The scene opens with a shirtless Charlie Nickles sitting on his knees inside a room lit by a half circle of candles. Inside the circle sat three photos inside of brown frames. One photo was of Madison Dyson. One photo was of Sarah Lacklan. One photo was of Miranda Estrada. Charlie peered through the flickering flames as his gaze settled upon the photo in the center of the circle.

The candlelight illuminated only the faintest edges of the photo, prompting Charlie to scoot forward. He placed his face right up to the row of candles as he gazed at the final photo through the vanilla scented glass. He watched the flames dance and twirl around the pale woman inside the picture frame. His yearning for her was ever present, even in her absence. Sarah Lacklan had put Charlie on the map. But after one match with Charlie Nickles, she just couldn’t go on in this business. Charlie sighed before backing up a few paces and reaching for something offscreen. A few seconds go by before we see Charlie’s upper body come back into frame. He’s holding a large black sack and wearing a satisfied smile.

Hey girls. I brought some presents for you. I know it’s a bit early, but Daddy’s not going to be here on Christmas this year.

Charlie reached into the black Christmas bag and pulled out another framed photograph.

Ohhhh Connie and Emily.

Charlie looked at the old family photograph as the memories of his daughter’s preschool graduation came rolling back to him. Tender emotion washed over Charlie’s grimey body. His mind calmed and his high came down a bit as he was reminded of his life before the drugs and the championship belts. He caressed his wife’s face with his free hand as he reminisced about all the good times.

She doesn’t love you Charlie.

She doesn’t love you like we love you.

She never loved you Charlie.

They both hate you. Only we love you.

Confusion washed over Charlie’s grungy face as he glanced across the row of candles. Three infernal women stood a step behind their respective photographs.



They don’t love you like we do, Daddy.

What have you brought for us Daddy?

THROW THEM AWAY, DADDY!

Charlie looks down at the photo one last time before casually throwing it over his shoulder. The glass in the frame shatters as it makes contact with the drywall. Charlie reaches into his black sack and pulls out two more photographs, setting them in front of the candles with care.

I’m bringing you girls some friends! I’m making our family bigger!

One of the photos is an arousing snapshot of Atara Themis at the beach with mega side boob and booty all over the place. The other framed photo is of a familiar, yet unremarkable woman. The woman’s legs are long and thin like those of a sickly ostrich. Her hair is a generic blonde and her young face is still unmarred by the tribulations of life. Her wrestling gear is nothing spectacular and certainly doesn’t compliment her stick-like figure.

I’m dragging these two girlies through the mud and taking em’ right here after I bloody them up. To have fun with them, like I did with all of you.

Oh yay! Oh yay! Oh yay! What are you going to do to them, daddy?

I’m going to lift em’ up and slam em’ down! I’m going to crush their tiny little skulls with my bare hands as I shove my tongue deep into their eye socket. Lickin’ the juice between their eye and it’s lid. I hope that when I crush their skulls the bone pops through their flesh and blood comes gushing into their eye socket.

I’m going to take turns drowning these little mud sluts, allowing them to gasp for air only once I have their tag partner held down by the neck. They’re going to live, love, and laugh mud! Or whatever the fuck that stupid white bitch slogan is. You know, the ones these type of stupid cunts hang around their house because they have no culture or personality.

His gaze drifts back to the photos of the women outside of the half circle. He chuckles softly to himself as he imagines all the fun he’s going to have with Atara Themis and whoever the blonde girl is.

I’m going to make them scream. Make them cry out and beg for my mercy. And if they’re good girls, I might just give it to them. Just like I gave it to all of you.

Charlie smiles as he looks at the three infernal women.

Then, they can come and join my collection. Be with me, like each of you. You know I love my girls. I love t-

The door behind Charlie abruptly opens. The hallway light shines into the dark room for a moment before the overhead light is flicked on by a ginger dressed in an oversized green polo and saggy brown slacks. The Biyobi ‘helper’ catches a glimpse of the infernal women. Overbearing annoyance overcomes the assistant as he hollers at the infernal women before storming off back into the hallway. Charlie looks back at the open door and chuckles to himself.

Guess he doesn’t like you ladies, huh? What a pussy!

A glimmery figure appears in the corner of the room behind the flaming ladies. Tall and wide, this shimmering figure comes in and out of existence every few seconds. Finally, his figure settles. A large black man as tall as he is wide dressed in a black leather coat appears in the corner of the room. His corporeal form is quite ashy and dry. His mohawk is a bit disheveled, but his makeup and purple lipstick looks on point. He grins coolly at the front door and at Charlie, waiting for the champion to turn around and see him in the corner.

What are you doing?! Will you bring me some more of that water!?

Charlie doesn’t turn around, instead opting to bark instructions at the Biyobi assistant. We can hear objects frantically being thrown around in the hall. Ramesses remains firmly planted in the corner, literally unable to move. He waits for Charlie to turn around.

Did you hear me?!

Ramesses facepalms as Charlie continues to shout down the corridor. A few moments go by and we can hear footsteps just outside of the door. Ramesses snaps his fingers and vanishes, taking the infernal ladies with him to the other side. The Biyobi assistant is holding a phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he grips a fire extinguisher with both hands. He walks into the room ready to put an end to the fire party. To his surprise, the women are gone and there are no burns on the wooden floorboards where the fires once raged. Each and every candle along the half circle has been put out. Light trails of smoke float off of the burned wicks as a vanilla scent fills the room.

Jesus fuck.

The assistant drops the fire extinguisher on the ground before grabbing the phone with his hand and carrying on his conversation.

I think there’s a fucking poltergeist or something in this house! Maybe the soul gems are attracting them? I think Charlie’s fucking playing with the ghosts and shit.

The ginger is silent as a harsh man berates him on the other end of the line.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry Master. I’ll be more attentive, I swear it on my soul. Yes, he has been taking the supplement very well. I’m charting his progress and sending the notes t-

What are you talking about?

Uh….I’m on the phone with my boss. We’re talking about another client of ours.

Do you have my water?

Oh, yeah.

The ginger throws a twelve ounce plastic bottle at Charlie. Charlie gleefully catches it before unscrewing the cap and gulping down the supplement water.

I’m sorry Master. Yes, he is craving more of the supplement every day. It will all be in the charts. He’s progressing well.


The assistant nods his head as he listens for further instructions.

Of course. I'll get him cleaned up for his shoot in Vegas. But Master: can you get us a new airbnb? There's fucking ghosts in here man!

8 HOURS LATER...

The shot opens with Charlie Nickles standing in front of the Las Vegas strip. He has a championship belt slung over each shoulder.

We all come to Vegas to win, baby! But the truth is, most of us never do. Most people come to Vegas with big hopes and dreams, major aspirations. They put it all on the line, risking everything for the big win. To make it all come true. Then they leave Vegas, broken and soulless.

The old saying isn’t true, you know. What happens in Vegas travels with you. The beatings, the broken spirit, the doubt and the failure….that stays with you forever. It will be hard to remember the sweet taste of chasing the dream when the burdens of failure gnaw away at you, body and mind, every waking hour. The allure of Las Vegas is a deceptive trap: it looks like heaven, but most people go through hell before they can escape.

Charlie gestures towards his championship belts.

But me?! I’m a winner! 7 in a row, motherfuckers. That’s back to back to back to back to back to back to back wins. Against Hart champion Ned Kaye. Against Thunder Knuckles. Against any and all, I just win baby! The wins stack up alongside my paper, yes they do, folks. I’m on a winning streak, and can’t nobody stop me! That’s why Vegas is the place to be, baby. Place where dreams come true.

See if Thunder Knuckles can’t cheat me out of victory, then can’t no two bit dealer or casino manager cheat me out of my winnings! I don’t come to Vegas, Vegas comes to me. I don’t lose to nobody, no matter where I go. You know why that is, fellas?

It’s because Charlie Nickles is the motherfucking house. I am the brick and mortar that keeps this ship afloat. I am the trend setter, difference maker, and breath taker. I stack the odds and always keep a card up my sleeve. I am the one you shouldn’t trust. I am the one you can’t take your eyes off of. I am the bouncer that roughs you up, the dealer that gives you a shit hand, and the one who walks away with all the chips in my pocket every time.

I’m a double champion because I never lose. I never lose because I always win. I always win because I’m a double champion. I’m a double champion because I am the motherfucking house. Are you starting to get the picture, ladies?

Me and Duke are the only double champions in this bitch, and I whooped the catheter right out of Sebastian’s limpdick. And so now I’m the new Duke daddy. And if I’m Thad’s new daddy, I gotta get that boy to start acting right. I only got one path I can take to make that happen, and you ladies are laying smack dab in the middle of the street. If I gotta run over you pretty ladies to make it happen, well then that’s just what I’m going to have to do.

You ladies are coming to Vegas, and it’s looking like heaven to you. A place where dreams can come true. A place where you can put it all on the line and walk away with more than you ever imagined. I mean, think about it.

Atara….you could be a star again. You could be legitimately relevant. Instead of wrestling the Halocen’s and Ash Quinn’s of the world for the right to fight for a worthless belt, you could be thrust onto the main stage and shine bright once more under the spotlight! You must miss the warmth of the spotlight on your radiant skin. I know I would miss the spotlight if it ever left me. Wrestling for the tag team championships could be exactly the spark your career needs to really take off again. Of course you’ll risk it all for a shot at Doc n’ Duke: you have nothing to lose! Your career is in the dumps and another loss to Jenny Myst is all that looms on your horizon. Vegas is your one shot to turn it all around. You’re putting all your chips on the table.

But Atara, I’m the house, baby! The only thing you’re leaving Vegas with is a black eye and a cunt full of mud.

Charlie chuckles to himself before turning his proverbial guns on his other opponent.

Becky...think about it. You’re coming to Vegas with empty bags and on an empty stomach. But even worse, you’re coming here with that itch that you just can’t seem to scratch. Like crabs on a harlot’s crotch, your yearning for a win bites at you with every passing minute. You’re coming to Vegas like a lot of young women do: with wide eyes and a head full of fantasies. You imagine yourself in the center of that arena, thousands of people chanting your name as your hand is held high. I’m sure you can picture Atara standing across from you, smiling softly in appreciation of your talent. You are already imagining what those next few weeks are going to be like. Is Atara going to invite you to her personal gym to train for the match against Thaddeus and D’Ville? Are you two going to become an official tag team and win the upset of the decade? I’m sure you’re already deciding what you’re going to wear for the match. You’ve already asked your parents for a new set of ring gear just for the occasion, haven’t you? It is the Christmas season, after all.

But Bethany, I’m the house. And the house doesn’t give an inch. Not a penny not a dime.

All those fancy tales and aspirations floating around in your innocent mind? None shall come to pass. You’re going to leave Vegas like so many young women do: broken and confused. You will be exploited, taken for all you’ve got, embarrassed, and covered in mud. I will make a show of beating you down. I will make a show of dominating you, of teaching you just how worthless you really are. I don’t do it because I’m cruel, don’t get the wrong idea of me. I do it for the TV cameras, because it’s what the people and the corporate execs demand of the TV champ!

Everyone loves to see one of those ‘girl next door’ types stripped down and exposed. Reaallll young like, barely legal. Fresh meat to the eyes of the degenerates that fill our arenas and come to our shows. They want to see a big hairy bastard with a dirty dick shove you into the mud and hold you down on your back for a few seconds, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Vinnie Lane and Theo Pryce signed off on it when they booked the match.

But they didn’t sign off on what’s going to happen to you after the match. But you’ve seen the movies. You know, the big cinematic casino movies where our upstart heroes come into the house and start counting cards or winning big, you know, trying real hard….you know what’s gotta happen. The house can’t let it fly. The house has to send a little message, show everyone what happens when you try to fuck with the bottom line. When you try just a little too hard, float a little too high.

Really, think about it. Before, during, or after the match I could do anything I want to you. I could break you limb by limb, I could send you flying into the barricade, I could suffocate you with your own blood, I could strip you down and bite your nipples off. Who’s going to stop me? You can’t stop me. You’re a nobody. A nothing. A “could-be” who never-will. I’m the here and now, the ever present. I’m a seven time XWF champion. I’m a future tag team champion.

Are you counting on Atara to stop me? She can’t. She likely won’t even try. When she sees you there on the mat, covered in mud and begging for her help? Yeah she’ll throw her hand out for a tag, but she won’t extend herself out so that you can actually reach her. Your legs will be fractured, blood will run down your eyes. Mud will clog your ears and your nose. You won’t be able to find the corner on your own, all you’ll be able to do is blindly reach out for a tag...and Atara won’t find it for you. She’ll stay there, standing on the corner, praying to God that you aren’t able to touch her just oh so barely extended open palm.

Even if Atara wanted to save you, she wouldn’t be able to. The facts are the facts, and the odds are stacked in my favor for a reason! Atara and I are cut from a different cloth. We both have 11 wins, but she has 14 more losses! I’ve won more championships than her, and it took me less time to do it! I’ve won more fights in the last two months than she’s won in the last year! Yeah she was a hot commodity, a little piece of ass that everyone fawned over when she first got here, but she’s been passed around more than one of Fuzz’s heroin needles and now the hype is dead.

It’s going to be me and you all alone in that muddy pit next Saturday night, Becky. Don’t bet on making it out alive.

Charlie waves at the camera as the scene fades out.

I'll be seeing you ladies soon.