The rain was coming, as it often does during summertime in Florida. It doesn't last very long, but when it does come, it is intense. Chris was sitting on the edge of the dock outside his Belle Harbor condo. This was the same place he cut his "Something in the Mist" promo back in December, before he won the Uni title, and he gutted a whole bunch of catfish. The sky was an ominous color, and Chris knew the storm was well on its way. It is always the most quiet before the storm comes. Serene, almost.

There were small splashes out there in the harbor. Nature, at its finest, doing its work. Hunting, watching it instead of doing it, is always a mesmerizing experience. Alpha's at work in their habitat.

Amazing.

It was always a bit chilly this time of morning, no matter the season.

But a little respite from the heat and humidity was good sometimes. A much welcomed break.

The clouds were a blue like color, packed to the busting point with the water they prepared to drop on the Bay Area. Chris sat on the edge of his dock, his feet swinging as Steve Sayors cautiously approached. Steve hasn't had the best track record with Chris, but then again who has?

Chris had something in his hand that Steve couldn't make out, and what looked like a body bag behind him on the dock.

Steve knew better then to sneak up on Chris, he may end up in the shark infested harbor. He wouldn't put it past Chris at all.

Before he could say anything, Chris's voice broke the silence. It was raspy, as if he had been screaming.

"Hello, Steve."

"Ch--Chris?" His voice cracked unexpectedly.

"No. Fucking Donald Trump. Who else would it be?"

He motions for Steve to sit down next to him. The last time Steve was here, it was downright scary. He braced himself for the worst.

"Isn't she beautiful, Steve?" The picture in his hand was what looked to be a candid photo of Robbie and Blue. Robbie's face had been scribbled over, rather violently. It looked as if someone had pressed a pen down with force. The forehead area was ripped and the water below could be seen through it. But Blue's face seemed to be highlighted. He ran his finger across her face on the Polaroid, as if stroking her cheek in real life. It was creepy.

"Robbie wants to fight for honor, how about her honor? He is so worried about what I am doing. How about fighting for her? What happens if she leaves him when he loses? What happens when she doesn't recognize him after what I do to him? What happens if she leaves him for me?"

He licks his lips, stroking the photo. Steve is visibly uncomfortable. He adjusts his collar.

"I am going to beat Robbie to within an inch of his pathetic life. I am sick of everyone saying Robbie this and Robbie that---touting him like he is something special. He isn't, Steve. He is top 50, and so am I, but think of how many 50 are. If he was top 10, different story. But why have I stayed among the top of Heyman's--a man who hates me for beating his protege Dolly---rankings and he has been hovering somewhere near the bottom of said list if on it at all? Like me or hate me, and most hate me, just ask around, I am one of the foundations of this place. I am Chris fucking Chaos and I take what I want. No more "well, lets see were the flow takes me." I am the wave and it is tidal. I always have been, I just needed to be shaken awake."

Steve had is tape recorder out, this was promo gold.

"And like I said, people are going to like Robbie's promos and how they all string together. They will like how goofy he is, and they will laugh at his puns. But nothing about this is a laughing matter to me. I am serious--deadly serious. In fact, let me show you just how serious I am."

He swings his legs and stands up, lifting the body bag onto a fishing table. Unzipping it, Steve's eyes went wide.

It was a real doll. A real doll of Blue. It was a perfect match.

He then took a large fishing knife, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I know where Robbie's heart lies, Steve. And I am going to rip it out, and eat it."

He had never seen Chris like this before. This was a darker Chris than he was accustomed to, and the one he was accustomed to was pretty fucking dark.

He brought the knife down to the real doll of Blue and began to press.

"I am going to hit Robbie where it hurts. The only reason the real Blue isn't sitting on this table is because I can't afford a murder investigation and jail time before the pay per view. And you know his bitch ass would call the police."

Steve spoke up.

"Are you sure he wouldn't just try to stop you? Show up and try to rescue her?"

His voice was almost a growl now. "Because he can't save her. He can't stop me and he knows it. All of his tough talk about what he is going to do to me in the ring, it is more hot air than a bouncy house at a little kids birthday. It is posturing, chest puffing, it is a story he has forced himself to believe to escape the reality of the situation he finds himself in. I am the most dangerous person on this roster when cornered...and here I am backed into a corner yet again. Now it is time to bite. You see---there is a reason I keep getting these shots......"

He pressed the knife deep inside, and begins tearing down the middle.

"It is because of Vinnie's guilt. He knows I am the best and most deserving on this roster and he is feeing guilty for screwing me......together, him and I, we will take down the Kings. I will do what that parakeet James Raven failed to do.....I will get the job done. I will be his Universal Champion as the new era takes over. Side by side....."

"I don't think he wants that."

"Shut up Steve."

He pulled out what looked like a makeshift heart.

He squeezed it and it exploded it with a mass of red goo.

"I am going to take Robbie Bourbon to hell......not because I want to but simply because I can. What will he say next? Will he slip up out of anger? Did I get under his skin? Or will he stay the charming chubby guy? We shall see."

Chris then bit into the heart as red smeared his face.

"I guess that's why they call it the Blue's, Steve."

Sayors vomited into the water, watching through teary eyes as fish and sharks began to feed on the man-made chum. He then stepped back as a spash his the water. He choked and gasped as the real doll body of Blue was slowly consumed b by the apex predators of the ocean.

Chris was the apex predator of the XWF, and it was more clear now than ever.

"That's why they call it the blues......" he sang the famous line from the old song as he walked away whistling.


You can't even do right by yourself, Chris. You wanted to go to Florida to clear your head of your breakup. You did so by kidnapping a woman, taking her to the slums, and then attacking someone YOU led her to be victimized by.

"Are you dense, Robbie? Is there anything underneath that cheap mask? Anything between those ginger ears? First off, I never kidnapped her. I never held a gun to her head. She got in the car willingly. I even let her keep her phone. All she had to do was ask for the ride to stop, and I would have let her go. I led her to those men to prove to her that she had it in her to stand up to a seemingly impossible situation.

Do you have trouble with basic comprehension? Maybe you should have paid a little more attention in elementary school instead of playing cops and robbers.

Maybe you should have skipped your extra lunch and added and extra study hall.'

You've done fucked up now, kid. You went and harmed one of the people.

So the cat is out of the bag, huh? The gig is up. Chris Chaos, turning face, getting crowd pops, doing the right thing---it was all a hoax. Thank you for exposing that, Robbie, you're quite the astute one. Here, I'll give you a round of applause that you truly deserve.'


"So I am the bad guy. Your CSI DVRing has benefited you again, Robbie. Great job. Really, great job. But what do you do? You contradict yourself. You step on your own words. You make yourself look stupid. You were onto something.....then you let all the air out of your sails with one sentence. Just one. Just one sentence and I had your entire mantra looking like swiss cheese. But before I make you too hungry and get your ADD ass thinking about deli sandwiches and not the slicing I am about to give you, let me go straight into this."

*Clears throat*

For terrorizing that poor woman, Chris, that hour long beating I owe you is going an hour and a half for all I care.

"So you are dedicating your reasoning that you are going to whoop my ass in this match because I "terrorized" some poor waitress. On her day off no less! This match is dedicated to my actions against her, huh? But you're not a hero? Lets go back to just a few promos ago. Lets go back to see some of the words you uttered from behind that dollar store mask........."

The "GOOD" Burger Mascot Said:I'm not a fucking hero.

"Wayyyy back in your first promo, you established that stance. You said that, then went on to bring a half dead woman towards an ambulance. Hmmmm........Not a hero......then why this quest? Why bother? When you have a number one contenders match, why bother going on a Scooby Doo quest to catch the big bad men?

The "GOOD" Burger Mascot Said:Do you think I'm glad I have this asshole in a pink fucking tuxedo on my floor about to be burned alive, brought back, rinse, repeat, until I get a call from the secret service?

Sure, your methods are a bit questionable, but it is all for a bigger cause. In fact, that is a page out of my book. I am glad to see you are able to get nasty when you need to. I want to see that in London.

I want more than to just survive. I want better than that. I want to thrive.

Good. That is exactly the Robbie Bourbon I hoped to bring out. The REAL Robbie. Just like you have brought out the real me. The me I never thought I could ever reach again. The me who doesn't want to just beat you in that ring, but wants to kill you in it. Who wants to put you on the shelf like Ginger Snapz and Jervis Cottonbelly, watching from the sidelines as I rise back to glory like a Phoenix slicing through the summer sun.

You've done fucked up now, kid. You went and harmed one of the people.

And you haven't? Need I remind you, just a few promos ago, you poured GASOLINE on a man. You want to say my little teaching lesson through the slums is below you? You were ready to burn a man alive........and I am below you.

Sure I am.

You see, you are so caught up in a quest you think anyone cares about that you fail to realize exactly what the fuck you are.

A fraud.

A fake.

A liar.

A phoney.

Why not be honest with yourself. You aren't going to Charlottesville because you give two squirts of piss about "honor and justice", you are going to Charlottesville because you want someone to actually give two squirts of piss about you. Face it, big guy, you've lost your touch. Robbie Bourbon is old news. This little episodic television show you hastily strung together is nothing more than a last ditch effort to convince people to give a shit.

Didn't work.

Try again.

They Say That Evil Prevails When Good Men Fail To Act.....What They Ought To Say Is....Evil Prevails.

"That old adage, how does it go? Anything you can do, I can do better? Well Robbie, when it comes to hurting people, that couldn't be more true. You do it because it's what you're expected to do---I do it because I enjoy it.

You wanted to empty the bag of tricks, puff your chest out past the F cups they already were, and tell the world what you are going to do to me for 60 minutes inside that ring. You tried to sound big and bad but only proved, once again, that you are nothing more than Butterbean that got lost in a Lucha Libre merch cart on your way to get more fried dough. So let me tell you, since we want to play the "I'll show you mine and you show me yours" game, what I am going to do to YOU in that ring this weekend. Let me paint a little picture for you, Bob Ross style.

The bell rings and I duck, feeling the air blow by me in slow motion as you try to punch me with the speed of sour cream running out of its container. That is when whatever plan you had in your head begins to come apart at the seams like a fat woman trying on normal woman pants. Then you go for a forearm, but since it looks like a scene from the Matrix instead of a wrestling match, I quickly duck out of the way of that too. Now, the fun can begin. Now you're in danger, and you know it. You know I have another fifty-nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds left to turn your ugly face into ground beef. The idea that by the end of this match Blue will not be able to stand the sight of you, you will have to suck mashed food through a straw while in a fully body immobilizer and communicate with the nurses through a series of eye blinks will become all too real to you.

Side note--I already have someone make me dinner, make my bed, do my laundry and even wipe my ass if I ask her to. Her name is Rosa, she's from Pinellas Park and I pay her 15 dollars an hour. The benefits of being a star, Robbie. The car finger thingy? You don't pedal a car you bumbling sack of protoplasm.

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

Where were we? Oh, yes. I grab you around the waist and try to fling you back across the ring but realize you're like trying to lift a semi-truck filled with trans-fats on its way to American super markets and eventually American mouths, so I decide to go for the kidneys instead. I drive an elbow into them repeatedly, with a speed Usain Bolt would marvel at. Over and over and over again. Left one, right one, left one. You can feel the blood coursing through the cavities of your body it isn't supposed to be in, flooding them like a hurricane aftermath, but I am not close to done yet.

Side Note---That's when I get on top of you and start smashing your brains in with my fucking will, my bone just that much stronger than yours, my muscle that much stronger than yours, my heart beating harder, fiercer, and with more passion than yours.

That sounds like Gay Fight club, does it not? Yeah, Gay Fight Club. Maybe when I put you on the shelf after this match Robbie you can use your free time not popping pain killers to write erotic novels for homosexual men with a pain fetish? Real riveting stuff there. Who needs Cialis when they have books by Bourbon?

Back on course.

When you hear the first snap you'll know its from the back of your wrestling onesie ripping under the massive size of your derriere, and that's when I drive an uppercut into your face, caving it in deeper than Jenny's cavernous undercarriage. Your senses will go numb, but unlike your description I won't show you the mercy of taking 50 percent of you out of the pain. No, no, no. I'll fire off more shots, face, chest, abs, knees, neck......then when you least expect it I'll tear your fucking jugular out of your tree trunk neck. You will be left sitting there staring at it with deer in headlights eyes and wishing you could trade places with piss girl.

You try to shit yourself with fifty-two minutes to go but your anal cavity is filled with blood that is beginning to harden.

When you hear that second snap, you know your ass is probably showing now. But I don't stop, oh no. I haven't even begun yet. You see, I don't go for the arms on a guy like you. What is the point? I go for the vertical base, the center of gravity---I go for your stubby legs, Robbie. And I cut them down like a lumberjack during promotion week. But I do it surgically, I do it precisely. First, I go for the Achilles. Well---I go for the knee to take you to one knee, then boot you in your stupid fucking face and take you to your back. Then the Achilles. Not the ankle, fuck the ankle, and that can be shattered later. You see, taking you off your vertical base entails making sure not only do you not get up, but you CAN'T get up. Snap the tendon until it flails in the air like a ribbon off a mailbox. Now, you can't get up as your legs can no longer withstand your massive weight. You have to stay on your back like a turtle who ha been flipped upside down and now I can go to work like on your sot, fleshy underbelly and rip your guts out of your body, inch by inch---60 minutes is forever when you count it in intestine links--as you can do nothing but silently pray to your new friend Jesus to make it all end---let the lights go out. I know how to bust a knee like you claim to know how to bust an arm---the differnce is, I can bust an arm, too. And ribs. A noses. And jaw lines. Shoulders, toes, fingers, the adams apple that Brucette still has. I am like a kid with aspergers in in Biology class---I may not know much else but godamnit I know how to disect a body----I know how to rip a human apart with precision.

Somewhere between the small intestine and the pancreas, you will wonder why I haven't pinned you yet. Well, you won't have to wonder long because I will pin you. Not because I want to win the match right here, but because I know your pride will propel you to kick out. Your ego, the same ego you accuse me of having, will guarantee you more pain because you don't want to give up. You would rather die. I can arrange that. I will arrange that.

You can make all the funny puns about bathroom training and GILF panty raids you want, Robbie, but that doesn't do anything but make the viewer chuckle. It bears no credence in a 60 minute Iron Man Match where anything goes and the only rule is that there are none. Maybe I will feed you your own intestines while playing hacky-sack with your previously destroyed kidneys.

Sound fabricated? It is no more fabricated than your little ditty about what you will do to me. Give me a little credit here, I am a lot tougher than you make me out to be. You make me out to be nothing more than a punching bag, like you are going to throw your weight around and dominate me for the honor of some white-privilege bitch you've never met.

Newsflash. Robbie, NOBODY dominates me. Jim Caedus didn't even "dominate" me. Sure, I am a human being, I can be beaten, but I NEVER take a beating like the one you described. One thing I can do, however, is dish it the same way I can take it. You give it to me, I will give it right back. I don't quit--it is not in my nature.

I agree, human trafficking is no laughing matter. It is very serious and I am very serious about it. I am sure Blue would hate to wake up in the back of a Micheal Graves van, her hands tied and her mouth duck-taped. For me, hell, that sounds like paradise. For her, it is a living nightmare. I know who the pharaoh is, and I know where the meat is. The pharaoh is me, and the meat is on your gravid midsection. I am coming to London to take my pound of flesh, literally......

......and when you wake up in the hospital, not able to move your appendages, you will wonder why Blue is not there to see you. Has she given up on you? Does she want more than a human shell? She won't have a choice. Blue won't be there and you will be more alone than you have ever been in your miserable fat life.

That impending sense of doom, looming over you, condemnation already delivered, signed and sealed

That impeding sense of not only never being the same again but losing the one thing you actually truly love. Bringing you down to my level, Robbie, is the way to beat you. I have to break more than just your body. You know you are in for the fight of your life and I will enjoy usin all fifty-nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds to make you reconsider ever putting on a pair of boots. All I need is three seconds to make Robbie Bourbon what I have known him to be since the day I walked in here.......

An afterthought.

the only thing left to do is let the wrecking commence.

I will not only wreck your body, Robbie, I will wreck your life.

Big Ben has rang every hour on the hour for over 100 years, but this month it will stop chiming until 2021 for matienence. So London falls silent.....but even when Big Ben stops its hourly reminders London will still get by with the ringing that will be going on inside your head.

Get ready, Robbie, because for the first time one on one you will finally realize.....

Chaos is coming.

38-15-2