A miserable day, a desolate motorway in a bleak part part of the world that is seldom visited and judging by the surroundings it’s for good reason. I have heard of a cold opening but judging by this location, this is taking it to a whole new level. A legend pops up to explain where we are…

North-East Russia. 14th May 2019.

A lone figure is sporting a huge over-sized parka jacket and is huddled deep into it as he tentatively holds his phone in order to check out Google maps which is showing very little for miles around. His other arm is stretched out in the hopes of hailing a vehicle down for when one appears… if one appears. As the map struggles to search out his location, the figure curses at his phone and looks around. A fog emits from his mouth which is framed by a thick muzzle of a beard as he looks out in the bleak tundra and wonders how he’s going to get out of this situation and more importantly, how did he get here in the first place. With that, the scene fades from the bleak, grey vista we opened with into a garish, neon vomit full of sounds as we pan across the setting that is now accompanied by another legend.

Las Vegas Strip. 7th April 2019.

The camera pans across the club scene as revellers bathe in the strobe lights, pumping their fists in time with awful techno music while dropping tabs, sniffing their keys and purchasing predominantly water from the bar. One figure is hunched over at the bar not opting for those options, one figure has a glass in one hand, a half empty bottle of whiskey which is constantly topping the glass up and a distant look in his eyes which shows that he wants to be anywhere other than here. The thoughts in his head are drowning out the music, the chatter of the mere mortals and the shrieks of the party girls hungry for a good time (read: cock). This was the life of this man… Danny Tenegra. Club promoter, party boy and consummate bachelor since the one that got away. A long time ago in a galaxy far away he may have been known as three simple letters but right now… he was one simple man drinking his retirement fund away. He had a look that he wanted to be anywhere other than here but this was his club and they paid him handsomely for photo opportunities with a great man. Fans would pay good money to be called a peon, a peasant or a pissant or be told that they were… well you know. A shadow crosses the face of the disgruntled veteran as a blonde pulled up a chair beside him. On any other night, this would lead to shenanigans of the adult variety. But this wasn’t his standard blonde, this wasn’t his standard company and this sure as shit wasn’t to be expected.

?: “You do realise that the tired nightclub promoter isn’t a good look for you?”

Danny looks up from his drink to look at the company and his eyebrows raise in surprise to see that the man sat beside him is his greatest rival, his oldest rival and the only man he can honestly say he has respected in this industry. A man known by three letters himself on many occasions and who will no doubt be known as those words once again. A man who has been through so much with the man at the bar and is still here in the presence of his fiercest rival, his most venomous foe and his greatest ally. He wouldn’t be here without good reason. He wouldn’t be here without a need as a social visit would not be his style. Danny returns his gaze to his whiskey as he gestures to the barmaid to change his ice.

Page: “So alcoholism and misery. It seems like a winning combination. All pointing towards another wrestling statistic…”

He doesn’t even look up from his glass as the barmaid gives him a fresh glass with a fresh, cold whiskey stone in it and it is only then that Danny offers a smile and a wink to the petite brunette.

Page: “Is that tonight’s dessert? I’ve been reading the tales of your exploits. Making that skinny legged bitch Bilzerian look like a nun.”

But still Danny looks down at his glass with determination to not be distracted from his thoughts. Page looks around and sighs as he struggles to drag a response out of his rival.

Page: “Jesus, you’ve never struck me as being short of a few words. I guess you’re finally letting me get the last word in. Conceding that I’m the better man at long last. I guess I’ll say good night then.”

Chris slides off of the bar-stool and turns to walk away and the glass whistles past his ear and strikes one of the party girls and knocks her clean out. Her friends scream as she is tended to and CCP stands there with his back still towards Danny but a wry grin on his face as his rival was now stood up and glaring at Page. Four words exit his mouth as Page slowly turns back to his foe.

Danny: “I didn’t want this.”

Page: “Have you got somewhere a little more quiet we can talk?”

Danny: “You won’t believe how many times I hear that in a week.”

Page: “Oh really? And what happens next?”

Danny: “It involves sweat and tears.”

Page: “Blood?”

Danny: “Only at the wrong times of the month…”

Page smiles as Danny leads Page towards the back of the club and both step over the unconscious party-girl. Danny leans into one of the security team and gestures to the girl.

Danny: “Give them a bottle of bubbly as an apology… Not the good stuff, the Guatamala’s finest…”

--

In this room, the music is a dull thud reverberating through the wall as Danny sits behind his desk and gestures for Page to sit down.

Danny: “Come on then… let’s get this out of the way.”

Page: “What?”

Danny: “Let me break it down. You are going to pitch an event where you need me, I’m going to say no, you’re going to try and sell it to me, I’ll continue to decline and then you will question my heart. I’ll pause, think about your words, have some impassioned monologue about my passion and then agree to it so tell me in one sentence why I should sign up for whatever bullshit brawl you have planned…”

Page: “You can eat the shit out of James Raven.”

Danny: “Sold… Wait a minute…”

Danny turns to the camera. Taps the lens to the viewer and whispers in to break the fourth wall.

Danny: “You can change it now in a moment of great symbolism…”

He clears his throat before eyeing his title before speaking.

M.D.K.: “That’s better.”

He turns back to a beaming Page.

M.D.K.: “When?”

Page: “About a month from now…”

M.D.K.: “Where?”

Page: “Russia…”

M.D.K.: “Why?”

Page: “Reasons…”

M.D.K.: “Company?”

Page: “XWF.”

M.D.K.: “Are you fucking serious?”

Page: “Deadly…”

M.D.K.: “There’s a first time for everything I guess…”

Page: “I have a jet planned for the event if you want to join me and the rest of the guys involved…”

M.D.K.: “Who else?”

Page: “Fuzz. Rage.”

M.D.K.: “Sounds like to cats fighting. Fine, who are we up against.”

Page: “Raven, Drew Archyle, Robert Main and Centurion.”

M.D.K.’s eyes narrow.

Page: “You know them?”

M.D.K.: “That last one… the name rings a bell. I can’t remember why though.”

Page: “Pissed him off in the past?”

M.D.K.: “More than likely…”

Page: “So are you in on this flight?”

M.D.K.: “I’ll make my own way there. If it’s in Russia, I have business to attend to. I’ll see you there in a couple of weeks.”

Page: “I haven’t even negotiated your fee or why you’re doing this for me…”

M.D.K.: “You don’t have to.”

Page looks confused but M.D.K. answers his question before he even has a chance to ask it.

M.D.K.: “If something is this big, and this challenging and you are so determined to win that you would come here cap in hand and approach me, it must be fucking big.”

Page: “The biggest…”

M.D.K.: “And if you are ballsy enough to track me down and ask me… then what kind of bitch would I be if I were to send you home with your tail between your legs?”

Page: “Again… the biggest…”

M.D.K.: “Then you already know my answer. I’m in. And besides, a chance to once again rearrange the facial features of James Raven? Who am I to say no to such an opportunity?”

Page smiles and extends his hand as he stands up. M.D.K. joins him on his feet and the pair share a handshake so manly that it makes the one from Predator look like Downton Abbey.

--

Las Vegas. 10th May 2019.

Thumping techno music: check. Copious amounts of water being drunk: check. Fists pumping into the air: check. We aren’t on the strip this time though, we are in the gym where the man we saw earlier has stopped being the one simple man, and is instead on a determined to go back to being the three simple letters that equated to One Violent Man once again. It wasn’t as though he had let himself go to an extent that he was out of shape but he certainly wasn’t in the condition to put up a genuine fight against men that still do this week in and week out. As he pounds the heavy bag, he has a large monitor in the corner of the training room playing various videos of his upcoming adversaries from promos to matches. He’s watched them spill venom at those less fortunate, he’s watched them cause physical harm with glee and he’s witnessed how devastating they can be as a collective while M.D.K. is preparing to run into battle with a man who he’s faced more as an adversary rather than an ally and then two guys of which he has no idea about to be fair.

He continues to unleash venom and as another James Raven promo appears on the screen, the punches have more pepper, the knee strikes and going deeper and the look in M.D.K.’s eye gets intent and he finishes with a few elbows that splits the heavy bag open and sand pours out across the ground as an man in his fifties stands with the sand coating his feet and a stoic look on his face. He speaks with a heavy eastern European accent and has a gruff demeanour. He is Davor Naunshek and runs the gym.

Davor: “Another heavy bag… Another invoice for you!”

M.D.K.: “I’m sorry, I look forward to another profanity laden bill from you.”

Davor: “Do you think I am made of fucking heavy bags? My wife may look like one, but I don’t have them come out of my arse!”

M.D.K.: “Again… I’m sorry…”

Davor: “I haven’t seen you in here for months and suddenly you are back and breaking things! What do I owe such shit-housery?”

M.D.K.: “I have a match…”

Davor: “On the Tinder? And you have to fight her? Is she built like my wife?”

M.D.K.: “A wrestling match…”

Davor: “But you gave that up! You are now like all Persian men and drink whiskey and run night clubs.”

M.D.K.: “Fair… if a little racist… But this isn’t a comeback.”

Davor smiles and nods… M.D.K. narrows his eyes.

M.D.K.: “It’s not!”

Davor: “You say that now but a week after you will want another go and another and soon enough you be picking thumb tacks from your elbows once a week…”

M.D.K.: “No… this time it’s different. I know my time has passed but there is something drawing me to this match.”

Davor: “What could be so important to drag you from your bar stool.”

M.D.K.: “Another chance to make James Raven my bitch…”

Davor: “I will bulk order the heavy bags…”

M.D.K.: “I wouldn’t bother… I have to fly out tonight to Russia…”

Davor: “The mother land? Is that where you fight?”

M.D.K.: “Indeed, I’m getting there early as I need to put some ghosts to rest…”

Davor: “Sounds ominous…”

M.D.K.: “Is ominous…”

Davor: “So tell me… is it worth it?”

M.D.K.: “What?”

Davor: “Your mighty comeback… At the cost of facing this demons…”

M.D.K.: “I seldom do anything that doesn’t benefit me… and don’t call it a comeback…”

He kicks his boot into the sand at Davor’s feet and smirks before grabbing his towel and leaving the work-out room. We are then treated to a set of stock images of aeroplanes taking off and landing to let you know that our subject is travelling until we reach a familiar looking bleak area. Like our opening, the colour has been drained from this place. Finally the legend appears at the bottom of the screen.

Siberia. North-East Russia. 14th May 2019.

May is unseasonably mild for Siberia. It’s still cold but in terms of what people expect, it’s a damn sight better than what you normally expect to see. The sun is shining, the wind is blowing the trees gently and there is the hum of an old diesel engine labouring as it emerges on the horizon of our vista. An old taxi lumbers its way along the pathway and pulls up at the end of the road or what’s left of it and comes to a spluttering, stuttering stop. A pair of boots kick up the dirt as they step out of the passenger side of the car and the three simple letters stretches out his legs before standing up and turning back to the driver to whom he tosses a handful of notes. He does that classic British technique of speaking a foreign language when you can’t speak that language… He just says everything louder and slower with a few hand gestures thrown in for good measure.

M.D.K.: “Just wait here! I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

He walks away from the cab and towards the big iron gates that have been the forefront of the Extreme Tournaments in recent years. He had spent more time in this facility than he cares to remember but the memories he can’t block out are filled with echoes of a violent time, a brutal time… a fun time…He rests his hands on the rusting iron gates and smiles as he fondly remembers the brutality that he delivered in this facility, the blood and tears that were shed, the limits that he pushed his body to and finally, the lines that he crossed to get what he wanted and not just here but across the world when he has pushed the boundaries of taste and decency in order to get a step ahead of the competition. He’s back in Russia… how far will he go to step up his game in the former Eastern Bloc powerhouse?

He pushes the gates open and his face lights up with anticipation but then as it opens, his face falls as he’s greeted with the rubble of the remnants of the facility. The world has moved on from when he was last here and all that’s left is rubble. He looks crestfallen as he kicks through the dust before looking around and comes back to the gates. He looks at the road and his face falls… The taxi has gone leaving him alone in the cold, grey tundra. He kicks the ground in fury before walking down the road and looking at the camera as he does.

M.D.K.: “Not the ideal start to my trip to Russia but let me start by giving you all a formal introduction and by saying to you all, peons, peasants and piss-ants… you’re welcome.”

“Now you might wonder why you are welcome, you might be wondering who I am and why I am talking to you all ahead of stepping into your ring and beating down your idols but this…”

He opens his jacket briefly to reveal an M.D.K. t-shirt before covering up from the elements and continues.

M.D.K.: “I come from the place that you call the dark side. I have been the kid from the other side of the tracks for a long time and it has taken all of the years to drag me across to come and play and look at that… one match, one main event. What does that say about each and every one of you who have clawed and scrabbled to have so much as a sniff of this main event scene and just the very mention of my name has been taking centre stage because… let’s be honest, where else would you put someone like me?”

“It says a lot about me to be in the Main Event but what does it say about the stars of this company who can bust their asses week in and week out only to have their spot they have had one eye on for many years be taken by this old upstart. Before I’ve properly landed a hand on anybody, I have left each and every one of you butt-hurt but before you take your ire out on me, why don’t each of you take a long, hard look in the mirror and ask yourself why it’s me here and not you. Or ask yourself why you have to face me and why are you so bent out of shape about it if I’ve never crossed your paths before…”

“Well that applies to most of you but let’s be honest, there is one of you that has experienced what I can do and you will no doubt have seen what I do to him each and every time he dares to cross my path. James Raven is that little birdy and every time that little birdy steps up to me, I pluck, stuff and roast that little birdy and he knows it damn well. Every since he stepped up and faced me in the WGWF, he knew damn well how out of his depth he was against a force of nature such as me and before you mock me, overlook me or underestimate me; I suggest you speak to Jimmy about what I do to fuck-knuckles like you each and every day.”

“So I will step into ring with Rage, Fuzz and my greatest foe and most trusted ally for War Games for a skirmish with Inky, Winky, Blinky and Clyde and you had better hope and pray to whatever deity you believe in that I will be a merciful god to you. Chris didn’t pick me to raise the international feel with the help of a Brit, he didn’t do it to keep the character count down on the TitanTron and he sure as shit didn’t do it to bring eye candy into the group. What Page has done is punish each and every one of you by opening up a Pandora’s Box of hatred and vitriol. He has brought raw, unsanctioned brutality to the table and let me tell you something now Jimmy, you and your triad of wank-puffins will be fortunate enough to have a front row seat to witness a true icon of this industry tear you limb from fucking limb.”

He comes to a stop, cockily smirks and slips his hands into his pocket before continuing.

M.D.K.: “So it doesn’t matter whether I’ve crushed you half a dozen times or this is the first time I have ever met you, the result will be the same,… you step up to my associated and I will humiliate you, brutalise you and render each and every one of you truly… and utterly… INFERIOR!”

He breathes heavily as he continues to march down the road as a vehicle approached in the background…