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Thomas Nixon · (04-30-2017)

A vibrant crowd floods the streets of center city Philadelphia. Tourists from across the country sprawl in all directions. Their colorful jersey cover their backs, a sign of regional pride that some of these NFL fans would defend with their life, depending on their level of sobriety.

Many fans find themselves in beer gardens, viewing parties, or even at the NFL draft. They bring energy, excitement, and joy, as they file into social settings to brag about their unabashed allegiances. Even if the Eagles lose thirteen games next season, I can guarantee you that the 240-pound man wearing a Carson Wentz jersey will watch every single one of those games. That’s dedication.

Thomas Nixon finds himself wandering towards city hall, watching the hordes of people go this way and that. It was a warm day, but at this point in the evening, a cool, refreshing breeze whisks between the skyscrapers breathing life and energy into the XWF competitor.

Thomas Nixon wears his typical dark blue jeans and a grey V-neck shirt. He raises his hand to his forehead, caressing his slicked back hair. Subconsciously, he wipes his eye, the eye that has finally recovered from the burn, and the eyelid involuntarily twitches at the feel of his finger.

He crosses the street, taking for granted the beautiful design of the city hall building. He walks in from the east entrance, heading towards the center of the open air courtyard.

[How long has it been? A month? Maybe longer, maybe shorter. The night that I got a taste of sweet, seductive retribution. When I slammed his head through that I goddamn table, I like to believe that I cut his life a decade short with a nice helping of CTE.

But that night was a turning point. It was a cascading domino that set off a chain reaction. All I wanted to do was celebrate. I wanted to dine like a king and indulge in my sick rituals that give me my youth. I was on cloud nine, hoping that feeling would never evaporate.

Somehow, I had forgotten the cosmic rift that developed over the course of my rivalry with McBride. I had ignored my people, my kin that raised me from birth. Even worse, I yelled at them, I lashed out at them, and I neglected their good intentions. They wanted me to stay focused. They wanted me to make smart decisions with my career, and they wanted me to continue my climb to the top of the XWF. They didn’t count on me holding grudges and seeking vengeance.]

Nixon stands in the center of the courtyard, tourists flooding through the western exit, heading towards the NFL draft location. He pays them half a mind, consumed in his inner monologue. He finds himself drawn towards the main exit to North Broad Street.

[So after I fulfilled my dark fantasy and did away with McBride, it only made sense that they attempted to “reeducate” me. They wanted me back on track, so they sat me down and bombarded me with kind words and praise! They tossed complement after complement at me until I was suffocating under their positive sentiments!

If only I was so naïve. They must have thought little of me; they must have believed I was mentally deteriorating before their eyes. But I still have my wits, and I was not fooled by their façade. I saw through their tricks. I saw them for what they truly were. They were terrified.]

There Nixon stands. Across the street, just north of the old city hall building, stands the architectural masterpiece where his true life began. The building where he was handed over to the shapeshifting elders, and the location where he was captive for the aforementioned reeducation. The Philadelphia Masonic Temple.

[That’s why I’ve been alone with my thoughts. It was a reality check that I deserved, but the implications are confusing. They entrusted their future to me. I have to carry their dreams and their needs into the real world. I’m their one shot. No wonder they were losing their shit when I was going off the rails.

But I don’t regret what I did. I’m glad I pursued my hatred. I’m glad I pursued revenge. I’m glad I pursued justice.

Till the day that I die, I will fight hand in hand with the lizard people, but I am my own individual. I’m not a pawn for their cause. Their interests are important to me, but my self-interest reigns supreme. There is weakness in blind allegiance, and I’ve seen that. If I walked away from McBride’s vile attacks, I would’ve been a fucking coward, and it would be eating away at me each and every day.

They brought me into this world for a purpose, but I’m not what they wanted. I’m not a loyal servant. I will not blindly abide by the whims of the ones called ‘leaders’!

For better or worse, I’m not a follower. I’m not taking orders anymore because I know better. I know what the fans want to see when I get into the ring. I know what will push the agenda that lizards deserve acceptance and rights. Better yet, I know what I fucking want. I’m my own autonomous being, so if I want to kick the tar out of McBride’s face, I will take the liberty to do so.

I look around this world and I see loyalists. From my home in Philadelphia to the XWF, allegiances and cliques have formed. From the hope and faith of a downtrodden Eagles fan to our very own Universal Champion, Jim Caedus in Ax3. But I will not pledge allegiance to any individual. That’s a mistake I’m not willing to make.

This time, I’m fighting for my tribe on my own terms. I don’t need any sign offs from so called ‘higher ups’. I’m coming in with guns blazing ready to instrumentally change the XWF inside out. And no matter what the outcome is, I’m not answering to anybody but myself.]

As Thomas Nixon turns away from the Masonic Temple, the cool breeze hits his body. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and softly exhales. A smirk crosses his face, and he unveils his piercing blue eyes that are reinvigorated with energy.

* * *

I see a familiar sight. Two opponents, both hardened by their lives and struggles, both talented men with incredible strengths. In a business that’s all about fighting in front of a bloodthirsty crowd, this is exactly what you would expect. This is how I’ve made my name, fighting with cunning and finesse and finding a way to come out on top.

This isn’t my first rodeo when it comes to multi man encounters. I’ve had several, and in each of those bouts I learned more than I could possibly imagine. Early in my tenure, I suffered my first defeat, much like Danny Imperial did against Tidbits and Caedus, but I was up against Blue Gator and Thaddeus Duke. Although in my case, I wasn’t pinned. I was simply out maneuvered, Duke played the match smart and he eked out the win. He leveraged the environment to his advantage, which is a necessity in this match type.

So I learned how to do the same thing. And that’s how I won the Television Title some five months ago. I beat three other men in an elimination match and pinned every damn one of them. How’s that for making a statement?

Now I look at my competitors and I realize one very clear reality; neither of them are proven in a multi man, chaotic environment. For fucks sake, Cain is being dropped in the deep end. This is only his second bout, and he’s going to try and take on two men?

Based on this fact, you can make your own conclusions, but I’m not going to jump ahead and prematurely call myself the favorite. XWF has a way of throwing curve balls, and Danny may show up firing on all cylinders doing all the right things to take advantage of the stipulation. So let’s look deeper at my opponents, starting with Danny.

Danny Imperial climbed his way up to the XWF Television Championship, knocking off Scully on the way, and eventually claiming the belt from Mr. Tidbits, or whatever he’s called nowadays. He’s made a splash in a short time, similar to my career trajectory when I showed up last November. But he isn’t the first man to show up with a bang.

Leading up to his match with Tidbits, he pulled something from my playbook. He knows how to adapt to his opponents and match ups, and he planned on changing his strategy the second time around. He’s smart, and that’s why he’s been able to knock off a couple XWF superstars so early in his career.

But Danny Imperial is a man, like you and I. He’s a person. And underneath his exterior, it’s clear that he’s one loss from being lost in the shuffle. This championship was his big break, but if his title reign only lasts one week, he may find himself relegated to the lower card, losing the main event limelight that he wants! With another loss, his momentum would be shot!

And as he comes to this realization, he’ll find out that there’s a lot more pressure defending a title than challenging for a title. Have you ever wondered what happens when a person is worried? Do you ever wonder what happens to men in the XWF when they're scared? They make mistakes. And a mistake against me, or Jack Cain for that matter, is all it takes to lose the XWF Television Championship.

But let’s not forget the biggest man in the ring come Saturday night. Jack Cain, an imposing man more than half a foot taller than me and nearly a hundred pounds heavier. The kind of guy that makes you shit yourself if you find out you were flirting with his girlfriend. But this Jack Cain has a little more to him than his size.

You see, Cain is out in the XWF because he likes violence. He loves the feeling of a bone as it cracks in his hands. He wants to see blood and he wants to see his opponent struggle to breathe. The problem is, he lacks true passion. He’s a soulless shell of a man that lives with the intention of making others feel the pain and suffering that he feels day in and day out.

Cain isn’t fighting for anything. He’s a box of rage, and the moment his aggression fizzles out, he has no reason to fight myself or Danny Imperial. Cain has put himself in the position where he will encounter men that are athletic and men that are smart; once he faces a true challenge, he won’t have anything driving him to win. Feeding off violence won’t get Cain far, especially when he’s pitted with two opponents.

But when the going gets tough, who are you thinking about, Jack? Nobody. And that’s what separates the men in the gritty world of wrestling. So don’t dismiss me with an offhand remark because you’re going to need something to fight for once you stand toe to toe with me.

You see, on Saturday Night Savage, I will leave everything I have in that ring because I want to walk out of there with the fucking XWF Television Championship. I want to hold that title high, if my beat up body will let me. That’s because I’m fighting for people. I want to liberate my tribe, and that means more to me than the risk of getting snapped in half by some freak of nature.

So go ahead, make your threats, claim victory, and put on a confident face. That won’t stop the inevitable. Either I’m going to win or I’ll nearly die trying, but the headline will still read “THOMAS NIXON IS BACK”.

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