We take a look back at what went down after Wednesday Warfare went off the air. The first thing we see is a door leading into a dressing room. Then we see Tyrone standing in front of it looking pissed off with his chest out, breathing heavily through his nose, and and fists clenched tight. He's in Ticked Off Tyrone Mode right now, give him a twenty foot clearance or he's liable to kick your head into the wall. There's no one in sight; no one for Tyrone to kick with his black leather boots.


Instead...


A swift bicycle kick reduced the wooden door to scraps as a boot is planted inside the room. It's a kick coming from the boot belonging to Tyrone. Tyrone-- the hired henchman of Warfare GM Wallace Witasick. The man was hired to take care of Wallace's dirty work and to "take out the trash" so to speak. Tyrone is wearing black jeans and a black Warfare t-shirt that he pulled off one of the merchandise stands. The vendor didn't even try to fight over the shirt with Tyrone. The last guy who tried to pull that stunt got the shit kicked out of him before Tyrone helped himself to the entire merchandise stand. Ever since that night, vendors have a habit of snapping into the "stick up" victim's stance when Tyrone approaches. Tyrone doesn't pay for Warfare merchandise. He gets all the goodies that he wants free of charge. His massive arms rip through the arm holes of the shirt as he prowls the private dressing room that he broke into. It looks as though Tyrone has done a job like this before; searched and pulled apart a room looking for pests.


He kicked down furniture, ripped doors off their hinges, and screamed.


"WHERE YOU AT MARK?"


But Mark Flynn was no where to be found.


Probably hightailed it to his hotel room by now.


The noise of a phone vibrating can be heard coming from Tyrone's pocket. He rips the phone out and puts up to his ear.


"What?" he answers as he paces around the room.


The voice on the other end is the boss man, Wallace Witasick.


"He got away," says Tyrone in a disappointing tone as he clicks the speaker on.


Wallace: "Of course he did but who cares?"


"He knocked out Dana White, Wallace. We can't let him get away with that shit!"


Wallace: "Forget about Dana White. Focus on your match and Warfare; that's all that matters right now. Let Mark Flynn beat up Dana White if he wants to."


Tyrone had known Dana White for years. Dana had given him loads of opportunities to compete in Mixed Martial Arts. He let Tyrone escort the Octagon Girls to ringside for a couple of thousand bucks at events. He let Tyrone train, using the UFC facilities in hopes of becoming a fighter. He even gave Tyrone several tryout fights which impressed Dana to the point where he was ready to offer Tyrone a spot on one of the cards. Unfortunately, making it to the big time never happened for Tyrone. Tyrone had commitments outside of the Octagon that he needed to focus on which put his UFC career on hold, indefinitely. It's no easy task trying to battle a crack whore ex-wife in court while supporting and taking care of a mentally handicapped child. Still, Dana White was always there to help Tyrone whether he needed financial support or emotional support. Wallace Witasick was the same way. He came down hard on Tyrone at times, but Wallace was still there for Tyrone. Dana White and Wallace Witasick; two outstanding employers. Unfortunately, the two could not get on the same page and put forth a collaborative effort towards Ultimate Warfare.

Regardless of Wallace's attitude towards Dana White, Tyrone gets Mark Flynn in the octagon and that's all that matters. He would rake Mark's face across the fence and knock his eyeballs out of his head for Dana and Wallace.


"You're right, boss. Next week is all about the octagon with or without Dana White's involvement."


Wallace: "Right. Now please come to my location. I have a project that I need to go over with you."


The call is dropped before Tyrone has a chance to respond.


He left the dressing room in shambles as he walked over the wreckage.


For now Flynn will would rest easy without the fear of a big, angry black man smothering him with forearms.



The Octagon; my former home.


It's been several years since I walked into the cage so when I saw the stipulation for Warfare I was more than pleased. Put me in a wrestling ring, and I'm likely to get out of hand and break a bunch of rules that these professional wrestlers have to abide by. Fighting by rules-- it's not my style when stepping into a physical battle. But I respect the rules. I respect the rules enough to step to the side and let the promoters handle their business. I respect the rules so much that I'll step in to reinforce them if I notice some bitches getting out of line.


Bitches like Mark Flynn.


Is that your thing Mark-- fighting like a little bitch? It seemed to work out well for you in that two month title reign of yours. Going out there every night and pulling one over on folks like Benjamin Crane and Cassius Stone. I think you even managed to sneak by with a victory over Angelus.


But it's starting to catch up to you.


You're losing your knack at disgracing Wallace's Warfare.


At Gauntlet City, you had a chance to go down like a man when Sebastian Duke gave you the Soul Shot. But you had to pull out the brass knuckles and take the bitch way out. Essentially, you tried to duck Sebastian Duke at Gauntlet City. You were ready to take a disqualification and walk out as the United States Champion. It didn't work out that way though, did it? No, it did not, and that is why Gauntlet City will be known as the Pay-Per-View which Mark Flynn was finally taught a lesson.


If you fight like a little kid, Tyrone will treat you like one.


It's pretty damn sad when I have to go out there, have this punk kid slap me across my face like a little bitch, and then throw him over my shoulder. I threw him over my shoulder like the sack of trash that he is, and dumped him back in the ring for Sebastian Duke to take out.


It's just business, Mark.


We all answer to someone, and Tyrone is no exception. Neither is Mark Flynn. I answer to Wallace Witasick when he notices some little bitch trying to bring dishonor to the squared circle. He sends me out to correct the behavior, and sometimes it gets a little physical. Sometimes I have to step in as an official. Sometimes, I have to put Mark Flynn in a headlock while security beats him down with batons. Sometimes I have to carry Mark Flynn to the ring when he doesn't want to man up to his responsibility.


You could argue that the decision of the referee should be the final. Maybe it should be. But it isn't. That final decision, whether you folks like it or not, belongs to Wallace Witasick. The scrawny white boy in the stripe shirt is there to count and call the match for Wallace. But Wallace is always watching. Yes, I answer to Wallace, but if Gauntlet City taught us anything, it's that the Warfare roster answers to motha-fucking Tyrone.


Wallace is watching.


Keep that in mind, boys. Next time you try to take the Mark Flynn way out of your commitments, rethink your decision. On Wallace's Warfare, no crime goes unpunished. Mark Flynn knows it, and he's starting to learn his place on the show.


Mark Flynn was a good boy on Warfare last week. He took his loss like a man for once. Maybe he finally learned his lesson.


Good job, Mark. You're finally upholding your end of the bargain. If you go out and you wrestle the matches that Wallace puts you in, and you won't have to deal with the angry black man throwing you over his shoulder. If you can't win matches fair then you deserve to be losing to Sweet Cheapshots and Sebastian Duke.


I'm here to uphold the rules; nothing else.


That is unless it's ULTIMATE Wednesday Warfare.


There's no wrestling ring this week, boys.


No ropes.


No turnbuckles.


No breaks.


Well, Mark Flynn might get a couple of ribs broken. The point is; these ain't no wrestling matches. I don't need to obey the referee's five count during a rope break or after a five count. And if I wanna grab a handful of hair, rip some mothafucka's scalp off his head, then it's perfectly legal. I ain't gonna be running no damn ropes or hopping off the top turnbuckle. It's just me hitting Flynn with a take down on the steel mesh, and then rearranging his face with my elbow.


It's time to face your punishment.


It's time to face Tyrone.