Cain sat there with needle and thread in hand, piercing his skin and pulling the thread through it. For those who aren't aware of what happened, Morbid Angel's men had attempted to retrieve his son. Yes, we say "attempted", seeing as how Cain hasn't forgotten that shit. But onto the original reason he came to beautiful Russia in the first place.

"Are you ? Or just stupid? Because there's a difference, boy. If you're , then you can't help that. Mental is a result of inbreeding or in your case most likely your mother smoked crack while you were developing. I mean, do you think you're a white rapper? The truth is you try and spit these rhymes, man that ain't nice, you think you're hard like Eminem but I stay cool like V*Ice."

Cain looked into the camera without so much as a flinch as he tended the gun shot wound, sewing the bullet hole shut.

"How's your ass? You know, the one that's been kicked every single week since you lost your Xtreme Title to Alexis Riot? Doctor D'ville looked like Undertaker, and your ass got kicked like Bray Wyatt. You started out trying to emulate the underdogs, like Daniel Bryan or Rey Mysterio, now you got a little bank and think you're Austin Fernando. We know the truth though, you're a broke ho, and I'll kick your ass bro. And Trevor seems to be your EmCee, but if you ask me, he's more like your daddy. Not like Titus O'Neill, you feel? I guess asking you how your ass feels is more of a question for Trevor. You want us to take you seriously, but how can we, when you act like Hillary?"

"Banks, fucker. Rich bitch."

We see Cain reach off the screen for a moment. To be quite honest, this rap thing wasn't for him. He'd never been the type to use stupid gimmicks and catch phrases to get him through a show. No, he was more about action. Actions such as bringing a big bottle of high dollar Russian vodka from off screen and pouring it onto the wound on his chest.

He sneered, the burn rather severe even for him. He shook his head.

"Damn....son."

"That shit was actually painful, but I digress. See, anyone can use that phrase? You, Peter, and even I. And another thing, anyone can pretend they're clever and arrange their speech in order to spell things out. Like their opponents don't get it. Do you think that I am stupid? "Cain Is A Joke"? Let's take a look at you. Judge not lest ye be judge yourself, idiot."

"Mason Prince, you signed with the XWF in June of two thousand fourteen. But you know that. You also know that in nearly two years, you've not really done anything noteworthy. You pinned Drezdin in what I believe may have been your debut match, not me. You actually lost to a man who couldn't even hold up his end of a tag team match, hell, you've won two matches since you actually decided to put in some semblance of work here. Oh yeah, you had the Xtreme Title, and yes you kicked out twenty one times until you got your ass handed to you by Alexis Riot."

"You're goddamned right I'm going to bring that up. I know everyone does, but I actually have a point to make. I don't know if you're aware of this, but your record is looking pretty fuckin' bad right now boy."

"Make no mistake about it, you have never beaten me."

"So you sit on your lazy ass for two years while I consistently bust my ass for this company? I won some and I lost some, but at least have been around the world for XWF, doing public appearances, talk shows, cutting promos, and winning more often than losing. Unlike you. You were barely on the radar while I was doing all this shit, yet you can't even beat my failed tag team partner."

"So if I'm such a goddamned joke, what does that make you? Go ahead, mother fucker. Say some stupid shit, get nervous and say "I didn't mean it like that!" Like a goddamned embarrassed school boy."

Cain laughed at this thought. If anyone remembers, the Mason Prince that showed up about two months ago was much different than the one we see now. Cain was calling him out on that bullshit.

"Let me get this straight."

"You came here as a shy underdog and now you're a mother fucking loud mouthed little arrogant bastard?"

"It's not the Doctor making you do that. Oh no. You talk about stealing the show, but the only thing you've probably ever stolen were the boots of real stars. That's assuming you were fit to shine them because right now you're not fit to shine Doink's clown shoes you little sawed off, wannabe Kurt Angle."

"Epiphany after epiphany? Hell, at least I do realize that I am not perfect. I can admit it whilst you just sit there and act perfect even though you've lost two of your three matches that you actually showed up for. Because I didn't see you at the talent meetings asking for a match every fucking week."

"You're gonna learn to respect me, boy. I am the Last Son of Eden because I am the last surviving human from an ancient era. My mother's name was Eve, dumbass. But, you wouldn't know that because stupid sons of bitches like you can barely read let along read the book of Genesis."

"That's fine though, because at Snow Job I will eviscerate you. I am gonna tear your ass limb from limb and teach you some fucking respect. This is my house, kid, and at Snow Job I'm gonna make my last mortgage payment."

"I'm taking it out of your ass!"

He looked at his handy work, running his fingers over the stitching. The truth of the matter was that Cain didn't trust human doctors with his body. His body was different than theirs, he was different in general. By this time though, the seven foot monster was seething. He disliked Mason Prince and if he disliked him then he plain out despised Peter Gilmour.

But why?

"Peter Gilmour..."

He hesitates for a moment, a smile spreading across his lips. Then, his expression darkens and his eyes flash.

"Don't fucking patronize me you fat son of a bitch."

Peter Gilmour Said:You gained my respect last week.

"Ohhhhhh, I gained your respect? Oh my, the respect of a man who denies losing and doesn't even have a proper cock to fuck his wife with? The respect of a man who sucks his own rotten cock like a good little bitch because he can't beat Morbid Angel? The respect of a man who'sbest friends inclue a mentally redneck, a big headed politician who acts like a two year old, Poppa Feder, and Unknown Soldier?"

""But Cain, Feder and Unkno-" shut the fuck up. I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck. You see, men like Feder and Soldier aren't around anymore. Noone gives a shit. You four call yourselves "killers" but the only thing you've ever truly killed was the "heat" in the arena. Admit it Peter. You name dropped a lot during our last encounter because you thought that it would bring you more relevance. But once again, no one cared. Just like the real Maria Brink wouldn't touch your non existent dick with Tammy Sytch's disease ridden cunt."

Air quotes.

""Believe that"."

"You know, funny you should bring up the fact that I used a Roman Reigns line. You know why? Because fucking high schoolers were using your line before you were born, you dumb bastard. Hell, it's basically a paraphrase of something else...hmm...let's see, what was it?"

Cain stands up and...


"Suck it!"

"That's right, because it's the same mother fucking line. And you call yourself the King of the Land of Xtreme? Must make me the leader of the Rebellion, because I'm gonna overthrow your ass."

Peter Gilmour Said:So thus I am defending my belt in an XTREME RULES match where I know I can win.

"You know, for someone so sure that he would win you sure just contradicted yourself there. I mean, Xtreme is good. I like Xtreme. Ask your mom, I broke her collar bone fucking her dirty whore mouth. But Peter..."where you know you can win"? I mean, I sense a lot of doubt in your own skills to actually admit that the only way you think you can beat Mason and I would be under Xtreme rules. I think someone's a little scared. I think someone knows they're about to lose their Hart Title, but "I digress"."

"Once again, anyone can use that fucking line. Yes, it's getting old. Imagine me being the one having to hear this for two weeks in a row."

"And excuses? You're one to talk about those, Peter. I've seen you lose matches and become a whiny little bitch. I mean seriously, you actually had a mechanical dick implanted so you could deny losing to Morbid Angel. By the way, that piece of machinery doesn't make you a man. Just sayin'."

Peter Gilmour Said:1. But that goes out the window this Saturday night because I am going to beat you and Mason Prince to a pulp and walk out with my Hart Title around my shoulder.

2. Well this Saturday night, you will get it and more as I bring the pain and beat you and Mason Prince to a bloody pulp and show you why I am the Hart Champion and the face of this company. I won't be a pussy like you claim I will be.

"First of all, what the fuck are we to you? Orange juice? You keep spittin' the same shit over and over. I guess you thought that maybe we wouldn't notice since you used an adjective the second time.".

""Bloody pulp.""

"Secondly, I am glad you think you're going to walk out of this with your Hart Title "around your shoulder", cause that mother fucker ain't got enough notches to fit around your waist. I mean, you'd look pretty stupid with a championship around your shoulder ,seeing as how most champions drape said title over their shoulder. But "rock on", brother. You're here, you're fat, I'll get used to that."

Cain looked at this next clip with great confusion.

Peter Gilmour Said:You claim that I'm a ladies man and I'm god's gift to wrestling. Well, that is true so thanks for the compliment ASSHOLE! They only thing you are is a vampire fucking so be proud of that Cain.

"I never said you were a ladies' man or God's gift to wrestling. I said that you portray yourself as such. Do you need a dictionary? Because Christmas is over and I don't give a shit about your birthday. See, this just proves my point. You're a stupid sack of shit, and your respect doesn't mean jack shit to me. It's like you think that I respect you as a wrestler when in fact I think you're nothing but a joke. People laugh more at you than they ever have at me and come Snow Job, the laughter toward me will stop."

"There won't be any stupid raps spat by a white boy whose bloodline is so polluted that he doesn't know what he is. There won't be any jokes about me, because when you have a heart attack you don't joke around about it. You don't sit in your hospital bed chuckling."

"You and Mason are going to get very well acquainted, Gilmour. Maybe not at first, but that's only because Intensive care wards are allowed one person per room. But afterwards, when you guys get moves to your rooms and your jaws are wired shut, you'll be texting each other. The texts? They'll look something like this."

Hey Pete?

What?

Y did u have to go n mak Cain mad?

Dunno

Next time kp ur good ideas to yourself, fat boy.

Fine. Want apple sauce

No. Fuck u.

"And you two fuck wits are gonna argue like that for a while because you're gonna be real upset when you find out how wrong you both were. Peter talks about beating people to a pulp? I'm going to beat you boys so badly that if you squeeze your ankles and roll your legs up, your internal organs will spill forth from your cock suckers like tooth paste!"

"That fucking title is mine! I will have it!"

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