Robbie Bourbon's confidence seems to be growing, his sense of self coming into place piece by piece.

Will it be enough for Christmas?

HO HO HO

Doctor Louis D'Ville wields an umbrella much like a sword.

They seem to talk an awful lot about James Raven, don't they?

Doc swings the umbrella, and the camera zooms out to show he is swinging it directly at a blindfolded Robbie Bourbon. D'Ville nails Robbie flush in the chest, and Robbie absorbs the blow.

I guess so.

They are aware that you pinned James Raven to win the Universal Championship in the past, aren't they?

I don't know, and I don't care.

Doc flourishes the umbrella, now holding it by it's outer canopy rather than it's hooked handle. He hooks Robbie's shoulder and yanks him. Using the momentum, he positions himself behind Robbie and cracks Robbie atop his masked skull with the thick wooden handle. Robbie doesn't flinch.

Why don't you care, Robbie? Don't you wish to exploit that?

In the distance we see the Washington Monument. To the right of that is the Air Force Memorial, it's three curved spires arcing upward to the heavens on this bright and sunny day as the rest of the DC cityscape sprawls beneath.

It doesn't matter.

Robbie pivots. Though blindfolded, he seems to have located Doc based on the sound of his voice. Doc spins the umbrella again, holding it correctly by it's handle. He swings the umbrella at Robbie's head. As he does, Robbie catches it.

The past doesn't matter as much as the present and future. Being aware of who I am in the now is the most important thing, not showering people with past accolades. Not trying to intimidate my opponents by what has happened, but telling the people what will happen.

Robbie releases the umbrella. Louis D'Ville slings it over his shoulder as Robbie removes the blindfold. Robbie rubs his eyes as they adjust to the sunlight.

Well put, my friend!

I guess so? It's just stating the obvious.

Ah, yes. Well, stating the obvious and having common sense seems to be more and more of a rarity these days, wouldn't you say?

Robbie rolls his eyes.

It's the human condition, Doc. People have been goofy the entire time. Nobody is perfect. I don't even claim to be.

That is true, Robbie, but you do grasp what your shortcomings are! The ideal man of our time, for all time, one who can step back and look at all of humanity and it's failings but see it as the true minutiae.

Look, I just let an old rival of mine thump on me with an umbrella on a rooftop, you might have to condense that into something easier to grasp.

Doc smiles as he places a cigarette between his lips.

Are you saying the redeeming quality I have is the ability to empathize, and understand that people are just going to be people, no more and no less?

Doc shakes his head 'no' as he lights his cig.

Who says you only have one redeeming quality?

Robbie half smirks.

I have my critics.

We all do, my friend! Everyone's a critic, but that doesn't mean you can't silence them. Besides, you are Robbie Bourbon, since when do you even listen to your critics?

Robbie shrugs, his belly shaking as he shares a laugh with D'Ville.

That said, Robbie, I must be leaving now. The D'Ville's work is never finished, and there is little more I can offer you.

So, what, you headed on to the second star to the right and straight on 'til morning?

Not quite.

D'Ville opens the umbrella. Mere moments later, he drifts off into the skies with the open umbrella like Mary Poppins, singing as he does.

Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon
Would you like to ride in my beautiful balloon
We could float among the stars together, you and I
For we can fly, we can fly

Up, up and away
My beautiful, my beautiful balloon

Robbie is caught with his mouth agape and his eyes slowly blinking as he watches one of the most terrifying competitors in XWF history depart in such a manner.

Huh. Who knew you were funny?

With that, sound of sleigh bells is heard.

HO, HO, HO!

A bright red and gold sleigh being pulled by reindeer descends from the sky toward Robbie and lands on the rooftop next to him. A chubby little man with rosy cheeks and a big bushy white beard, bedecked in the expected red and white suit, waves at Robbie with a mittened hand. Robbie blinks slowly and waves back at Santa.

Oh, so, uh, this is awkward...

Ho ho, I suppose it would be. Robbie, you've been very naughty this year. I saw what you did to those people way back in January when you were the Xtreme Champion, and Bourbco. Oh no, Robbie, very naughty indeed.

Robbie shrugs.

Your point?

The point is, Robbie, you don't deserve a shot at the Hart Championship.

Deserve's got nothing to do with it. I signed up for a fight on Christmas to deliver something to the fans, turns out the office did a random drawing to see who would be fighting who for whatever championship, and here I am. Saying I earned or deserved to be in a match for the Hart Championship is like saying I earned or deserved to win a game of bingo.

Ho ho ho, you're right, Robbie. But, you can make amends for that! You can forfeit, and let people who deserve it more fight it out for the championship.

Robbie crooks his eyebrow at Santa.

Oh, nobody deserves it more than me, either.

Oh? What about Chris Chaos? He went out and beat people at Lethal Lottery for a chance at the Hart Championship!

Well, he didn't have to sign up to fight on Christmas. He could have held back. Instead he got drawn into the same match as I and stranger still drawn into a Hart Championship match.

Pity. He and Centurion really were hoping to face each other.

I know, it's like a bunch of kids ready go camping and then a grizzly bear shows up to take all their bacon.

Santa twiddles his mustache, not gaining any headway with Robbie.

Look, Robbie, I know what you really want for Christmas.

Robbie's eyes go wide as he grins.

You got me a lightsaber?

Santa massages his temples. Much like most of Robbie's opponents, even Santa gets frustrated with Robbie.

No, Robbie, those are impossible. Laser swords sound cool but really can't be made.

Santa reaches up and touches Robbie's shoulder.

Robbie, you want to be Vinnie Lane.

Robbie's brow furrows as he makes a sour face, as though he vomited in his mouth and swallowed it back down seventy times in less than a second.

No, no I don't. Vinnie is fine and all, but I am pretty happy being myself.

Oh, are you? You don't wish you were the boss?

Not especially, I don't have to wish for it. I am a bad motherfucker as is.

Well, I think it would be better if you were Vinnie.

Robbie shrugs Santa's hand off of his shoulder.

You seem naughty, Robbie, like all those non-Christian children, and all those poor children I refuse to visit.

Santa, you're actually kind of a douche.

Santa's eyes glow red.

You have been naughty, Robbie Bourbon!

Santa's head spins around on his neck, doing a complete rotation, an unnatural screech coming from his mouth. Robbie grabs Santa by the throat and grips one of his shoulders. With a tug, Robbie rips the head right off. Sparks fly as shredded wires and metal smoke from the neck. The robotic body slumps as the eyes of Santa stop glowing.

A Robo-Santa. I knew it!

The faint sounds of a voice are heard from the sleigh itself are heard. Robbie approaches, and within the sleigh is a little screen. On it, we see what appears to be the real Santa. He smiles at Robbie, as though he can see through the screen too, or rather, there's a camera someplace in the sleigh that lets this act like a video conference.

Ho ho ho, Robbie Bourbon! Am I glad it's you!

Santa, are you okay?

Well, Robbie, I sprained my knee while golfing last week, so I sent out a prototype Robo-Santa to do my work for me! It looks like it turned evil like so many robots are apt to do. I suppose I'll need a cortisone injection.

Easy, Santa, easy. Look, that stuff can be kind of unhealthy for you, and maybe I can help.

Robbie, my work isn't easy.

I don't like it easy. And easy really doesn't like me very much. Besides, it's Christmas, and if movies have taught me anything it's that Santa is always in a jam around Christmas time. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Elf, The Santa Clause, Ernest Saves Christmas, The Nightmare Before Christmas...

Those are fine documentaries.

They are, but really, Santa, I can help out. I am a man of the people, after all.

But Robbie, your Hart Championship match!

Robbie smiles.

I look forward to it, don't get me wrong. But going the extra mile, helping Santa? How can I refuse to help Santa at Christmas?

Oh, Robbie, thank you so much! Mrs. Claus will be pleased.

Cool. Well...

Robbie looks towards the horizon as it turns a faint orange, dusk setting in.

Looks like I better get busy, Santa, I gotta ride and make sure the kids get their presents!

Ho ho ho, very well, Robbie!

Robbie snags the hat off of the disemboweled Robo-Santa head and plops it atop his traditional lucha mask. He sits down in the sleigh and grabs the reigns.

NOW DASHER! NOW DANCER! NOW PRANCER AND VIXEN! ON COMET! ON CUPID! ON DONNER AND BLITZEN!

The ninth reindeer turns its head and blinks its nose bright red at Robbie.

AND RUDOLPH!

With that, the reindeer begin to take flight and tow the sleigh with Robbie in it into the heavens. As they do, music begins to play to the tune of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, only with the following lyrics.

Robbie The Masked Superstar
Had a sparkly jacket
And none of his opponents
Ever could hack it

We see Robbie in a house, putting presents under a tree. He then turns and downs an entire plate of cookies and a glass of room temperature milk in the blink of an eye.

All of the other wrestlers
Used to laugh and call him names
They talked down to old Robbie
And tried to fill him up with shame.

We see Robbie visiting a tent set up in the desert some place with camels outside. He hands gifts to the children inside as their parents praise Allah.

Then one boring Christmas eve
A robot went berserk
That's when Robbie truly knew
It was time to go to work.

Robbie visits a family celebrating Hanukkah. They graciously let Robbie come inside and give them a bunch of presents.

Now all the people liked him
He was the best of the batch
After all of this was done
He's going to go and win his match!

We see the sleigh descending somewhere the sun doesn't shine. Robbie reaches into Santa's magic bag and pulls out a present wrapped in deep crimson paper. Robbie walks up to the house and walks in. Sitting in a parlor by himself is Doctor Louis D'Ville. He looks up at Robbie, somewhat confused.

Hello, my friend! You are always welcome, but what brings you?

Robbie smiles and hands D'Ville the gift.

Merry Christmas.

D'Ville looks at the gift bemusedly.

Whatever could you have gotten me?

Just open it.

D'Ville unwraps the gift, and opens the box itself. He pulls out a metallic cylindrical object about nine inches long. He smirks as he holds it in front of him and presses a button, a deep red glowing beam extending from it about three and a half feet.

Oh, Robbie, you didn't...

I did.

Robbie sticks his arm out, holding a similar yet distinctly differently designed device, and with the flick of a switch, his lightsaber turns on glowing blue.

You have failed, Palpatine, I am a Jedi, like my father before me!

Robbie and D'Ville begin to have a lightsaber battle in D'Ville's parlor. Robbie's christmas song reprises as they battle it out. Afterward, we see Robbie in the sleigh.

Ho ho ho!

Well, now that that's over and done with, I guess it's time to head on to Bangor and bang it out in a chamber with four other men! I know I have said some unkind things about all of them, but in the spirit of Christmas, goodwill, peace, and all that other stuff the XWF Universe really doesn't embrace all that much, I got you all presents!

Robbie reaches into Santa's bag. He pulls out a gift bag, the name "MICHAEL" written on it in bold letters.

Well, Michael Hunter slash Archer slash whatever, for Christmas this year, I got you something I think you would really appreciate!

Robbie reaches into the gift bag and pulls out a ream of stickered name tags that say "HELLO MY NAME IS" followed by a blank.

I got you name tags! That way, whenever you feel like changing your last name on the fly, you can just write it in here, and that way everybody will know what to call you while you deliver your generic, bourgeois promos before you step into the ring. These stickers might look like they're a dime-a-dozen, but hey, dime-a-dozen seems to be right in your wheelhouse kid! That's okay, though. Plenty of dudes have come into this industry without any real identity of their own, but with these babies, you can come up with so many identities!

As for feeling sorry for anyone, though, don't feel sorry for me, Michael. Feel sorry for Bearded War Pig. He turned his back on me. I Robbiebombed him to the ninth level of hell.

You, well, you're too dumb to be afraid. To stupid to realize that target on your back sounds awful cliche, and definitely too fucking foolish to realized that your back can and will be broken, so wearing that target loud and proud probably ain't the best idea in the world. Feel sorry for yourself, kiddo, feel sorry for your wife and kids, feel sorry for the fact that they have to watch their daddy take a beating on Christmas.

Robbie slings the gift bag and name tags back into Santa's bag. He reaches in and pulls out a wrapped gift with the word "INCEL" written on it.

What do you know, it's for Chris!

Robbie opens the present, and inside is the TED Talks DVD Archive.

Chris, for you I got this big ole' box set of TED DVDs to watch so you can learn how to give a twenty minute dissertation without sounding like a complete and utter bore all while having a point to make!

Well, maybe we start by being sober when we do that.

Knocking back the hooch in your neighborhood is no way to prepare for a title match, son. Working out while drunk won't do you any good, either, alcohol stifles muscle growth. Judging by all the gibberish you were spouting off like Kid Rock talking about Oprah, maybe you need to get into the program, accept a higher power, and who knows, maybe once you're sober you could even get laid!

Heh, you couldn't even bag Jenny Myst, and she's easier to smash than a slug and just as slimy. You just said you wanted to dance then started drunkenly rambling in her face while you held her. Rambling about Centurion, James Raven, Barney, whatever Michael wants to call himself, and me, putting words in my mouth, coming up with insults I sure as fuck don't recall saying, and then attempting to lampoon me and sounding like a grumpy seventh grade English teacher attempting to talk down to a college student who surpassed her decades ago.

But hey, whatever you gotta do to numb the pain away, huh? That big, mean, Robbie machine steamrolled you verbally and left an incel shaped smear on the pavement while he went off and cleaned the shit he just tromped through off the bottom of his boots.

By all means, Chris, keep your current pace. Get shithammered and act like trying to get a varsity letter for the debate team is the way to get ahead. Say whatever you want. You'll probably continue to do that after Christmas comes and goes, and Incel doesn't get his shiny belt, never stopping to look in the mirror and coming to grips that saying you'll make something of yourself just ain't the fucking same as making something of yourself.

And you think Barn is the biggest waste of space in the chamber. Tsk, tsk. I'll bet on the never was over the has been every time.

Hell, I was going to drop bars on you, kid, but fuck, I don't have to. I just gotta wait until Wednesday and I'll just drop you.

Robbie pitches the TED Talks DVD set back into Santa's bag. He reaches in and pulls out another present, this one kind of large and bulky. It reads "BARN".

Barney Green. Forever an honorary Bourbon Man, always welcome in my home.

The greatest, biggest heart in all of wrestling, damn it.

For you, my man, for you, well, I think I'ma let you pin ole' Chris Incel come Wednesday. We're going to do some fan-fucking-tastic shit to some of them bodies in that ring, you and me. Sure as shit. But, for Christmas, Barn, I got you this.

Robbie unwraps the gift, and we see a plaque. It reads "Number One Bourbon Man 2010 to 2020: Barney Green".

I can't say anything nasty about you, bro. I wish you the best of luck in that chamber.

Robbie smiles at the plaque and puts it back in the bag. He reaches one last time into the bag and pulls out a wrapped present tagged "CENTURION".

Hey, Centurion! I got you something too!

Robbie unwraps the gift. Inside is a scrapbook kit.

Oh man, it's just what you wanted, a way to document how awesome and important you have been throughout the years!

Centurion, the keeper of tales and the ways of the XWF from whenever the hell to before I got here. Now, I don't claim I'll be the one to retire you, Centurion. Never did. I suggested it. After all, it wouldn't be the first time you just up and vanished from the XWF, now would it?

Woulda, coulda, shoulda, oh what may have been.
If you were here in the era, you would've beaten how many men.
Wouldn't, weren't, didn't, you can say it all again.
If you wanted to wreck those bodies where the fuck were you then?

Claim to be some legend, Arthurian.
From some past era, Silurian.
I'm here passing judgment, call the jury in.
Time to wreck this foolish Centurion.

I'm the meanest of a vile batch.
Dial nine-one-one, get on the dispatch.
You wanna hide in your pod? I'll rip open the hatch.
Then murder, murder, murder in a wrestling match.

Ain't no conspiracy, my name was drawn.
Come to conquer in battle like Genghis Khan.
With delivery that's faster than Amazon.
I'll make you wish quick that you would have stayed gone.

You're all bark, no bite, Irish Setter.
I'm a big mean mutt down to the letter.
Repossession, take the Hart like a pissed off debtor.
You might be great but I'm that much better.

Through the looking glass, pull up a chair.
And we'll find that thing causing your despair.
Not the Mad Hatter, Cheshire Cat, or March Hare.
It's that wrecker that lurks on Warfare.

Because I'm blowing up your spot in my back yard.
You're Alan Rickman in Die Hard.
I'm John McClane catching you off guard.
Curse the day you pulled the wild card.

You'll walk out on that stage and down the ramp.
Into a pod and you'll set up camp.
Ding! You're number came, Robbie lit you up like a lamp.
And this motherfucker walked out the new Hart Champ.

And thems bars, son. Flat the fuck out. That's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God, and you will fucking need the help of the almighty. Call on Yahweh, call for your Prophecy, make peace with your maker.

Because you sure as fuck ain't going to forget the name of Robbie Bourbon, the man who struck you down. I'm taking the Hart Championship back, and you will see what the hype is all about.