I can't even look into a mirror anymore. I don't know what I see. I wake up every morning, I brush my teeth, I floss, I rinse with antiseptic. I put my pants on one leg at a time. I put a shirt over my torso, a ruffle my hair a little bit, and I throw on a smile.

What is a smile?

It's an evil thing. It is so misleading. It is an illusion, a mirage, a goddamn LIE. There are no good people....you just need to push their buttons to start them like new cars.

Who am I?

I like to think I know myself. My name, my address, my social security number. I like to think I can name my height, my weight, my eye color.

It's a lie, all of it.

I'm a vampire. A bloodsucking leech. A troll under the bridge. I'm the protagonist, the antagonist, and the punchline. My skin is just a tarp to hold in the lie.

I want to die.

He flipped through the pages in his journal. It was a bumpy car ride, but he couldn't help but laugh to himself as he read this. He really felt this way at one point in his life. It pained him to read it but knowing your past is important to improving your future.

"Babe, for god sakes. Do you always drive like this?"

He looked over at Jenny, who had one hand on the wheel, the other on the shifted and a ready-for-adventure look in her eye.

"I'm still getting used to the roads over here."

"I don't know whose idea it was to let you drive."

"Pretty sure it was yours."

He shook his head, looking back down at the scrapbook in front of him. Journal entries, pictures, notes, you name it. He flipped to another page.


"It's gonna be a tough matchup for ya, Chris. He is the top offensive tackle in the nation, hasn't allowed a sack in two years, and specializes in pancakes. I think we're gonna taylor our game plan to rush from the other side, maybe we can find a hole. Whole damn line is good though."

Coach Backus spit into a water bottle, his chew. It was his vice. Whenever he was nervous, anxious, upset, excited, he'd throw a lip in. And he always had a lip in.

"Coach, I am the top defensive end in the state of Florida. I have been waiting on this matchup for weeks now. Just as I am about to show the world what I can do, you want to change the equation?"

Coach spit into the bottle again.

"He's better than you."

Chris threw his hands up. He couldn't believe it. He was a proven commodity, he was the best at what he did, but now his coach had no faith in him in the biggest game of the year?

They left film study that day and Chris had a look in his eyes. A look, initially of defeat, but it turned to fire. He worked best under pressure. He worked best when he had to prove himself. He worked best with his back against the wall.

"He's better than you", his coaches words echoed through his mind as he put his pants on. His pads, slid his jersey over his head.

"He's better than you".

Tightening up his cleats, natural human emotion took over. Maybe he was better. Maybe he was going to dominate him. Maybe..........


The lights were bright. It was a humid night, and a tough game. Fatigue was setting in everywhere. Even the crowd looked tired. Sweating both from the excitement of such a big game and the 80 degrees of the Hillsborough County night.

His body was sore, his legs and pants were grass stained. He was bleeding a little from his elbow. His back felt tight. But he got up once again.

"1st and ten Armwood" the loudspeaker blared. He barely heard it, he was focused.

"Ready for another?"

"You know it"

"I'm gonna fuck you right in the ass."

"At least take me to breakfast first."

HIKE

Again they slammed into each other like a car crash. The pads slammed together, the grunt of human mass colliding.

Again, Chris found himself on the ground. This time, a face full of turf. Dirt and grass clung to his facemask.

Groaning a little, he lifted himself back up.

"2nd and 1, Armwood" the PA shouted again.

"When are you gonna stay down?" the offensive lineman said with a smile under his mouth-guard.

"When you kill me."

He could taste the metallic tint of blood in his mouth.

They crashed into each other. Over and over and over. Like a car crash each time, their bodies racked with pain but every time the "better" man got the best of him. It was the 4th quarter and he hadn't gotten to the quarter back yet. He hadn't been held without a sack all year.

He had a bit of a limp in his step. The crowd under the arena lights were a blur at this point. The noise was irrelevant. The score was a red blur, but even though he couldn't make it out completely he saw one side said 0.

His side.

"He's better than you" came back into his head again as he took a sip from the water jug. "He's better than you."

They were a 21 point underdog. They were only down 7-0, according to the coaches. It has been a "defensive battle" but they still had a chance.

His body was yelling at him that that chance was gone.

His mind was yelling at him that his foe was better than him.

The cheerleaders were yelling at him "Go Raiders!"

He walked back onto the field. There wasn't much time left.

"Time's up, loser. You're never gonna get by me".

He didn't have words. There was nothing to say.

"He's better than you."


It's always better to shock people and change people's expectations than to give them exactly what they think you can do.


"3rd down and 8, Armwood"

HIKE

He exploded off the edge. Their arms met, but he kept going. Spin move, fail. Swim move, fail.

The quarterback stepped up in the pocket. Chris faked right, ducked under left. He managed to slip under the arms of the lineman. He grabbed the quarterback around the legs, one arm up by the knee, one on the ankle.

He got him.

He barley got him, but he got him.

Sometimes its the little things that matter most.


"So, basically, you're Rudy?"

He jumped a little. He had been so engulfed in the memory that he had forgot he told the story out-loud.

"What?"

"You're basically Rudy."

"I'm not Rudy. At all."

"Rudy. Rudy. Rudy. Ruuuuudyyy." Jenny chanted with a giggle.

He shook his head, looking back down at the book in front of him.

All the times he had been counted out. The times he had been an underdog.

The 4th grade spelling bee. He won.

Trying out for the basketball and football teams.

Various fights throughout his high school life.

The time his 9th grade teacher told him that he would never amount to more than a janitor.

Every single time people counted him out.

They were so focused on wanting him to lose that they actually missed when he won. He won at everything he did. Maybe not the first time. Maybe not the 10th time. But when he needed to win, he won.

He won because they all want him to lose.

He won so much, but accomplished so little, that even he began to feel their hatred. Of himself. Hence the letter he read when he first opened the book. That was written by him, addressed to him.

He folded the page.

"Centurion is such a douche" he said, shutting the book. "So pompous, so arrogant. He's is the kind of guy to call his dad a virgin and not care."

"Doesn't that make him adopted?"

"Nah, he's the new Jesus. Just ask him."

Jenny pulled over into a refill station. "I'm going to get a tea, you want anything?"

He waved her off. Looking out the window at the rainy England landscape.

Would this be the night he won again? Would they even notice?

He put his head back against the seat, a sigh leaving his lips.



"Mastermind?

Really? Mastermind? That is who the stuffed suits in the back decided to put into this match? I know, I know, he "earned it". He had to beat the XWF's resident disappearing act to do it. A man who claimed he was a legend with a losing record when a man greener than crabgrass took his title in his second match ever. Mastermind, a man who has been floating around in a wasteland of suckage since then, gets to compete for one of this companies most prestigious titles.

It just baffles me. I won the match at Lethal Lottery, I was waiting for the one-on-one with the champ, and here is what I get. Centurion and a man who is the human embodiment of a plastic 8 ball. He reads people's minds? Well how many of those minds told him he was going to lose week in and week out then be handed a title shot for beating Finn babydick Kuhn?

This dude looks like he's in his mid 40's pretending to be a high schooler in a Hulu Original series. The type of guy who could sit on a popsicle and tell you what flavor it is. The type of guy who would throw a flash bang into a room full of epileptic children. The man who thinks he is better than he is. Sleeping on him? No. I'm a realist. I'm reading his mind, and right now it is mashed potatoes. Mastermind, you're the person kindergarten teachers tell their students not to be.

Now if you'd excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to.

I've been in a weird position ever since I've been back. It has just felt weird to me, I can't seem to shake it. Ever since I have come back, I have been the underdog. I have been fighting a battle that nobody thought I could win. I have been making a comeback that nobody thought I had in the cards. I am back, and lets me honest, nobody wants me here.

But here I am!

I came back at Lethal Lottery and I won a fatal four way to get a shot at that belt you hold. I beat two promising individuals--Jim Jimson doesn't count, Jim sucks--and I proved that without a shadow of a doubt that I've still "got it". I knew I still had it. I just had to prove it. I did that. Then, like always, the politics came into play around here. The plan wasn't for me to win, and they didn't know how to book me. They wanted some young upstart like Hanari to pull the upset or a trusted workhorse like Ned Kaye to tow the load.....Chris Chaos winning this match was an afterthought to them. It simply didn't exist. I danced around this title match because they danced around giving me the match I deserve. One on one versus you for that title. That wasn't something they were willing to do because they knew, after my performance in that match, that I just might actually beat their Golden Boy. Oh no, they couldn't have that. So they dicked me around, like usual, putting me in useless match after useless match, trying to keep me away from you as long as possible. Robbie Bourbon, Robert Main, a chamber match that you were in where, lets be honest, Robbie did most of the heavy lifting and you swooped in to pick up the scraps like the vulture you are. Mav and Finn decided to pop back up like herpes and get in my business.....long story short, its been a long on convoluted road to finally get here, and I STILL don't have the match I earned.

Nope, Centurion STILL being protected by the administration that has seen Robert Main slain, the Engineer robbed and an influx of new talent threatening their authority. The only constant here is you, Cent, and they would die before they lost it.

So what do we have? A suit wearing champion that looks like Biff Tannen squeezed into a toddlers body, and two jaggofs running the place whose pacifiers were made of asbestos. Cleveland Brown's level of mismanagement, and the only thing keeping them afloat is Theo's hand up your ass, making your mouth move.

So I waited. I played my cards. Sure, I could have swooped in at any time to take a title shot....but why? We would end up then right where we are now. A match that favors Centurion. Sure, it may not have been with Mastermind, but they would find some other third rate scrub to throw into the match. I was never going to get that one on one match, and that is the truth. Even the "winner take all" match they stuck me in before this was a joke. Amjetkun Socio and Griffin MacAlister? That's what they think of me? This entire thing from top to bottom has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I was led in under false pretenses. I was told I would get a Hart Title match, not be jerked around while their Hart Champion coasts week in and week out.

But I am the bad guy, right? I am the difficult one.

But I shouldn't get too ahead of myself. Cent, you truly are one of the best to ever do this, if not, the best. Your win/loss record here is staggering. Your title history is decorated. You are a bonified legend. But you are letting this happen. You are letting them play you like an accordion on a Paris subway, and you smile big for the camera and pretend it is all honkey dorey.

It's not.

It is a godamn travesty.

I know what you're thinking....I should be lucky I am getting a match at all. Beggars can't be choosers, right?

I come into this match as the underdog. I come into this match with the odds against me. I come into this match with the entire world expecting just another Chris Chaos failure. That big comeback.......just the same old Chaos, right? A polished turd is still a turd.

But I am a big fan of what if. What if you have one bad night, Cent? What if Chris Chaos has the match of his life? What if this becomes the story book ending the bland and vanilla XWF needs? What IF. IF is a big word. It is a complex word. There are so many factors at play.

I came back to this company because Shane asked me to. He sent me an invitation, signed and sealed, and he promised me he wanted to get things back to the way they were. I came back because I wanted to see if Chris Chaos could still go. I think I have proven that. I lost via disqualification to Robbie in an Iron Man Match because I caved his big stupid head in with a chair. Do you think I care about Robbie Bourbon? Do you think I care about a match with Robbie Bourbon? I have been in the ring with Robbie more times than I have appendages to count with. Same booking bullshit, boring. But it helped Robbie didn't it? I was put into a match with Robert Main for entertainment purposes. He called me out, he said my name after I had long forgotten about his, because he needed to feel relevant again. The lack of control and security in this place let the show get out of control, and another match spilled into our match........and the yellow bellied Main had to use a ring bell to beat me because he couldn't otherwise. That match was chaotic as hell....which, I'd normally salivate over....but when there is no reason to face Main other than to give into the whims of another inner circle trogladite. But it helped Main, didn't it?

That's what I do, Cent, I make careers. Every match with Chaos is a barnburner, its Pay Per View quality. Everyone who faces me gets a hell of a lot more out of it than I do. Time and time again I have been in the final moment, a second away from victory, before it is snatched from me. Nobody has dominated me, nobody has made me look stupid.......yet Chaos is the butt of so many jokes. I thought maybe 2020 would be my year......but what has 2020 been? If 2020 were a person, it would be Trisha Paytas.

What has changed? When I came here and won at Lethal Lottery I felt so good. I felt like I had a purpose again. I felt like maybe this time around things would be different.

They're not.

Bullshit matches, ridiculous booking, and the circle jerk buddie running the show and a champion whose name looks like a household product.

Centurion.

Sounds like a defunct film company from the nineties.

I digress.

Cent, nobody is taking away from you that you're good. You're damn good. But your underestimation of me will be your downfall. Your unmitigated arrogance is your biggest mistake. Your ego is what will cost you.

A long time ago, I was just like you. I was puffing my chest out, walking around like I owned the place. I made a hell of a lot more enemies than I did friends. It cost me in the long run. My arrogance took away everything I ever loved about this business, it made it not fun anymore. It made getting into that ring every single time a chore. When I didn't win, I pointed the finger at everyone but myself. I couldn't see past the fact that I EXPECTED to win a hell of a lot more than I wanted to.

I see you falling into this trap, Cent. When I held the title, I WAS the best on this roster at that time. I was the kingpin, the main man, the alpha male. I didn't think I could be touched. Then someone I never thought in a million years could beat me, did just that. A man whose name can't be mentioned here, the Voldemort of XWF, took that title away from me. A man I underestimated, a man who nobody thought stacked up to me. A man named Gabe.

Centurion, I am Gabe. Think about it. I'm him. Nobody gives me any credit despite how good my promos are, no matter how exciting my matches are. Everyone on this roster takes pot shots at me like its going out of fashion. The management team hates me, the rest of this roster couldn't care less if I came or went. I get under everyone's skin I come in contact with.

Gabe's crowning achievement in XWF was taking that title from me. If anyone looks back on the positives in his career, the successes of his career, they circle with big yellow highlighter his Hell in the Cell versus me. Gabe didn't do much else here, and he was gone shortly after. Guess who put him on the shelf? Retired him for good? Me. I did. But Gabe still had that ace in the hole. He still had that signature win, and I can't take that away from him. Cent, you may meet me down the road and you may send me packing, you may be the reason I hang up the boots and cut the locks. You may end the Chris Chaos story at some point, but I will still have my ace in the hole.

On Warfare, Cent, I am Gabe Reno and I am the underdog.