Danny sat alone on his sofa in his damp, dull flat in Brixton. He wiped the crumbs from his lips and shirt after finishing off his marmite and cheese sandwich. Just as he was settling in to watch some TV, his phone rang. The number wasn't familiar to him.

"Hello?"

Danny answered disconcertingly. 

"Hello, is this Mr Nightingale?"

a voice responded in a calm, professional tone. A strong Texan drawl came through loud and clear.

"It depends, who's asking?"

“Well, howdy there, Mr. Nightingale, this here’s Reid Keymon. I’m one of the assistants over yonder in talent relations at XWF. How are ya doin’ this fine afternoon?”

"It's 8:30pm in the evening.." 

Danny pointed out. 

"What do you mean afternoon?"

"A-ha, Quite!... Well, I do apologize, sir. See what it is.. I've been tasked to get in touch with ya and let ya know that we sure did enjoy your work in that tryout you did for us and the tape is amazing, and we'd like to offer ya a full-time contract here at XWF. In fact, we’ve got a spot for ya on Warfare this coming Monday. Now, what do ya say to that?"

Reid's charming southern personality tried to contain his excitement.

Danny couldn't help but smirk at the offer.

"Wow, this is a big moment..."

"Oh it sure is Mr.–"

"For you,"

Danny interrupted with audible smugness. His voice was dripping with amusement as he cut off Mr. Keymon mid-sentence. There was a brief pause as Mr. Keymon could hear Danny smiling on the other end of the line before continuing their conversation

"Well, I reckon so, Mr. Nightingale. It’s mighty good to hear that confidence—‘cause that’s just the kind of thing we like around here at XWF."

“Mhmm”

"Fantastic! Now, the contract we’re offerin’ is our standard rookie scale. I believe we’ve already discussed this, Mr. Nightingale, that this would likely be the outcome for anyone we decided to pursue after the tryout you attended. It’s incremental, so it’ll naturally go up year after year, so ya don’t need to fret none about your financial future. But, of course, we do reserve the right to waive it if we feel you’re not meetin’ the XWF standards. We’ll send all the little details over by email, and everything about the pay will be included in there. I know that’s a lot to take in all at once, but all I need from ya right now is just a quick verbal confirmation that those initial details work for ya, as we start workin’ on your Visa."

“Indeed it was and yes you have my verbal confirmation”

"Thank you, Mr. Nightingale. We will take care of booking your flights for our upcoming show. However, we do have one concern - are you physically fit enough to participate in the match?"

Danny chuckled to himself.

"What do you think, Reid?"

"Absolutely! I believe you will be ready," replied Reid with confidence.

"I think you're right."

"That's great news! I'll inform upper management that you're officially part of our team now," said Reid excitedly.

"One of you? Hmm," Danny responded with a hint of disdain.

"Now, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but you're going to be in a threesome Mr. Nightgale.”

“Excuse me?” scoffed a surprised Danny

“Yes. a threesome with Mr. Eli Caine and Ms. Latoya Hixx”

Danny leaned forward on the sofa, confused by Reid's remark.

"What are you talking about?"

"For your match, those two will be your opponents."

Danny suddenly realized what Reid was trying to tell him

"Oh my god. You're such an idiot" 

Muttered Danny stroking his forehead as he sinks back into his sofa. An almost reluctant realization came over Danny.

"Yes, Reid. That's fine. So… one's good, one's bad. One’s heel, one’s face. How do you want me to work the crowd?"

"Well, here's the thing, Mr. Nightingale. With all due respect, we don't know you and neither does our audience. So for now, just go out there and give it your best shot. Show us what you've got and we'll see how things go after that."

"So... I'm the middle man?"

"I didn't say that exactly, Mr. Nightingale."

"Lost in the shuffle, huh?" Danny chuckled, enjoying making Reid feel uncomfortable.

"...No," replied an exacerbated Reid hesitantly.

"You signed me without any plans or knowledge of how to use me. Is that what you're telling me?"

Reid took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

"Mr. Nightingale, look...I can speak to upper management and try to get you a different opponent, but I can't guarantee it will happen anytime soon. And I don't know how they will react if you refuse to do the match."

"Did I say I'm not going to do the match?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant-"

"Forget it, Reid. Book me for the match with Hixx and Caine."

Reid hesitated, unsure how to respond to Danny's mind games.

"Alright," said Reid.

"Book the match, sign the contract for me, and get me on that plane to Canada. And by the end of the show, we'll see if upper management knows how to use me yet."

The confidence in Danny's voice was unmistakable.

"So Hixx and Caine?" Reid asked.

"They won't know what hit them," replied Danny confidently.

"It's been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Nightingale," said Reid.

"Do you know why they call me Dangerous, Mr. Keymon?" Danny asked.

"I do not, but I have seen your tapes so I can probably figure it out," replied Reid cautiously.

"Right. So is it a good idea to upset me?" Danny asked pointedly.

"I was just doing as I was told-" began Reid nervously.

"Call me Mr. English from now on. We are not on a government name basis," interrupted Danny sternly. 

"And remember this - where is the nearest hospital from Scottiabank Arena?"

"Just a 10-minute drive away. Why?"

"Call ahead and tell them they'll have two more patients on Monday night."


The cabin hums with the low, steady sound of jet engines. Business class is dimly lit, with a few passengers quietly reading or sleeping. "Dangerous" Danny English is reclined in his seat, a neck pillow securely in place and an eye mask covering his eyes. His posture is calm, almost unnervingly so, even in sleep. A flight attendant gently taps his shoulder.

"Mr. English, your phone is ringing."

Danny shifts slightly, letting out a soft sigh of annoyance. Slowly, he pulls off the eye mask, revealing his sharp, dispassionate eyes, and reaches for his phone. He glances at the screen: "Evan Fong – XWF Promotions." With a quiet exhale, he answers.

"This better be important." scoffs Danny in rusty morning voice

"Hey, Danny! It’s Evan here. Promo Tech. Sorry to bother you mid-flight, but we’ve got a tight window when you land in Canada. We need to shoot your debut promo before your match, and I wanted to run a few ideas by you."

You can hear Evan running around frantically in the background of the call

Danny leans back in his seat, pressing the phone closer to his ear. His tone is flat, unimpressed.

"Go on."

"Alright, so I’ve got three concepts we’ve been workshopping. First up: 'The Puppetmaster.' You’re in a dark room, manipulating marionette puppets to represent your control over your opponents and the XWF as a whole. It’s eerie, symbolic, really bold stuff."

Danny’s expression doesn’t change, but his silence conveys his lack of enthusiasm.

"Okay, uh, if that doesn’t click, we’ve got 'The Mirror of Truth.' It’s a cracked mirror setup, where you talk about exposing the lies of the wrestling world. Very psychological, very intense."

Danny closes his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Next."

"Right. Last one—'The First Seed.' You’re out in an abandoned field, planting a single seed to symbolize the start of your domination in XWF. It’s quiet, ominous, and really sets the tone for your character."

Danny’s voice remains low, but there’s an edge of irritation.

"Do you people ever listen? None of this… fluff… is me. But I’ll ask the important question: which one takes the least time to shoot?"

"Uh, definitely 'The First Seed.' Quick setup, no frills. In and out."

Danny exhales sharply, nodding to himself.

"Fine. Do it. Just have it ready when I land."

"You got it, Danny. I—"

Danny hangs up mid-sentence, tossing the phone onto the tray table with a soft thud. He adjusts his neck pillow, pulling the eye mask back down over his face. A faint smirk plays on his lips as he settles back into his seat.

"Amateurs."

Within moments, he’s asleep again, the hum of the engines carrying him across the Atlantic toward his next conquest.



The scene opens on a bleak, overcast day in late autumn. The sky is a canvas of heavy, slate-gray clouds, threatening rain at any moment. A chilling wind whispers through an abandoned field on the outskirts of London, its mournful sound accentuating the desolation of the landscape. The camera pans slowly, capturing the barren expanse dotted with patches of withered grass and dry, cracked soil. Skeletal trees line the horizon, their bare branches reaching into the gloomy sky like gnarled fingers. 

The camera's focus shifts, settling on the solitary figure of "Dangerous" Danny English standing in the middle of this desolate scene. He's dressed in a sleek, black leather jacket that fits him like a second skin, dark jeans, and polished combat boots. His messy, slightly curly hair is tousled by the wind, adding to his air of controlled chaos. Danny's posture is relaxed, almost nonchalant, with his hands tucked into his pockets, but his piercing eyes carry an intensity that seems to cut through the gloom around him. 

As the camera zooms in, we see Danny's right hand emerge from his pocket, holding a single, small seed. He lifts it to eye level, allowing the camera to focus on this tiny harbinger of his ambitions. The seed is unremarkable - small, brown, ordinary - yet in Danny's hand, it seems to take on an ominous significance. 
Danny begins to speak, his voice low and measured, each word carefully chosen and delivered with quiet intensity: 

"This... this is where it all begins." 

He rolls the seed between his thumb and forefinger, examining it with cold curiosity. The camera captures the subtle movements of his fingers, the seed appearing minuscule against his calloused skin. 

"Every empire starts with something small. Something no one notices. No one cares about. A seed, buried in the dirt, forgotten by most. But over time... it grows. It takes root. It spreads. Until one day, it's too late to stop it. That's how power works. Quiet at first. Subtle. And then... inevitable." 

Danny kneels down, his movements fluid and purposeful. He runs his hand over the dry soil, his fingers leaving temporary impressions in the dusty earth. The camera zooms in on his hand as he digs a small hole with his fingers, the action deliberate and almost ritualistic. 

"This seed? It's more than just a metaphor. It's a promise. A promise to you, XWF. To your wrestlers, your fans, your so-called champions. You think you're strong. You think you're untouchable. But strength... strength is an illusion when you don't control the ground beneath your feet. And trust me, by the time this seed blossoms, I will own every inch of that ground." 

He places the seed into the hole with surprising gentleness, then brushes the dirt back over it. The camera captures the contrast between his strong, capable hands and the delicate way he pats the soil, as if tucking the seed into bed. Standing up, he dusts his hands off, the action slow and purposeful, before fixing his gaze directly on the camera. 

"Some of you will laugh. You'll mock this, like all the other fools who think their noise can drown out the inevitable. Others... others will feel it. That quiet pull, deep in your gut. That sense that something's coming. And you're right. I'm not here to be another name on your posters. I'm here to change everything." 

Danny steps closer to the camera, his movement predatory and fluid. His voice drops slightly, forcing the audience to lean in, hanging on his every word. 

"This field? It's empty now. But soon, it will grow. Just like the influence I'll plant in this company. The roots will take hold. They'll twist and weave their way into every crack, every corner, until there's nothing left but what I've built." 

A faint smirk crosses Danny's face, the only visible crack in his icy demeanor. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving the viewer to wonder if they imagined it. 

"And when the time comes, when you finally see what I've been building, it won't matter how hard you fight. Because you can't stop what's already grown beneath you. Welcome to the beginning. Welcome to my XWF." 

Danny turns away from the camera, his movement smooth and unhurried. He walks off into the barren field, his figure gradually becoming smaller against the bleak landscape. The wind picks up, rustling the dead grass and causing Danny's jacket to flutter slightly. The camera lingers on the spot where Danny planted the seed. The disturbed earth is the only evidence of his presence, a small blemish in the vast, empty field. As the screen begins to fade to black, a single raindrop falls onto the freshly turned soil, followed by another, and another. The sound of the increasing rainfall mingles with the wind, creating an ominous symphony as the scene finally fades to darkness, leaving the viewer with a sense of unease and anticipation for what's to come.

The Gorilla position is alive with activity. crew members rushing about, headsets buzzing with last-second instructions. "Dangerous" Danny English stands apart from the chaos, calm and composed, his back leaning casually against a metal crate. He’s dressed in his wrestling gear: black shorts with a skull imprint, taped wrists, and a sleeveless leather jacket left unzipped to reveal his lean, carved physique. His moniker “Dangerous” embroidered on the back of his jacket and trunks.

The monitor in front of him flickers with the closing moments of his debut promo, "The First Seed." The desolate field, the planted seed, and his cold, deliberate words replay before the screen fades to black. Danny watches in silence, his expression unreadable as the XWF logo appears.
A crew member glances at him nervously.

"You’re up next, Danny. Any final thoughts?"

Danny doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he adjusts the collar of his jacket and steps closer to the monitor. He tilts his head slightly, as if committing the promo’s final image to memory. Finally, he speaks, his voice quiet but cutting through the backstage din.

"No thoughts. Just inevitabilities."

He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of anticipation. A faint smirk curves his lips—not one of joy, but of a man who knows the outcome before the game has even begun. He turns toward the curtain, the faint rumble of the crowd growing louder on the other side.
A producer raises a hand to signal his entrance.

"Music hitting in three… two…"

Danny lowers his head for a moment, closing his eyes. When the opening notes of Murder Was The Case thunder through the arena, his head snaps up. Without hesitation, he steps through the curtain, the blinding lights and deafening roar of the crowd greeting the beginning of his reign.

Would beat GameGirl. I saw the list.