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The media scrum area following Leap of Faith was packed with journalists and the who’s who of the media when Preston Vanderlay Esquire and his students, Briggs, Dashford, and Regan, barged in as if they owned the place. The lead organizer of the post-PPV presser checked her list of permissible talents for the press conference but didn’t see them on it, and signaled them to leave, but they didn’t see her frantic hand gestures.

Nor would it have mattered.

The foursome was still clad in their luxurious attire and taking swigs from bottles of Louis Roederer Cristal ‘Gold Medallion’ champagne as they commandeered four seats at the big table. Preston propped his feet up on the table and relaxed, letting the journalists see the pricey soles of the footwear they and the roster belong under.

After initial confusion, the media went all-in, cameras flashing and voices firing off questions at breakneck speed. Hands shot up for permission to speak. Preston let them hoot and holler for his attention longer than he should have, but alas, he shushed them with a courteous gesture.

“Easy. Easy. There’s plenty of me to go around. I heard a lot of questions just now. You want to know about my induction into the Hall of Legends. You want to know why I’m part of the Black Rainbow. I get it. But have some class and patience. We’ll get around to each. “

“BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR INVOLVEMENT WITH THAT ATTACK ON KIERAN KING!” Voiced one very loud and angry reporter.

Preston rolled his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘what about my involvement’? We beat the royalty out of his ass. We flogged him, haha, that’s what I was involved in. He wanted the smoke, so we smoked him. He wanted to find out what was at the other end of the Black Rainbow. He found out. I’m not going into further detail about Kieran King because I’m not doing any more charity work by giving him extra shine. My students might feel more charitable, though.”

He tossed his apprentices a nod to oblige the media if they wanted to.

“Don’t mind if I do, Presty.” Briggs, the hulking powerhouse of the foursome, set the champagne bottle down with just enough force to spark intimidation. His baritone voice seared into them with disdain. “You people are fucking stupid. This trashwad Kieran King has somehow convinced you all, the roster, and the fans that he’s a King. A literal King. You fools built an Ides of March event around him, and your toolbag commentators were even speaking in ye ole English at times. The Ides of March was a Roman thing, dipshits. It had nothing to do with a king or courts or the age of ye ole English. A King has a court, a Queen, knights, princes, and princesses. Kieran King ain’t got shit except a bruised ego, which will be his loyal adjutant for a while. Kieran is a dictator. That’s all. And dictators are a dime a dozen.”

The journalists went into a frenzy. In a matter of seconds, the big man’s words were being dispersed into the vast toxicity of sensationalized media. They pressed him for more, but he blew them off with a snorted laugh.

Preston patted Briggs on the shoulder like a proud papa, then looked over to Dashford. “You feeling charitable, Dashy Boy?”

The fresh-faced apprentice was busy live-streaming the whole thing on his super-phone, and only looked up with enough time to seek out and wink at the hottest lady reporters in the room. “Nah, brah, my charity work’s done for the night. I might be donating something extra at the crib tonight if some of these ladies play their cards right.”

“Well said, good man,” Preston replied. He then tossed a nod at Regan. “You?”

The bubblegum-blonde badass from the MMA world blew a bubble from the gum she was obnoxiously smacking, then popped it. “So, like, this Kieran dude has, like, no more clout than the Burger King mascot. Kieran totally has less clout, actually, because, check it…  at least the Burger King has like millions of loyal people and he totally makes them all kinds of food. Whoppers. Cheeseburgers. He even has banger drinks like cold foam iced lattes and those fucking bomb frozen cotton candy cloud slushies. The Burger King takes care of his people, and everyone loves him. The only thing Kieran serves his people are shit sandwiches and nothing burgers. So anyway, I’m so glad Dolly won tonight!” She squealed excitedly. “Long may she reign!”

The throng let out a cheer, liking the respect she’d shown to the new Universal Champion. More voices lit up the room, but Preston calmed them with another gesture.

“Alright, that’s enough. It’s time we got to the business at hand. Tonight I was inducted into the XWF Hall of Legends. I’ve already seen the contempt being thrown at me online tonight, and also from some of the stares you people are giving me. So, I’m about to piss you off even more. Not only have I been inducted future-actively into the Hall of Legends, but I also get to take a spot in the Top 50 of the HoL. This means someone in the Top 50 has got to go. Who should it be?”

The place erupted in protest, knowing the HoL thing was a sham. Or they hoped it was, anyway. Preston let them smother him with their hate and smiled the widest smile ever smiled when they finally relented.

“I think the best way to select who gets booted is to leave it up to the amazing XWF fans. So, we’re putting up a poll tonight. All fifty names in the HoL will be on the poll. Whoever has the most votes gets booted. I’ll announce the ‘winner’ in a week or so. Thank you all and have a wonderful night.”

The foursome stood up amid another round of protests and took their leave without a care in the world for the disrespect they’d shown to XWF.

End.