"I eh.....I never got chor name?"

She smiled.

"Siobhan"

He smiled back.

"Ahhhh.....sexy. Exotic. what's that mean?"

"God is gracious, in Gaelic".

That stopped Hanari dead in his tracks.



...This stopped Hanari dead in his tracks.

Maybe he was overtired, maybe he needed to sleep a bit. How were the hotels in Ireland? Did the XWF do their job and make sure that he had transportation from the airport?

All things he should be thinking about, that lingered in the back of his brain, were shoved down like wet bread forced into the garbage disposal and it all came rushing back to the present..........

Her.

She was smiling at him. He could feel himself smiling back. He felt like they had a connection, and a warm feeling overcame him. He was always a ladies man, bouncing around from lay to lay but never settling down. He never was satisfied, never could get enough.......but this one, this girl.....a random stewardess on an Aer Lingus flight to Ireland.....had his heart racing more than the best Carribean yayo.

Her.

Deep eyes, deep yet sad. Like a sadness she tries hard to hide behind a smile as white as the Artic, as vast also. Like every smile she ever gave was fake, she didn't believe it, but there was true beauty inside her that was fighting like the bloodiest battle ever fought to get to the surface. He could even hear the machine guns.

Her.

A girl who needed some stability in her life. A girl who needed a strong man. She took to the skies because it kept her away from all of the other men who were too weak to deal with her. To try to get away from life for a while. A girl whose happiness was fueled by her inner sadness, a girl who.....

"Com'on laddy! Ya legs don't fucking work or something! Move!"

He was an older man with a grisly red beard that encompassed most of his face. Hanari imagined this is what the majority of people looked like in Ireland, but he wasn't sure. He kept thinking about Braveheart. Was Braveheart Ireland? They all sounded the same.....

It was a heavy Irish brogue. Were all Irish people this miserable? No wonder Michael McBride has never gotten laid.

"Have a good day sir" she said with a smile. Hanari nodded at her, walking off the plane in a daze.

When Hanari got out of the terminal, something he couldn't explain came over him. He turned and stared towards the terminal, as if expecting her to come walking out with the rest of the passengers. Adjusting his bag over his shoulder, he stood there, staring towards the terminal as each of the passengers walked out. None of them were her.

Part of him realized that she could not leave the plane. Part of him realized that she was probably about to partake on another flight and while he was asleep in his hotel room she would be landing in another part of the world. He wanted to make his way to baggage claim, but he couldn't move. Finally, after what felt like the length of the flight waiting for her, he came too...shaking his head as to shake himself out of his trance. Chuckling to himself, he turned and walked away from the gate.

As he made his way through the sea of white people, all who had that insufferable accent, he began to look for signs to baggage claim. This airport looked old, it wasn't modern like the ones he flew into in the United States.


Everything looked like it came out of a cheesy 80's movie. The chairs were valor like a cheesy tracksuit at an LSD club, like they were trying too hard to be flashy, and the floor, which should have been shiny, was dull and unflattering. The monitor screens holding flight information look like they should be running Window's 98. Hanari always tries to look on the positive side of things, but this place was flat out old.


As he made his way down to baggage claim, following the signs which were both in English and Gaelic, he continued to think about the girl on the plane. Those eyes, something about those eyes. Hanari was always struck with eyes, he thought they told so much about a person. It was like the key to their soul. Happy souls, sad souls, lost souls. Those that are broken, and those being pieced back together.

The elevator was nice. Celtic music was playing softly, there were Irish trademarks and advertisements on the walls.

"Welcome To Shannon!"

There was even a map of the Shannon airport parking diagram.

Hanari thought it was weird to have a parking diagram INSIDE the airport....you would have already parked....what good does that do? Whacky.

The people in the elevator seemed to be in no rush. It wasn't like the US where everybody was running everywhere, sweating and yelling into their phones while holding their soda or greasy fast food wrappers.

Everyone in this airport was laid back, relaxed, cool as a cucumber. Hanari got off the elevator and made his way to baggage claim, his designer shoes making a 'tic-tac' on the floor as he walked. Looking for his flight, he began to scan the people around him. He analyzed everything. How they looked, how they dressed, their mannerisms. These were the people he was going to win for at Warfare.

The buzzer beeped, and the voice over the loudspeaker announced his flight number. His bag would be easy to spot, it had a big Dominican flag sticker on it.


He was a bit tired. It was a short flight from London, but he had just went through hell. His body was beginning to feel the effects of that brutal iron man match. His knees ached, most likely because of the constant moisture in the air. His shoulder, his back.....everything hurt. He couldn't wait to get to the hotel and lay down.

The baggage claim area had wood paneling around cheap looking steel, trying to give a vintage look. Hanari thought it looked like those old station wagons with the wood paneling that everyone drives in the hood back home. Not a good look.

His bag came across the belt and he picked it up, pulling out the handle and setting the wheels on the ground. Maybe he would go get a coffee or something, how was the coffee over here? Maybe a donut too, as it was early morning by this point.

Grabbing a coffee and a donut, he made his way to the curbside area. It was cloudy and raining outside, which he hated. Someone had mentioned once in passing that it was always cloudy and raining in Ireland, that is why it stays so green.

Standing outside was a red headed man in a suit and a little hat. He was holding a sign that said "Hanary Carne". Hanari was too tired to be mad at this, and tried his hardest to find humor in it.

Vinnie probably did that on purpose.

"Ayyy, chico, dat es me, Hanari Carnes!"

He handed the ginger man a business card, and set his bags down, walking to the car---fully expecting the man to do the rest.

Getting into the backseat of a rather spacious Volkswagon, Hanari reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a flask and pouring it into his coffee.

The man was in the trunk, putting his bags away. Hanari knew he was done when he heard the trunk slam shut.

"Ayyy, on ye way to Cork I reckon, laddy?"

Hanari nodded, handing him another card with the 5 star hotel Hayfield Manor Hotel on it.

Perrott Ave, College Rd, Centre, Cork, T12 HT97, Ireland•+353 21 484 5900

312 Euro a night. Damn, Vin man!

"Alrighty then, buckle in, we have a hell of a long ride!"

Hanari grinned and took another sip from the coffee, looking out the window at the array of grey and green around him.

It was quite a while before the man spoke again. He was listening to bagpipe music on the radio, but luckily for Hanari kept it quiet enough not to disturb him.

"So, ye is a wrestlah......but also own a company I hear, eh?"

Hanari looked up from the game he was playing on his phone.

"Pardon?"

"Yah man, I was told you own a meat shop. Hanari Meats? I love some meat, lamb is my favorite, you guys sell lamb?"

Hanari couldn't help but grin to himself. Even 2,000 miles away, XWF brass had to break balls. Hanari decided to play along.

"Yeah man, lamb es goood. Hanari like, but his favorite es filet, of course. A filet done well es de best thing on earth.....veal es good too....."

This brought on almost an hour long conversation about meat. The driver gave him the whole history of meat in Ireland and how it was crucial to their diet and a commodity among all the farms in almost every town in the country......Improvisation is important, especially in a 5 stages of hell match. Hanari had to be quick on his feet. He grinned as he realized he passed this test.

It began to rain almost halfway to Cork. Hanari excused himself from the conversation and rested his head on the cold window.

The cocaine laid on the table, and the men around him counted the money. Hanari sat, blood on his face and hands, breathing a little heavier than normal.

The men didn't say much. They counted the money, which was in US currency, and smoked cigars while drinking whiskey from the bottle. These men were the bosses. They weren't the ones to get their hands dirty, they were just the ones to reap the benefits of someone else doing it. In this case, it was Hanari. He silently prayed to himself that all of the money was there, because if even one US dollar was missing, he wouldn't be leaving this building.

The armored Brinks truck he robbed, along with his friend Tomás, was no easy task. It took a lot of planning and flawless execution. It took major testículos to even attempt such a thing. His ear still rang from the gun shots, and his hands shook from the knife that slid faster than a lighting strike across the drivers neck. The police were still looking, canvassing the area, but he and Tomás were long gone.

As the men still silently counted the money, and the smoke from the many cigars was beginning to form a rather large cloud on the ceiling, Hanari felt the sweat dripping down his brow. Tomás was in a separate room, and he had not seen him since they arrived. He hoped he was okay. Tomás was always the reckless one.

As the money pile began to grow, Hanari noticed one of the men stop, pick up a stack, re-count it, then narrow his brow. He said something in a different Spanish dialect--he thought Mexican--to another man. The one closest to him looked over at him and shook his head.

"Where is the rest?" he said in English. His words shot through Hanari like a sawed off slug.

"I---I----" he didn't get to finish the sentence before the man picked up the rotary phone next to him.

"Tráela adentro". He hung up while staring a hole through Hanari.

They brought the struggling girl in. Her hands were tied behind her back and she had a gag in her mouth. The men got up, and one put a gun to Hanari's head, telling him to stand up. They walked them both into the other room, where there were two chairs facing each other and a table with various instruments on it........

He shut the door.

Hanari shot awake just as the driver pulled down a gravel road.

"We're here, lad. The best hotel in this part of the country. You chose well."

Hanari felt his clothes sticking to him from the sweat.

"Cha, mang, nice.......gracias, thanks...."

He was breathing heavy as the man put the Volkswagen in park and got out.

4 hours later.

Hanari sat in his room, fiddling with the TV remote. TV was weird over here. Jerry Springer marathon's were an all-week thing, showing what Irish people think of American's. It wasn't far from what the rest of the world thought, he'd give them that.

His hands were shaking. He was about to embark on hell. He knew what was at stake and he knew another shot at Tony Santos was HIS destiny to fufill. Ned had a briefcase, Gilmour and McBride were useless, Mr. Kennedy was a prop, all of them were washed up......

This was Hanari's time to make a statement.

He browsed through the TV channels before growing board and shifting in his bed. His body hurt, but pain was only weakness leaving the body. Pain made him stronger. He wasn't one to put his pain out there in public, but to keep it in. He let it bottle. It used it in the ring as motivation. He used it to push himself forward. No pain he could possibly feel in that ring would match the pain he has felt in his life. 5 stages of hell? He had been through five times that.

He still remembered what Siobhan had said to him on the plane. "God is gracious........"

He opened the window to his room. It was raining outside. He always found the rain to be calming.

God is in the rain

He was going to rain on some parade's tomorrow night. He didn't have another choice. His feet were to the fire now, and he had to step up to the plate. He sat back on the bed as the TV droned on, illuminating the room with a bluish hue.

He felt himself fading again.

Her lips were soft on his neck, her touch running softly up and down his chest. Soft hands ran up across his neck, through his perfect hair, and back down. Her lips ran across his face and back down his neck.

"Hanari" she whispered. It was dark, and he had never met this woman before, but something in him told him that this was supposed to happen. This was meant to be. Something told him that this woman was someone he needed n his life.

She began to unzip the fly of his dress pants, undoing his belt and tossing it beside him. He heard her "heh" to herself, as she got the zipper fully down and "ahí está" as she opened the hole. Ahí está is "there it is" in Spanish. Her hand reached in and touched it, pulled it out. He could tell it was outside the pants, as the AC from the room hit it suddenly.

"Quiero hacerte sentir bien, Hanari."

Reaching over and grabbing his drink off the desk, his ring clinking the tempered glass, he brought it to his lips. Sipping his Avion, he put his head back as he felt the warmth of her mouth encompass it.

Up. Down.

Up. Down.

Her hands ran over it, her tongue ran around it. She made small slurping noises. A groan left his lips. "Siobhan" he said.

He rubbed her shoulders. She was fantastic with her mouth. He knew she would be, ever since he saw her on the plane....that smile.........

Reaching down, he pushed her head down, feeling himself in the back of her throat. She gagged a little, but handled it. Pulling her by the hair up and down, he was feeling like he was about to explode inside her mouth....his entire body in euphoric bliss........he wanted her to loo at him, look him in the eyes as he filled her mouth........

He pulled her hair up, so that she would be angled to see his face.

He shuddered again, but this time it wasn't because of the amazing blowjob, or the idea that it was the pretty white Irish stewardess......

This time he shuddered in horror as he felt himself unload.......

The eyes staring back at him weren't the pretty Irish stewardess.

..........As her mouth filled up and overflowed........the eyes staring back at him were those of Annaliese................just her severed head sat in his hands and her eyes still bared the pain of her dismembering--------

Hanari sat up with a yell! He was covered in sweat.The bed was comfortable, despite the room smelling like moth balls. The room was certainly old, but they did their best to make it serviceable. He was used to a lot of noise outside, horns, people yelling, the general buzz of established society. Here, it was quiet. No lights lit up his hotel room windows, it was pitch dark when the light went off, and mixed with the lack of noise, it was almost set up to make one get lost in their thoughts.

Hanari couldn't sleep, which irritated him too because he was usually a good sleeper. Heavy.

As he tossed and turned, he could feel the rough cotton against his shirtless frame. His gold necklace was up around his neck, falling behind him into the pillow. He was still banged up, and he knew he was about to go through hell tomorrow night. 5 stages, to be exact.

Hanari knew all about hell.

All too well.

As he felt himself drifting off, his mind began to race in directions he couldn't control.

He needed to get out of that room. He needed sleep, but he couldn't sleep. Not without winning, not without cleansing the demons, not without going through hell.