Well, the sun is doing it’s best to pierce through the closed drapes a lighten up the room. Not a motel room that borders on decrepit but the master bedroom of a regular ole bungalow. With the bits of leeway the drapes have given the ravenous sun, enough light has creeped into the room for us to have a good look around. A slow pan around the room shows a relatively basic looking couple’s bedroom. A long oak dresser, a walk-in closet, double night stands and a luxurious king sized bed. The lamps on each night table have tiger print lampshades which match the huge tiger print comforter. And who is sleeping in this cocoon of coziness? Why it’s Lycana! She rests peacefully in the more than spacious bed. Her beautiful auburn hair all over the place, her eyes hidden under the sleeping mask but it’s Lycana.

We exit the room and enter the bathroom just outside. The lights are on and inside the bathroom is Marf. He’s brushing his teeth, slightly hunched over the sink while staring at himself in the mirror. He mumbles something to himself through the toothbrush. Something about remembering? ...remember...to buy smokes...A splash of toothpaste coated saliva spurts onto Marf’s clean shaven chin. He finishes up before washing off his face and looking himself over one more time. Clean shaven cheeks with a jawline for days. Bold blue eyes making sure that dark, slicked back hair is just right. Marf tosses a dress shirt on and buttons it up as he strides back into the bedroom. He goes to Lycana, leans over and places a soft kiss on her lips before grabbing his jacket and heading out. None of this seems normal at all but we’re just going to go ahead and push forward with whatever the hell is happening.

...y buddy...

Marf is driving along in his dashing 2015 Kia sport now, headed to what is most likely his job. He even has a nifty tan briefcase lying on the passenger seat. Marf taps his fingers along the steering wheel to Coldplay’s adventure of a lifetime, what a lovely tune. Marf and Lycana had actually just seen Coldplay a few months ago in concert. Easily one of their top five favorite concerts of all time. Obviously nothing would touch U2 at the number one spot, the concert Marf proposed and changed their lives forever. But spots two to five could always be contested. Marf pulls his beautiful rock bass green Kia into a small lot. Marf parks in front of a laundromat before shutting off his sick ride and entering the clearly closed laundromat.

Once inside Marf chuckles to himself, runs back out and gets his briefcase and then locks the Kia and comes back inside. Marf nods to the clerk and then goes to a back room that really shouldn’t exist at an everyday laundromat but whatever. Marf enters a wide open room in the back where a large round table is set up in the middle of the room. Several people are seated at the table with different colored briefcases. Marf nods to the man closest the door before taking a seat at the table. He places his briefcase in front of him and waits. There’s two other men, an old lady and some kind of gazelle-man hybrid person with a two foot high purple Mohawk. The first man opens his briefcase and tosses a dead dove onto the table. Marf frowns at this but carries on.

The next man opens his briefcase and tosses several stacks of cash onto the table. Except upon closer inspection it’s clearly Monopoly money mixed with several unpaid parking tickets. The old lady opens her diamond covered briefcase and tosses that stupid jewel from Titanic on the table now. The gazelle being snorts before opening its raccoon decorated briefcase and tossing a can of pink hair spray into the pile. They all turn and face Marf who has begun to swear heavily. He wipes at his face while his hair is already out of place. He suddenly had a five o’clock shadow when he moves his hand away. He begins to open the briefcase to see what he can offer today. They’re all telling Marf to hurry up while he begins to panic...

Can ya hurry up please? Hey buddy!?

Marf: ...huh?

Clerk: Can ya hurry up and rent a room or scram? Please!

Marf blinks a few times, while looking around the crummy motel. Lycana, his partner in everything now, not with him yet. Everything and everyone was scrambling these days.[/size] His day dream still fading, Marf gives his head a shake. Nothing more than a silly daydream. So foolish to think life would be so simple and perfect. Although, most probably yearn for the easiness. Hard not to fall into an abyss of false hopes and future aspirations. Unfortunately, the cold harsh reality of another god awful motel in bumfuck Naples is the truth strangling Marf now. He coughs before turning back to the clerk. [/b]

Marf: Sorry...you ever just had one of those...days? Weeks? Lives?

Clerk: Oh pipe down and take a room and stop botherin’ me would ya!?

Marf looks at the clerk completely confused at the fact he has a southern United States accent. He cocks an eyebrow.

Marf: Excuse me?

Clerk: Ya heard me boooy. I ain’t no doctor Phil, you sound like a wet piece of pussy shit, I ain’t about to let that ruin my got damn day! Now are ya gonna rent a room or do I need to ask mister Winchester to escort you out?

Marf looks up and spots the mighty gun behind the crusty old clerk. There’s a strange flicker that shoots across Marf’s eyes and is gone as soon as it came. He smirks and nods to the disgruntled clerk.

Marf: Who’s Mr. Winchester? Can I meet him!?

Clerk: Oh ya muscly armed sum bitch yer about to!

No sooner does the clerk turn for the gun Marf dives over the counter and drives his knee into the back of the poor old man’s head. This causes his face to smash hard into the back wall and drops him to the ground in a heap. Marf grabs a set of keys, spits on the unconscious clerk and heads to his room. He enters and flops down on the bed in a massive pile of confusion, misery, abandonment, what the fuckery and rage. All mushed together to make our good pal Marf. He closes his eyes and tries to shut everything out while we are left to wonder where we will go this time. A memory, a daydream, what next...

...remember...

..... Remember .....

...Remember...encounter...

...I remember it was actually Corey Smith of all people who would lead me to my first encounter with her. His foolish call out to the unknown only to show himself unworthy of Lycana’s time. But I give him credit, he brought her forth and put her in my line of sight. I remember not long after our initial interaction I was obsessed. Finally someone who could appreciate the fun of exploring the depths of depravity without judgment. Instead of spending a Saturday off washing their shitty Kia. At last someone that couldn’t care less about titles, win loss records and all that bullshit. Just going in to hurt as many people as possible. I remember connecting with her on so many levels immediately.

She would in turn lead me to meet Baphomet for the first time. Another one with no use for the material and superficial nonsense. I remember he discussed many plans and ideas he had for me, for himself and for the xwf. He was building something large and dark and I wanted in. I remember he asked me to prove myself so I went and infiltrated Romeo and his merry band of dimwits. I remember fooling them with ease before the big double cross. I remember getting to place my hands on Renee, something Shawn Wylde will never ever forget. I remember the look on Romeo’s face when I turned on him and officially joined the Left Hand. Those eyes bursting with earth shattering disillusionment.

I remember celebrating with my new family that night. Baphomet, Lycana, Geri Vayden, Ash Quinn and myself. Some sick part of me actually loved these motherfuckers. We were united. We were prepared to face the onslaught of childish nicknames and negative attention. We embraced every head that turned our way with a sneer, snide remark or just simple hatred. I remember most of them either feared us or envied us. One thing was for certain, nobody liked us. Knowing that while leaving heaps of bodies in our wake was nirvana. I remember we were a family. And we were united. Or so we thought...

I remember the locker room invasion. FBI agents and detectives storming in on just the four of us. Geri, Lycana and myself were ready to go down fighting like always but Baphomet insisted we stay behind and continue our work. I remember when he said our work, and not his. I remember glaring into Oliver Danielson’s eyes and knowing one day I’d have the opportunity to choke the life out of them. Until then, we would continue our work. Even though one of our closest allies would be imprisoned. Even though other supposed allies would drop like flies. Even though it felt like an entire roster wanted us gone. I remember we agreed we would continue our work...

...remember...continue...

...remember...

And of course Marf springs out of his weird ball of psycho depression and is now seated cross legged on the bed. It’s only a twin, not nearly as pleasant as daydream Marf and Lycana’s bed. He gives his head a solid shake as he’s snapped back to this reality.

Marf: Fair enough, you go right ahead then, Oliver, continue hiding in the background. Sooner or later I’ll find you, I’ll get my hands on that throat. Hopefully you don’t have anybody waiting at home, I’m going to take my time with you. I have to make sure I carefully weigh all the flesh afterall. You took your pound of flesh when you took my friend, Baphomet, away from us. I promise I will be taking every pound back in multiples with you. Whether you accept it or not, somewhere along the line we are going to meet. I don’t care if you want to make it easy and do it in the ring some day. Because even if you don’t I will just patiently pick my moment and pluck you from your high horse or piñata or whatever it is you’re riding these days.

Marf seems rather angry and is even a little sweaty. He gets up and goes into the bathroom where only one of the four lights actually comes on. He turns on the tap but the liquid that emerges does not resemble water. It looked more like the goo from ghostbusters 2 and if you don’t get that reference than kindly go fuck yourself. Marf turns off the tap and attempts to look at himself in the mirror but it’s so grimy with dirt he can’t really see anything.

Marf: Sure seems like a lot of weird and bad things have been happening all at once. Family arrested, friends turning foe, a never ending assault and worse of all? I lost my god damn heavy metal weight championship during all the madness. But I suppose I should be grateful because at least all these bad days make nice little anecdotes and stories. But that was still a bit of a piss off, losing that shitty little title. It might not mean much but it was still my belt. It was still there at night to listen to me when nobody else is around. Somebody snuck right up and took it from me. Not just any somebody though. No, it was my old pal Alias.

Marf attempts to run the grime from the mirror but it is stuck on there like paint. Marf sighs and then viciously head butts the mirror, causing it to shatter. He turns back to the camera and is lucky he didn’t shred his face with all that glass. Wait, he’s got a small speck of blood just barely protruding from his forehead but it’s tiny at least. Lucky guy.

Marf: Hi Alias! You silly bastard say it ain’t so! I mean, if you wanted to have my heavy metal weight title I happily would have defended it against you. And not just once, I’m talking weekly, hell daily even! You and I both know the fun we could have had with that. So how is it instead I get the pussy pretending to be Alias sneaking up and then off with my belt. Only to then turn around and practically gift wrap and present it to Charlie god damn Nickles! And for what? Oh nevermind, I’m sure you have some bullshit answer for it. Guess what, it means shit to me because it’s only a matter of time before I take my title back. Meaningless or not it’s still mine. And I’ll defend it better than some of these supposed real titles. So in short, I guess thanks for giving me the opportunity to become a five time champion? I don’t really give a shit but cool title right?

The tiny blood drip has slowly started to spread along Marf’s forehead, almost two inches now. He leaves the bathroom and goes back to the bed to sit down.

Marf: I like you, Alias. For whatever fucked up reason, I do. We both are here for so much more than some title belts or winning streaks. But unfortunately you’re teamed with someone completely obsessed with just both those very things. So this upcoming warfare, you’re across the ring from me and the enemy. A tag match instead of a battle royal this time. A shame we haven’t had the chance for a true one on one dance but this tag match will suffice. You took something away from me, so in that ring I will be seeking vengeance. It’s only fair I’m afraid.

Marf stares blankly at the camera for a moment. Surprised there’s no piped in cricket noises here. Marf finally cracks a smile that quickly goes south.

Marf: Oh so what, we fucked up your hand boo hoo. You’re teaming with Jenny because you want revenge for your stupid hand. You made it clear on that last warfare, Alias, you’re coming for the Left Hand. Well all I can say to that is you need to pull your head out of your ass man. What the hell did you think was going to happen when you turned down the Left Hand back at High Stakes? What, you’d turn your back on the Left Hand and there would be no repercussions? I refuse to believe you’re that stupid or naive to have considered that a possibility. You had to have known we were going to pay you back. What you’re attempting to do now isn’t revenge or redemption. It’s just a retaliation of a retaliation. Which will lead to further retaliations.

And that’s really depressing in a way. We are both here in our own ways trying to make the xwf more interesting and fun. Imagine how much we could have accomplished had you joined the Left Hand as well, Alias? I can picture it now, Baphomet driving with Lycana in the front seat trying to calm us down. But it could have been you and me Alias, both our heads out the back windows yelling at every person we came across and terrorizing the neighborhood! It would have been absolutely glorious!

“You have no business in shorts!”

“Who’s walking who?”

“Eat shit bicycle boy!”

“I fucked your mom!”

And all the classics, Alias! That could have been us man, one big happy family. But you just had to go and piss it all away. We could have remade the xwf and instead they get to watch us tear ourselves apart. All because you didn’t want to raise your damn hand. This time around there aren’t several other idiots in the ring with us so we get a more personal meeting. Obviously formalities will be out the door and I’ll be coming in swinging. I don’t care what you think you know about pain, I’m going to introduce to some new levels of punishment in that ring. I’ll gladly take you places even you don’t want to go, show you pain that will make the blowtorch look like a tickle. I hope that right hand is nice and cooked because I’m going to take a bite or two bare minimum , I bet you taste real good. Speaking of tastes and thirsts...

Marf fumbles around with his pockets before pulling something crumpled out, possibly a picture. He tosses it on the bed and it unfolds to show what appears to be a Corey Smith trading card. It also clearly has stains on it resembling semen. Which if tested would likely match that of Alias. That’s a little strange...

Marf: Be careful who’s pockets you reach into next time Alias, you never know who’s also reaching into your own. Be sure to remember that little tidbit...

Marf smiles and winks into the camera like the son of a bitch he is as it looks like we’re headed for another god damn flashback...

...remember...

...Remember...seriously...

Marf snaps out of it and yells.

Marf: No seriously Alias, remember that shit! Oh, and since we’re on the subject of shit...

Marf suddenly smacks his forehead where the blood has slowly been leaking out. He hits it a few times so the blood runs a little more before smearing his face with it. He wipes it all over as if it is supposed to represent a girl using blood as makeup. It doesn’t look at all what he must think it looks...

Marf: Hello Jenny Myst! The pink whore that claims, like many the females in xwf, that she is Queen. You held a title for a bunch of days whoopity fucking do. To be honest, I was more impressed with your cheap shit victory over Atara Themis than anything else you’ve done since I got here. I really look forward to throwing you around come warfare, Jenny. You can go ahead and give me your little history lessons about people you defeated like everyone else attempts to do. That’s fine if you choose that route, but at the end of the day you’ve never really faced off with me in the ring, Jenny. Fly around all you like it doesn’t matter because once I get my hands on you I’m not letting go. Believe me, you’re not going to like it.

And don’t even think for a second you’re safe because Alias is out there with you. He can’t protect anymore than anyone else, Jenny. We’ve already gotten to you time and time again. Remind me again, where were your friends? How come Romeo and pals or those fuckwads in BoB didn’t race to help you out? I’m sure you know the answer, even if you have to reach deep down, Jenny. They don’t like you. Nobody does. Heel, face, tweener, referee, time keeper, front row fan, internet mark it doesn’t matter who, nobody likes you Jenny. It’s why we took your precious title away. We knew nobody would help you in the long run. You weren’t safe then, you aren’t safe in this match and you will never truly be safe.

Unless you raise the left hand, Jenny.

Marf smiles and can’t even try to stifle that laughter. He shakes his head almost apologetically.

Marf: Worth a shot, no? Of course not, you would stick out like a sore thumb with us. You’d likely be stabbing us in the back before you were done lowering your hand. You’d be in and out of the Left Hand in under an hour I bet. Shit even Tula lasted longer than that, I think she hit eight hours, maybe seven and a half. So you’d beat Tula’s record of being fastest at least. Not sure if that’s really something to be proud of but to each their own, right Jenny? The same Jenny that continually tried to convince the world little Ash Quinn was the worst of the worst only to turn around and be embarrassed by Ash. Followed by nearly having her face burnt off by Ash. Right sorry, I’m supposed to take you seriously.

The girl that has a mouth more vulgar than a Brooklyn sewer. A girl that might weigh the same as one of my legs. A girl that demands everyone see her as their queen but is far too easily perceived as a jester instead. A girl that lost her title to some “goth kids” when it means oh so much. That’s who I’m supposed to take seriously. I mean what can I really say to any of that?

Marf stops and scratches his beard where blood has now spread into as well. He’s truly made a fine mess of himself and those already unclean bed sheets.

Marf: Good fucking luck, Alias.

And just like that, we fade to black to end this on a note of some sort. Not really high. Not really low either.