“So, are you still taking your meds regularly?”

Asks BWP’s psychotherapist as he uncrosses his legs and smiles toward Pig after lifting his head from his notes. Bearded War Pig seems to be lost in a trance, no facial expression whatsoever. Just a blank pill induced zombie effect.

“Okay I see we are still trying to fulfill those strong silent type shoes. I don’t know how many times we have been over this, but your words and emotions are safe here. The only way we will be able to get you back on track is if you dig deep and open all that torment, guilt, and distrust. Share with me your darkest secrets, don’t hold back Mr. Schuler…

Little did the Doctor know that BWP’s words and emotions weren’t safe and secure even in this “safe space.” XWF Universe was almost always watching every move of its superstars.

“Bearded War Pig!”

Pig exclaims angrily.

“Excuse me?”

Doctor …. asks confused and unaware of anything in the world of wrestling.

“My fucking name is Bearded War Pig! Not Mr. Schuler, not Joshua, not patient number blah blah blah!”

Pig’s fist quench tight in anger and rage. Doctor …. responds while he begins jotting some more notes down on his pad of paper.

“Mr. Schuler, we have been over this as well, you need to let go of this silly notion that you are some make believe character with a ridiculous name. Your time of antics and games are no longer acceptable. Under this facilities care and order, we will not tolerate such behavior. In order to get better and become the man you once where before the War tore apart your mind and soul. I won’t ask again, drop the gimmick and open yourself to me. Otherwise I’ll have no other option but to call in the orderly’s and have you sedated and placed back in your roo…”

Before Doctor such and such can finish his sentence, Pig snaps. Flipping the hard-oak coffee table in front of him almost knocking the Doctor out of his chair. Letting out roars of rage while walking toward the startled Doc who is panickily scurrying to his panic button behind his desk.

“My fucking name is Bearded Motherfucking War Pig! This is not a gimmick or silly antics. It is who the fuck I am! Just like you are Doctor Palicki or as I prefer Doctor Dipshit! I am B-W-P!”

Sliding the turned-up table to the left Pig continues stalking toward Doctor Palicki. Just as Palicki turns the corner of his desk on all fours sweating bullets of fear and worry. BWP’s hand grasps his right ankle. Jerking him away from his desk, just a mere second after the Doctor’s finger slightly presses in the panic button. Pig’s knees drop to the left and right side of the doctor’s ribs. Both his hands wrap around his neck in what the Marines call a Hollywood choke. Grasping for air the doctor begins to kick, claw, and squirm.

Unaware of the army of Orderly’s storming the room like some high-strung cowboy police officers raiding an eighty-five-year-old Marijuana grower’s residence. Pig is tackled from behind and quickly injected in the back of the neck with a very potent sleep aid. Fading to darkness Bearded War Pig goes completely limp…

-----------------------

Meanwhile, elsewhere within the confines of the same facility, unbeknownst to Bearded War Pig, we see another doctor, seated and looking placidly at her subject, Robbie Bourbon.

"Mr. Bourbon, describe to me again how you are an inter-dimensional being."

The camera turns to show Robbie is seated comfortably in a chair, rolling his eyes.

"Look, one time I fought Game Girl, and to prepare I wound up in a video game, it caused some serious problems, and we had to fight off some creature in the arena."

The doctor nods and takes notes.

"What are you writing?"

The doctor looks back at Robbie.

"Oh, just documenting what you are saying. You are quite the fascinating person, Robbie, and by taking notes I can help you get the care you need."

Robbie slumps.

"That was the third time I told you about my match with Game Girl."

The doctor adjusts her glasses.

"I really want to make sure I get the story straight, Robbie. What you are claiming is, frankly, very disturbing. It's inconsistent with reality."

Robbie looks back at her, bewildered.

"Look, I know it is! I didn't ask for this life, it just pulled me in! Being a superhero, then a supervillain, then a superhero, then the President of the United States, somewhere in there I was a zombie, a member of the Black Hand, a champion, all of those things..."

The doctor scribbles furiously to keep pace with Robbie.

"...you think I'm crazy, don't you?"

The doctor sighs. She nods her head yes, briefly, before using her words to answer the question.

"I think you are a good person, Robbie, with a vivid imagination who sometimes wears his heart on his sleeve. I think you have suffered enough head trauma that you believe what you are saying is true..."

Robbie throws his hands up to the same level of his head in frustration.

"It is true! All of it! Doc, look, I know it sounds nuts. But it's all true, just go watch the XWF footage!"

The doctor removes her glasses and rubs her eyes.

"Robbie, I have seen your matches. Brutal, bloody, traumatic things. The human mind isn't equipped to be exposed to that kind of chaos."

Robbie's gaze narrows back at the doctor.

"I'm not just some average human. My name is Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. I am a world class wrestler, a defender and symbol of the people, a tried and true killer with a microphone in my hand, guaranteed to melt faces, break hearts, snap spines, and move the soul."

The doctor checks her watch.

"I see, Robbie, that is really interesting. Unfortunately, that is all the time we have for today..."

Robbie's eyes go wide.

"Wait, wait, I thought you were going to help me get out of here! I need to get out of this place! The people need help out there!"

The doctor stands and closes her notebook, walking towards her door.

"We'll have to see next time, Robbie. Why don't you go enjoy the sunroom, maybe do a little painting?"

Defeated, Robbie slowly stands and walks out the door of the doctor's office. Outside, an army of orderlies all eye Robbie, looking upwards to the massive man. Robbie looks at all of them with shame in his eyes, knowing they were there to put him down if need be.

"Easy, fellas, I know you're just doing your job."

Robbie walks slowly down the hall and into a stairwell. Once inside, he descends with his escort of orderlies.

"Really, guys, I know where the sunroom is."

The orderlies all glance at each other, and one seems to give a signal. With that, they dogpile Robbie, and a needle containing some potion gets injected into his neck, rendering him unconscious.

-----------------------

Hours later…

Bearded War Pigs eyes slowly open as each eyelid parts ways like the red sea. Darkness not quite as dark as when his eyes where shut. Still dark, realizing he had been placed in a room Pig has decided to recognize as the pit. Finding himself in the pit around eighty percent of his stay in this very secure and top secret classified medical facility the deep state has been using to conduct psychological and chemical experiments on mainly Military Personnel, homeless, and just lost souls who have no one to worry or care about them.

Rubbing his dry and crusted eyes from the deep sleep the drugs had placed him. Slowly he begins to climb to his feet, stumbling and crashing almost face first. Still draggy from the sedative. Pig catches himself from crashing face first into the cold damp cement floor. Crawling and dragging himself to one of the four windowless walls. Grabbing at the cobble stone, BWP grasps a stone as if he was climbing a mountain and begins to pull himself to his feet. Wet and cold his body shivers as his stomach begins to growl like starving grizzly bear.

Just as Pig makes it to both feet, he collapses again down to one knee. Wanting to attempt to stand again, BWP starts slapping himself in the face trying to knock some of the effects from the drugs out of his system. Both hands grab ahold of two separate stones and he begins his ascend. Arms shaking, knees wobbling, Pig determined to stand tall. Succeeding, BWP removes one hand from the wall still being able to hold himself up.

Knowing his body and mind wouldn’t be able to withstand too much longer in this facility, Pig begins to try and develop a plan to escape.

(“If only my family or Robbie Bourbon was aware of what the fuck happened to me. Telling by the security and powerful drugs this place is well established and very connected. No doubt they covered up my whereabouts with a very elaborate and detailed back story. No one would be looking for me in months or maybe even a year or more. Must be some deep state dark government facility, probably funded by some pedophile ass politicians or elitists. I suppose it is all up to myself to achieve freedom. First thing first, I need to get the fuck out of the damn Pit!”)

After talking to himself inside his head, Pig begins to stumble around the room until he finds the door. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang, his fists begin to pound on the door attempting to signal the hall guard. After fifteen twenty seconds of silence, Pig begins to slam his fists on the door again, this time he hollers out.

“Hey, you win, I am ready to comply! I’ve had enough time in here! I just want dry clothes, some food, and a little fresh air…”

Bang! Bang! Suddenly a part of the door slides open where food and other things most likely are given to the patients occupying the pit. A voice quickly funnels into the pit from the hallway.

“Well, well, well. I believe this is a new tap out record for you Patient 9896217182. I suppose all the time you spend down here must be taking its toll on your pride and will power! You know the routine place your arms through the slot and keep your mouth shut unless spoken too. Understand?”

Pig places his arms through the slot and responds to the guard.

“Yes Sir!”

Quickly the guard snaps two bracelets that look like high-tech hand cuffs that aren’t physically attached to one another but have electromagnetic field that keeps them from separating no more than three inches. These special and top-secret cuffs also can send a surge of electricity through the captives’ body with enough current able to kill an elephant.

“Now step back turnabout and drop to your knees!”

The guard commands. Quickly Pig complies and follows instructions to a tee. After a few seconds on his knees the giant steel door swings open after the guard swiped his access card. The guard takes a step inside the pit shining a light on BWP with a head lamp attached to the bill of his black hat that reads security.

“Place your hands high in the air and slowly rise to your feet.”

Pig raises his hands as high as he can in the air allowing the guard to see he is holding nothing before slowly standing up placing one foot flat on the floor at a time. Once arriving to his feet he guard lets out his next commands.

“Now turn about slowly and then lower your arms. Remember you attempt anything funny and you’ll be electrocuted into unconsciousness if not dead. Plus, you’ll pull a lot more time down here than you have ever served so far!”

Pig nods letting the guard no he understands before he begins to execute his commands as if he was back in Bootcamp.

“Now let’s get you back above ground and see if any food is being served in the cafeteria still. You’ll need to eat something before we get you the proper medication you need. March rodent!”

Pig begins to march as if he is doing drill. The guard follows closely behind but not close enough to be grabbed up or leg swept quickly. They make it to an elevator; the guard presses a few buttons on a keypad the doors slide open.

“Patient 9896217182 enter the elevator head directly to the back-left corner and place your face in it as if you are a disciplined four-year-old!”

Sucking up his pride, BWP follows instructions once again, knowing now wasn’t the time to go on the offensive, but to just continue playing opossum and being cooperative like a good little slave. After the guard enters the elevator the doors slide shut behind him. Again, he punches a few buttons on the keypad and swipes his card. Which activates the elevator and takes them to ground level where the doors slide open once again. Nagging tone of the guard’s voice pierces Bearded War Pig’s ears once again.

“Stand, turnabout, and slowly make your way off the elevator platform! Once you are out of the elevator continue marching down the hall the left toward the cafeteria!”

Pig lets the guard know he understands.

“Yes Sir!”

Following instructions once again. Making it to the cafeteria doors, the guard now feeling as if Patient 9896217182 is going to comply and has been broken for the time being, removes his electromagnetic cuffs and taps him across the face lightly as if he was belittling Pig.

“Since you behaved like a well-mannered patient, I’ll allow you to eat in a little more comfortable manner. Instead of being cuffed like some psychotic murdering piece of shit. Don’t get to comfortable because well when you are done, and we must transport you to wherever the doctors want you next. The cuffs will be placed back on. Now get in there and get something to eat.”

Pig nods before opening the door and entering the cafeteria. Before making his way to the line he scans the room a couple times over trying to recall all the different patients that are inside and what exactly is wrong with them. Knowing that he would have to start a plan whatever it be before he is drugged to the point of not even remembering how to masturbate. Noticing two patients that have always seemed to have a hatred for one another, one man named Johnathon who seems to always believe aliens are after him. The other is Sid, a person who believes himself to be some sort of extraterrestrial being. You can see why they don’t really get along too well.

-----------------------

Groggily, Robbie Bourbon wakes up in what is the equivalent to a modern-day dungeon. He rubs his still masked head and looks around the room.

"Shit."

Robbie tries to stand but collapses back to the ground, bracing himself on a knee and with both hands.

"Positive, positive, positive..."

Robbie, realizing he is still under the effects of whatever sinister potion was pumped into him after his visit with a doctor, slumps down onto his ass and sits cross legged. He closes his eyes, breathes in deeply through his nose, and exhales slowly through his mouth.

"I have been worse places. This place isn't on fire, or about to blow up."

Robbie takes another deep breath. From somewhere else, outside the room, we hear banging.

"Poor soul. Trapped. Like me. Be easy. Be calm. Positive, positive, positive..."

Another deep breath as Robbie tries to meditate. As he does, he hears the sniveling, cruel voice of one of the guards. He's heard it before, when he first wound up in this place. Wherever it was. Why ever it existed.

“Well, well, well. I believe this is a new tap out record for you Patient 9896217182."

Robbie forces another breath as his eyes open. Robbie looks less than pleased. He stands, calmly, and starts to circle around the room.

"Maybe I deserve to be here. I don't really remember anymore. I have done some bad shit in my day, and I suppose existence itself wants its peace of mind knowing I am getting punished for what I have done. Maybe this is the ultimate reward being a low down, scumbag, son-of-a-bitch motherfucker to the people who deserved it. But there are other people who don't deserve this. The guy in the room next door could never have been the piece of shit I have been."

Robbie is startled as the thick steel door to his cell opens. Light cascades within and from behind the silhouette of a man with a clip board.

"Mr. Bourbon?"

Robbie turns and looks at him.

"Who are you?"

The figure smirks.

"I am here to help you. Come with me."

Robbie steps through the door, and flanking the man in the lab coat and holding a clip board is another barrage of orderlies.

"Why are they here?"

The man with the clipboard chuckles.

"They are big fans of yours, Mr. Bourbon! You are quite the specimen, big as an ox and with a heart made of warm baked brownies."

Robbie touches his chest.

"Did you..."

The man with the clipboard chuckles.

"No, Mr. Bourbon, we didn't operate on you and replace your heart with brownies, I was not being literal."

Robbie looks somewhat relieved.

"Oh."

The man with the clipboard leads Robbie through a set of doors. Inside is a large chair with straps on the arm rests and near the bottom where one's feet would be.

"Have a seat."

Robbie looks questioningly at the chair, then back at the battalion of orderlies behind him. He then looks throughout the room. Surgical equipment adorns shelves, and a large window shows another hallway where patients are seen shuffling about, some being escorted. Most all of them look miserable. The orderlies’ step towards Robbie.

"Wait, I have it."

Robbie sits down willingly in the chair, looking out through the window. As he does, orderlies strap down his hands and feet.

"Very good, Mr. Bourbon. We are ready to begin our tests."

"Your tests?"

"Yes, Mr. Bourbon. We are going to test that physique of yours, and your brain."

The doctor wheels out a machine. An orderly places a rubber stopper in Robbie's mouth. The doctor plays with a few of the dials on the machine and removes what looks like a crown and places it on Robbie's head. With the press of a button, the shocks set in, and Robbie Bourbon's shock therapy commences. Robbie writhes and convulses in the chair.