Arthur’s Seat
Edinburgh, Scotland
Present Day

I love Arthur’s seat. The landscape around this iconic part of the Scottish capital is a place of refuge where I’ve sought solitude from the world for as long as I can remember.

To your average Joe, this isolated summit is nothing but a foot-path, a hiking spot, famous for its rugged hills and great views. Most people don’t know that it’s actually an extinct volcano, surrounded by grassy slopes and intimidating rocky outcrops.

On this clear day, I take in the breathtaking scenery of Edinburgh herself, the frigid waters of the Firth of Forth and the surrounding countryside, all viewable from the summit.

As I sit, cross-legged, eyes closed, on the highest peak of this beautiful national landmark, I take in the bracing yet invigorating air. My eyes open, glancing to the side at the Anarchy Championship belt. I see the letters of my name engraved into it before I gaze back out across the view in front of me.

You know, I love coming here. The smells, the sights. I mean look at that…

I point out the picturesque surroundings, in awe of what I see.

..It doesn’t get much better.

I look around, craning my neck to look at the mountaintop behind me.

First title defense in the books.

First monkey off my back.

A deep exhalation gushes from my mouth.

No one wants to be a one-and-done champion. All that effort to capture that elusive championship only for it to be snatched away before you’ve barely gotten used to the idea of being a champion.

I extend my pinkie.

Isaiah King.

The ring finger joins.

Thunder Knuckles.

And now the middle one.

Dolly Waters…All recent champions thought to be destined for greatness, supplanted at the first time of asking. Not the Sky Assassin though. Not the King of the Skies.

Hell, it’s only been what? Two weeks since Free For All? And yet somehow it feels like an eternity since the last time I was in an XWF ring. Since I did exactly what I said I would do against Madison Dyson.

I said she would be the victim of her own destruction.

I warned her not to fuck with me and her own hubris was the catalyst of her demise.

A moment of silence passes. I turn my head from one side to the other, looking up and down, behind me.

But where is she now? Nowhere to be seen. And now I find myself with an unexpected challenger …Rickinator.

A subtle smile crosses my face as I cup my chin, my fingertips gliding up and down.

You’re an interesting character, Rick, I’ll give you that. One might even call you an enigma.

I mean, you burst onto the scene from Christ-knows whatever dimension or universe with a lot of expectation and intrigue.

You set Anarchy alight when you defeated Barney Green. No mean feat, kudos.

I incline my head in an acknowledging nod before my expression quickly changes.

But since then…things haven’t exactly been going your way, have they, Rick?

My smile is not so subtle now.

I don’t know what Jett’s thinking is behind giving a championship match to a guy who has only tasted victory once in his entire career here but you know what? I’m a fighting champion and I’ll happily defend my title against any man, any woman or any interdimensional being for that matter.

But you know, Rick, one thing I’ve noticed about you is your tendency to spout off a lot of bullshit, saying this, that and the next thing.

I hold my hands up, in almost mock innocence.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Rick, you’ve got quite the creative imagination. I mean, all those graphic descriptions you rattled off against Barney and Centurion.

I mockingly mouth “Wow!”

But when you siphon all that crap, strip away everything else, do you know what’s left?

My index finger hooks and bends as I link it with my bent thumb, creating an “O”.

Nothing. Nothing but the same, boring, rhetoric every single time. One that might’ve worked against Barney but not Centurion and it damn well won’t work against me. You’re a fountain of misplaced rage but you won’t find any outlet against me.

So, like I did with Dyson, I’m going to give you a champion’s mercy. And that comes in the form of some free advice.

And that is be the most creative you’ve ever been. I mean really get those creative juices flowing! Think of every gory film you’ve seen, conjure up the most gratuitous acts your simple, twisted brain can think up. Picture yourself inflicting all that violence on me. Spread my ribcage like angel wings like you threatened Centurion, piss in my empty eye sockets, eviscerate me with one of your futuristic ray guns! Do your fucking worst, Rick!

Then, I want you to picture yourself holding the Anarchy Championship. Do you have that image, Rick? Sure you do, it’s the first thing you thought when this match was announced.

Listen to the fans as you stand triumphant over my battered body, Rick! Take it in! This is your moment! Hear the announcer’s words!

“AAAAAND NEEEEEW! XWF ANARCHY CHAMPION! THEEEEE RICKIIIIIIINATOR!!”

Feel that euphoric rush pulsating through your body!

And then next? Stick your hand down your pants, grab your junk and whack off to it until your heart’s content. Because that’s the only satisfaction you’re going to get doing anything even remotely close to taking the Anarchy Championship from me!

I stand up, slinging the Anarchy Championship belt over my shoulder.

At the end of the day, Rick, when that final bell rings, the first words you’ll hear will be “And Still” and the first thing you’ll see is the blurry lights of the Swinney Recreation Center twinkling down at you as you drift back into obscurity. See you in Kansas City.

With that, I make my way back down the mountaintop as the scene fades to black.