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Steven Kessler · **10-07-2014, 07:53 PM**

Steven Kessler walks down a bustling Johannesburg street, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and his eyes hidden by a dark pair of sunglasses. He hunches his shoulders and pushes his way through a group of tourists, ignoring their angry cries at a ruined photo opportunity. When he reaches the street corner he shakes his head and pushes his sunglasses on top of his head. He rustles inside his jacket pocket and fishes out a battered cigarette packet, sliding a single cigarette out and placing it in his mouth. With another deft motion he produces a lighter and ignites the tip, the small flame curling over the wilting paper as he inhales. He takes a long draw and exhales the bittersweet blue smoke, preoccupied with his thoughts.

It had been several months since he'd stepped foot in a wrestling ring, but it hadn't diminished his confidence at all. In fact, he'd been going a little stir crazy sitting at home when he'd received the call with a contract offer from the XWF. He'd been chomping at the bit and raring to go, and as his debut drew closer he was growing restless. He'd seen the promo packages sent out of the men he'd been competing against on Wednesday Night Warfare and he felt more than a little unimpressed. Cobra Kai? Game Boy? Was he wrestling in some sort of gimmick match where the theme was Eighties Throwback? He shakes his head in disbelief. Then there was the matter of Winchester and Ghost Tank, both men who had done little to impress him from what he'd seen. He'd cut a reaction promo regarding Ghost Tank the previous afternoon, but he hardly felt like it was worth the time. If this was what the XWF had to offer, he might be better off simply moving on and trying his luck somewhere else.

He drops the half-smoked cigarette onto the ground and crushes it underneath his booted foot. He continues walking down the street until a building catches his eye; a bar, little more than a seedy looking dive advertising that it is “OPEN” by way of a flashing neon sign. Kessler glances around and shrugs to himself. One drink couldn’t hurt, could it? He pushes the door open and steps into the dimly lit parlour. Inside is even more decrepit than outside. The tables are worn and stained, a broken jukebox sits in the far corner and several surly-looking patrons eye him closely from the back of the room. He sits down on a stool at the bar, signalling for the bartender.

Kessler: “Hey, over here.

The bartender approaches him, wiping out a mug.

Bartender: “What can I get for you?”

Kessler blinks, trying to figure out the bartender’s heavy accent. He was a young man, in his late twenties, with a scruff of facial hair on his chin and his hair slicked back with gel. Kessler notices that he’s wearing an XWF pin on his shirt and he sighs.

Bartender: “Something on your mind? Is everything okay?”

Kessler: “Just… mix me up an Asshole Silent.”

The bartender looks at him, confused.

Bartender: “I don’t know that one. How do you make an Asshole Silent?”

Kessler: “Ya know, I’m just starting to wonder that myself.”

The bartender looks more than a little offended and turns around to attend to his other customers. Kessler chuckles at his little joke, until he realizes it probably cost him his drink.

Kessler: “Bartender!”

The young man approaches Kessler, scowling but still attempting to show some kind of professional courtesy.

Bartender: “Yes, sir?”

Kessler: “I’m sorry, I was just having a little bit of fun. Think you can give me a beer? Whatever you recommend will be fine.”

The bartender nods and begins to pour a mug of dark beer. He continues to speak to Kessler as the mug fills.

Bartender: “So what brings you here to Johannesburg? Are you a tourist?”

Kessler: “Work.”

Bartender: “Oh yeah? What do you do?”

Kessler: "Actually, uh... I'm a pro wrestler."

Bartender: "I knew you looked familiar! You're one of the XWF guys, right? Steve Kessler! You're wrestling on Warfare this week."

Kessler attempts to hush him quickly.

Kessler: "Keep it down, will ya? I'll give you fifty bucks for the beer."

Bartender: "Sorry. I'm a wrestling fan, actually."

The bartender hands Kessler his beer and he takes a sip, letting it bubble on his tongue for a moment. This is the part of the conversation he dreads whenever he meets a wrestling fan.

Kessler: "I had no idea."

Bartender: "Oh yeah, you have no idea. I've been watching since I was just a little kid. Stone Cold Steve Austin was always my favorite to watch. Speaking of which, don't you have a match against him this week?"

Kessler: "It's a battle royal. There are six of us in the match."

Bartender: "Oh yeah? Well, no offense, but Stone Cold's gonna kick your ass, man! It'll be just like the good old days when-"

Kessler: "If you finish that sentence, I'm going to rip your fucking arms from your shoulders."

The bartender immediately goes silent, looking more than a little scared as he eyes the bulk of his patron.

Kessler: "What do you think you're doing, telling me something like that? I've never met Stone Cold before, but I already want to snap his neck and just be done with the whole thing. I saw his moronic little promo from earlier in the week and I gotta say, he's lost his touch since the fucking dawn of the dinosaurs when he last wrestled a match. I'll tell you what, I'll write old Stone Cold a check when I see him to he can go buy himself a case of beer and take that bald ass, phallic looking head of his right back to whatever run-down ranch he crawled out of. You could almost say that that's the bottom line."

The bartender stares at Kessler, not really saying anything.

Kessler: "You know what? Just take this."

Kessler fishes the fifty for the bartender out of his wallet, along with what looks suspiciously like a ticket stub.

Kessler: "Come to the show and see for yourself. And make sure to tell all your friends that you served a drink to the future of the XWF."

He pushes the money and the ticket towards the bartender and downs the rest of his beer. He tosses the empty mug to the bartender and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The bartender turns to attend to another drinker and Kessler shakes his head. He turns and walks out of the bar, and the scene fades to black.

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