter what match or what formation you want. We’ve done it all before. Cages, chains, scaffolds, ladders, tables, chairs, bull ropes, street fights, straps, texas tornado… like I said… we’ve done it all.”

“Rick Challenger and Rick Riley are here to be champions. So, anyone and I mean anyone that holds a championship belt, trophy, medal or even a gift card.. we want it. We want to take it away from you. And that brings it all back to Prestige, Respect, Fear and US…. Badd Company!”

***Before any other questions can be asked, Challenger walks away from the microphone and into the back of the arena.***

The A1E logo fades into and takes up the entire screen as it hangs there for several moments before fading out to a shot of the bar inside the Blue Dog Tavern. The bartender is cleaning a set of glasses, it's mid-day and the place is pretty empty, except for one patron that's sitting in the back of the room, puffing on a cigar. The bartender not taking his eyes of the glass he's cleaning starts talking to the man in the back of the room.

BARTENDER: If I were a guessin man, I'd say you've been sitting in that same chair for the past 3 nights only to leave at a few hours at a time and then return to continue to wait on whatever it is you think is suppose to walk through those doors.

I hate to be the one to tell you this son, but I doubt whoever or whatever it is you're waiting for, if it hasn't already came, then it's probably not coming at all.

The man in the back takes a final puff from his cigar and then puts it out. Again the bartender, never taking his eyes off the glass, finishes cleaning it and then picks up another one.

I hate to see ya like this. You seem like a nice enough fella, always paying your bar tab, never causing a ruckus, you just like to mind your own business and I respect you for it. I know I'm just an old fart, been doing this for the past 25 years, so I've seen my fair share of folk come in and out of this bar, some of them crazy, some normal, short ones, tall ones, mean, some rich, some homeless... but what I've come to understand they all have one thing in common.

No matter how different they seem on the outside they all are looking for something to help fulfill a need or a want. Now that something is different for each man or woman.. but they all are on the hunt to find the thing that will complete them.

The man stands up in the back and begins walking to the bartender, you notice he is none other than the monster Rayne, wearing his signature outer black denim motorcylce jacket with cut-off sleeves & spikes on the shoulders worn overtop another black leather jacket. Rayne places a few bills and a crinkled piece of paper on the counter and begins to walk towards the exit. The bartender finally takes his eyes from cleaning his glasses and looks up at Rayne exiting the bar.

I guess I must have sparked something, good for you son, I'm glad you've decided to take some action instead of waiting on whatever it is to come to you.

Rayne is almost out the door but then the bartender says something that makes Rayne stop.

Just out of curiousity, what is it you're looking for?

Rayne keeps his back to the bartender as he has the door propped open.

RAYNE: It doesn't matter what I'm looking for, what matters is I'll have it soon enough even if I have to pry it from a dead man's hand.

As Rayne exits the bar, the bartender collects the bills and notices the crinkled piece of paper that Rayne left on his bar. The camera zooms in as the bartender unfolds it and you see it's the signed contract for the Body Slam contest Rayne issued against Castor V. Strife.

BARTENDER: Who the hell is Castor V. Strife?? Sounds like bad pornstar name. Oh well.

The bartender shrugs, tosses the piece of paper into the trash can, and goes back to cleaning the bar

FTB

(((FADE IN. The monster, Jecht, is leaning against a non-descript brick wall. He’s wearing his usual casual attire of leather trousers and boots, although he’s gone for a white T-shirt for once)))

Jecht: I knew I couldn’t trust that damn Entertainment to do his job. A draw may be better than a loss, but not by much. Just goes to show I should’ve insisted on taking the two so-called champs on on my own. Would’ve been both more successful, and wouldn’t’ve had to worry about someone else screwing up.

But screw it. I managed to get some shots in on First and though I doubt I’ve shut him up, I’ve given people just a glimpse of what’s going to happen when we meet with the Cyber championship on the line. Honestly the only thing that’ll shut him up is tearing his throat out, and even then I have my doubts.

So what’ve we got now, hm? Instead of Dick giving out matches, looks like he’s been scared (((FCC)))tless by Nathan chewing him out. I’ll admit it was kind of nice seeing him knocked down a few pegs, but it leaves someone like me with a conundrum. Who the hell do I get to destroy, this week?

Does it really matter? Yeah. You see since I’ve been part of A One E, I’ve made one thing perfectly clear. I want to prove beyond a shadow of doubt that I am the best. That nobody – nobody – can lay claim to a title more than me. I haven’t been content just having torn through the Age of Chaos to say, give me a title shot. I haven’t been content beating damn near every member of the Highland Park Social Club and saying, hey, Dick – give me a shot at the World Title. Hell, had I won the Pier Six Brawl, I wouldn’t’ve said “I’m taking a world title match” – I’d’ve kept that until I had proven that it wasn’t just one night that I was better than everyone else.

So, yeah, who I face at the two hundredth Warfare does matter to me.

Look up and down the roster, and there is just one name that I can think of that I want. I’ll face anyone – but on this show? Why don’t I throw open a challenge. Not to The First – he’s already in my sights and is going to be walking away from our next one on one encounter a belt lighter. It’s not the World Champ, Shawn Hart – because he’s not even a blip on my radar right now. No, the guy I want to face, the man who if he has the balls to accept the challenge gets to meet me in the ring…

Troy Douglas.

Surprised? Shouldn’t be. He’s the one member of the Social Club I haven’t beaten before. He’s the guy who when we last fought – and it was a fight – didn’t have the guts to make the promise that I made him, and that Xandor later made me. A guaranteed World Title shot should the winner walk away with that belt. But Troy’s also the guy who took out the man who signs my pay cheques. The man who has me running around to schools, charity events, hospitals – the guy who Troy needed to turn into a light bulb to try and beat and still wasn’t able to.

Well, Troy? Are you willing to face me again?

No, Xandor hasn’t asked me to challenge you. Raquel hasn’t either. I want to tear you apart for my own reasons. And because – like when I dismantled the Age of Chaos’ Roberts and Torment – it’ll be a lot of fun.

I won’t be disappointed if you don’t accept, Troy. To be honest since you started running with the Club you’ve been a ball-less, soulless waste of skin. I look at you and you’re not even half the man you were when we last met in the ring, so if I’m right and you don’t have the guts, don’t worry.

Because if Troy Douglas doesn’t accept, whoever wants a match against me, has it. No first come first serve – first come, every damn body served. I don’t care if it’s Rocko, Marcus, Challenger, Slambo the Clown or Sal. If Troy is gutless and scared, all the rest of you get the chance.

Just don’t keep me waiting. You don’t want me to be even more pissed off than I already am…

(((FADE OUT)))

(Fadein on a formal party, dressed and impressed by none other than the Highland Park Social Club, as people dressed elegantly in gowns and suits walk by the distinguished group crest. Walking into view is none other than "The Centerpiece" Cameron Cruise, also dressed in a black Armani suit, matching Anarchy-style shades, with his hair slicked back.)

CRUISE: Ya know Jecht, I don't know whether to congratulate you or just look you in the face and laugh my ass off until I'm blue in the face, just to embarass you:

You're still a dumbass.

You might've been the "hardcore" one of the two, so you not making it back into the ring...that might actually be overlooked. After all...you'd rather get bloody and pushed into a mass-murder-like frenzy, than think about the rules of a standard tag match. Nevermind the fact that it was against two of the company's top...(Clears throat)...single champions...a stretch, I know considering both are complete tools...but Entertainment should've done SOMETHING.

But he didn't...and you instead you took a draw.

Shit, Jecht...you NEVER take a draw, at least like you did.

You took a draw against First and Castor Troy, and did nothing to argue it...because you have a shot at First with the Cyber title on the line??

That not only makes you lazy, but that makes you PATHETIC.

The First is a FLUKE.

Sure...everyone is gonna say that he isn't because he got a small victory for the all those little goth-children that thinks it's still Nineteen Ninety-five and every day is Halloween, but that's exactly what it was.

A small victory.

Sure, The First managed to snag the Cyber title off of a man who was "bored", but really...what else has he done?? He doesn't defend the Cyber title, not ONCE, and before that he LOSES the Pier Six Brawl...so if that's the case....HOW DOES HE GET A SHOT AT THE WORLD TITLE INSTEAD OF ME??!!?!?!!

(The sudden outburst scares afew people and causes afew people to spill their drinks as Cruise regains his composure and assures everyone of their safety.)

I digress, the fact is that yes Jecht...it does matter who you face because until you win your first legitimate Championship or contest...you'll never be taken seriously.

Myself?? I was nearly undefeated for an entire YEAR, which includes winning the Pier Six Brawl and the A1E World Heavyweight Championship...a title that regardless of what you people say...not one man either active or retired, has held as long since Big Dog.

And even he's too much of a chump to come out and find out who's the better man, not because he's retired, but because he's afraid that I'll make him look nothing like his namesake but quite the opposite:

A little, defenseless, hairless Chihuahua.

This isn't his yard anymore and he knows it...but it's up to the Highland Park Social Club to keep it clean, not him.

Yeah...had you won the Two-Thousand Ten Pier Six Brawl, you could've won a chance at a World Heavyweight Championship match against Rocko Daymon or myself.

But you LOST TOO.

Me?? I still have a re-match clause coming at anytime I choose.

So yeah...Fuck you.

By the way...a guy like you, Jecht...Hardcore, no-nonsense, criminal like you...hitting people with chairs, breaking things, bleeding on purpose...

(Cruise shakes his head)

Not so much with the schools, I'm afraid. How do I know this?? The Commissioner is a good man, when you get to know him. That...and I saw the figures on his desk...

You and the public interaction?? Not much of a good thing.

Besides, since we're playing the whole "Let's be honest" card....you've never been one to stand up to us. In fact, not only that, but you're not really one to tell people what they need and don't need either, kid.

Troy Douglas??

Couldn't be BETTER since joining the Highland Park Social Club, in fact, I'd even go as far as to say the man is DEFINATELY on top of his game; People see Troy and know for a fact that TROY DOUGLAS...is a man.

TROY DOUGLAS...is a athlete.

TROY DOUGLAS...is a wrestler.

And TROY DOUGLAS...is a WORLD CHAMPION.

Now Jecht from BLITZ....nobody.

A nobody that's TRYING to be a somebody, but still...a nobody regardless. How do I know??

You offer a chance to throw down with Troy...but then challenge the rest of the roster as if you're assuming Troy's going to back out or forget that you even SAID something to begin with??

Wouldn't lose sleep over it if he did, hell, none of you people really said anything worth giving a damn about so far so for the time being..."Paulo"...

You're a dumbass AND a chickenshit.

Why?? Because it just sounds like you're expecting one thing when you're trying for another. I say, stick with the challenge.

Not sure about what I mean?? Think about it this way...instead of taking your fatass back to the Sizzler buffet for a fourth time, try sticking it out for the third time and finish your food before going back for more.

That...or be a man and just push back from the table altogether, if you catch my drift.

You think you're pissed off?? Son, you haven't SEEN pissed off yet.

We have a man who's pretended to be my SUCCESSOR...lose the World title on a nite where he takes on not just one person, but TWO...in the same night.

I did that, hell...but Rocko??

Rocko-Flocko swears that he's the best, that he faced people one at a time and that he's the "Undying"...but after four months and a match that SHOULD have involved "The Centerpiece", poor Rocko gets PUT. ON. HIS. ASS....by one Shawn Hart.

The one man that was brought into this company by yours truly.

The one man that was breathed NEW LIFE into his career by bringing him to the prominance that is what's know as A1 Entertainment.

The one man that is now being figuratively BUTT-FUCKED by another one that's too chickenshit to do the right thing and that's DEFEND a title that you've taken from another man, at least once before trying for another one.

Hell, if you don't want it then be a man and tell the suits that you don't deserve it because you DON'T...and let someone else vie for a chance to prove themselves with it.

Then there's guys like...Rick...Challenger??

Hell, if that doesn't just scream "Go-go, POWER RANGERS!!"...I dunno what is.

I don't know who the flying fuck you THINK you are...but let me in you on alittle secret, son: If you're gonna hold a press conference to talk in front of a room of wrestling bloggers, internet radio show jockeys, and magazine article writers about stuff like RESPECT...if you're gonna sit there and wax elegant about those who you think should FEAR you...if you're going to sit there and talk utter TRASH to the entire A1 Entertainment lockerroom...

(Suddenly one by one, people at the party start noticing the camera abit more and pay attention temporarily to what Cruise is saying.)

MAKE SURE YOU DON'T GET PINNED BY A GODDAMNED RUBBER DUCK BEFORE HAND, JERKOFF!!!

(The crowd standing around Cruise bursts into uncontrollable laughter, as some women taking bites of food choke down what they have in they're mouths, some of the men do the same with drinks, spewing them about and dropping to either one knee, two knees or on their backs completely, beside themselves with hysteria.)

Seriously, though...bottom line, fellas...the last time I participated in a company-wide contestwith a reward for my troubles...

I won the Pier Six Brawl, made A1E's Church-boy-Circus-Freak look like a fool, and won the A1E World Heavyweight Championship. I think it's more than overdue for an encore performance, and there's nothing any of you can do to stop me.

Why??

Because that's just a REALITY CHECK that you just...won't like.

FADEOUT

The A1E logo fades into and takes up the entire screen as it hangs there for several moments before fading out to a shot of two extremely large hands shown in the reflection of a mirror, resting on a table. You do not see the person's face but that doesn't stop you from recognizing the voice belonging to the monster, Rayne.

RAYNE: I'm a patient man. Unlike most, I can control my urges to blurt out the most ridiculous things that come to mind, so I never have the problem of inserting my foot in my mouth unlike the likes of Jecht, Cameron Cruise, and Rick Challenger.

I'll get to those boneheads in a few minutes, first I want to address someone of particular importance to me, someone who has recently decided to throw me under the category of "non-threatening", and considering the position he's in, I would say it's a very poor decision.

A very poor decision is putting it in PG terms, especially since of who I am and what I'm capable of doing.

You see in the mirror, one of Rayne's hands reaches off camera and brings a pair of electric buzz clippers into view. He turns them on and then slowly brings them up and out of view. The camera still focused on the mirror only shows a reflection of the table, eventhough you cannot see Rayne's reflection, by the sounds of the clippers you know what is happening. A huge clump of hair suddenly falls onto the table.

You think you can brush me aside Castor, that my little challenge doesn't worry you?

I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt that maybe, somewhere lodged in that tiny monkey skull of yours exists an actual brain, but I regret I was wrong.

No I'm not going to chase you down like some lost puppy trying to get you to sign a contract. The fact of the matter is I don't need a f'ing contract to kick your ass.

The clippers turn back on and another clump of oily brown hair falls to the table, which is quickly followed by many large clumps before you see a whole pile of it scattered all across the table.

You say you're "unimpressed" by Cross' performance, and you think he shouldn't be getting all the attention. What is the little attention whore deep inside you a little jealous?

The fact that you're too focused on someone else rather than the opponent that stands before you is a complete slap in my face. I hate to break this too you, but I've broken people's necks for less than that.

If anything I'm unimpressed by you, Castor, and that's saying something since I alreayd had held you in low standards. At first I just thought of you as a over-rated champion, but now I can see you're just plain old yellow. You hold a championship belt, that your barely defend against anyone worthy, and instead of trying to defend it, you're too focused on someone that is not even on your radar.

And now you're wanting, no "demanding" a time slot to announce to the world just how small Castor V. Strife's little peepee is, and what you plan on doing about it... that's fine and dandy. I'm sure Dick will be glad to oblige to that request, since he has a thing for small peepees.

The fact of the matter is Castor, you don't care about A1E, you don't even care about the Challenge Championship title you hold, and you certainly don't care about me.

So I'm going to make this simple for you, because I know how busy you are and wouldn't want to take up any more of your precious time {we all know how much you enjoy ME time}.

At some point in time on Warfare be it before the show, during your match, after your match, as the show is about to go off the air, or even as you step out of your vehicle to walk into the arena, Castor V. Strife is going to to get a little piece of what's to come, curteousy of Rayne.

You like to call yourself a "celebrity"? Well after I'm through with you, you'll have your name in the history books, but instead of being remembered as a champion, you'll be remember as the one who lost the Challenge Championship title to Rayne. Remembered as a failure, which is your true calling.

See Castor, even the losers get their name in history, too bad that's the only place your name is going to appear when it's associated with A1E.

The hand holding the clippers sets them down, and reaches again off camera only to bring back a thing of shaving cream and a razor blade. Rayne places some shaving cream in his hand and it disappears off camera. Rayne's other hand reaches for the razor and again goes off screen. Eventhough you cannot see what Rayne is doing, you can guess that he's shaving his head bald.

I'm not one to toot my own horn, because let's face it sometimes its just better to let sleeping dogs lie, but in this case I just can't sit back and let people like Cameron Cruise spew shit from their mouth any longer.

Seriously, when did ol' Cam Cam become the lap dog for the HSPC.. oh wait.. he's always been someone's bitch at one given time or another in his career. I guess as time passes somethings never change.

I mean I can understand you support your fellow fraction members, Camery, but you don't have to blow hot air up their ass on national television... besides I think Troy Douglas' ego doesn't need any more boosting from the likes of you. If his head gets any larger, poor Troy won't be able to fit it up Farnswirth's ass anymore. And we all know Farnswirth can't go an hour during the day without sticking something up his anal cavity, unless of course you'd like to fill your new best bud's shoes and take one for the team.

You continue to hear the razor skimming across Raynes head just before one last swipe is heard and Rayne tosses the razor onto the table. His hand reaches out for a hot wet towel, and just as quickly he tosses it onto the table as well. The camera is still focused on the mirror which shows the mess that Rayne has made, clumps of hair, a dirty razor blade with shaving cream and small stubbles of hair, and a wet towel.

Let's get something straight, just because you have the same last name as Tom Cruise, doesn't give you the right to go ahead and start acting like a complete jackass. I mean if that's your true calling, fine, but the next time you feel the need to bash someone who is unable to defend themself, you better hold your tongue or so help me god I'll rip it out from your mouth and choke you to death with it.

You my friend will never be in the same league as Big Dog. You think your hot shit because you won the world title once that you can compare yourself to the likes of him? Please, Big Dog's shit holds a higher standard than your little career, so that should tell you something.

If you think lightening is going to strike twice and you're going to walk out of the 200th episode on top, then you my friend are sadly mistaken. Here's some advice, you can either shut the fuck up or be prepared to be beaten like a screaming Irish housewife back in the 1950's.

That's a reality check that you'll be cashing in on Warfare if you want to continue with this little charade of yours, and I guarantee you it won't be pleasant.

The same goes for Rick Challenger of Bad Company and Jecht.

Ricky Steamboat thinks Bad Company is a one of a kind tag team that says everyone should respect them, fear them and give them lots of prestigious awards for all their dominating abilities.

Ricky, no one will ever take you or Bad Company seriously, and because of that, no one will ever respect you, no one will ever fear you and I guarantee you you'll never hold "gold" in this company if you keep on this path.

Whenever you allow yourself to fall victim to a rubber toy and be pinned, then it's time to pack the bags and head home.

It would be different if you came out here with humility, and said you f'ed up, but no.. you're came out all cocky, claiming dominance on everyone, that Bad Company is the best thing since Jenna Jameson started making porn. Do you honestely believe people are going to fall for all this smoke and mirrors shit? Wake up pal, you're just asking for more embarrassement.

People like you and Jecht, Castor V. Strife and even the First think the world owes them something. That we should just give in to your demands.

Well I got news for you all, I have no quarrel about stepping into the ring against each and every single one of you, showing you first hand just what it means to earn the things you have as well as the things you desire.

You want respect? You want to reach the top? You want to just plain out kick my ass to shut me up?

Then I say bring it!

At the 200th episode of Warfare, the monster has been unleashed once again onto A1E.

Rayne's hand again reaches off camera and brings a mask into view, however you do not see it fully only a glimpse as the camera tilts upward and you can see Rayne's face for the first time in the mirror. His head is completely shaven and he has multiple scars all over his face. Rayne's eyes are pointed downward as he stares at the mask, which is still not visible to the camera.

It's almost time to return to that which I have laid to rest, to finally show the world my rebirth, but not yet...

...not yet.

Rayne tosses the mask onto the table and then wipes the table clean by throwing everything into the trash can beside the table. Rayne gets up and leaves as the camera zooms in on the debris in the trash can, giving you one last glance of the mask just before...

FTB

(FADEIN: The First, standing in front of an A1E banner, First is wearing a black Miami Heat #6 LeBron James jersey. A1E Cyber Title over his shoulder, face painted white with a black raccoon stripe across his eyes. Beside him stands Muse, who's wearing the typically slutty outfit of a Miami Heat cheer leader. "We Already Won" by Flo Rida plays in the background.)

FIRST: A1E's been dominated, taken over by it's version of LeBron, Bosh, and Wade. It's three singles titles held by folks who just walked into this company, kicked the door down, and took what they wanted. Yet here I stand listening to the most pathetic, pitiful worthless man in the world whine and complain about everything.

Cammy, you know why I got a title shot before you? Because I wanted it, and I make the rules here. You had a re-match clause in your contract, you bragged about how you could take it whenever you wanted, but you haven't, you've hid like a coward, you want to know why I got a title shot before you? Look in a mirror, you got whipped by Rocko Daymon, and you ran like a bitch.

You didn't want a re-match with him because you knew it would just be a repeat of what happened in England, he'd just kick your ass again, so you do what you do best, sit on the sidelines and belly ache, complain and bitch about things you don't have the power or will to fix. If it wasn't for Westscott and Cloverleaf doing all they could to keep me from winning in that 4 way, if I wasn't up against a 3 on 1 attack from the dying old guard of this company, I'd have won the A1E World Title already.

You, all you do is cling to your pathetic past, where fighting friggin' Andy Gilkison over the course of 6 months and then barely beating him is some great victory. Where your hostage taking of Troy Douglas' daughter led you to escaping with the belt against Xandor Cross...All of that is stuff you take great pride in, what's happened since then Cruise, what happened after all that?

You lost to Rocko...And then what...Pay close attention Cammy...

I BEAT YOU...

You do remember that right? They threw us in the ring, said 'you two, have a match' and I kicked your ass and pinned you...You call me a fluke...Well you got BEAT by a fluke, so what the hell does that make you? I'd guess it makes you a total fraud...

So you lose to Rocko, LOSE TO ME, then you lose to Jeffery Roberts...You're sucking royally Cammy, you're on quite the downward fall here...And all you got now is calling Castor Strife "Castor Troy" what the hell does that mean, he's a woman? God, stick to the motor oil jokes when you're busting on him, that's slightly more creative and makes a little more sense.

Cammy, I hope we end up fighting in round one of this little tournament, and I hope you manage to keep your thugs away from the ring out of some misplaced sense of pride...Because your nickname here is "The Centerpiece" which is supposed to sound all menacing, but the fact is, all it means is that you are a piece, and you need others to complete the puzzle...Without them, you're nothing...Without your Highland Park Social Club...You're just a loser...

You're a loser with one talent Cammy, the ability to see a winner and know that they'll be a meal ticket for you...You see me, Hart, and Castor crushing this company and you know if you position yourself as the guy that'll stop them, maybe it can draw you one or two more main events, maybe get you a few more big paychecks before your complete lack of talent is exposed once and for all. Well you got my attention Cammy...So enjoy your last few weeks of relevance...And put all that money you make in the bank real quick, don't waste it on hookers and blow like usual...Because after I'm done with you, you'll be lucky if A1E even lets you put the ring up before shows.

(FADEOUT)

(((FADE IN. Jecht is sitting in a small dressing-room, dressed to wrestle))))

Jecht: Cameron… are you serious? Or is this just another attempt to make you, and the Club, seem relevant? Because listening to you earlier today, I didn’t know whether you’ve accepted being a joke and’re doing it on purpose or if you really are that stupid.

Let’s cut straight through the crap, Cruise. You want to say I’m not relevant, fine. But trying to pass yourself off as relevant when in your entire World Title reign you had about… two clean wins? Not fine. Especially since for one of those wins you had to ride my coat-tails to beat the guy who you’ve gone on record as saying is a nobody.

Yeah. When he gets round to speaking this week, I’m sure he’ll make the same point. That you lost, as champion, to a nobody. A nobody you haven’t beaten in A One E. But I digress.

See, Cruise, the only thing you proved in your World Title reign is that you’re a nobody without the Club’s backing. Anyone can go a year winning if they’ve got the numbers, it doesn’t mean they’re any good. The same goes for Troy Douglas. Yeah, he was a world champ. He was an athlete. He was a wrestler. You’ve always been a joke. But since joining the Club, Troy has turned into the same thing as you, the same thing as Cloverleaf, and the same damn thing as each and every single (((FCC))))rd in the Age of Chaos right now.

A coward who feels he has to have two, three, four guys watching his back to make sure he doesn’t get scared of his own shadow.

Don’t think so, Cruise? Then why was it your only win against Mister Entertainment was with my help? Why is it that Troy couldn’t get Xandor to give up, even after cuffing him to the cage and electrocuting him? Why is it that you – yes, you, Cruise – have yet to do a damn thing except state that you’ve got a rematch whenever you want?

Because you’re a coward. A whining, snivelling… nah, you don’t have the balls to be a bitch. Same as Douglas.

That’s why, Cruise, I’ve laid out an open challenge. To anyone who wants to face me, because from the looks of things? Douglas is a bigger sack of (((FCC)))) than I gave him credit for. I need something to do. Troy gets first shot but if he doesn’t take it anyone will do. Doesn’t matter if it’s someone else from the Club, current or past, or the Age of Chaos, or anyone else.

Or are you saying you want a piece of me if Douglas doesn’t show up, Cruise? Yes or no, give the answer. Because I would love to show you just how much of a (((FCC))))king (((FCC))))y you are.

Hell, Cruise – if you or anyone else is too scared to face me at full health, I’ll take on Rayne first since he wants someone to beat the crap out of him.

Yeah, Rayne. I think the world owes me something. That’s why I’ve long said, I’ll destroy everyone on the roster to show that nobody – NOBODY – deserves a title more than me. If the world owed me a damn thing, I’d be like Cruise and say “I can get a world title shot any time I want”. The fact that I’m prepared to go through everyone and force my way to the top sounds more like work, kid. And since you’re now here – well, sooner or later we were going to meet if you stick it out. If Troy doesn’t show up, you’ll do for the first match. Then Cruise. Then anyone else.

If he’s the man he used to be, Troy Douglas’ll show up. But if he doesn’t?

Anyone else is fine with me. I’ll have to go through you one way or the other, so might as well get it over with so I can add your names – whoever wants to face me – to the ever growing list.

(((Jecht stands, grabbing a leather waist-coat from the bench beside him and heading through a door. We hear it close before we FADE OUT))))

(((FADE IN. Mr Entertainment is sitting in a darkened monitor room, with dozens of TV screens showing various matches from A1E history. The man himself is leaning back with his feet resting on the desk, away from the controls, and he’s holding a bottle of water. He’s gone with another new T-shirt, this one a special commemorative “A1E Warfare – 200!” T-shirt that you can buy now for $19.95 plus shipping and handling. Also available as a signed shirt – your favourite star (add $5) or the whole roster (add $40). A1E Shopzone. There’s an app for that!)))

ME: How many of these guys do ya’ll recognise? Sure, we’ve got Shawn Hart, Marcus, Rocko, Xandor, ME

Mister Entertainment

But do ya’ll recognise some of the others? Big Dog ya should. Nemesys, Housefly, Gladiator, Kanna Kirishima, Richard Farnswirth… so many names, so many greats who’ve built this company ta where it is today. Remember them?

(((He glances over towards the bottom left corner, almost snorting when he sees what it’s showing)))

ME: Trust me, a long way since these two opened the first show… Rock an’ Pebble?! How the hell did they get on these screens…

I guess ya’ll’re wonderin’ what my point is? Besides nostalgia – I don’t really have much of a point. It’s kinda pointless lookin’ backwards, ain’t it? If ya keep yer eyes behind ya ya’ll lose sight of what’s comin’ up on ya.

An’ what’s comin’ up is a breath of fresh air. A new beginnin’, as cliché as tha’ sounds. An’ a new beginnin’ fer ME

Mister Entertainment.

Ya see, though I don’t really wanna admit it, Jecht was right. I did tend ta hold onta things like beatin’ Cammy an’ endin’, cleanly, his undefeated streak. I did hold onta beatin’ Tricky Dicky in his final match. But that’s the past. It ain’t gonna do anythin’ in the here an’ now. What happened at Warfare one-nine-nine isn’t gonna have any real impact on what happens at the big two-double-oh.

So… thanks fer the memories, but

(((He leans forward, pressing a button. The monitors start to flicker off)))

ME: One after one by the star dogged moon
Too quick for groan or sigh
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang
And cursed me with his eye.

Well, not quite. But I thought it needed somethin’ sayin’ an’ a bit o’ Romantic poetry couldn’t harm anyone.

Well, so what’s next fer Mister Entertainment? What am I gonna do at Warfare this week, the big one? A truly once in a lifetime event?

I could go after Cammy again but – hell, I’ve beaten him twice an’ he just doesn’t feel like a big enough challenger fer the new ME

Mister Entertainment.

I could go after Jecht – but honestly with his whole “Grr! Want Troy Douglas!! Or want someone else!!” bit? I don’t know whether he’s comin’ or goin’.

So who ta choose… who ta choose…

I know. Why don’t ya’ll a’ home decide? It’s a new beginnin’, a new ERA if ya’ll indulge ME

Mister Entertainment

So why the hell shouldn’t I let you folks decide? Who do you want ta see step inta the ring with Mister Entertainment?

Check ou’ twitter, A1E dot ca, send smoke signals – but YOU decide who I face.

Ooooh… another challenge! Yeah, yeah. But the great thing abou’ this way is tha’ it’s a mystery. It won’t be up ta people ta accept my challenge like I’m Jecht or Rayne. It won’t be someone predictable or prepared fer. It’ll be one of the cornerstones of ENTERTAINMENT! Unpredictable, mysterious, NEW!

The tension, the drama… at the risk o’ soundin’ like Beau Michaels, I love it!

Does it matter who it is? Nah. It’s part o’ the fun. An’ if anyone’s got a suggestion fer a type o’ match, send it in too. Nathan wants the fans more involved anyway.

An’ who knows – I might just give ya’ll another lil’ surprise at the show an’ lay some hard truths on some o’ the current roster.

(((He glances up at the monitors, winking at the camera. FADE OUT)))

The A1E logo fades into and takes up the entire screen as it hangs there for several moments before fading out to a shot of a newly shaven Rayne standing outside his hotel, wearing his signature outer black denim motorcylce jacket with cut-off sleeves & spikes on the shoulders worn overtop another black leather jacket along with a pair of black denim jeans. With a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, and a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes from the camera, Rayne sports a grin towards the camera as he waits on his ride to the arena.

RAYNE: I'm not a man who enjoys the sound of my own voice, personally I rely on my actions to do the talking for me, because actions will always speak louder than words.

Castor V. Strife will soon find this out, whether he wants to or not because it's not a matter of if, now it's a matter of when. You might think silence is golden Castor, or that you speak softly but carry a big stick... it's not going to matter because in the end you will fall flat on your face as you come to terms with the cold hard truth.

You are NOT the pinnacle of this business, or any other business for that matter, and once these hands are wrapped around your throat you'll realize just who is the best.

A large SUV taxi drives around to the front of the hotel where Rayne takes one final puff from his cigar before putting it out.

Now Jecht I know you're use to being the big guy on campus, unfortunately for you, that's just not the case anymore. You think I want someone to step up and kick my ass? Maybe your right Jecht. Maybe what I really want is to have someone actually step up and shut me up. Maybe then that person would earn my respect.

But I have news for you Jecht, that's not going to be you. Why? Because you don't have what it takes to beat me. It has nothing to do with your long list of championship reigns, nor does it have anything to do with your ability. It's your approach.

You think just because I'm the new guy on the block that I have no clue what I'm getting into. That I'm so green you'd be able to just walk into a match against me without doing any type of research on who I am, and come out on top? That's a mistake a rookie would make.

No one would ever challenge anyone unless they knew exactly who they're going up against. And the advantage I have is that I know exactly the type of wrestler you are, I've seen it time and time again. All it would take is one mistake and I would exploit it, making you suffer a thousand lifetimes for it.

The same goes to anyone else who wants to throw a few jabs my direction. If you decide to step up, be sure you're prepared, because I will knock you down quicker than you'd have time to react, and by the time you realize what's happened, I just knocked you out.

A1E and I are not strangers, and tonight at the 200th episode of Warfare you're going to witness just how close we really are.

Time to bring the Rayne!

Rayne adjusts his duffle bag as he enters into the SUV taxi, driving off to the arena. And we...

FTB

(CUEUP: “Memorabilia” by Nine Inch Nails) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KG8Y1dF5zWU)

(FADEIN: “Fan Cam” style camera starts from a floor level view of a burgundy rug, where a trail of Xanax bars and Reese’s Pieces has been made. A redheaded woman crawls up to the first Xanax bar and licks it up into her mouth. The camera follows her as she crawls to the yellow Reese’s Pieces and eats it. This continues for a bit until she’s approached a staircase after ingesting 4 Xanax bars and 4 pieces of Reese’s candy. On each step of the staircase is a piece of cotton candy with a “surprise” inside, the contents of which we’ll leave to the viewers to decide- though it can’t be good. She falls forward pushing herself from one level to the next, hitting her forehead on the next step. At this point, she’s numb and continues on unrelenting, shoving each piece of cotton candy into her mouth like a starving child. The camera lets her get ahead, and her privates would be completely exposed to us from underneath her nightgown if not for the blurry censor. Her pace quickens, turns the staircase, and eventually gets to the next level, where she crawls into the first bedroom where the trail leads. Inside, CASTOR STRIFE is laying on a giant futon which is covered in white feathers, wearing nothing but white shorts and a Caesar’s crown atop his head. Next to him laying on their stomachs are naked woman and men alike. The redhead crawls onto the bed, between his legs, and sticks out her tongue for him to place a small, round yellow tablet, like a priest gives the body of Christ. She ingests it while looking straight up into his eyes- the camera is now side view- and immediately convulses into a seizure, her mouth foaming while eyes roll back into her head. Castor shoves her aside and the music abruptly stops)

(FADEOUT)

(FADEIN: Same feathered futon, CASTOR STRIFE still laying there in his shorts, crown in hand this time. All others have left- he is alone)

CASTOR: What I do henceforth will put to shame the great feats I’ve already achieved. The machinations in place, the terms under which I’ve inked my signature…there is no Cruise, no Hart, Rocko, Cross, Douglas, or Westcott that could stop it.

Dream big, act big. There is no overstating what I’ve done which will soon be revealed. This is no gentleman’s group, no “stable,” not even a dynasty I speak of. Castor Strife is building an EMPIRE, and you should believe that like your salvation depends on it. Because it just might.

Now going from the topic of Empires to Rayne and his idiotic challenge is like eating at Tavern on the Green one day and Wendy’s the next, but there is an important point to be made.

Firstly, remember it was YOU who challenged ME. And it is not out of some hidden desire to compete against this company’s trash that led me to accept, but a contract to which I’m obligated. Same as Westcott when he came after me, and Beau Michaels too. I actually agree with you, Rayne, when you say I haven’t faced anybody- I HAVEN’T. It’s because there’s nobody IN this company. Though dear Marcus and Beau would beg to differ with you, but generally A1E has nobody who can compete nor draw on my level…which is why I came here in the first place.

All of you need to understand something about me- I didn’t come here to prove I’m the best among the world’s best athletes. I am here…on a mission of MERCY. I know I’m the best, you think I need to beat Cameron Cruise or Rayne or Rocko to prove it? HA! Every champion in this company has been on the losing end of an encounter with me in the last 10 months alone.

My arrival here was something like a real estate mogul buying up a blighted building and renovating it to become profitable. That’s EXACTLY why I’m here, and exactly what I will have done this time next week. If there’s one thing they’ll say about Castor Strife, it’s that whenever he made a promise…HE DELIVERED. And I ALWAYS deliver.

Some say I act as if A1E and its roster owes me something.

Read my lips, carefully now: EACH and EVERY ONE of you owes me. Big time. You should be sending ‘Thank you’ cards to my residence on a weekly basis- and for the record, I’ve received NOTHING save for a contractually obligated handjob from Duchess this morning.

That’s right, she works for ME now! And in seven days she’s cleared her credit, school, and medical debt and came away with more profit than she’s made in the last seven YEARS working for A1E.

Castor Strife wrestles for A1E, brings money into its coffers, attracts a spotlight which has a trickle down effect on a RANGE of undeserving ingrate trash for example, YOU…Cameron Cruise, Jecht, Mister Entertainment, Shawn Hart, Rocko Daymon, Cameron Cruise, Marcus Westcott, Troy Douglas, Cameron Cruise, Ken Cloverleaf, Cameron Cruise, and ON and ON and ON!

Oh you’ve barely begun to owe me. And what you owe me NOW pales in comparison to what you will owe me down the line. You couldn’t pay the interest over two lifetimes.

I DON’T respect you Rayne, or your challenge that PAINS ME to have to take. Nor do I respect anyone else here. And why should I? On one hand, I have 7’10 914 pound people challenging me to body slam contests and saying things like “Castor has a small peepee.” On the other hand, I have people calling me “Castrol Motor Oil,” which is as much of a nonsensical stretch as me calling you “Ray-Ban Sunglasses,” and Cameron Cruise just graduated to saying I’m “Castor Troy,” a reference to a character from an obscure, straight to DVD quality movie that maybe 30 people saw. I wouldn’t expect him to know that the name Castor draws it’s prominence from a little book, maybe you’ve heard of it, called THE BIBLE. After all this is Cameron Cruise we’re talking about, and he’s what we call “the village idiot.” The village idiot who, by the way, is a former A1E World Heavyweight Champion. And you wonder why I have no respect for A1E- it’s like dealing with Kindergarteners.

I will even be so bold as to put my career on the line in this match, Rayne, as I’ve done many times before. No, in fact…that’s not drastic enough. How can I properly show the low esteem in which I hold you?

Rayne, I hereby offer to KILL MYSELF live in the ring if you’re to defeat me. This is no joke: if you beat me and take my title, Caitlin will inject air into my veins for the viewing public to witness.

Before that happens, I will however give you this one last chance to save yourself the embarrassment. Rip the contract up, and I’ll allow the match to happen with a ladder instead. The contract as is will lead to no doubt the most embarrassing moment of your career, Rayne. I promise. It doesn’t have to be this way. The ball…is in your court.

As for A1E, I want it as a collective whole to keep its eyes on me next week. Magic of a high order will spring forth from my hands and miracles will be worked. I am one-man must-see TV. I am God himelf for a night, and maybe longer.

(FADEOUT)

Fade in.

A stark white room.

Ceiling.

Floors.

Walls.

Lying on his back in the middle is Jeffrey Roberts - erstwhile NAPW World Champion, former A1E Cyber Champion, fourth place finisher in the 2007 World Series of Poker, Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest Runner-Up 2001-2004 and future racquetball king of New Jersey.

In pursuit of this last goal, he lies on his back tossing a racquetball high into the air and catching it as it falls. One's hand-eye coordination can never be too sharp.

JEFFREY ROBERTS: These have been a very trying few months.

A week ago I awoke from my slumber and realized something.

Marcus Westcott has become to wear on me. Castor Strife, who has tried many times over to name drop me in the hopes that, at the very mention of my name I might snap and take him to a place he... well, that he would probably love to go. Cameron Cruise, like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night, predictably whines on, something Greenwich sets its time by.

The 'war' between the Age of Chaos and The Highland Park Social Club rages on and I have to ask a question...

Why?

At this point I'm beating you people up just because you're there. I have a match, I wrestle it, I see an opportunity to cut someone up and I do it. Ken is there, so I stab him in the leg. Cruise is there, so I drop a knee across his throat and send him to Mercy General for a trachiotomy. I'm swinging at shadows, happy to main whatever stands in my way.

But what's my motivation? That's a question you'd ask, Castor. You the film man, setting the scene and me happy to oblige with the action.

But the truth is ...

I have no motivation. I'm not the kind of guy who really has a plan. I envelop the scope of chaos and I set it free to do as it would. I happily watch while the hands of fate move, a paradox to be sure, since I don't believe in fate. Someone once said of chaos....

It's fair.

Fair or not, I am wrapped in the snug embrace of chaos and only there do I find the closest thing I feel to peace. For if I were to be completely honest, I feel little of anything at all. And that's why, more than anything, the sting of pain, the rush of suffering brings me closest to contentment. That's why I agreed to join Marcus in his quest to begin with.

But in the end it's as everyone suspected - all for power and glory. Fortune. Fame. Empty trophies lining empty walls.

I blame myself really.

I don't work well with others. I never have. No one wants to be friends with the kid who cuts his friends with razor blades to see who bleeds the most. No one cares when you say you're studying human suffering and mean it. No one believes you.

I'd just as soon scrap this entire drama and get down to wrestling again, to winning again, to coming up with new reasons to shove bamboo reeds under Cameron Cruise's fingernails and listen to his squeal, as if anyone needs a reason for that.

Whatever the conclusion, I know this - the 'bored' me is dead.

I've been away too long, I think.

Chaos has been chained up - anarchy restrained.

No more.

Only now does the true... age of chaos.... begin.

Fade Out.