TK is still putting files into place the rejected side heavily outweighs the considered side. TK looks a bit stressed out, this isn't normally his thing.

FUCKING SHIT!

From across the room, Mr. BOB's voice can be heard.

What's wrong, Thunder Knuckles?

This shit is driving me crazy Mr. BOB!

Mr. BOB brings over a beer to calm TK. Once the beer is in hand he cracks it open and takes a big swig.

I'm fine but there are so many files from the past and present. It's goddamn overwhelming.

Bobby Bourbon's file finally comes across TK's hand. He immediately, without hesitation, puts it atop Charlie's already approved file. Hoping that his best friend will be found soon. TK takes a couple more big swigs of his beer.

I can take over if you'd like.

TK looks over at Mr. BOB instead of the folders placed in front of him.

I'll take a goddamn break soon. When I do I need you to contact these people.

TK points to the pile for potential candidates that's when he notices the next file.

Hmm. That'd fucking weird. How the fuck did this get here?

TK grabs the file labeled Alias.

Not a chance.

TK tosses it like frisbee as papers scatter everywhere Mr. BOB walks out of the room. TK holds up his beer lightly shakes it from side to side, not spilling a drop, It's already pretty low.

Hey, grab me another beer while you're out.

TK grabs another file and starts skimming through it.

Interesting.

He gets farther into this file and visibly seems impressed.

He can be an asset. He's been wrestling since he was 16. He's a multi-time champion in various promotions. Hell, won World Championships.

TK flips to the next page in the file and shakes his head.

Yeah, but, he's kept some pretty damn bad company. Then again, I don't keep the best fucking company either.

TK looks at the already excepted pile. It has two people in it and they're no good bastards. He smirks before flipping to the next page.

Yep, I'll never forget that. Plus, I don't know about his tag partner though.

TK again flips to the next page.

Bobby's apple pie sandwich.

TK looks at it at Mr. Bob.

That's not apple pie.

No, it's not. It's an apple pie sandwich. It's specific to Bobby's recipe. It has thinly sliced Granny Smith apples, half a cup of mascarpone cheese, two teaspoons of honey. Spread on cinnamon raisin bread. Grilled in a panini press and topped with whipped cream.

Where is my beer?

Mr. BOB reaches to his calf. Where TK had Bobby design a refrigerated beer holster like Robocop's gun holster. Mr. BOB pulls out a Michelob Ultra and hands it to TK.

What the fuck is this?

You need to watch your calories.

TK shrugs giving a "meh" face.

Whatever gets the job done.

TK takes

Speaking of jobs. Have you completed your list?

TK looks around at all the assorted folders.

Does it look like I finished?

No. It looks like you're getting nowhere. I can compile all this data in a few minutes.

TK turns his head away from Mr. BOB and mockingly says exactly what Mr. BOB just said in a condescending tone.

I can compile all this data in a few minutes.

His condescending tone is lifted.

Oh yeah, let's see it then.

Mr. BOB walks as he gets close TK stands up and walks away thinking to himself that this task isn't as easy as it looks.

I have to go piss. Let's see how fucking far you get.

TK takes off to the bathroom. While he's gone Mr. BOB doesn't just complete the task. Mr. BOB has the prospects' folders in alphabetical order. When TK comes back he's stunned.

What? How? You have to be shitting me.

I do not defecate.

TK looks at Mr. BOB.

No shit.

Correct.

TK shakes his head because he arguing with a roBOB.

Let's see what you got.

TK starts picking up files and notices that he agrees with what he's seeing.

So, you're telling me. That I didn't have to do anything and you could have narrowed all this down, that goddamn quick?

I asked if you wanted assistance. You said no.

TK's eyes narrow at Mr. BOB.

You didn't say a damn thing about how fast you could do it.

I'm programmed to listen to you and Bobby Bourbon. You said you could do it.

TK sighs.

Yeah-

TK's defensive mechanism kicks in.

-and I fucking could have too.

I know. It would have just taken longer.

Shut up and go plug yourself in.

Mr. BOB does what he's programmed to do and follows TK's direction. TK looks into the camera.

Fuck me! I forgot you guys were here. I bet you're waiting for me to go full razzle dazzle on Jason Cashe, huh?

TK starts looking throw the first file placed atop the newly formed pile.

I'm a busy, dude. Do you know what kinda pressure I'm under here? You can't do what I'm doing right now and except awesome-ass fucking explosions. Hell, I can walk right over to that machine right there-

TK points to his left and the cameraman focuses on a mechanism.

-and open a wormhole that leads to a cave with a ten-foot-tall lizard creature, that stands like we do, with a razor spiked dick on it. Why's it have a spiked dick? I don't know, but damn sure would spice this shit up, wouldn't it?

The cameraman swing back to TK.

No, I'm taking care of some serious fucking business, Robert Main level serious. This shit can't be wrong. It has to be on fucking point. Take this guy for instance Big Money Oswald. This guy, right here, he's a loyal-ass dude. That's something that most people in the business have no clue how to be. Look at Thad, for fucks sake. His old man fucking brought that kid up through the business and Thad is trying to delete the fucker from existence. Where's the fucking loyalty? Not that I give a fuck what happens to the old man. I'm making a goddamn point here.

TK picks up another folder from the prospect pile that he already laid aside.

Barney Green. What can I say? He's the granddaddy of violence. Someone who has taught 'Ol Thunder Knuckles more about Xtreme matches than I ever thought I could learn. Like this, bring a car battery to the ring with some jumper cable and attach them to your opponent's nuts. Why? Because it'll look awesome as fuck on TV, duh! He's fucking right too. That would be dope as Hell to tune into! Better yet, take a pair of UFC gloves and dip those mother fuckers in glue and roll that shit in broken glass, like in Kickboxer with Jean Jean-Claude Van Damme.

TK pauses for a minute because he, for a moment, thinks it's Bloodsport. He quickly shakes it off cause he knows he's right.

Fucking awesome. Anyway, Barney is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to that shit and he's an essential part of any goddamn plan.

TK guzzles down the rest of his Michelob Ultra.

God, that tastes like piss.

TK looks over at Mr. BOB.

Yo, Mr. BOB, another beer.

Mr. BOB tosses TK another beer from his refrigerated calf holster. TK catches it and twists the top off as TK starts to take a drink. The wormhole machine kicks on.

What the fuck?

A wormhole opens and a ten-foot-tall lizard walking on its hind legs walks out.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

TK covers his ear right before the lizard screeches a deafening squeal. The lizard charges TK. TK quickly gets to his feet and grabs the thick metal plate that Mr. BOB brought Bobby's apple pie sandwich on. When TK does this it knocks over the folders scattering them all over the floor. The lizard has closed the gap and tries to stab TK with its razor-sharp penis. Before it could thrust its member inside of TK, thus mortally wounding him. TK blocks its attack with the plate.

You're not going to Eobard Stone me, mother fucker!

TK takes the metal plate and hits the lizard in the throat knocking it on its back. While the lizard gasps for air TK grabs its right ankle and delivers a Thunder Strike, knocking the creature out cold. TK looks over at Mr. BOB.

A little help would have been fucking nice.

The odds of your survival were ninety-nine point nine percent.

Well, would you at least help me throw this fucker back into the goddamn wormhole? I've always been told this thing can be useful.

Mr. BOB walks over to the creature, where TK is standing. With ease, Mr. BOB picks up the ten-foot-tall lizard, walks it over to the wormhole, and tosses it in effortlessly.

How did that machine even fucking turn on?

Mr. BOB walks over to the wormhole device and hooks up to it to figure out how it turned itself on.

It was turned on by remote.

Who the fuck turned it on? We all had fucking access codes. Who's access code, was it?

Mr. BOB quickly answers.

Miss Fury.

Bullshit, she's dead.

TK walks over to the supercomputer and pulls up Miss Fury's file. It even shows the events of her death at Halloween Hell on the large holographic monitor. TK kind of smirks while he watches Jessica get torn to pieces.

Not quite a bridge but that'll prove a point later. Fucking Page.

Those were the access codes used.

TK is livid because someone just tried to kill him with Fury's access codes.

You're good at that shit, damn it. Set it up to where it denies all access to everything in headquarter. Everyone except for Bobby Bourbon, you, and me. Got it?

Mr. BOB nods and walks over to the supercomputer to deny all access to BOB's equipment within the headquarters. TK notices that his beer has been knocked over before. That's when he realizes that all the folders are now scattered all over the floor.

Goddamn it!

TK looks back at Mr. BOB, who's working on what it was just put on to task to do. TK knows he has to start all over. He throws out both his hands in a huff, bushing off the situation.

Fuck it! I'm done for now. I'm taking a break Mr. BOB. I'll fucking be back later.

The camera crew follows the fed-up TK. The longer they follow him the more perturbed he looks. Until he finally turns around to give them what they want so that they will leave him alone.

The problem with the things Jason Cashe says isn't what he's saying. He can take useless nonsense and spin it to sound like he knows what the fuck he's talking about. Pretty fucking clever but absolutely no one can replace Bobby Bourbon. You better go back and start reading the good book, Jason. We'll get to that later. For now, though, the fact that you think I'd ever replace Bobby or take his place, for that matter, makes you dumber than I thought. We are a team and having each other's backs is what teammates do. Still to this day in this moment I have Bobby Bourbon's back. Maybe I oversold your abilities. Fuck it, I hope I did, It worked for Main for over a year. Back on point, Charlie was brought into our bastardly ways because of Bobby. Because of that, Charlie had my back. Do you see how that shit works? You'd know that if you paid more attention to what was going on around you, instead of just the turds you shit out. Feel me? Why are Those No Good Bastards, a completely different team, not fighting DOA? That score can only be settled by Them No Good Bastards and DOA and you know it. It's a goddamn fact that one day, it will. Maybe not here, but who knows? We'll find a venue where that will air that match of epic proportion and the pleasure will be all ours. All while the four of us make whatever company that allows it, a metric shit ton of fucking money.

TK's cellphone dings with a notification. He ignores it for a moment as he continues.

I do have a damn question though. How the fuck is the same guy who says shit like Them No Good Bastards needed to make sure DOA didn't ruin our return like they ruined our celebration back at Relentless and in OCW when they beat us for the OCWs Tag Titles. Then go on to brag about how your time in XWF you have been having matches with no rules. Bro, sit the fucking joint down you're not making any fucking sense. Your self-preservation bullshit stinks as bad as our last match. I hope you're ready to go harder than Liquid Swords because to be the number one contender for the Xtreme Championship, that's exactly what you'll have to do.

TK pulls out his cell phone and looks at the notification confused.

I didn't fucking order anything from Sri Lanka to be delivered to the custom-built dome in Reykjavik. What the fuck?

TK shrugs and thinks that maybe Jimmy ordered something.

I wasn't wrong about something though. You certainly showed me who needs Bourbon's help. Hell, one could even say "hold their hand" in a one-on-one match, didn't ya? Can't wait for that beer in Iceland, Cashe. I'll be buying seeing as I'll get that sick-ass winners bonus. The biggest mistake anyone could make is not keeping their eye on Jason Cashe. This guy is going to blow the fuck up after Fire and Ice. Mark my fucking words XWF fans. That is if he stays the fuck away from Chris Page! Bro, don't go down that rabbit hole. CCPE is a pyramid scheme waiting to bait you. I know a thing about pyramid schemes and Chris Page. They'll both leave you thinking about what the fuck went wrong. That is if you're not smart enough to catch it. You go down that path you'll end up broke and alone. Check Page's history with people. They usually end up driving off bridges, one way or another.

TK's eyes narrow ready to lay down the truth.

Enough niceties because unfortunately for you, Jason. Lord Diamond has personally instructed me to make Lord Vincent Lane look like a dancing fool. Lord Diamond is expecting to clean the fuck up. Walking away tall with four victories. I'll let you do the math. Especially in our match which decides who gets to challenge for the Xtreme Championship. I want to promise you personally, Cashe. My promise of blood, rivers of it. Neither of us will give up because we're not made that way. We will both enter ready to kill each other for our house's name but only one of us is going to come out on top and I'm not a bottom kinda guy. I'm more of a tit man myself.

TK smiles thinking about big-breasted bitches. He looks up with his hands pressed together like he's praying and then looks back into the camera placing his arms to his side.

I'm proud of you my son. You have learned the ways of the Bastard and have practiced the teaching to the letter. Except you missed Sunday school because you came in late just to catch the sermon. You see, there's still far more for you to learn. Take for example, in the book of Bourbon. The commandments are laid out pretty simple.

TK takes his hand to shows the camera his index finger.

Commandment one, "Thou shalt not fuckith with the Bastards". You have broken this commandment time and time again. Yet, we still embrace you as one of our own.

TK extends his middle finger along with his index finger.

Commandment two, "Thou shalt not bow down to no man and worship them". You're so goddamn lucky Brother Bourbon doesn't count retweeting thot pictures on Twitter.

TK's unmistakable girn is flashed while putting up his ring finger then his pinky and continues speaking.

The next two you are again guilty of in sades. Commandment three, "Thou shalt not taketh the Bastard's name in vain". Commandment four, "Thou shalt not give false testimony against your Bastardly Brothers" Oh, yeah, using the Bastard name to prop yourself while pushing a narrative that Ol' Thunder Knuckles would replace Brother Bourbon. Tisk-tisk.

TK protracts his thumb to join his other fingers.

Commandment five, "Thou shalt not covet anything that belongs to your Bastardly Brother". This one you are breaking right now, Brother Cashe. You're coveting my stake as the number one contender to the Xtreme title and for that, I will personally be sending your ass to Hell for it.

TK crushes his hand into a fist.

That is if you don't ask for forgiveness. That's solely on you. We never make anyone do anything. Regardless, I'm going to be baptizing your ass in fire live on Pay Per View on January thirtieth and putting your chances of gold on ice. Well, at least for now.

TK bows at the cameraman. Which should signal the end of this promo. but the cameraman keeps rolling.

Seriously, mother fucker, that's it. Go home. Turn off the fucking camera.

The cameraman keeps rolling until TK knocks the camera out of the cameraman's grasp, thus breaking the camera, and sending the picture into black.