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Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The sound of rain echoes as it bounces off of the car of Maverick. The camera fades into existence as Mav's car begins driving under the gloomy, gray sky. We hop inside the car to see Maverick calmly driving, his eyes, acting as the windows to his soul, showing that he's lost in thought, completely mesmerized by the serene scene before him, no noise but the soft hum of the car and the tapping of the rain.

All of a sudden, the calmness of the scene is disrupted by Mav's phone ringing and vibrating in excitement, begging for Maverick to answer it. The camera sees a small frown planted onto Maverick's face as the scene is disrupted, before digging into his pocket and answering his phone.

"You have reached the cell phone of one Joshua Solomon, alias Maverick, Hart Champion of the XWF. What can I do for you?" Mav's tone may have been a bit harsher than intended, but perhaps he was more frustrated at the disruption than he thought.

"Errr. . . Master Solomon?" came the familiar voice from over the line.

"Gerald? What's wrong?" The rain continued to slowly pour from the gray clouds, as the camera now jumps to outside of Mav's Porsche, as it travels down the gloomy roads.

"I was wondering where you were, sir. I prepared your afternoon meal, escargot and black tea, specifically how you like it, but only then did I realize that you were gone from the mansion!"

Maverick sighed; he thought he already told somebody as to where he was going. "Gerald, I could have sworn I told one of the other servants to inform you as to where I was going," Maverick softly said.

"Mm, not that I remember, sir. I dare say the servant you talked to must have gotten sidetracked, as I was never notified. Now then, am I allowed to inquire as to where you are, sir?"

A soft sigh escaped Maverick's mouth before turning his attention back to Gerald. "I'm headed towards the graveyard. You know which one."

"The- the graveyard?! But sir, I thought you were past your parents death! Why are you going there now?!"

Another sigh. "It's not a question of not getting past my parent's death. It's just. . . I still miss them. And back in the day, before I joined the XWF, I always used to go over there, and just. . . talked. Even while I was taking my sabbatical from the XWF, I just couldn't find the time to go see them. And I suppose since it's nearing one year since the day I joined the XWF, September 16th, I figured I might as well see them."

". . ."

"Gerald?"

". . .Very well. Go be with your parents, Master Solomon. I shall take care of the house while you are away." Then, without giving Maverick a chance to say goodbye, Gerald hung up the phone.

Shaking his head while enjoying the calm weather, Maverick stuck his phone right back to his pocket, right before noticing his destination was in sight. The Battle Creek Memorial Park. With a deep breath, Maverick parks the car across the street as the camera stops. Then, we see Mav exit the car, and he immediately he walks towards the trunk of the car, as he removes a large, blue bag, along with an umbrella. After taking a long look at the harrowing expanse of the graveyard, Maverick promptly shut the trunk, opened the umbrella and began crossing the street to the home of the deceased.

Soooo. . . hey.

Hey. Maverick began tangling himself inside his thoughts; his specific brand on insanity was always going on in his mind as he talked to what he called his 'mind- father'- an imprint of Mav's memories about his deceased father. One can make the argument that Maverick could potentially, in fact be insane due to the voice.

But, such a claim never came up. For the most part, what happens in Maverick's mind stays in Maverick's mind. Though, there was that one time where for some reason Gator was able to accurately predict what the hell was going on. . .

Eh, must have been a fluke.

Moving back to the scene, Maverick continues walking through the graveyard, taking great care to walk in- between the graves, and not to step on the deceased remains of the fallen. Occasionally, Mav would see a person mourninga fallen family member, or a friend, one or two of said people crying. All the others stood in a stony silence, hanging their heads in sorrow.

When coming across another person, whether said person was crying or silent, Mav shook his head, old memories beginning to re- surface. Once upon a time, he was like that. Weak. Vulnerable. Even now, when he would find the graves, he would likely shed a tear or two, due to the entire scene set for sadness.

The rainy weather. The mourning visitors.

This scene was meant for sadness.

Hey. Listen. I know you're threatening to burst at the seams due to these old memories coming up, but as your father- or, rather, an imprint of your father- I command you to stop. Imagine if Pest or Gilly saw you like this right now? They would prey on that weakness. If you were to act like this in the match- make no mistake- you would lose. Horribly. Pest would fufill his intention of humiliating you, and Gilmour would become a three- time Hart Champion.

Let's not beat around the bush here: to most people, you're the underdog. People wholly believe Pest or Gilmour is going to come out of this the victor.

But that's where they're wrong.

Remember what happened at the MacClay Classic? Pest humiliated you. He personally handed you a loss by ensuring he took the pinfall, and thus eliminated you from having the chance to face Lane for the belt. Remember what happened soon after, with just a few small words showing your distaste for the group, and for Pest screwing you out of a win? He humiliated you again. He and his little crony Muddy Waters- who he soon turned on after- beat you to a pulp, and convinced your best friend, the man who had your back ever since you came into the federation, and the man you repaired relations and stuck with despite his mental , Scully, to betray you.

Meanwhile, Gilmour likes to think he's Mr. Hot Shot. He likes thinking he's got the ladies to himself. He likes thinking about how he's so muscular, and actually has a positive IQ. Spoiler alert, none of the four are true. So what if Gilmour has been racking up a few wins recently? When you and him went toe- to- toe, and actually competed against each other in the Scramble, when you two actually interacted with each other, what will the history books remember?

Maverick, 1. Gilmour, 0.

This is your proving ground. Win this match, and you cement your name into the upper echelon of the XWF. Nobody will dispute that, especially with the monster month you've had, demolishing anyone and everyone in your way.

So let your opponents talk crap about you. Let them talk about Un, let them talk about how you're supposedly a title shitter.

But let them know who's getting the 1- 2- 3.

Thanks. I'll be sure to keep that in mind. There's no way that sick freak Pest and that delusional Gilmour will walk out with a win. Alright. I'll empty my feelings here, so that when I face off against my opposition on Monday, there will be nothing standing in my way to greatness.

Excellent. Oh, and by the way- we're here.

As soon as Maverick heard of these words in his mind, it was then that he snaped back to attention. Two graves stood in front of him.

Robert Solomon. Sierra Taylor. Two lovers, deceased before their time, the latter due to child birth, the former due to a drunk driver hitting him.

Maverick swalloed the lump in his throat, as he folded the umbrella he was carrying with him, allowing the soft rain drops to splash onto his skin and clothing. Then, he unzipped the blue bag, revealing a steel chair inside, not at all unlike the ones used in the XWF. Maverick takes out the chair, and unfolds it before sitting on it.

The two graves stood silent, a stony silence hanging in the air as Mav struggled to think of what to say. It's nearly been a year since he last came to visit them, after all.

"So. . . hey guys. It's been a long time coming since this visit. Remember when I told you guys I was go to the big leagues of wrestling? Well, I did it. I went from some scrub rookie, thinking he was at the top of the world, to a veteran who could possibly cement his name as being a part of the best this company has to offer."

"It all started back at mid- September. I'd wager it was about. . . a week, since my last visit? I couldn't get anything right. For a while, I was botching the reading of match cards, I was messing up remembering what guy was all about, et cetra. Hell, I even mixed up Madness and Warfare when I first joined! I was a green- horn rookie, and nothing was plainer at that time."

Maverick then proceeded to tell them everything. The framing for the title shitting, his early tag team attempts with Scully, being on the winning team at War Games- he left no stone unturned. Then, he came to the current chapter of this story.

"Fast- forward to end of July. I get called back in to participate in Relentless, Day 1, co- Main Event. I was in a Championship Scramble match for the Hart title, the very same title I was screwed out of competing by Pest earlier. I faced Todd, a cameraman they throwed into the match for some reason, John Black, the XWF's resident j0bber, along with Peter Gilmour- more on him later- and Ginger Snaps, a former Hart Champ who was the hands- on favorite to go on and win the damned thing. But guess what?"

"Perfection Incarnate had other plans."

"I went in there, unstoppable, and I demolished anything and everything in my way. I think the only flaw I had in the match was a lucky pin by John Black, but I made sure to return it twofold to him to win the damned thing."

"From there, I strung together a few title defenses, as my crazy boss basically rebels against the XWF and forms a group known as the CCWF, a group dedicated to the destruction of the XWF, hell, all of the companies. That was something they showed when they disrespected the great Hiroshi Tanahashi."

"But, before I set my attention on the CCWF, I have just two major roadblocks ahead of me: Peter Gilmour and Pest."

"So, enough with the stories by now, I bet you're wanting to see me rip into Gilly and Pest. And yes, that goes for both you guys and the camera that I know is following me around. Don't think I don't see you."

"So. Peter fucking Gilmour. Mom, Dad, this abomination is basically the most, pompous, arrogant, stuck- up person, along with being the fattest person, and the most person."

"Oh, alright, maybe second place to the Dimallisher. Yeah, that's the guy's name, and he's actually friends with Gilmour. But, about Gilmour. This asshole will insist he actually has a half- decent IQ, is not a homosexual, and is literally muscular. But trust me, as soon as you'd see him, you see him for who he is- a nobody, hiding behind barriers of lies he's constructed to himself. He's fucking insane- he truly believes all this crap he's spewing. It will be my pleasure to send him crashing back to reality after I pin him."

"That's all for Gilly, because at least Pest actually said some crap about me, whereas Gilly has been fucking silent this entire time."

"Now. Pest. He had the audacity to believe I was asking him to help. . . pleasure Vinnie Lane, the top champion of the company. Now, evidently, I was not thinking at the time, and the meaning of my words was lost amongst what I said. And he goes on about that old flame power thing I had. I mean, hypothetically I could still use it, if I wanted to. Thing is, I don't want to. I regretted that decision and just decided to be normal, not have some wacky flame power. And you know what? Pest has a point."

"He and everyone else has no proof I'm not Un. But that doesn't matter. No matter if anyone thinks I'm Un, or Dos, hell, we might as well get the entirety of the French numbers in here, I'm still going to whoop Pest's ass. There will be NOTHING stopping me from doing what I should have done long ago. The day Pest understands peace is the day Death gives it to him."

". . .So perhaps I must be Death's agent."

After the rather long story of Mav's career, and the rant against Pest and Gilly, Maverick allowed himself to have a few deep breaths, closing his eyes and hoping to God he didn't say something that would embarass him.

Once that was done, Maverick opened his eyes, and slowly began rising from his seat, folding back up the steel chair, and packing it inside the bag. Right before he opened the umbrella, he addressed the graves one last time.

"Right. That's it. I have to go, now, prepare for my match and all. But dammit, I need to make it a priority to see you guys again. There is no way in hell I'm going another year without talking to you guys. . ."

". . .And I'll make sure that Pest isn't taking me down."

With his final speech done, Maverick opened the umbrella and walked off back towards his car with it and the umbrella.

The camera fades to black.