Hands running through hair…

Weaving across his scalp… Fingers twisting… Face red…

Flynn… Sitting on a wooden chair…

Furious…

”Peter…”

“Just… Just want to check with you really quick. Are you sure you want to compete this coming Wednesday? Are you sure you don’t want to try calling in sick? Maybe surrendering those belts and taking some time off?”

“Because you don’t seem well. You're not all there...”

“You see Pete, I don’t know if you’re keeping up with my career very well… Actually, I sincerely doubt it, since you’re only talking point seems to be calling me a has-been when I’m riding my biggest winning streak of my entire wrestling career.”

“I hadn’t held a title for more than one successful defense before winning the X-Treme Title at Leap of Faith. Now? I’ve held this belt after taking on five different opponents with the title on the line… The latest of which was the ‘undefeated in Singles competition’ Eli James… Y’know. The guy I beat last week.”

“Just to clarify since I’m not particularly confident in your abilities in first grade math either, I’ll also let you know, That’s five fingers, Petey.”

Mark extends his index, middle, ring, pinkie and thumb fingers… sequentially, one after the other…

“Which is, in total, five more opponents than you and Dimmy have fielded title challenges from.”

Flynn then retracts his fingers back into a fist…

“That can't be right though, Petey. After all, you've apparently been seeking out Honorable tag title defenses, huh? That’s your goal? How strange... Your recent bookings would dictate otherwise.”

“You seem to be mostly focused on your singles career. Maintaining your reputation as a fierce one-on-one combatant… Losing matches against a rusty Unknown Soldier and CLEAN FUCKING LUCENA…”

“… To return to my point. I don’t think you know how I operate, you’re not keeping good track of how your number one contender's modus operandi…”

“But, the way I work is I study my opponent thoroughly… I take note of every failure they’ve ever made... Every occurrence where their words don’t match their actions… And I tear those delusions they’ve crafted from cobwebs and self-deceit into cinders and ash… With the truth…”

“Most recently, I’ve taken to playing direct quotes from my opponent’s promos to specify exact moments where my adversary was the most full-of-fucking-shit…”

“I bring this up, Petey… Because you’ve given me something of a challenge this week… An even bigger challenge than trading verbal barbs with Eli James…”

“How the fuck am I supposed to quote particular moments of mental failure in that abortion of a promo you dropped…”

“WHEN THE WHOLE FUCKING THING IS A GOD DAMNED ODE TO STUPIDITY?!? WHEN END-TO-END YOUR PROMO IS SCIENTIFIC PROOF THAT A MOUTH CAN MOVE ON ITS OWN FOR HOURS WITHOUT FOR A MOMENT BEING CONNECTED TO FUCKING BRAIN ACTIVITY??!?”

Flynn shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief.

“I mean, even for you Gilly. I was expecting the weekly session of ceaseless, senseless bullshit. You’re usually a cesspool of random idiocy and illogical disconnected violence, like a sugar-addled eight year old that thinks cursing is the coolest thing in the world.”

“But, this week? You’ve lost what little shit you had in the first place.”

“Oh Petey… Look at you. Look at the glorious behavior of the honorable XWF Tag Team champion.”

“You’re threatening to assault an eight year old boy? Correction, you’re challenging an eight year old boy to a death match in a steel cage?”

“You’re yelling about some parasite company that hasn’t darkened our doorsteps for years… Cursing Slater, Page, Tax… people that haven’t been in the XWF for over 20 months…”

“You decided to approach me backstage, shoved a dildo down my throat and then mounted me in a sort of cradling, perhaps even spooning position… At first I thought it was a pin attempt… But you forgot to bring a fucking referee, Pete. What the Hell else am I supposed to think?”

“I mean, I knew you came out about taking it from Frodo, but sheesh, Pete. Doesn’t mean the rest of us are down for your sick sex shit.”

“You had your belt stolen by Tommy Gunn, so you replaced by taking on old belt that says ‘ECW’ across the front, whatever that means… And then, it looks like… I’ll admit, I’m just speculating… But, it looks like you wrote all over the belt in red Crayola crayon…”

Quote: You think Dim will be my downfall? Ha

“I agree, Pete. Dim won’t be your downfall. Your illogical streaming paranoia. Your inability to differentiate the real world from this terrifyingly deep fantasy you seem to have crafted… That’s where you’re going to fail…”

“Poor… stupid… Peter Gilmour…”

“You’re losing your mind. You’re swinging at darkness, desperately trying to fight off things that aren’t even there…”

“WGWF? The company you were ALSO a joke in?”

“The company that they gave you the world title in… for five minutes? So the crowd would reel in horror. Mock terror. That Peter Gilmour might actually walk out the world champion of even the most backwoods wrestling company?”

“Then less than 300 seconds later. Gone. A mistake history made immediately erased.”

“Just like I could have erased the mistake of your tag title reign two weeks in… If you’d had the testicular fortitude to actually put your belts on the line.”

“Oh, sorry. Apparently, you WANTED to defend these titles SO BAD. That’s what you’re fucking claiming, right? That’s another self-deluding lie to add onto the pile of refuse that you’re streaming from your stupid fucking throat.”

Quote:You know we've held these belts for almost two months now. And as much as we wanted to defend them with honor,

“You punk bitch, I cashed in my fucking title shot TWO WEEKS INTO YOUR REIGN. IT’S BEEN FUCKING FIVE WEEKS. YOU DODGED A FUCKING MATCH WITH ME AND JOHN BLACK FOR FIVE FUCKING WEEKS.”

“CAN YOU EVEN FUCKING FATHOM HOW FULL OF SHIT YOU ARE?!?!?! THAT YOU WANTED TO DEFEND YOUR BELTS THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME?!?! THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE FUCKING SAYING?!?!”

Flynn stares... Then his eyebrows contort inwards... Looking concerned.

"..."

“Sorry, Pete. You might not have the memory span of a tuna fish so I might be going over your head, telling you things that happened A MONTH AGO.”

“Let’s start from the top.”

“I earned my first X-Treme Title shot FIVE WEEKS AGO.”

“I cashed in my belts for the Tag Titles you and Dimmy are holding.”

“To which you immediately replied that you had already signed up for the next THREE WARFARES.. YOU STALLED FOR THREE FUCKING WEEKS TO GET OUT OF DEFENDING THOSE BELTS…THEN TWO MORE AFTER THAT...”

“By the by, Pete, you didn’t actually book those matches, or specify that they were singles matches…”

“If you wanted to defend those belts… Honorably?”

“Like a man?”

“You could have done what I did when Mastermind asked me for a title shot.”

“Said yes.”

“Knocked on any of the three office doors of the Warfare General managers. Gio? Arch? Ms Tigris? And told them to make it happen.”

“Instead you put your tail between your fucking legs and hid behind Johnny Madison.”

“From there, Johnny tried to give the team of Mark Flynn & John Black a chance.”

“If John could win a match against Johnny Madison… If JOHN… BLACK. Could win a match against THE LONGEST REIGNING KING OF THE XWF OF ALL-TIME JOHN MADISON…”

“Then, I’d get to cash in my title shot.”

“To re-iterate. THE TITLE SHOT I ALREADY EARNED I HAD TO RE-EARN.”

“And in return, I would put up TWO… Count them, TWO, X-Treme Title shots on the line. If Madison beat Black.”

“I agreed.”

“…”

“You didn’t.”

"You instead decided to keep shit talking with Tommy Gunn and accept his offer for a steel cage match."

"Which you later claimed never happened..."

"...You couldn't accept a challenge from John Black..."

"You Couldn't Gamble a SHOT for your titles... On John Black losing... AGAINST JOHN... MADISON..."

“YOU COULDN”T FIND THE FUCKING INTESTINAL FORTITUDE TO BET ON JOHN MADISON BEATING JOHN BLACK…WITH TWO FUCKING FREE ANY-USE TITLE SHOTS ON THE LINE, YOU STILL MANAGED TO BITCH OUT ON BETTING AGAINST JOHN BLACK WINNING A MATCH AGAINST ANYONE, LET ALONE JOHN FUCKING MADISON.”

“You still want to claim you’re going into this match brave, Pete? That you’re going into this fight the honorable fighting champion? Still want to claim I’m the one bitching and moaning when you can’t even fucking pony up the right to TAKE YOU AND DIM ON WITH THE BELTS ON THE LINE?!?”

“… Pete.”

“I want you to listen to me…Very carefully.”

“You don’t need to worry about Mr. WGWF…”

"His secret identity. Irrelevant."

“If he’s Chronic Chris Page… Joseph Page… Tax… Kyle Shane… James Raven… Tomoko Hanahara… Your arch enemy, Tommy Gunn’s eight year old nephew…It really doesn’t matter.”

“At all.”

“It doesn’t matter who you think is coming after you…”

“What matters is who you KNOW... who you can count on coming after you…”

“Mark Flynn.”

“Mark Fucking Flynn.”

“The guy who takes your punk ass out every time you try to bitch and moan your way up the ladder.”

“Want to deny that, Petey? Unlike you, I have evidence to back up my facts.”

“Leading into Gauntlet City 2013… You wanted a shot at the US Title, you wanted in on the Duke-Flynn match where Warfare’s Biggest Title was on the line…”

“I fielded your challenge. I didn’t ask you to wait three weeks.”

“I didn’t beg or plead anyone to hold off.”

“NO ONE HAD TO BEAT ANYONE ELSE FOR YOU TO GET A MATCH WITH MARK FUCKING FLYNN.”

“My door was, is and forever shall be, always open.”

“I took you on one-on-one. Two weeks before the Pay-Per-View. If you won, the US title match would have…”

“Heh…”

“Well, the end of that story doesn’t matter does it, Petey?”

“Because you didn’t win.”

“Because I beat you. Pinned you clean in the center of the ring.”

“I caved in your fucking skull with a steel folding chair, I beat your fucking head in until I could have stuck a god-damned tangerine in the dent I made in your temple…”

“I took away your chance at the belt around my waist.”

“Just a coincidence, Petey?”

“January 14th. 2013. Monday Night Madness.”

“Mark Flynn & Sid Feder vs Peter Gilmour & Tomoko Hanahara.”

“Tag Team Championships on the line.”

“MY Tag Team Championships on the line.”

“Tomoko didn’t show up and let’s face it, Sid was about as around back then as he is now… So it was you and me. One on one.”

“Once again, you stepped up and demanded a belt from around my waist…”

“And I agreed immediately. Hit up the asshole that was putting Madness together at the time. Had it scheduled within the week.”

“4 and a half minutes later, your Neanderthal knuckles were clawing, beating into the mat, begging me to release my figure four leglock.”

“You tapped out, Pete… Once again, you bitch and beg and plead for a chance to prove yourself.”

“And you come up short.”

“Twice we’ve met in the ring with a belt on the line. Twice it’s been MY belt that YOU were going for.”

“This time, it’s time number 3. And a few things are different.”

“It’s me going after your belt.”

“And instead of the challenge being acknowledged, answered and scheduled into a match immediately…”

“When I lobbed that challenge initially, I was the 20th longest reigning XWF champion of all-time.”

“Now, I’m in the top 5…”

"..."

"...Pete...You know what happens when a predator is left waiting for prey... When a field mouse crawls into a tree... Do you think the anaconda chasing him gives up... Wears himself out trying to get the mouse..."

'No, Pete."

"He waits. And he get hungrier..."

"His every action becomes devoted to devouring that foolish, insignificant field mouse..."

"...I'm starving, Pete."

"I just wanted to chew through you and move on..."

"Now, I'm hungry. I've been chewing my way through real meals... Jessica Diaz... Eli James..."

"And now, I've circled back around... Better... More focused..."

"More hungry than ever..."

"... Keep scurrying, Pete."

"Keep wasting your breath... Keep your heart rate up so you're not thinking..."

"Keep mincing words, trying to deduce my partner's identity... Keep spewing nonsense about Tommy Gunn and his nephew..."

"Keep tiring yourself out... So it's less effort on my part... To beat your skull into an hourglass shape..."

"Keep panicking against these enemies of yours that don't exist."

"Because the one that does, Pete? Mark Flynn? Isn't thinking about anything but putting a boot on the inside of your knee and snapping your foor upwards so your leg bends the wrong way... Is ready for two. Is ready to throw away Dim like the excess browning rind around a sweet orange... Is ready... to take you out..."

"...Still want to pretend you're eager to take me on?"

‘You stalled FIVE FUCKING WEEKS… To get out of defending that belt around your waist…”

“Because when it comes down to it, Petey. Even in you’re delusional, self-deifying brain… You know that when Mark Flynn is in the corner opposite yours…”

“You’re not a champion."

"You're a fucking meal."