Robbie Bourbon and Trax. Trax and Robbie Bourbon. Two careers forming a helix spiraling out of control towards some unknown calamity the likes of which the XWF has never seen.

That's better reserved for a better time and a better place.

YO, PARTNER

We open to see the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts. The place is bustling with activity as locals from all walks of life congregate to train and hone skills in wrestling, cooking, and hair cutting, all while enjoying a hot cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee. Thriving with life and the optimism of a future free from angst, doubt, and jealousy, the good will and hope that permeates throughout each face of each student, sharing with each other knowledge and perspective in this modern day conservatory for all things Americana.

Blue, Robbie's girlfriend and handler, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, and Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, all sit in Dunkin Donuts as the camera approaches. Blue quickly gulps down a mouthful of coffee as she sees the camera.

Oh, hey, are you here to see Robbie?

"Uh, yeah."

The unheard voice of the crack XWF camera crew barely picks up on the microphones from behind the camera.

He's downstairs. He said it was kind of important that he dealt with something.

Follow us.

Diamondback and Cyberjaw get up from the table and lead the camera crew out of the main floor of the dojo and down a hallway. The walls are adorned with pictures of wrestling legends. Stan Hansen, Vader, Lou Thesz, Big John Studd, Antonio Anoki, Bruiser Brody, Bearded War Pig, King John Madison, Morbid Angel, and Abdullah the Butcher all stand, larger than life, looking upon whomever sets foot moving down this hall. Both men stop at an elevator.

Yo, this is, well, this is big man's inner sanctum.

His Fortress of Solitude.

I don't know he'll want to be bothered...

Cyberjaw turns to Diamondback.

No, he said it was cool when they showed up.

Cyberjaw gestures with his left hand as he says 'they'. The elevator doors open and we see Cyberjaw and Diamonback scrunch into the tight space as the camera presses in closer to them and we hear the cluttered sounds of a boom microphone clashing with the walls and ceiling of the elevator pod itself.

Uh, hit two.

There's a shudder within the elevator cab as it descends. In a moment the door opens and we see Diamondback and Cyberjaw gain distance from the camera as they step out of the elevator after the crack XWF production crew. Both the Bourbon Men begin to walk down another hallway, passing a single door that reads "GYM" on their left and stopping at a door marked "GARAGE" on the right. Located somewhere in the first basement of the Bourbon Dojo, Cyberjaw opens the door and leads the camera crew into a garage. Knelt beside a lone motorcycle, chopped and looking in quite a beat up condition is Robbie Bourbon. He peeks up from behind the bike, a torque wrench in his hand. His eyes go wide as his mouth forms a gentle smile.

Oh, hey!

Robbie gets to his feet as Cyberjaw and Diamondback walk over to the bike.

Damn!

Dude, when did you get this?

Oh, I've had it since I was seventeen. No idea how to ride it, maybe one day I'll learn, I just like to tune it up, work on it, and hear the engine run.

What? Why?

Idle hands, bro, idle hands. Stay busy, or you lose all of it.

Robbie points to his head, smudging grease on his mask.

You've never ridden it?

Oh, I have, once, when I was seventeen. Never since, I always needed a ride that held more people.

You know, if you want, I can take a look at it, I'm your guy when it comes to the technology, I can have this thing running at a hundred and twenty percent efficiency.

Nah, nah, thanks though. This is my project, it's how I unwind.

Unwind?

Well, this and also getting into the ring and feeling the adrenaline take over, the soothing sense of being complete after getting hit in the mouth and the way I feel alive while wrestling, knowing it's my very will and soul put to the test along with my body. But this here, well, it's how I relax.

So you tinker with an antique chopper to clear your mind.

Yep. Then I do this.

Robbie turns a key and grabs the throttle of the bike and with a flick of the wrist gives it some gas. The bike roars, causing Cyberjaw to cover his ears and flinch. Robbie lets up on the throttle, laughing.

Dick!

Pussy!

Man, fuck this, we're going back for donuts.

Yeah, and to smoke some more of that...

SHH! Don't talk about it, Trump's on the warpath with that shit. I've even cut back, I'm pretty sure I could pass a clean piss test at this point.

Both Diamondback and Cyberjaw shrug and walk out of the garage. As they do, Steve Sayors walks in.

Hello, Robbie!

Who are you?

I'm Steve Sayors, I've interviewed you before.

Oh, wait, go change.

Seriously?

Yes. It's for the best.

Steve Sayors nods his head swiftly as his eyes go wide and he leaves the garage. Robbie smiles at the camera.

I love this.

The door to the garage opens once again and we see Disco Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors dressed up like someone from the cover of Saturday Night Fever and supplemental Bourbon Man.

Is this better?

Much better.

Okay, well, this smells awful, have you washed this wig since the last time I wore it?

I thought you were supposed to.

You kept it here in a special closet in the Bourbon Men locker room.

No, you kept it here in a special closet in the Bourbon Men locker room.

Wait, what? I was supposed to come back?

Well, sure Disco Steve! My dojo is always open.

I thought it closed during certain hours.

It does, Steve, it does, but you've had plenty of opportunities to come by. Hell, you could've interviewed me for one of my many Hart Championship defenses.

I tried, you never answered your phone and when I came by your Bourbon Men said you weren't around.

Oh, well, I must've been busy.

I saw you walking around here one time when I came by complaining about how bored you were and when you noticed me, you went into your office and locked the door.

I didn't notice you...

I knocked, and you even told me you were sleeping. You actually verbalized the fact you were not awake.

I'm a light sleeper.

Robbie is still smiling as Disco Steve looks defeated. He removes his wig.

I, ugh, look...

Put it back on.

Steve Sayors rolls his eyes and puts the wig back on.

Now if you had that on, maybe I would've been more awake when you came by.

Whatever. Now, Lethal Lottery...

It's pretty lethal, Steve. Didn't you see how many people died last Warfare?

Well, nobody actually died.

I'm pretty sure I killed Killjoy's career.

Well, you and Jim Caedus were a very efficient combo, and this Warfare you're partnered up with a former Universal Champion and, well, rival of yours, Trax.

Pfft, former Universal Champion doesn't look as good on a resume as current XWF Champion, Steve.

XWF Hart Champion, Robbie, a title that many of your critics say isn't as valid as the Universal Championship.

Isn't as valid? What critics say that? Trax? Trax is...

Robbie takes a breath and looks down for a moment.

Trax is my partner. That's the long and short of it.

But Robbie, he's had some less than pleasant words for you in the past week in his promos leading up to round two of Lethal Lottery.

Look, Trax is saying those things, but let's get back to the validity of my championship. I fought for the Hart Championship and won it. I fought for the Hart Championship and defended it. Saying that the Hart Championship doesn't carry the same weight as the Universal Championship, well, the Universal Champion Chris Chaos sure as fuck didn't make it to round two of Lethal Lottery, and he had the number one contender and a man he had experience in tagging with, Radical Reno, as his partner. The Universal Champion complained, Steve, he complained about defending his championship at Savage, and I welcomed the opportunity to go out and defend my fucking title in front of the XWF Universe. It's true, Steve, it's very true that my predecessors were fucking jokes in their own right, but I brought the Hart Championship to bigger, bolder, and greater heights.

So are you saying you'd rather hold the Hart Championship than the Universal Championship?

I say as long as I hold the Hart Championship, it's more important than the Universal Championship, because I'm the best champion that's ever been.

Okay.

So, anything else?

Yes, about Trax...

Trax is my partner at Warfare for round two of Lethal Lottery. That's the long and short of it.

But what about some of the comments he's made about you?

Those comments? Well, all I have to say to Trax is this: get your head in the game. We have a common enemy at Warfare. You want to whip Trump's ass, I want you to whip Trump's ass. Stop harping over the fact I went off the top of an Elimination Chamber and screwed you out of the title. I was aiming for both you and Chaos, I guess. That's right, I guess I was, because I really don't remember anything after seeing your leg raise up and you knocked me in the jaw with a Trap Silencer. I had to watch footage of the match myself to believe I actually ripped the chamber open. See, we're in this together, maybe not for a long time, but for a long enough time that we need to focus on what's in front of us, and more importantly, who we're in front of. He's in your head Trax, he got in your head by saying he was a fan of mine.

You mean Louis D'Ville?

I mean Louis D'Ville indeed, Disco Steve. See, I don't doubt a single word of it when D'Ville says he's a fan of mine. He loves to see people in pain, he loves to see people suffer, and frankly, I have a knack for inflicting pain and suffering in that squared circle when I get to work. Thing is, it's my job, it's what I'm good at, it's not really my goal to go out there and hurt people, Steve. If I could go out and whip someone into a small package and call it a night, I would. Have you ever seen my try to go pin the Xtreme Champion? Roll-ups, that's all I do, because I respect their bodies, but in the end it never fucking works because I never have won the Xtreme Championship. And you know what? Who the fuck wants it now that it's all nasty and C. Diff infected from Ghost Tank? No thank you, I'm proud to be the XWF Champion.

XWF Hart Champion, Robbie.

The fact of the matter is, Steve, D'Ville isn't saying that to butter me up, or make me comfortable in the fact he's another of the billions of Robbie Bourbon fans worldwide, he isn't hanging signed eight by tens of me up in his den, or waiting to come to the dojo to do a little good for the people. He isn't going to go home and show his demons, devils, succubi, hecubi, or any of the ranks of the damned footage of our match and say "See, right there, that guy treating me like a run of the mill rag doll, taking every bit of punishment I can deliver and coming back for seconds and dosing out an even bigger ass whooping in the process? I love that guy!" Frankly, doing any good isn't in the guy's nature because he's a malefactor, and calling him a low down son of a bitch is an insult to low down sons of bitches. He's only telling the world he likes me where I am to get into Trax's head, to try to drive a wedge between us. I say it's a little redundant. I say there will be a day when Trax and I settle our differences once and for all, mano-a-mano, but this Wednesday, well, Trax is my partner and that's the long and short of it. I will watch his back because it's our mutual benefit to watch each other's backs, to look out for whatever underhanded tricks Trump might be paying off, and more importantly, to not let D'Ville get any sort of upper hand by getting into our heads, feeding into some kind of dissent, because we're both professionals.

But what are your thoughts of D'Ville's saying he likes where you are and your place in the company.

Of course he likes it. D'Ville, for all his faults, is not a liar. That doesn't make him transparent, no sir, not by any fucking means. You know why he likes it, Steve?

Well, tell me.

I represent a challenge.

A challenge? Now Robbie, I'm sure there are many people out there who are willing to Challenge Louis D'Ville, least of all your partner Trax.

I know, Steve, but I offer a challenge in ways no other can. Louis D'Ville is cunning, and cruel, and aims straight for the heart of whomever he faces. I do the same. However, what we represent are so completely different it's astonishing, astounding, and astronomically pin-pointed to the very center of the universe. Louis D'Ville will warp and corrupt any soul he can to get what he can, and I will in kind bolster and enrich any soul I can to get what I can. Louis D'Ville has no soul, crushing the spirits of any and all for the simple fact that if he can't have passions, nobody can. He is the void in all of us, that sense that anything can be diminished, the notion that entropy must take place. I can't deny that. However, where the field is left barren, I will till and allow the pasture to rise. Where the desert is most coarse, an oasis is most welcome. I am the life in all of us, the broken soul who has nowhere to go but up, the hope for the weary and tired who go through their day to day tolerating cruelties and pain to grow something good and new, the odd sparks of light and purity that shine through the turmoil. I have a spirit that can not be diminished, a soul that burns atomic hot, the will that poisons and eradicates the plagues of the world, and the fire that burns to temper wills and light the way for those who have nothing more than to carry on, build themselves back up, and become greater than ever imagined. Look at Michael Graves. Look at Trax, who went from being satisfied with being wealthy and sheltered to going out and making a god damned difference in this world for the better, even if he thinks he's not in control of it, it's his will that allows him to go out and stand up for those less fortunate than he. We aren't playing to a stalemate, no matter how much we work to balance each other out, and every day I am a thorn in his side, every day I derail his plans to eradicate any shed of faith, hope, or charity by literally knocking the fucking train off the tracks head on, is a day that Louis D'Ville feels a thump in his chest. It's a day that Louis D'Ville feels what it's like to be human, and it's those precious few moments that D'Ville actually feels. Fear. Outrage. That complete and utter sense of control he subsists on being substituted for a four course helping of humility hitting him like a vegan getting a king's cut of Prime Rib.

Do you read scripture, Steve? Are you a praying man?

I, uh...

I'm not the holiest man around, Steve. I dig Jesus's style, I appreciate the wisdom of Buddha, and find beauty in the teachings of Mohammed, and I acknowledge the peace that faith can bring to the people. Now, when I was a kid, I used to always love a certain piece of scripture I would always try to quote, mostly because I heard it from a movie. It goes a little something like this. The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. I used to think that was the coolest sounding thing in the world, Steve. When I would ride out on the engine when I was with the fire department, when I was swooping in to nab some drunken asshole on the verge of raping some poor young girl on a dance floor as a bouncer, and even in the earlier days of my XWF career when I was dealing with Nazi's, I used to see myself as the shepherd. I used to see myself as that beacon who had to be present to confront anything that threatened the freedom of the people. Then, Steve, then one day I realized that I was too bold, too egotistical, and frankly, that I was too arrogant to actually feel that way. I know that whatever contributions I can give the people, I will give them, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, Steve, that the people are strong. The people give me strength. When someone like Louis D'Ville warps and mutilates the people, Steve, I will fight him, because I am simply the people, not their advocate or protector, but one of them. Nowadays, Steve, nowadays all I consider when I think of scripture, of what I do for the people, of the people, and by the people, of what I do to nourish and make sure humanity may flourish, is far simpler, far shorter, and not associated with pop culture.

Psalm 140:7, Steve. O God, the Lord, the strength of my salvation, thou hast covered my head in the day of battle. You know what this means to me, Steve? To me it means that as long as I am not out to sway the people, to deviate them, or to dominate them, and that so long as I am to humbly live with them, to be with them, to found myself as one of the people, then I have the full strength of the people. It means that someone callow enough to try to demean free will and yoke the spirits of others will never have the strength of those only willing to be free.

Again, I'm not the most religious man, Steve, I can't claim to know much of the ways of God, or Yaweh, or Allah, or even that weird shit Scientologists pray to, but I do know, Steve, that through it all, as long as I serve the people, I am as free as all of them, and as long as I am free, as long as I breathe, I can and will fight. Frankly, Louis has a silver tongue, a gift for words, and wields the truth like a bullwhip intent on driving others to do what he wishes. None of that will matter once we're in the ring and we're locked up, committing punches and knees to each other's bodies. In the end, though, he may have my body and I his, but he will never have my spirit, or my soul, and he will certainly have none of his own. I told you once, you son of a bitch.

I'm the best that's ever been.

A massive crowd of Bourbon Men erupts into cheers as Disco Steve is smiling from ear to ear. The camera spins to show the actual garage style doors are wide open and the whole of the dojo is standing in attention, all of them going wild standing in the depressed bay that leads under the Bourbon dojo from outside.

*ROBBIE BOURBON*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*ROBBIE BOURBON*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*ROBBIE bour-BON*CLAP, CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP*

Frankendickhead , some dickhead Robbie killed and reanimated with his head on backwards, is seen sulking.

That can't be the first time someone ever did that.

Ash, Robbie's personal stylist steps up next to him.

So, who gives a shit. That was awesome.

Ash starts to tickle Frankendickhead, who cracks a smile for just a second. Steve Sayors adjusts his disco wig, proud to be wearing it.

Well, I guess I believe in Robbie Bourbon.

Nah, Steve.

I believe in y'all.