The Road So Far:

Dealing With Our Reality, P1

Dealing With Our Reality, P2

Dealing With Our Reality, P3

Learning The Ropes All Over Again




The life of Peter Vaughn has never been more complicated.

Last month, he was able to triumph throughout a small tournament to become the XWF Supercontinental Champion, his second belt in the XWF. But for Vaughn, it almost felt like a bittersweet victory. While Vaughn was facing an out-of-body experience during this time, one of his closest mentors, a man known mainly as the Head Custodian, was fighting to keep Vaughn's body alive. He succeeded, but at the cost of his own life. Since then, Vaughn has tried to move on, while dealing with the death of someone who felt like a second father to him.

But there was also an additional cost that Vaughn had not expected. With his friend's death, Vaughn found out that he had, in effect, become the new Head Custodian of the Custodial Coalition. While he's tried to find a way out of the assignment to allow him to concentrate fully on his wrestling career, Vaughn has found that his former mentor was indeed kept extremely busy, dealing with problems of janitorial staff throughout the area. Another such problem has reared its head, taking Vaughn away from his CCPE teammates in order to take care of business. Or, at least, that was what he was supposed to be doing...

---

~We see a close-up of Peter Vaughn's face as he stares towards the camera. He raises up one hand, placing what appears to be a helmet onto his head. He walks forward, as the camera pans to the side, giving us a better view of his outfit. Along with the helmet, he's got on a blue and red jersey with white pants. On the front of the jersey, we can see the logo of the Texas Rangers major league baseball team. He steps up to the plate, spitting to the side before preparing himself, swinging the bat that's appeared in his hands back and forth.~

Peter Vaughn: C'mon, kid... give me that stinky cheese...

~We can't see who Vaughn is looking at, but we can see that a catcher and umpire have magically appeared behind him. The umpire stands at the ready, and reacts almost instantly as the first pitch sails by, signaling a strike call. Vaughn glares at the umpire.~

Peter Vaughn: That missed by two inches, you moron.

~The umpire doesn't respond back, possibly because Vaughn muttered his comment quietly. He sets himself again, tightening his grip around the baseball bat.~

Peter Vaughn: One more like that, you little...

~The pitch comes flying in, and this time Vaughn times his swing just right, getting that satisfying smack off the side of the bat. The baseball flies away, only gaining altitude the further away it goes. Vaughn smiles and tosses the bat aside, beginning a home run trot, as a crowd can suddenly be heard, cheering away for their star.~

Crowd: Vaughn! Vaughn! Vaughn! Vaughn!

~Vaughn waves to the crowd as he makes his way around the bases, enjoying the adulation that's coming his way. The chants continue...~

Crowd: Vaughn! Vaughn! Vaughn! Mr. Vaughn! MR. VAUGHN!!

~Vaughn suddenly jumps upwards, startled, causing his hand to hit the horn on his pick-up truck. It goes off, a loud blast that startles both men there. Bill, Vaughn's Coalition assistant, falls backwards, out of sight, having been shaking Vaughn to try and wake him up. Vaughn composes himself, turning and smiling weakly towards an annoyed older woman walking by, before taking a deep breath and swinging the door open. He just barely misses Bill, who manages to twist his way back to his feet.~

Bill: Oh, wow, that was bracing, wasn't it, Mr. Vaughn?

Peter Vaughn: Bill? What the hell was that all about??

~Vaughn slams his door shut, looking upset. But it's always hard to tell Vaughn's true emotions, if he actually has any of his own at all anymore. Bill bows his head to him, apologetic.~

Bill: I'm sorry, Mr. Vaughn, I just thought you would want to be woken when I got here. You were having some dream.

Peter Vaughn: *Sigh* It was a good one, too. From paths untraveled. But oh well, it wasn't meant to be.

Bill: What wasn't meant to be?

Peter Vaughn: Man, it felt good to hit that, too...

Bill: Er, hit something? Sir?

Peter Vaughn: Never mind. It doesn't matter, just a good dream...

Bill: Yes, sir.

~Vaughn stretches for a moment, releasing a small yawn as he's working his energy back up. Bill glances towards the pick-up, a grin appearing on his face as he remembers something.~

Bill: Y'know, when we were doing some charity work last month with your... clone... he fell asleep in his truck, too. Do you think it's just in your genes to sleep in trucks?

~Vaughn looks at Bill as if he's lost his mind, before turning away from him without answering. He reaches into the back of the pickup, pulling out a duffel bag that he slings onto his shoulder.~

Peter Vaughn: It's too damn hot out here, so let's get inside so you can tell me more about this place and what's going on, okay?

Bill: Oh, yes, of course, sir.

~The two men step away from the truck, both instinctively looking up, up, and further up at one of the taller buildings in Dallas.~



~The twenty-two stories of The Adolphus Hotel stand above, seeming to glare down at the two men as they walk inside. Bill appears slightly intimidated, but Vaughn shows no concern, fear, or wonder at the view. He's set on getting another job done and behind him. They go through the doors, disappearing from our sight, if only temporarily.~

---

You've got to have confidence in this business. Without it, you're going nowhere. With it, you've got a chance to go far.

Nobody can accuse someone like Jason Cashe of not having confidence. He's always believed that he could be great in the wrasslin' business, and that belief had taken him to some gold for sure. It hasn't taken him the top, mind you, because intelligence is also a very important factor in making a World Champion, but I'll acknowledge that he's proven himself to be decent in the ring. I've watched him in a number of feds, finding success wherever he goes. The last time I saw him outside of the XWF, he was getting his ass kicked by Sloane Taylor and losing his PWV Disavowed Title, but hey, he held the belt before that, right?

Back in the day, Jason and I were friendly to each other. There was some mutual respect, I'd say, brought about by some unforeseen circumstances. Of course, that all cooled rather quickly, didn't it? In a matter of days, I gained a lot of hatred for Jason Cashe. It burned within me for a good, long time. Much of it, fortunately, has burned itself out, without any significant amount of violence to show for it... other than a few opponents I probably unleashed it on. But overall, I'd say things are better. In fact, at this time, I want to take this opportunity to say something from the bottom of my heart...


CATARA WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOREVER, YOU JACKASS SON OF A BITCH!!!!


*ahem*

Okay, good to clear the air, isn't it? It allows us to go into Wednesday night with a clear field of view. Now, Jason, I know you've got a lot of issues with my man Bam and his friend, Elijah. Well, I got invited to the party because I always love a good scrap, and the chance to beat up the guys listed in the other column was impossible for me to resist. That, plus Bam has been one of the few guys to stand by me through a lot of crap, earning my respect. I'm more than willing to pay that back in kind. If that means holding you upright so Bam can shatter your skull with a brick, well, that's what's going to happen.

But keep in mind, for me, this isn't personal. Not anymore.

No, this is about business, Jase. Breaking you and your allies is good for CCPE, good for Bam Miller, and good for yours truly, and that's all that matters. So when I'm stomping you down in the corner, probably chanting "Ca-Ta-Ra" the whole time, just remember that it's not meant to be vindictive.

You do that, and I'll try to remember that your blood getting on my uniform is just part of the job.

---

~We find ourselves inside the lobby of the Adolphus Hotel. It's a spectacular, yet almost ominous sight, as it feels like something is stirring in the air.~



~... Of course, that could also be the creepy as hell music that's being piped in on top of the imagery. You've got to admit, those pictures are a little disturbing. The music fades away as the camera turns, showing Vaughn and Bill standing nearby. Bill has gotten out a print-out and is reading off it, to make sure he doesn't miss anything.~

Bill: So the Adolphus Hotel is one of the most luxurious locations in Dallas, but it has an extremely sordid history. One of the stories is about a cement company employee who was seen drinking a bottle labelled poison. He'd die quite painfully a short time later, with nobody being completely sure why he did it. There's also an amazing story about an elevator attendant who tried to save themselves some time by hopping from one elevator to another. Needless to say, they didn't make it. OH, and I can't forget about the jilted bride on the 19th floor who killed herself after being stood up by her fiancee...

Peter Vaughn: Bill...

Bill: Yes, sir?

Peter Vaughn: You're babbling.

~Bill looks confused for a moment, then shakes off the insult as a dog would after a bath.~

Bill: Oh, sorry, sir, but the history of this location is truly impressive! You know how many spirits must be walking around a place like this??

Peter Vaughn: That'd be zero, Bill. Zero. Ghosts don't exist.

Bill: What? You don't believe that, do you, Mr. Vaughn? Paranormal events have happened the world over...

Peter Vaughn: And most, if not all, can quickly be explained away scientifically. A blur on the lens merits a "visual sighting". A speck of dirt is a "ghost orb". Noises in the walls? Probably rodents.

~Bill looks absolutely flabbergasted. He shakes his head vigorously, not believing his ears.~

Bill: But Mr. Vaughn, surely after your recent out-of-body experience, you have to believe in the existence of souls!

Peter Vaughn: Eh... it was more a trick of the virtual reality, more than anything. Maybe it reprogrammed me, but it didn't "transfer" my soul to another world...

Bill: This is unbelievable! I suppose next you'll tell me that UFOs are all made up, too!

Peter Vaughn: Oh, no, UFOs could definitely exist. In fact, probability states that we've probably been visited at least a few times.

Bill: You... you believe in aliens but not ghosts?

Peter Vaughn: Let's just say I don't rule out the existence of possible visitors the way I do spirits wrapped up in chains.

~For a few moments, Bill just sits there with his mouth open. Vaughn reaches over and pops him underneath the chin, closing his teeth together.~

Peter Vaughn: At any rate, why are you giving me all this historical spook nonsense? I thought this was more of an immediate problem?

Bill: Well, it's just... the location... anyway, what's happened is that over the last week and a half, we've had reports of multiple janitors working in this building... disappearing.

~Vaughn sits up, suddenly looking more interested than he was with the ghost stories.~

Peter Vaughn: How many?

Bill: Well, we thought it was four, but Smitty was found yesterday having drunk himself under a bar due to his emotions getting the better of him... so three currently.

Peter Vaughn: Huh. And I assume the police have been contacted?

Bill: Yes, they were asked to be covert by the staff here in the hotel. From what I hear, their search was pretty lackadaisical. It seems that the disappearance of a few janitors isn't seen as a major issue to them.

~Vaughn scowls, knowing all too well how people tend to overlook those in the custodial community. It's a bias he's come to expect, yet has never accepted from his fellow men.~

Peter Vaughn: So what's our intel say about the Maintenance Mafia? You know they've been known to take custodians hostage before. Are they back in business?

Bill: Not as far as I know, Mr. Vaughn. They were shut down pretty heavily after you, well, turned on them.

Peter Vaughn: I didn't turn on them! I was a double agent! I was working for the Coalition the whole time!

Bill: Of... of course, sir. I didn't mean to suggest anything different.

~The wrestler looks away, trying to forget what once happened during his time with the Coalition. He composes himself and stares back at Bill.~

Peter Vaughn: Well, we can't rule them out, or some other group trying to take advantage of the situation. Do you know where the janitors were last seen?

Bill: Ummm, some were seen in the janitorial lounge, while others were out on their duties. One last reported in from the sixth floor.

Peter Vaughn: Okay then. I'll head to the sixth floor and look around. You go to the janitorial lounge.

Bill: You... you want us to split up?

Peter Vaughn: Man up, Bill. Take a look around. This is one of the fanciest places in the city. The Queen of England once stayed here. Do you really feel at risk?

Bill: When you put it like that...

Peter Vaughn: Exactly. You've got my phone number. Call me if you find anything.

~Vaughn heads off to the elevators. Bill swallows deeply, then steels himself and moves towards the stairs downwards, which will take him to the lounge. The doors shut almost simultaneously, leaving the lobby empty... maybe.~

---

Let's talk a little Tact.

Larry Tact has been a thorn in my side in multiple feds over the last few months. His dirty tricks in PWV have kept me from getting back to the World Title like I deserve, and his Game Changers make movement in Level Up a lot more difficult. Now, Duncan Shepard & I did defeat the Game Changers in a tag-team match, with my landing an outside Plunge onto Tact to really seal the deal, but it still wasn't the satisfying victory I've been wanting over him.

Hell, let's be honest. It's not even about the victory for me anymore. No, I've wanted one thing extremely badly ever since Tact and I first faced off in PWV. I've wanted to rear back as far as possible and kick him squarely in the balls, returning the favor for what he did to me in that match. Sure, he tried to pretend it was an accident, but everyone knows better. Everyone except for the referee. I swear, they choose the least imaginative people for that job, don't they?

Now, as I said, I've fought Tact multiple times since then, in various feds, and yet I still haven't achieved my goal. I just seem to keep missing the target. And you know, at some point, the truth just has to be said.

It has to be a size problem, doesn't it?

And I'm not talking about my shoe size, which is a comfortable Size 10. Yes, I have large feet for a man my size, which helps me greatly in keeping my balance while running the ropes. No, I'm talking about the size of the target. When you look at it, it has to be one of two things.

Either Larry Tact is extremely good at using avoidance maneuvers... or he's got the 'advantage' of a small package in his arsenal.

But maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time, when the ref's back is turned, I'll be able to score the kick of a lifetime. Maybe Larry Tact will finally feel the agony that I've been wanting to return to him for so long.

Or maybe not. Maybe we're talking Mission Impossible. But it's still a mission I choose to accept, no matter what happens.

Larry Tact IS going to become Larry Tucked. Sooner or later, I'll get him.

---

~The camera comes up, showing the janitorial lounge. For such a fabulous hotel, this place looks extremely drab. You can tell they're not giving their custodians the respect they deserve. Bill peeks around the doorway, looking closely for anything supernatural, before finally stepping into the room. He begins to cautiously search around, nudging at a basket on the ground.~

Bill: Huh. Looks like they took the trash out. Good for them.

~Bill moves further into the room, checking on a nearby couch for any evidence. But again, the janitors have done a good job at keeping this meager place clean. Bill nods, straightening up, not noticing at first that the closet door behind him is slowly open. The door creaks at the last second, showing its age, causing Bill to jump and spin around. He stares at the closet, trying to remember if it was closed when he came in or not. Suddenly, there's a loud ringing... ~

Bill: Sweet Jesus!!!

~Bill holds a hand to his chest, looking down at the lounge phone in the center of the room. It's a more modern convenience than much of what's in this room, showing that the hotel cares about communication, if nothing else. Bill looks closer at the caller ID... and sees that the CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOTEL!!!! Well, actually, that's not exactly a surprise now, is it? Bill steps back, opting not to answer the phone, even though it's continued ringing. He steps away... as the closet door suddenly slams shut! Bill leaps in the air, then turns and runs for the open doorway, racing as if to beat it before it closes as well. He flies outside, as the phone keeps ringing away... ~

---

~The sound of the ringing sounds much further in the distance, as Peter Vaughn walks along the sixth floor hallway. He listens for a moment at a doorway, hearing someone finally pick up the phone. It's impossible to hear what they're saying, though, so Vaughn continues on, searching the floor for clues.~

Peter Vaughn: Hmmm... if I was looking to abduct a janitor from this floor, how would I do it? The elevators are too public... so the stairs?

~Following the evacuation signs, Vaughn quickly finds the stairway, opening the door. He's careful to keep it propped open as he glances inside, looking for any scuff marks or other signs of distress. Unfortunately, he sees nothing, and goes back into the hallway with a sigh.~

Peter Vaughn: I wonder if the police ever even searched these rooms? For all I know, the missing janitors are all tied up somewhere nearby. Somewhere... LIKE HERE!

~Vaughn slams his weight into a doorway, knocking it open... and exposing the ice machine inside, along with a snack machine. The prices on the snack machine are possibly the scariest thing Vaughn's seen so far. He shuts the door, turning back and continuing down a different hallway. This one has some unique carpeting, along with some interesting artwork~



Peter Vaughn: I suppose they could have gotten a window open and lowered someone down... nah, that's too absurd. I might as well speculate about alien abduction at this point... hah hah... hah... hmmm....

~As Vaughn considers this new theory, his attention gets diverted by a sight ahead of him: a lone janitorial cart, left out in the hallway next to a partially closed door. Vaughn comes closer, moving quietly, as he examines the tools hanging from the cart. He nods, liking the decisions this janitor made, before turning and listening at the doorway. There's a sound like a small squeak, possibly the sound of someone in trouble. Vaughn sets himself, ready to confront whatever's going on.~

Peter Vaughn: One... Two.... THREEE!!!

~Vaughn kicks at the door, knocking it open, and begins to run inside.~

Peter Vaughn: Prepare for a DAMN BEATTTTIIIIIINNnnnnnnnnggggggg....

~Surprisingly, Vaughn finds himself falling downwards, plummeting into what seems like an endless black void!!! He continues to fall, his arms waving wildly as he drops out of our sight. The camera focuses back on the doorway, which slowly... swings.... shut. We see the number on the door: 616. One of the unluckiest numbers in hotel rooms, thanks to the fact that it adds up... to 13. We cut away.~

---

Gotta hate those black holes, huh, Ned?

I know they've swallowed you up once or twice during your XWF career. You might be the most respected wrestler to last so long in the XWF with so little to show for it. It's clear that you have talent. You've been able to hang with some of the best of them. Robert "The Omega" Main. "Chronic" Chris Page. The Engineer. Bobby Bourbon. You've faced some of the toughest wrestlers that have ever come through the company.

And you've lost to all of them. Hey, that's persistence!

Honestly, Neddy, I'm at a bit of a loss to explain it. I'm not making fun when I say that you're immensely talented. You could easily be the biggest threat on your team, no doubt. How you're not fighting routinely for the top titles here is beyond me. But something's missing. Some key element has been lost, and I'm really not sure what it is. Could it be because of you playing up other roles, like you have recently? Could it be your temper getting the best of you in all of these situations, causing your plans to be thrown out the window? Could it just be bad luck?

If it's just luck, I think you need to visit a witch doctor and get the hoodoo fixed of you-you.

What's it going to take to turn around your career, Ned? I suppose you're making an attempt at it with this whole joining-up thing. I would've recommended CCPE, but that's just me. But here's the thing: if you think the way to rebuilding your career is going through us, then I'm afraid you've made another mistaken miscalculation. You see, I have some stronger partners this week than I did when I was forced to go against Flynn & NKWC with a lead weight tied to my leg.

I've got Bam Miller, a man who's never shied away from a bloody brawl. I've got Elijah Martin, a silver-tongued son of a bitch who proved his violent side with the beating he & Bam gave Cashe at Leap of Faith... until you decided to get involved, Ned. You actively put yourself in this situation, managing to draw me, the XWF Supercontinental Champion, into the mix.

Y'know, thinking it over, maybe it's not just about bad luck. Maybe it's just about stupid decisions.

Start thinking things through, Neddy. Your career depends on it.

---

~The picture comes up on Bill breathing heavily just outside of the hotel. Apparently he opted to get the hell out of there entirely. Once finally catching his breath, the man gets out his phone and speed-dials the man he has listed as "That Crazy New HC". The phone rings once... then clicks immediately to voicemail. We hear Peter Vaughn's voice.~

Peter Vaughn: You've reached the phone of a superstar. If you're worth a damn, leave a message. If not, hang the hell up.

~Bill shakes his head and hangs up... then thinks about what he just did, wincing. He dials Vaughn again, only for it to immediately go to voicemail again.~

Bill: I don't understand. If he's higher up, he ought to get a better signal, right? Plus he's got one of our special modals now...

~Bill thinks about it for a few more moments, considering his options. He looks to the door, considering going in after his new boss and trying to find him by himself. He shudders slightly, then makes up his mind. He dials a different number, listening to it ring. When a voice answers on the other hand, he speaks.~

Bill: Listen up! The Head Custodian has gone missing! I need all forces down at the Adolphus Hotel ASAP! We can't afford to lose another one so soon! Sound the alarm and get the troops lined up here, pronto!

~Bill hangs up, nodding to himself that it's the right decision. After all, the place is haunted, but there's always strength in numbers. He waits, watching the door with a little bit of anxiety in case it opens again. It does, causing Bill to jump back, but it's just a resident who walks out, looking at him strangely before continuing on her way. Bill tips his head to her out of respect, as the camera turns upwards, focusing on the sixth floor and zooming in on a darkened window.~

---

~As the darkness continues, we see Peter Vaughn still in mid-air, still falling. He looks extremely bored at this point, staring at his wristwatch to see how much time has passed.~

Peter Vaughn: You'd think there'd be an ending eventually...

~He looks down, but there's still nothing there. He shrugs, continuing his drop through the void. With nothing better to do, he starts to speculate about what's happening.~

Peter Vaughn: So, a paranormal event? Seems pretty farfetched. Nobody's ever mentioned an experience like this before. I can't see the Maintenance Mafia pulling off something like this, either... unless... maybe they managed to slip a Virtual Reality helmet onto me as I entered the room? That would make the most sense, that this is all an illusion. But then, I should have some control, right?

~Vaughn waves his hand back and forth, but nothing changes.~

Peter Vaughn: I guess it depends on if it's my usual system, though. Man, this is strange. Maybe if I just think long and hard enough about an actual floor below me?

~Vaughn concentrates with all his might, squeezing his eyes tightly together. After some time, he opens them again... and there's nothing. He's still falling.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn it. Okay, well, what games do I have on my phone again? Oooo, I think I've got Sudoku...

~Vaughn pulls out his phone and begins to play, focusing on getting the right numbers in the right brackets. He's so focused that Vaughn doesn't immediately notice that something has FINALLY appeared below him, a foggy landscape that is getting closer and closer.~

Peter Vaughn: So if I put the nine here, then it would lock down the five here... and that would mean OH CRAP!!

~He had finally looked down again with a glance, doing a double-take as the land is extremely close now. He spreads out his arms as if trying to fly away... and strangely, this seems to work, as he gets slower and slower, finally coming to a gentle landing on the strange turf. He looks at his hands, smirking to himself.~

Peter Vaughn: No way that should have worked. Yeah, obviously, this is VR. Okay then, just got to find the mission parameters and get out of... here...

~Sensing something approaching, Vaughn turns around. We see a figure stepping out of the fog... a darkly cloaked being, seemingly floating along the ground. We can't see a face underneath the robes, but there's clearly something there, as a voice begins to speak.~

Cloaked Specter: Welcome, Peter Vaughn. You have travelled far to reach us here... here in the land of the dead. Come with me, and I will bring you to your eternal resting...

Peter Vaughn: Nope.

Cloaked Specter: ... place... what?

~Vaughn immediately lashes out, striking the cloaked phantom in the side of the head. The specter falls to the side, stunned by the sudden attack. Vaughn grabs the being by the cloaked head and drops with the Keyholder, leaving it laying out on the ground. Strangely, the figure seems to merge into the ground. Vaughn doesn't care. He gets up, dusting himself off.~

Peter Vaughn: Like I said before... I don't believe in ghosts. Time to get the hell out of here.

~Vaughn turns and starts walking away, heading in the general direction from where he saw the cloaked figure come from. If he has a game plan, it's unknown at this time. He disappears into the fog, leaving behind the downed specter.~

---

You know it'll take more than death to stop the CCPE from winning on Wednesday.

I can already hear the critics hiding in the Twitter-verse: "But Peter, the CCPE isn't a stable, which means that you guys won't be any better at working together than the team you're facing!"

I can see your logic, I really can. But you're wrong. Extremely wrong. So wrong that I could eat a bowl of Alpha-Bits Cereal and crap out a smarter statement than that.

You see, it's not about us being a stable. It's about the fact that only the best wrestlers come to the CCPE. So while we may not be a 'team' in the conventional sense, we're still going to be a force to be reckoned with. After all, how often have a random group of superstars been put together and proven to be successful? It's the same theory, only stepped up to 11.

Besides which, while I haven't done much with Elijah, I've worked plenty of matches with Bam. He was a member of the Exiles, after all. We're going to make a damn good team in there, and with Elijah involved, it's hard to see us getting taken down by just anyone. IT's going to take the combined force of three of the best wrestlers in the world to compete against us... and let's face it, while each of you has done a little in the business, none of you would be generally called one of the best in the company, much less the world.

Okay, maybe that's being a little unfair. None of you suck, I don't mean for it to sound that way. You're not bad. You're just... not great.

When it all comes down to it, Chronic Chris Page is going to get to watch his wrestlers come out victorious on Wednesday, putting down a threat with minimal effort and maximum efficiency. And then I'll sit back and see who earns that opportunity to take me on for the Supercontinental Title... and if it's not Bobby Bourbon, I'm going to be remarkably surprised.

Bring all you've got, boys. You'll need every bit of intestinal fortitude to make it through Wednesday.

Also, Larry? You might want to wear a cup. Just telling you now. See you soon.