Sunday, January 19th, 2014 - 12:31 AM PST - Eighteenth Street Territory - Los Angeles, California

If you don't think about it, killing someone is actually pretty easy.

Especially when your tool of choice is a firearm. Quick, a little messy but the best thing about them for the squeamish, you don't necessarily have to be right up next to them.

But the ease of murder fades to black when you start thinking about it. On the ride into their territory, it finally hit me; just how many lives I ruined in retaliation for their own attempts on my life. Two men lie dead in the back room of a grocery store, or maybe they're in some morgue having the obvious cause of death examined by an overworked, underpaid coroner. I wonder if they had families; brothers and sisters, parents, lovers. The standard issue Glock rests in my lap, and my head rests, hidden behind my two hands as the unshakable guilt continues to sweep over me. Not only for the two dead guys and their families, but for the other guy.

I don't blame him for wanting to kick my ass.

Shit, gotta stop thinking like that. I'm here, they aren't, and the other guy would have had to deal with killing someone at some point. It was all meant to be. Gang life doesn't accomplish anything but signing a death certificate.

Maybe that's why I'm not too eager to be a part of this any longer than I absolutely have to in order to ensure their loyalty.

I pull my hands down to my side, and adjust the bandanna before taking hold of the Glock. The car is crowded; whoever thought it was a good idea to put Jorge in the backseat is a special kind of evil. That, or a special kind of special. We've been circling this same square patch of houses for the last fifteen minutes, trying to draw anyone in the wrong color out. Or, in this case, the wrong sports teams' jerseys and tattoos. How we're going to be able to do this at half past midnight is beyond me.

Tough Guy rolls down the window and twists the volume dial on the CD player to max volume, drowning out the quiet conversation between Tough Guy #2 and Sophia. I cover my ears, dropping the gun back in my lap. When the bullets start to fly, I'l risk deafness. Not now, though.

Sure enough, like clockwork as soon as the music is heard, people are opening their doors to complain. No one on this block looks like they'd be a part of any gang, let alone Eighteenth Street (who as I hear the stories about them, compare to the fucking Nazis in terms of brutality; either these motherfuckers are really dangerous or more likely, I'm being fed exaggerations). However, one man, almost as fat as Jorge waddles his way over to our car and starts to slap the hood with his whale fist while shouting: "Turn that fuckin' music down!"

Just then, the back tires deflate and Tough Guy spins out, driving halfway over the curb.

We just got out drive by'ed. I knew we should've invested in silencers ourselves. All four doors open and we scramble out into the night, piling up behind the car. Tough Guys 1 and 2 peek their heads up above the trunk and hood respectively and open fire on the car that the Eighteenth Street guys were getting out of. One guy catches a bullet right between his ribs and collapses to the ground adjacent to the front seat he had just exited. There were now only two guys left on their side and the fat guy ran off back to his place, likely to call the police.

The Glock's in my hand, but I'm missing the motivation to put my life on the line, or to take another. Jorge slaps me on the shoulder and shouts something that I don't quite understand but I assume was an order to do exactly that. With a deep breath, I stand up, resting the bottom of my hands on the roof of the car while trying to line up my shot with either of the two.

I take a deep breath, and pull the trigger.

I've never felt so much recoil in my life. The bullet flew through the air and collided with the windshield of the car, cracking it in a spiderweb pattern. No one was hit. My conscience can rest easy, at the very least. Unarmed, Sophia remains ducked behind the car,, hiding from the carnage. I take aim once again, my target? The left calf of the driver. Attempts at steadying my aim actually work this time, it's like adrenaline is taking over again.

Just as I'm about to pull the trigger however, I see that someone has already put a bullet in his head. He falls to the ground fast, his skull smashing off the street, landing in a puddle of his own blood. Tough Guy #2, the shooter, catches a bullet for his trouble as well. Right in the throat. He drops to his knees, body shielded by the trunk end of the car, clutching at his throat and trying to pry the bullet out with his hands.

His gun falls out of his hands as survival becomes his only concern. Jorge puts a bullet in the last guy, right where I was aiming at the driver. The calf. The guy on the other side drops to his knees, screaming. Tough Guy and I rush over to the neutralized last man standing on the losing side and pull him up to his feet by his arms.

"You done fucked up, holmes." Tough Guy stifled back tears saying this, looking back at his doppelganger dying on the ground, choking on a bullet. "You done fucked up!"

He throws a punch, jerking the captive's head to the side and causing a white and red blur to fly from his mouth and splatter against the ground.

Jorge and Sophia drag Tough Guy 2 over to the Eighteenth Street car, Tough Guy 1 grabs the keys off the dead driver and pops the trunk, where they shove his corpse. Sophia rushes over and hops in the passenger's seat of the car, and Jorge and I drag our new friend over to the backseat, putting a gun to the back of his head to ensure cooperation. Tough Guy gets in the driver's seat and powers on the engine, trying to see through the broken windshield into the dark night before driving off.

He might want to step on it though. Here the police come, converging on the scene just seconds too late. Looks like we get off again- wait.

"We are so fucked."

"Fuck yeah you are ese! Once my homies hear about this yer all gonna get it!" I pistol whip the motherfucker. He didn't need to speak.

"No, our car. They're going to figure out it's us."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that..."

"Yeah, we have the registration right here," Sophia says, holding up the registration papers.

"What about the license plates?"

"Oh, shit..."

Episode 4: Theo Pryce is a Fucking Moron

RECORDING.

(02-21-2014, 02:17 PM)Theo Pryce Said: "As for you Laz, if, if you beat me, specifically, if you pin me on Saturday and show the world that you might indeed be better than me, than yes you will get a match against me."

"Ahem, what was that Theo? Pinning you? In a match where the winning stipulation is to beat people down and then rip off their masks in a gas chamber? You fucking dense sack of shit.

But wait, that wasn't the only folly that Theo Pryce made! No no no! He couldn't help himself but to spew more and more moronic bullshit then attempt to take the moral high ground by claiming the people who are ripping you to shreds are childish. Childish how? Schoolyard how? Or are really poor attempts at ad hominem your best bets as to how to trash talk somebody?

'Oh please, pay no attention to how I got utterly ripped to pieces there, that person is just childish for calling me out on my shit!' - Theo Pryce.

Congrats XWF, this is your King.

I'd say you all deserve better, but then I'd be lying. Wait, where's the Gilmour lynch mob here to crucify Theo for using the lackluster insult phrase - lame? Isn't that what the Anti-Gilmourists like to harp on him for, using lame? So why in the holy name of fuckballs has no one brought this up to Theo?

Oh, right. Because you're all scared of him for some reason.

Hell, even the guy who beat him seems to be hiding like a fucking bitch under his wing. That's how Theo Pryce does business! He loses to someone and then instantly tries to convert them to his side so he doesn't have to risk it against that guy! Kinwrathi doesn't care it seems, he's happy to bow down to the King if it means he gets publicity for doing fucking nothing. Wow Theo, way to be a respectable King.

Way to lead the sheep to your side. Because, we all know that for how many times members of the congregation get called sheep, the unaffiliateds are the real fucking leeches, sucking off the power that both sides hold onto. But most of those unaligned cockroaches are more than content to side with the almighty Company! Talk about propaganda people! They almost had you all fooled! They're the real string pullers, shepherds and if you bought into their bullshit, you're their worthless, insignificant sheep just waiting to be slaughtered when your service is no longer deemed satisfactory.

You know what? I'm sure once I kick your ass and leave you for dead (literally), you'll bend over backwards trying to welcome me into your gang of All Stars that only serve the purpose of keeping them from going after you. Get on their good sides so they won't challenge you.

Good strategy if you were trying to be some sort of tyrant. But since you made that claim of being a fair 'King' who listens to his 'constituents' (further proof of his mind altering attempts!) that really doesn't look all that well for you. Look who you aligned yourself with in this 'Company' (might as well call it your Royal Cabinet):

Mr. Supernova - Was the Television champion for damn near a year, and has carried your ass to victory at least once, despite the fact that you're supposed to be the best on the roster, oh King.

Mystica - Current U.S. Champion, was on the winning side of a the tag title match that prevented Theo and NAZI from being tag champs. Super sad face for that one.

Dr. Zero - He's got that power. As in, the power to cash in a briefcase on Pryce's ass at any time. When has a briefcase failed?

Kinwrathi - Hasn't done shit but he did beat Theo Pryce.

Neonero - Former European Champion, former US Champion, might've ended up hurting Theo's feelings.

Scorpio - Former World Champion (whatever that is).

Right, Theo. Give it up. The Company is only dedicated to making sure your own ego is accounted for. Cut the shit about being a fair and honest King, and become the tyrant you want so badly to become. I might actually have some respect for you if you do and I might actually listen to your inevitable offers to join the Company instead of knocking your teeth down your throat the second you open your mouth about it.

Just, give up the facade, asshole.

Also, you might be wondering where my accent went. Yeah, fucking with people's preconceived notions about who I am is way too fun to keep on doing one voice for too long. However is Titan going to trash talk me now?!

Oh, right. There's a couple other people involved in this match. Yawn.

Mandii Rider, who seems to be cowering down from saying shit about this match from the verbal onslaught of none other than Titan's bitch. However am I supposed to make fun of this skank without her saying something severely stupid? Fuck it, I don't need that. She's Callaway's friend, ain't she? There's your joke; set up and punchline. The friend of the girl who thought I would be leaving myself so easily to be exposed! Haha! The girl who get her ass ripped on by Mr. Supernova of all people even when she isn't in the fucking match!

And you're friends with her?

Shit, that says more about your ability (or in this case; lack thereof) to make good decisions than a million promos where you demonstrate unbridled idiocy could ever do!

And lastly, Techno Viking?

I refuse to take this asshat seriously. Re-fucking-fuse."

END RECORDING.