We open on the hustle and bustle of the Engineer's Senate campaign headquarters in West Virginia. In one room, volunteers are chatting away into a long row of telephones, trying to sell the senior citizen at the other end on the merits of an “accomplished athlete” and “family man” like Dexter Bright representing them in the next Congress. The camera passes through the halls, each adjacent room full of such staffers performing a litany of tasks. Finally, we get to a closed wooden door. The door opens inside, revealing Madison Dyson and Engy himself.

Engy is tossing a paper ball up in the air and catching it. Madison, who looks frustrated, is standing at the ready in front of a white board, black marker in hand. So far, the words “Campaign Platform” are written in big letters at the top of the board. Underneath, a series of bullet points. But only one point actually has anything written next to it. “Loosen gun laws”.

We've been in here for almost 3 hours and so far your platform consists of one GOP no brainer and a whole lot of fuck all else.

Engy catches the ball and looks at Madison.

Hey, I had a whole bunch of great ideas. You shot 'em down.

Oh, you mean like “legalizing all drugs” and “instituting a real life Purge”. Those ideas?

That was a great fuckin' movie.

Madison sighs and puts the cap back on the marker.

Fine, I'll bite. When we cut down through all the political posturing, PC bullshit, and dogma, legalizing all drugs and instituting The Purge both sound pretty awesome. But we're detailing with REALITY here, Eng.

So am I. Quite frankly, I'm shocked you haven't taken as much away from the current political climate in this country as I have. Ask yourself, what did the election of Donald J. Trump really mean?

Xenophobia sells. Populism sells. And Americans are dumb.

You're almost there Mads. Think on a Macro level. What did this event mean? It meant that the thin veneer of civility that has blanketed this country has been pulled back. People, for the first time in decades, are embracing their Id en masse, that violent, afraid, selfish little shit inside them that civility fights to keep at bay everyday. Debauchery is becoming the new normal. Nobody even bats an eye at Trump doing shit that would have gotten Obama tarred and feathered. Mass shootings are a line on the news ticker, nobody's even appalled anymore.

This country is sick. And if you think, when presented the opportunity to voice their opinions anonymously, that people wouldn't give full throated support to yearly legal murder, well then you've got another thing coming. And I'll prove it.

VICTORIA!!!!!!

Engy shouts at the top of his lungs. Before long, a mousy little Asian intern shuffles into the room, holding a stack of papers.

Yes, Mr. Bright?

Sweety, gimme the current numbers on question 3a.

Wait, what is this?

I had Victoria here running a little side study for me.

Victoria uses a nearby desk to place her burden down, and starts shuffling through the papers, looking for the requested figures. Finally, she plucks it out.

So far, with 587 callers surveyed using a double blind research method....that's when both participants don't know....

Yeah, I know, I know. Get on with it.

41% of respondents, who were promised anonymity, stated they would support the institution of a legal night of murder.

Madison's jaw drops.

You're shittin' me. They admitted that?

Anonymously, yes.

Engy holds his arms out in a “look who was right” pose.

Do I know people, or do I know people?

That's still a minority of voters.

Madison, that's 41% of people who would pop a cap in their annoying ass neighbor who throws their dog shit over the fence into their yard. 41% of people who said they would commit MURDER if there were no repercussions. Look, look....here's what I'm saying. Trump, despite being a blowhard idiot, captured a zeitgeist here. A hidden, seamy undercurrent of human awfulness. I think, we can channel that human awfulness into a winning platform by pushing against the same civility and time honored traditions of PC bullshit that he did. We don't actually need to DO any of this crazy shit. I don't want an international night of legal murder, do you know how many mother fuckers (actual Motherfuckers now), who would take advantage of that? But we can TELL people we support all this shit, and they would probably say “Well tarnation there's a guy who speaks his mind that I can have a beer with.” I mean, hell, it worked for a guy who's way dumber than me. And if this year has proven anything, it's that people are willing to put up with way more deranged shit than we thought. And in many cases, they'll secretly like it.

Madison sighs and still looks skeptical.

But....Purge Night?

Maybe we can tone it down. Maybe we could say, hey, that anyone who had a loved one get raped or murdered gets a minute in a room alone with the fucker who did it and it's all legal. It'll never happen, but man people will eat that shit up.

Now THAT is not bad.

Madison adds “Legal Assault on Murderers, Rapists and Pedo's” to the white board.

Thank you Victoria. You may go.

Victoria nods her head and takes her leave. Engy tosses the paper ball from one hand to the other, then points directly at the camera.

Danny Imperial!

Are we doing this? We're not done with the platform!

We are indeed doing this. I need a break.

Fiiiiiiiiine.

Madison slumps into a rolling office chair. She then propels herself off camera, and then quickly returns holding her newly won Bombshell title, which she is in no way parading in front of the camera to further add insult to injury to Jenny Myst. No sir. She starts to carefully polish it as Engy starts in on Danny.

Danny boy, Danny boy, Danny boy. Where you at? You're usually so game. So up and at 'em. Side bar, any of you realize yet that this whole “lettin' Engy get the ball rolling in the promo battle” thing ain't workin' out so well for ya? But I digress. Danny! I want to like you. I really do. But there's just something.....hmmmmm.....something stopping me...

That stringy, nasty pube beard?

Madison calls out from the background.

No, no, it's not that. It's hard to put into words. It's hard to....

Engy stops for a moment to collect his thoughts. His hand scrunches the ball of paper. Finally, he sits bolt upright in his seat, as though inspiration itself has struck like lightning.

Danny, you're a very talented athlete, no doubt about it. You've garnered a lot of respect around here and while it's not quite Engy-levels of respect it's, for lack of a better term, RESPECTABLE. But there is something that bothers me about you and it's that, well.....

….you're kinda stupid.

Engy splays his hands out defensively, sitting back in his chair.

Okay, okay....maybe that's a tall order coming from me of all people. And it's a bit of an oversimplification. But here's what it boils down to. One of the many things I've learned from entering the wild world of politics is that there are people who are just born to lead. The thinkers, the people who see the world from on high getting the proverbial “big picture”. Now most people don't know it, but these are the motherfuckers you really need to be scared of. They're the puppet masters and the people with their fingers on the real pulse of civilization.

Now, for as great as these people are, they are in short supply. So when it comes time for war, well, obviously they are too great a commodity to waste by sending them in the trenches. And quite frankly, they probably don't have the spine for it anyway. And that's why these leaders, these thinkers, that's why they need all those little green army men. They need the warrior class to get deep down in the shit and do the fighting. Now sometimes those warriors can branch out and become thinkers and leaders. Those are some versatile bastards. But other times....well, a grunt is just a grunt. Ya feel me?

Danny, you're a grunt.

Madison looks up from polishing her title.

Careful, we need that armed services vote.

We sure do. But that doesn't change the fact that Danny Imperial is one of those self serious asswipes who lives for fighting and not much else. Case in point, Danny tried to garner himself some heat some weeks ago because I wanted to call a detente between The Motherfuckers and Apex. He was just sooooooo disappointed, like a kid getting socks on Christmas, that I cashed in to become Jim Caedus' partner to broker peace with Apex and not to fuck with him.

But, despite my efforts, The Motherfuckers went tits up in hacktacular fashion and now, exactly what I feared would happen is happening. Namely, that without a counter weight, the gold in this promotion is being concentrated in the hands of a wrestling 1%, ie. Apex and people on good terms with Apex (that's us). And while that's fucking AMAZING for me, Madison, and the good people over in Face Faction Inc., it's not good for business in the long term. When power becomes too lopsided, the product gets stale and people stop watching and buying our shit. And that's bad for all of us. Am I saying people like us should just give up our gold for the betterment of the fed? FUCK NO! We earned this shit. But if there was an effective counterweight to Apex, like if I still had a decent faction to be a part of *AH-HA-HEM!*, well maybe things wouldn't look like the droopy side of a stroke victim's face around here.

You're also stupid for not taking the title off Bourbon when he tried to give it to you. Robbie, in one final wheezing gasp of good will, was trying to pass the torch after he realized just how useless he had become. You had the chance to be the one to add some diversity to the championship line up. But instead, out of some misguided sense of warrior's honor bullshit, you fucked up your chance and now the power is going to be even MORE centralized by landing the Uni in either me or Jim Caedus' hands. Because lets face facts, that's how it's gonna play out.

But I digress, because my overarching point is this: I'm the kind of guy who actually puts thought into shit like this. I'm the kind of guy looking at the big picture, making plans, making CONTIGENCY plans, and even building a future for myself outside that wrestling ring.

Engy leans back in his chair, gesturing at the campaign hubbub all about him.

To bring it down to Earth for you, I think BIGLY. You think SMALL. Because when it comes to Danny Imperial if he can't punch it, well then he just doesn't know what the fuck to do. You've got no vision, buddy. None. And you're stuck in the same goddamn gear, drive after drive. Combat. And while the whole “noble warrior” archetype may play well in the movies, in real life? Guys like you, once the fighting is done, or your body is too broke down to do it anymore, end up being a useless toy put back in the box forever. A purposeless relic who was unable to adapt and change into something better, smarter, and ultimately MEANER.



Engy gets up out of his seat, still tossing the ball of paper between his hands. He walks over to a cork board, plucking one of the thumbtacks out of it.

Follow the leader Danny. It's what mooks like you are best at. Or at the very least, get yourself a goddamn clue. Because I don't think you understand what you're dealing with. “



Engy takes the paper ball and unfurls it. He smoothes out the wrinkles as best he can, and then tacks it to the cork board.

Oh shit, I almost forgot, you've got that Daughters of the Confederacy meet and greet in a half hour!

We hear Madison intone this from off camera. But Engy's focus is still laser straight on what's in front of him. He smiles.

Did you hear me? We need to get our asses in gear!

Coming mother!

Engy finally breaks from the camera, and the lens pans closer to the paper stuck to the board. It's a copy of the contract for his soul that Danny balled up and threw in the devil's face in the lead up to his match with Robbie Bourbon.