The grainy feed of a old camera. A blinking red dot flashes in the screen’s top right corner. The letters REC rest beside the circle…

In front of the camera, carefully adjusting the recorder’s angle…

NKWC.

His hands linger forward on both sides of the camera as he slowly backs away… His eyes stay focused on the black lens, eagerly ready to dive if it topples over...

It stays upright. He hovers a few moments… then spins 180 degrees and sprints out of frame, stage left. A large black curtain is thrust into the air by his sprint, swinging back and forth, spending its kinetic energy… And returns to rest just out of view.

Center stage: A large mahogany podium, equipped with microphone, standing before a dull beige wall… And just behind the podium’s right corner is… Former XWF Hart Champion Maverick!

His first appearance of the week! For the first time in nearly thirteen days in fact, XWF superstar Maverick is appearing in an XWF promo! Not a Maverick promo, but still!

How rare! Maverick showing up!!!

‘Iceman’ stands emotionlessly motionless, arms crossed… immobile?

Eyes staring directly into the camera.

Suddenly, the black curtain sweeps upwards again! Emerging from the same side he’d just departed through, NKWC. Waving, as if greeting a capacity crowd, smiling politely.

No sound.

He walks behind podium and stands shoulder-to-shoulder beside Maverick, who makes no movement to acknowledge his partner’s arrival.

…Or… at all.

NKWC stretches for the microphone and whips it to his chin. His right hand ascends to silence the… silence.

“…Thank you.”

“I called this conference in the interest of clarifying one point. To state unequivocally the status of Team DPNK’s… unity.”

“A ‘State of the Union’ if you will.”

“Team DPNK enters Shove-It Saturday Night’s X-Treme Flag Match a United Front. Meanwhile, Team USA’s only statements of cohesion entering our upcoming conflict? Promises from each member to stay out of the other’s way. To tolerate the other’s existence. Two individuals waging war against a synchronized unit with a clearly defined goal.”

“Team USA. Doomed from the start.”

NKWC smiles and shakes his head as if recalling the promos of his opponents summons fond memories.

“Last night, both of Team USA’s members finally spoke up for their beloved motherland.”

“…Kind of.”

“Peter acknowledged that I'd disparaged his knowledge of American History and his girth. Then moved on since he couldn’t refute those points.”

Quote: He talks about my weight and my lack of knowledge in American History, but he's just another guy I'm going to bury when me and Travis get through with them.

“At some point he said Osama Bin Forgotten. And that he’s an Italian tank.”

“First off, I demand to see Gilmour’s citizenship papers. Not only is he Italian, but also an armored vehicle? Suspicious. He’s American? When was the last time you heard of anything being manufactured INSIDE the US?”

“I want his birth certificate read completely, to the audience in attendance before our match.”

“WHICH IS IT, PETER? If you’re Italian, are you sure you remember which side of the war your grandfather fought on? Maybe the reason Donald Trump was honoring you was, as Hitler’s spiritual successor, he has to honor everyone that carries on the Axis Powers' glory?”

“NO FOREIGNERS!”

“Your Italian heritage would explain your lackluster physique and why you constantly reek of Marinara sauce and caritod artery disease.”

“After that…”

Quote: I will dodge every bullet NK and Maverick try to THROW at me.

“…Aside from Peter not understanding how bullets work?”

“Nothing new. Standard paint-by-numbers cookie-cutter Gilmour promo.”

“I’ll beat my opponent!”

“And my other opponent!”

“I’ll beat both my opponents!”

“And if they try to stop me beating them, I’ll do more beating!”

“If anyone else tries to beat them while I’m beating them, I’ll beat THEM at beating them!”

“I’ll beat them until they’re beaten. At which point, further beating would be unnecessary.”

“That message, but less verbose. Dumber. Then tack on, TO THE XTREEEEEEEEEEEEEEME like he’s done every night for 6 years now.”

“Even I don’t do ‘Glory to North Korea’ every time, Pete. And when I forget? Waterboarding.”

“Then again, writing new catchphrases might exhaust those fat wrists and chubby fingers of yours. Better just eat another meatball sub, you fucking Italian lard.”

“On the other hand, Travis McCoy…”

Quote:” I'm not going to do this out of any sort of pride for my country. It, like most things, sickens me.“

“Proves to be the smartest American I’ve encountered in the XWF and immediately declares hatred for the United States… At best, complete apathy.”

“…A stance I respect.”

“And honestly, McCoy not being a brainwashed Uncle Sam lover isn’t surprising. He’s from Missouri. The #1 state in the US… for boating while intoxicated and sustaining injuries while boating intoxicated.”

(It's True, True (Korean) Believers!)

“So, I’d tolerate this lack of national pride.”

“…IF THIS FUCKING MATCH WEREN’T EXCLUSIVELY ABOUT NATIONAL GODDAMNED PRIDE.”

“Jesus, Travis. I asked you to fucking hit me.”

“I said if you wanted this match, if you wanted to keep riding that undefeated streak straight to the top of this organization, you needed to pull off the kid gloves AND FUCKING STRIKE TRUE. I even hit on your abusive ‘differently-abled’ dad and your dead mom. I swung to get a rise so I’d get some material to knock out of the park.”

“And what did I get?”

“A rambling story about your dick getting half-hard and the Mexican whore you paid so she’d feign interest gyrating against it.”

NKWC rubs his temples, blinking his eyes rapidly as if trying to wake himself from a nightmare. Then, as if awaking from a dream, a dazed, delighted grin sweeps across his visage, sweeping away all traces of frustration.

“Of course, this isn’t a three-person match.”

“There’s one man I almost forgot this week.”

“MAVERICK! MY BELOVED TAG TEAM PARTNER! He’s barely gotten any time on the microphone!”

NKWC turns backwards smiling. He pulls the mic from the podium and walks over to his still-completely stationary ally.

“What did you think of their promos, Maverick?”

The anti-American thrusts the mic into Maverick face.

Maverick does not turn. Not a muscle twitches. His eyes refuse to break their line with the camera.

No words.

NKWC laughs and claps his hands, nodding at his partner’s wise response...

“Exactly, Maverick! Say nothing, because there is nothing to say.”

“Why would you say anything? Our opponents haven’t said anything worth addressing.”

“As Team USA demonstrated this week, we have no-“

OUT OF NOWHERE!!! NKWC dive tackles Maverick who topples over like a cardboard cutout!!!!

…As in, NKWC tackles a cardboard cutout of Maverick…

NKWC begins stomping the face and shoulders of the stand-in, trampling, crushing the previously finely defined edges into papier-mâché chunks.

In between stomps, NKWC unleashes a number of “FUCK YOU!”s or “PIECE OF SHIT!”s.

Brown jagged edges... Strips split off into the air and slowly descend like Autumn leaves. After a half-minute of this display, the previously immaculate XWF promotional TOOL is now tatters and shreddings.

As a final gesture, NKWC leans over the head of this giant XWF TOOL.

Cradles its flat, two-dimensional Maverick head.

And gouges his thumbs through its eyes.

NKWC coldly lets the paper man flap silently to the floor.

The demagogue stares down at his inanimate, defenseless victim a moment.

Before turning 180 degrees with flawless military efficiency. And stepping back behind the podium.

He turns to the camera and once more pulls the podium microphone to his face.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

And begins anew.

“Fuck Maverick."

"Lazy, dogshit American.”

“Fucking Yankee title-shitter.”

“Here’s what pisses me off.”

“I addressed it in the past. I’ve been carrying Maverick to an easy victory. This match was DESIGNED, maybe by an American XWF higher-up trying to keep rapidly decreasing Maverick t-shirt sales from hitting absolute zero?”

“Why else would a fucking Michigan homeowner be on Team DPNK? It’s a ruse. A trick to give a former Hart champion back a win he doesn’t even have to work for.”

“Either way, I was a pawn, playing my part. And I played it quite well.”

“At this point, Team DPNK is the safest bet on Shove-It.”

“Unless you think Peter ‘Crocodile Tears, My Grandpa Died’ Gilmour and Thomas ‘Mexico Guy’ McCoy are really pulling enough firepower between themselves to take me out?”

“Me, easily the most dominant NorthKoreanWarCriminalweight champion of all-time?”

“Fuck that. INDISPUTABLY THE MOST DOMINANT CHAMPION TO EVER DEFEND AN XWF BELT ALL 168 HOURS OF THE WEEK?!?”

“Sure, Travis can beat up a 130 pound woman. And Gilmour has a decent record against Maverick, who fights like a 130-pound woman. Very impressive.”

“I can see why these men have been chosen to represent Team USA. Just like their homeland, they excel at winning fights against smaller, helpless opponents. They find ways to make easy fights close and entertaining through sheer incompetence.”

“Meanwhile, I’ve taken out 5 people THIS WEEK. 5 men whose contests began VIA AMBUSH. A combined unexpected 1246 pounds of American challengers.”

“Processed and returned to sender like so much expired, rotting beef product. Experienced veterans and hungry rookies alike, rejected with ease. They try to run through me. And they break their necks colliding against me.”

“Even if Maverick decides to skip the match itself? Going alone? 1-on-2? I’m not losing to TweedleFat and TweedleMyDadAbusedMe.”

“Guaranteed victory.”

“…”

“…But this morning. I wake up.”

“I walk over to the bathroom.”

“Run some water to wash my face.”

“I look in the mirror.”

“…And then it hits me.”

“This fucking guy I’m looking at… Is picking up a win for Maverick.”

“This rube, just like every hard-working immigrant before him, is letting an American profit off his work while that lazy shit is sitting in the backyard of MANSION and being served hand and foot by HIS FUCKING MANSERVANT.”

“… I take a long hard look into the eyes of a conned man… And he gets angrier. And I get angrier looking at him getting angry.”

“But we’re the same man, I reason… Even as I get more and more furious, I’m wondering… Why is staring at my pissed-off reflection… pissing me off? Why is me getting angry… getting me angry?”

“Then, it all clicks.”

“Saturday? I’m not North Korean War Criminal.”

“I’m all of North Korea. I’m a representative of my people. I’m representing the Greatest Country on the Planet Earth, comprised of the greatest, hardest-working people that walk among us today.”

“Their anger fuels my anger. Their rage focuses my attack. Their mistreatment at the hands of the good ol’ US of A?”

“Is the source by which I derive my will to fight.”

“I’m an entire nation of people done being trodden upon by rich, American millionaires. People prepared to rise up and overcome the systematic world-mandated oppression of our people.”

“…Yes…Team DPNK is united.”

“Because I am united in mind, body and spirit with the proud of citizens of True Korea. ”

“I carry the indomitable will and the untamable spirit of the North Korean people.”

“And I cannot fail them.”

“I refuse to fail them.”

“Team DPNK walks into Shove-It guaranteeing success.”

“The only thing I can’t guarantee.”

“Is Maverick’s survival.”

Just above camera frame, a North Korean flag slowly unrolls behind NKWC. It’s proud red, white and blue colors, its star and stripes, wave proudly.

Orchestra music kicks in on both sides, playing the North Korean National Anthem.

NKWC stares above to the heavens. Tears of national pride building in his eyes.
This honor is too great.

But he must find a way to bear it.

He concludes with these words.

“Glory to Supreme Leader Kim Jong-Un making our path gleam gold, so we may more easily follow it to victory.”

“Glory to the True Korean people.”

“Glory to True Korea.”

Fade-out.