"Griffin MacAlister versus Luca Arzegotti. Admittedly the best main event Madness has had in months. Fuck, since the last time Luca Arzegotti was in the main event. I have a lot of respect for my opponent, and hope that we can be able to put on one hell of a match!"

Yeah, can't keep up that facade much fuckin' longer. I start to laugh, burying my face in the crook of my elbow for a few seconds. Shit, I managed to catch myself off guard there. Respect doesn't sell tickets.

"Griffin MacAlister. Why is it that for all the talent you do have, you're always cast in a position where no matter how hard you try, you never escape the shadows of those around you? Look at this imploding Brotherhood for an example. You carry Sebastian Duke's talentless carcass to a Tag Team Title reign, and the group isn't called 'Griffin MacAlister's Super Fuckin' Badass Motorcycle Club of Marijuana and Shit' now, is it? You've been more than content to hide behind Duke's shadow this long, and why is that?"

The car that myself and the mysterious camera operator are travelling in hits a bump at 45 mph, jolting all of us around like a motherfucker. Sitting back up after that, I grimace as pressure is accidentally placed on my left foot.

"It's because Griffin MacAlister cracks under pressure. Because Griffin MacAlister is unable to go up against The Black Circle on his own, as can be shown in the fact that the motherfucker lost the only singles title he's held this year to Lexi fucking Sheckler, whose corpse is rotting somewhere with John Madison's semen inside of it. And Griffy just couldn't handle that, so he flung himself into the Bay and lost his job. Then he comes back, and falls under the influence of that motherfucker, Sebastian Duke under the pretenses that they helped each other in the past that he didn't remember.

Griffin has to earn his way to a failure against John Madison, while Sebastian Duke gets his inevitable defeat handed to him on a silver platter.

And now, your leader has your fucking girl in his clutches.

Hmm, let's take a look at your relationship with the girl who thrives in whatever generic 'dark' gimmick she's portraying this week.

Remember when you said all this about the mother of your unborn child?

But now you're ready to backtrack on all of this and tell the bitch that you love her, and she's too fucking brain dead to remember it. Bravo, you really fucked a winner there, Griffy. Fucking hypocrite."

I whip out my incredibly cracked phone, scrolling through the barely legible list of names in my contacts before I finally click on one of the names at the bottom. On the first ring, its answered and I turn on speaker.

"Hey Nova! You're a and space isn't real!"

"Ugh, I don't have time to deal with this right now."

Click. I slide the phone back in my pocket before turning to face the camera again. That's how you fucking keep friends; call 'em at midnight to insult their sexuality and tell 'em that their home planet is bullshit.

"Oh, but I'm sure you only said that because you were in a match with them, and you needed to say something about them. You didn't really mean it, did you? That, makes you even more of a pussy. I mean, have you no fucking integrity, that you'll fuck the same pussy that you raped with words?

I mean, I fuck whores too, but I don't try to dress 'em up as something they aren't, or give 'em respect. Not because I'm a misogynist, okay just a little, but because they don't deserve it. Just like your girl doesn't.

Hell, I did stick up for the broad once, ironically. Because she was once in the same position as you. A more talented follower, only to the waste of space known as the AoD. Fuck, everyone was better than Death Merchant so it really wasn't her being special."

I break this streak of substance free promo cutting by cracking a bottle of Jack Daniels and taking a swig, before splashing a bit into my bullet wound. Fuck, that wasn't the best idea.

"So, how bout that kidnapping, huh? Duke finally did something correctly, suckered you in, and left with your fuckin' girl. Earlier on in the night, he got the shit kicked out of him by LJ Havok and Paul Heyman, and you tried to fucking save the bastard! Looking back, I beat LJ Havok twice in a row.

So, this current inequality looks like this:

Griffin MacAlister is worse than Sebastian Duke, who is worse than Paul Heyman and LJ Havok, who are both worse than Luca Arzegotti.

Ergo, simplifying this to just the participants of this match; Luca Arzegotti is better than Griffin MacAlister.

Facts, motherfucker.

Fuck you, fuck your girl, and fuck your unborn child.

Duke's already doing the first two, and he's just waiting for that fuckstick to pop out so he can complete the trifecta.

How does his fist feel, Griffy?"

***Backtracking, a little bit***

"You did what?!" the woman, whom I met close to a month ago screams into the phone, causing me to laugh through winces. Blood still drips from the gaping hole in the sole of my foot, tapping and splashing against the cement.

"Do I fucking need to repeat myself?" I answer back with another question, that we both knew the answer to.

"Fuck, and you're sure you can't get one of your people to come get you? Wait, isn't that racist prick a doctor? Why don't you just call him, and get a ride home and free medical care at once?"

"Oh, right. Let me just call NAZI at eleven fucking PM, tell him I need help, and put myself at risk of being thrown into the fucking gas chamber!"

"Wait, he has an actual gas chamber?"

"Because that's the most important part of that sentence."

"Fuck you."

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" Take notes Gilmour, if somehow you come in possession of this footage, that's how you fucking hit on a chick.

"You're a fucking asshole, you know that right?"

"I sense that there's going to be a 'but' in this rhetorical question." Here's to saying the first thing that comes to mind, eh? So far, it's not that bad.

"There will be, if you shut the fuck up."

Yeah, I don't respond. Fuck that shit, I ain't risking it.

"Where the fuck are you?"

Oh, somewhere on the corner of blood loss and delirium, thanks for fucking asking!

"I don't fuckin' know!"

"Let me rephrase it then; are you still close to the store?"

"Couldn't get much fuckin' further."

"I'll just follow the police sirens, then. And Luca?"

"What?"

"Cut down on the profanity, you sound like a fucking ]

Damn, bitch had claws. Wait a fucking second, am I seriously questioning that? The first real impression she made on the group at large was blowing some cop's brains all over the ground. Fuck. The line goes dead, and I lean against the wall of this building, breathing in the polluted air of this shithole of a city.

Fuck Los Angeles.

Off in the distance, I hear the faint sound of police sirens. Jesus, she wasn't lying there, it seemed. The bag of cash felt like bricks against my weakened legs, pressing them further into the ground. My head droops down to one side, a combination of the blood loss and the night sky dropping all of its weight on my shoulders forcing my hand.

My eyes close. The last of the world's light fades softly, to black.

Why do I get so fucking poetic before I lose consciousne-


***

I open my eyes, to the explosion of sirens, a flashing blue and red light shining into my corneas. On the other end of the alleyway, the white lights of a panel van shine back at the police, the sound of gunshots and the smell of smoke filling the air. On either side of me, two large Colombian men grab me by my arms, effortlessly lifting my body off the ground. In one hand, I grip onto the bag for dear life. I'm not a-fucking-bout to lose this money. Not after what I went through to get it.

Narrowly avoiding gunfire, the two drag me to the side of the large van and toss me in through the open sliding door.

"This ese who you were talking about?" one of the men says, his thick accent covering the English he was poorly speaking.

[pink]"Yes, Pedro." I'd recognize that voice anywhere. A short, black haired figure stands in front of me, facing the same way I am. Slowly, she turns around, and confirms my suspicions.

"Hey, Luca! Why don't you take a seat over there?" With one hand, she directs the two men to drag me over to the back of the van, where seated in a chair next to the empty one where I'm supposed to go, bound and gagged, the camera girl i kidnapped a few months back. Shit, that's why I've had to get that girl to follow me around for so long!

The follow the procedure, tying me to the chair, but once they appear ready to shove the gag into my mouth, she makes another motion and mutters something in Spanish, and they stop.

"Now, Luca. I did some digging, and it turns out we both have something the other wants. You see; a little friend from your past decided to stick their nose into our business!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" Just like that; Pedro punches me in the face, almost knocking the chair over.

"What did I tell you about profanity?"

I smirk, how far will she go?

"Fuck you."

She giggles, and nods to Pedro once more. Once more, he decks me and actually knocks the chair over. The binds are too strong to come loose, and unnamed Colombian fuck number two sets it upright.

"I can go all night, but I'm sure you already knew that."

"I do now," I say with a chuckle. Her face turns from sarcastic to serious, kneeling before my now bleeding face.

"Tell me everything you know about Jeffery Heiman."

Oh, this will be good.

"Here? Now? I don't think we have that kind of time." That really wasn't bullshit, either. This level of heat? We're gonna be lucky to get out of this situation intact, let alone leaving enough time for me to tell in essence my life's fucking story.

"Fuck, you're right. Tell you what; come to this address as soon as you wake up tomorrow morning. We'll talk there."

Pulling out a pen and a pad of paper, she scribbles an address on it and hands the slip to me. The van comes to a stop, and the men untie both of us. Picking me up, they drag not only me, but camera guy number one to a parked car hidden outside a parking garage. Incognito as fuck. After shoving me and my former "colleague" into the backseat, Pedro gets into the driver's seat, leaning the seat back. Looking down on the floor next to Camera Guy, I see his instrument of choice and motion to him.

"Hey, get that thing rolling. I just remembered that I have a match on Madness."

And thus, this look into the life of Luca Arzegotti's life in his own eyes reveals a lot about his current motivations, leaving us all with one question: Who the fuck was that girl he kicked out of his bed, and how did she get there?

Some questions, are never meant to be answered.