Demos couldn’t get the bitter taste of failure off his tongue. No matter how many times he scraped his tongue against his teeth and gums the sour flavor wouldn’t come off. Demos stared regretfully at his unmasked reflection in the mirror. His eyes drifted between his missing right ear, the bruise from the universal championship belt, and his missing teeth before slowly falling down to the desk in front of the mirror. Demos leaned forward in his rolling chair as he grazed the smith and wesson sidearm with his hand. He ran his right fingers down the steel barrel to the fiberglass grip.

“How could I ever save the XWF?

What a foolish notion. How can the XWF be saved when man can not even be saved from himself?”

Demos looked back up at his reflection in the mirror as he slowly dragged the pistol closer to him.

“Save the XWF?

Can you save a mass shooter in between magazines?

I certainly tried. I put everything I had into the effort. I charged headfirst into the machine gun fire. I put more than most could ever dream into my attempt, and what did I get for it?

A blow to the groin and a shot of metal to the face.”

Demos looked away from the mirror with a bitter scowl. He pulled the gun off the table and pointed it at the ground as he looked back to the man in the mirror.

“The XWF carries on as the wasteland carnival it’s always been. The ferris wheels and carousels didn’t miss a beat when the Demos was cheated. The carnival just carried on when the Demos fell.

Vagrants and vagabonds from the world over travel to the XWF to make a home for themselves amidst the carnal deviancy and callous decadence. Pure souls don’t wash onto the shores of the XWF by chance. No one wanders into this freak show with a big heart and a clean conscience.

I should know better than anyone.”

Demos hung his head in shame as he brought the pistol to his lap. The man’s right hand clutched the pistol tightly as he aimed the barrel at the empty space between his legs. Demos shook his head from side to side as a soft sigh escaped his chapped lips. Demos clasped the grip of his sidearm with both hands as he looked back to the mirror.

“Everyone that comes to the carnival comes with foul intent and selfish dreams. Each. And. Every. One. Of. Them.

Terry Borden and the Fat Clit? They’re selling false hope to the children. Is there a crime more vile? The American Delusion is hammered into each and every worker’s skull from the day they are born. Our children are told they must work hard for somebody else’s profit, they are told they must respect and obey the pigs kneeling on their necks, they are told that our endless wars overseas are just and necessary to preserve this supposed dream. Our children are raised into a system of indoctrination. Our children’s teachers, their idols, their heroes, they all tell our children to obey. To find their proper place within this capitalist hellscape.

Terry and his fat clit are nothing but stage actors in a puppet show. The hands of their puppet masters are so far up their asses I swear I can see a Koch brother’s finger poking out the back Clitboy’s throat. Is that why you’ve been so quiet, Clit? Fat cats on wall street got your tongue? No matter, the Demos will sever your tongue from your jaw and give it a valiant purpose. I will use the Clit’s evermoist tongue to seal the anti-propaganda letters I send to all of our children to teach them the proper ways.

Terry Borden and his clit are nothing but thugs working the streets to keep the people’s imaginations in line. The Dream-A-Maniacs are hired guns paid for by the rich and bloated to work the people until they die. Terry and the clit are taking those fools for all they’ve got. Some people really do have more money than sense, don’t they?

Thugs. Thugs. Thugs.”


Demos loudly flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth repeatedly as he chided the very concept of thuggery.

“They’re all the same. John Black, Tommy Wish, Terry Borden, Fat Clit. As different as they may appear at first glance, they are truly two sides of the same coin. Two sides of the same vile and corrupting pyrite coin. Their selfishness knows no ends. They are slaves to their own desires. They reduce themselves to foot soldiers of the ruling class through their sheer incompetence and mediocrity alone. Just as Terry and Clit are out there selling a broken American Dream to the people, The Thugz are out there selling degenerate lifestyles to the youth as an answer to the crushing realities of oppression.

Do you know what we communists used to do to Thugz like you in the Andes? In Vietnam? In the Philippines?

We used to carve your innards out with a butcher knife before drilling a hole through your spines! Then, we’d hoist your carcass up the flagpole with the rope running from your ass to your skull! We’d wave your body proudly right underneath our glorious red banner!

That would always work to send a message to the bastards you lot like to run with. They’d scatter like scared pups when they saw their buddy’s body blowing in the wind some seventy five feet up in the air!

Do you boys think drugs are fun? Do you think being gangsters makes you cool? Are you blind to the harm people like you cause to your own communities?

The Chicago ghetto is one of the worst places to live in America. Why is that? Because of the poverty? Because of the police repression? Because of the structural racism and ontological negation? That much only tells part of the story.

In truth, it is Thugz like you ruining inner cities across America. Young, dumb, and full of each other’s cum, you lot are nothing but a plague on working class communities. Thugz play around in our neighborhoods with firearms like children play with water guns: but with worse aim and more reckless results. Thugz like you sell crack to our children, you pollute their bodies and get them addicted to CIA-sourced substances. Why? Thugz like you put poison in the inner cities just to pad your ‘fat’ fucking wallets. Except they’re not all that fat, are they? In truth you boys are about as broke as they come, that’s why you’re always looking for your next come up or your next get rich quick scheme. The turmoil isn’t going to be it. Keep looking.”

Demos brought the pistol up to the desk with his right hand as he gesticulated dismissively with his left hand.

“Thugs come in all shapes and sizes. White, black, brown, it doesn’t matter. The Aryan Brotherhood are about as thuggish as it comes. When I look at The Disintegrators I can see the influence of the Aryan Aesthetic on their costuming. They look exactly like every other Sadistic Souls Motorcycle Club member I’ve run down along Highway 19. But still, something about them seems off. I would run them down on Highway 19 all the same, but even so, they seem nothing more than cheap imitations of the real deal. It takes a real son of a bitch to want to dress like a neonazi biker.

Selfishness runs amok in our society, but I’ve never seen it so concentrated and institutionalized as it is in the XWF.

Eobard Stone is perhaps the most selfish individual among us. It takes a real rotten man to try and cash in on the MeToo movement by fabricating a sexual assault and airing it before your big match to try and garner sympathy and attention. Do you think women like Tara Reade and Anita Hill brought their stories forward so scumbags like you could cash in on them? Liars like you make me sick.

How could Stone possibly expect anyone to believe his claim? It is absolutely beyond belief that the sexual assault of a male athlete was caught perfectly on closed circuit television, preserved for years, then given to the XWF to promote a debuting fighter. Save your pig shit sob stories for the pen, Stoney. How dare you try to get yourself over by exploiting the trauma of real survivors.

The XWF disgusts me more and more with each passing day.”

Demos hocks a fat yellow loogie onto the carpet floor before glancing back at his reflection.

“Stone and Cooper are just two more selfish sickos looking to hitch their wagon to a bigger workhorse. Sad news, boys; your wagon’s going nowhere as long as Ned Kaye is at the reigns. He’s reached his peak, he’s only going to grind you boys down as he struggles and claws to climb to a pinnacle he’ll never be able to reach. Ned's training will never be able to prepare you for the Demos: he has lost to the Demos twice. What could he possibly tell you? That the Demos is too strong, too fast, too volatile to ever defeat?

Avalanche truly shows the selfish idiocy infecting the XWF locker rooms. Dean Rose, a traitor to us all. Even with having to face Dixon later in the night, Avalanche’s own Rose couldn’t help but try and weaken the Demos for BOB. Has Avalanche thrown their lot in with BOB already? No worries, Stone and Cooper, I’ll treat you Avalanche boys just like I’ve treated every worthless ‘low tier’ BOB member I’ve crossed paths with.”

Demos lifted the gun up as he stared at his reflection inside of the steel barrel.

“Dean Rose shows that there is no such thing as a hero. Even the brightest rising stars among us will fade into darkness when the opportunity arises.

His betrayal cuts deep, but is one of many.”

The camera zooms out to show RL Edgar walking up to the open door of the hotel room. RL leans against the doorframe as he listens in to Demos’s private conversations.

“They all betrayed me when I went to battle the beast. The entire XWF watched in the back as Chris Page pulled out dirty trick after dirty trick. Cheap shots and interference, but not one peep from the locker room. Didn’t they know I was fighting for them? Didn’t they know my war was their war? Didn’t they know I was going to free them from the tyranny of BOB?!?!”

RL frowned as Demos slammed the pistol against the desk.

“How could they not see? THEY MUST’VE KNOWN! THEY ALL KNEW!

How can I be a hero to a federation that doesn’t know it needs to be saved?

How can I end an evil empire that is supported by so many!”

Demos stood up from the desk as he stared at the pistol. His mungy mane hung over his shoulders and concealed his face from RL’s view. RL reached into his pocket. RL stared down at the contents in his hand with a sly grin.

“There are no heroes in this world. There are no saviors in this carnival.

We’re all trapped here. Trapped to war for eternity, all for the joy of some Mad King lording over us.

Forced to war for all eternity, while the gold stays stuck in the coffers of the evil empire.

The XWF is nothing but a pit of snakes. If the snakes only knew that they could escape. That if they worked together, they could climb the stone well and unleash hell on their captors.

But instead the snakes eat each other. The snakes slither on top of one another, the weakest and smallest falling to the bottom where they are consumed for nutrients by those snakes desperately trying to climb to the top of the pile and breathe in the fresh air.

There is nothing worth fighting for in this pit.”


Demos held the sidearm against the side of his skull as his long locks fell over his face. RL Edgar sighed softly as he picked something out of the palm of his right hand with his left thumb and pointer finger.


“I will remind them that there is nothing left to cheer for in this world….

The Demos don’t need championship belts...

The Demos needs dead bodies.

Let me start the pile!”

The Demos pulled the trigger as the gun clicked. Nothing happened. RL Edgar laughed as he threw a bullet at the Demos with his left hand. Demos tossed the gun onto the desk as he turned around and confronted RL Edgar. The former hart champion had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as gently tossed bullets up and down in the palm of his hand.

"You saved my life... Now I'm saving yours."