The scene opens in what looks like a field of some sort. It's hard to tell, since all that can be seen from this vantage point is a few giant blades of damp grass. There is no movement to be seen, outside of the slightest swaying of the grass, left and right, by a slight gust of wind, and another there.

All of a sudden, the camera jolts abruptly from the grass and a few feet in the air. We're not quite sure what type of camera this is, but based on the lack of any noise being generated when it was lifted, it's likely this is a...

Tony: Tommy, bring my phone over here, now!

...cellphone.

Tommy: Yes, Tony...

Tony lets out those two words with the longest sigh. This is the sound of jet lag, as well as reality seeming to make room in his lungs. Do you know what a first class ticket from San Francisco to New Zealand with one day's notice costs? Of, just a cool $2,500 per ticket. 24 hours and two stops later, Tommy and Tony had arrived. How did they pay for it? Tony pulled from the insurance money he was given when his ex-partner, Shannon, and their child were tragically killed in a car accident.

Grim, I know. Shannon had been driving their child, a child who had seen Tony less as a father and more as a surprise guest in their life, when their car got stuck on train tracks back in their home of Boston. Yup, Tony abandoned them for California six years ago and would check in roughly every six months, usually in need of money after another job "downsized."

Anyways, a 1999 Volvo S70 probably shouldn't be in a driveway in 2018, let alone driving on an actual road. So... it learned its lesson and decided to just up and die on train tracks in a lonely little Commuter Rail stop, with very little actual car or foot traffic. A big ol' train carrying passengers into Boston, at some incredibly high speeds, and...

Carnage. Shannon's seat belt was stuck, and she only had a split second to consider opening her door, let alone getting her son out safely. The Volvo was destroyed, and Shannon and her son were killed on impact.

Anyways, insurance money! Tony has blown through 60% of that money... money many felt he didn't deserve, in just six months. He felt zero remorse, even some relief at the lack of child support payments. And now, he's...

Tony: Tommy, get a close up on me.

...laying on a patch of dirt in the middle of Avon City Backpackers, a hostel of sorts for people passing through Christchurch. It's about as cheap as it gets to stay in a bed with a bunch of dirty strangers, and Tony took them up on the one night rate of...

Tony: $55 god damn dollars. For what? A patch of dirt.

Tony is laying on the ground, headphones over his ears, the hair on his head, badly in night of a cut, lays back and to the side, as gravity pulls it seemingly from his scalp. It'd be a stretch to say that Tony is balding, but clearly Father Time is starting to have his way with Tony.

Tony has a smile on his face; you know, that satisfied smile after a really relaxing and satisfying day. Lips together, eyes closed, with only slight nods of the head left and right, playing along with Tony's not-so-zen music of the day:



Tony slowly opens his eyes, the beat in his headphones controlling his slight head movements. He looks at the camera, which Tony can barely see, since the screen is broken, and barely control, since the app keeps crashing, since, you know, it's an iPhone 2 previously owned by an incredibly old and careless lady.

Tony: Tommy, are we rolling?

Tommy nods his head. Tony smiles.

Tony: Good. It's good to be here in lovely New Zealand. The land of shirt-sticking humidity, like five people, and a bunch of dirty hitchhikers. Fuck this place.

Tony purses his lips together. He rolls his eyes seemingly 180 degrees, lets out a sigh, and keeps talking, without ever looking back at the camera.

Tony: But I'm here, god knows how long later, to...

Tommy, who am I facing again?

Tommy holds up a picture of Peter Gilmour.



Tony smiles, his tongue peeking out from the gap in his mouth.

Tony: Oh right, that guy. Tommy, how many matches has this guy fought in?

Tommy: A lot.

Tony: And how many has he won?

Tommy: Not a lot.

Tony smiles again.

Tony: That's what I thought. Peter Gilmour, the loudest, most obnoxious idiot in this entire federation. This man has so much pride in the buffoon he is, and doesn't seem to realize that he's the only one not in on the joke. "Suck my dick." How many times have you told someone to do that, bud? Original.

How many times have you talked about "conspiracies" against you? Every time you lose a match? Someone's always out to get you, and it sure as hell ain't your talent. Any promising talent that was living under that thick, crusty skull of yours surely slipped out of your ass as you were blowing your own smoke up it.

Is it fun to be this much of a joke, Peter? To be so bad that, in your own illustrious verbal takedown of me a few days ago, you sounded like you'd rather call a truce, rather than face the bell ringing.

"When I'm pissed off, bad things happen."

Yeah, Peter? Are you really going to bring something different than the walking comedy routine you've brought into the ring for the last, what, ten years? Really? Or am I going to kick you in the mouth so god damn hard that the woman you're with, and the woman you're apparently cheating with, leave you in the one heartbeat that should've been the duration of your miserable life.

Suck my dick... How about you suck on some god damn truth. Peter, you bring so much pride and energy to your work, but what you offer in determination, you lack in any semblance of intelligence or skill. See, I know I'm fucked up. I left my girl and child for California. I've fucked up more jobs than you've been offered. Title opportunities? I've come god damn short on most of those, as well.

But at least I get my flaws. I don't just understand them, I revel in them. I'm no saint, I'm a fuck up, and I get that. You? You're too stupid to hear the same joke everyone in this company has been telling for ten years. You genuinely think you're a god among men... excuse me... XTREME men. Every time you think you're leading a revolution, you forget to turn around and realize you've left a trail of your own shit.

Peter, I spent far too much money to lay in this dirty field and face a piece of shit like you. I traveled too many god damn miles and forgot to sign up for frequent flier miles, to face you. But here am I. I fucked up again...

...and I see that. And when we get into the ring at Warfare, you likely won't see the beatdown I'm going to put on you for what it was: A superior wrestler putting a joke in his place. Nope, you'll come back next week, tell everyone you were screwed, and prepare yourself to add, what, your 200th L to the loss column?

Heh. It's gonna be fun, Peter. Just remember, when I drive on to your "road to destruction," remember to look both ways before I drive you into the pavement.

See you soon, my love.

Tony closes his eyes, continues bopping his head to the music, and the scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion