A darkened room. Blinds closed, curtains drawn, the air is still and calm but the smell of dust lingers. Furniture that stood the test of time, survived without so much as a scratch or a tear, sit like forgotten relics in the dark. Still there is life within these walls. Barely flickering like the illumination from a candle melted nearly to its prime, it dances with the expectation that any moment could be its last. Each labored breath and gasp of air is another twirl as the flame spins 'round, slowly fading but not completely gone yet. Then through the darkness, further still, there is a light, dim but consistent, it's cast from the screen of a television set. One that is quite old and antiquated, with the television built right into a wooden cabinet and tuning dials on its side, it's a wonder that such a model even still functions but somehow, like a great many of the marvels that exist within this room; this house, it persevered. Casting a haunting glow as it sent shadows spiraling across the ceiling, floor and walls, while an old man lay in his bed, mesmerized by the images on the screen. A small smile resting on his face, he coughs; suddenly and loudly, into a cloth handkerchief, already slightly stained in crimson.

With eyes threatening to close and a head that can barely stay upright; despite several pillows propped up in an effort to aid in that endeavor, he watches the television with quiet intensity. Completely fixated on the screen, the old man fights off his body's struggle for rest, in fear that this might be his last waking moment and he doesn't want to miss a second of what he's watching. The program? A wrestling match between two fighters in the XWF. Both are newcomers with potential and spirit but only one of them seems to have captivated the old man's attention. The wrestler is tall, with dark hair, intense brown eyes and a fierce determination to win while inflicting as much pain onto his opponent as humanly possible in the process. He's outstanding in the ring, powerful and truly exceptional at his newfound craft. And before long, the wrestler is victorious in his contest of combat. Claiming victory only after successfully smashing his opponent through a glass table, the old man happily observes this and releases a satisfied sigh. He was tired and could sleep well knowing that Dillinger D'Marco was triumphant.

However, sleep would not come just yet, for a shadow lurked nearby. Moving quickly from its place within the doorway, it repositioned itself near the old man's bedside and lingered. Its shape and size in a continuous state of flux, the shadow seemed to float in place, rather than stand as it leaned close and hissed.

"The preparations have been made, Mr. D'Marco."

His voice was heavy, tired, weak, every breath was a struggle to be had but still he managed to choke out.

"Excellent. You've done... "

A fit of raspy coughs caused his entire body to tremble as his eye grew wide. It lasts about a minute and then dies down as Mr. D'Marco settles himself and regains the remainder of his composure.

"Well."

"Rest now. It's only a matter of time.

"Yes."

The shadow loomed, a shapeless mass, void of density, levitating in place as the old man's eyes closed.

"It's only a matter of...."

A strangled gasp. He grips his blankets tight.

"Time."

Then all at once, the shadow dispersed. Fading into the dark room, it siphoned from sight.

---

Dillinger gazed in awe at his grandfather's estate. Simply saying the property was larger than any place he had ever lived before, would be an understatement and he was gradually coming to grips with that reality. It was a lot to take in, especially with Isadora yammering away as she pointed things out and mentioned helpful tidbits. Walking quickly beside him like walking was going out of style, Isadora ushered Dillinger through each and every room, while he allowed it all to sink in and slowly digested the fact that everything was his now. A mansion sitting on 60 acres of land, equipped with an entire staff in wait to be reinstated and two garages practically filled with a collection of automobiles in mint condition. It was beyond comprehension. He could invite every tenant from his apartment building to live there and he'd still have room left over. Not to mention the fact that the area was well secluded, placed intimately within the walls of a thriving forest, there was at least a forty minute drive between civilization and the estate and neighbors (obviously) weren't a factor. Meaning that once Dillinger invited everyone over to stay, he was free to murder them all in some of the most vile ways he could imagine and no one would be the wiser. It almost was too perfect and immediately begged the question - why did his grandfather live out here? Of course this was about the time that Dillinger stopped assessing things, got out of his head and realized they had made their way to the basement, where a giant incinerator stood, cold but in definite working condition.

"What was this used for?"

Dillinger asked, eyeing the machine as he reached out and touched it.

"Garbage."

The metal was cool beneath his hand, he traced it along the side of the machine and walked over to its door. Promptly sliding it open, he took a peek inside, half expecting it to be full of ash and perhaps a musty, stale stench of death but it was empty. In fact, it was practically spotless compared to everything else. Dillinger raised an eyebrow in inquiry and removed his head from the incinerator.

"Garbage?"

Isadora, already captivated with something on her phone, glanced back to Dillinger and smiled.

"Yes, garbage. Mostly. Your grandfather preferred to burn his trash. It was easier and it saved the garbage collectors a long trip. He was all about efficiency that way, didn't like a hassle when it wasn't necessary."

"I see."

Dillinger shut the incinerator's door and shook his head. This was all too weird.

"When would I be able to move in?"

""Right now if you'd like, I can alert the staff and they can begin work tonight."

"I'd have to get my stuff."

"Oh, there's no need for that. I could send someone to gather your belongings and bring them here, save you the trip."

"No! No, that's okay. I want to do it myself. This way I can sort out what I'm keeping and what's being thrown away... if I plan to throw anything away. I'd prefer to take care of collecting my things on my own."

"Suit yourself. Should I still alert the staff?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Would you like them to start working tonight or should I postpone their arrival until after you settled in?"

"Um... I guess they can start whenever. Whatever time or day that's convenient for them."

"As you wish."

Ms. Redclaw rummaged through her purse and pulled out a set of silver keys.

"Then all that's left is for me to give you these."

She smiled again and handed the keys over to Dillinger.

"It would do your grandfather much joy to see you accepting these keys and making use of his home. Enjoy."

With that, Ms. Redclaw turned and swiftly started her exit. Leaving Dillinger alone to ponder the events that transpired.

---

"Jose Gomez, I finally took some time to actually view the footage you released and I have to say, I applaud your optimism. You walk in, fresh to this company and you're not shy to share the fact that you have big dreams. That's fantastic. Everyone should dream big. It gives you hope, determination and something to strive for. Those are good things to have. In fact, I have aspirations as well. You see, come this fight, my goal is to inflict as much pain as humanly possible and my sights are set on you, Jose. Sure, Mike Green will be there but since he's the human equivalency of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, I doubt he'll monopolize too much of my time. If he makes it to the ring at all! He might have a heart attack or suffer complete coronary failure on the way to the ring and then it'll be just you and me, which I'm completely fine with cause it would give us an even greater chance to get to know each other and I wanna know all about you, Jose. I want to understand what makes you tick while I maim and dismantle you, comprehend your screams and determine the difference between them based on the amount of pain I'm inflicting, look into your eyes and interpret your thoughts when you're too weak to move and then... then, I want to have a chance to sit back and evaluate it all after you're completely incapacitated. Jose, I want to get inside your head and unravel your defeat, moment by moment. This may be a standard, three way 'dance' but that doesn't mean I can't break you in every conceivable way. I just have to do it with my bare hands. Which I'm also completely fine with."

"Oh Jose, we're going to have so much fun together."

"I seriously, can't wait."