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When the sins of my father,
Weigh down in my soul,
And the pain of my mother,
Will not let me go,
Well, I know there can come fire from the sky,
To refine the purest of kings,
And even though I know this fire brings me pain,
Even so,
And just the same,
Make it rain,
Make it rain down, Lord,
Make it rain,
Oh, Make it rain.
Wandering through dings on a casino floor, Gabe Reno approaches the bar while fending off autograph hounds. A Lethal Lottery 4 graphic appears on the screen. With a drink in hand, and a semi-welcoming expression on his face, Gabe turns speaking to the camera like an old lost adoring friend, glad to see again after so long. Such a winding and magnificent road of trials and tribulations. Like brothers, or at least close family... friends... at the least.
There are worse things than being paired with the Universal Champion. From the moment on that cruise ship sailing through the chilly Antarctican Arctic when Vinnie Lane came out and made a declaration... I knew two things. One; Chris Chaos and I had just went to battle for a second time, and probably not the last. And two; that I had one hell of a partner, forced or not. This wasn't the first time I had been paired with him. We had a previous match that ended with me being suspended for pulling a gun on Lane and being thrown out of the match, effectively making a tag into a triple threat. Maybe that taught me something. My head was a mess as I navigated my way through a new place for the first time. I didn't know who to trust... who would show up big when it counted. I can tell you a lot of things now that I didn't know then. At the forefront is this; say what you want about Chris Chaos... the man brings it every time he steps into an XWF domicile. After the announcement we were being put together through this "Iconoclast Initiative" a lot went through my head. But unlike before... this time as time went on... and the adrenaline from our match with Nixon faded... something clicked. Iconoclast... interesting word. 'The Radical' has always flown solo. Maybe it's time... for a change? To stop carrying the brunt of the load on these broad but small shoulders. A new way of thinking. Adapt or die. It wouldn't be the worst thing to have someone there to watch my back for once. When you talk like I do... a little insurance can make all the difference.
Gabe opens his phone, and shows the lens of the cameraman. A short image is shown; then Gabe snatches the phone back close. Beginning to understand the meaning of all that has happened in the spectrum awe and significance of unbridled victory.
NOW PLAYING...
ICONOCLAST
[[A breaker or destroyer of images, especially those set up for religious veneration. ]]
Oh, is that what it means? Hmm... Radical... check. Then there's... Chaos... check. The we have Wednesday Night Warfare... check. Lethal Lottery 4... check there as well... well, then. Iconoclast it is. But you know what? Why stop at Lethal Lottery... even after one of us inevitably wins? How about THE ICONOCLAST... everlasting. Boy, I do like the sound of that. Don't worry XWF, dry mouth is naturally when you know you're fucked. Lane wanted competition for Doc and Solider. Well, he's got it. Because the briefcase if only... the... start. The endless reign of those two lunatics may come to a head at Lethal Lotto... or they may somehow make it out. But even if they do... we will be waiting. Hungry. Ready. Icons. Ready to push them onward to their next venture, and take our rightful spot as their golden tag team replacements.
He basques in the glow of his own hype for 2 seconds. Then turns around to feel ink to more idiotic pictures of him the fans got in place of the nicer more expensive shut that was available on XWFSHOP.COM. Buy two shirts and get a free Robert Main poster that nobody else wanted.
Just pay Shipping and Handling.
☆
Lights. Camera. Action.
In the city of sin. Where better... than Las Vegas to host the promotion that will change the entire livelihood of XWF? Planet Hollywood. The Tropicana. MGM. Paris. New York New York. The Luxor. Caesars Palace. The Bellagio. The Flamingo. Treasure Island. Circus Circus. The standard torch bearers of the sinful strip: Then you have the new. Wynn. The Cosmopolitan. SLS. The D. Lucky Dragon. A virtual who's who of developers fighting over land in the heart of entertainment out in the middle of the dessert. The Raiders, UNLV, the National Hockey League, what used to be taboo is becoming a normal money maker in a world that was once divided; it all has blended together for the same common goal. Money. Everyone wants to take their chance in Vegas. The prospect of failing doesn't deter billionaire's from trying to become remembered. They wet their lips. Rub their hands together nervously. The show must go on.
XWF
The show
Must
Go
On...
Even for a low down dirty gambler. Because that's all people see. Non-addicts that have the type of self-deprecating will you just want to strangle out of them. The judging. The pompous 'better than you' attitude. But risk takers are the one's who succeed. They may have lost it all a time or two or five... but the golden emphasis still remains... all it takes is one. At the roulette table. Little black jack. Fifty-two cards, four suits, endless opportunities to win... or lose. Like hitting the jackpot. Then again; it can be lethal too. Not just in consequence of what you have wasted from your own wallet. Or the looks you get from those who know you're lying to go back and roll the dice again... sure you'll fail. Positive that you'll come up negative. A fortress of shame. In the face of dignity that once was so meaningful. Who you were. Who you were doesn't matter, Robert Main. Hey, look AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU! Are you a gambler, Rob? For most, gambling is about a few hours of fun at the slots... or a fun getaway with friends. Ya know, the occasional flyer in the stock market. But for some gamblers... there’s a dark side... a yearning uncompromising addiction that leads to personal and financial ruin.
Did you not even want this match, but now that you're on a roll you can't stop? Does your addiction have the control you used to covet? Just as an experienced poker player knows when to hold them or fold them, those who gamble for fun limit themselves and their bets. At an event at hardcore and prestigious as Lethal Lotto... you can't play the odds. All bets are off. Compulsive gamblers struggle with both the time and money they’re spending. I've got plenty of time... but I am not the one who is racing the clock on a career that already expired. Denying to myself the real facts of my plight. Betting can take over your life... and you could find yourself constantly wagering like this until someone like CHAOS and I have to put you down. Gamblers try to quit, but can’t. They are infatuated with the chances they could overcome to be that slim glimmer of victory. The Iconoclast doesn't gamble. We take what we want when we want it, Robert. Shaun. Whoever the fuck else crosses our path in the lead up to this unholy event. See, the problem is that gamblers don’t stop with 'fun money'. They don't like to set aside a little here and there just for betting. No. I bet you're the same way, aren't you? Using money budgeted for bills, savings, or your child's education. Fuck. What a shitty think it will be to be on the wrong end of that wager. To squander their future for one you already lived. Not just your last penny, but one borrowed from a future they may very well now never have.
Probably all stems from years of people using your name as a pun to call you the "Main Man". and your inflated ego eventually believing it. Wanting it to be true. Being more in love with the idea than the physical attributes needed to sustain such a calling. Instead spending your nights betting dimes to make quarters... quarters to make dollars... dollars to go back down to dimes. A vicious cycle. Recreational gamblers play for fun and spend a few dollars to have a good time. Would you call that recreational, exactly? Gambling addicts place bets for reasons other than entertainment, often trying to escape anxiety or other problems. Maybe shame for entering a losing battle and not even getting one round end before the old familiar humiliation rears its ugly head. Sooner than you expected it to. Whatever issues you face, gambling isn’t the solution. Betting on yourself is something losers use to justify their failures to overcome. Trophies for participation aren't awarded at Lethal Lottery, Robert. They is no, thanks but no thanks. There is only NO. NO, you cannot win. NO, Shaun will not be helpful to you. NO, there will be no miraculous surprise to overtake the Icons. Just NO.
Have you repeatedly tried to get back money you’ve lost gambling by betting more? The old double down Trax approach. When all the chips are stacked against you, why not make shit twice as bad. Why face CHAOS or ME, when you can have the best of both worlds, right? WRONG. Problem gamblers may see more betting as the solution to financial loses rather than what it is... more losing. Pathological gambling can start small. Though it all ends in the same place, doesn't it, Main? That retired dark corner you have come to know so well? People like your, problem gamblers, won’t be content keeping the stakes low or setting limits. They need to bet more and more to experience the rush. And after being gone for so long your rush was null, zilch, defeated. So here you are. Overcompensating. Trying to get it back by entering a tournament. But it isn't what it used to be. Will you realize it? Or will you keep doubling down until there's nothing left to bet. Many of those faces you were used to have long since hit the unemployment line. Replaced by bigger, better, more specific, more detail oriented MADE FOR THIS SHIT BAD ASSES! Pathological gamblers don’t stop gambling when their bank account runs dry. There is no stop button. No self worth to understand the situation. They are too deep into it now. They have to go on. When they can't stop... they go to extremes to find more money. While this may start with borrowing, some problem gamblers resort to theft, forgery, or other crimes to feed their habit. Your habit. But it's not too late. Shaun Crowe... Robert Main... you can bow out now... no hard feelings. No pain. Other than the obvious not being man enough to face your own family thing, but doesn't that pale in comparison to being so hurt your can't see them anyway? Are you starting to wake up yet, Main? Oh wait... could it by... your eyes opening... not letting this habit take over the rest of your life!? A DAWNING OF ASSURANCE! ARE YOU SAVED!?
Bingo- there you are! Hello. A lot has changed, so before I get any stupid questions, let me be so bold... I am Gabe Reno. My partner, is Chris Chaos. WE RUN THIS SHIT NOW. Not you, not the countless stories of expired times unlike these that no longer matter. EXACTLY HERE AND RIGHT NOW. While you were off on some island gettin' jiggy with it, we were here... training, competing, suffering through all it take to climb the metaphorical ladder. We improved, we took the place by surprise, and now look at who headlines the first selection at LETHAL LOTTO! Oh, that's right... it was US. Not YOU! We don't need former afterthoughts returning to test their renewed commitment to the sport. Our commitment has never been stronger, and will run over anyone in its way like a freight train running free from station control. Chuggin, choo-ing, and screeching through the day, pulsing the ground by night... to make it to the end of a glorious line mapped out through sweat and blood. Through going one by one, or one by many through an entire roster of obstacles. What makes you any different? What makes the guys coming out of the wood-work worthy of stepping in willy-fucking-nilly out of nowhere capable of defeating that? The Iconoclast is coming. It's practically here. Are you going to stand on shivering tracks at night to hope for the best, or are you going to do the smart thing, and get yourself and SHAUN CROWE to safety before it's too late? Still don't know what I am talking about... I thought you might be a stubborn old relic. So, let's get you up to speed. I prepared a little something for you to watch. Thoughtful, I know...
Chaos' first big victory!
My first title.
... Some tits.
Chris right before he defended the Universal on Warfare.
Tits...
Me before an epic match on WARFARE!
An ass.
Me entering the ring to speak of my success...
Chris declaring he win WIN LETHAL LOTTO!
And Freddy Kruger... stalking some... tits.
Clearly, I mean... the reel was directed at destroying the will of our opponents with childish laughter. See I like to lighten the mood before I tell someone their done. Let them live for a brief instant in the joy that someday they might win, and it could even be Warfare. Until we snatch those innocent yet ignorant points of view with pure, unadulterated, violence. First, we will frustrate you with out wit. You'll be caught in between wondering how to respond. Then, you attack not wanting to put up with being made a fool of any longer. After that, comes the part where we outwrestle you on the mat, standing up, through the air... however you want to have this match, we will do it your way. Pick a technique. We will beat you at your own disciplines, which simultaneously disciplining everyone else's idea's of grandeur at the end of Lethal Lotto. Hey, bitches. We got this. Maybe next time. I'm gonna sit down, hold on a sec...
Gabe sits at a black jack dealer. Around the high table on stools are three other players of varying look and likely ability. He looks in the man across from him's eyes to get a read. The man looks back with droopy unapologetic certainty. To the right Reno observes a gown wearing blonde woman. Her diamond encrusted watch screams yes, but her inner elbow tread marks scream no. On the left a small woman, with large aviator sunglasses and no apparent regard for other human life. Zoned out humming the theme from 'Bonanza'. Reno dealt the first card, bending the tip back ever so slightly. He glares at the dealer, who's left eyebrow twitches just before the second card slides under the first. Everyone has their hand. The dealer draws a 9 of Hearts. Reno tries a few sly techniques to gain a tell on each of the other participants. One he thinks he has it, he finally Gabe looks at his hand.
Reno grins to himself trying to keep his poker face together. The player on his left quickly folds their hand. On the right a nonchalant look at the cards before tossing them back to the dealer. Gabe goes mono-e-mono with the hombre sitting directly across from him. The dealer flips the hombre's cards, 7 of Spades, 3 of Hearts. A small switch in the man's left eyelid and the dealer hits. 7 of Clubs. 17 total. The man relentlessly stares at Reno. Gabe's tear ducts fill with moist anticipation. Hit is the choice. The table dealer lays it down and flips it over. 2 of Diamonds. 19. Stay. Back to Reno the dealer flips his cards, Gabe tries to play his 'hit hand' coy, but clearly has no intention to hit a 21. Jack of Spades, Ace of Diamonds. The dealer lays out hit own cards with the original 9 of Hearts. Next card... 6 of Diamonds. 15 now. The dealer hits his hand again... 5 of Spades. 20 in the hand. The Hombre gets pissed and rises up... stomping back to the cashier for more play money. As the dealer clears the table and slides over Reno's winnings, the chair across pulls back out, with a player sitting down. Gabe avoid eye contact to keep his poker face strong. The view is one the stacks of falling over chips being newly minted to the green tabletop. Until an 'ante' chip rolls to the center of the table. With red lipstick accompanying the lip prints that made it. Reno looks up trying to keep his poker face to a new opponent. They recognizes the face. XWF's own wonder of the women's division, Talia Areano. Looking especially vibrant in he silky dark blue curve hugging dress, matching eye shadow, and gold necklace sliding between her... talents. She smiles at Reno. Suddenly he realizes this is no coincidence. The dealer hands cards to the two only, as no other players have entered the fray. Gabe peaks at his cards. Talia lifts the corner of her hand.
The dealer asks for additional bets. Gabe checks. Talia puts $40,000 in the center of the table with sly smirk. Reno chuckles under his breath, then calls the bet. The dealer flips over his own first card. Ace of Spades. Areano's expression doesn't change, the dealer flips her first card over, Ace of Hearts. Gabe's heart begins to race. He needed that 40 grand to make funny banners about Robert Main's awkward disposition. Talia's next card flipped... 10 of Hearts, she has 21. Reno squirms in his chair unsure of how to proceed. The dealer swings to Gabe. His first card flipped. 5 of Clubs. Gabe looks at Talia as if playing off the fact he needs to hit, and trying to play mind games. The dealer rolls his eyes as eventually Reno gives the signal. 2 of Spades. 7 total. Hit, 2 of Diamonds 9 total. Gabe looks at the dealer as if to ask "really?" Hit, 3 of Clubs. 12 total. The rage behind Reno's eyes is hidden only by the reprieve of not blowing up in front of his gorgeous counterpart. He kindly with frustration asks for another card. 4 of Spades. 16 now in hand. The disbelief fills his face like a teenage proactive ad. The pale skin tone second only to the fierce lack of will to go on. Somehow he musters it. Hit, 5 of Diamonds. That's 21. Talia finally leans back in her chair having expected pure face planting failure. But in another sense impressed at the wherewithal of a man to stick to his guns and succeed. The dealer add to his showing Ace of Spades. 8 of Clubs. 18 now in his hand. Next card, 4 of Diamonds. BUST. He splits the pot between the two, just as the former hombre comes back to get revenge. Gabe and Talia meet eye to eye after the adrenaline pumping sexy super hand. They each collect their winning and meet face to face, hands full of chips, with the black jack table over their side shoulders in the background.
21, nice hand sweetheart... wasn't expecting to see you here...
[color=#]Nice hand? You just came back from nowhere, what WAS that!? I've never seen anything quite like that. Pretty good! Do you always play things that close to the chest?[/color]
She takes a step toward his chest adoringly looking up at his chin as if playing an angle for what she wants out of the interaction.
Yes and no... depends on what it is.
Oh yeah? Well, it doesn't surprise me. I got about 43 texts after you announced you and Chaos were doing this Icon thing... it's pretty hot right now.
Talia turns up the heat by moving a little closer.
43? Woof. You know how people are around here... love to chit chat. Just so happens that this time... there's reason to.
There is... in fact, you're right Gabe, this wasn't a coincidence...
Sarcasm reigns supreme.
Noooo, you're kidding? I thought you were here to invite me up to your room...
Well, my luggage does need to get up there somehow, but no, actually I would like to... be... your manager. Chris Chaos has Jenny or whatever her name is, you guys are this big thing... and just like at the card table a minute ago... you take risk, but you know how to skate your way through to the reward. I like that.
Gabe ponders for a second.
And... what's in it for Talia Areano?
She comes within a millimeter of kiss his lips, then turns to grab a drink off a passing waiter's tray.
Well?
She downs the martini without a grimace, then accidentally spills the olive into her cleavage, Gabe tries to helps but bashfully back away, she picks it out then tosses the olive at Gabe.
A little... fun.
That's a lot of work for fun.
I don't mind a little work with my fun... do you?
She walks off toward the elevator, as Reno looks down at the olive feeling something cold. Under the olive... a room key. He looks at her as the elevator doors close in front of her face, the floor level display goes up to "21".
Time to make it rain.
☆
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