Saturday 2nd March 2013

He’d arrived quietly. He left even quieter.

If he was honest, Zachary Hysell had no business being in an XWF ring. He wasn’t under contract and he had no real reason to interfere in the on-going fight between Donathan De Sade and The Black Circle. He could’ve just stayed away and left the XWF to be killed by the man who had once saved it.

But that wasn’t what had happened.

Hysell had come back. He’d come back to stop the Black Circle. Did that make him a hero? No. He wasn’t going to pretend that he was. He wanted to keep himself to himself. He wasn’t going to let himself get sucked into being the fans’ hero like last time.

As the car progressed bumpily down the road, Hysell found himself bemused at the standard of his transportation. In the past he had travelled in Aston Martins and luxury motorhomes. He found himself distinctly unsafe in the third-hand Fiat Cinquecento as it rattled along the road. Pulling the car into the graffiti-covered space, he exited and looked up at the dilapidated building. The place was a complete shithole, there was no denying it, but, in his current financial state, it was the best he was going to get. He felt the phone in his back pocket vibrate. He quickly pulled it out and glanced at the message. It was from an unknown number.

You have been signed to an XWF contract. Mr was very welcoming to all ideas.

D.A.F.D.S

Hysell looked down at the message and smiled as he walked. It used to make him wary of how Donathan did these things. Now he just kind of accepted it. He walked in the flat and up the stairs, the smell of piss and semen polluting his nostrils. He stopped when he reached room number 9. Instead of searching his pockets for a key, he merely gave the door a hard kick. It swung open immediately, and Hysell saw the scurrying of creatures before his eyes. He pressed a button on the wall and a light bulb flickered into life, barely illuminating the dark and miserable room at all. Hysell walked into the room and flung himself on the probably flea ridden bed. There was no way he was sleeping a wink tonight.


Tuesday 5th March 2013

The limousine rolled outside Zachary Hysell’s apartment at 9 o clock sharp. The black-capped chauffeur looked up at the disgusting building, momentarily puzzled, before he shook his head and exited the vehicle. The pay was good enough for him to not ask questions. He walked up to the suspicious looking building and approached the front entrance. To the right of the door was a buzzer with the buttons for 15 rooms lazily stuck on with ripped up post it notes. The chauffeur reached into his pocket and extracted a well-written note. After examining it for a second, he cautiously pressed the buzzer for number 9, wiping his white-gloved hand on his jacket after doing so. After about a minute, the receiver on the other end crackled into life.

“What?” The man spoke in a rough Californian accent.

“Mr Hysell?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I am Maxwell Johnson, you and my employer spoke on the phone?”

On the other side of the intercom, Zachary Hysell stood fully dressed. He had been anticipating Johnson’s arrival, but he was slightly more paranoid than usual after Saturday’s run in with The Black Circle.

“I’ll be down” said Hysell. He opened the door and descended the stairs. Through the glass door he saw Johnson looking disdainfully around at the various characters that lived inside the apartment block. Hysell opened the door, causing Johnson to jump and reach inside his pocket. He relaxed slightly when he saw Hysell. “So what, are you here to pick me up or something?”

Johnson bit back a sarcastic retort. “Yes, my employer wasn’t exactly taken with the idea of you travelling in that” he said, motioning to Hysell’s rusted yellow car. Hysell shrugged his agreement and followed the chauffeur to the jet black limo. Upon seeing the vehicle, Hysell’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“That’s what we’re travelling in?”

“Indeed sir. I trust it is to your taste?”

Hysell simply nodded his approval and entered the limo. As he sat in the back, he realised that he was very familiar with the car. It had once belonged to him and his former tag team partner Raymond Hatcher. When that untalented fat slob had fucked off, Hysell had seen no reason to continue hiring the limo and the actor that drove it and had sold it to a black market merchant.

“Where did you get this?” called Hysell to the driver.

“My employer knows where to get a lot of things. He said to see it as a token of good will…”


Hysell nodded his understanding and stared out the window as the car took off. He saw the limo take him away from the ghetto that he had been staying in. If he thought about it, it was rather symbolic. After being resigned by the XWF, Hysell hardly thought that he would need that apartment, or the flea-bitten clothes that he kept in there.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” asked Hysell to the driver, who let out an exasperated sigh upon hearing his voice again.

“Wait and see, sir” came the impatient response. He was always under the instruction to never reveal details to clients. Mr De Sade was a firm believer in the element of surprise.

In the back seat, Hysell glanced out the window again and saw the dramatic change in scenery. No longer was he amongst buildings that looked like they belonged in shanty towns. Now he was in a place that he hadn’t been in for years. It was a place that he hadn’t seen since the Blueprint of the Fall were into the peak of their careers. As the car pulled over, Hysell felt his mouth drop open. Johnson opened the car door and Hysell exited the vehicle and looked up at the resort that stood before him.

“Fuck me…” came the surprised utterance.

“Quite” was Johnson’s response.



This isn’t the first time in my career that this has happened to me, far from it. My opponents for this week (or the only one that, as of yet, has actually bothered to open his mouth) seems to have forgotten all about me. He’s focused straight on my partner. Now, I understand why you’ve done that, Mr Wilkins. He could beat you, nay, kill you, before you even blinked. But, if I’m honest, I find your underestimation of me fairly insulting. I’m someone that you need to worry about Wilkins. I’ve beaten some of the biggest names this company has to offer, yet I don’t seem to be worthy of your time? What’s funny about this is that, to you, this is the biggest match of your XWF career. Bar none. This is the pinnacle of what you have managed to achieve. Just being in the same ring as me is something that you are going to tell your grandchildren about. But for me, this match is a mere warm up. This is nothing more than my tune-up match before I turn my attention firmly on The Black Circle. Once I’ve beaten you and your partner to within an inch of your lives, I’ll be more than ready for those Neanderthals.

Speaking of which, Gabriel Harding. I don’t blame you one bit my friend. I don’t blame you for not opening that dick sucker of yours and just accepting the beating that’s coming to you. You’ve realised that you’re going to get the shit beaten out of you at the lightest. Make peace with everyone you have to, Harding, because at the end of Shove It, you’re not getting off the Enterprise.

The key point of this presentation, gentlemen, is that, at the end of the day, you should realise that you are nothing but cannon fodder. You are being sent over the top here gents; you’re nothing more than Shane ’s attempt to take out me and my partner even knows that you will get fucking destroyed. Don’t worry, though. I will make sure that you will be conscious enough to beg for your lives before I finally put you down like the diseased animals you are.