“I can still feel him clawing for control…...”

The shot opens and we see Demos sitting in a chair that is slightly too small for him. The window behind the man is covered in spider webs and the aging floorboards beneath his feet are covered in clutter. The heavymetalweight belt is wrapped around the man’s waist. He clutches the television championship in his hands, gazing into the gold plate as if caught in a deep conversation with the belt. The man’s voice sounded just a pitch lower than it used to, but maybe that’s just the acoustics in the room?

“I won’t let him out anymore. The things he did to you, with you….I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you then.”

Demos softly stroked the gold plate with the fingers on his left hand while his right hand held the belt close to his face. A few moments passed before Demos brought the belt up to his ear. He listened quietly to the television championship for a few seconds before bringing the belt back to a conversational distance.

“Oh goldy, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll be here for you for the rest of my life. You, me, and junior are going to be a family.”

Demos smiled at the television championship while tapping the heavymetalweight belt strapped around his waist. He looked down at the cheap-looking gray belt.

“Hear that, junior? It’s you, me, and goldy forever!”

Demos laughed softly as his eyes beamed with pride. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees as he stared deeply into the gold plating of his television championship. The champion’s demeanor quickly soured when the TV belt spoke to him again.

“No! Don’t say that! You’re so much more than that! Your beauty is priceless. I would never trade you in like a cheap piece of garbage. I don’t care about those other belts. The X-treme championship is a cheap whore that anyone can get their hands on at any time. The Hart championship dulls when put next to your shine. The Universal belt is nothing but a ceremonial jockstrap, celebrated at a pageant every two months. You’re the only one I have my heart set on, goldy. I will cherish you forever.”

Demos smiled with sincerity at his gold plated championship. His smile turned to a frown as his soothing words apparently failed to have their intended impact.

“No no no I’m not like him! I’ll never be like him! No matter how hard he fights to get out, I’ll fight harder to keep him locked away from your glory. He will never touch you again.”

Demos tried to crack a smile again, but before it could even spread across his lips it had morphed into a frown. The man’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration as he sternly raised his voice at the seemingly misbehaved belt.

“Stop it, now. Don’t speak about yourself like that. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it!”

The clutter littering the ground began to slowly drift back and forth across the floor as if perpetually caught in a small breeze. Demos didn’t seem to notice.

“He is not coming back, not on my watch. You are safe here, darling. Why don’t you believe me?”

Demos sits still for a few short seconds before his mouth drops open. The color drains from his face as his eyes go wide. He throws the television championship against the wall! The man jumps to his feet and shouts, his voice gaining a pitch or two as his words slur together quicker than before.

“You ratnosed bitch! Them No Good Bastards snuck up on me! I could’ve taken them in a fair fight! I’ll beat your ass, show you just whatthefuckIwouldadun to them if they tried that shit again!”

The man took a quick step towards the championship belt with hate in his eyes and a closed fist. As soon as his foot made contact with the floorboards again, his entire demeanor shifted. His muscles relaxed as his closed fists opened. A brief look of confusion flashed across the man’s face before his features settled into a sorrowful stare. He brought his hands up to his chest, palms out, before taking a few steps back. Demos shook his head horizontally as he muttered to himself, his voice back to it’s ‘normal’ state.

“No...no..no…..”

Demos bumped into the hamper behind him. He rested against it as he stared at the television championship laying across the room while shaking his head from side to side.

“No….no…..NO! It’s not supposed to be this way!”

Demos scurried hastily over to the championship belt, getting on his knees before it. He went to grab the championship plate before quickly recoiling. He scooted back a few inches instinctively.

“No, please! I’m sorry! That wasn’t me! That wasn’t ME! It won’t happen again...I promise….I promise!”

Demos reached out for the television championship again but once again recoiled as soon as he touched the belt. A few tears began to stream down the man’s cheeks as he looked down at the belt his body had betrayed just moments ago.

“It...it wasn’t my fault!”

“You can still feel him clawing for control, can’t you?”

Demos looked back at the apparition suddenly standing behind him. Ramesses was as tall as he was wide. His black trench coat, blonde mohawk, and ebony skin made him immediately recognizable.

"The man you once were still lives within you. He foams at the mouth, rattling the bars of his cage as he tries to find a way out of his own mind. He was a liar and a scoundrel. Nothing like you, Demos."

"I.....hurt Goldy."

"You did, didn't you? It is a shame, really. How can your friends and family ever trust you when you let that crazy devil lash out with your own fists? How can you expect your loved ones to love the NEW you, when the old creature still lurks within the shallows of your mind, waiting to strike at any moment?"

"I.....don't know...."

Ramesses grinned as Demos broke down. The champion tucked his eyes into the palms of his hands, rubbing away the tears as snot began to drip down his nose.

"Fear not, Demos. Your failures to control your own body will not condemn my mortal soul to Oswald's clutches. I know you must be confused. At a loss for words. Left with more questions than answered. Fear not, my progeny: all will be revealed to you in time. I know the battle for control of your mind rages. I brought you something to help you keep the monster at bay. Wear it."

The sound of the hamper creaking open caught the attention of Demos. When he turned around to look, the apparition was gone. The man slowly pushed himself to his feet before walking over to the now open hamper. The man reached into the hamper. He pulled out the only object inside: a dirty leather mask.



The camera cuts to a close-up shot of a poster from 2018. The camera slowly zooms out and we see a man in a brown leather mask with long brown hair standing just a few inches in front of the poster. Demos runs his fingers across the hair of the woman on the poster.

I will bless you a thousand times over, Jennifer. You said it yourself. For you, each loss you suffer is a blessing. Geri Vayden blessed you once, Betsy Granger blessed you once more with a beautiful pinfall. Yet still, your aura reeks of malice and cynicism. You need a stronger blessing.

If you thought your last month was a good one for you, I can’t wait to show you what I have in store for February. I will provide you a thousand building blocks upon which you can create a new, more virtuous, foundation. While you won’t find yourself with much film to study, little school girl, you will certainly find yourself with enough bruises and shattered bones to tell the story a thousand times over.

This, little birdy, is the main difference between you and I. For you, each loss is a lesson to be learned. An opportunity, a blessing.

For me every loss is a flagrant violation of my duty to the people. Every defeat is a humiliation of my bloodline. A wretched mark of corruption and negligence upon my record. A hideous stain that can never be undone, only atoned for in blood.

You can tolerate losing. It’s just an opportunity for you, after all. As long as you appear noble in defeat, you are willing to tan your hide beneath the lights.

But I can’t stand losing. My wrists bare the burden of my losses. If I lose, I would be letting down so many people….failing my duty as a citizen…..


Demos withdraw his hand from the poster and takes a step back from the wall it is plastered upon. Demos gazes down at the floor for a few moments before lifting his head up and making eye contact with the woman on the poster.

Don’t you know what the Demos is, Jennifer?

It is the body of the people. The very embodiment of their hopes, dreams, desires…..I am the heart and soul of the people. Champion of the downtrodden, the castaway, the ugly and the broken. I am their only representative in this rotten company. Do you know what it would mean if I let them down? If I let the only crown jewel my people have fall into the hands of a self-proclaimed monarch?

I would be selling out my brothers and my sisters to a lifetime of serfdom. Saturday nights would be held captive by your monotonous presence. I would be placing my people in chains of servitude. Saturday Nights would become a dark affair: a mere puppet show where the little people are forced to dance and twirl all for the Queen's amusement....I won't let that happen.


The man's brow furrows as a newfound harshness pokes through his inflection.

You really think you can win, don’t you, Jennifer?

You don’t know the ways of the world. Crack open a history book, school girl.

The monarch can never hold back the will of the Demos. The Queen’s boot can never rest comfortably on the neck of the people. Every moment of a Queen’s dominance, every second of a Queen’s reign, is nothing but a masquerade. Nothing but a temporary lapse in the order of the world. The momentary joy of the Queen will always be repaid a thousand times over in her blood. The people will always storm the bastille. The people will always construct the guillotine. The people will always join together and take up arms to beat back tyranny. This Saturday will be no different.....every blow you land, every smirk you crack....will be repaid a thousand times over.

Don’t forget why you are main eventing savage, little birdy. It was my decree, not yours, that landed you that top billing you covet so much. At the flick of my wrist I could have you replaced with an identical challenger. But I chose you for a reason, queenie. You must be taught your lesson. You must be brought to heel. You are obsessed with image, vanity, self-aggrandizement. You only feel valuable when another finds value in you, or at least, in what you appear to be.

What will you be when you no longer control your appearance? Will you even be able to be?

Demos brought his right hand up to the lips of the woman on the poster.

You’ve changed yourself so much over these last few years. Lip fillings….

Demos brought his hand up to the nostrils of the woman on the poster.

Nosejobs, facial reconstructions….

Demos brought his hand down to the breasts of the woman on the poster.

Breast reduction surgery.

All for what?

You may say I have changed…..but you couldn’t be more wrong. I am who I have always been. I am Demos.

But you, Jennifer? You change yourself to be a more serviceable meatbag. To be more fuckable. To better meet the gaze of the wandering male eye. To win HIM back.

Demos pointed to the name 'Chaos' on the bottom of the poster.

Even now you aren't able to get him out of your mouth or off of your mind. Talking about how he "put Lacklan out" and all that other hogwash. Can't you face the facts, Jennifer? Chris Chaos doesn't want you anymore. The fans don't want you anymore. The XWF doesn't have a place for you anymore.

Neither you nor Charlie deserve to be in this business. You've no honor. No dignity. No self respect.

But you don’t see the whole picture when it comes to Charlie Nickles, do you, Jen?

Don’t you know why Charlie and Barney’s match lasted fourteen minutes?

You must not see how cruel and vile a monster Charlie really was.

Can't you see that Charlie WANTED to stab Barney Green with shards of glass for fourteen minutes. He was SICK.

You should be thankful that you’re not fighting Charlie Nickles Saturday night. You couldn’t have put him down: search your soul, even you know this to be true. If you didn’t believe in God before, you certainly must by now. Isn’t it a miracle? Charlie would have come for your life. I just want your beautiful blonde braids...