“What have I been fighting for?

The people? The working class? The communist revolution?

Well…..where are they? Why have they not been fighting at all for ME?!

I have put it all on the line for the revolution. I have suffered defeat after defeat after defeat...but Mao Zedong promised me the final victory! Where is it?!”

The black screen fades into a shot of Demos mumbling to himself while he sits alone at a bar that seems a bit too fancy for him. The masked man is dressed in a leather jumpsuit that has seen far better days. The man’s pants are torn and ripped at the knees and his shoes seem to be falling apart. The bartender standing across the counter lowers his head at the masked man with a faint grin.

“I’m about ready to cut you off, you're talking like a crazy man. But before I do that, sir, do you need a couple more?”





“7 more gin and tonics!”

“Gin and tonic, sir? Drinking lady drinks tonight, are we? No worries.”

A pained expression shot across Demos’s face as the bartender turned around and reached for a top shelf gin.

“No, no! I don’t want gin and tonic...give me five shots of whiskey!”

The bartender released his grip on the gin and turned his head to face the masked customer sitting at the bar. A soft smile seemed to be permanently affixed to the barkeep’s face.

“Whiskey, sir? Now that’s a drink I can respect.”

The bartender nodded his head towards the inebriated customer before walking down the length of the bar and grabbing a whiskey off the shelf. The barkeep grabbed a handful of shot glasses and began laying them out along the counter. Demos kept his eyes on the bartender. Demos hoped that a laser focus on the drinks would keep the belligerent thoughts out of his head.

It didn’t work.

Demos felt a crushing guilt upon his shoulders. Demos had picked up the weight of the world and placed it upon his back, confident that he could carry the earth to a brighter future. As Demos stepped towards the communist future he slipped into the mud. The world flew off of his back and shattered along the path. For weeks the mud faced Demos was scrambling, trying to put the shattered pieces of his world back together with hot glue and blood. Every time Demos tried to put a piece of his world back into its place he would only end up cutting his hands on the shards of his failure.

Demos clutched his head in his palms as the bartender started pouring the shots from down the bar. Demos squinted his eyes as he tried to force his communist conscience to silence.

‘A ‘mans’ drink? Who have you become, Demos? You know that the gender roles prescribed by the patriarchy are merely tools for the expansion of capitalist control! You should have educated the worker about gender oppression! You should’ve used this moment to DECONSTRUCT the worker’s patriarchal notions. Why did you reinforce normative gender roles, Demos? Who are you becoming?’

“Here you go!”

The bartender plopped five shots of whiskey down in front of Demos as the masked man opened his eyes and leaned back on his stool.

“Thanks.”

Demos spoke flatly to the bartender as he waved the man away with his hand. The bartender held his open palm out towards the masked man.

“Do you want to tip this time, sir?’

Demos turned his gaze away from the bartender as he waved the notion away dismissively. The smile on the bartender’s face vanished for only a brief moment before the worker turned away from the Demos and began wiping down the far side of the bar with a wet rag he picked up out of the sink. Demos looked down at the shots in front of him before quickly moving to grab the far left shot glass. Demos popped the whiskey shot down his throat before slamming the glass back onto the bar. The masked man smacked his lips together as the strong alcohol began to numb his mouth.

“Oh fuck yeah! That’s that good shit!”

Demos pounded the bar with his fist as his body began to process the imbibe. Demos immediately reached out for the far right shot glass and repeated the process. The shot slammed down the man’s gullet before the glass slammed down onto the table.

“Ohhhhhhh yeah! Woooo!”

Demos shook his head from side to side, his greasy brown hair flinging various oils onto the man’s immediate surroundings.

‘WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! You are the vanguard of the workers! You are a warrior for the oppressed and the dispossessed! There are millions suffering at this very moment. You could be helping any of them. There are families facing eviction, women fleeing rapists, homeless encampments staring down the long arm of the law...but here you are, drinking away your sorrows! Get a hold of yourself!’

Demos ran his hand up his face as his breathing grew shallow. Demos began to lean from side to side as his vision blurred. Demos grabbed onto the top of the bar to stop from falling off his stool. As Demos held himself upright with one hand he used the other to grab one of the last two shots sitting on the bar. Demos chugged the shot before slamming the glass back down.

“Wonder what my baby’s up to…”

Demos reached into his pocket and pulled out a pink iphone. Demos pressed the only number on his speed dial as he brought the cell phone up to his mask. Demos pounded the center most shot down as he waited patiently for Rel Dixon to pick up the phone. She never did.

“Damn it! I’ve called her ten times tonight! How many more voicemails does she need! Ugh….*exhales*. Hi baby, I’m just calling to see how you’re doing and what you’re up to tonight. Give me a call back anytime at 111-222-3344. It’s a North Korean number. Okay babycakes, I’ll talk to you later.”

Demos tucked the phone back into his pocket after leaving yet another voicemail for his supposed girlfriend. The bartender worked his way back to Demos’s location and began stocking the four empty shot glasses atop of each other. The bartender pulled the empty stack of glasses towards his end of the counter as he analyzed the sad drunk seated across from him.

“Having lady problems tonight?”

‘Don’t bother this worker with your personal squabbles, Demos. Tip him well and go home. Get sober so you can carry out your duties!’

Demos sighed deeply as he leaned back. Demos had to grab the top of the bar with both of his hands to keep himself somewhat steady atop the barstool. Demos opened his eyes as wide as they could go as he answered the barkeep’s inquiry.

“She’s always been so clingy but now she’s not answering my calls at all!”

The bartender placed his elbows on the counter and shifted his weight onto them as he invaded Demos’s personal space.

“Well….has anything changed in your relationship to cause a sudden loss of interest?”

“I….I don’t know, I’ve just been going with the flow.”

“Did you say something mean to her?”

“Not one foul word.”

“Did you smack her?”

“Not anymore than she wished for me to.”

“Hmm….maybe her phone’s just dead.”

“Yeah….that must be it.”

The bartender pushed himself off of the countertop before he grabbed the stack of empty shot glasses. The barkeeper went to bring the glasses to the sink but Demos interjected quickly.

“Hey wait- you’re forgetting one.”

Demos picked up the last whiskey shot before he poured it down his throat. Demos smacked his lips together as he handed the shot glass to the barkeep.

“One last shot in the dark….have you had any problems at work?”

Demos sneered at the barkeeper before shouting him back.

“Get away from me! I don’t need your advice! You’re nothing in this world, I’m a former champion!”

“Former, huh?”

The tipless bartender smirked as the masked man’s eyebrows narrowed. Demos opened his mouth to speak again but the mostly sober man across the bar was far quicker.

“Last call, champ. This is all cleared to go on Dolly’s tab, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Dolly’s tab, make her pay for it.”

“Make?”

The barkeeper raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Demos forced a laugh as he gestured nonsensically with his hands.

“Hahaaahhhhh I’m drunk! Yeah my friend Dolly Waters said she has me covered all through Leap of Faith, so just keep the drinks coming.”

“Last call. What do you want?”

“Give me a bottle!”

“Of?”

Demos squinted as he looked over the shoulder of the bartender. There seemed to be hundreds of bottles along the wall, all of them blurry. Demos’s mouth hung open as he tried to decipher the hieroglyphs on the bottles. The bartender rolled his eyes before grabbing a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose off the shelf.

“Take this and get out. I can’t serve you anymore.”

Demos snatched the bottle out of the bartender’s hands before hopping off of the stool. Demos wobbled back and forth. Demos grabbed hold of the bar as he steadied himself. Demos waited a few moments before pushing himself off of the bar and walking towards the door. Demos stumbled towards the exit, nearly falling on top of each and every table he came across. Demos steadied himself once more on the final table before he pushed the front door open.

Demos stepped out onto a nondescript city street with minimal traffic. Demos looked from left to right, then from left to right again. Demos decided to turn to his right before ducking into a nearby alleyway.

“Fucking last call...bullshit liar….”

Demos chugged the rest of the bottle as he stepped into the incredibly long and surprisingly well lit alleyway. Demos smashed the empty bottle against a wall, recoiling back as the glass shattered.

“EEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDGGAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!”


Demos screeched as he drunkenly ripped the top half of his jumpsuit in half ala Terry Borden.

“You were supposed to watch my back! We knew Chris Page was going to play dirty! You were supposed to be in my corner to keep things clean! WHY DIDN’T YOU HELP ME?! WHY DIDN’T YOU DO WHAT YOU TOLD ME YOU WOULD DO?!

I fought Chris Page tooth and nail! I gave him my ALL! I left EVERYTHING with me in that ring with him! Every single piece of my soul DIED in the ring that night, Edgar, AND IT’S YOUR FAULT! You let Andre Dixon smack me in the face with the championship belt! WHY?! WHY?! WHY WEREN’T YOU THERE FOR ME?!

You said you were my friend, Edgar! You said you wouldn’t let that bastard cheat me out of the title! YOU FUCKING LIED!

You let Andre Dixon interfere in my title match! You cost me the championship! YOU TRIED TO KILL MY CAREER! I SHOULD’VE KILLED YOU FOR THAT!

But I didn’t…..”

Demos started to wobble down the alleyway.

“Why did you help BOB cheat me, Edgar? What was in it for you? I thought you wanted the communist revolution just as much as I di-”

Demos trailed off as he stumbled into one of the walls of the alley. Demos rested along the wall as he gazed down at the ground.

“Was it...no...it couldn’t have been….”

Demos slowly lifted his head so that he could look directly into the conveniently located camera.

“Was it because you knew you couldn’t beat me for the belt?

I thought you said we were friends….I know you said it….

But you cost me the match so you could fight Chris Page for the belt instead! Because you know he’s weak! Because you know he’s nothing without his henchman! Because you knew that I would be there to stop BOB from cheating you like they cheated me! Because you know that I’m the BETTER MAN, Edgar! And the better communist, too!”

Demos glared into the camera as he started to walk towards it. The masked man pushed himself off of the wall so he could stumble down the alley all on his own.

“You must have been jealous of me for so long, Edgar. Jealous of my work ethic. Of my notoriety. Of my infamy. You concealed it so well.

You knew you could never beat me for the championship so you chose to sit back and let Andre Dixon take my dream away.

But you stupid fucking hick, YOU WERE NEVER GOING TO BEAT CHRIS PAGE EITHER!

Not with the way you train! You’re lazy, Edgar! You do the bare minimum and expect to be applauded like a child. You spent more time cranking out to pornhub than you did preparing for Chris Page! The opportunity of a lifetime landed in your lap, and instead of obsessing over it, you chose to practically ignore it.

Did the people not deserve your best effort against Chris Page? I gave them my best effort! I attacked Chris Page relentlessly, over and over and over again! I had him reeling on the ropes, I had him teetering over the edge! Up until the end I had him beat! Up until you and Andre worked out your little scheme.

But you never had the upper hand against Chris Page. I told you to train harder for your match. I told you that you needed to go all out if you were going to liberate the masses. I told you I would spar with you all day, that I would work out with you in the gym. I sent you dozens of pages of notes on Chris Page’s weakness, on strategies you could use to beat him!

But you didn’t give a fuck about what the Demos had to say! Because truth be told………..you DID give it your best against Chris Page.

Your motor just isn’t what it used to be. Your engine is long overdue for a tuneup and at this point I just don’t know if you have the horsepower needed to go the distance. Your spark plugs are rusty, your transmission is slipping. You can’t go more than fifteen minutes in the gym without needing a break! I know I’m hardly the BEACON of physical health, but I’ve outshined you in all our training. In all of our sparing. In all of our tag team matches.

That’s not a coincidence. That’s not random. That’s a metaphysical law. The Demos is better than RL Edgar.

I was the one who won us our six man tag match on warfare. I beat the piss out of Lycana, KOed Marf, then tagged back into the ring to pin Ethos! You were nothing in that match but a liability!

Then came our tumultuous tag team turmoil. We entered the match and we left the match, as swiftly as that. You let Lycana pin your shoulders and off we went. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you trying to throw the match just to make me look bad? Just to get back at me for emasculating you in the last bout?

Fuck you, RL Edgar.

You are selfish. You are lazy. You are a fake friend. The only thing you’re good at is lying.

You make me want t-BLAGGGGGGH”

Demos suddenly clutches his stomach as vomit spews out from beneath his mask. Pieces of food and stomach goo stick to the man’s leather mask as he belches loudly. Demos rubs his belly softly before looking down at his stomach chunks.

“Oh Chris Chaos, is that you? I didn’t see you there!”

The masked man waved at the vomit before stomping his boot into it. Demos continued to stumble forward, intermittently wiping chunks of food out of his beard and off of his mask as he spoke.

“Sorry, Chris- Theo wasn’t here to protect you this time! I swear that guy can’t seem to get anywhere in this business without polishing Pryce’s piece. At Relentless Theo Pryce literally pounded Chris Chaos’s ass in front of a worldwide audience before gifting him a shot at the uni. If that’s not a kinky daddydom relationship I don’t know what is!

Now I guess the band’s getting back together and they’re playing that same familiar tune. I wonder if Pryce makes Chris wrestle with a cockcage and a buttplug? He probably does. Pryce is fucked up in the head like that. Chris is fucked up in the head, too, but they’re fucked up in different ways. Theo likes to have control, he likes to move pieces across a chessboard like human pawns.

Chris Chaos likes to be humiliated like he’s a naughty schoolgirl. Or maybe that was a special occasion just for Relentless. I don’t know and frankly, I’m glad I don’t.

Chris Chaos tried to be a big bossman. He tried to be in control once. It didn’t end well.

Where is Chaotic Inc today, Mr. Corporate? Did you trade in the real thing for a moniker?”

Demos chuckled to himself while stroking his vomit soaked beard.

“Of course not! Chaotic Inc collapsed right before his own eyes. He built a castle of sand and the waves of time washed it away, far sooner than he thought they would. Far later than we all wished they would.

That’s what you get when you associate with criminals and outlaws, Chaos! Your most prestigious gunman was cast out into the exiled lands. The rest of your goons jumped ship at the first sight of a leak. But what more could be expected of rats? No one with might or fortitude was ever willing to stand beside you. That is as true today as it has ever been. But why would anyone of worth want to align themselves with you? What could you possibly offer them besides disappointment and abuse? You can’t possibly give them all the Theo Pryce Benefits Package….

Jenny Myst’s flower only bloomed once she was out from under your cumbersome shadow. You do nothing but drag down those closest to you...you’re just like RL Edgar!

When you lose this match you’ll fade away into the obscurity you’ve enjoyed these last few months. You’ll be better for it. You won’t have to put up this act any longer. You will no longer have to pretend to be someone you’re not. No one would believe it, anyways. Not after I get my hands on you at Leap of Faith! You’ll be able to go back to just living your life, no longer worried about fulfilling your silly dreams.”

Demos smiled to himself as he slowed to a standstill. The drunken man placed his hands on his knees as he curled over. Demos held a pointer finger up to the camera as he stared at the ground.

“One minute...just give me on-BLAGGGGH”

Stomach projectiles shot out of the masked man’s mouth like hellfire missiles, painting the pavement red.

“Is that….supposed to be r-”

Demos shook his head from side to side as he tried to wipe his mouth clean.

“You know what? Nevermind.”

Demos stood back up with more drunken vomit stuck in his beard. Demos placed his right hand on his lower back as he stretched his midsection back.

“Oohhhhhh yeah, that feels nice.”

Demos brought his hand back down to his side as he stared into the camera once again.

“I bet you know what NICE feels like, don’t you, Corey Smith?”

Demos narrowed his eyes as he began to stumble towards the backpedaling camera.

“You’ve had nice all your life. You’ve never known struggle, desperation, necessity. All you know is plush, luxury, and comfort.

You get what you want, when you want it, courtesy of your deep pockets and lengthy resume.

So what the fuck are you doing in a match for a 24/7 briefcase? If you want a match with the champion all you have to do is fucking ask for it! They’ll give you your shot! Even if you flub it, they won’t hesitate to toss you another one just down the road! Everyone owes you favors in this business, you’ll draw an audience, and the booker always has a spot for you because you’ll put asses in seats!

So what the fuck do you need a briefcase for, huh, pretty boy? This ain’t the kind of match someone like you should be getting involved in. Not for us, but for you.

This is a match full of desperate people trapped together on the moon….away from the prying eyes of law enforcement. Away from the penal codes of the colonies. Away from all your backstage friends and helping hands.

This isn’t the kind of match you’re going to walk away from without serious scars. This match isn’t to the pinfall. This match isn’t to the ten count. This match isn’t to first blood.

This match isn’t even about who gets to the briefcase first!

You think it is, Corey Smith? Do you think I’m fighting you to be the first man with the real briefcase?

WRONG, BITCH!

I’m fighting to be the LAST MAN to touch the briefcase! I don’t give a damn who brings that briefcase down and who is ‘declared’ the winner. The XWF is an earthly entity! I don’t give a rat’s ass about their declarations on the moon! Whoever holds that briefcase holds the power.

And I want all the power. I’ve wanted all the power for months. I’ve wanted it to make the world right, to liberate the oppressed, to bring down the foundations of injustice and create a new future for the children.

But now? I just want the power. The masses have never been there for me! They humiliated me when the fake Jim walked to the ring! They made me look foolish! I have done everything I can to bring truth and justice to the fans, to the workers, but they don’t care about me! They don’t care about my quest, about my mission!

And if they don’t care about it, then why should I?!

Honor? Dignity? Justice?

I’ve been clinging to those virtues since Ramesses brought me to this world. And what do I have to show for it? A dead mentor and a losing streak longer than Graves’s SUPER DICK!

So no, Corey Smith…

I’m not fighting you to be the first man to grab the briefcase. I don’t care who grabs it first.

The camera stood still as Demos paused directly in front of it. The vomit covered man leaned into the camera as he spoke.

When the nine of you are trapped on that moon with me, you will never be safe. Not before the bell rings and not after it. You will have nowhere to go. You can cradle that briefcase to your chest. You can sprint towards the shuttle as soon as you win. It doesn’t matter. Still I will rip your arms off and take that briefcase for my own before you ever reach the spacecraft.

I won’t let that shuttle leave unless the briefcase is mine. I will butcher each and every one of you. I’ll butcher the staff. I’ll mutilate the pilots, the astronauts, and even the special guests if they try to interfere!

I’m not traveling to the moon to have a match. I’m not traveling to the moon to make Vinnie Lane millions of dollars. I’ve not traveling to the moon to give it my all and leave it all in the ring.

I’m traveling to the moon to become a universal champion.

It’s the only way I’ll ever know the sweet kiss of glory!

I can’t win the belt without the briefcase….I’m sure you’ve all said it a thousand times by now. I’m sure you’ll say it another thousand times. You can speak the truth until your mouth runs dry, it won’t change your fate.

The briefcase will be mine over each and every one of your dead bodies!

BLAGH!"

Demos vomits once more onto the camera before the scene fades from orange to black.