NOW
(Post LOF and three days till Warfare)

I admit I was a tad surprised that Steve Sayors was willing to give another go at conducting an interview with me. Though, after the last one, I was astonished the man didn't hit me with a lawsuit once he fully recovered his bearings and made it home safely. He took a hard drop down my basement steps and if he had opted to have himself tested by a doctor to find the reason for that unfortunate mishap, there would have been traces of a foreign chemical discovered in his system. From there it wouldn't take much to play connect the dots in order to link everything together. The only logical path would lead Steve directly back to me and if he had even the slightest inkling of what I do in my spare time, he'd lawyer up and the rest would be history. Yet that didn't happen.

Instead, Steve woke up and I explained that he had a bad fall. I reasoned that he must have been overworked and tired, then I attributed his tumble down the stairs to that and he went along with everything. Nodding like a puppet and agreeing with every word. Though to be honest, he looked like a zombie the entire time. With eyes that were both glazed over and barely open, a constant drip of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth, his head tilted at a funny angle to the side, while it also hung there limp, like it was attached to the end of an overstretched rubber band and a definite lag in actual communication. Basically he nodded the entire time and grunted. Long, guttural grunts that would start out strong, sorta like he was trying to say something but then, they'd trail off to nothing. A couple times he left his mouth agape, stuck in an open position like the muscles in his mouth gave up on trying to keep his lips together and he'd stay that way until I reached over and gave his jaw a helpful tap with my hand. Otherwise, he'd allow it to stay that way and that mixed with the combination of everything else, was just too much to take in visually. Thankfully, he eventually surged up off of the sofa, lurched forward and staggered out the front door on his own unstable accord or I really wouldn't have known how to remove him from my place, let alone how to get him off my sofa.

I mean, I've ushered plenty of people about that were in way worse conditions but Steve Sayors is an XWF totem. I had to be careful and make sure he wasn't damaged any further than what he was. Which was a first for me and after all that, I didn't hear from him until today, when he requested an interview. Quite a bit of time passed from then to now. What exactly was his plan? Was there a plan or am I overthinking this? So far it seems as though things are going business as usual. Steve showed up at my place, shook my hand and I invited him in. We're even sharing a meal together. He set the interview for right around the time I eat supper and when I asked if he'd like to join me for dinner, he accepted the offer. Without hesitation. It was baffling to say the least. Could the XWF's only reporter be that dense or naive? I suppose only time would tell...

Dillinger sat, relaxed in his chair; cigarette in hand and arm draped over the back rest, while he eyed Steve across the exceptionally long, bloodwood table. With only two occupants sitting at either end, it gave the false feel of two people staring at each other across the length of a football field. Awkward but at least the acoustics of the grand dining room made it so you didn't have to shout in order to be heard. The butler entered and announced the meal would arrive shortly and Steve cleared his throat, nervously glancing at his water, he produced a notepad and coughed. This caused Dillinger to raise his eyebrows sheepishly as he stated in his most earnest and forthcoming voice.

"The water is fine Steve, I promise."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I know what happened before was because I was running myself ragged, burning the candle at both ends... so to speak and overworking myself but I still can't seem to shake this weary feeling I get when I look at water. Not just here either or even simply water that I'm about to drink. Water in general. Gets me... scared."

Steve whispered the last part as his eyes darted back and forth within his head, like he was worried that someone besides Dillinger would hear this confession.

"After the 'incident' occurred, I saw a kiddie pool in my neighbor's front lawn and I almost passed out, I was hyperventilating so bad. I had to sprint past it with my eyes closed. Unfortunately, that didn't work out so well and I wound up tripping and landing face first in it. Then the screaming started. My own. Not the children's. No, they just pointed and laughed as I flailed helplessly in less than a foot and a half of water. My neighbor didn't find the whole thing as humorous though. He turned the hose on me, I guess to scare me off or something and that's when things got real bad. I'll leave those specific details out for the sake of my dignity but my actions resulted in a meeting; betwixt my neighbor and I, in small claims court to assess the damages and deal with the cost. I'm also forbidden to come near his children or his property, ever again. Which makes walking to the corner drugstore a real hassle. Since I have to walk past his house to get there. Last night I crawled through the sewer."

"Why don't you simply cross the street and then cross back when you get close to the store?"

"Wow. I didn't think of that. Thanks man."

Steve blinked, glanced back at his water and flinched. Bad.

"This is ridiculous Steve."

Dillinger rose from his chair, walked over to Steve, lifted the glass of water and took a sip. Swallowing it down with an over exaggerated "Ahhhh..." noise, to emphasize even more so that the water was not only untainted but it also was quite refreshing.

"See? Your water is fine."

Steve gave a relieved sigh and swallowed down a few healthy sips of water. By this time the food arrived - steak, asparagus and a baked potato, everything looked amazing and was clearly cooked to perfection but Steve eyed his plate suspiciously. This prompted an irritated sigh from Dillinger as he switched his plate with Steve's and then dropped into his chair. Clearly this insane little phobia Steve developed, branched beyond water. Dillinger would have to deal with this carefully.

"Steve, when you took that fall during our first interview, it was because you were drugged."

Or he could blurt everything out. Things are always so touch and go with Dillinger. Keeps ya on your toes.

"See, I kill people and sometimes I drug them. However, what happened to you was a mix up, an accident and it won't happen again. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead and there wouldn't be another scenario occurring otherwise. There's nothing in your water, or your food, or anything else I might have served to you and there never will be. Got it."

Steve appeared to be processing this and then, he busted out laughing.

"You're hilarious!"

Taking a heaping forkful of baked potato goodness, he shoved it into his mouth and continued to chuckle. Yes, with food in his mouth and it is surprising he doesn't choke doing something like that.

"I know you're not trying to purposely drug or kill me. I just hate asparagus."

Dillinger raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Then what's with the fear of water."

"Oh, that directly stems from what happened last time. Although, now that you gave that convincing speech, maybe it won't happen anymore."

Steve smiled and stuffed his mouth with more baked potato.

Dillinger couldn't tell if Steve was being facetious or not, was he incredibly stupid or so clever... this was all a game to him, did he master the art of fooling the world or was he really, truly the fool, he so blatantly seemed to be? Maddening is what it was and Dillinger decided there was only one sure way to end this song and dance and see things for what they sincerely were. That's when he retrieved his steak knife, calmly stood up from the table and slit the butler's throat. In one swift fluid motion. The knife slid through the man's neck like butter as it generated a long crimson line, from ear to ear. Then the first eruption of blood spurted forth and it managed to hit Steve, directly in the face, right before the butler collapsed and proceeded to bleed out on the floor. Within seconds, there was a scarlet pool forming beneath the fallen man as the last bit of life, gurgled from within. From there, Dillinger stepped over the body, fell into his seat, wiped the knife clean and began cutting his steak into small pieces, fit for proper consumption. However, Steve's wide eyes and blank stare, said it all. Dillinger managed to get through to him and now, he was at the stage where his mind would either allow him to accept it all or it would break. A common place for Steve and a position he's been in before, being the only interviewer the XWF employs, he retrieved his napkin and wiped his face clean.

"My stars. Dinner and a floor show. Lucky me."

He laughed and resumed eating his baked potato. In times like these, it's better to row with the current and hope the wave takes you someplace nice, rather than risk getting crushed from the force, should you try to oppose it. Wise words and Steve Sayors motto for life. Without so much as a bat of an eye, he elected to move forward with the interview and press on like there wasn't a fresh corpse laying only inches from him on the floor. This was the XWF after all, the action never stopped here and apparently, neither did the death toll. The positive side to this was that Dillinger didn't want Steve dead and as he so clearly displayed, he could murder Steve without a second thought, if that's what he desired. Suddenly very thirsty, Steve chugged the last of his water and then refilled his glass from the pitcher that the now very dead butler had brought in with their meal. Swallowing down that entire glass, he filled it again and kept going. Dillinger's plan worked. Steve wasn't afraid of water anymore! Yay!

"Did you catch TJ Adams most recent promo?"

Steve inquired, settling back after practically drinking his entire body mass in water. Ugh. He felt like a human waterbed. Meanwhile, Dillinger couldn't have been more amused by this dramatic transition and all it took was a murder to make it happen. Imagine that.

"Yes, I did see that and I have to say it was even worse than his last attempt. Naturally, he cried and this time, it was about me calling his demon . He was really upset about it. In fact, he was so emotional over the whole thing, he actually became . That's right. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. He cried himself into being mentally handicapped. And of course with being challenged of the mind, he started to babble about crazy things and reference make believe stuff that doesn't exist. Not in this world anyway. Maybe in his made up fantasy land that he created to deal with the pain of reality, he's the world champ. Yeah, he beat all his stuffed animals and really dominated in the pillow fort wrestling ring in order to achieve that title too. However, here... in the real world, that doesn't mean shit. Just like all that useless, brain numbing garbage that he spewed, doesn't mean shit. Hello. I kill people for fun. Without remorse or regret. Why would I fuckin' care about who I insult with a word? Obviously, he has no idea who he's talking to, or about, when it comes to me and that's a very bad subject to be dumb on, given his current position. Lucky for him, I don't have a problem with educating him on that topic. Come this Wednesday, he'll learn all that he needs to know and then some. Can't say if he'll retain that knowledge but I'll certainly do my part to drive that information home."

"Speaking of home, did TJ actually break into your place? What was going on with all that?"

"I honestly have no idea. There hasn't been any unscheduled disturbances here. No one broke in and my maid wasn't attacked. It's been kinda quiet actually."

"So... TJ broke into some random person's home and thought he was in yours?"

"Clearly, that's what happened. Though, this shouldn't come as a shock. Especially not from someone who experiences delusions on the scale that TJ does. If you couldn't tell by now, he's fucked in the head. Logic doesn't apply. Still, if that dullard ever stumbles onto my property, for real and he decides to make the mistake of trying to break in, there won't be a TJ Adams in the XWF anymore. That'll be the last error he ever makes. Period. People will be saying 'TJ who?' a lot sooner, than his terrible wrestling career will mandate."

"I don't doubt you on that. Any thoughts about the match itself?"

"I think it's an excellent way for me to paint the canvas with TJ's suffering. His pain will be my creative outlet and I can't wait to indulge my artistic side."

"What about the outcome? How do you feel you'll fare in this fight?"

"What happens to me, doesn't matter. I'm in this fight to cause my opponent as much pain as humanly possible. Winning or losing doesn't change that. Though, I bet that's a perspective thing. Since I'm sure TJ won't be able to endure, all that I'm prepared to deliver, victory certainly won't be in the cards for that cry baby. He probably should start getting his affairs in order, in case he doesn't make it. Who's going to watch the dogs after he's gone? That bitch he's bringing into the company won't do it. She'll be too busy sucking at life and failing at wrestling, while she follows the same path that killed her boyfriend. So who will take care of the dogs? Will you take the burden of them on, Steve?"

"No."

"Wow. You're a cold man, Steven Sayors."

"I think we're done here. Thanks for the privilege of interviewing you again, Dillinger."

"Anytime, Steve. But seriously... the dogs, who's going to take them?"

Fade.