Becky has done as she was told. She fetched the camera. But David has yet to hear from Eli. He pushes this thought away as the camera flickers to life and Becky tries to adjust it into focus. Eli likely has bigger things to worry about. As the camera finally focuses, it reveals Mystica, sitting in a rickety chair in front of the window, which is leaking in a revolting light from outside. Mystica is shirtless, with his share of the Tag Titles draped across his lap. He motions for Becky to hand him a water bottle, and she obliges. In a fell swoop, Mystica undoes the top and pours the water all over himself. It is a refreshing flow to wipe away the blood of his struggles. He quickly slicks his hair back and stares into the camera with his eerie blue eyes and a horrific grin on his face. He seems excited -- not on edge as he would be. Warfare will see Mystica enter. There will be no trace of David. There will be only the demon inside to battle.

“Oh, Peter. You try so very hard. Big words and a bigger mouth. But nothing’s really coming out of that massive maw of yours. Just repeating the same thing, over and over. Rawr, rawr. You’re a big, scary man with a heart of iron and a gut of solid…jelly. I mean, keep it in the freezer too long and the horse marrow just solidifies, y’know! Just like regular human bones. They get fragile, and they break. They break right in half, maybe shatter like a chocolate bar after you keep that in the freezer too long. SNAP! CRACKLE! POP! But enough about your breakfast, mate.

Oh, and do feel free to poke fun at my name by comparing it to some cartoons you watched during your trip to Japan. You’re clearly the first to mock my in-ring name. Boy, aren’t you thick. In the head and waist. Oh, yes, you did list a lot of brutish qualities to your character, Gilmour. But “clever” was not one of the characteristics. Guess that’s sort of a moot point.

Just try to kill me. I want you to genuinely try. Because the moment blood is shed, something else comes out. It’s a heart that pumps that blood, Peter. The heart doesn’t stop because the body breaks. You can’t wound a man and expect him not to come back. Vengeance is a harsh mistress. And she likes bigger guys, Peter. You’re a feast for the vampires – those things you figure are stupid and mythic. So go on. Do bring your weapons. Bring them all. Bring me your brutality and watch as you’re matched, bit by bit. Last man standing…that’s only ten seconds I need to end your brain’s wavelengths. You can go ahead and walk away after, but you’ll bear the scars. And scars are roadmaps. You can walk away with a brand new one that says, here is where David Martin made me scream like a little girl afraid of the monsters under her bed. So scream for me. It makes your blood much sweeter.
You’re a monster, for sure. And you keep saying you’re not scared. People who are not scared don’t repeat the “I’m not scared of you, you’re not scary” mantra to themselves and a camera over and over and over. It’s exasperating. You ever watch those fake ghost shows? Y’know, those ones where a group of losers run into an abandoned building with a bunch of cameras for the sake of pseudo-journalism? You’re a lot like them, mate. Keep repeating to yourself “there are no monsters, I’m not scared.” Because if you’ve watched that garbage telly programme, you’ll know that the moment something goes bump in the dark, they scream and run. Three blokes go in, three blokes come out, sans clean pants. And at the end of the episode, they all say the same thing: there’s no such thing as monsters. But I assure you, Peter…monsters are quite real. They’re just not out there in the dark of the world”

He points to his temple, smiling a rather horrific grin.

“They’re all up here. There’s one inside everyone. And the difference between you and me is that I’ve tapped into this thing. You’re still faffing about, talking big, and breaking skulls. That’s all man, and I recognize you’re a big bloke, but you don’t have the same potential. As you smash and kill and bleed all over the ring, you only weaken the would-be of the monster within. You push it away, hoping that the man that you are can overcome evil instinct. Rest assured, Peter, the world is a scary place, and you’re just another scary man residing in it. But there are things even someone as massive as you cannot comprehend. There are things with teeth and claws out there…in here. In your head, in my head, in the head of the dumbest high school dropout and in the head of every brilliant Harvard graduate. But because we maintain humanity, we push it away and lock it in a cage. And it gets so, so hungry. It chews at your cortex, rips at the nerve endings at the stalks of your eyes. It begins to eat up who you are and who you’re meant to be. And then comes the day when the news media is shocked to report that someone cracked and stabbed their neighbor 37 times in the chest. They interview close friends and family, who all say that they “never saw any sign that he could do this!” Of course not. Because if you don’t feed the monsters inside, they find their way out. There’s no harmony in your head, Mr. Gilmour. I do hope you come to understand this.
And yes, you’re a monster in the ring. A brute! A veritable perfection of the art of utter viciousness! But you’re not quite as quick as you’d like to believe. In wit or in physical stature. I’ll duck what you throw, dear Goliath. Yes, Goliath. The creature King David defeated. If you want to mock biblical stature, let’s put it in perspective. This day Jehovah will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down; and I will give the dead bodies of the host of the Philistines this day to the birds of the air and to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that God saves not with sword and spear; for the battle is God’s, and he will give you into our hand. That’s the scriptures, mate. It’s like fate, you see. You can run in with your sword and shield, and I with little more than the sling and staff. And King David, he took the head of the Philistine Goliath to prove the beast was slain. I’m going to kick your head clean off and bring it back home to show my people that a giant does not a victor make. You could stand nine feet tall, for all it matters. Your slow-witted violence will be the death of you. I’m faster than you are, Mr. Gilmour, in many ways. Do try to keep up.

But to reiterate, let’s go back. You have all these things to say about how you spill blood and eat creeps like me alive. Danger, roight? Danger is your lifestyle; danger is your deathstyle. You figure a man like me doesn’t know brutality in its purest form. I mean, a man like you…you went to Japan! The most brutal civilized country in the world, with all the business and culture and honour. You went to wrestle. The uh…King of Wrestling, right? Sorry to say, that’s an ostensible name only. No de jure rule to it. You don’t have a crown. More of a crown of thorns. You martyr yourself in the name of…yourself. Japan molded you into a wrestling machine. Let me tell you, I can admire that. Dedication to your craft. I had dedication to my craft too, though. I was a traveling writer and photographer, and as much as you might think that it’s a cushy, weak man’s job…let me inform you, I know brutality. Have you ever hiked 200 miles down a Cliffside infested with coyotes just to get the perfect shot? Ever been neck-deep in snow, half-frostbitten to death, just to find out what the natives meant by “spiritual journey?” Ever been kidnapped by an African warlord? I have. Fun times. And just like Japan molded you, all those moments molded me. You can break me in half, but all you’ll find is another man waiting for you. That’s the fun of being a bit in between. So go ahead. Bring your cute little barbed wire bat. Bring knives. Bring an entire damn arsenal! There’s nothing you can do that will keep me down. I will not bow to you, Gilmour. I understand what darkness lies in the human heart. We pump a black ink through our veins; it is a darkness I understand more than you ever will. I’ve seen the many ways to kill a man. All it takes is the wrong bite of fugu, and you’re face-down in your appetizer. You must be familiar with that. Humans are so fragile. One needle to the right part of the neck, and your acupuncture session ends a bit early -- along with the rest of your life. See, Peter, we may be similar, as you said. Similar origins, similar means of seeing the world. But where we differ is how we absorbed that information. I took the darkness of man to heart, while you just found new ways to make people hurt on the surface. I found out how to wound the soul. And trust me, mate…I’d love to see what colour your soul bleeds.

Blessed be, indeed.

Achievements

• 1x Tag Team Champion
  
• August 2013 Superstar of the Month (Thank you all so much!)
  
• 1x US Champion
  
• 1x X-treme Champion