Throughout the annals of XWF history, the tally of those who have been reviled and hated is a sum likely best measured in 4 digits. From psychotic owners, to pedophiles, to insane demi-Gods, to the just garden variety insane. But of that league of the damned perhaps none are hated so universally and utterly as….




Beneath her imperious manhood withering gaze, Corey Smith is jammed into a desk/chair combination that looks a bit too small for him. In fact, the room is full of such desks. It looks like a classroom, albeit a ramshackle one with flickering lights and a whiteboard in the back that SOMEONE wrote “SUCK MY DICK” on in permanent marker.

Daria, please, this is all just a big misunderstanding!

Cultural insensitivity is no misunderstanding, Mr. Smith! She screws her face up in a haughty sneer.

Corey scoffs. “Cultural insensitivity”? Why, because I said I thought all Hawaiians were happy?!

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Daria emits an ear piercing screech! Corey howls in pain and covers his ears. That’s an ethnic stereotype! Hawaiians are a diverse and varied people who have the capacity to be just as miserable as the rest of us!

Corey dabs at his ear, which is now trickling a thin stream of blood. He starts doing the Archer “mawp mawp” sound as he runs his finger tips into his ears.

Daria walks up to an old TV on one of those black carts. She plucks a VHS tape off the shelf and inserts it into a VCR. A grainy FBI warning lights up the screen. Now Mr. Smith you will sit here and watch this tape on cultural sensitivity all the way through!

I think I need to see the nurse! He says in a pitch that is entirely too loud.

But the HR Rep from Hell pays him no heed as she coolly walks out of the room. You hear the clacking of some kind of locking mechanism on the other side of the door as Corey continues trying to work some hearing back into his ears.

Meanwhile, on the tape, a semi-familiar face saunters into view.



Hi everyone! I’m TV’s James Van der Beek! You might know me from my work on Dawson’s Creek. But today, I’m here to tell YOU why cultural sensitivity is RAD!

Based on the scowl on his face, it seems as though Corey’s hearing is starting to come back. Oh God no, please someone release me from this hell….He tries to get up out of the desk, but soon finds that he’s stuck.

Everybody has a culture! And they’re all pretty cool. But you know what isn’t cool? Hating people because of their culture! Pictures of fully garbed KKK members in black and white pop on the screen. Uh oh! These were some pretty bad dudes! Thankfully, we’ll never have to deal with this level of racism in America ever again.

Yeah, this didn’t age well. Corey considers the TV with a look of quiet desperation, and then resignation. He sighs, and looks at the camera as the sound from the TV sort of fades into the background.

Well guys, it looks like I’m stuck here. And while I do have my fair share of stuff to atone for, this one is way outta line! I’m practically an SJW! I run a proto-Marxist commune! I generate a 10 foot field of “safe space” everywhere I go! He shrugs. Except the ring, I guess. UGGGHHHHHH! He wipes some of the blood from the side of his face, but mostly just manages to smear it. Does anybody hear a vague ringing sound?

The camera shakes back and forth for “no”.

Shit. He pauses, sucking in his shtummy a bit so that he can turn around in the chair to square up in your field of vision. Well, I might as well do something constructive with this time. His eyes widen in exasperation. Savannah, Savannah, Savannah, way to toss all that hype I sent your way right in the basura! You’ve all but given me the win already! He gives an awkward, sheepish little smile then. And the uhhhhh….proposition, while appreciated, will have to be declined. I might be in a “situation” already. Or a pending shitstorm! One of the two! He giggles nervously. I love my life!

But dayum girl, we gotta get you some confidence. And look, I didn’t sign onto this match thinking it was gonna be an easy win. Hell, how could I have known this would be easy? I got nothin’ to go on! Your only documented match was that pigskin fustercluck that opened Snow Job and all of HH’s matches are on Betamax. I’ve never seen the guy wrestle.

To be honest Savannah, me signing onto this match wasn’t so much about you as it was about Hardhead. I saw a chance to test myself against a member of the old school and I took it. Now, I’m sure that doesn’t help your confidence much, but it’s the God’s honest truth. So, there ya go.

Now as for me beating you, sounds like you’ve already beaten yourself. I’ve never seen such a self deprecating promo in my life. I mean, are you right? He grits his teeth. Yeah, probably! But Jesus, couldn’t you at least pretend?! Lots of people in the XWF pretend things that aren’t true. Chris Page pretends he isn’t the weakest Universal Champion since Gabe Reno. Vinnie Lane pretends we can’t see that bald spot (sorry boss). The Left Hand pretends they aren’t just the cult from Rosemary’s Baby in admittedly cooler costumes. Even I pretend...his expression wavers….lots of things…

Corey clears his throat.

It’s fun to pretend, Savannah. So would you buck up a bit, huh?

Corey’s face suddenly drops like he just realized he left a baby in a hot car.

Oh Christ, I just remembered you were trained by Chasm…..

Hooooo God….

He breathes in and out slowly, looking like a man whose soul has just been shattered by the worst possible news.

Damn Savannah, I’m sorry! But this is a TWO BABIES left in a hot car level tragedy if I’ve ever seen one.

Playing off the narration, eh? Heh...nice.

Holy hell you are screwed. I know, I know I was just trying to do the pep talk thing but CHASM?! Chasm taught you?! Taught you WHAT? The fine art of no showing a promo slot? How to scoop up the D-level quim while trolling for ring rats? How to make Liam Roberts seem marginally competent by comparison? Ah jeez…

He massages the bridge of his nose, before springing back to life.

Okay Savannah, first off? Forget EVERYTHING he taught you. You ever seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? Do it like that, except instead of forgetting an estranged spouse you're forgetting some Billy Corgan looking motherfucker telling you how to botch rear waist lock.

Second off? Whatever you paid him, get it back! Sue him if you have to! Just show the judge one of Chasm’s matches and any sane, reasonable human would have to side with you. Corey’s eyes go wide again as yet another horror dawns on him. Oh God, you didn’t pay him in sex, did you?

Savannah, I’m willing to show you some tips and tricks after this match. But please don’t take any errant boners I might spring as an invitation. You need to wine and dine me first!

Corey briefly looks back at the TV.

Chapter Three: What’s the matter with blackface anyway?

Corey mouths “wow” and immediately sets that to ignore again.

Hey, HH! I’m still scared to do the third “H”. But at any rate, caught your promo too and I gotta say it flummoxed me for entirely different reasons than Savannah’s did. Corey looks a bit disbelieving. Dude...are we “insane backstory buddies”? Because holy hell I think we are! Man, I watched the second half of that promo and felt like I was dropped naked and afraid into a sci-fi double feature! I had no idea what was going on! And then I realized….IS THAT WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING TO PEOPLE THIS WHOLE TIME?!

Head, we gotta get together and make some flowcharts or something, man. These normies? He jerks his thumb back at said imaginary normies. They got no idea what it’s like.

I’m blown away we have this much in common. And to be real with you? The loved ones you lost? I feel that too. I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I’ve lost two very good friends to this business: Lux and Joachim Bright. Hell, I have an entire family out there that I’m not allowed to see because in this timeline there’s another me that’s not even in Junior High yet! He nods his head. See? Flowcharts, brother.

Now I’m not gonna sit here and claim that I know YOUR loss. That’s yours and yours alone. But I have an idea. And I’m right there with you. I’m sorry.

Corey claps his hands together.

But hey, this isn’t a “love in”! This is promo time! And this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you you’re wrong. And thankfully for me, there’s a lot you were wrong about. You said that the name Hawaiian Hardhead was remembered as a joke. I disagree. Because I don’t think you were remembered at all. Before your return, I have NEVER heard someone speak your name. I have NEVER heard a soul speak good or ill of you. Not a one. And hey, if your run was as shitty as YOU say it was (Jesus you and Savannah BOTH!) then maybe that’s a blessing in disguise.

And sure, you got the experience edge on me in a way. You’ve faced some heavy hitters, people I never had the pleasure of stepping in the ring with. Eric Anderson? MAYBE he could kick my ass, who knows! Neptune? Cool name! Maybe I’d lose to him. James Raven….He smiles.

Wrongo. Pinned him in my second match back from a stroke, HH. Tag match. And he didn’t seem super into it. But I’ll take it.

So if you’re thinking this is gonna be a walk in the cake, oh dear, you may have something else coming. And all that stuff about being a savage animal, popping off with rifles and liking to hurt people just because you can? I can see where it comes from.

He shakes his head “no”.

But it just makes me sad. Because quite frankly we have enough of that bullshit in the XWF. I used to BE that bullshit. I get it, this is a violent sport. We’re booked in a first blood match! Not exactly a slumber party pillow fight and why is Savannah in my head again….He kinda trails off before getting his shit back together.

However! Just because what we do is inherently violent, doesn’t mean we have to cause undue suffering. Yet it seems like every time I turn around lately some blood soaked edge lord with a hard on for ultraviolence is talking about how awesome it is to hurt people. And maybe it was always that way here. But that’s not what I subscribe to. Not anymore. Because for as much of a vet as you are HH, it seems that at the tender age of 18 I’ve managed to mature just a bit faster. Because I don’t need to offshore my suffering on others. I’ve grown past that. Everybody has shit. And like I said, I’m genuinely sorry about yours. But if you think being a vicious asshole is gonna fill that void up, I’ve got some bad news for you. It just makes it deeper. And it just makes me want to dunk on you even harder.

So I will. This match is going to be your birth into a new era. And trust me, there will be birth pangs. It’ll hurt. But not more than it has to. Because that’s not who I am.

Hurts…

A hoarse whisper from behind offers a baleful echo of Corey’s words. Corey’s heart drops into his gut and his body sings electric. With that, the confidence, the swagger, the control melts away. He closes his eyes, willing that jagged shard of a once monolithic malevolence away. But it doesn’t leave. It probably never will.

He slowly turns around in his cramped two sizes too small seat. And behind him, a flower of fire has blossomed. And the remnant is there.



Seated in that hellish creche of fire, the remnant’s expression somehow splits the difference between stoic and judgmental. He is unperturbed by the flames. Rather, he seems beholden to a reticence of a different kind altogether. Corey swallows deep, his adam’s apple bobs like a buoy on a vengeful sea. The remnant holds his gaze, utterly unblinking.

Hurts.

With a shuddering breath, Corey replies. Why are you still here?

I don’t know.

How do I get rid of you?

I don’t know.

Corey’s fists ball into tight white emblems of rage. He bashes a fist on the desk and this draws out the remnant’s first true reaction. He blinks and lurches back, breath quickening to push a frail sunken chest in and out. Corey starts to rise, pushing down on the desk top and the back of the chair to free himself with a frustrated grunt. This just serves to instill the remnant with more fear. He backs up further into the flames, yet is still unbothered by them. Corey takes a few steps closer to him, and soon finds that he too is now amongst the illusory fire. It licks at him, and he takes a moment to run his hand through the nearest gout experimentally. He feels nothing. Then, looking back, it’s as if the fire was simply gone. Nothing is there but the classroom, and the aged TV, and a 90’s heartthrob droning on insipidly.

But, eyes forward, and hell awaits.

The remnant tucks himself up against a wall that’s in an arrested state of destruction. Ablaze, but with the fires consuming the wall time locked and encroaching no further. He’s trembling now, all trace of judgement in his eyes now subsumed by terror.

Corey stops, considering this scene that is at once surreal and pathetic.

Please...no more hurt….

There’s no possible way I can trust you. The words seem more like an apology than an accusation. You’re The Engineer.

I am not. He speaks it. He believes it. Who is The Engineer?

Corey withholds a rising tide of disgust. Someone who did the wrong thing. All the time.

The remnant cants his head. What is “wrong”?

It’s harder to conceal the disgust now. What the hell do you mean?

Don’t be upset! He shrinks further into the wall.

Corey scoffs and places his hands on his hips. No more games…

I can’t do wrong because I don’t know what it is! The remnant cries out now in frustration, forgoing the wall a bit in a fleeting act of boldness.

Corey stops short, taken in by the subtle enormity of that statement. Then, something compels him to look back again, back into the classroom. James Van Der Beek’s outlandishly coifed face fills up the screen. He’s mustering up every bit of his acting chops to deliver this next line.

What would YOUR child think about the way you’re acting?

Those mawkish words pass through Corey like an event horizon, setting his mind symbolically ablaze to match his environs. Slowly, the inanity of it all starts to set in. The fact that this foppish 90’s icon’s words could somehow, in this moment, be so pregnant with meaning. Because it was in that moment, that Corey finally understood.

His gaze returns to the flames, and it occurs to him how womblike they are. And in the thick of it all, the remnant, huddled in a fetal position against the wall, considering Corey with the same kind of fear the ancients felt when the skies thundered and they were sure it was the true voice of their god.

You’re a child. He breathes. A blank slate. A blank slate that I’ve done nothing but write violence and anger on. Corey takes a step forward. You are only what I make you. Another step. Another. He kneels down next to the remnant and offers a conciliatory hand. The remnant eyes it with some suspicion. I’m so sorry.

The remnant opens his mouth to speak, but nothing emerges. He’s crying. He battles inside himself, and bravery wins out. He reaches out to take Corey’s hand, interlocking fingers with him.

The flames are extinguished.