Sunday August 21st 2016
Clearwater Beach, FL
Noon.

The air was beautiful in Clearwater, as always. This was a beach community that set the Guinness Book of World Records for the most consecutive days of sunshine at 361. The next big thing and future XWF Champion of some sort, Chris Jackson (Chaos) planned to soak this up, pun intedned, and then some. Hell, he had just beat two men by himself, fucked a model before getting her fired, and put an entire roster on notice. Not to mention he won some money in Vegas. Yeah, he earned this.

He was flying high. Admittedly, he was a bit skeptical coming into XWF. He was worried his OCD wouldn't let him enjoy it because he would be constantly comapring it to Phoenix Wrestling. You could even say he was, a bit, well, nervous.

But it was all going swimmingly. His only defeat was against Drake Knight in a match he fucked up and forgot Knight was even in. Other than that, nobody has been able to come close to the Chaos he has created. And nobody will. This week he was being rewarded, he was told, but he still wasn't sure exactly what kind of match he was participating in, or what show. He was told it may be Wednesday, which would mean he was probably traveling to some third world hovel again. Oh Well. He could add kicking ass on every continent to his resume now.

He leaned his lawnchair back, lighting a cigar. Cubano, the finest. His 10th floor condo overlooked the intercoastal to one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. He had come a long way from the shithole streets of urban northwest Tampa. He took a big drag of his expensive cigar and blew out the smoke, watching it billow above his head for disapating in the soft Gulf breeze. His Evian water bottle was not going to be an ashtray as he tapped the top of the cigar before putting it back between his lips.

It was peaceful, serene. It was the break he desperately needed. He listened to the seagulls. Was he the only person on the planet who actually liked how seagulls sounded? Was he truly that pyshcotic?

He sat there for a few hours, his cigar long ashed, his beers long drank. He was just resting. He wouldn't be resting much longer. His LG V10 chirped much louder than the birds did, jolting him awake. He didn't even look at who it was, just answered with a snap.

"What?!"

"Whoa, whoa, champ.....calm it down. I call with good news."

"Bruce, this better be good news. I will literally rip your throat out through this phone if it's not."

"You are booked on Wednesday Warefare."

"That's it?"

"No. You are booked for an Intercontinental Title Match."

"It's not the Universal Title"

"It's a title, Chris."

"Straight up match?"

"No....there is a stipulatuon. I am waiting for management to release what kind of match it is".

"Who is it against?"

"You don't know who the Intercontinental Champion is?"

"Bruce, I have had my sights set on Scully and that Universal Title since I walked in the door. Nobody else has matters to me but me. I got too caught up in worrying about other people in PW, and I found myself unemployed. Who is it?"

After some hesitation and a sigh, Bruce said "Dillinger".

There was about 10 seconds of silence when before Bruce spoke up.....

"Champ?"

"I'll call you back".

He pressed end and set his phone down, staring off into paradise. Dillinger......where did he know that name from?

+=+=+=+=+=+

The two men had damn near beaten the hell out of each other. Chris has glass sticking out of his back, Dillinger had a gash on hish head running from eyebrow to eyebrow.

Dillon Dillinger had began all of this when he had attacked Chris a few weeks before, laying him out with a steel chair. Since then, Chris and Dillinger had taken turns cheap shotting one another in the locker room. Now, they were battling for gold on the streets of Paris, and tearing the street up worse than an F5 tornado. Mulan Rouge is a haven of strangeness, but this was a different animal.

Chris performs a drop toe hold and Dillinger face planted into the door handle of a building, staggering backwards. A wobbling Dillinger was vulnarable. Chris went for a spear, but Dillinger grabbed him and threw him into a food vendor cart, knocking food everywhere.

Pain ravagaed and racked his body, as he lay panting and looking up at the Paris sky. What was he doing? Was this all worth it? His time to think came and went as Dillinger came at him with a pipe he had found on the street, swinging for his head.

[i]Chris ducked and used his legs to propel Dillon backwards, then roll out of the way of another attack---the pipe denting the pavement.

Thats when he noticed the burning 2x4 that was sitting about 100 feet from him---how the hell did that get there?!

He reached for it, just as Dillinger grabbed his ankle and turned him over into a Boston Crab on the harsh road.....Chris reached.....he couldn't quite get there.......the pain in his lower back was shooting like lightnig bolts......the glass was cutting him open more.......

almost........

almost there........

His fingers closed around the 2x4, and he shoved it into the back of his challenger, burning part first. The man screamed and let go.....rolling over Chris stood up slow......the man rolled back onto his now burned back.....Chris held the burning 2x4 over his head........he was going to kill this man.......

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

[color=#FFFFFF]Chris woke up in a pool of sweat, his eyes darting around the dark of his room. The girl in the bed next to him, he didn't even know who she was but didn't really care, he breathed heavily.

Sliding out of bed he found his way into the bathroom, running the coldest water possible and putting it on his face. His Paris Street Fight with Dillon Dillinger at Under The City Lights III in PW was one of, if not the most, brutal match of his career.

The letters from Bruce's text message still burned in the back of his retinas. "Cuban Hospital Room Brawl." Why did he always fight men named Dillinger in these exotic matches? Why did he have to beat men named Dillinger in these exotic matches? Why did he have to end the careers of men named Dillinger in these kind of matches?

Now his Hospital Room match with a different Dillinger is proving to be following the same path.

It would be ruthless, and brutal, but it was what he needed. Sure, he had been successful since coming here, but has not yet been chaotic. This match screamed of chaos. It screamed of injustice. This was going to be a match NOT for the weak at heart.

The water felt good on his face. But it wasn't enough. Chris had been going through the motions since he got here, but this was right in his wheelhouse. This was a match where there would be blood, and somebody would check into this hospital and not leave. One of these two men would have their career altered in one way shape or form after Warfare. One of these two men would have everything they have worked and trained for their entire lives cut short. This was a match that made legends, but also killed legacies. Chris was determined to show the world that he wasn't just some new superstar with awesome hair and a powerful skill set....he was determined to show Dillinger D'Marco that he was a monster.....a killer.....a murderer........

He picked up his pre packed bag and woke the girl up. He was headed to the airport.

============

The phone rang continuously. Where the fuck was the old man?!

"Bruce, what the fuck, answer your phone!"

That was the 7th voicemail he had left since he hit the highway. Was Bruce okay?

The old bastard probably upped and had a heart attack, and here Chris was driving to Miami to take a commuter flight to the armpit of the Caribbean.

He didn't want to say that he was worried, as nothing worried him. He didn't NEED Bruce. But, somewhere in Chris's black heart there was a tiny bit of blood flow and something deep in him cared, even if just a small bit. He missed the old man already.

After another 20 minutes of silence---Chris didn't even put his music on, for whatever reason---his LG V10 rang. Bruce's name flashed across the screen. Chris hit the bluetooth button his radio, and the sound of a machine beeping came in faintly in the background.

"Bruce, where the fuck are you?"

"Chill out, champ. I decided to get a bit of a head start. I am here in Havana, in the hospital you will be winning the IC title in."

Chris grinned a bit. The old man still had it. That little bastard was probably planting a weapon or two in the room. Oh how he didn't give Bruce enough credit!

"Champ......I am here. I met all the nurses. I bought us some cigars. I also put VIP in at a local club on the beach. We are going to party hard once you walk out of here with the belt."

"I see.....so you planted me something?" Chris's anxiousness was coming out. He HAD to know.

"Champ....phone calls can be recorded. Somebody might be listening. The world is not a safe place anymore. You will do what you do best and in the heat of battle you will find what you need."

"Bruce I am passing by Jupiter now. I will be in Miami in 2 hours. The flight is about 40 minutes. Shoot me a message with your location. And make sure Mr. D'Marco's room is ready for an extended stay......."

"Champ, if you do what you do, there won't be a hospital left for him to stay at".

"Good point. So dig a ditch by the sand dunes on the beach. We will bury him tonight then ash our cigars and pour out some rum."

"Amen, brother"


+++++++++

AUG 30, 2016
HOSPITAL
HAVANA CUBA
3PM

"Dillinger......you are quite the odd fellow aren't ya? Seems to be a trend around here. Unlucky for you, your name makes it a dangerous trend. Your name, I assure you, means more to me than it does to you. To you eh, its just a name. Dillimger D'marco. To me, it is the entire reason I wake up everyday. It is the name that started my career, made me who I am today. Not the D'marco part, obviously, but Dillinger.......the name gives me goosebumps and makes me feel queasy at the same time. You should feel special, that is quite the accomplishment. Dillinger, your name alone makes you public enemy number 1 in my book. Both a good guy and a bad guy. A guy I hated to fight, but loved to fight at the same time. A guy I loved to hurt, but seemed to enjoy getting hurt by. A competitive rivalry of sorts. I am excited about it. The more blood we both spilled, the more I enjoyed it. Dillinger made my career, springboarded my PW career....and now Dillinger, albeit a different one, will springboard my XWF career. Beating you will put me well on my way to becoming the number one guy around here.

"Dillinger this match will define both of our careers. They will be talking about this match for years to come. It will forever etch our names in stone. Isn't that exciting? One of us won't leave that hospital, Dillinger, and to me, that is exhilarating. I love it. The sheer fact that we will damn near kill each other. I love that.

You said something a few weeks ago that really tickled my fancy, it really made my ears perk up. You said "trust me, I am a murderer". I got to thinking, long and hard, and have come to the conclusion that so am I. I murder careers. I have taken pride my entire wrestling life not just winning titles but hurting people, and hurting them badly. Putting people on the shelf makes me a little tight in the pants, not gonna lie.

"Dillinger we have to travel to this third world shit show.......we might as well have a little fun while we are there right? Maybe there will be a hot Cuban nurse with a bubble ass who can take care of you after the match? Since you will be stuck there. You see.....we don't even need to go to the arena....we can go straight to the hospital. In fact, I will give you a head start. I will let you go there and get a head start first---get set up. You see, a man with the name Dillinger made my career what it is, and now another man with the same name will keep that legacy running stronger than ever.

You see......I plan to tear this hospital down. I plan to throw you through every window, shock you with every AED, stick every catheter up your ass. I plan to concuss you with every bed pan and put your smug ugly face through every monitor screen in the damn place. That is if a piece of shit hospital in the armpit of the Atlantic even has computers. Dillinger you may have run roughshod through the mid card of this company but you have never in your life met someone like me. I refuse to quit, ever. You will have to kill me to beat me. In fact, I HOPE you kill me. That way, I will be remembered. Beating you isn't an accomplishment, it is a stepping stone on my way to Scully. Nobody will remember this match. The only reason it has significance to me is because of the old Dillinger, in PW. But to anyone else, this is just an entertainment match where the better looking and more talented psychopath beats the less talented washed-up Dawson's Creek looking psychopath to within an inch of his worthless life. At the end of the night, I will be walking---yes, walking---out of that piece of shit hospital with a piece of gold over my shoulder. You won't walk out at all. You can make all the promo's you want about shit monsters and poop jokes---you will amount to less than shit at Warfare. You may be a big deal here....but I don't see you as anything other than just another victim.....

Prepare........

Oh yes, Prepare.....

To Be Equalized!"

He shuts the hospital door as Bruce is seen taking something out of a duffel bag.




BRUCE KHEN----