Jesus, Ned. It’s been years. Years that you’ve been in this company, in this business, and you’ve gotten a hell of a foothold, learning how to not absolutely suck ass at War Games. I still have more eliminations than you could dream of.

You’ve had a great year so far, though.

That guy you have a love and hate, back and forth relationship with that you want to tease as the hottest couple since something from White Lotus with more mutual respect than a dozen after school specials? Heh, Isaiah beat Kido, and face facts, Isaiah would be better suited to face me than you right now, because at least he wants to do something.

You’ve had an amazing year so far, though. You did go further in March Madness than I did.

I mean, I lost at March Madness too, Ned, but I lost the Universal Championship after picking off the man who terrified you.

Naitch, terrifies you.

Ned is afraid of Mark Flynn. No two ways about it. It’s why Ned went and drafted Mark, because Ned didn’t want to have to deal with Mark, and, well, I had to pull Mark up by his bootstraps a few places, so, there you go. Also, you didn’t have to face Kido, and he scares you too, Ned.

Ned Kaye is a chickenshit.

Welcome to Warfare, and this here is for America, atop a cell with the fireworks competing against us to steal the show, except I won’t let the people down like you only fucking can. As such, I’ma light you up like the Fourth of July and put every bottle rocket, every roman candle, every mortar, and every firecracker to shame with an array of sights and sounds so fucking dazzling the only ones who’ll believe it are the emergency room nurses who have to witness your shattered fucking spine.

So, before you call me a side character for anyone, when was the last time you were the main character anywhere, at any time? Was it with Mark at War Games? In Saga with Raion? How about with Noah? Shit, you carried Big D’s bags!

Bobby gestures to his crotch.

Don’t sweat this bag, though, it’s way too heavy for you. Shit, Nutless Ned claiming a cup is why he can withstand a low blow from time to time is sillier bullshit than half the shit the Bing Bong Twins are about.

Bobby points at the screen, his eyes flaring and his nostrils going wide, and vice versa.

AND THAT’S THE GOOD HALF!

So, Ned, bring on that human fragility, where winning the Universal Championship is apparently shitting the bed. You’ve had a good year so far, but by your standards. You started off lame as fuck, coughing up the TV Title to a part timer, didn’t finish out at March Madness, then got eclipsed by your own partner at War Games. That is, indeed, a good year for you, Ned. You shat zero beds, if only because you shield yourself away from any chance you could. It’s why you can sound like every other opponent I face, about how I’m someone they can’t quite pin down, hoping I’m a hack like they heard someone from 2019 say, and you always sound the same. By the by, thanks for catching us up to speed on what you were doing four years ago, I don't have to do that shit. Just like everyone I crumple, you keep that knowledge in the spot I keep rent-free in your skull.

I had the balls to go out there and find out what and who I am, you’re sweating whether your own nuts are the target. And hey, fair enough, Nedski, I don’t have to be indestructible or bulletproof, just better than you, and that’s just something I do by getting out of bed in the morning.

How was that, Miss Tote?

That was pretty good, Mr. Bourbon. You do realize he said something about your hiring me, instead of a therapist.

Miss Tote takes note.

So what? I didn’t hire you, the brass with the XWF did because I’m that damn good but provocative, two things Ned just ain’t. I assure you, though, Miss Tote, you are worth every red cent they pay you. My therapist thinks you’re quite good for me.

Genevieve clacks away at her tablet.

You go to therapy?

Of course I do! I worked in the XWF in 2015, if you did too you’d do well with professional help. I’m not ashamed of it one bit, either, I’m not too proud to admit that even I need support. Besides you, Miss Tote, there’s Bouncy, who just keeps a song in my heart, the Bourbon Men, who are always ready to help, and the rest of the Brotherhood, who are the fiercest damn competitors alive, and we’re alive right now!

Is this where you extend the offer for Ned to join BOB?

Bobby chortles.

Oh hell no. This dingus wouldn’t know the first thing about it; shit he annoyed Jason Cashe, how fucking hard is it to do that? Cashe is one of the coolest guys in the business, we go back. He didn’t know how to bridge a connection with Kido, but hell, Kido has the personality of a cardboard cut-out of a bag of hammers. Were there any other members of Saga? Trinity? Whatever the fuck they were, they’re not now, but I guess that a part of having a good year is being absolutely powerless as your running mates dissolve. I guess that’s par for the course when you have a fraction of the charisma of Centurion with three times the ego. Blind to where you need to improve, and Nedward, you got a lot to work on in the ring and in your own head. All these flaws you point to in how my life has been since January, how are you confronting all the flaws you have? Is it your parents fault?

No need to answer, Ned, I was being rhetorical, we know you won’t answer, because you’re chickenshit, because accountability and responsibility are too heavy for you.

When Saga crashed and burned, you had nothing to do with it. You weren’t a part of the solution, you didn’t find a way to make things work, you didn’t put forth a single ounce of fucking effort. When you looked in the mirror, you didn’t see what was behind you, just convinced yourself it wasn’t worth seeing.

When you lost the Television Title to kickstart the mediocre year of the Ned, the astrological sign on the Chinese Zodiac associated with limp-dicked promos and hoping someone pulls you along kicking and screaming to some kind of success by the way, that was okay. You weren’t responsible for losing, you got kicked in the groin and all you needed to win was a different make of underwear. I mean, you sure as fuck didn’t run and challenge Page for a rematch, nope. It was my responsibility to go and get a rematch with Kido. It was mine to rematch Flynn.

Come Warfare, Neddleston, I want you to bring whatever hell you think you have in you, I want you to hit me as hard as you can, get them knees ready to crack me in the head, because you know what? You’re not going to be held responsible or accountable for a damn thing that happens on top of a cell with the heat and force laying into us from below, no sirree.

I’m going to be responsible for what happens to you, Ned.

Then you can continue your oh so special little year unabated, because hey, you can ignore the obvious so long as it’s comfy. Frankly Ned, you need help, and you aren’t getting mine, because as many times as I have fucked up, as many times as I have had to lean on my best friend, I appreciate who I am, and would take any year instead of yours. Just remember, Ned, if you don’t stand for anything?

You’ll fall for anything.

Fuck what you think I stand for.

What do you stand for, Mr. Bourbon?

Miss Tote interrupts Bobby. Bobby pauses.

I stand to make a stance making people stand on the floor
With the absolute viciousness that the Universe seems to adore
They buy tickets to see me because I bring beatings galore
I whoop ass 'til that's all I can stand, and I can't stand anymore.
When I light up my victims it's oh so glorious
I turn bodies into paste then get told I'm victorious
While I leave 'em in stitches feeling ten kinds of uproarious
Fuck a Ned Kaye, everyone can tell you that I'm no-no-notorious.
My philosophy is old school damn near Aristotelian
I tap into my dark side and get a little mephistophelian
Keeping my intention quiet like a true Machiavellian
Past the obvious, being the righteous infliction of karma to this little Chameleon
I bring the pain, contentrated and unadulterated,
Ned ain't the first to claim my style is faded and hated
Say my rhymes suck? Well that’s awfully overstated
By a boy who can't flow enough to submit rhymes to be graded.

Miss Tote nods.

That was fire.

Thanks.

Bobby turns to a cart being rolled in by Cyberjaw and Diamondback with a new set of syringes lined up on it. Behind Bobby we see a massive chalkboard with notes scrawled all over it.

Formula Nocturne Delta 13.03 is prepared.

You want me to get another dog?

Get ten. One and done is no way to experiment.

Before any test animals could be brought out, we see Bouncy Brickhouse saunter out. She looks deeply concerned.

Bobby, I can’t let you go through with this. It’s completely inhumane.

Bobby cocks an eyebrow.

Oh? I’m inhumane, you said it was one of my more fun qualities.

This is too much for me to handle though.

Genevieve sees the tiff develop between Bobby and Bouncy.

Mr. Bourbon, perhaps chewing through an entire puppy farm to develop science is somewhat cruel, even by your standards.

Bouncy rolls her eyes.

Oh, Genevieve, I don’t care about the Cruella DeVille act by Bobby, it’s the end result he’s after!

Bouncy walks up to Genevieve and looks at her with concern and anguish in her eyes.

Have you ever kissed someone who spews stuff?

Genevieve swiftly shakes her head ‘no’, unsure of where this was going anymore.

Look, sweetie, I dated a villain called the Brass Dragon who could spit some kind of corrosive gunk, it’s how Bobby knows exactly how mists work, it’s chapter one of the supervillain’s textbook. I kissed Brass Dragon one time after a soiree in Hong Kong where he belched his goop at some security guards, and it tasted like kissing a burning tire.

Ew.

Exactly.

Both Genevieve and Bouncy look at Bobby, who has his arms folded across his chest.

So you don’t want to kiss a guy who can do a poison mist?

Never again!

Bobby smirks and shrugs.

Then done.

Bobby approaches the chalkboard and pulls out Tacky, the reverse tachyon generator he invented which is akin to a real-life rewind button. He puts it on the board and hits a button, and the writing begins to undo itself.

Really?

Really. Besides, who needs a fucking poison mist when I can Bobbybomb someone?

Aw!

Bouncy walks up to Bobby. She kisses him gently on the lips as they both look absolutely enamored with one another.

I’m glad you’re not judging me for losing the eraser to my chalkboard.

Mr. Bourbon, the notes are still stored on your computer.

Bobby looks at Bouncy, and they both smile.

No doubt, Miss Tote, plenty of aspiring villains out there would love to spit a poison mist, and for the right price, I can fund other projects with the profits.