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~~Brandon Moore~~ · (12-16-2016)

”I fear no evil. Evil fucking fears me.”

Those lyrics are heard coming from behind the hotel room door of one of XWF's newest members. “Refined in the Fire” by Winds of Plague is fucking blaring. The hotel might as well be shocking because of the death metal song coming from Brandon Moore's speakers. An XWF camera crew has arrived and the guy holding the boom mic is slamming on the door with a fist. A few moments of slamming on the door later and the music abruptly stops. The hotel room door flings open. Brandon Moore, in black shorts and an Impending Doom t-shirt appears. He looks confused as fuck.

-Brandon Moore-
“What the fuck is this?”

-Cameraman-
You're scheduled for a segment and didn't show up...so...they sent us to you. The big wigs want you to say something about yourself, your debut match, your match coming up at Savage Saturday Night...whatever it might be.”

-Brandon Moore-
“Seriously? They fucking hold people to that schedule? God fucking damn it. Come in.”

Brandon let's go of the door. The camera crew enters the hotel room and sees a giant bulletin board pinned up over where the mirror in the main area of the hotel room is located. On the bulletin board are pictures and a small sheet of notes under each. They're separated into three on one side and three on the other. Soon enough, the cameraman zooms in and it is easy to tell who the pictures are off and what the notes are. They are strengths and weaknesses, personality traits, and other topics noted about XWF superstars on the XWF website. The pictures are the headshots that the website uses for the superstar profiles. They are of Havoc's opponents at the upcoming Savage Saturday Night.

-Cameraman-
“What's all this you've got here?”

-Brandon Moore-
“It's my fucking game plan set up, dude. Fuck. Get over here and let's just do this. I've got an idea.”

The camera crew settles in and focuses on Brandon Moore as he stares at the bulletin board.

-Brandon Moore-
“It's all pretty simple these days, but everyone makes it so fucking hard. You're all racist, fascist assholes. I'm not going to hold anything back. I'm here in XWF to fuck shit up. I might have lost the first battle, by some epic fuckery, but the war is far from over. Cadryn Tiberius got lucky. I had that motherfucker tapping out and the referee gives that Frosted Flake Fucker the win? That's bullshit. Every single one of those schmucks got what they deserve, though. Havoc appeared. As a unit, we did what we are going to continue to do. We wreaked fucking havoc and it felt amazing. Dropping Mysery, Dawud, and Cadryn was just the beginning. We're going to take out everyone. That was just the start. Savage Saturday Night sees another opportunity for us to get out point across.

It's 2016. Everyone knows god doesn't exist. Everyone has a smartphone. Everyone takes Uber when they go out. You can't pray to your god for us to stop. You precious technology won't be good enough to call for help. And your Uber driver isn't going to want to pick you up when they see your face after we're finished. Havoc battles in a Trios Cubed match. Three on three on three. David Stone, Ronnie Cage, and myself, old...friends? Older enemies, but we've banded together for one cause. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and fucking ruin everyone along the way. Two teams of three are put in path and I have no fucking doubt that they'll be bulldozed out of the way.”

Brandon pulls down one of the pictures and turns to face the camera. He holds the picture up so the camera can see it as well.

-Brandon Moore-
“Drezdin. Fucking clown shoes. You come out to the ring to the sound of AC lightning bolt DC. How fucking cliché is that? I'll admit one thing. You're a big fucking dude. Way bigger than I am. That's the most intimidating thing about you. I might be the new kid on the block, but trust me, I've got the right stuff. Boy band puns. Suck it. You're way in over your giant fucking head, brother. You might as well feed your partners to us wolves and make it out alive if you know what's best for you.”

Brandon shreds the picture of Drezdin down the middle. He then grabs the next picture from the bulletin board and repeats how he handled the previous one.

-Brandon Moore-
“Then we have Liyanna Properchev. This really taught me that the XWF gives no fucks about having the gals and guys get their tussle on. Hot damn, I'm normally a gentleman, but I'll knock around a lady if they stand in the way of my goals. And I hear through the grapevine that Drezdin is her ex-boyfriend? It's a fucking soap opera here! She wants to the dominant diva and wants to “eradicate” Drezdin from the face of the planet? Well, good luck with that while he's your tag team partner! More fun for us Havoc boys to watch your team melt the fuck down.”

Brandon now rips the picture of Liyanna, into more pieces than before. He grabs the next picture, of the last partner on that team.

-Brandon Moore-
“Nami, Nami, Nami...you poor bitch. You're stuck with the shitty lovebirds. Or...ex-lovebirds? But holy fuck look at you. One of your tits is as big as my fucking head! Holy shit! And you only weigh a hundred and thirty some pounds?! Yeah right! In one of your knockers, maybe! I can't fucking take you seriously at all! Thighs, ass, and tits for days. But hot damn, put a bag on that face. You're a joke. Stay home and fondle your tits or something. I beg you. I don't want to hurt you, but I'm gonna have to and it kills me. Like, literally, I'll be dead because you'll smother me with those balloons.”

There's a pattern here. Brandon shreds the picture of Nami into even more pieces than that of Liyanna and much more than that of the simple one tear that Drezdin's picture received. He grabs a hold of Broken Hart's picture now and turns his attention back to the camera.

-Brandon Moore-
“Onto the next team! We've got Broken Hart. He's got a little girlfriend, Chastity! Seriously, I mean it. Fucking soap opera. I remember when I was a sad teenager. That's what Broken Hart reminds me of. He needs to get the other half of that mask. He'll need it after Havoc is done with him and his little gal pal. I've had one match here and I can already tell Havoc's rise to the top is going to be a fucking piece of cake. And you ass, using big words and shit like you're Edgar Allen Poe. You're gonna get stomped into the fucking ground, nawm sayin'?”

Broken Hart's picture is turn into even further pieces than the previous pictures. Brandon now grabs the next picture, of Kid Kool, and addresses the camera.

-Brandon Moore-
“Kid Kool...what do you know, another fucking guy with another fucking girlfriend. Seems to me like this team isn't going to get along so well. I fucking like that shit. I've heard and noticed that you fucking complain. A lot. You hardly deserve any of my time to recognize the one thing about that matters...you suck. Like a vacuum. Major fucking suckage. I've got nothing wrong with the long hair, obviously. My hair is the shit. But yours looks like fucking spaghetti. So, noodle up, pony boy. You're first in line for another Havoc ass whippin'.”

More and more pieces dropping to the floor with each picture. Brandon finally grabs the last picture from the board.

-Brandon Moore-
“Last but not least, Snow. Hot damn, Snow. You're a fiery little lady. You're butch as fuck, aren't ya? Now that kind of makes me sad. You're Southern as fuck like my boy, Ronnie. I respect that. But damn, girl. Act like a fucking lady every once in a while, ya dig? I feel like you don't give a shit about your partners. You guys better come up with a game plan and work together or you're gonna get whacked. Snow, listen here. If you ever change your mind and want me to make you 'Scream for Moore,' let me know. Seriously. Seriously seriously. Get fucked.”

Brandon winks at the camera as he rips the last picture, that of Snow. This time, it is in to so many pieces that it resembles snow falling out of his hand to the floor of his hotel room. He stops the act now and looks up at the camera man that is off screen with plenty of rudeness on his face and in his tone.

-Brandon Moore-
“There, is that what you fucking wanted? Get out of here so I can plan and jam some more...seriously, fuck off!”

Brandon ushers the cameraman and boom mic guy out with a few shoves. The last thing seen on camera is the hotel room door slamming. The last thing heard is the sound of Winds of Plague once again coming from inside Brandon's hotel room for the stay in Richmond. It's how he gets fucking pumped.

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