We drift down from that establishing shot to settle on Corey Smith, who is surrounded by a group of fresh faced youngsters, each clad in amateur wrestling gear. Corey turns his attention to the camera as though he just finished chatting with them.

Hey everybody! Welcome to the XWF Power Plant. Formerly the WCW Power Plant. Formerly Atlanta’s premier destination for calzones! Just a little fun fact for ya. Anyway, it occurred to me that I’ve been breaking in a lot of new talent lately. Savannah Knightly….

Heh heh….”broke her in” , eh? One of the male students leans in with a shit eating grin.

That’s actually sexual harassment and it’s not ok! He says cheerily without missing a beat. Arkin Blackwater, James Raven, and now this Andre Dixon guy! So I thought, well, hell, why don’t I just become the XWF’s defacto ambassador to new talent! Which brings me here, to offer my untold MONTHS of first hand wrestling experience to these bright up and comers.

One of the students tentatively raises her hand. Excuse me, is Thad Duke going to be here? My son would really like his autograph.

Well, unfortunately no. But he can have my autograph!

She looks a bit uncertain. Uhhh….

He plants his hands on his hips. What does Thad Duke have that I don’t?!

Jets. She replies.

Promos with unrelenting emotional gravitas. Another student sounds off.

Jets. We already covered that one, thanks.

Corey scowls at the students. The question was rhetorical! And besides I, uh, I got plenty! I got a whole Coreytopia to soothe my nagging guilt complex and loads of confusing psychosexual angst with two of my best friends!

They stare at him blankly.

He looks back at them, opens his mouth to speak, realizes he’s got nothin’, and plays it off like that cringey interlude never happened.

So….

He’s interrupted by “Boss Bitch” by Doja Cat emanating from his left pocket. Throwing a finger up and mouthing “hold that thought” he pulls out the phone.

Dolly

Corey’s guts clutch as the ringtone barrels on.

Um, do you have to answer that…?

Yesssssss….? He hisses the word out as an anxiety laden query. Finally, he sighs and shoots the gaggle of rookies a supplicating glance. I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.

Quickly putting some distance between himself and prying ears, Corey dips into an alcove and leans up against the wall. We can still make out the rookies in the distance over Corey’s shoulder. Forcing on a “fake it till you make it smile”, he answers the call.

Hey, what’s up?

After a brief initial silence, he gets a “Hello”. So, um, you didn’t come back after Savage. Just checking to see if...everything’s cool. Those last two words put in a lot of work.

Corey clears his throat. Oh, yeah! I just wanted to spend a bit of extra time in New York City because it’s totally radical.

Uh huh.

Uh oh.

Are you aware that you have this weird verbal tic where you sound like an unhip white man every time you lie about something important?

Corey screws his face up. Now you’re just talking jive. He pauses. Fuck.

An audible sigh hits Corey like a wave through the phone. You always do this. You always run.

Hey, that’s not fair!

Then can we talk about what happened?

Just past Corey’s shoulder, and conveniently out of hearing range, we see the rookies react with some excitement to something. It’s not long before we can determine its source. Doc D’Ville is suddenly standing amongst them, smoking a cigar and jovially chatting with the group. They all lean in towards the legend, hanging on his every word.

Meanwhile, Corey closes his eyes, steeling himself. Yes. Yes we can.

Unbeknownst to him, Dolly does the same. Look, I don’t want to come off like some clingy “basic bitch” cliche. I think you and I both know I’m...not that.

Correct.

The rookies all start to laugh at some clever comment Doc made.

But I can’t...she sighs again, this time out of frustration. When I first came to join you, here, I felt something I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Even beyond the sense of community, the belonging, hell, the basic SECURITY of it all...I started to feel something for you too.

Oh. Corey responds lamely.

In the background once more, Doc extends his arms in an inviting fashion, his cigar clamped firmly between his lips and...then they’re all just gone. The rookies and Doc have completely vanished. Corey remains oblivious.

And I fucking HATE how this sounds. How trite this all is, me wafting into your life and becoming a token “female love interest”...but hell if it isn’t happening. Fucker. A smirk is inherent in the word.

Corey chuckles, appreciating the slight easing of tension. Literally, though.

Shut up. A slight pause. So here comes the big question: Was there something more to that than just a one off evening of fun?

The levity from a moment prior dissipates immediately. Corey winces, looking deeply uncertain. I...well…. He looks frustrated. Why does everything have to be so laden with meaning all the time though? Why can’t it have just been this discrete act that happened and we never, ever talk about it again?

….

That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?

Yep. Ooof. Ice fucking cold.

I’m sorry. Corey’s face pinches with authentic hurt. That was stupid of me to say. I’m sorry.

Just say what you mean.

Okay. A breath. The truth is I still don’t know what that was. I’m just….I’m just all twisted up right now. I don’t know what the hell I want. He plants the back of his head against the wall. And I’m terrified that this is going to destroy everything we had up until now.

Quite suddenly, Doc and the group of rookies “poof” back into existence. But it’s immediately evident that something is wrong. The newbie grapplers are all in various prone or nearly prone states. One of them appears to be rocking back and forth in a fetal position. Another is crawling on all fours. The third doesn’t even seem conscious. And the fourth….oh Jesus. He shoots up to his feet, fingers clawing at his own face, causing the skin to sag like stretched taffy. He takes off into a full sprint, passing right by Corey in the process. All the while an unsettling lunatic barking laugh is escaping his throat as saliva parts from his lips like liquid streamers.

Corey straightens up, his face screwing around towards the commotion. Holding the phone down, he calls after the wayward rookie. Hey man! Where you going?!

His only response is a shrill screeching sound before he barrels through the glass door! Corey almost drops his phone in shock, but the poor bastard somehow just gets up, bleeding from numerous wounds, and keeps on going.

What the fuck….?!

He finally turns around and spots Doc casually observing the remaining three. God damn it! He puts the phone back up to his face. Dolly, I’m sorry but Doc is here and he’s doing THINGS!

Fine. But this isn’t over.

I promise you it’s not, but…

I get it. We’ll talk later. She ends the call.

Corey slams the phone back into his pocket and, squaring up his shoulders, starts a brisk angry walk towards the scene. What did you do?!

Well, hello to you too. Sorry to interrupt your phone call with Dolly.

Corey knows better than to bother asking how he knows about the call. Instead, he looks down at the poor souls at his feet. The one that was crawling on all fours finds Corey’s leg and latches onto it like a frightened child.

I can’t see….I can’t unsee...I can’t see...I CAN’T UNSEE!

Corey’s attention is then drawn to the one rocking off to the side. She seems to be gibbering incoherently, fresh terror splashed across her features.

What did you do?! Why can’t Donny see?!

Relax, it’s temporary. And to answer your question, I took them on a trip to toughen them up a bit. Lord knows you weren’t going to.

Corey gently pats blind Donny on the head in an attempt to soothe him. What kind of anthropomorphized hell did you take them to?! What was I this time, a honey badger?!

Doc chortles derisively. Like you’d have the chutzpah to be a honey badger. He gestures at the remaining rookies. They’ll all recover. And when they do they’ll be better prepared for the rigors of the XWF. He leans down towards blind Donny. You’re welcome, my friend!

Who said that?!

Corey glowers at Doc. I hate you so, so much.

The Next Day

Now, Corey Smith is walking down a toy aisle with a shopping cart. Which is not a jarring transition from the last scene at all. Next to him, Iggy (the child like remnant of the malicious artificial intelligence that used to control Corey...go ahead and read that again. It takes a bit to parse, we know) is trying in vain to grab a Power Rangers toy off the shelf. Every time he reaches for it, his incorporeal hand just goes right through the box.

Hey buddy, remember we talked about how you can’t touch things in the real world because you live in my head….?

Oh, right! He smiles and sidles up next to Corey as they proceed down the aisle. Why are we here again?

Promo time!

Cool! Then, scrunching his face up in confusion. What’s a promo again?

The part that doesn’t focus on my disastrous personal life.

Cool!

Yeah, it’s pretty baller. Then, quirking an eyebrow at the camera. Buuut, perhaps not for one Andre Dixon! He intones theatrically.

Who’s Andre Dixon? Iggy skips ahead of the cart and starts jogging backwards.

That’s the billion dollar question. He leans casually over the handrail of the shopping cart and stops a moment. Andre Dixon, fresh to the XWF as a newborn babe! “The King”! One of many, I imagine….but STILL.

You know what Andre, I’m gonna kick this off by telling you all the tired, worn out shit I’m NOT gonna do.

Am I going to do that “hurr durr you’re so unimportant I forget your name all throughout the promo” shtick?

No!
Yes! Iggy looks at Corey. Corey shakes his head. I mean...uhhhh, no!

Am I going to pretend you have nothing to bring to the table because you’re a fresh face?

No!
No! Iggy glances at Corey for approval. Corey shoots him a thumbs up.

Am I going to say that “you suck” just because I’ve never heard of you?

No!
No!

Am I doing this to pad the run time on my promo because I know jack all about you?

Yes!
No-wait, what?

That one’s actually a “yes”. Sorry bud. He returns his attention to the camera. But yeah, I hate all that lazy, uninventive tripe. So you’re not gonna hear it from me. The way I see it, anyone who voluntarily comes to the XWF has to be some combination of tough, scary, psychotic, or deluded. Any permutation of those can be dangerous. He shrugs. It’s just common sense to me.

But I gotta dig up some kind of dirt on ya, find some way to feel you out. So that’s why I praise the XWF Web Team every day for...the XWF.COM ROSTER PAGE! Oh man, you can bet my fingers couldn’t move fast enough to pull that bad boy up. And I’m reading and reading and thinking to myself, “ho hum, this is serviceable I guess…” He stands up, bearing an inscrutable, side eyed expression.

But then I got to this.

Weaknesses: Puzzles

Weaknesses. Puzzles.



Corey’s face does an approximation of that and no, it is most definitely not cute. Then, quick as a wisp, his expression changes again. He looks inquisitive now, but with a dab of something playful underneath.

Soooooo, what kind of puzzles Andre?

He pushes the cart quickly to the end of the aisle, where the back aisle is full of nothing but jigsaw puzzles. Corey throws his arm out, gesturing at the sea of puzzles with a grandiose flair.

Look on my works, ye mighty, AND DESPAIR!

All pretense of a sober tone vanishes. Corey, all smiles, comes from around the cart and starts picking puzzles off the shelf.

What’s your Kryptonite Andre? Thomas KInkade puzzles? He picks one up with a cozy scene of a cabin in a valley. Aquatic puzzles? He shows us one with two whales gliding through the waves side by side. Contemporary puzzles? Now, it’s a puzzle of Times Square. Adorable puzzles?! Oh shit! It’s a Corgi puppy poking it’s face out from beneath an overturned box! CUTENESS OVERLOAD!

Iggy walks up and points at the Corgi puzzle. I want that one! Corey tosses it in the cart. Yay!

Or maybe it’s not jigsaw puzzles at all? He veers the cart into a hard right turn, running down another aisle with Iggy at his heels. He comes to a sudden stop in front of a rack of various activity books. He starts rapidly grabbing them off the shelves.

Crossword puzzles? Sudoku puzzles? Word find puzzles?!

Those kind of puzzles?! Iggy points at something in the cart.



Corey’s eyes widen in terror and a squeal of existential dread issues forth from him. Oh GAWD NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! He grabs the Hellraiser puzzle box out of the cart, rears his arm back and chucks it as hard as he can across the length of the store. Hooray for throwback jokes. Corey pants for a moment, recovering from the sudden jolt to the system.

My point is this, Andre. There’s only two kinds of people who would put that their weakness is puzzles. People who want to hide their weaknesses (ie. insecure people) or people who don’t think they have any real weaknesses (ie. dumb people).

Which one are you?

I mean, there’s a reason why we laugh at the stupid assholes who put absurd claims in their roster submissions. Shit like “I just get stronger the more pain I feel” or “The only thing that stops me is bullets” or “I go Super Saiyin Level 4 every time I’m about to lose a match”. It’s because that shit is DUMB, alright? Nobody believes that. Nobody. And by putting that in your write up, it just makes YOU look like a dumbass putting on airs of invincibility.

Puzzles, man, fuckin’ PUZZLES.

He tosses all the puzzle books back on the shelf, seeming to mellow out some. Rest of the bio though? Not bad. Little on the bland side. Move list could use some inspiration. Maybe sex it up a bit, eh? Or don’t. I mean, if I want something with pizzazz I can always just scroll up one to Clint Fatwood’s bio and have some fun.* Corey chuckles. Clint Fatwood, what a card! “Butt Bumpin”? CLASSIC Fatwood! Corey slaps his hands together as his laughter fades.

*Joke may not be relevant past March of 2021. Stop reshuffling the roster page!

Now, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to address some assumptions you may be tempted to make about me. You might point out my Calvin Klein underwear model good looks and assume that makes me weak. You may point to my “roughly human lawn dart” size and think that makes me easy pickins’. You might point to the fact that I’m talking to a presence that most people cannot see….

Hiiiii! Iggy waves at the camera.

They still can’t see you, bud. Anyway, you may point to Iggy and assume that makes me insane.

Corey looks demure and shrugs.

Ok. If you wanna think those things, who am I to stop you. In fact, I want you to think those things! And I definitely, definitely don’t want you to look up the fact that, even after having a damn STROKE, I sashayed back into the XWF and five months later have yet to be pinned or made to submit. This time last year I was being spoon fed pudding and hating myself on a daily basis. And now? Undefeated, baby. Yeah, maybe go ahead and ignore all that.

Strike a pose!

Corey apes a sultry underwear model pose and Iggy laughs. Ehhh, you like that one?

His phone rings. Corey retrieves it from his pocket, looks at the screen, and mutters something to himself. Reluctantly, he answers.

Look, Dolly, I’m not ignoring you, I’m….

Thad didn’t get custody of Frankie.

And with one sentence the mood seismically shifts. Corey looks disbelieving.

What? Why not?!

I don’t have all the details. A brief pause. You know he’s gonna need us.

Yeah. Yeah….he will. His tone draws down to a solemn whisper.

Maybe try to call him? I tried to get through but he didn’t answer. Maybe he will for you.

I’ll try to call him.

Thank you.

‘Later.

Bye.

*Click*

Iggy looks over Corey’s shoulder. Are you sad?

I don’t feel like shopping anymore. Corey turns away from the camera, leaving the cart behind.