Robbie Bourbon has acquired the donuts he required to fulfill his vow to give away free donuts, albeit through means of coercion against a teenage food service employee at Krispy Kreme.

His partner, Scully, has an unequivocal knack for showing up at the oddest of times, though.

RETREADS

We open to see a Krispy Kreme delivery truck, somewhat modified to show that it is no longer a Krispy Kreme delivery truck since the words "Krispy" and "Kreme" have been painted over hastily with bright green spray paint, then painted over again in orange and pink paint to say "Dunkin Donuts". The truck is stopped on the side of the road, the front passenger side tire completely flat, looking sad and drooped on the pavement.

Robbie is also leaning against the truck itself, rubbing his eyes, as Blue sits neatly on the ground, reading a book.

This is so shitty.

Kinda. At least you got the donuts you needed.

I guess.

Well, just relax.

Some of us didn't bring a book.

Well, bring a book with you next time.

Nah, I'll never find time to read the damn thing.

Well, I guess you do keep busy. Any idea where the spare is for this thing?

Not a clue. It's a fleet vehicle, too, so in order to get someone out here I'd have to deal with higher management with Krispy Kreme, and I don't think they'll like the mods I did to the truck.

Like ruining a tire and spelling "Dunkin Donuts" in spray paint on it?

I did not ruin that tire.

Honey, whenever you drive you try to run over bottles and cans. You holler "five points" whenever you do it and pump your fist, it's silly.

It's awesome. Takes aim.

No, it doesn't take aim. You ran over one of those metal beer bottles this time and the edge got sharp enough to puncture the tire, now we're here.

Well, at least I have you.

Aw.

Blue stands up and hands Robbie the book.

I gotta go pee.

Where?

I dunno, there was a gas station about a quarter of a mile back, I'll just walk there.

Oh, okay.

Robbie, left to his own devices, looks at the book. "Ready Player One, huh?" Robbie rifles through the pages of the book. "I heard really good things, maybe I can borrow it from her when she's done. Damn, I called the Cyberjaw like, I dunno..." Robbie checks his phone. "Okay, I only called him like 3 minutes ago. Calm down, relax, take it easy. You've got a hell of a week coming up, dealing with C.J. and Jimmy isn't a walk in the park. Shitty deal with the world we live in, eventually you have to take on the guys you actually like and respect. C.J. is in for a world of hurt, though, if he thinks I'm going in there pretending to believe that either I'm as awful as he claims or that he's anywhere near as impressive as he thinks. Jimmy is trying hard to sound so, I don't know, mean? Ready?" Robbie slides his phone back in his pocket and surveys the neighborhood he finds himself in. The lower middle class touches on houses built over three decades ago are everywhere. Wind chimes, banners and flags here and there bought from home goods stores by bored housewives, a pickup truck in every other driveway, the sounds of the neighborhood kids all but a thought this early in the day when school is in session. "I packed a snack in my pocket. The ultimate in snackage that my chefs have created, too, the pocket omelet. I think I should save it, in case there's some delay in the Bourbon Men showing up. No donuts for me until after the match." Robbie looks at one house, which has a very vibrant garden in the front yard. Tomato cages set up, a few winter flowers getting ready to rest as spring starts to swoop into Northern Virginia. "Eh, might as well start reading."

Robbie was concentrating on the book he had before him, he was very focused until he seen a figure of some sort in the corner of his eye. He looked up but no one was there. His eyes glared around the front garden as he began to wonder who or what it was? He shrugged, it must be a bird or something and continued to read his book. Suddenly he heard a loud bang!

He looked up and to his amusement, there led on the pathway was 'Arby Beef'. He wore the mask at least and Skull quickly got to his feet, brushing himself off. He had comically tripped over.

Take that fucking thing off. Quit horsing around. Trax and Caedus are already pissy enough as is.

Robbie tosses the book over his shoulder.

Reading is for chumps.

"Oh wow... I finally got your fuckin' attention! Took you long enough."

Scully claps sarcastically.

"Do you not know how to return people's calls? So I have to come to your fuckin' house?"

Scully pulls the mask off, looks at and then rips the shreds, chucking it on the floor.

Hey, don't blame me. Jilted Jimmy Caedus the manic has been blowing up my phone nonstop asking if we were still friends, then telling me we weren't friends, then complaining about how much he missed doing chores for meth, I must've missed your call.

Robbie stands up straight and stretches.

So what brings you out of British Florida and to my humble abode anyhow?

Scully begins pacing backwards and forwards. He then stops and repeatedly says,

"Goosfraba... Goosfraba... Goosfraba."

Scully takes a deep breath.

"I think I need a Snickers!"

Well, I'm all out of donuts, do you want an omelet?

Robbie reaches in his pocket and pulls out a three cheese omelet.

Skull looks at the three cheese omelette.

"What the fuck? You think I'm going to eat the shit? I knew it!"

Scully shakes his head.

"I should have guessed that the XWF would try to fuck me over. You know who I blame? Taco. That stupid fucking pig. Just because I eat bacon sandwiches daily and hate Peppa Pig, Taco put me with you! That is what you called Screwed."

You're screwed? That adorable little piggy set me up with the man the people can depend on to lose just about any match in the world. You lost the Universal Title to Peter Gilmour, then lost the Xtreme Title to Ghost Tank! Shit, people give you enough grief about GT, they forgot about Gilly!

Robbie tosses the omelet over his shoulder, where it lands on the book.

Look, just tell me your head is in the game for this Wednesday. I know Caedus. I know Trax. I helped them get to where they are, and let's be frank, they helped me get here in kind. They're pretty goofy sounding in promos, especially Jim's lofty and high pitched womenly voice, but they're pretty fucking violent in the ring. So stop focusing on Taco, even if it is Taco Tuesday. I know you can fucking get shit done in that ring, but you need to keep your eye on the prize, Scully.

Robbie holds the XWF Hart Championship belt up from nowhere, slings it over his shoulder, and points at it.

Do you see this? This says I don't need a fucking briefcase. This says I don't need to win Lethal Lottery for any other reason than to beat the shit out of people for the delight of the men, the women, the children, the pigs, the goats, the ducks, the chickens, some house plants, a few candy bars, and maybe some eldritch horror out there in the cosmos. Am I in the Lottery to win it? You bet your ass I am. But, don't make any mistake about it, you have a chance at that briefcase, Scully. You have a chance to change the stars again, and prove that one man can fluke his way into three titles, and not just two!

Skull takes a deep breath and calms himself down.

"Flukes? Me winning the Uni was a fluke huh? No me winning the Uni was the thing that no fucker expected, including you! I earned my spot by winning that Gauntlet, ya know? Where I beat those turdburgulars Ghost Wank and Steve. Then defeated both Unknown Soldier and Peter Gilmour all in the same night. Scully did that! I then went on to defeat Vinnie Lane and retire his ass. Scully did that! I won the XWF Universal Championship fair and fuckin' square, I was better the guy on the night and I earnt it!"

Scully stares at Robbie.

"I also beat McBride one on one for the Xtreme Championship fair and square and even defended it successfully against him. The only Flukes were me losing my Universal Championship to Peter Gilmour and losing to Ghost Wank when I least expected."

And none of that matters, man. Nada. This Wednesday, your past, my past, Trax's past, Caedus's past, none of that matters. Jim Caedus is too focused on trying to analyze your promos to realize that him not getting the whole picture is on him. Hell, he's even gone so far to say you're more of a threat to me winning than he is, kissing my ass to try to get to you. You know what that says to me? Fear. For starters, I would have to say a loose cable on the ground in Paris, France, hundreds of miles away, has more of a chance of making me lose than Jim Caedus. Then he goes off and tries to have a shitting contest regarding who's home town is worse. I say no need to argue, flush the toilet in Birmingham, get a drink of water in the high desert, same fucking water. He's towing more baggage than a New York garbage scow and presenting to the world as fruit cake and diamonds, his claim to being special, his unique sheen that should put you in an uproar and have you tripping over yourself. It's as clear as a glass of piss but half as valuable, because I piss excellence. Trax is burning up airtime telling the whole world that he's a has-been, and that while his whole career took a step down from where it was when he got started, we actually got better, went out and fought in more matches, and didn't fucking slack off waiting to poach a spotlight. I say fuck the spotlight. The world isn't some dark, dim thing you or I need to outshine. It beams, it glows, it burns, and it radiates more than any one man could, and that to succeed is to tap into the veins of the world, to let that light in, to let it make you better. I don't represent the people, not by a long shot, I just count myself lucky enough to be graced by them, that I get to go out and do what I do for a living and they can appreciate it. Trax is looking for glory lost, Caedus is looking for life lost, and I bathe in glory and life on the daily, filling my lungs with the air the people breathe, filling my heart with the passion the people keep, filling my soul with the indomitable will the people exhibit to get up every day and continue living to spite the cold vacuum of the Universe.

Robbie sips some water, as a man who makes an extensive point would.

Scully, don't think, just answer, what is driving you to go out and win this Wednesday? Trax and Caedus's motivations never will matter as much as yours.

Scully thinks for a moment.

"I want to win Double L because I want that fuckin' briefcase. You see Robbie, it also doesn't or shouldn't should I say, effect my title shots. You know if I wanted too? I could challenge Chaos if I wanted? But I don't feel like it yet. Nope. I feel like winning this briefcase, winning Lotto and once again proving the doubters wrong!"

Then let's fucking do it, man.

Robbie gives Scully a thumbs up as he scampers off somewhere. Robbie turns and picks up his wrapped omelet and the book. "Where does that guy even come from?"

With that, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw arrives in a tow truck.

Wow, that's, well, I just needed a tire.

Dude, it's mad at the dojo, everybody is demanding more donuts, and the chefs are churning them out as fast as they can. Ooh, pocket omelet?

Yeah, you want it?

Nah, I'm good. Where's Blue?

Yo.

We see Blue walking up. She looks less than pleased.

Their women's room was out of order.

Oh, so did you use the men's room?

No, that's gross.

Robbie and Cyberjaw share a glance and nod their head no.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, you keep an omelet in your pocket.