“Mister Dangerous.”

…Wait? How did you get here?

You were just at home… You were almost asleep…

You were in bed… You closed your eyes… You felt yourself drifting off to sleep…

“Mister Dangerous?”

…And now… You’re here…

You think you heard someone talk about this place before…

Maybe on an internet forum… Or around the water cooler… Or on Twitter…

Or maybe you always knew this place was.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

You have to get out.

You have to get out.

YOU HAVE TO GET OU-

…

Suddenly, the air around you changes…

Colder. Sharper. A biting freeze.

“Darren.”

A presence… The cold itself.

It surrounds you. Its frost penetrates your very being.

“C'mon. I don’t have all day, Dair. Time is money.”

God, please, no. Please. Please, no.

“It’s time, Darren. For your brand evaluation.”

“Let’s see here. Darren Dangerous.”

“XWF Debut: August 22nd, 2014! You’ve been around the block, Dair!”

“And with a career win-loss record of…”

…The presence stops.

You can hear the sound of shuffling papers. Buttons on a calculator being punched. Numbers being double-checked.

“...Seriously?”

“2 wins… AND FUCKING 12 LOSSES? If I didn’t think you were too stupid to add and subtract, I’d tell you to check my fucking math, Dair.”

The wind grows even more biting… The frost deeper… Your fingers begin to bend… your joints constrict… Your blood salvages what warmth it can…

“Holy shit, Darren! Sometimes, I really do have to ask myself… How bad does someone have to be to get fired around here? And I’m starting to think the answer is ‘It does not matter.’”

“Clearly, a 1-in-7 win percentage is still good enough to pick up a paycheck around here.”

The presence tsk-tsks…

Your heels give out… Your knees quake as you fall to the floor…

THE FLOOR STINGS! You snap back to your feet! Somehow, the cold is even worse on the surface than it is in the air…

You’ve got to get out of here… You place one foot in front of the other…

“Because, see, Darren. Clearly, Vinnie Lane believes in that whole Native American, ‘waste no part of the untalented wad of fat that signed a contract’... Because instead of firing your ass to flip burgers and die of high blood pressure and let your lackluster genetic code die out.”

“Instead of sending you to the unemployment line… He sent you to the next best place… Monday Night Madness.”

“A place for the underachievers. For the lazy, the slothful, the BOTTOM-FUCKING-TIER that couldn’t work on Savage or Warfare SCRAPING GUM OFF THE SEATS, let alone running the ropes.”

…

“And even amongst the lackluster Madness crew, Dar? You’re STILL bottom-of-the-barrel. You have a 1-6 record on FUCKING MADNESS… Jesus Christ, Dar, Terry Borden is scraping together more wins on the D-Show than you are…”

…One foot… In front of the other…

Your hands wrap around your arms… Then, you shove them under your pits… Like an animal running an instinct, you try to gather all the warmth your body emits…

…But it only grows colder.

“And I wish I could say that at least your brand was unique, Dair. But, it’s fucking not. This hardcore, unpredictable, ultra-violent shtick? Money. It appeals to the edgelord, deathmatch wrestling demographic… A demographic that the XWF is already reaching with Charlie Nickles, Jenny Myst, Marf, …”

…Deep breath.

“Elijah Martin, Erik Holland, Chris Chaos…”

…Deep breath.

“Bam Miller, Jacki O'Lantern, Hide Yamazaki…”

…A chuckle.

“And, of course, Micheal Graves.”

…All at once, the stinging cold hangs in the air…

A moment of relief. The cold, while present… seems… distracted?

“The man who DENIES The Optimal Path…”

“The FOOL who would stand against my aims to help other lowly failures achieve TOTAL SUCCESS…”

“The god-damned IDIOT who should have STAYED BROKEN WHERE I LEFT HIM…”

…

…Another chuckle.

“Your friend, Dair.”

…All at once, the frost returns… it digs into your eyes.

It’s agony to see… You try your best to force them open…

“And see, I have for you… An exciting opportunity.”

“In eight years, Dair… You’ve never been seen with a Universal Champion.”

The cold climbs down your mouth. It ravages your throat.

Every breath is agonizing…

“You’ve never ONCE been a player in the Main-Event Title Scene.”

“And, being the generous soul that I am… I see you, Dair.”

You feel the frost tearing you apart from the inside.

Your eyes are too dry… Even the wind and frost blurs in front of you…

For a moment you close your eyes…

“I see the Lord of Ultra-Violence. I see the Baron of Brutality! The SOVEREIGN of SADISM… And I see in you… PROMISE UNFULFILLED. POTENTIAL UNTAPPED.”

…

“Dair. I don’t make this offer lightly.”

…You step forward…

…And you feel your foot… Miss the Earth.

“How would you like to be… DESTROYED? LEFT DECIMATED? By the Universal Champion, Mark Flynn?”

You stumble… And trip forward...

“Instead of your career being a lifetime of mediocrity and losing to middling nobodies. For once, your life would CULMINATE into something meaningful. Your history would intertwine with… And be obliterated by a superior being.”

At first, it feels like you’re falling down a hill.

…Then a cliff.

“FOREVER MORE, your life could not be ignored, because of the IMPORTANCE I would instill in it, Dair.”

Then, the ground completely disappears under you.

Like you’re in freefall.

“And with this newfound destiny, you could rebuild. With this horrifying loss, as I break your joints, your arteries, your limbs… As I reduce you to the primordial FUCKING goo that life first crawled out of…”

As you fall, as gravity whips around your skull… The wind howls… The pain of the frost is even worse.

“You would be in the perfect state to be born anew.”

“To be better than the NOTHING you were before.”

Your body is too cold to take another breath…

“To take your first step… Onto the Optimal Path…”

…Your vision blackens.

“Or you’ll die.”