You’re pulled into an image of a very basic, black sedan rental car moving steadily down a two-lane highway somewhere in south Florida. In the driver’s seat, R.L. Edgar hangs his elbow out of the window, a cigarette blithely dangling from his mouth as he reaches and turns up the volume on the radio. He’s just hung up his cellphone, confirming a visit with his friend, Corey Smith.

"Corey said he’s waiting on us..."

He says, looking over to his passenger, none other than THE Notorious Ned Kaye. The two men were one-time adversaries. R.L. Edgar shocked the world and defeated Ned Kaye for the Hart Championship back at Snow Job in a thrilling glass cage match. But since that match, the two have bonded over… strange circumstances to say the least.

Both men have been attacked on multiple occasions by what appears to be the same group of people. Another mystery series of jagoffs with an affinity for the number seventeen and spray paint. In Edgar’s mind, the attacks have been less threatening than they are annoying. They had even overtaken The Left Hand’s extended-auto-warranty-call attacks on every show in the tiresome bullshit department.

"Man! This is great!"

Ned proclaims with an ecstatic cry, showing his patented toothy smile, that illustrious hair of his flowing in the wind as the two of them continue down the highway.

Regardless of their curious coming together, Edgar enjoys having Ned around. The two have formed a bond working together over the road. Having friends, especially in the wrestling industry, was out of the ordinary for R.L., but he appreciated the trust and comradery.

"This is what wrestling is supposed to be! Two up-and-coming stars, hitting the road together, going to get advice from friends in the business. I know my father would be proud to see this happening."

Ned is under the impression, as is Corey, that he and Edgar are heading down to the XWF Tag Team Champion’s house for some friendly advice and pointers on functioning as an odd-couple ring duo. Edgar, however, has plans aside from catching up with Smith.

Ever since the lead-up to Snow Job, R.L. has been trying to keep the news of him being a bastard member of the Waters family under wraps. He wasn’t even certain if anyone realized. He wanted to stay as far away from that flavor of a shit-cream sandwich as possible.

The Waters’ had a reputation in the XWF. At best they were a story of flakey inconsistency, to at worst… Muddy Waters, the drunken skid-mark who Edgar recently learned was his half-brother in a letter from his late father.

R.L. and Muddy’s mother, a woman named Misty has been doing some serious work in consolidating political power back in Edgar’s hometown. Worrying that he and his sister’s husband had become proverbial “loose-ends” in a murder cover-up, Edgar was going to seek out his niece, Muddy’s daughter Dolly, for some information on Misty.

“So…”

Edgar says looking over at Ned,

“When did it start getting easier?”

“When did what start getting easier?”

Ned asked in a genuine tone,

“Your father... ya know? When did things start to feel normal again?”

He coils that amazing smile down and relaxes his face, considering Edgar’s question with a relatable nod,

“I keep waking up thinking that today is the day that I get used to his absence, but it still doesn’t feel normal…”

Edgar nods back having half-expected the response,

“...hasn’t stopped hurting yet…”

“You just get stronger” “You just get stronger.” they both say,

The two of them share a moment of sonder, relaxing in the calm of knowing someone understood what they were going through.

Suddenly the middle seat in the back of the car is suddenly pushed forward. A large, surely man with a dark mane and leather mask strapped around his face crawls slowly through the small hole to the trunk. He climbs partially onto the pushed-over seat before getting slightly stuck at the waist. He tries to push himself out further, huffing and grunting as he does so.

"Marf said I would find you two here! We have some business to attend to, fellers!"

Demos successfully pushes himself out of the trunk and into the back seat of the sedan through the small opening made by the pushed-in middle seat. Demos goes flying to the floor of the vehicle as RL pumps the brakes. The large man crashes roughly against the floor.

"Motherfuck!"

"Ned?! Did you pack Demos in the fucking trunk?!"

He shouts looking over to his comrade riding shotgun,

"Does that sound like something I would do?!"

Demos quickly interjects,

"Marf helped me sneak into this pretty little thing! We saw it hanging out in the back of the lot, and we just knew you’d pick it, Edgar! So we packed ourselves into that snug trunk. I just had to make sure it was really you and Ned up here before I hopped out….wouldn’t want to cause a ruckus, you know."

"Marf? The fuck are you talking about, dude? We’re fighting Marf next week!"

Demos rustles his arm deep into his sweaty gym pants with a wild look twisting on his face.

"Marf is a lover, not a fighter! That’s why he’s always losing!"

Demos pulls out a gross tube sock covered in dirt and blood. Demos holds the sock in his hands as he looks down upon it.

"Alright buddy, the bossman wants to chat with you!"

Demos extends his arm. He waves the dirty sock in the space between Edgar and Ned.

"See! He’s harmless!"

"Oh gross! Is this Marf’s way of getting back at Lycana for cheating on him?"

"If that's Marf's sock, it definitely doesn't smell like a fighter's…"

"Hey now, that’s a sensitive topic for the little guy. So let’s not chat about THAT temptress right now, okay guys? Marf’s just coming off of a bad breakup with that whole sex cult. Let’s try to make him feel a bit more at home, ok? Let’s not talk about Lycana, or Marf’s win-loss record, or his micropenis. He needs our support, now more than ever."

"Why ain’t you wearing the sock on your left hand?"

"Huh? Sock?"

Demos looks at Edgar with a confused expression.

Edgar rattles out a craggy sigh, looking over at Ned and then back to Demos through the rearview mirror,

"Listen, Demos? Charlie? My new friend? When we get down to the commune, would you just chill out in the car? I only told Corey that Ned and I were coming, and I don’t think Corey is too fond of you, buddy."

"Oh, is this like…...a gay thing for you four?"

"The four of who?"

"You, Ned, Corey, and Marf!"

"I’m pretty sure that Marf has to stay in the car too"

"I'm pretty sure that's typically true for the real Marf, as well, so just considering it accurate, Charlie."

Demos shook his head at the Marf sock before retracting it and placing it on his lap. He turns his gaze back upon Edgar.

"You don’t have to do that to Marf. He’s been treated like a dog his whole life. Are you even going to leave the air colding machine on for him?"

"Listen, Marf and Lycana have done this shit to themselves. I don’t want to hear about how hard his life is when he’s just aimlessly driving around sports cars and torturing women because of some edgy tiny-dick energy"

Edgar pauses,

"But I ain’t cruel. He has been beaten up enough. I’ll leave the air on."

Demos nods and smiles before shifting his gaze back onto Marf.

"You hear that, little guy? They’re going to leave the air colding machine on for you while we all go do commune things. It won’t be so bad, bud. The three of us will be back for you soon."

Demos tucked the crusty sock into the pocket on the back of Ned’s seat.

The trio… and sock Marf… continue their voyage to Coreytopia. Edgar follows the GPS coordinates as the highway bends and twists through the cyan glowing marshlands. A sneaky right-hand turn down a paved road leads them to a gaudy, yet open, marble-walled gate. On either side of the marble pillars, where the wall opens to the road, the dust from large M-shaped and D-shaped emblems stain the surface.

"I guess Corey just lets anyone in here…"

"He has been known as a loosey-goosey backstage..."

The suspicion is confirmed as they follow the road that treks along with the property. Troupes of men and women and children of varying ages and races litter the grounds. Some working, some loafing, some throwing frisbee, or vaping.

The road bends one last time as it straightens into a two-hundred-yard stretch lined with the snaking branches of oak trees. At the end the road cul de sacs around a fountain at the front of an enormous mansion.

Each man, and sock, angle their heads up, looking through the windshield as the enormity of the mansion grows while they approach. “Goddamn.”, Edgar gaped, while googly-eyeing the mansion.

He parks the vehicle just at the edge of the front staircase.

“Alright, Demos… Marf-”,

“Yeah, yeah…”

Demos mocks while fixating out of his window at a group of commune residents.

“Just leave the air conditioner on.”

“I’ll leave the keys in here. DON’T. LEAVE.”

Edgar and Ned get out of the vehicle and make their way up the stairs and to the entrance. Before they can even reach the threshold the massive baroquely carved door swings open.

“Gentlemen! Welcome to mi casa!”

A bubbly Corey Smith greets Edgar and Ned with a series of handshakes,

“Well, it’s actually everyone’s casa, but you get the point. Come on in, we just got dinner ready.”

Ned and Edgar follow Smith in through the frilly, yet faded, and in some spots even graffitied halls of the mansion into a massive dining hall. Full-sized dinner tables span the room, each of them catered with shares of cornbread, potato salad, fried chicken, and mixed fruit.

“All fresh from the property, guys.”

Corey says as Dolly Waters makes her way from a backroom serving a steaming bowl of chicken legs and thighs to a table of kitchen workers, sharing a joke and a laugh. Dolly flips her eyes up towards the group. A cheesy blush and smile overcoming her face as she walks towards them.



“HI!” she laughs, reaching out for a handshake from each of the guests,

“Hey! R.L. … Reggie Edgar” he introduces himself as they lock hands,

“Nice to meet you Reggie Edgar!”

This is the first time Edgar had ever seen his niece in person, and from the fluidity of the introduction, he assumes she either hasn’t heard the stories about them being related, or she has a million-dollar personality.

“Dolly! I haven’t seen you in a long time, you look really good!”

“Yeah she does.”

Corey and Dolly share some mixed, squirrely looking smiles smile towards one another before she properly reacquainted herself with Ned,

“Well, I’m starving! Let’s get this double-date started, shall we?”

Ned and Edgar are taken aback,

“Double date?” “Double date?” the duo again cry out in synchronicity,

Corey sheepishly darts his eyes back and forth between Dolly, Ned, and Edgar,

“Oh… are y’all not… is this…”

She stammers,

“Corey told me this was a double date”

“Ummm” Edgar chuckles. “Ned is a beautiful man but that’s not my flavor of the tea.”

Corey stands there in a state of mortified shock. Clearly, he misunderstood the intentions of the visit.

“Don’t worry! We mistook R.L. and Ned for lovers too! Marfy is an empath, he usually picks up on things like this!”

"Marf and emotional awareness mix about as well as Lycana and dressing your age."

Corey’s mortified shock evolves into a state of jaw-dropping disbelief and is spread around the room as Demos, wearing the Marf sock rumbles into the dining hall. Following behind him are a group of aggrieved commune residents,

“Corey! Dolly! This guy is talking shit about Coreytopia! He ate our hacky-sack and started rambling about REAL communism!” a young man with dreadlocks shouts,

” No no. We ain’t commies. The point is not to pigeonhole yer’self into some idealistic-”

Corey stands out in front of the dinner party squaring his shoulders and locking eyes with Demos, and cuts Dolly off,

“What is HE doing here?!” he demands,

“GODDAMNIT, DEMOS! I TOLD YOU AND MARF TO STAY IN THE CAR!”

Edgar shouts across the room,

“MARF?!” Corey grumbles, “MARF IS HERE TOO?!”

“Right here!”

Demos says while talking as the blood-stained sock puppet on his left hand.

“Sorry to be such a generic rule breaker, boys! But I was starving!”

Demos plunges the sock into a bowl of potato salad on one of the tables and begins making a ravenous gobbling sound.

Ned nudges Edgar, whispering, "Is this too much different from a regular Left Hand feast?"

Demos turns towards the dwellers, his socked hand continues ravaging the potato salad splattering on his face, and begins ranting,

"Revolution is not a dinner party! Communism can not be so leisurely, relaxed, unperturbed. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another. To prepare the masses for the revolution is the task of the communist. The communist is the one who works to bring about the downfall of the elites.

You do nothing but sit around and jerk each other off in here!

You say you are communist….but what of the toiling masses across the nation? What are you doing for them? You have done nothing but withdraw from the class struggle! You have retreated from the cities and locked yourself in your own echo chamber! What of those less fortunate than you? Those who don’t have a mansion to call home? What do you do for them?!

You let foul parasites like Thaddeus Duke run amok in these halls. How can you claim to be a communist revolutionary while rubbing elbows with the bourgeois brat himself?

Where are your arms? Your weapons? Your tanks? What are the battle plans? How do you plan to free this nation from the grip of the Illuminus? When are you going to strike?

Never! You’re nothing but lazy, petulant children playing make-believe as the world collapses around you!

Communism? HA! You will accomplish nothing of the sort."

There’s a cricket-chirping moment as everyone stares at Demos, jaws agape from his pompous monologue. The look on Corey’s face is indescribably tense.

“But I just like like work and live here, man” the guy with dreads squeaks,

“Jesus, Mao-mos! This is a commune. People who need to can just live here, especially if they’re recovering addicts. We’re not stealing a tank anytime soon.”

Corey says tersely. before Demos snaps back with a fiery retort.

"You're already admitting defeat! There is no reason you can't bang a line of cocaine and man the guns against the pigs and the feds! Just because you need your dirty fix, that doesn't excuse your retreat from the struggle!"

” Wait a second? Who the hell is this guy? And why is he ruining our food!”

She looks around with a puzzled fury before snatching a handful of silverware from a nearby table,

” Hey asshole! People here worked hard for that potato salad!”

She shouts, chucking a spoon and a fork at Demos, who deftly dodges the literal silver spoon and fork. Demos turns to face the Marf sock on his left hand.

“Marf! They’re getting mad at you! Knock it off, so we can have a civil struggle over the political line!”

Demos start smacking his potato salad-covered sock with his right hand as if disciplining a child with corporal punishment.

“Corey. Brother. I’m sorry. Demos is mine and Ned’s tag partner this week, we didn’t know he snuck along for the ride.”

Corey waves off R.L.’s apology pained look of confusion and a shake of the head before he turns his attention to Dolly,

“What do you mean ‘who the hell is he?’”

Dolly weaves her head back and forth, holding her hands open for an explanation,

“That’s the Television Champion. Thad and I literally JUST defended our Tag Championships against this guy.”

“I only watch Anarchy.”

Corey’s face sags at Dolly with a stupefying glare before Demos shouts over at him again,

“I just need a new partner, pretty boy! Then your class collaboration’ days are over.”

Demos glares at Corey before shifting his gaze over to Edgar, giving him a sly wink.

Edgar buries his forehead into a pinch on the edge of his fingertips. He looks up Dolly, ready to reveal why he’s actually come to the commune so he can be done with this little soiree,

“Hey, uh, Dolly? I think-”

Suddenly a high-pitched shitstorm comes blaring from an original iPhone in a smashed-up Hello Kitty case. Demos is holding the phone, showing the Marf-sock a video.

” Ew?! What’s THAT?!” she sneers pointing at the image on Demos’ phone,

“That’s Lycana…”

” A what?”

“You’re joking now, right?” Corey says to Dolly sounding exasperated, “You were literally in my promotional video for my match against Lycana. Remember? Goth chicks? Spencers? Boob jokes?”

Dolly rolls her eyes. There’s some obvious tension between her and Corey as he throws his arms up and plops down at an empty table, helping himself to a chicken leg.

“Dolly, I don’t know if you’ve heard but-”

Edgar is cut off again as Demos speaks in a cooing baby voice while holding the screen of the phone in front of the Marf sock.

“You see that, little guy? She’s right there! Look at her go! Yes, you’re being a very good sock right now. Yes, a very good boy you are. Are you feeling calmer now?”

Demos waits a few moments for the sock to reply.

“Ok, a few more minutes of watching. But after that, you need to take a nap! You’ve been a bit cranky, buddy!”

” Good god, why does she look so stupid? That hair looked WAY better on Game Girl. At least she was cute. This all feels like some forced slutiness… this is just awful.”

“Well, the curtains match the skills too…” Corey says in between chewing bites of cornbread, “...she’s never won a match.”

Demos snaps his head towards Dolly at the mention of Lycana’s hair.

“Do you want her hair? I brought some with me. It was freshly cut from her scalp on Saturday night.”

” Sure! Maybe I can use it for some erotic self-asphyxiation, that would be the only way to make this garbage promo interesting.”

Demos pulls a comically long scalping of Lycana’s hair out from his crotch, nestling it in the sock’s mouth. Demos then begins making his way over toward her, the hair dragging across the floor. Dolly’s eyebrow raises along with the side of her mouth,

” Oh, ya know, on second thought…”

She says holding her hand out in a stopping motion and gagging,


”...I just asphyxiated on my own throw-up a little... so I’m good.”

“You really needed advice on beating The Left Hand and their new, sure-to-be, big-breasted mystery queen? You and I already had our way with them, and you just beat Lycana one-on-one.”

Corey asks, looking over at Edgar,

“No. I ain’t worried about the Left Hand at all. As long as Marf and Lycana are taking marching orders from that doofus Baphomet, those two will be shitting-the-bed for the entirety of their overplayed dream sequences.”

“Oh! So this WAS a double date?”

“I actually came here to speak to Dolly…”

Dolly raises her eyebrow,

“...according to my father, Misty Waters is my mother. I’m your uncle.”

” Memaw Misty?”

Corey slams his hand on top of the table and snaps his fingers,

“Oh shit! That’s right! I think I remember hearing something about this! R.L. is the uncle of a much more accomplished and talented wrestler…”

The comment pulls an incredulous twist of the face from Edgar,

“...no offense, but come on man. It’s like a reverse Andre Dixon story!”

” Why didn’t you tell me?”

She barks at Corey,

“WELL! Maybe if you weren’t so busy watching Anarchy you could keep up with the times.” Dolly scowls as Corey stands up and looks over to Edgar, “I think I’m done here, Reggie. I’ll let you two catch up. You, gentlemen, are more than welcome to stay around and make use of my promotional video team…” Corey says, pausing to consider Demos who’s trying to feed his gym sock a piece of chicken, “...just make sure HE leaves when you leave.”

Ned shares that blinding smile of his with Edgar before patting him on the shoulder. He directs R.L.’s attention towards Demos sitting on the floor in front of a window, his legs crossed, rocking back and forth on the floor tearing at some hair from his head.

“I’m going to stick with Demos for a little while buddy. Take your time.”

Edgar turns back toward Dolly, a dull look of anticipation sculpts her face as she stands there studying him, her head tilted and her arms folded.

“So I” ”So yer’ my uncle… Uncle Edgar.”

R.L. nods in agreement, inaudible and gesturing with his hand,

”Cool! I like you, Uncle Edgar.”

“What about my mom? Your Grandma-”

”Memaw Misty. Ick.”

“So do you know about her? Is she really-”

”A ruthless machiavellian psychopath serial killer?”

Edgar’s eyes jump out of his skull,

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah! THAT!”

Dolly gives a poised nod,

”Yes, she’s all of those things. Don’t believe a single thing she tells you. Misty Waters is a horrible person.”

“So she could be lying about me being her son!”

Dolly smirks and breathes through a bite in her teeth as she walks a little closer to Edgar studying even closer now his features,

” Nah. Yer’ a Waters alright. It’s kinda’ unmistakable. You and my dad both have Misty’s eyes. Makes sense why you’re racking up those wins in the XWF.”

“Thought you only watched Anarchy.”

Dolly pulls a sly smile on her face and just rolls her eyes,

“Dolly, I found a goddamned dead body of a woman that I think Misty killed.”

”HA! Welcome to the club, Unc! She’ll come after you, dude, and anyone else who was with you. Unless you feel like killing her, she’s gonna try and kill you, so I best suggest you just stay away from that woman.”

“We’ve moved to France.”

”Nice! I’d suggest anyone else you care about do the same thing...”

Dolly blinks almost rhythmically and smiles at R.L., walks over and hugs him,

”Awesome meeting you, Uncle Edgar. You stay safe and don’t be a stranger!”

Edgar chuckles, “Thanks, kid”

”I’ve gotta go apologize to Corey for being a little... facetious.”

Edgar turns and faces the camera shaking his head as Dolly skips away.

“Talk about clusterfucks...

I can’t seem to be involved in enough of them lately...

Especially in the XWF.

Especially involving the cowardly pricks who keep attacking me and Ned Kaye after every match.

And MOST especially in the human embodiment of premature-ejaculation that’s the Left Hand.

The last time I dressed you two down I wanted to remain polite. I wanted to send you both a message. Get you thinking about why your careers as wrestlers are in the shit-can, and why they’ll remain there so long you’re taking marching orders from someone else.

I tried really hard…

But it’s become clear that neither of you are going to listen to a single word I say anyway.

So fuck it!

Fail away! Just like the grade-A clusterfuck of contrived excuses Lycana tried to make up for losing our match.

Shitting in one hand, and pissing in the other.

Lycana said that I made a mistake because SHE failed, and that I better not make that mistake again. Holy fuck! For as much as she talks about R.L. Edgar being slow on the up-tick it really does seem that Lycana is about as absorbent as a toenail clipping.

What exactly did you want me to warn Ned and Demos about, Lycana?

Should I tell them that you’ll just dismiss anything they say, talk a big game, and then fall flat on your face? Should I tell them that you’ll think that adding some extra flips in your moves will somehow make you more of an effective fighter? How you’ll make fun of the “generic” elbow-drop that put your long-winded ass to sleep? What about all of the failed promises of torture and destruction that get exposed as simple polemics every time you enter the ring? Should I tell them that the Left Hand is the best at pretending to be good? Because that’s all that you are. Hype dressed in cheap leather and hair dye.

You and your merry-band of Baphomet’s used condoms have done enough prodding around lately to find yourselves on the flip side of some XWF-flavored ass-whippins. My new friend Demos scalped you on Saturday. You couldn’t even defend yourself, Marf. Why should he be afraid of either of you, or that drunk-sounding mystery partner who already revealed himself as impotent?

There’s for one, no fucking chance that Marf is beating Demos at March Madness. No matter how hard he...

...remembers…

...remembers…his wildest dreams.

As for Ned Kaye? That man has been too busy dominating entire brands to feel threatened by your hot air. Like he hasn’t been facing, and defeating, talent that’s outside of your scope already? If the chances of a couple of do-nothing, dull-machetes making the cut against a man I defeated for the Hart Championship are slim-to-never, then what does that indicate about this matchup?

Instead of Lycana's bullshit lies, can we PLEASE talk about simple circumstantial evidence for a moment?

You two lose.

A lot.

In Lycana’s case, it’s every time she laces up her boots. Ethos is now a loser by association. So the arrogance to suggest that you over-makeuped clowns have even an inkling of a lesson to teach Demos, Ned or myself is laughable. I don’t know why you can’t humble yourselves long enough to realize that everything the Left Hand has tried in the XWF has been a failure in one way or the other. I’ll spare you the cliche “defining of insanity” bit, and just flat out tell you both: you’re delusional.

You’ve both allowed your talent to be diluted by the marching orders of a halfhearted weasel. A snake in the grass. The world’s worst discount-store manager, The Baphomet. A man whose reputation has faded faster than his hairline.

Do you think he actually cares about either of you? If he did, would he have left you two here to get ripped open on a weekly basis by the entirety of the XWF roster? The fact that you two go along with this type of treatment is just further proof of your questionable judgment and instincts.

You’re both brainwashed and suffering as a result. It’s on display every time you open your mouths, every time you step in the ring, and in every single aspect of your shared existences, as you cow-tail to that miserable piece of shit. Can’t you see that Baphoment is just trying to live out his fantasy of being “good” at something... ANYTHING through you?

When you two started losing, as you naturally would following his shitty advice, what happened? He cast you both aside and left Lycana to pick up the pieces of his broken mirror. Parading her out on Savage to make a fool of herself with her unsolicited excuses as to why the Left Hand is the worst stable in the XWF since the Black Hand. Singing the audience to sleep with random video packages from wrestling companies that no one has ever heard of…

I’m sorry, but was I the only one who came at full-apex in laughter when we heard the name Gothica Skylight?

GOTHICA SKYLIGHT!

Edgar doubles-over in laughter. Tears falling from his eyes. It takes him a few moments to regain his composure.

I mean if that isn’t the crusty toilet-rim of bad-ideas incarnate then I don’t know what else to say. This from a group that hates being stereotyped!
The laughter breaks out again.

THAT was the big plan? That’s how your daddy told you to try and deflect the mean things people say about your weak, fledgling, pest of a stable?

See… you really didn’t listen to a single fucking word I said.

It’s fine.

I get it.

I’m just some dumb hick who smells like motor-oil and has a basic diving elbow drop as a finishing move. I’m the-shits in your purple tinted lenses where everything in the world is about you and your stupid apocalyptic conquest that no one takes seriously. What could I possibly know?

Well, what I do know is that this is the XWF… all of that outside shit? It’s meaningless. THIS is the mecca. This is where the best of some multi-wrestling-promotion goth clique comes to lose her ass-off, up and down the card, every show, every week, without fail. Don’t try feeding me that ”I wanted to lose”, “I’m just here for the pain” bullshit. I’ve heard that scam one too many times. You can’t be trying your hardest to beat me, like you said, and trying to get your ass-kicked.

Don’t you get it yet?

Are you thick?

This is where I learned how to wrestle, how to compete, and how to win. We’re a different breed here. The XWF is ingrained in my heart, it’s in my DNA.

Forget the fact that I’m the uncle of a bad little bitch who could, at a moment's notice, return and castrate your entire crew in one fell swoop. Forget the fact that I’ve already flexed that display of ability overtop of your unconscious body. Forget the fact that I haven’t been pinned or submitted since my return.

Forget all of that and remember…

...remember…

...remember…

That R.L. Edgar is better than you, and he’s better than the entire Left Hand. Add in one of the most dominant Television Champions in recent history and Ned Kaye and what does that spell for Lycana, Marf, and Ethos?

It spells Gothica Skylight backwards.

Now everyone try and pronounce Thg-ilyks Acih-tog, while three XWFers teach the Left Hand how to properly execute a clusterfuck.

“Edgar!"

The camera pans away from Edgar over to Demos and Ned Kaye. Ned seems to be trying to get Demos' attention as he begins talking to himself as he stares out of a window overlooking the front of the commune grounds.

You believe she could become that powerful?

No, it can’t be.

The prophecies are coming true?

The world has changed so much in just a few thousand years. Threats that were thought to be ended have come to life once more, rustling through the bushes as they stalk their limping prey. You were there when the first war was waged, what must be done now?

Demos listens.

If that is what must be done...so be it.

Demos nods silently. He pulls out a few strands of colored hair from his pocket. He gazes down at the colorful locks as he speaks.

I taught her a lesson on Savage. Gave her a few lickings, knocked her around a couple times. I was hoping to shake the evil out.

I fear that I failed.

As such, she must be culled.

Her screeches will ring through the rafters for eons.

Demos tucks the hair back into his pocket as his gaze drifts through the nearby window. The masked man looks out over the lush scenery.

But who is this mighty Ethos? He claims to have crossed my path before…..

Demos stood silently as he stared out the window.

Is it Lacklan? Bourbon? Main? Doc?

Demos waited patiently for a response.

No? Then I have nothing to worry about with him. History will repeat itself with a fresh paint job and a pair of masks.

The wheels have history constantly churn...but it seems one carcass was forgotten in the wheel well. And now he’s making himself everyone’s problem. But no worries, Ramesses- he shall be put down like all the other mutts.

Demos listened for a few seconds. His expression soured as a scowl spread across his lips. He shot back quickly.

The two are coming together as one! Mao was wrong on this line! One does not divide into two! No, no. Two divides into one! The Left Hand and The Brotherhood are traversing perpendicular paths. At a crossroads they shall eventually meet. The primary contradiction, the secondary antagonism, it is of no use! They are one in the same! To let one grow mighty is to grant power to both!

Demos shook his head in frustration as he pushed the window open. The windowpane swung out to the side, letting the cool breeze blow gently into the manor. Demos narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow as he looked through the open window.

I will waste no more time with this foolishness.

Demos turned back to look at the distant scene behind him. His face relaxed as he muttered a few words under his breath.

Bitch, bicker, and moan all you want. I have a world to win. Demos hops over the windowsill to a shallow drop on the front lawn. He darts over to the rental car and hops in. The tires spin on the pavement as Demos slams on the gas and peels away.

"GODDAMNIT!"“GODDMANIT!"

The scene fades. But the clusterfuck continues.

Former:
1x Hart Champion
1x Federweight Champion
April 2021 RP Of The Month Still Waters Run Deep