In a darkened bedroom, “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane sits, overlooking the form of his fiancée. Roxy has only within the prior five to ten minutes finally calmed enough to fall asleep for the night, something that took several glasses of wine as well as a tablet of melatonin. Eventually, though, she did calm enough from her panicked frenzy to drift off into dreamland.
Loverboy sits upright in bed, watching over his beloved as her ample chest rises and falls, glad to see the expressions of anguish and despair gone from her face finally. With a delicacy, he pulls a corner of satin sheet up and over her tanned shoulder, taking a moment to run his fingers through her hair.
Only when he’s fully satisfied with Roxy Cotton’s comfort does Loverboy slide out from between the sheets and walk on the balls of his feet to the bathroom, flicking on the vanity light and bathing his nearly nude form in yellow light.
He runs the tap, taking a look at himself in the mirror. The new pink extensions added as an ombre beneath his blond coif glitter in the bathroom light. He cups his hand beneath the water and slurps some, then runs his wet hand across his hair to reign in some of the wilder strands. With a quick glance behind him to ensure Roxy is still peacefully asleep, Loverboy takes the cell phone he carried into the room with him and sits on the commode, swiping open a Google app and reading the horrific stories of the day.
“AP – Los Angeles police found the remains of a young woman sparsely buried in the foothills surrounding the infamous Hollywood sign earlier today. The unknown girl is said to be in her twenties, blonde, and petite.
The conditions of the body as well as signatures at the scene are said to have resemblance to the crimes of Reginald Murphy, the so-called ‘Magic Man’ serial killer, so dubbed due to his seemingly paranormal ability to lure young women into disappearing with him into the night.
The first victim associated with Murphy, who escaped from the LA County jail only a week ago while awaiting trial, was 20 year old student Susan Rancourt, who went missing from the library at UCLA last summer. Her body was found several days later near the La Brea Park, brutalized beyond recognition.
Over the next several months, bodies turned up in conspicuous places around Los Angeles. The Santa Monica Pier, the roof of the Staples Center, and even a median in the center of highway 405. Many of the victims have yet to be identified.
Murphy, aged 34, was eventually captured while leaving one of the body dump scenes which had been discovered but not publicized by the media under request from law enforcement. Trace evidence from the bodies had led investigators to believe that the bodies were revisited often, perhaps even for necrophilic acts.
Though the bodies did stop turning up after Murphy’s arrest, he has maintained his innocence and pointed out that no physical evidence exists linking him to the crimes. In his one comment to reporters heading into his arraignment last month, Murphy was asked to explain the coincidence of no more bodies being discovered since his detainment, to which he smiled and stated ‘I’m positive there will be.’
Police have been on the hunt for Reginald Murphy since he somehow escaped the jailhouse early this week, though jail officials are tight-lipped to the circumstances and precise manner he used to flee. Murphy seemed to have disappeared without a trace, and the discovery of the grisly scene today is the first hint of what could potentially be a new killing spree.
EDIT – The body discovered this morning has been positively identified as Dani Cotton, 18, of Kamloops, British Columbia. The young girl was visiting her sister, local business owner and partner of celebrity professional wrestling champion ‘Loverboy’ Vinnie Lane, Roxy Cotton. Cause of death has not yet been determined.”
Loverboy hangs his head as he reads the story, his eyes moistening as the details of the young women’s fates.
Brutalized beyond recognition.
He remembers the life in Dani’s eyes as she laughed and played video games with him on the couch. The way all three of them laughed along to the romantic comedies Roxy brought home with her from the Redbox for movie nights. He remembered the smell and the taste of her when they had their encounter in the very shower he was sitting next to.
Loverboy stood up then and walked out of the room, through the bedroom where he checked once again on the slumbering form of Roxy before slipping into the living room area of the plush apartment they shared. Still carrying the cell phone, Loverboy headed into the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator and pulled a bottle of beer out, twisting off the lid and taking a long sip that drained the brown liquid halfway down the neck of the green bottle.
He strides into the living room, sitting in the center of his leather couch and grabbing the remote control, apparently deciding that he would not be able to sleep anytime soon. As soon as the television flashes to life, he sees his own face. It’s him they are talking about on the news regarding Dani’s death. The shadow of his celebrity status staining the cause, obscuring the fight for Dani’s justice.
Harvey Levin and the talking heads on TMZ crack jokes about Dani’s death. Not because of anything she could have ever done wrong, but simply by association with Loverboy.
The crackle of electric sparks comes a fraction of a second later, when the remote control flies through the massive flat screen. Loverboy chugs his beer and throws the empty bottle into the hole in the center of the dead television set as well. He then grabs his cell and swipes for a number, bringing the phone to his ear after a moment.
“Yeah. This is Vinnie Lane. You guys are ignoring my fiancee’s dead sister to get ratings using my name. If you motherfuckers want to talk to me, I’ll talk to you, but we’re going to do it right. I’m going to come onto your show and challenge this Murphy asshole to the fight of his life, and we’re gonna see if he’s got any balls when it’s not a five foot tall little girl standing in front of him. Yeah. Yeah, day after tomorrow is fine. See ya there.”
Loverboy presses the phone off, and then turns back around to see Roxy standing in her purple satin robe in the bedroom doorway.
“Rox… hey, baby, I’m sorry I woke you…”
Loverboy walks toward her while raising his arms for an embrace, but the bombshell turns without a word and walks back into the bedroom, closing the door.
Looks like a night on the couch after all.
Ladies and gentlemen, your future king is finally about to be crowned.
It should come as no surprise that your Universal Champion and the Prince of Peroxide is about to have his official coronation as the KING of the XWF. It should come as no surprise that a man of my talent and ability, my charisma and charm, my looks and my libido, would ascend to the throne as soon as I decided it was worth the effort.
Not a lot of effort, mind you. Any time the XWF decides it’s a good idea to put Maverick in the same ring with me, the end result is a foregone conclusion. Having him team up with Game Girl wasn’t going to save him. Giving him the boost from the golden boy Austin Fernando and his ‘we’re totally not gay, why is everyone always calling us gay’ partner Luca wasn’t going to save him. The end result was a foregone conclusion, dude, just like I said. You guys in the front offices could have promoted the match ahead of time as ‘Vinnie Lane beats the dogshit out of Team one at a time’ and saved a little face by not trying to convince the audience that those wannabes ever had a shot.
Now here we are. Maverick tried, again, to make himself relevant by interfering in matches above his pay grade, and Maverick failed, again, to make any sort of lasting impact because, oh shit spoiler alert, Loverboy and Luca are in the finals anyway. Good job, Maverick. You grew some hair on your balls and tried to be a man for once, and now you get to open the same show I’ll be main eventing with yet another successful title defense by getting your dick chopped off by a two foot tall muppet. You should seriously reconsider wrestling as a career, dude.
As far as the finals go? Need I say it again? Foregone fucking conclusion. Who’s going to stop me from walking out with the crown? Rebel Star? A literal walking fuckdoll? Did she look like a threat to me when I took her out in the prelims? Did Rebel Star look like a threat to the greatest Universal Champion of all time when she was losing her debut to another underwhelming wannabe, Chris Macbeth? No. Of course not. Rebel Star shouldn’t be in the same room with me unless I’m paying her 20 dollars a song, dude. She should stick to what she was designed for and just get used to getting her holes filled by whoever feels like spending ten grand on an average-looking sex toy is a good investment. Hey, I’m not here to judge. Some people are into weird shit, you know? Some dudes like feet, some dudes like homely rubber dolls they can fuck on a whim. Good for them.
Let’s just get right to it. We all know what this match comes down to. Me and Luca Arzegotti, one more time with feeling. Luca, dude, you and me can do this all day. I’ll call you a , you’ll call me a , then we’ll go into the ring together and get the crowd on their feet by showing them what a main event is supposed to look like. You proved something to me on the last edition of Shove It, Luca. You proved to me that yeah, you do deserve the shots you get. That yeah, you are good enough to be on the same card as me. But what you didn’t do, dude, and what you’ve never been able to do, is beat me. We can call it a wash, we can call it a no contest thanks to Maverick’s fuckery, but what it boils down to is that one on one, with no easy way out, you can’t get it done against me. I’ve proven I can beat you, dude. That’s the only thing that matters going forward. Fuck the gay jokes and the insults, man, they won’t keep you from losing to me again.
The XWF is in a state of crisis, Luca. We’ve got inmates running the asylum. Delusional fuckwits who think they’re centurions running the 24/7 Titles. Stripping the X-Treme belt from our mutual friend Fernando and handing it to the self-serving cesspool of bullshit himself, Mister Frodo Smackins. The entire administration has become corrupt ever since the day Frodo somehow got himself into a corner office. I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll find a way to strip me of my title and proclaim himself all-time champion at the drop of a hat. But here’s the thing, dude. He can take the belt. He can take the crown. But what he CAN’T take is the match. So you and me, we go out there and we bring the house down, man. We go out there and we make sure not a single ass is still sitting in its chair for the whole thing. We set the world on fire and watch it fucking burn.
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one at a time’ and saved a little face by not trying to convince the audience that those wannabes ever had a shot.![[Image: Gz87KnQ.jpg]](http://i.imgur.com/Gz87KnQ.jpg)
