If looks could kill, the glare I'm shooting Sayors would probably be enough to end his pathetic existence. The look on his face is a half worried, half 'I'm not worried' cross that makes me want to vomit at how much of a damned coward he really is. Hold your tongue Jessie, we don't want a harassment case if you decide to blow up on him. Yeah, he looks the type to file one of those claims on someone.

"I'm Steve Sayors, here live with Jessie Diaz! Now, it appears that after your involvement in the Rumble, that you've become a bit of a different person, why is that?"

What is he even talking abou-

Oh good fucking God, no. I did not regress, did I? The last couple of weeks have been a blur of fading in and out between conscious memory. No, I couldn't possibly, could I?

"I have no idea what you're talking about Sayors, why do you insist on making up stories for the sake of getting people to talk about your interviews? Are you really that pathetic of not only an interviewer, but of a person to make up such outrageous, scandalous lies to make sure people tune in spite of your obvious lack of journalism ability? I seriously lost a lot of respect for you, Sayors. Not that I had much to start with, but still."

Yeah, I think that threw the scent off the whole she's crazy thing. That, or it just makes me look delusional, despite the fact that I know damn well that what he's saying is true. Everyone hates Sayors anyway, so they'll probably instantly buy into what I'm saying.

Outraged, he does nothing but glare at me, the bottom part of jaw damn near about to fall out of his mouth. Great, the fucking Walter White look this early on. New record, maybe?

"Well, um..."

Oh yes, stay professional, you son of a bitch. Think of a way to segway from that and make this about my DID, I fucking dare you. Jesus, I'm much more aggressive than I normally am. Am I? At this point, my level of aggression really shouldn't be my main concern.

"On a different note..."

That's right, run from that train of thought, you fucking prick. Calm yourself, Jessie. We don't need an assault case on our plate. Wait no, I don't need an assault case on my plate.

"You've had a few choice words for some members of the XWF roster as of late, people such as Peter Gilmour and Swift Ion. Why is that, what's provoked you into speaking out so harshly about them?"

Does Steve Sayors really want me to answer this question? This, I can do in my sleep. I mean, does anyone really need a reason to make fun of those two?

"Easy, Ion's a little fucking who doesn't like to put on his helmet when he plays with the other kids. You know what happens then? He gets the shit kicked out him to the point where he actually thinks that he can stand a chance against Jonathan Thomas fucking Cross and Table, let alone someone like Mister Satellite or Alexandra Callaway. In fact, seeing as this is the highest spot on the card where his name will even be mentioned, Heyman should pay me half of his check for the fucking publicity."

I see a stain start to form around the general area of the crotch of Sayors' pants. He seriously didn't just piss himself, did he? Seriously? I sigh, my oh my how I want to just beat the shit out of him right now. I mean, seeing him so scared and rattled is pretty fun, but this? Fuck this.

"A-a-and Gilmour?"

"Oh boy, Peter GIlmour. Peter fucking Gilmour, the resident fucking idiot, kept around so the up and comers have a veteran to beat. Now, there's plenty of reasons to make fun of him, there really are. I however, have a simple reasoning for doing it however. It really isn't about making fun of him because he's a , or because he's fat, or because he gets so pissy about his fiance being called a man, that it legitimately sounds like she/he is and Gilmour's trying to hide it. No no, none of those things. The thing about him that I can't stand, the thing that really grinds my gears and makes me want to stomp his teeth down his throat and make him swallow every single last one of them?"

I can't believe I'm about to do this.

"His homophobia."

No turning back now, I look over at Steve who seems to be following me for once. Good, that means less time explaining the obvious to him, and more time berating Gilmour. All in a day's work.

"See, I'm a , dyke, homo, any other of those colorful little words that Gilmour likes to toss around at anyone who dares speak ill of them, all from the comfort of his nice, cushy, closet. You see, with every , homo, and such that I hear come from his mouth, the only thing that really comes across is cry for help, muffled behind his hateful rhetoric. Sad, is it not? You know Peter, it's not good to hide from your feelings. Oh, what am I saying? Words of advice are lost on you, because you see nothing wrong with the life you live, the words you say, the feelings you hide or secretly engage in. So, you know what I want you to do?

Get a gun, any gun as long it isn't a fucking airsoft or nerf gun, those things won't do the trick. Load it up with bullets, and press it to your skull. Cock the gun and remove the safety. Place it to your temple and squeeze the fucking trigger. We could classify it as another tragic suicide due to bullying, you oversized tenth grade bitch.

You heard it here folks, Jessie Diaz just told someone not to just kill themselves, but in detail because Gilmour is too stupid to know how to do it himself. Why else do you think he keeps going to the well of homophobia? He knows nothing else, and like all old dogs, need to be put down.

I'll spit on your grave."

"What about your opponent this week, Tony Santos?"

Oh, yeah of course! I was so focused on those two, that I forgot why this interview was scheduled to happen in the first place.

"Tony, Santos. He, unlike the other two I mentioned, I can tolerate. He even comes across as funny some times. You know, like when he claimed that he was going to beat me to that fucking fanboy of his on the plane. Hysterical, brilliant job Tony! I almost believed you for like half a second...

Wait, you were being serious, weren't you? Still pretty fucking funny.

However incorrect it may be, at least it's good for a cheap laugh. You see, here's how it's going to go. I'm going to come right after your knees, and destroy the entire base of your offense, and you won't be any the wiser. You'll be too busy wallowing in the self pity parade you claim your life to be to even notice the happenings going on around you, and that is what I'll take advantage of.

Now, why am I revealing all of this instead of keeping it to myself until we meet in the ring? Because Tony's too fucking stupid to prepare for anything other than how he wants things to go down. That is a luxury that he cannot afford, and he won't get his way, no matter how much he pouts about it. Nothing personal, just thought you should know that now before I stomp your knees to oblivion. Just need to send a message to really special motherfucker.

Doubt he'd see what was in store for him anyway."

And as soon as Sayors can, he splits from the room. I'm totally okay with this, I think as I lean back against the wall we were standing behind. You'd think that with a place as professional as the XWF, that they could afford sets that don't look like a High School Gym, oh wait.

I am in a High School Gym.