"Special Delivery"







I uh, I approach from the south end of the hallway down at XWF HQ and- Oh screw it. I'm no good at this first person narration crap, I'll leave that stuff to Jim.

Hey everyone, Floyd here, just running an errand for good old JC. I probably shouldn't even be say- uh, think- Wait, how's this all work? Whatever. Not a wrestler, just a cameraman.

::We watch through the lens, passing by numerous doors leading to talent dressing rooms, arriving at one in particular, the immediate vicinity inundated with racks of costumes, buckets of lies and a dumpster overflowing with discarded personas, jokes and ideas.

Thanks to the ingenious efforts of Vincent Lane's personally appointed X.T.T (Xtreme Think Tank) in the XWF SCIENCE DIVISION (one of our promotion's many entertainment enhancement branches), we're also treated, via the long awaited advent of (on many levels impossibly experienced through any and all TV and PC/laptop/phone speakers) SMELL-O-VISION (suck it, Hollywood, XWF beat you to it), to the unique (unique, for once in context with this "wrestler") collection of smells wafting from beneath this particular dressing room's door:

sadness (yep, it has a scent), low-grade weed, chicken grease and a combination of transsexual anal sweat and semen.

The lens zooms onto the mounted brass nameplate...or rather, an easy-to-overlap vinyl namesticker. It seems there are no less than six stickers beneath the one currently dominating the surface:

ALLY WORSTED

Our p.o.v lowers to the floor and we cut from Floyd's camera to an XWF drone hovering nearby.

We watch as Floyd bends the clasp on a manilla envelope he's holding and opens it, removing a small stack of papers. The drone lens zooms in on the cover page and a message scrawled::

I haven't witnessed tactics as spineless as yours since Blingsteen...and that cunt had the nuts to at least upload 2 of 3 vignettes hours before deadline. You? You sat silently, "aloof" (lol) for two weeks.

Coward.

Hey, if you ain't gonna show the fans (what few you have, if any), the brass and your fellow rostermates the respect we all deserve and engage me in the ever popular arena of word warfare, then I ain't gonna waste the content I have which would obviously be better utilized on a deserving, participating opponent. On the other hand, I'm also incapable of some paltry ten second smartass snippet, the type of vignette I've been seeing more and more of these days from those with the talent to offer something greater.

So...I whipped this up for you because...I don't care what you have to say in these closing moments before our showdown on Warfare, I've already solidified that you are everything I say you are. An egomaniac, an idiot and a liar. Also, I promised the newbooties on the roster proof of your lies, evidence of your amateur attempt to fool us all.

You say ain't Dolly Waters? Peruse the next page."

::Floyd cycles the cover page to the second, a picture::





Here we have the date of your sign up.

::Floyd cycles to the third page, a second picture::





Odd date of joining discrepancy. Hmmm. Let's check out that rep rating.

::Floyd cycles again. Fourth page, third picture::





Boom. Easy peasy. Hello Buronan... And we all know who Buronan was unmasked as...

DOLLY

WATERS

You're a scam, Ally, and your scheme accomplished nothing. I know Dolly, I've defeated her. You hold no secrets for me in the ring. You hold no secrets from me OUT of the ring. And tomorrow night on Warfare...Jim Caedus shall demolish Dolly Waters, Ally Worsted or not, for the SECOND time.

See ya there,

Jim

::Floyd replaces the contents of the envelope back within, reseals the clasp and slides the whole thing beneath the dressing room door::

::STATIC::