As the shot opens, we see a simple, if unexpected, sight. The Engineer is laying in an adjustable bed, a white blanket pulled up over a body that's a slim revenant of what we remember. His head is held up proudly, but shadows lurk in the recesses of his skin, etching an outline of his skull above the flesh. A dark bruise mars the crook of his elbow, an angry violet reminder of innumerable IV drips and injections. But despite all of this, his cracked lips muster up a smile.

Not what you were expectin'.... The Engineer's voice is a smaller and breathier echo of what once was. He speaks the words as a statement of immutable fact, infusing them with confidence despite the circumstances. God's 'bout to cut me down Bobby. Hell, God and the Devil both. Twice damned motherfucker that I am. But.... He holds a pallid hand up with four fingers aloft. ….I been tellin' 'em to fuck off for four days! Docs said my ticket shoulda been punched by now, but whatta they know? Bunch a eggheads, right? A small, clap of a laugh punctuates the scene, followed by a throaty cough. He casts a glance down at the blanket, eyes blinking slowly, before retraining his attention.

Truth is, Bobby, I wanted to stay alive to see Lux beat ya. Now, at first, I thought I was well and rightly hosed in that department what with you dragging this shit with Page out to Relentless. So imagine my DEE-LIGHT when I found out you was booked to kinda sorta defend against Lux this Saturday. Hot diggity damn, I might live to see the day yet! He nods, and he casts another wayward glance at the window beside his bed, where the dying days of summer have seen fit to grace him with a cloudless sky of gold. It ain't bitterness though, Bobby. He shakes his head “no” gently, looking back into the camera. I know you're thinkin' “bullshit” but look at me, man. I mean, really fuckin' LOOK at this shit. He holds up his emaciated arms, and more unhealed bruises are revealed. You think I care anymore? He sucks his teeth a bit.

So what is it about? Simple. It's about Lux. She and that boy she rides along with are good people. She deserves it. She deserves to be on top, and she deserves it more than anybody else on that roster. He points at the camera. But I 'spect you ain't interested in hearin' me squawk on about Lux, are ya champ? He chuckles lightly, inflating his ribs against the t-shirt he's wearing. Bring it in, camera guy...let's make this all personal and shit.

As requested, our view of The Engineer draws in even closer, bringing his condition into still starker relief. Mottled skin is naught but a film pulled over a skull, his hair has seemed to thin with gray suddenly radiating out from his temples. The Engineer's very expression speaking subtle mantras to pain going unvocalized, locked away and hidden from the plain view of a son who loves him and friends who dread the dead of night phone call conveying those simple, shattering words: “He's gone.”

I love you, Bobby Main. A pregnant pause. The words take on a corporeality of sorts. They have mass. I mean it. You rotten pube bearded bastard. He smiles again. I love ya, man. No, I really do! This ain't a shoot, brother. Just speakin' from the heart. Because nobody in the XWF at that point in time was gonna pull that title from my hands other than you. Nobody. That's a fact. He takes a couple deep drags of air, lips curling down with a brief measure of frustration before plastering the grin on again. I was already a dead man when that match got booked, Bobby. My days were numbered, both with that belt and in life. And the night before that match I got to thinkin', “Engy if Bobby don't get this shit done, what you gonna do?” I got worried, 'cuz I really didn't know. Was I gonna have to just give the damn thing up? Walk in front a all them people and hand it to Vinnie and ride off into some bitch ass sunset? He scoffs. Now ask yaselves, does that seem like the Engy way a doin' shit? Huh? Fuck no, it wasn't. So for me, nothin' less than goin' out in a blaze of ultraviolent, blood letting, batshit pig fuckin' CHAOS was gonna cut it. It's how ol Engy lived his whole goddamn life and I'd be shitted on a shingle if I let it go out on a whimper.

And what did you do Bobby? He pumps a thin fist in the air. You told me to go fuck myself and beat me damn near to death with a chair and pried that motherfucker from my hands. You made sure I wasn't gonna have to do some limp dick retirement ceremony where I hand the belt off like some pussy ass passing the torch bullshit. No! You made sure my time....my fuckin' LEGACY....ended the Engy way!

Suddenly, a tear rolls down out of his right eye. And to be honest, there is only one gift that I can think of that's more beautiful than that, and that's my son. You beautiful goddamn man. He nods his head solemnly and wipes away the tear. Thank you Bobby. You made sure I burned out, and you saved me from fadin' away. Thank you, thank you, thank you. A deep rattling cough rises up from his chest now, wracking him. He takes a series of moments to get it under control, and when he finally does, his voice is smaller yet.

I'm tired. And I'm gonna sleep now. Just wanted to speak my peace 'fore I couldn't. Goodbye.

The camera abruptly cuts to back. But the shot pulls away from the blackness to reveal that we were watching Engy's statement on a monitor. Lux is seated in front of it, holding a remote aloft. She sets the remote down at her side and looks at the camera, but it's immediately clear that something is amiss. Her eyes are watery, and she looks tired. She inflates her diaphragm with a deep breath before plunging forward.

The Engineer died last night.

Her eyes flick away from the camera. She bites at her bottom lip a bit, nervously. Heh....it never happens like it does in the movies, does it? Death is supposed to be some dramatic catharsis. Dexter was supposed to live long enough to see me wrest the championship he once held from his vaunted rival, right? And then go peacefully with a satisfied smile on his face with his loved ones gathered at his bed side, teary eyed, telling him he doesn't have to fight anymore. Lux winces a bitter twinge. Instead, he dies three days shy of the big moment alone in his room because he convinced his son to go home and get some sleep and I'm here in Texas.

A deep sigh.

I'm sorry I had to tell you that, but I guess someone did. She looks down at her hands, wringing them, and proceeds without looking up. So, yeah, big championship match coming up and here I am letting the air out of the room with the obituary of one of the best talents in modern XWF history. But the show, as they say, must go on.

Now she looks up at the camera. And there is fire there. Something in her countenance has changed. A deep, tired sorrow has given way to something else entirely. A beast has clawed it's way out of the depths and it's hiding there now behind Corey's boyish face. I thought long and hard about how I was going to do this, and honestly, it's not even Dexter's death that pushed me towards a resolution. It happened earlier. It happened with you Bobby.

The XWF has precious few tried and true baby faces. Pardon the industry term, but I know you're not idiots. So naturally, being so few, the onus is on us to play nice and tow the company line. It's been increasingly important given the fact that warmed over vomit like Chris Page has seen fit to return and remind us all why the good old days maybe weren't so good. So, yeah. I've played nice. And yeah, I genuinely like most of you who don't act like festering open sores.

She stops suddenly. The beast lunges at the bars.

But fuck you Robert Main.

The words are spat like venom. A tincture of the vilest, blackest stuff. Poison set to kill.

No, but really....FUCK YOU. And for the record.....for the record!....this is NOT Corey speaking. Nope! This is the measured one, the principled one. This is Lux talking, and the take away is the same.

FUCK ROBERT MAIN. FUCK OUR UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.

The tears threaten to peek out, but this time they're not the slow tears of sorrow, but tears pressed out by rage. She stabs an accusatory finger at the camera.

I wasn't sure I wanted to do this until that last promo of yours, Bobby. Because up until then, I was comforted in the notion that maybe I was wrong. That maybe I was being cynical. But you laid it all bare, didn't you? That despite EVERYTHING I've done here, despite me going to war side by side with you against Page....that all you had to spare for me was tired ass gender identity jokes and an accusation that Lux isn't ready for prime time. Lux looks astonished. I mean, let's set aside just how terribly the “tranny” jokes have aged over the last 6 months and focus in on this notion that because I was the TV champion that I'm somehow not ready for YOU.

I'm sorry are you not still the Robert Main who held the Hart title for like nine months on the way towards your Universal Championship reign? Because it's almost like using a lesser title en route to the big one is almost the norm in this business. But fuck me, what do I know, I've only been wrestling for seven months. She laughs bitterly.

And that's not even the most egregious thing you said. No! Because let's talk about Three Card Monte. Let's talk about saying the quiet part out loud. Because comparing yourself to a rigged game was about as unintentionally on the nose as it gets. She pokes her own nose for emphasis. You're right Bobby, you ARE a rigged game. Now people have taken plenty of shots at you for your part time schedule, so I'm not going to retread that (for as much value as the points may have). So let's talk tactics. Let's talk about the galaxy brain way you have protected yourself in recent months from anything remotely resembling real competition. And it starts and stops with Chris Page.

Chris Page IS a cancer, no disputing that. Thankfully, not an especially virulent one. Because from the moment he's come back he and his clique have done nothing but try to paint a thin veneer of posterity over a “castrated from the start” revolution. Painfully predictable ambush after painfully predictable ambush. Who's “writing” this shit? And all the while, a complete failure to win in big money matches. Page stealing the Universal title isn't some big heat garnering moment, it's a joke! And naturally Page is oblivious to the fact that he's the punchline. He honestly believes that stealing a title that everyone saw him FAIL TO WIN, is some masterstroke. “Possession is nine tenths of the law” is the mantra of people who are “nine tenths of the way to being a fucking VEGETABLE”, you absolute DULLARD. Lux pauses for a derisive laugh. I could do this all day, but this is about Bobby, right? Okay. So we got this guy who, when it comes right down to brass tacks, is all show, no go, and certainly not even close to being a credible threat to Robert Main. Now, most champs would move on, right? Most champs would claim victory. I mean, back to back pay per view wins over the guy? Pretty decisive, right?

But not Robert Main. Oh no, no, no. Because Robert Main, deck stacking fiend, bane of the casino, that he is....he knows an opportunity when he sees one. He knows an opportunity to pad his record out, pad his title reign out, when he sees it. So...ONTO PAGE/MAIN PART THREE. LIVE AT....RELENTLESS! Lux splays her hands out above her, as though she's gesturing at bright marquee lights.

Bobby... Lux whistles and snaps her fingers at the camera …..I'm gonna need you to focus. Because nobody wants to see that shit. Nobody. You won, man. You got him. He's still got your belt? Who cares. It's just a symbol. Have Vinnie make you a new one. Stop propping up the corpse of a challenge and start minding your responsibility as a CHAMPION.

But hey, this is still Three Card Monte, right? And like every good cheat Robert Main has got to have more than one ace in the hole. Because you've got the house on lock down twenty-four seven too, don't you? She smiles. Ned Kaye, I like you, but for God sakes wake the fuck up. Do you think it's any coincidence that you get to be a member of the Apex B-team the moment you won that briefcase? Bobby couldn't be pressing his thumb down on you any harder if he tried. And...incidentally....where was Ned's invite to the fair? I'm sure it just got lost in the shuffle, right Bobby?

Lux claps her hands sardonically. Ugh....Bobby you are JUST TOO GOOD AT THIS! Did you extend an Apex-Prophecy Junior Membership to Vita too? Just don't forget to read the fine print, guys. “All rights and privileges revoked upon cash-in.”

But like any good con, that's still not all. Because Robert Main, our gallant “fighting” champion, had a message for the entire roster. Yeah, he wants all the boys and girls in the back to know that he's got such an upper hand in all of this that everybody should just stop trying. How did you phrase it? “These simpletons need to stop playing the game altogether.” Lux looks off to the side, a bitter smile on her face. Right. Because that's what this is about, eh Bobby? Everybody just leaving you alone on your throne to sit, so you can grow fat and complacent, ruling your petty fiefdom by fiat and surrounded by a glittering guard of the XWF's best ensuring that the status quo remains status quo. You know who would NEVER say that?

She stabs a finger back at the still image of The Engineer.

DEXTER FUCKING BRIGHT, THAT'S WHO! That man fought fist, tooth and nail his entire life! That man, for all his many faults, understood the spirit of competition in a way YOU NEVER WILL! Lux pauses a moment to regain her composure. This match is the last chance I'll have to dethrone Robert Main and keep The Engineer as the longest reigning XWF champion of the modern era. It's a job I intend to take very seriously. But don't think for one second that I'm going to let this cleverly designed match drive a wedge between me and Centurion. Your attempt at an “all strings attached” title defense will fail, Bobby. Because Cent was dead on in his assessment. If Centurion gets the pin on Bobby to become the champion, I won't stop him. Nor am I going to neglect the chance to take out James Raven if it means winning the tag team championships. Forgive me a spot of ego, but I AM too damn smart for that.

Lux pauses again, rubbing her hands together nervously.

Centurion.... The name rolls off her tongue laden with regret. I know what I've just done here doesn't make things any easier on you. And for that, I'm truly sorry. You're a good man, and you haven't earned the added stress. But I couldn't keep my mouth shut out of some misguided sense of propriety. Not after this wet sack of a champion dismissed me so casually, and has seen fit to spit in the face of everyone in that locker room who actually gives a damn about competition. I hope you can forgive me by Saturday, because by God I really think we can do this, my friend. I think we got this.

She smiles wistfully. And for the rest of the XWF, and the viewers at home. The viewers who have cheered me on despite the fact that I'm a little strange. Who took solace in my message...who believed in me....I have a promise for you. If I become the Universal Champion, I will proudly defend that championship at every single episode of Warfare. Every. Single. One. Just like I did with the Television Championship. Because that matters. The struggle MATTERS. Growth and evolution is born in pain. Nobody knows that better than I do. I've come through the fire and the flames, impossibly breaching the passage of time...to fight. To WIN. And to inspire HOPE. And perhaps I won't hold the Universal Championship as long as Dexter did, or as long as Bobby, but at least I'll be able to look on my time knowing I fought as hard and as often as I could.

The shot squares up on Lux in such a fashion that the paused image of the late Dexter Bright hovers over her shoulder, his eyes glinting with that peculiar blend of playful malevolence he was best known for. Bobby, this Saturday, I remind you who the fuck I am.

The shot closes in on Dexter's eye until it's engulfed in its inky abyss.

OOC: For P.