“This is never going to work, Charlie.”

“I’m done listening to you! I know this is going to work…this -has- to work!”

But the well-dressed gentleman in the backseat of Charlie’s rental car was unconvinced. He huffed in mockery as he adjusted the blazer of his three-piece suit for no apparent reason. The man in the blue suede looked towards the driver’s seat with skepticism as The Nickleman barreled on full speed ahead.

“You lost to Bacchus because you were confused, you were yearning: you were in denial. I just want to help you, Charlie.”

The man in the backseat leaned forward, placing his sore-riddled hand on Charlie’s shoulder. His voice was silky soft, smooth and unnaturally polished: almost rehearsed.

“I know what you need, Charlie. To make everything clear. To make things make sense. Did you really think a leather mask was going to help you against Bacchus? Come now, boy: you’re a lot of things, but you’re not stupid.”

“You just didn’t understand! I was making a STATEMENT!”

“You were making a fool of yourself, nothing more and nothing less. If you want to be taken seriously again, you know what you need to do. You’re not dumb, Charlie..are you?”

The Nickleman took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at the apparition through the rearview mirror of his rental. The fiend’s gaze locked onto Charlie’s, the endless darkness in it’s eyes staring back at Charlie through the mirror. The creature bore a predatory grin, baring a set of unnaturally large and shark-like teeth that it’s mouth could barely contain. 

“I know what I need, Geppetto: and it’s nothing you can offer me.”

“Oh really, my boy? Well do tell…”

The Nickleman glared at the apparition in his rearview mirror before directing his gaze back towards the highway. Truth be told, Charlie had grown tired of this ghoul’s company the moment that they met. The man’s pretentiousness, the way he spoke down to Charlie, the way he acted as if he held all the cards: The Nickleman couldn’t bear it. But just like the dancing shadows and the beating drums in the back of his mind, Charlie couldn’t seem to shake his Geppetto. The Nickleman pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder as he glanced at a passing road sign.

“So we are going to Mexico, huh, my boy? Well if you want the good stuff, they’ve got it down there. I knew you’d see reason soon enough.”

“I’m not going back to that life, and if I ever do: it won’t be because some AIDs-riddled ghost wanted to party with me.”

“I don’t want you to party, Charlie: be serious now. I just want what’s best for you. I just want you to be prepared for your match against Ms. Jolee. You were distracted against Bacchus, and it cost you dearly.  You’re not a spring chicken anymore, Charlie: you’re almost 50 years old. You must be smart about these things- and you can be smart about these things. You don't have to go crazy again, just have a little hit here and there. No one will ever know.”

The Nickleman sneered in disagreement, but he couldn’t find the words to argue with Geppetto’s reasoning. To him, Geppetto was making plenty of sense: but just because something makes sense, doesn’t mean Charlie needed to agree! Growing flustered by the creature’s conversation, Charlie reached for the radio.

“Will you shut the fuck up for a moment?! Jesus Christ, if you want to talk about crack rock all day you should go haunt James fucking Shark! That’s his gimmick now, didn’t you know?!”

Geppetto huffed with displeasure as he leaned back in the seat, directing his abyssal gaze out towards the barren vistas along the highway. Charlie, meanwhile, tried to tune out the creature’s constant pestering with the musical stylings of Rob Zombie. The Nickleman held a deathgrip on the steering wheel as the Zombie blared through the speakers. The Nickleman did everything he could to focus on the road ahead, and not on the overbearing presence behind him. Charlie just zoned out as he drove on, letting Rob’s ballad to the Living Dead Girl run wild in his imagination.

Geppetto has the wrong idea about me.

He thinks I’m weak, he thinks that I’m vulnerable: but he doesn’t know the strength that she gives me. Geppetto is just like each and every one of you, watching me from the shadows with your prying eyes: just waiting for me to slip up so you can sacrifice me upon your altar of purity. Because I don’t talk like you, I don’t think like you, I don’t act like you: you think that means I’m not exactly like you?

I have a heart. I have feelings. I have a “soft-side”. I don’t like being labeled the ‘bad guy’ just because I made a few mistakes. I don’t like being called a ‘misogynist’ just because I’m willing to smack a bitch up, and I don’t like people thinking I’m ‘homophobic’ just because I can’t stand Corey Smith.

If I seem harsh, or mean, or perhaps even….barbaric, please understand: I’m only this way because you made me this way. I’ve spent 20 some odd years in this industry, going from promotion to promotion just begging to find a place in this world: just begging to find a steady paycheck and a chance to compete. But there was no place in this world for someone like me, someone who just wanted to compete with the best…so I had to change who I was if I wanted to survive.

I didn’t start this way…I didn’t come into this business hoping to destroy careers and end lives…I just wanted to hold the belt…because maybe, just maybe…people would like me if I held championship gold. I dreamt that one day, they might even chant my name as I came down to the ring.

I broke bones, ripped out spines, and shattered souls for years just to earn my place in the XWF, and when I finally hit it big and won that TV championship for the first time: only then did I realize that a championship belt wasn’t going to make the people like me. It just made them hate me more. It made them drip with envy. There’s nothing I can do to redeem myself in the eyes of these people I spent so long trying to impress, because to them, I’m nothing more than the sum of every wrong thing I’ve ever done.

They’ll never understand why I’ve done what I’ve done, or why I’ve made the sacrifices I’ve made. They can’t see it from my perspective, they don’t understand how hard it is to breakthrough in this industry, they don’t know what it’s like for wrestlers like us, Tatianna Jolee.

You and I are lifelong veterans at this point, Joles’. We’ve both spent countless hours inside that ring, we’ve both traveled to an endless list of cities, and we’ve both done a whole lot more wrong than we have right in our quests to be great.

You know it’s true, Joles’.

You turned your back on Action Wrestling when they needed you most. That’s something even a low-life scum like me would NEVER do! I’ve had my backs and forths with XWF ownership: a lot more backs than forths to be frank, but I will never forget that the XWF is the very reason why anyone in this business knows the name ‘Charlie Nickles’. Some people might call it blind loyalty, but me? I call it heritage. And I respect the hell out of my wrestling heritage, but you can’t say the same, can you Joles’?

Action Wrestling put you on the map, and your departure put the nail in their coffin. You sold-out to get into the XWF, and no matter how you try to spin it, you betrayed the place you helped build. They’re never going to forgive you, they’re never going to understand why you had to do what you did.

But she understands.

Don’t you see? That’s why I have to win this tournament for her. Our match isn’t about the TV championship, and it’s definitely not about impressing the little men in suits who book the matches: it’s all about her. It’s always been about her!

About the one you ignored. The one you overlooked. The one you pushed away.

She’s coming back for you in the Ides of March, through her ghost in the flesh.

She understands, Jolee: but she never forgets.

And until you repent, she will never forgive.

Charlie’s rental car rattled through the graveyard gates as his headlights barely cut through the overbearing darkness. Shadows from crooked headstones slid across the gravel roads, and the brakes let out a sharp squeal as he slowed down. The engine grumbled low, like the car itself was already sick of the place, as the smell of old rot seeped in through the vents. The shadows pressed in, heavy and silent, as the car creaked its way to a sudden stop inside the graveyard.

“I told you this would fucking work. Those customs agents didn’t suspect a fuckin’ thing, and I bet they’ll be none the wiser coming back up.”

Charlie turned as if he were speaking to someone in the backseat, but much to his shock the car was completely empty. He looked around the car in a startled frenzy, but every trace of the shadowy man had disappeared. Charlie was completely alone again.

Again?

When was the last time Charlie was truly alone? He thought quietly to himself, and that’s when he realized that even the sound of silence had become unfamiliar to him. The constant drumming in the back of his skull, the creatures in the shadows, the numbing pain: by this point, it felt like it had always been with him. It was only now, as Charlie stepped out into the darkness, that he could see things clearly again.

He knew that meant he was getting close.

“I told you that you’d always be with me, Robyn, and I know you hate it when I break my promises.”

Charlie popped open the trunk, pulling out a hefty-sized shovel and a brown burlap sack. His look wasn’t one of sinister delight or criminal mischief: instead, he bore the hopeful expression of a father soon to be reunited. He slammed the car door shut before trekking deeper into the graveyard, in search of the tomb of a daughter long lost. With each step he took his newfound clarity seemed to sink in even deeper.

“There’s nothing that can keep me away from you, Robyn. There's nothing than can keep us winning from winning the Ides of March together, as a family, just like it was meant to be.”

Charlie spoke to himself as he wandered through the darkness in search of someone he had lost long ago. He paid no mind to the resting places of others, trampling over their memorial flowers as he worked his way through the graveyard with a shovel and a sack. He darted through the darkness until suddenly coming to a stop. His feet became glued to the dirt as his eyes gazed upon an old familiar grave.

“Robyn…”

Charlie dropped to his knees in front of the grave, his fingers tracing her name along the tombstone. Now that he was finally here, the rest of the world finally felt at ease. A sudden calmness entered his lungs as a peaceful sensation washed over him. The Nickleman hung his head as he kneeled in front of her grave, his hand resting solemnly upon her tombstone. 

“I’m sorry I blamed you for not being there. I understand now, that you were calling me here. I finally understand what you meant when you said I needed to make them Beware the Ides of March…and I won’t fail you again…”

As The Nickleman knelt in front of the grave of a daughter long dispatched, a single tear slid down his bearded cheek. He gripped his shovel with resolve as he pushed himself up to a standing position.

“I won’t fail you this time…I promise…I’m going to bring you home, Robyn.”

The Nickleman takes a few steps back before looking down at the hard earth separating him from the corpse of his daughter. With a deep breath, Charlie broke the dirt with the metal tip of his shovel. He spoke softly to himself while pressing the shovel into the ground, as if he didn’t want his daughter to hear his broken whispers.

“I promise you, sweetheart, I’m going to follow through this time. I’m going to make it happen, we’re going to win the Ides of March: and you’re finally going to be with me, always and forevermore.”

Dark shadows crept through the graveyard as the moon slid behind the clouds. It was as if the moon itself couldn’t bear to watch this any longer.

“You always wanted to see Pittsburgh, right, Robyn? They can’t stop me, they can’t stop us, not anymore Robyn…”

Charlie stood over his daughter’s grave, forcing his shovel into the dirt over and again for hours. Charlie’s breath came in ragged gasps as he worked, the sweat pouring down his face and soaking through his shirt. His arms ached, but he didn’t feel the pain. He couldn’t, not with her this close.

“Defunct the strings, of cemetery things…Liiiiiiving Dead Girl…”

His tune was ragged and low as he sang to himself, off-key, barely more than a rasp. Each word came
between the grunts of his effort, his voice cracked but persistent, like a prayer he was afraid to forget.

I told her what I did to you at Snow Holds Barred.

She just laughed and laughed and laughed.

While we were driving back from Meh-he-co, coming back from our lil’ family vacation across the void. I filled her in on the whole situation, Jolee. She knows everything. She knows that you failed in front of your own people. She knows that you disgraced the land you claim to love.

She just laughed and laughed and laughed.

The Latina Zombie Maquina is undefeated in her homeland, in front of her own people. Didn’t you know that? She’s everything you want to be inside that ring. She’s smart, she’s technical, she’s efficient, and most importantly: she’s effective. She stands tall in defense of her people, and on her home turf, she never comes up short. Just look at all the records she set playing in the Ladies Football League! The records you besmirched, all those years ago.

Her results speak for themselves. 

But your results, Jolee?

They tell a whole different story than you do!

You’ve made it clear that your words ring hollow, that once that bell rings, everything you say about ‘technical wrestling’ will go right out the window. You showed the whole world that you’re no mat technician, you’re just a ring rat with an ego. You talked a big game about what you were going to do at Snow Holds Barred, but then what happened?

You ended up like every other ring rat does: beneath me, for roughly three seconds!

Jokes aside, Jolee- well, I can’t even say that, can I? Because your entire run here in the XWF has been one long-winded joke that just won’t die. You bounce from loss to loss like you’re playing a game of frogger, but Joles’, can’t you see that I’m the one who’s going to run you down for good?

Seriously, how many times do I have to call you ‘Miss Piss’ before you finally get the memo and piss off?

I’m not a ‘Dickie Watson’, I’m a Cocky Nickles- and I’m coming to Pittsburgh to whoop your skinny little ass. You might not have a lot of junk in your trunk, but baby I do: and this time, she’s going to be the difference maker!

You see Joles’, I ain’t coming to Warfare empty-handed: and I ain’t just talking about my belt!

The rental car rumbled toward the border patrol checkpoint, headlights flickering against the dusty desert dawn. Charlie’s brow was drenched with nervous sweat and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel as his daughter’s corpse lay still in the trunk, wrapped up tightly in a burlap sack. The TV Championship glimmered from the passenger seat, almost as if it were mocking him with it’s polished shine. Charlie stared ahead at the border patrol guard, his hands tightening on the wheel. The checkpoint was just up ahead, and Charlie was next in line. Charlie was so nervous that he couldn’t move at all, not until the guard waved for him to come forward and roll down his window.

“G-good morning, Officer!”

“You got your paperwork in order?”

The portly guard looked at Charlie nonchalantly, but Charlie felt like he was staring daggers at him. Beads of sweat trickled down Charlie’s face as he fumbled around his console for his relevant documents.

“Y-yeah, of course. You think a big superstar like me would travel without having everything perfectly in line?”

Charlie tried to flash a ‘famous grin’ as he presented the heavyset guard with his papers. Charlie not-so-subtlety gestured towards the TV Championship belt, sitting pristine and unbothered in the seat next to him. The guard didn’t even bat a brow.

“So what business did you have in Mexico?”

“Uhm, well…”

Charlie fidgeted nervously, avoiding eye contact with the guard as he tried to figure out his cover story. 

“You know…”

“No, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

The guard glared at Charlie as The Nickleman tried to buy an increasingly suspicious amount of time.

“You are an American citizen, aren’t you? What the hell are you so nervous about? It’s not like you’re transporting a body in your trunk. Just tell me what you were down in Mexico for and I can let you through.”

“Uh, technically I was visiting family.”

“Technically?”

The border patrol guard raised a suspicious eyebrow as he passed Charlie’s documents back.

“Well you know like…in laws and stuff. Half-brothers, that sort of thing.”

The border guard just grunted in response as he continued looking over Charlie’s papers.

“And how long were you in Mexico for?”

Charlie ran his hand through his greasy hair, chuckling quietly as he tried to figure out the least suspicious answer possible.

“Well, since last night…”

“In and out just like that? What’s the deal? You don’t like your in-laws and your half-brothers?”

“Yeah, can’t stand them. They’ve gone completely woke, you know? Just unbearable to be around for more than a few hours at a time. Plus, I couldn’t afford to stay any longer: I have a work trip coming up if you know what I mean!”

Charlie once again tried gesturing to his Championship belt, but the guard paid it no mind.

“A work trip? What do you do for work?”

“I’m a professional wrestler in the XWF!”

“XWF, huh? Never heard of it.”

“Never heard of it?”

The guard crossed his arms as he took a step back from the door, looking through the car’s windows. The guard raised his eyebrow as he spotted a dirt covered shovel. 

“Nope, I’ve never heard of it. Now please sir, step out of the vehicle. I’m going to go ahead and detain you while we search your vehicle.”

The Nickleman grew frantic, his eyes growing wide as the world around him started spinning. He knew he couldn’t let them search his car.

“Wait- why? What’s going on? I thought you said you’d let me through!”

“You’ve been acting incredibly suspicious, and your entire backseat is caked with dirt. We’ve had issues with people trying to smuggle rare and exotic plants across the border, and we here at Customs Enforcement take agricultural security very seriously. Now, get out of the car. Don’t make me call for backup.”

“What?! Call for back-up? Bro, don’t be an ass, just let me get through! I have a show in Pittsburgh I need to get to!”

“Get out of the car, sir. I need to search it for unregistered succulents and cactuses.”

”No, wait!”

Charlie locked all the doors as the guard tried to manually enter the vehicle. The border guard pounded on Charlie’s window and ordered him to exit, but The Nickleman was panicking: not complying. Charlie looked around frantically, trying to decide if he should make a break for it while the guard called for backup.

“CHAD! OFFICER CHAD! We’ve got a non-compliant smuggler in transport bay one!”

Mere seconds after the call, another Officer arrived at the scene from seemingly out of nowhere. Tall, dark, and handsome: this Officer Chad was everything a border patrol guard should be. He was stoic and calculated, large and incredibly intimidating…until he saw the TV Championship shining in Charlie’s passenger seat. His expression changed in an instant.

“Officer Larry, what is this?! What’s going on?!”

“I believe this man is trying to smuggle unregistered vegetables through the borders, and he’s refusing a search!”

Officer Chad slapped his compatriot upside the head, bringing an immediate end to his investigation.

“Don’t you know this guy’s the XWF TV Champion?! He’s headed back up here to defend America against some Canadian bimbo! We can’t hold him up. Let him through!”

Charlie sat frozen for a beat, his pulse hammering as he wiped the sweat off his brow. Officer Chad gave him a wave and gestured for him to drive forward.

“Good luck, champ! Go beat the shit out of that Canadian bitch...for AMERICA!”

Charlie nodded, barely breathing, as he hit the gas. The rental car rolled past the checkpoint, his daughter’s body still in the trunk, and Charlie couldn’t help but smile. It seemed as if his good luck charm was already in full effect!

“You’ve always wanted to see Pittsburgh, right, Robyn?”

As dawn turned into day, Charlie drove down the endless road ahead with daughter's silent presence in the trunk. Rob Zombie's ballad to the Living Dead Girl blared through the speakers as the reunited family made their way to Pennsylvania.

Are you prepared, Jolee?

Many have heard the phrase, but this will be the first time anyone on Warfare will actually be able to SEE the ghost in the flesh!

It’s been a long time coming, but I’ve been promising it for weeks: and she told me I need to start keeping my promises. For too long I’ve just been talking about having her in my corner: and now, it’s finally come to pass. She will be with me on warfare, just as she will be with me always. Through her, I will find the strength to carry on. And for her, I will make you bleed the blood she used to have.

When you get to that ring on Warfare, you had better come at me with everything you have. Give me your best arm drags, sleeper holds, and all that other boring trash that only works in wrestling schools. Because when that bell rings, Joles’, I’m going to do exactly what I did to you at Snow Holds Barred. I’m going to beat you from one side of the ring to the other, smashing your petite frame into the canvass over and over again until the life finally leaves your eyes.

I know you dream of winning XWF Gold, but Joles’, I can’t let those dreams come true. When Warfare rolls along, I have but one charge: I must rip those TV Championship dreams out from your very imagination, one vicious chair shot at a time.

Because then and only then, will a promise be kept.

Then and only then, will they Beware the Ides of March.