As Jim Caedus finds a seat on the plane flying him out of Moline, he sighs with relief.

After his first championship victory over Lycana, getting ambushed by B.O.B., his incredible performance at WarGames where he lost the belt, winning his rematch to take back the belt from Corey Smith, and then getting a SECOND B.O.B. ambush… it'll be nice to have a few hours where he can relax...

He leans back in his seat with one of those full-circumference neck pillows around his throat. And he tries to regain his energy with a nap... Something he deserves so profoundly, a well-earned bit of rest.

Just as the first class drink cart rolls beside his aisle.

And who is pushing the cart? What diabolical dictator-delighting demon would dance with the devil if it deemed him X-Treme Champion?

Who else but that fuckin’ ASSHOLE? The North Korean War Criminal.

“Deja vu, eh, Jim Caedus?”

NKWC gently rests a small napkin on Jim Caedus' sleeping chest and places a bag of complimentary pretzels onto his body, pressing him gently into the back of his seat. He leaves his hand there...

The XWF official in the aisle seat across from Jim silently mouths the count...

1....

2....