The setting appears, at first to be, the normal setting. A red haze with a fire crackling in the far side of the room. The shadows dancing along the walls forming a small army of flickers from the flames.
Where the desk would be is a long hall with a red carpet. The carpet stretches for miles down the hall leading to several steps leading to a throne at the top. Atop the throne sits our doctor. Our King. Doctor Louis D'Ville.
He sits comfortably atop his throne, puffing at a large cigar and drinking from a large goblet of the finest mead. One thing is missing however... Something that defines one of such monarchy. Defines someone to royalty. Defines them to sovereignty.
His crown.
"Hello, my friends."
"Here I sit. Upon my throne as your King of the Ring, or perhaps, your King of the XWF. Yet, my peers do not seem to be quite sold on the fact. Why is that, do you suppose? Could it be that someone hasn't came to terms with the fact? Could it be that someone clings to this gift that he's been presented so long ago? Perhaps."
"Mister Gilmour. You've obviously already have your hands full this week during your little title defense with your 'Love Triangle'. Why bother with the Doctor? Why cling so tightly on something as 'fake' as that crown you were given. Key word there, 'given'. Yes, I know the truth, my friend. You never won a match to win that crown you wear so proudly upon your empty head. I admit, it would go just dandy with that Trios Title you wear, also being another prize you have without doing anything. As I said previously, I believe Mister Loverboy just has troubles making friends around here, as you do, and chose you because of the fact. You two could work well together. Unfortunately, this week you and your team put your new titles up against the true former Kings of the XWF. True Kings, Mister Gilmour. Something you fail to even come close to. Everything you represent right now is a joke. The crown, the third of the Trios Title you possess, and your ridiculous reputation."
"I know, and I'm sure, the rest of this glorious federation knows that you're up to something this week Mister Gilmour. I know you have something up your sleeve. Whether it's desecrating that crown, which I don't think you can do anymore after wearing it, or attempting to have an adverse effect on my session with Mister Lesnar. There really isn't a whole lot you can do to me Peter. You threaten me with this waiting game mentioning you have a special message for me during this 'coronation' the officals of the XWF has set up. It's nice of them to allow you to say goodbye to the crown, I feel you deserve less than that. Mister Madison was right. You had a responsibility when he deemed you the King of the XWF, did you fulfill it? Of course not. You skipped over the tournament. Whether it be cowardess or, most likely, lack of intelligence, you skipped it, my friend. Your one chance to prove to all of us that you deserve and have deserved all this time to be called the King. It's a shame. Don't tell me that Mister Loverboy handing you a Trios Title took up that much time that you couldn't participate in a one night tournament, and did you see what you would've been up against? Goodness, the first round was basically a wash for all of us that advanced. Surely you would've had the same treatment as we did. No matter though. Failure is what you would've met in the end. Failure is what you're used to. Failure is what you will see at Warfare. Not only will you hand your crown over to me. Not only will you bow to your new King, but you will also lose that precious piece of gold around your waist. Then you will be left with nothing. Your current accolades will be as empty as that emptiness atop of your very shoulders. You're beginning to falter in your ways Mister Gilmour. You may as well take a few months off, return as the current number one contender for the Universal Title, and attempt to win it. Perhaps there will be a new title by then and someone will feel sorry for you and let you carry it around for awhile. That scenerio reminds me of someone else, as well. Hmm. Ah yes, Brock Lesnar."
"Mister Lesnar. I noticed you've made it to England, my friend. Excellent."
"I'm sure you're a very, very strong person as you say, my friend. I'm sure you've overcome great obstacles to become what you've become. A beast, is it?"
"Allow me to make myself clear, Mister Lesnar. If you wish to address my 'schooling' as a fault, while you wrestled in college and kept your grades up in order to compete... Friend... My days in schooling seem like centuries prior to this encounter. And let me please clarify, I'm a psychiatrist. There is no emergency room, you twit. You've claimed you don't need anyone to do the talking for you, but perhaps you do. Where is this 'Paul Heyman' when you need him? You obviously cannot carry one thought a couple feet let alone the miles you must run everyday to keep at your physical peak. Over and over again you claim how you overcame the odds while you suffered your stomach issues. Give it a rest, Mister Lesnar. Diverticulitis or not."
"I'll admit I can let a few things go. You're not very observant though, are you? 'A young buck Doctor' like myself? Honestly? Have you even looked at me since our session was scheduled? Do you even know who you're fighting? Surely your beautiful, middle-aged sweet heart isn't as naive as you are, friend. Surely she knows what you're up against. You compare me to former opponents you've disposed of in the WWE... I believe you told her.. A mix of the Undertaker and Mankind... with the body of Shawn Michaels..."
The Doctor raises his old, wrinkly hands up to his face.
"I could be wrong, but I do believe I have a few years on Mister Michaels. The scrawny, flamboyant little dancer that has shocked a million faces in his time, I'll admit, has a bit more going for him on the physical side, even to this day, well past his prime."
"You can believe all you want that I've spent years and years in school trying to become whatever it is YOU think I was trying to become. While you were making a name for yourself, creating your legacy in other organizations, would you like to know what I was doing? Well, waiting for the most part. Relaxing. Biding my time, Mister Lesnar. You see, you obviously know absolutely NOTHING about me. I've fought my wars, my frined. I've fought them against opposition that you bow to every week, whether you believe it or not. Wars that have shaken the Heavens themselves. If you believe a twenty year... thirty year... forty year career stands even close to that? Well, we'll go back to my comment of you being naive. I am ubiquitous. I can be anywhere. See anything. Be anything. Anytime I wish to. You want to make jokes about my practices? You wish to be a nonbeliever like the rest of this group? You're not the first and you won't be the last to not take me seriously. They have all learned that I am not one to be reckoned with. This broken record that I continue to spin over all your heads remains the same and I don't get tired of it. If I must continue to explain to you all my purpose here then so be it. The filth, the waste, the evil that dances in your head... I can dispose of it. You chose to come back at the wrong time, my friend. Even if you think it was the right move, you're wrong again. If you wished to become the King as I have become, you shouldn't have followed in Mister Gilmour's footsteps. I'm not eating my words. I'm not ignoring what went on a week prior to the tournament. But do you honestly think I'm going to let this hold up? You've made yourself look foolish by placing yourself so high on a pedestal as you did. Because you're just going to fall down and break the only crown you do possess, Mister Lesnar. The one that rest upon your shoulders. I must give you a little credit though. I can't compare you much to Mister Gilmour because your head is not empty like his... It's full. Very full. It must be bone, however, because it cannot possibly be a brain. You're so thick headed and believe everything that these promoters and Paul Heyman have told you over the years. That you're unstoppable. Let me tell you, friend, you're not unstoppable. I've seen you halted once before. Blame the stomach disease or don't, but you're not unbreakable. I fear no beast. I fear no Olympic athlete and I fear no WWE superstar. Your past means absolutely nothing coming into Warfare. Claim to be the King all you wish. You hold nothing over my head. Unless you wish to join Peter for my coronation, then you could both share the honor of placing the crown upon my head."
"I expected you from the beginning of the tournament, Beast. The Doctor does not forget. You seem to be sharing many mistakes of my fellow patients at the moment. Mister Gunnar claimed after his attack on me last week that I forgot all about him, as well. Foolish boy. I just grew tired of waiting for him is all. My radar was not down. My senses are keen and nothing surprises me. As I said before, I expect Mister Gilmour to have his fair share at pokes during my coronation, perhaps, he thinks I won't walk away. If I do, then maybe he plans on spoiling our fun and taking this crown for himself. It will remained tainted, however. Just like the title you've given yourself as King. Believe all you want that stepping forth after the tournament was over and claiming a pin over me got you anywhere. The entire world sees you for the fraud that you are. The backstabbing, money hungry, thick-skulled neanderthal. If all you desire is a paycheck then why bother stepping forward to me? Because no matter what you're going to get a paycheck, but targeting the Doctor and claiming to be something that I deserved and won without assistance from outside bodies... well. You're going to go home with much more than just a paycheck my friend. Perhaps a few broken bones and a lot more misery than that diverticulitis ever gave you."
"I will see you tonight, my friend. Continue your training and I will continue sitting upon my throne. I will drink from this goblet and enjoy my cigars, because I am ready, Mister Lesnar. There is no stopping the true King."
"Now lest I forget. It appears I cannot budge a certain someone from my head, once again. Luke Gunnar. You've been silent most of the week, my friend. How dare you come at me with intentions as you did and simply disappear. I suppose that's much your nature though. Live in my shadows until finding the exact moment to strike. You knew, we all knew, Mister Lesnar's plans at the end of the night. You took it upon yourself to make his ego a tad bit bigger. Unintentional? I agree. You two have not much in common besides the desolation of the Doctor. I suppose that was enough to come at me in my weak state. You wanted my attention, Mister Gunnar, you have it. I'll never take an eye off of you again, although I only have one eye. I just ask that you are patient right now. Your absence from here only made you hungrier. Well, while you were away my hunger grew as well. While you were nursing your injuries back to one hundred percent, while you were sitting at hope praying for the day you were released to return, I was here. I was patient for your return. Now you must be patient for me. You will get your session with the Doctor, Mister Gunnar. I suggest you stay out of my business until that day comes. Giving up your previous appointment with me, you're at the bottom of my list now. Continue your antics and perhaps it will move you closer, but unlikely. I'll just find ways myself around not having the chance to meet with you, and trust me, I'll have something far worse in store for you. A little electro-shock therapy was certainly a taste of my own medicine, but it will be nothing compared to what will happen to you. I suggest you lay low until you're called upon. Otherwise, you'll be taking a few more months off. So do as everyone else will be doing this Wednesday. Tune in, sit down, and enjoy the Coronation of the NEW King of the XWF. Perhaps you could buy another ticket and watch from the first row as you did during the tournament."
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