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Thomas Nixon · **12-16-2016, 03:31 PM**

The scene opens up to a small, generic bathroom. The room has neutral colors and bright lights, it clearly has been refurbished within the last few years and is well maintained.

Thomas Nixon sits adjacent to the sink on the granite counter. He’s wearing a gray v-neck shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. A calm impression rests on his face, and he glances down at the weapon in his hand. Light reflects off a large, sharp knife that Nixon wipes with a white cloth. He raises the knife and inspects the blade closely, before he carefully scrubs the blade to remove a smudge.

Nixon hops off the counter top, and he turns to the wide mirror. He raises the knife and briefly inspects the blade. Nixon extends his neck and raises the sharp tool to his throat, his carotid artery. He stares into his own eyes for a moment, keeping the blade still. Then, he brings the blade back to his side and shrugs his shoulders, as if saying “Good enough”.

With the knife in one hand and the cloth in the other, Nixon exits the bathroom and enters the bland bedroom. A large TV rests on an entertainment system and a king sized bed with a generic floral bedspread fills most of the room. Nixon sets the white cloth on the entertainment system, places the knife in the center of the cloth, before he gently folds the cloth over the weapon.

Nixon casually walks to the side of his bed, and he begins to lay down. On a second thought, he sits up and reaches towards the nightstand. On top of his night stand lies a portable CD player that Nixon likes to keep around. He taps the play button before collapsing onto his back, as Huey Lewis’ unique, booming voice fills the small room.

Typically, I like to accept Huey Lewis for what he is. He has a great voice, at least I enjoy it. And the instruments used in his songs have a great sound to them. Usually, I think his songs are phenomenal, but they suffer from weak lyrics. With that being said, Huey has some great lines in this song. His commentary is thought provoking, despite his inherently superficial style. If you can look past some of his horrible lyrics, you’ll be able to find a gem or two.

“Don’t need money, don’t take fame
Don’t need no credit cards to ride this train”

The start of the chorus is absolute trash, but you have to suffer through the bad to get to the good. That’s why it’s so shocking to find meaning in his stuff, it’s all hidden between superficial crap.

“It’s strong and it’s sudden and it’s cruel sometimes
But it might just save your life
That’s the power of love”

This is the stuff that really makes you reflect on life. It's not blatant or pretentious, but if you think about the line, it's got some depth. I’m not one of those guys that goes out of their way to do things out of love. Or at least that’s what I thought. Love isn’t just the romance movie garbage or the Nora Roberts filth. Love is about your passions and the things you care about.

When I come to think of it, love is why I wrestle here in the XWF. It’s probably the driving force behind all my actions, and all of my decisions. It’s the reason I persevere and strive to come out on top. This isn’t just a job for me. It’s not about winning a match and collecting a chunk of change at the pay window. I want to build my namesake, so I can fight for justice in this world. Justice for the ones that I love.

If I get blindsided with a super kick and I manage to get a shoulder up at the two count, that’s the power of love. If I get suplexed on my head and neck and fight on for another ten or twenty minutes, that’s the power of love. When I crack Reno’s jaw with my knee and pin him for the three, that’s the power of love.

I have a feeling that a lot of XWF fans misjudge Gabe Reno by thinking that he has a lot of character. They look at him and see a cocky athlete that has a swagger about him. He doesn’t take shit from everyone, and he acts like he owns the company. He has his own little quirks that define him: his angry rants, he loses control of himself, he might talk in rhymes, and sometimes he exclaims “BITCH”.

Reno has a personality, but he doesn’t have anything deep down. He’s all superficial. He’s the really shitty part of a Huey Lewis song. He makes a play on words here and there, and sometimes it’s kind of funny. The problem is, there’s no depth there. He doesn’t have anything that defines himself on an emotional level. He’s egotistical, plain and simple. I’m not saying that because I dislike him, I’m saying that because nothing else makes sense.

Reno isn’t fighting for anything except for himself. He’s putting himself through battle with men a lot stronger and tougher than he is, and he’s doing it just so he can say he's a winner. So he can put a picture of his hand held up by the referee on Instagram and watch the likes roll in. He’s not doing it because he has passion or love for anything. He just wants somebody to think he’s cool and bad ass. He craves that attention.

I truly feel sorry for him because losing doesn’t coincide well with what Reno’s ego needs. He’s going to cry and complain, and he’ll probably try to avenge the loss at some point. He can’t let losing go. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he isn’t a bad ass. He doesn’t comprehend that he sounds like a thirteen year old boy with a snapback and earrings when he calls people a bitch. I can guarantee that he thinks “I just fucking owned that BITCH” every time he says his shitty little catch phrase. It’s like if I shuffled out to the ring and yelled “Gabe HOMO” and thought I was hot shit for it. It's pathetic.

I hope that another loss to Gabe will make him take a long, hard look at himself and think about why he shows up to train every day. Right now, you’re a purposeless loser that seems to be perpetually at the mental age of 13. After another stinging loss, you might want to try and find something that you care about besides yourself.

“You feel the power, just feel the power of love
That's the power, that's the power of love
You feel the power of love
You feel the power of love
Feel the power of love”

The voice of Huey Lewis begins to fade out, as “The Power of Love” comes to an end. A knock is heard on the door, and Nixon sits up from the bed. The next track of the Huey Lewis album starts to play, as Nixon reaches into a suitcase near the foot of his bead. He pulls out a plastic sheet that he quickly places over the end of the bed. The sheet goes to the floor, curling upwards at the ends. Overall, the plastic coating covers about half the mattress once Nixon is done. A louder knock rattles on the door, as the lyrics to “Bad is Bad” begin to fill the room.

“I’ll be there in one second,” Nixon loudly states, while keeping a calm demeanor.

Nixon pats the plastic covering before beginning towards the door. Nixon cracks his neck to the left, then the right, and he pulls the door open.

A slim woman appears in the doorway wearing a short, black dress and a fashionable scarf. Her blond hair was short; it barely reached her shoulders. A typical man would find this girl attractive, but she did have a face that seems old, despite her apparent youth. The small lines that define her face reveal that she has been through a lot in life.

“Thomas Nixon?” She asks, confirming that she found the correct room.

Nixon nods, and the woman walks into the hotel room. She looks back at Thomas with a smile on her face, as she takes off the scarf and playfully tosses it on the television set.

“Bend over the bed for me.” Nixon calmly states.

The prostitute laughs. “Well you’re getting straight to business.”

As she makes her way to the bed, Nixon intently watches her, as his left hand carefully finds the white cloth on the entertainment system. He peels the cloth to the side, finding the handle of the knife.

The hooker bends over the edge of the bed, leaving little to the imagination with her short dress. She notices the weird plastic covering, but she is immediately distracted by the rough grasp of Nixon’s hand on her hair. He pulls her head back, and she gasps. She looks over her shoulder into his eyes.

Before she could utter another sentence, Nixon brings the blade to her throat and slits her carotid artery. The limp corpse falls onto the plastic covering as blood profusely sprays from her wound. A small amount of blood squirts onto the bed sheets, but not enough to concern Nixon.

Deep in the eyes of Thomas Nixon is a shred of remorse. He didn’t have a fetish for murdering prostitutes. It was simply a means to an end.

Minutes pass and the blood pools underneath the warm corpse. Nixon reaches into his bag, and pulls out three empty glass mason jars.

* * *

I’ve done horrible things in my time, but everything has a reason. She was simply a means to an end.

Let’s be optimistic. Even though I ended her life, I’ve saved her in a sense. I liberated her from her horrible life of walking the streets. She’ll never have to service a man that abuses and degrades her. She’s free of suffering.

Similarly, if Reno is thoughtful enough, which I doubt he is, he’ll look at this match as an opportunity to reevaluate himself. If he does, I will liberate him from his childish attitude. He can finally move on and grow up. Maybe, just maybe, this match will liberate XWF from the annoying antics that Reno brings to the table.

Otherwise, Reno is another means to an end. I don’t want to kill him in the ring. This isn’t a revenge western movie. I didn’t track him down because he killed my pa. We’re in the real world. Reno is another name on the XWF roster. Beating him proves to the XWF fans that I’m a winner, not a transitional champion.

He’s a stepping stone to bigger and better things. On the topic of liberation, he brings me one step closer to eliminating suffering and pain in the lives of thousands and thousands of lizards. My ultimate goal is to end the oppression of my people; not to pin Gabe Reno for the three count. I’m not going to pretend that he is anything bigger than that. He’s another insignificant casualty on my journey.

Savage Saturday Night is my first title defense, and it will be in the history books. The first in a long line of title defenses, as I prove that I’m a force to be reckoned with.

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