Chris sat on the porch of his condo in Clearwater Beach, wincing as he took a sip of his drink. Swirling the ice again, he brought it to his lips. Clearwater was quiet this time of year. Most of the tourists who flood the beaches in March and April for the "spring break" phenomenon don't come anywhere near this place in the winter. They were too busy flocking in droves to Disney World in Orlando, about an hour and a half north east. Just the name made him shudder. Disney sucked so bad. Oh well, he was happy to be back in his hometown with just the locals and their bullshit to deal with. Local bullshit is better than foreign bullshit any day. And kids, the insufferable kids..........

He took another sip.

The college girls were fun to party with though, he wasn't going to lie. Eckerd College in nearby St. Petersburg as well as the stragglers who made their way down to the beach from USF. He had hit up Sheppards a few times this winter, and it was never a bad time. Today felt a little different, though. The birds were flying in irregular patterns. The inter coastal next to his condo was rippling, but the sky was bright blue. There were fish jumping. There was something in the air, and as he turned his head to the right he saw the beach. It looked different today, not as cocaine white as it usually looks. Looking out to the horizon, he felt a chill.

"Something legendary is coming. A revolution." he said to himself. It always fascinated him how nature seemed to know something was coming, even long before it came. The sky was ice blue to the naked eye, but the animals, the water, the sand, it was all preparing itself. He was jolted by the horn of the Super Queen deep sea fishing boat. He could hear it all the way from the harbor. They were going out for their afternoon trip. Apparently, humans didn't have the same senses that nature did.

He took another sip as he envisioned in his mind the boat pulling out of its mooring, something he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of times before during his time as a deck hand. The Phillies flag blew softly on the diner across the street. The Phillies had their spring training in Clearwater, like the Yankees did Tampa. Both would be heading down here in the next few months as the most boring sport besides NASCAR got ready to start again. Hell, both of these teams had more fans down here than the Rays did.

Fuckin' Rays.

Taking another sip he let out a sigh. He wasn't even mad about the loss to Damien Archer. Damien was a hell of a competitor, and Chris knew he was still a bit rusty. He wouldn't allow himself to harp on it. He wouldn't allow it to become an omen for his continued career. Just as he was about to take the final swig of his stronger-than-usual drink, he heard a knock at his condo door. With another sigh, and an eye roll, he got up, setting his drink on the table with a clink.

Walking to the door he opened it, finding himself face to face with Bruce Kehn.

"Bruce" he said, not particularly thrilled to see his old mentor, boxing coach, and best friend. Bruce was not strictly his manager, and overstepping that boundary could result in serious bodily injury for the old man.

"Chris, we need to get going. We have to train today, remember? You don't want another repeat of the last time you were here......."

Chris stared a hole through him.

He turned and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle off the counter and bringing it over near the fridge. Filling another glass with ice, he went to pour the clear liquid into it when he felt a hand on his wrist.

"Chris, I am serious here. You better start being serious, too. You didn't come back into this business to dick around."

Chris blew out hard.

"I am not 'dicking around', Bruce. I am.......medicating".

Bruce still would not allow him to pour the liquid into the freshly filled glass of ice.

"You can't just get by on name alone, Chris. What happened to you?"

Chris looked at him, staring a hole even bigger than before.

"What?"

"What happened to you? Have you really settled this much? Have you really accepted that this generation of wrestlers will fear you simply because of your name? Because of your accomplishments? Where is the Chris I know, the one who went out and PROVED his worth. The one who backed up all the smack he talked."

Chris ripped the bottle away from Bruce and set it rather forcefully on the table.

Chris grumbled something under his breath about still being him.

Punching the counter he turned to look at Bruce with a fire in his eyes.

"There is the Chris I know....so lets get moving, champ, we have something to prove today...."

But Chris stood still. He didn't move, it was like he was paralyzed.

"Bruce....this is the first time in my wrestling career that Jenny has a belt and I don't. Albeit in a different company, gold is still gold. This is the first time she isn't living in my shadow.....dominating a women's division and setting trends all over the world. I have created a monster. I have a match this week with 4 other men, for a major title, and I can't help but think to myself that I am going to hurt someone. That I am going to dominate. But then I go to move, and it feels off. My joints need WD40. I am worried that for once in my life Jenny may be the Chris Chaos that Chris Chaos needs to be."

Bruce patted him on the shoulder.

"It is a chance, Chris. That is all you can ask for. A chance. A trip to the dance. When you played football at USF, you guys knew you weren't going to win a national title, but a bowl game was a victory. Just because you are the underdog doesn't mean you need to give up.. You had your chance at the Pay Per View also to get off on the right foot. You did that. You dominated, just like the Chris of old. You have an ace in the hole. Win loss or draw you get another shot. You have a chance to have one of the most epic comebacks in sports entertainment history, and you can't fumble on the goaline. I'm not going to kiss your ass, Chris, you won't get better that way."

"I never asked you to kiss my ass."

"You are looking for validation. You are looking for me to tell you its all okay and that you're still the best. I will be honest with you, right now, you're not the best. You're far from it."

Chris smacked the table again. This was striking a nerve with the number one contender.

"........but you CAN be. That is up to you. I am not going to sit here and argue with you. I am going over to Caladesi Island. You can either come over and we can get back in shape, or you can sit here and wither away in this luxury condo, wondering what could have been."

Bruce turned swiftly and left, closing the door behind him and leaving Chris standing in his kitchen.

2 Hours Later

Bruce was putting all of his training equipment--resistance bands, ankle weights, dumbbells etc--back into his gym bag when he looked up to the sound of tires crunching on the shell covered sand at the top of the inlet. The black 2019 Dodge Ram 2500 rolled into the inlet, fully tinted. The white Florida plates with CHAOTIC in green writing could be seen as the truck rumbled to the edge of the sand. Getting out was Chris, wearing his grey XWF shirt with blue writing and a pair of gym shorts and flip flops. Despite being away for a while, he was still pretty cut.

"Fashionably late, as usual", Bruce said with a sarcastic smirk. He began to take the items back out of his bag as the waves began to pick up on the island.

Chris remained silent but looked out at the open Gulf in front of him. There was something churning out there. It was a legendary feeling. A revolution was brewing. They could get stuck on this island if the weather got bad, and for some reason, he didn't care. He nodded at Bruce and picked up a resistance band.

3 hours later.

The sky was now cloudy, and there was thunder in the air. The wind had picked up substantially. Chris crossed the finish line that Bruce had made with two cones, and dropped the 80 pound dumbbells he had in each hand, panting. His shirt was a dark grey now, and the blue letters were barely visible. Picking up a water, Evian, of course, he crunched the bottle as he poured it down his throat for the umpteenth time.

"Chris the weather is picking up.....we should probably pick this up tomorrow."

"God is in the rain." Chris stammered out in staggered breaths.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Since when do YOU of all people believe in God?"

Chris took another crunching chug, and tossed the bottle.

"I saw this coming. I felt it. I felt the forces of nature preparing for this. It was an omen. Omen's can be good or bad......and despite the weather being bad, I felt this one was good. It was an awakening. It was an epiphany, Bruce. I am going to win at Warfare. I am going to be the Hart Champion AND the number one contender for my own belt. I am the sun, clouds, moon and stars. I am the rain. God is in the rain, Bruce, and when it comes to this wrestling shit, I am God."

Just then there was a flash of lightening and a roar of thunder. The rain began to pour down. A storm was coming. Little did anyone know, the storm was coming to XWF.

Bruce headed for his car, while Chris picked up the weights again. Bruce looked back and saw his protege curling in the rain, thunder, and lightening. He smiled, a real smile, for the first time in years before lighting a cigarette.

Later That Night

Bruce and Chris sat at the bar inside the Aqualea Hotel on South Beach in Clearwater. Chris was having his usual, and Bruce ordered a craft beer of some sort. The Tampa Bay Lightening were on TV, but nobody was paying attention, as usual. They actually had a fan base, but Tampa fans were apathetic at best. Real Robbie Bourbon's.

Bruce coughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Chris noticed a little blood on the napkin.

"That's not good, Brucie," Chris said, "when are you going to give those things up?"

Bruce waved him off.

Chris grinned to himself, looking back up at the screen. There were multiple TV's. He convinced the hot bartender to put on XWF TV. They were replaying highlights of the Pay Per View as well as previewing the upcoming Warfare event. Who cared about Savage, that show sucked since they ran Jenny out. Robbie Bourbon was on the screen, stumbling over himself and looking rather uncoordinated in the ring, which isn't out of the ordinary.

"Now, THAT's a true Incel!" Chris said, cheersing his glass. Bruce joined in.

A drunk guy a few seats down chimed in.

"Yeah! Fuck that guy! He sucks!"

Chris turns towards the man, pulling two tickets out of his pocket. They were for the upcoming Warfare Mini-PPV.

"You have no idea........"

Even later that evening.

The key was put into the lock from the outside, but it was hard to hear from the outside. The music coming from inside 1003 was louder than it should be at 2 am.

Jenny opened the door, a little sweaty, her hair in a loose ponytail, makeup a bit smudged. She usually went down to the gym inside the complex late at night so there would be no other people in there. She hated people.

She walked in, shutting the door, and dropped her bag.

"Hey babe, I'm hom----"

She was cut off mid sentence with a gasp. Chris had the Alexa blaring, and he was........dancing.

"What.....the fuck?"

He paused the Alexa.

"Jen....just in time."

"What are you doing?"

"I was waiting for you."

"For?"

"You....I needed you."

Her eyebrows raised. She wiped some sweat off her brow. He didn't have the AC on.

"For?"

"Will you.....dance with me?"

Jenny looked flabbergasted. This time last year, he would have snubbed his nose at the idea, saying dancing was gay. Now he wanted to dance?

"Why?"

"There is a revolution coming......."

"........and you want to dance because of it?"

"A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having."

She smiled a little, and put her arms around his shoulders. He put his hands on her hips.

"Alexa......."



"I shot my shot, then I sat back in the shadows and awaited a response. I was dying to see what you clowns had to say, and you didn't disappoint. Barney had his usual 5 minute promo claiming he is a dangerous man, which I am not even sure an infant could take seriously. Mr. Archer about how I don't know who he is--neither does anyone else or will anyone else after this match. Robbie backtracking and trying to defend his lack enthusiasm towards everything and forgetting the fact that he only beat me at King of the Ring on August 19th, 2017 because Archie Lawson didn't want me as champion. Forgetting the fact that I had him pinned, dead to rights, BOOM-Equalizer-in the center of that ring and Archie rang the bell at 2 and a half counts. Funny how Robbie has selective memory sometimes. But we will come back to that. And Centurian...........Mr. "I AM APEX! I STARTED APEX! I AM SO INFLUENTIAL IN THIS BUSINESS THAT YOU SHOULD ALL KISS MY ASS". Cent....the only reasons you have so many wins in this business is because you have been here longer than Magic Johnson has had HIV, and you still haven't amounted to anymore than a alsoran "legend" who is stuck in an era that has long since passed him by.

One name I keep hearing over and over again, promo after promo, from no-name after no-name, is James Raven. The immortal James Raven. The legend of legends. The man, the myth, the legend. The man who you hold on such a pedestal........the man who has never beaten me. Sometimes, I can't tell where your heads end and James Raven's body begins. James Raven is not bar that I haven't lifted over my head, James Raven is a bar that I have CRUSHED and left for dead. It baffles me why James Raven is my comparison for greatness, when I am 2-0 versus "the legend" in singles competition. Hell, Jenny is undefeated versus James Raven. We are 3-0 against this "legend" in singles competition, with the only loss coming in a tag team match with Jim Caedus vs Doctor D'Ville and the "legend". Jim was pinned by Doc. Raven has never, can never, and will never pin me 1-2-3 in that ring. We own, hell, I OWN James Raven. This is a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately business and lately, Chris Chaos stands above James Raven with his hand raised every single time. So stop with all the Raven talk because you sound foolish. Until Raven beats me, he is irrelevant. This is a match that has to do with Chris Chaos and his rise back to the top, not about a washed up superstar who can't make his mind up as to what sect he is loyal to. Raven has had his hand in more pots than a fat kid on Halloween, and it has overwhelmed him. It seems like Raven is involved in everything here, and what does he have to show for it other than a winless singles record versus the one you seem to think is washed up--me.

I beat Legends, Cent, it is what I do. But before you comment on my business, get your facts straight. You think that I am still hung up on Main, that I went after Robert Main? Did you watch the same Savage broadcast that I did, or was you head too far up James Raven's anal cavity that you happened to miss it? Robert came out of hiding and addressed me. He made it a point to mention me, to drag me back into his business, and I simply responded. You make it seem like I sought him out. Robert Main is the furthest thing from my mind right now. As much as you are hoping it distracted me from beating your ass and taking your title, it did quite the opposite. It showed me that I am still the biggest threat on this roster that even a man whose ass may have been kissed more than Raven's in this company still feels the need to have my name exit his dick-trap for no reason other than notoriety. Main NEEDS me to be relevant here to validate himself, and after I win this title it will further drive a nail into the coffin that is APEX. Then you come out and claim that you started APEX back in the day? That Robert Main is a lovechild created by the Centurion brain trust over a decade ago? Get over yourself, Cent. He chose me. You're just what he got stuck with."

You claim I cling to this Top 50 list like its "gospel". Like you don't go spouting accomplishments left and right? I'll be honest, at this point, that list is all I have left. This company has done their damndest to remove all existence of me from their archives, but I have weathered the storm. I hang onto that list because to me, it IS gospel. It is what keeps me going, gives me a reason to believe that I still have what it takes. Funny thing, Centurion, is that I haven't stepped foot in an XWF ring in almost 8 months, and you are still only 12 slots ahead of me. A decade difference is only worth 12 slots? AND.....oh yes, there's more.......AND 10 of those 50, I have beaten in that very ring. Some numerous times. Someone who is a bonfied "legend" as you claim is only two slots ahead of Peter Gilmour, the human punchline? Mr. Raven, who you have a man crush on, I already explained I have beaten TWICE. Hell, Robbie is ahead of you on this list, but you don't seem to mention that. Where was his name when you were spewing out accomplishments and trying to downplay a list of the best to ever do it?

James Raven--4
Doctor D'Ville--5
Unknown Soldier--9
Trax--19
Robbie Bourbon--24
Peter Gilmour--32
Michael Graves--36
Dolly Waters--40
Jim Caedus--43
Mystica--45
Steve Davids--46

They all have fallen at the hands of Chris Chaos at one time or another, in some capacity. But the list doesn't matter, does it? Do you want to know what else is oh so funny about this little list you seem to think doesn't matter? They were all beaten during the "Shane " era that you think sucked so bad. Sure, some were around before, but I wasn't. Shane welcomed me into this company with open arms and I didn't disappoint.......I took the era that preceded his, which was vanilla and bland, and I made it.........chaotic.

You see, you have such hatred for the Shane era because you didn't have a hand in it. That era was run by me. That era had chaos written all over it. That era was a lot like WWE, to be honest. When they had their asses handed to them for 84 straight weeks until they introduced a little anarchy, a little chaos, a little profanity, and it became the arguably the best era in the company's history. Many will argue, but they are wrong. You will argue, but you are wrong. You say you aren't living in the past, but you puff your chest out about how many wins you garnered here, how many titles you won, and how you are one of the best to ever do this.


You just haven't had anyone with enough balls to call you out on your bullshit.....until now. The only ones on that list I haven't beaten are ones I have never faced, and most likely never will. If I was around during the era you covet so dearly, I would have kicked all of their asses, including yours, and I would be number one on that list. It is a matter of me not being here long enough.......that is ALL it is. So before you go spouting off from the mouth lets just be honest with ourselves...Chris Chaos has EARNED the recognition he has and there is a lot more respect left to gain. It starts at Warfare.

While I would love nothing more than to just stand here and yell "YOU'RE STUPID!" and be done with this, that wouldn't be very entertaining for the fans, and Centurian would learn nothing by it. So, I digress........

Centurian, let me ask you, since you are handing out the legend title like Oprah hands out car keys, riddle me this.....is Barney Green a legend? Shit he has been around since half this roster was shitting in their Huggies, and he has more big matches under his belt than anyone else. Has he won any of them, no, but hey his effort has to count for something, right? With your logic, it doesn't take much to be a legend. Here is a news flash, nobody you named is a "legend". Legends are made because their past is remembered. Maybe your little list is a collection of "legends in training", but not legends. The 5'2" Mafia are not legends, they are spoiled brats who hide on the company's C show and partake in big matches (albeit it, group matches) every other Pay Per View and run around calling themselves the best. Sarah Lacklan is mediocre at best. Sure, she has a good win/loss record, but who has she really beaten? I'd take 1 Dolly Waters or 1 Miss Michelle, Abigail, Sugay Sister.....I'd take 1 of them over 10 Sarah Lacklans. You seem to think that just because they fought at the same time you fought, they are suddenly better. Or that they won a whole bunch of matches, that they are suddenly a top contender. You said it yourself, when you tried to discredit Soldier (who, may I add has just as many, if not more wins than you do) had to face Drizzling Shits Drezdin to keep his belt. Well, that is about the same level of talent anyone has faced since Shane left. When walked out the door, the talent went with him. Why do you think Robert Main held the belt for so long? He faced nobodies night in and night out. This roster is just now coming back to form, but it needed guys like me, like Soldier, like Fuzz, and as much as I hate to say it, guys like YOU to come back. We are the backbone, the foundation. The new wave of talent has been impressive, but holy jumping fucking shit balls was the in-between "competition" god-awful. You think I care about all the Shaun Crowe's, the Hunter Payne's, the Benito Angelo's I have beaten? No. They are faded memories. It is kicking the asses of self-righteous pricks like you that I hang my hat on, and you best believe I am going to do it again.

The only reason you think that your generation was the "greatest generation" was because you were successful in it. If you were Barney Green you wouldn't think very highly of it. AND, times were different back then. The Shane era was such a clusterfuck that it made every match difficult. If you could survive and strive in those conditions, you truly had what it took.

And to go out on a limb here, I will say this. Fuzz is not a legend....not yet. Why not? Well, because he hasn't beaten me........

There, I said it.

Now, for the love of god let me move on for a moment because talking about you is putting a sour milk taste in my mouth.

Barney Green.....I see you shared some words. Congrats, your jaw still works after all the times it has been broken. Maybe your shitty past has been good for you...that triple chin is really shaping up nicely. Who am I kidding? Your face looks like something I would draw with my left hand. Maybe its the big ass tobacco lip you flaunt in your promotional photos. No wonder you're single......

Wait.....

Excuse me....

Add that to the already I-95 length list of why you're single.

After Warfare, not only will you still be single, stumbling back to your hole in the wall apartment in Boston, but you will be doing the same shit you always do whenever Vinnie decides to include you. Licking your wounds. I am not going to waste an entire half hour of breath on you Barney, it just isn't worth it. Simply put, you're a waste of two billion years of evolution. The trash gets picked up next Wednesday Night Barn, be ready.

Robbie....oh, Robbie. You know, you remind me of a penny. Two faced, and not worth much. You really are special, with a capital R, aren't ya, Robbie? Trauma, from you? Beat you one time out of twenty? Robbie, you know damn well that we have had our battles, and the little "win" you are talking about you had help from the biggest piece of soft stool England has every produced. You know who I am talking about.

You proved once again, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything always has to be centered around you. Promo after promo for months now you throw in our faces about your accomplishments. Grand Slam this and Grand Slam that....but you fail to understand that I, too, have held every belt worth holding here also. Funny how you have selective memory. Must be a fat thing. Do you want someone to rub your back, give you a nice cold glass of milk and tell you good job? Do you want a golden sticker to put on the refrigerator to show mommy when she gets home from work at the strip club and tell her "I did this all my by myself!" for a brief instance of self worth before she rolls her eyes and goes to shoot up in the bathroom? Every paragraph is a different achievement. Your entire career behind a microphone is a giant "LOOK AT ME, I AM SO GREAT, WEEEEE" plea for someone to give a shit but you----YOU---have the nerve to call me 'arrogant', to call me out by saying I am ego maniacal on more than one occasion.

You disgust me.

You have been handed this match like you have been handed everything else. Worked for it? Worked for what? Being a champion several times that nobody has even remembers your reigns for and racking up a big win loss record versus 'wrestlers' who think a high school gymnasium is Madison Square Garden? You know, the "Greatest Generation" Centurion is so proud of. Don’t feel bad, there are many people who have minimal talent but an ego the size of the continent of Asia! Newsflash, you're one of them.

But since you seem to always think it keen and witty, and for some reason entertaining, to keep coming up with these childish insults, let me try to speak in a language you can understand, beat you at your own game, so to speak. Incel? Cute. You said I like to get cute. Okay, I'll play your game Robbie because telling the world what they already know--how much you don't deserve the fabric you squeeze into--is just so boring. So let's do a Robbie Bourbon impression, shall we?

*Chris clears his throat, then tries to talk in his over the top vigilante, wanna-be Marvel/DC castoff voice.*

You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You’re a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won’t have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot. And what meaning do you expect your delusional self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake? You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you are a one-handed slack-jawed drooling meat slapper. On a good day you’re a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are absent in all that lends character. You have the personality of wallpaper. You stink of puke and you are filthy. You are asinine You are the source of all unpleasantness.

*Side Note; High Five to you if you read that in the described "Robbie Bourbon Voice".*

*back to normal*

I am going to do you a favor by equalizing you this week, and bringing you to the level you so desperately try to reach. MINE. The ONE, TRUE, APEX PREDATOR circling the boat, the impending doom that has befallen you.

Michael Archer Junior.....

You know, kid, I don't say this often, but I see something in you. I think you've got balls, you've got spunk. You say what is on your mind, and I like that. I think that you may indeed have a place here.....just not in this match. Keep bringing this enthusiasm and you will have a career here. Take this ass kicking you are about to receive and learn from it. Get better from it, don't let it get you down. Don't let XWF brass bury you like they do with most of their new recruits. Take this L and turn it into future W's.

That being said.

You see, its been a little while since I've done this whole wrestling thing, and I'll admit I may be a tad bit on the rusty side. Experience or not, its difficult to get in that ring and compete on the highest level when you've been away from it for as long as I have. Even my matches with Jim Caedus and Robert Main in XWF before I took hiatus weren't where I wanted them to be. I hadn't done this dance consistently since Jenny was running the show on Saturday Nights. I was burnt out, and I left as a legend. I was fully content with being remembered as Top 50 overall and one of the best to ever do it but I just love this game so much, it pulled me back in. There is something about causing chaos inside that squared circle that is a real aphrodisiac for me. I'd be lying if I said otherwise. And as for my actions and my words? I can only be one thing, me. I am and "old timer" with experience under my belt. I guarantee I have more shower time than you do ring time. That doesn't always mean I am going to get the upper hand. I know damn well how talented this generation is, and the XWF has a solid core of upset-minded men and women who are just looking to make a name for themselves.

You're one of them.

But to think that I am going to start berating you with my accomplishments........you are wrong again, bub. Who do you think I am, Centurian? (I HAVE 153 WINS HERE! LOOK AT ME! I MATTER!). No, not my style. I simply state facts when the facts present themselves.

You see you may want to hold that title, but in the grand scheme of it all, this match means a whole hell of a lot more to your career than it does to mine. This would be your signature win, your crowning achievement, the highlight of your short career. Honestly, I wish you were in a different chamber. You want to talk about dangerous, kid? You're looking at him. A win over you proves nothing in the history books.....but it proves something to me. It proves that I still have it, that I can still toss a carcass around the ring that I can still....

BOOM

Break you in half any time I want.

You better hope you've blacked out before my chamber opens or I am going to give you a history lesson on the Shane Era and show you what dangerous really means.

All of you guys have such hostility in your voices. Such gravel. You are all over here pulsating the veins in your face to try to make me look stupid....not me. I am just happy to be back.

So go ahead, have an aneurysm as you try to figure out how to beat Chris Chaos. While you are all spending your Holiday Season more miserable than a Nancy Pelosi's husband, I am over here having the time of my life.