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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Leap of Faith 2020 PPV
Bipolar
Author Message
James Raven Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#1
07-25-2020, 10:21 PM

[Image: RavenSig2013.jpg]


JULY 12, 2020
3:47 AM EST

I sit alone, nestled in the corner of a mostly empty room in a large arm chair. The lights are off, my only illumination coming from the moonbeams beaming through the nearby window. My shoulders are slumped, spine hunched as I stare down at my phone with comatose eyes. My hand aches, cramping around the plastic ridges; but my thumb never stops flicking the screen with a steady rhythm, sending a wall of tweets flying past my gaze. I pick up on a few of them as they soar by.

This is nothing unusual, I’ve been doing it a lot over the last six months… far more than I’d care to admit. It’s masochistic. It brings a stabbing pain to my chest and a knot to my stomach.

My mind tears itself apart; minute by minute, hour by hour, night by night. I am shredding every bit of sanity I have.

Still, I scroll.


“James?”

The voice comes from the doorway in the far corner of the room, but my mind is so muddled I barely notice the call.

“James? What are you still doing up?”

I blink a few times, retinas suddenly burning as I look away from the screen for the first time in who knows how long. It takes a few minutes for my vision to adjust to the darkness, but I finally recognize Betsy. She’s concerned.

“You should come to bed.”

“Soon…” I mumble, my voice little more than a hoarse grunt.

“James, pleas-”

“Soon.”

She doesn’t like being cut off, but she doesn’t try to argue with me. We both know it’s futile right now. Like I said, nights like these were not uncommon, and we’ve left very few stones unturned in regards to how she should handle me. Everyone, please offer a round of applause for Betsy. She has the patience of a saint.

I drop my gaze back to the cell phone screen, my thumb resuming its steady swiping. Centurion, Warstein, TK, Bourbon, Themis, Duke, Lane… their names and a dozen others scroll past me, visions of their successes and interactions smacking me in the mouth as I sit in my isolation.

Betsy slips from the doorway and makes her way across the room, winding up at the side of my armchair. She looks down over my shoulder as I continue to swipe.


“James,” she pleads, “You need to let it go, at least for tonight. Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning and if you want to you can pick back up agai-”

“I can’t sleep now. You don’t know what it’s fucking like,” I sneer, more to the ether than to her but she doesn’t hear it that way.

“Excuse me?”

No backing down now.

“You don’t know,” my gravelly voice tries to explain, “Nobody knows. None of you understand.”

“So explain it to me,” she suggests with a shrug.

“I have. Over and over.”

“So try again. Keep trying until I understand.”

My thumb stops scrolling, and my timeline lands on the smiling face of Ruby Debuchy. The knot in my stomach tightens, the back of my neck growing hot as I hold the phone up for Betsy to see.

“Look at this shit! Look!”

She stares at the phone but she says nothing. She simply chews her lower lip thoughtfully, then looks at me with concern.

“Isn’t… isn’t Ruby a friend of yours?”

Fine, if she doesn’t get it, I’ll find another example. I pull the phone within inches of my face and keep scrolling, landing on a promotional tweet for Warstein vs Centurion at Leap of Faith.

“Here!” I exclaim, spinning the phone back to her, “Look at this one! It’s insane, right?!”

Betsy takes a step towards me and reaches up, her hands clasping around mine and gently pulling the phone away from me. She sets it down on a nearby side table, sliding a long since emptied whiskey glass over to make space. Slowly she slides both of her arms around my body and presses her head against my chest, holding me tight. It’s only then that I realize how tense and rigid I’ve become, and I feel my muscles begin to melt in her embrace. I wrap my arms around her, and together we stand in the darkness. I have no idea for how long.

“You need to sleep,” she whispers.

“I know,” I whisper back, “I just… I can’t yet.”

“Have you taken your-”

“Stop! Don’t do that!” I cut her off, my muscles suddenly coiling up like steel cables as I pull violently away from her, “Stop making everything about that. This has nothing to do with that. I don’t want them, and I’m not going to take them!”

“It’s been six months, James. Do you realize that? We’ve been dealing with this for six months. Have you told anyone at the XWF yet?”

“It’s none of their business, it’s none of anybody else's business,” I murmur, picking up the empty whiskey glass from the side table and looking around for the bottle.

“Those people are your friends, James, you need to trust them and-”

“Those people don’t give a shit about me, Betsy!” I scream, spinning on my heels to face her, “I know what I am to them! I know where I fucking stand! I was a fucking cash cow until they had more options I was a top attraction until I brought them new toys to play with. I was a locker room leader until… I just… I can’t… You dont. Know. What it’s like. I have spent years trying to build the XWF community back to what it used to be, up to what it can be… and it’s like the closer we get to what I always wanted, the less these people want me to be a part of it with them at all.”

“You know that’s not true,” she says reassuringly.

Do I?

“Of course it’s true,” I hiss through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth, “Every offer to help someone, every offer to get back in the ring, every offer to be a civil fucking person and simply have a conversation with a rookie… all ignored and rejected, if not thrown back in my face like I was some fucking dipshit for even offering. I’m watching the roster become stronger, I’m seeing the XWF get more recognition, I’m watching a community form and camaraderie develop and people find new running mates… all on the foundation I fought for years to build… and I’m just… here. I’m just waiting for something to do… For someone to decide I’m worth their time. Then I tell myself I shouldn’t be feeling any of this, and I list off all the positives of this movement and remind myself that with or without me the XWF is becoming what I wanted… and I hate myself for thinking any of it at all… and the cycle continues... ”

Betsy sighs deeply, shrugging her shoulders. I know what she’s thinking; she can’t help me until I agree to help myself.

“James,-”

“Go back to bed, Betsy,” I instruct her, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly no-”

“I am,” I assure her.

She looks at me, her eyes practically overflowing with skepticism.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Betsy?! I can’t spell this shit out any clearer.”

“Keep. Trying.”

What does she think I’ve been doing? There’s nothing more I can say, every time I open my mouth public perception gazes unfavourably upon me. I lunge for my cell phone, I can’t tell her but I can show her! I can show her what’s bothering me! She cuts me off, hands firmly on my shoulders and steering me away from my device on the side table. She stands in front of me and stares deep into my eyes.

“Talk to me. Please don’t try to show me any more social media. Just talk to me.”

I stare back at her, and feel a calm wash over me. I close my eyes. I inhale deeply, and feel a sort of purity radiate from the breath. The words begin to tumble clumsily from my lips.

“You don’t know what it’s like to see people do what you should be doing, to watch your peers become industry darlings and to watch the new generation hail them as the true GOAT. You don’t know what it’s like to watch them win tournaments and headline pay per views and slowly push you from their memory.”

“So, jealousy?” she asks, “This is all out of jealousy?”

“No,” I defend staunchly, “It’s not jealousy. It’s… it’s more complicated than that. It’s not just watching people succeed, it’s watching myself get erased. I can’t open twitter without seeing subtweets and potshots. I can’t go a week without my phone being blown up in the middle of the night with fake challenges and trolling. When did this happen, Betsy? When did they all decide I was just the old guy, to be mocked and ignored and strung along… when did people stop respecting me?”

“So… your feelings are hurt?” she asks.

“No! Maybe. I don’t know. Fuck, Betsy, I don’t know how to explain this shit! It sounds stupid, I’m aware.”

“It’s not stupid, I want to understand,” she promises me, “Please, don’t stop.”

I take another deep breath, a last ditch attempt to calm my nerves and soften the edge I’ve been dancing on all night.

“I don’t know where to go. I don’t know who to turn to…”

She says nothing. She lets me navigate through these waters undisturbed.

“It never occurred to me that when the XWF became what I envisioned, I wouldn’t be a part of it. I didn’t see this coming. YOU tell ME what I should do. What should I do when I can’t get anyone to accept a match with me anymore? What should I do when the new generation makes it clear they have NO respect for me, or what I’ve done, or what I’ve built for them?! What should I do when the more I get worked up, the angrier I am at myself for getting worked up?! What should I do?! What should I fucking do?!?!”

I hurl my empty whiskey glass at the floor in the corner of the room, watching it explode into a hundred crystalline pieces and scatter everywhere. Betsys eyes widen in horror, and she quickly steps over to me and grabs me in another tight embrace. I nearly collapse, shoulders heaving as I gasp for a breath, thick sobs forcing their way from my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I fight to murmur through tears, “Am I crazy? Does any of this make sense? Do you understand?”

“I’m starting to,” she promises, running a hand through my hair to soothe me.

We’re quiet for a long time.

“So what should I do?”

“You should see a doctor.”

Maybe.

Maybe...



- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -


James Raven is a whiny bitch.

He’s sensitive. He’s emotional. He’s a fucking pussy.

That narrative is not new. I’ve listened to it for years, and I’ve had it weaponized against me more times than I can count. Sometimes it’s packed with a punch of validity, but more often than not it’s the hollow parroting of some lowly rookie who doesn’t know a damn thing about me other than the fact that they don’t possess a quarter of the resume required to question my ability between the ropes.

I’ve learned not to run from that narrative, not to try and combat it.

I am what I am, and if all the peanut gallery can cling to is that sometimes my emotions get the best of me I’m doing better than a lot of you.

James Raven is a whiny bitch.

He’s sensitive. He’s emotional. He’s a fucking pussy.

It doesn’t change the fact that when I put on the boots, I’m not like the rest of you.

I am on a different level, a previously undiscovered tier. On my worst day, you could drag me from my bed kicking and screaming with tears in my eyes and throw me in the ring and I will pull it together, and beat whatever Legend you put in front of me until they throw up a white flag or shards of their own ribcage… their choice. Now again, that’s on my WORST day.

On my best day? On my best day you’re all treated to the People’s G.O.A.T. A razor wit with a silver tongue, dancing circles around your favorites with more pop culture references than a Family Guy episode and more abs than your girlfriend can count before fainting. My hair? Thick and luscious. My teeth? Sparkling and straight, like the public persona Tom Cruise puts out there. Everything you see on the event poster is exactly what I provide, and whether you admit it or not, you’re grateful to see me.

For months I have been waiting for this moment, a chance to get back in the XWF ring and remind everyone of what it is that I fucking do. For months I have been waiting for an opportunity to take out the frustration I’ve felt while listening to you fucks tell me I should put my desires before the good of the company, and then mocked me when I refused. You can call me a lot of things; a bitch, an asshole, a coward, and there have been elements of truth to all of them over the years… but when have I ever been selfish?

When have I ever gone out of my way to steal the spotlight away from someone more deserving? When have I ever snaked someone out of an opportunity, or lied to someone out of greed and potential gain? Show me where in the past decade I have put myself before the XWF, where I have jeopardized the companies public perception or the integrity of the roster.

For months, I have waited for the opportunity to be let off the leash.

So… do you think Leap of Faith is likely to be my best day? Or my worst?



- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -


JULY 20, 2020
1:12 PM EST


“So, James,” she begins, studying me carefully from behind a pair of small wire rimmed glasses, “How long has it been since you stopped taking your pills?”

I don’t answer her. I don’t even make eye contact. My gaze drifts around the small office, from the ficus tree in the corner to the diplomas and degrees that adorn the wall. The familiar knot in my stomach is back, and bile rises in the back of my throat like a tidal wave of sour waste. I swallow it. I swallow it like I try to swallow everything; the anger and the sadness and the pain. Clench your jaw and make it all go away, and if you can’t? Keep fucking trying.

“James?” she prods gently, “Can you answer the question please? How long has it been since you stopped taking your-”

“A couple of weeks! Fuck!” I blurt out before she can finish repeating herself, my hands shaking in the air angrily, “Fuck…”

I immediately feel my body pull back into the leather cushions of the patient couch, defensively. She blinks a few times, her jaw clenching softly as she jots a few notes down on her pad of paper.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer in defeat, “That was… I don’t know why I… I’m sorry...”

“Why would you stop taking your medication, James?” she queries, totally no-selling my outburst.

“I don’t know, I just…” my voice trails off as my mind begins to work overtime. I’ve had this conversation hundreds of times in my head. It’s different to have it out loud, with someone else.

“Go ahead,” she says with a half smile, trying to comfort me, “Finish your thought.”

“I’m just not sure that I need them,” I finally mutter, “I don’t know that they help anything, you know? I don’t feel like myself when I’m on them, and I just don’t feel… well… much of anything…”

There’s a long pause, the ticking of the standing grandfather clock and the scribbling of her pen on the notepad the only sounds to reach my ears. She’s heard all of this before, I’m sure, and a thousand times over. There’s still a part of me clinging to the idea that I can convince her, though.

“James,” she begins, “You’re experiencing manic depression. You’re bipolar. You need to be responsible with your treatment.”

“No, come on, I’m not here to be lectured again.”

“Betsy is worried about you.”

“Stop it! Fuck off! I’m not sitting through this-”

“You’re spiralling, James! You’re collapsing into bad behavioral patterns and people are noticing,” she admonishes, her eyes locked intensely on mine, “The XWF, your twitter followers, your peers. They can all see it. They’re concerned.”

“That’s bull shit,” I all but spit at her, “They don’t give a fuck. They don’t even notice.”

“How extreme do you think your highs and your lows are, James? Be objective. Of course everyone notices. Now… let’s pause... take a deep breath. Try to clear your head.”

I can feel my adrenaline pumping. My mouth opens, ready to fire back and to argue.

“James, take a breath.”

Her voice is gentle but assertive. It’s calming. I feel the anger start to dissipate, the fire in my chest dying out and leaving nothing but a few embers smouldering. I close my eyes and do my best to chase the lingering rage from my mind, inhaling deeply through my nostrils and holding the fresh oxygen in my lungs. I exhale slowly through my nose, and repeat the cycle. My eyelids flutter open, and it’s like Dorothy stepping through the doorway and entering Oz.

Everything in the office seems just a little bit sharper, the colours popping just a little bit brighter. It is, for all intents and purposes, clarity.

“Better?” she asks me.

I nod my head sheepishly.

“Good,” she says with a reassuring smile before immediately launching in, “I know you don’t want to hear all of this again, but we need to keep discussing things until you fully understand and accept them. You can’t keep fighting against the diagnosis and trying to ‘get yourself back to normal’ without proper treatment. You will never prove to anyone that you’re normal, you will only delay your own happiness. Does that make sense to you?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, staring at the floor, “Sure it does.”

It’s never been a matter of me not understanding that I need help with this. It’s an incapability to ask for or accept the help. It’s embarrassing. It’s a weakness.

“Look at me, James,” she commands, waiting for me to follow her direction before she continues, “You’re bipolar. It’s not something you did wrong. What’s wrong is not to get a handle on it, and not to tell anybody, and to continue to lash out and push people away and build resentment over it when people think you’re just a volatile ass. We need to figure out what triggers you, and what sort of options we can look at to make sure you don’t swing too far into hypomania or depression. You need to understand what sort of strain this can have on you, personally. It affects everything. The mood swings, like we’ve covered… your sleep patterns… your general energy… decision making and judgement… You’re walking a dangerous tightrope here, James. Why?”

Because I can’t help it.

I don’t answer her, and we steep in silence for a long while. She must infer something from it, because she’s soon jotting several notes down on her pad. Finally she looks up at me again, peering out from behind her wire rimmed glasses with a grim intensity.


“So…” she begins bluntly, “When will you start taking your medication again?”

I avoid her eye contact.

I’ve avoided a lot of things lately.

I’ll try to be better about that.


- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -


I've always liked Theo Pryce.

I like him in the way you like a sibling that you grew up separate from. Sure, I don’t know a ton about his personal life and we’d prefer to only see each other around major holidays… but there’s something shared in our blood that keeps a respect in place no matter how much I think he acts like an asshole, or how much he hates seeing my social media posts.

I’ve said it before, in another life I think I would have been a fantastic King, and I think he’d have more than held his own fighting alongside The Tribe or The Prophecy… but in this life there doesn’t seem to be a time where a battle line is drawn and he’s not on the opposite side from me. It’s been like that since day one, when I came out of retirement to battle him and his boys at High Stakes, and it comes to a head three years later when he of all people decided to be the man to see me off.

What was the endgame?

Did you yourself feel like you had something to prove? Did you just want to be the one to try and beat me into submission and send me out of the XWF with my tail between my legs? Did you… did you think you were somehow doing me a favor?

This isn’t what I wanted, Theo, and it’s not going to be what you expect.

How well do you remember High Stakes? How clearly can you recall that out of the six men in our match, I was head and shoulders above the rest? Can you picture me taking on the entire roster in one night, and being the last man standing? You have put yourself in a position where you now represent the entire roster. You represent every ducked challenge and phoned in effort, every member of management that told me why I couldn’t challenge a current champion and every fan on twitter critiquing me for not doing it anyway and firing whoever opposed the notion.

You are the embodiment of every rookie that flaps their gums about me like I’m an easy trophy for their mantle, but cracks under the pressure when I tell them to take their shot. You are every Legend I’ve already put in their place that want to claim some temporary high ground and pray that when high tide comes I can’t reach them. You are every midcarder begging for an opportunity to make their mark that plunges their head in the sand when I try to stare them in the face.

You are the owner that doesn’t care if I’m booked here, but will stop at nothing to get a piece of my action elsewhere.

You are all of that and more, whether you want to be or not. You have to be. I’ve put myself into a corner, and it’s the only way to end this all and move on with my sanity… to prove to the entire XWF once and for all that I am what I’ve always claimed to be, and walk into the sunset with my head held high.

You’re all of those people, but you’re still Theo Pryce.

I will remember that.

As I beat you from pillar to post, as I curse and spit and hurl you through the air like a fucking lawn dart, as I envision and punish every single member of the XWF that has made my life a tortured hell for the past six months, as I cackle maniacally through blood spatter and broken bones…

I will remember:

I’ve always liked Theo Pryce.

And then I will take mercy, and put you out of your fucking misery, and we can all say goodbye.

I’m out of your hair.

I’m somebody elses problem now.

Now, for old times sake, and loud enough for the people in the back:

Fear the Raven… Forevermore…

Last one to leave, turn out the lights.
- ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -


JULY 25, 2020
7:21 AM JST

I sit alone in my hotel room, my eyes scanning the streets of Tokyo below me as raindrops splatter on the window pain. One more night… then I’m back in an XWF ring, with the roar of the crowd and the chance to test myself once more against the like of a King. One more night…then I’ll have a taste of the world I’ve been missing. I’ll be a part of the family I’ve felt so cut off and isolated from.

I’ll have my chance to remind them of who I was, and then to say goodbye…


“Dad?”

Tyler’s voice echoes out of the speaker phone and cuts through my thoughts, jarring me back to reality. I drop my head, rubbing my eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks.

Sometimes I’m a real piece of shit. Wallow in self pity and regret if you need to, Raven… but don’t lose focus when you’re speaking to your kid.

“Sorry, Tyler, I got distracted. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles with obvious disappointment, “it’s not important.”

It breaks my heart.

“Of course it’s important, I’m sorry, I should have been listening better,” I tell him, all but begging for a second chance, “What did you say?”

“I’m just excited for tomorrow,” he says, now half heartedly, “I’m happy you’re going to wrestle in the XWF again.”

I stand corrected. THAT breaks my heart. My face plants fully into my palm, and I try to stifle any gasps or sighs that might tip him off to my reaction. I muster all the strength I can and force a response through the lump in my throat.

“I’m excited too, buddy,” I whisper, voice croaking and groaning through each syllable.

“Does this mean you’re back?” he presses, “Are you back in the XWF again?”

“I don’t think so, Tyler,” I admit, attempting to keep my tone measured, “This might be the end. For now at least.”

“What?! WHY?!?!”

How do you answer that question? How do you tell an eleven year old that your time in the sun is over, and that people don’t want to see you in action the same way he does. How do you explain to him that your allies have moved on and your rivals have united against you? How do you tell him you might not have the mental stability to be a part of a business that forces you into the role of a background player?

An ego is not inherently toxic, contrary to popular belief, but a wounded ego is.

“I just don’t think there’s much left for me in the XWF, bud, there are no matches anyone wants to see me in,” I finally offer, but even he knows that’s bull shit.

“Sure there is! You against Fuzz! ALL of my friends want to see that!” he screams through the phone, “A rematch with Atara! You haven’t faced Thunder Knuckles before, or this new Gage Gannon guy! You could finally face Robert Main! Or beat up Chris Page again! Shane ! Ask Vinnie for a rematch! Or, what if like, you and Cent-”

“Alright, alright, alright,” I blurt, trying to cut him off before he builds too much momentum, “You’re right. There’s a few matches that would have been fun. Still, though… I just don’t see it happening…”

There’s a long silence. I can hear Tyler breathing on the other end of the line, and I can practically hear the gears in his head turning in his head as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, buddy. Why?”

“You sound… sad.”

For the final time, I stand corrected. THAT, above anything else that can or will be said, broke my heart. I take a moment to catch my breath after the gut punch.

“Nah…” I barely get out, “I’m ok…”

“Are you sure?” Tyler asks with an evident concern, “It’s just that some of the boys at school follow you on Twitter, and they say that you’re acting… ummm…crazy.”

My heart plummets through the soles of my feet and burrows into the floor.

“Crazy?” I repeat, choking my way through a wall of oncoming tears, “Nah, you know I’m not crazy, buddy. Don’t listen to them. I’ve just been having a tough couple of months, but I’m fine. I’ll stop posting on Twitter, I didn’t know people were bothering you about it.”

“I don’t care if they joke about it,” he assures me, “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

I stare out the window of the hotel room, the rain continuing to pitter patter against the glass.

“I don’t want to be sad anymore either, buddy.”

“So change.”

So blunt, so simple.

“I am, Tyler,” I promise him.

“I mean it,” he insists, “Just don’t let yourself be sad. If it’s the XWF upsetting you, don’t go back there anymore. If it’s people on Twitter, just sign off. My friends say you’re amazing, and that when you’re not all sad and crazy you can do anything. So don’t be sad and crazy, and everything will be good, right?”

I don’t say anything. There’s not much I can say. We sit in silence for just a few seconds but it feels like an eternity.

“Are you there, dad?”

“Yeah, you’re a smart kid,” I manage through a teary eyed smile, “Sometimes you just surprise me, that’s.”

I hear a voice behind him on the phone.

“Mom says I have to go,” he informs me.

“Sure thing, tell her I said hi,” I nearly gasp, trying to stay strong until he hangs up.

“I’m going to watch you tomorrow night, I can’t wait.”

“Thanks buddy. Me either.”

“Have fun. Try to be the guy that my friends say can do anything.”

“I will, dude.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Tyler.”

Click!

Dial tone.





....



Fine.



....



I’ll take the fucking pills.

The People’s G.O.A.T.
120-24-3

3x Universal Champion, 3x World Champion, 9x Xtreme Champion, 1x Hart Champion, 2x Phoenix Champion, 1x Women’s Champion (lol), 1x Federweight Champion, 1x Heavymetalweight Champion, 5x Tag Team Champion
(w/ Aidan Collins, Roxy Nova, Mia Sanchez, Big Shank, Drew Archyle/Robert Main)

XWF Hall of Legends
#4 on XWFs “Top 50” List
2009 Rookie of the Year
2009 Face of the Year
2010 Heel of the Year
8x Star of the Month
2x Star of the Year (2009/‘10)
2x Feud of the Year (2010/‘11 w/ Big Shank)
2017 High Stakes Winner
Former Owner
Lots of other random shit
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[-] The following 10 users Like James Raven's post:
(07-26-2020), #MemeQueen Luca Torchwick (07-26-2020), Atara Raven (07-25-2020), Azrael Erebus (07-26-2020), Peter Fn Gilmour (07-25-2020), Robert "The Omega" Main (07-26-2020), Shawn Warstein (07-26-2020), Theo Pryce (07-26-2020), thewizard (07-25-2020), Thunder Knuckles™ (07-25-2020)




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