Robbie Bourbon was most recently seen at Lethal Lottery where he was viciously attacked by his former compatriot, Bearded War Pig, thus annihilating the Motherfuckers.

He hasn't spoken since.

CHRISTMAS SAVES ROBBIE

The cold air howls through the mid-day sunshine. As vibrant as everything looks, the season of decay and cold is evidenced by the naked trees and people bundled up in their warmest clothing; woolen caps and thick coats abound. The body language of passers-by is telling of the weather as well, their arms clenched tight to their torsos, chins tucked, strides deliberate, and hair going in the directions of the gale force winds contributing to the wind chill.

Among the people we see Robbie Bourbon. A thick wool cap with a bobble atop his masked head, a Cosby style sweater underneath his spangled sequined jacket, his spandex singlet offering little protection from the cold from the waist down, Robbie seems overcome by the cold along with everyone else. As he ambles about, seeming to be in waiting for someone, or something, the steam from his breath creates clouds twice the size as most everybody else.

The camera zooms in on Robbie's face, and from off screen we hear a very familiar voice.

Hello, my friend!

Doctor Louis D'Ville, once a staple of the XWF, stands behind Robbie as the camera zooms out. Just the utterance itself makes Robbie's otherwise blah face twinge as though someone was scratching a chalkboard. Robbie turns and glares at D'Ville.

Oh, don't we look rather sullen! Isn't it the holidays?

With a snap of D'Ville's fingers, Robbie and D'Ville are atop a massive sign. It reads a list of stores, like J.C. Penney, Dick's, Best Buy, and all manner of other massive chain retailers all situated within the shopping mall some two-hundred yards away. Between the sign and the actual building that is the mall is unadulterated chaos as people argue, bicker, and generally make things as difficult as possible for each other for the sake of getting the best deals from the stores they can. D'Ville smirks as he lights a cigarette. Robbie looks deflated.

It's exquisite, is it not? These people all treat each other like garbage, no regard whatsoever, in the name of peace and goodwill.

Robbie glances at D'Ville wearily.

Cat's still got your tongue? Tsk, tsk. Robbie Bourbon, once the very embodiment of bravado reduced to being a silent and petulant child because he was betrayed by someone?

Or it wasn't just anyone, was it?

D'Ville takes a drag of his cigarette, grinning on exhale. Robbie turns and looks away. With that, D'Ville snaps his fingers again. We see Robbie and Louis are now in a bar. Christmas lights adorn the otherwise dark and rather pedestrian drinking establishment. Signs highlighting specials on beer, specials for Happy Hour, and specials for football games adorn the walls. A bevy of sad and pathetic looking souls all haunt the place, knocking back whatever swill they can afford to escape the dread of another holiday season. Robbie lets out a deep exhale.

Well here we are, Robbie, perhaps a spirit or two to raise the spirits?

A bartender approaches both Robbie and Louis. She looks beleaguered by all of the atmosphere, stuck behind the wooden rails of another dive during the season of giving.

Can I get you guys anything?

Muddled wine, heavy on the cinnamon and light on the cloves.

The bartender looks quizzically at D'Ville upon his unique request. Robbie looks wryly at him. The bartender turns to look at Robbie.

One moment, my friend needs to make up his mind on what he would like.

The bartender walks away and speaks with another patron of the bar as D'Ville seems to beam at all of what is happening.

Perhaps you should lighten up, Robbie. Where is the Bourbon we all know?

D'Ville takes the butt of his cigarette and smashes the lit end into a handy ash tray, extinguishing it. As he does, he exhales the last of the smoke from the Virginia death stick and leans in closer to Robbie.

This is the XWF, my friend. You can rarely rely on anyone. I suppose, in many ways, it's the greatest weakness you have. Now you wish to feel sorry for yourself over the fact Bearded War Pig decided to end the Motherfuckers, is that correct? Poor Robbie Bourbon, he has lost his friend.

Well, none of that matters, now does it? You get to move on and do what you do. Point out to all of your opponents at Warfare why you are more important.

Explain to them how you matter that much more than they do in this match.

Robbie, I could tell you needed my help. Not because you were beaten, no. Not because you were sick, not at all. You are discouraged, the worst condition there is in existence. Does it please me to see you like this?

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Perhaps the man with the ability to make mountains tremble is better suited to doing just that instead of sulking because his closest friend decided to beat him relentlessly at Lethal Lottery.

So give yourself that release, Robbie! You have earned it. Put aside the emotions you are feeling, let Bearded War Pig go on his way, surely some other beast will put him down. You, however, should bring terror into the hearts of your opponents.

Robbie's brow furrows at the notion brought up by D'Ville. Louis snaps his fingers again. This time we see he and Robbie are in line at a convenience store. Robbie looks around, somewhat confused, then back at D'Ville.

Sorry, needed smokes.

Robbie's eyes go wide on this realization, and his face goes blank. In front of Robbie and Louis, a woman with her daughter is at the register. The little girl, all of five years old, looks up at her mother.

Mommy, if I am good will Santa come to our house and have dinner?

The cashier smiles at the pure, unadulterated cuteness and non sequitur nature of the question. Robbie smiles. Louis looks at Robbie wide eyed as he does. The woman turns to her daughter.

Sweetie, I told you, I'm not sure Santa can come by this year.

Louis rolls his eyes and raises a hand, ready to snap his fingers again. As he does, Robbie Bourbon grabs D'Ville's thumb, preventing any kind of snap. Robbie goes to a knee, holding D'Ville's hand, and addresses the little girl with a smile on his face.

I know Santa.

Robbie looks up at the lady and smiles. She looks back curiously as a stranger in a very garish wrestling outfit holding a one eyed man's hand addresses her daughter (and rightfully so). The little girl looks beyond delighted.

Really!

Yep, and I know he knows you've been good.

Robbie stands, letting go of Louis D'Ville's hand. He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a wad of cash. He unfurls the bills and slides a stack of hundreds into the mother's hand. D'Ville looks flustered, and snaps his fingers. Robbie and Louis are now in a dry, hot stretch of desert on some highway.

That was very foolish of you, Robbie. Sometimes you need to let the weak just die and continue your own survival!

Then why are you so invested in me?

D'Ville opens his mouth to speak then pauses. Whatever he was about to say wasn't at all what he wanted.

Look, you want something from me, I get that much. I always thought you were a sneaky creep who couldn't express himself directly, but after all it is Christmas. What do you want, Louis? Do you want me to go out and tell everybody how unworthy my opponents are for Warfare? We were randomly drawn. Call it fate, call it karma, but something stepped in and told the world I would be kicking off Warfare on Christmas by starting in my match first. I don't think it was you and your tricks, they only seem to work on the willing anyhow.

Do you want me to try to terrify the young kid having his first match? If he isn't scared, he damn well should be, or he just doesn't know any better. The way bodies can break inside that chamber, Louis, and he just chose to come into one, and that's bold. That is to be commended! The kid has a spine, and he wants to show the world in his first match he can beat four other men and win an XWF Championship. It isn't his fault I'm the guy he's facing down first. He isn't some terror, or monster, or creature of malice that needs stomping and flattening, he's young. Am I going to beat his ass, then use his ass to beat someone else's ass? Yes, very probably.

Do you want me to scare Barney Green? Big Barn, the size of a barn, and I already proved I can toss him around like a rag doll. Do you want me to frighten him, let him know the futility of coming down to the ring, entering the chamber, and locking himself in a pod? Do you want me to make Barney cry again? The man has heart, and pride, and is willing to come to compete fairly and openly in the XWF, not a soul singing his praises, and he does it ad infinitum.

Do you want me to scare Chris Chaos, is that it? Do you want me to point out his flaws, his foibles, and every nuance about him that makes himself uncomfortable?
The guy just came back to the XWF, he earned a title opportunity, and I really hope for the sake of fairness after Warfare he's still the number one contender and gets his shot at the Hart Championship like he earned. Do you want me to tell him everything he does is moot?

What about Centurion? Do you want me to put fear into him for you? Do you want me to expose the fact he was nowhere to be found when we were dominating the XWF airwaves, that when our names were selling out arenas he was a mere afterthought?

Face it, Louis, you need me more than I need you right now.

You need me to make people hope you come back.

You need me to focus on you as a rival more than Pig.

And my time with Pig will come, I have reconciled that.

But, we're here, Pig is busy getting ready to play pretend scary guy.

It's Christmas, Louis, do you want me to do something for you? Do you want me to remind people what to fear in the XWF? Do you want me to remind people there are some places you don't go, some lines you don't cross? Because none of my opponents are guilty of any kind of hubris, or wrongdoing, no. They're just put in the wrong place at the wrong time against the wrong guy. The one who can rip the chamber apart with his bare hands on a whim, the one who get brutal and nasty in ways it would make even you blush.

I am Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon.

And I know damn well two of the men in that chamber definitely remember that name. I know damn well two of the men in that chamber will soon never forget it.
It's the name of the man who won the XWF Hart Championship on Christmas for the people, and right now, Louis, you are definitely one of the people. Is that what you want?

Not quite.

Well what do you want?

D'Ville grins at Robbie and snaps his fingers. As he does, we see both Robbie and Louis in what appears to be a massive hospital ward full of beds. Tucked in each is a child. Each is connected to a series of monitors and other devices.

What I wish of you Robbie is simple, and what I've wanted all along; your soul. Your soul, however, seems broken. Tattered. Worn. I have no use nor see any value for it in the state that it's in, of course, but I will help restore it! I will fill you once again with the desire and drive you once had. Then you will give it to me, not out of spite, not out of desperation, but willingly and in thanks.

Why did you bring me here?

Robbie looks around as some of the children stir and gawk at both he and D'Ville.

Quite simple, my friend! These are the people. These are the ones you want to stand up for, and these children won't see another Christmas. Give them what only you can, give them the fire and passion of a competitor who wants to actively destroy his opponents. Otherwise, wouldn't it be an awful Christmas that these children don't get to see Robbie win?

Robbie shuts his eyes for a moment hearing what D'Ville has said.

You want me to go win the Hart Championship for a bunch of dying kids?

That's the notion! To see these poor sick souls and know that you can be their champion, you can fight for them and give them hope, surely it fuels you, correct?

Robbie opens his eyes and looks around the room. Crudely drawn pictures in crayon and colored pencil. A Christmas Tree in the center with a random mish-mash of differently colored and patterned wrapping paper around boxes, gifts both brought deliberately and donated for what is effectively the last room most of the kids would know.

The chamber will be a death row, then. Michael Archer Jr. is the first on the chopping block. Green, Chaos, and Centurion will wait and watch in awe and dismay, wishing their pods never had to open based on what I do to everybody in that chamber, but on one condition.

Oh?

D'Ville grins at Robbie. Robbie smirks back at D'Ville.

You have conditions, Robbie? This is news, considering you should desire to win solely to avoid being destroyed yourself.

You can have my soul now.

D'Ville squints at Robbie.

Do go on.

Well, look around you, old man. Surely these pure and innocent souls are nothing to you, but imagine the years, the wear and tear, the trauma they can endure, and the sins they'll perpetrate if...

D'Ville chuckles.

This isn't a bargain, you know. You are offering me your soul for more to come? And how do you...

Robbie snaps his fingers. D'Ville stops mid sentence.

You can teleport us all around the Universe and basically do whatever you want by pretending to be Thanos with a mitten, all you gotta do is snap your fingers. Kill the cancer. No more diseases. Just a room full of healthy kids that can turn into shitty adults, and you get the rights to my soul.

D'Ville smiles at Robbie, and Robbie smiles right back. With that, D'Ville snaps. The lights flicker, and the incredibly ill children all look to be with better strength. No signs of gaunt or hollow faces. Each mark of suffering in the room seemingly gone as vital signs on monitors all show similar expected bench marks of health among the youths. Nurses rush the room from the commotion, and D'Ville snaps again. As Bourbon and D'Ville disappear, a small army of doctors start checking on each of the patients, none understanding the miracle that just occured.


Robbie and Louis are seen standing atop a building. Louis is lighting a cigarette, and offers one up to Robbie. Robbie shakes his head no.

My friend, you have little say anymore. Remember our bargain.

I do.

Robbie smirks. D'Ville squints back at him.

I own your soul.

Robbie shakes his head 'no'.

Negative, you have the rights to it. I reckon you have a piece of it.

Oh Robbie, you aren't so dense as to think you can back out of our bargain?

Oh Louis, I am not. You have the rights to my soul.

But my soul belongs to the XWF Universe.

I reckon if you want whatever many pieces of it there are scattered among the stars, that's on you. After all, you do have rights to them. Just good luck getting all of them.

Louis D'Ville blinks and slowly takes a drag off of his cigarette. Robbie continues to smirk.

You're a son of a bitch.

Hushabee.