Vs Peter Vaughn RP 2 of 3 for the Supercontinental Title at Leap of Faith





{In-Studio - The Bane Home - Las Vegas NV}

Static, then the image comes in clear as I stand in front of a camera once again. So many things that need to be addressed with Pete and me. Dressed in a freshly starched button-down of a pale blue color, and ripped-up jeans along with my black boots and stetson cowboy hat. Yes, the stetson has made a comeback. I tip the brim of it back a little and smile.

So many questions, Pete. I’ll be completely transparent with you. Have I ever wondered? Yes, I can’t say that emphatically enough. There have been dozens of times that I wondered if I have left the mark I want to leave. There are so few people that can answer that question in a positive manner that isn’t a lie. I’m going to say no as far as my own opinion, no, I haven’t left the mark on this industry in general and I’m just getting started in XWF. So, that would be a double no.

Moving on to the next topic, Peter’s sense of self-worth.

As far as people saying you don’t belong in XWF, that’s just noise, my man, shitheads will say whatever they can dream up to discredit you and your run. It’s the nature of this business and their sad attempts at psychology. Simple as that. If you dwell on things like that it will eat you alive inside and you end up making choices that can take you a long time to recover from. I say that from experience and history. Recent history more especially for me. Don’t allow them to influence your sense of self-worth is the most honest advice I can give you. I know you didn’t ask for any, but you know…I have this thing that I do, it’s just easier to ask for forgiveness than permission or waiting for someone to ask.

I smile in what I hope is an earnest manner as we move onto the dick measuring contest.

As for who I’ve beaten, this feels more like a dick measuring contest really, but I’ll play along. You already know who I’ve beaten in XWF and while not a super impressive list, it’s a beginning. Outside of this company, I’m not entirely certain if you pay a lot of attention to outside the companies you’re currently in. “Godly” Ken Davison, Amber Ryan, before she was my wife. Mark Cross, Alex Jones, Trent Steel, Ataxia, and I could go on and on. The reality of this situation is, that it doesn’t matter who I’ve beaten. You’ve got pride in your accomplishments, just as I do. You’re young in your career and you should be proud of those reigns, short or long doesn’t matter. You did it, that in and of itself is definitely something to hang your hat on. Just remember, those people you listed, are not me. Just as the list I provided are not you. This is new ground for both of us. We are facing each other for the first time as far as I can remember. We don’t have a history that drives us to beat each other. We only have each other to drive that. A young man, a former world champion in his own right, with a ton of pride and ability going against a former world champion, who’s not just angry, this old wolf is hungrier than he’s been in a long time. Just a heads up, you cannot possibly compare my match with Knox to your own. Mine was strictly a one-on-one affair. I didn’t have someone in a mask to jump the barricade and insert themselves on my behalf. I prefer my losses and wins to be clean and above reproach.

The smile slides slowly as I broach the subject of injuries and other things.

Injuries, I’m really glad you brought that up. I’m a big fan of clarity myself. So allow me to make this perfectly clear with you. Injuries happen in every match, regardless of whether they are intentional or accidental. You talked to me like I was old without actually saying it. I’ve had more than my fair share, to be frank about it. I wouldn’t be quite so sure of your ability to beat me if I were you. You’re overestimating your edge in this match. I mentioned this before about specialties in this business. They are worthless. I’m glad you think it gives you an advantage. I at least like you Peter, it’s not the first time I’ve had to tangle with people that I like. The last time I had a match against someone that I really thought the world of, I very nearly broke her neck. I almost ended her career, that’s not really relevant to this match though is it. Maybe it is, for an outsider looking in. I also think that you believe you need this, that you need a victory over me to make you relevant. That you’ll use this as some kind of stepping stone for yourself. I want you to go back to the footage from the Denzel Porter Invitational and watch what I did to Vinnie Lane. I knew of him at the time, I respected his accomplishments too. Let that sink in. Should you beat me, it won’t be because of anything other than you were better than me on that night. And for fucks sake, don’t use veiled threats kid, it may give you plausible deniability, but it won’t make this ass whippin any easier to digest.

With all that being said, I tip my hat to the audience and make my way out of the studio as the scene fades to black.

{Hell’s Gate Dojo - Grand Junction Colorado - “Hello Darkness My Old Friend”}

It was the end of a hard day of sparring with Kim and Rene. Maria had “fixed” my tattoo as she liked to say. What she really did, I was uncertain of, she kept referring to it as completing the circuit. Didn’t matter to me, these people were a part of my family and I trusted them with my life. My shower was done and I stepped out into the cold night air with Whisper coming out behind me. I waited until I was out by the truck before lighting a cigarette. “What’s on your mind,” I asked her in a friendly tone. She studied me for a moment, “You must have questions, about this place and probably me by now.” I nodded responding, “Well, the fact that you appear to be a telepath is obvious, but honestly I didn’t know that was even real. I thought it was just something for novels and comic books. I didn’t want to ask at first, I guess it seemed disrespectful.” She smiled, “It’s really not, it takes time to adjust to it as all of my students would tell you.” I shrugged my shoulders, “Not so much for me, I’ve seen more crazy shit in my life than most people have had nightmares about.”

She arched an eyebrow when I said nightmares, “Do you still have them?” I smirked, “Virtually every night. From a time in my life that I’m not very proud of, to be honest.” She nodded as if she understood. “I don’t think anyone would understand the guilt I carry in my heart for the things I did when I was in the military.” Whisper, “We can talk about how to fix that later.” She gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry hon, I’ve got to go check on something.” She turned to leave and responded, “Okay, I’ll be back probably sooner rather than later.” I had finished that sentence just as she slipped back inside. Of course with all the talking, I had allowed my cigarette to burn out. I tossed it in the can provided by Whisper and then lit another one as I made my way back to the tailgate of my truck.. so she is a telepath….does it end there? Is there more to the concept of the students calling her the Mother of Archangels? I took a drag from my cigarette as I tried to sort this new revelation out for myself. It was then that I smelled something vaguely familiar.

The smell of a Turkish blend of cigarettes invaded my “Marlborough Only” zone as a man worked his way through the parked vehicles and came to stand beside me. At first glance, he appeared to be a salesman of sorts. The cologne he wore was expensive, his smile as he introduced himself was oily, to say the least. Slicked back hair, came from a different generation and he oozed confidence like few men I’d ever known. He spoke with a slight accent, “Ah, sorry to interrupt you, but could I get a light from you?” I looked down and his cigarette had indeed burned out. Did this guy extinguish his cigarette before allowing himself to be seen? Was it my imagination? I slipped the zippo from the holster I wore on my waist and handed it to him. “Ah,” he began as he looked at my lighter, “Cute, toe tags and body bags” that’s such a dramatic thing to display on a lighter.

I smiled at him, “You’re not married are you,” I said as I laughed. He had a far-off look in his eye, “No, not in a long time.” He looked at me curiously, “Is your wife the owner of this place of business?” I thought, that’s quite the question for someone you just met. “No, my wife is in Nevada, a friend of mine runs this place.” Why am I compelled to answer this guy's questions I studied him more intently as he did the same to me. (successful will save) He broke his gaze first and I smiled. “Sorry friend, I didn’t catch your name?” “Jack Spawn, at your service sir.” I nodded, “My name is Mac, good to meet you.” Even though, for some reason he had tried to compel me to answer his questions, I had fought that off. Something was very twilight zone about this guy. He handed my zippo lighter back and I put it back in its holster. Even as I thought it, I began to get a sinking feeling in my stomach. It was like you know someone but no matter what name they give you, you feel like it’s a lie. A sense of Deja Vue and dread all at the same time. I knew I had seen his face before but I couldn’t place it.

“Well Jack, I do apologize but I have to make my way to the airport. Have a good night.” I hopped off the tailgate of the truck and made my way past him to the driver's side. When I looked back he was gone. “Shit just keeps getting weirder,” I said to no one in particular as I started my truck. The one prevailing thought I had was that this guy was dangerous. I sent a thought to Whisper about it. The response I got in return was, Stay away from him. That told me two things, first and foremost she knew who he was and he must be extremely dangerous for Whisper to be worried about it. I punched up the speed dial on my truck and she answered quickly, “Whisper, are you okay there by yourself?” without hesitation, she responded, “I”m fine, he can’t get in here, the kids are already here so they know the drill.” Pausing only a moment, “Just make sure you steer clear of him, Mac. He, like me, is much more than he appears to be.” I grunted as I began passing cars, “As long as your sure you’re okay, I won’t double back.” “I’m sure, you have to be in Dubai soon, so focus on the matches you have.”

She disconnected the call but it only made me more curious as to exactly what that meant. That was a conversation that would obviously have to wait for another time. That left me to my own devices. Which was never limited to having anxiety about who that clown was. How he was able to use a Jedi Mind Trick, for lack of a better term on me. I’m not a weak-willed or weak-minded person, but that’s the way my interaction with him felt.

Fade to black.

{The Bane Ranch - Port Arthur TX - “Change of hands”}

[sixty days ago]

I was in the Beaumont, Texas Airport for a connecting flight. Catching up on messages and phone calls when my phone rang. I know the number, but she was in protective custody. “Senor Bane.” I paused for a moment, “You know you’re not supposed to contact me, those were Jeff’s explicit instructions, were they not?” I short pause and a giggle could be heard in the background. “I’ll put you on speaker,” she said with a lightness to her voice that I had not heard before. “Mac, it’s Jeff. She had my permission and with good reason, she’s got a gift for you.” I cringed, this could be really good or really, really, bad. Before I responded, I made sure to smile, I didn’t want her to think that I was mad or anything. “Alright, I’m all ears,” I said in the most jovial way I could muster. The reason was simple, she had been through so much. She had been sold into the sex trade by her own husband.

“Senor Bane, are you still with us?” I responded immediately, “I sure am, Mrs D”. I was then cut off by Jeff, “Miss Garza,” he corrected me. “Of course, my apologies Miss Garza.” She laughed, “That is quite alright, it takes some getting used to. The reason I am calling you is to let you know, that your former property is being resold, and I would like to give you the first opportunity to buy it back.” I smiled, wondering how much this was going to cost me? “Okay, and what is the asking price?” Again I hear Jeff laughing in the background. “My asking price is two hundred and fifty dollars.” If I’m honest, I almost swallowed my tongue. “Now, why would you ask for a penny on the dollar that was paid for it? I’m more than willing to pay you what I paid for it.” Again more laughter from my old friend. “Because if not for you, myself and my children would still be in harms way.” It was Jeff’s turn to interject, “Mac, do you have any idea of the net worth of her former husband? She got everything he owned in the divorce proceedings.” I absently scratched my chin and allowed a slow whistle to escape me.

“Okay, where do I need to go to finalize this transaction,” I asked them. Jeff spoke first, “In thirty days' time, meet us at the ranch and we can finalize it there.”

[present day]



The deed had been transferred back to me with all rights, which these days was a rarity to be sure. We had spent the last forty-five days undoing the damage that had been done and we still had a long way to go. Progress was progress though, much like my broken friendship with Knox, it was better but still a long way to go. So this was when the real work started. There were various tunnels that had been used to smuggle people into the united states from an inlet about 3 miles from here. Filling them in was already going and surprisingly enough all of my cattle was still here. Maybe being known as “Cowboy”, wasn’t such a bad thing after all. More importantly than all that, I was able to bring all my ranch hands back to work. I still preferred the one that Whisper had given me. “The Harbinger of Doom” however was a story for another day.

They were all gathered around the ranch house, the sun had just come up and they were all looking at me. “Look boys, I wouldn’t blame any of ya for being pissed at me for selling the place, to begin with. I know you guys and gals were collecting unemployment, I’m sure that at least part of you had to pay into the IRS.” There was some low-key murmuring in the group, not really angry murmuring but some commiseration to be sure. “If you did, well, I’m sorry. More than that though, bring me your statements and I’ll make sure you get reimbursed one hundred percent.” I was caught off guard by the gasp of shock from the bunch and I smiled. “Surely you didn’t think I was that big of an asshole. It’s hard enough to make a buck right now, no way I’m going to make you pay twice for my decision making.”

I smiled again as some of them had huge grins on their faces. “You folks ready to get to work?” They let out a roar of approval and we were all set to work. After they started to head out to carry out their tasks, my foreman, Joshua remained behind. “None of this bunch was ever mad at ya, you know?” I smiled at my oldest friend, a guy that I went through school with from first grade all the way to graduating high school together. “Well, Josh, I know I would have been if it had been me on the receiving end.” He chuckled a bit, “Son, you pay double what anyone else around here does. These folks would have to go work in the refineries to even get close to that kind of money.” He started to walk away, “I get it Josh, and if I can help it they won’t be put in that position again.” I turned around and was walking backward when he responded, “I know Mac, and we’re proud to work at the Crooked M.”

What a strange trip it’s been. Long before I started winning championships, my wife at the time, Melissa, and I lived in a studio apartment in Port Arthur. As a second-generation wrestler, I was working indy shows very early on. In between that and then serving my country….let’s just say we were what they would call dirt road poor. So, when I started making good money, that’s when all of this…this dream became possible. When I became a rancher, I didn’t know shit about it or the work involved. This was not a place that had been handed down through generations where I would have gotten all that knowledge from my father or grandfather. I bought this place not long after my first world title reign began. Right before buying this place, I talked to friends from high school who worked at other ranches. Most of these folks.

I motion off in a vague direction.

Had been involved with rodeo circuits and such, so they knew their way around cattle. That’s where we started learning together. I lost a lot of money in the beginning as we started figuring things out. It took almost five years of struggle to get this place worked into a productive, working ranch. I’m telling you this story, so you’ll understand that I have no quit in me. I don’t give up, and I have a very blue-collar, never say die attitude. That’s enough talking for now, it’s time to put in more work and stand shoulder to shoulder with these friends of mine as we rebuild. Don’t worry though, none of this will have an impact on my focus. You and this title are my focus.

Fade to black.

{The Bane Home - Las Vegas, Nevada - “Crippling Fear”}

The air was cool without being crisp, the warmth of the firepit was almost too much but it represented something to the people gathered around it. It represented hope and the sanctuary to talk about whatever they wanted to. This was a gathering of veterans that I held once a month. Everyone sat around the fire, looking at each other, trying to figure out who was going to start. I smiled, taking another sip of coffee. I set the cup on the table beside me and lit a cigarette. “It’s okay folks, I’ll start.” They were all surprised at this, probably because I was meant to be a host and not leading the discussion. I cleared my throat and took another drag off my smoke. “Many of you know or have experienced being ordered to do something that we would consider immoral and in some cases illegal.” I look out over the crowd and see a lot of nodding heads and murmurs of agreement. “So, what I want to talk to you all about today, is crippling fear. For me, that fear is driven by my past. The things I was ordered to do and the actions I had to take.”

My friend Lisa, who was special forces, a green beret no less gave my thigh a comforting squeeze. I patted her hand as a way of saying thanks. “To this day, I have nightmares centered around those actions that I took. Now for those of you that know me, you know I don’t deflect my responsibility and will gladly take whatever punishment comes for me in this life or the next.” I smile a sad smile as I felt my lower lip tremble ever so slightly. I take another drag off my cigarette as the memories flood over me. My eyes begin to well and a single tear streaked down my face. “I know that this is a very real possibility, maybe sooner rather than later. The media and public are constantly conducting witch hunts on things of this nature. So that being said, if you see my face on the evening news someday, you’ll know why.” I stared at the ground for a moment and started to think through how I was going to put this to them. “The last part of my tour was spent in Gitmo. The executive officer there was,” I was cut off by the only marine corp vet in the group. “Francis fucking Spatharos,” he said almost too loud but I nodded my head. “Yes, as we called him, Spaz,” I said to him. This particular marine had been in recon and from all accounts was suffering from a similar condition to my own. His name and he only ever presented himself by his last name, Krator.

“That motherfucker can die in a fire!” He said it in quite possibly the most fierce whisper I’ve ever heard. I take another sip of coffee, followed by another drag of my near-dead cigarette. “Francis, would gather the people that he hated and make them do his dirty work, whether it was…” The feed cut to static for almost a minute “That my friends is what drives my fear every day and causes me to have these recurring nightmares.” They all nodded as if understanding my pain and maybe they did. I knew some of their stories, each one just as horrific as my own and in some cases even worse. I then called for a pause to the discussions so everyone could stretch their legs and get another cup of coffee. Krator was the first one to approach me, “Mac, thank you for sharing your story with us today. It really helps to shed a light on some of the same things I’m going thru.” We shook hands and he said to me, in a very confidential manner, “I know where he lives.” I looked into his eyes, there was no bluff there, he was dead serious. “It’s better if I don’t know. He’s owed so many receipts, we’d have to kill that man thirty times.” He winked at me, “Brother, don’t I know it.”

Fade to black.

{In-Studio Part 2 - The Bane Home - Las Vegas NV}

Welcome back to my home in Vegas. Do you see this wall behind me?

I point out the trophy case and every title I’ve ever won. Fourteen replica belts representing the world titles I’ve won. Another twelve represented mid-card titles and another ten represented tag team gold.

All part of my legacy, all part of my past. I know that this is one of the things you’re consumed with. The legacy that you leave behind, the number of titles that you can win to make sure you have a lasting legacy. What if I told you, that none of that really mattered. Sure, it’s the way we keep score, but beyond that?

I shake my head and grunt as I continue.

Titles are not the measure of a man in this industry. Winning a title doesn’t define you, Peter. What you do once you’ve captured that title is what defines you. You can defend it with honor, or you can take shortcuts to make sure you hold onto it. You remind me a lot of me, I was the same way at your age. By any means necessary was what I lived by. I understand the hunger, more so than you might realize. That comes with a price though, something else a lot of people don’t realize when they go down that road. It’s a price paid in blood many times over.

I unbutton my button-down shirt, exposing the scars, old and new. Then I take it off so the roadmap is on full display.
This is the roadmap of my career, it also tells a story.

I smile at the camera as I slip the shirt back on.

We fancy ourselves, storytellers, we tell the story of strife inside the ring. The story of violence. It doesn’t matter if you are a mechanic or a salty old bastard. The story never ends on a high note. It simply ends.

I give the camera a sad smile.

That’s just my perspective, take it with a grain of salt or live it. I’ve done this for over eighteen years now. I’ve strived for greatness in this business, through the blood, sweat, and beer. I am reckless, bitter, and probably a little too aggressive for my own good. That is always who I’ve been. I hope you’re prepared for this, Pete, I never do anything half-speed or halfway. It’s always full speed ahead.