The scene unfolds to reveal Hysteria in the small town in which his church resides. He walks the street in the dwindling hours of the night. His strides seem to fade into the dark abyss surrounding him. The buildings move by at unimaginable speeds. No words uttered as he gracefully glides through what seems like an eternity of non-complacency. As he moves, his masked head finally turns to observe something. Within a split second, the masked prophet about-faces and turns back towards the magazine stand which piqued his interest.

On the left-hand side, there is a magazine entitled Pro-Wrestling Illustrated. On the cover is ‘Loverboy’ Vinnie Lane applying a Black Label Driver to Gator. Hysteria scoffs at the indignation of having two of his victims on the cover as opposed to him. He picks up the magazine and reads the big headline:

XWF Top 50 To Be Revealed! Top Candidates Within!

Hysteria’s mask begins to take on a form of a smooth pattern with elegant strokes and curls. Finally, Hysteria would be given the respect he so rightfully he deserved. A Champion for how many days? Two successful title defenses? He even offered up the belt in an Asylum match. A match in which there were five other competitors. It’s not Hysteria’s fault they all were insignificant and worthless. It’s not Hysteria’s fault they stood no chance against the might of Hysteria, The Prophet to the Almighty Higher Power.

The Prophet flips open the magazine to the table of contents scanning the list for the whereabouts of the top contenders for the XWF Top 50. He skips all the mundane happenings at the other corporations as he looks down for XW-

HEY! You have to pay for that!

The sound of the intrusion came from behind him. He slowly turns to reveal the man behind the counter of the magazine stand. Obese, balding, and wearing a cologne so pungent that Hysteria wonders how he didn’t notice it before.

What th- You know it’s January right? Halloween’s been long gone, dude.

Hysteria looks at the repugnant specimen in front of him before he continues back looking through the magazine. He finds it on the list at page 38. The pages start turning as Hysteria finally finds the page in which he desired. He scans down the list.

TOP CANDIDATES!
1. Theo Pryce
2. ‘Loverboy’ Vinnie Lane
3. Gator
4. Luca Arzegotti
5. Peter Gilmour
.
.
.
.
.

The list goes on and on… Hysteria scans further and further down until he gets to the bottom of the list…


HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Aerial Knight
LH Harrison
Austin Fernando
Hysteria
Darren Dangerous



With the reading of each individual name, Hysteria rips the magazine to shreds and seethes in pure anger. His shoulders tremble as his gloved fingers shakes in fury.

What disrespect… Do they not know who I am? WHAT I’VE DONE?!

As Hysteria shakes, unaware of the world around him, a force breaks the plane around him. A long wooden object collides with the back of Hysteria’s head as he stumbles forward.

The sound of the baseball bat rings through the nearby neighborhood as the magazine stand owner had waddled his way out of the stand. He reared back the baseball bat he had for situations like this and connected with the back of the head of Hysteria. Hysteria stops, turns around, and begins laughing. The obese, disgusting individual is leaning on the bat and huffing and puffing. Hysteria points at the man and begins laughing fervently.

You sir… are a moron. You barely can walk, you can barely lift that bat let alone swing it to cripple, and you’re out of breath from ONE swing! How fucking pathetic. Do you know who I am, Tubby? Have you never glanced upon the mask of one such as me?

I did read Watchman Com-

Silence. I tired of the pathetic accusations that I emulated my style after that low-breed incompetent character Rorschach. Am I seeking to administer justice to politicians and those who deem themselves above the law? Nay. I was placed upon this world for one sole purpose, and that’s to adhere to and serve the Almighty Higher Power. Now you, tub of lard, what purpose do you serve here on this vile plan of existence? Is all you strive for a piece… no… a box of pizza at the end of the day? To sell magazines for the rest of your life?

The rotund man looks down at the ground without answering.

How sad, how droll, how pathetic. Your insignificance bores me. Perhaps it’s time for you to move along. Remember this though, never swing a bat unless you expect one to swing back at you.

With that parting word, Hysteria kicks out the bat that the fat man was using as a cane. This causes the fat man to fall face first with the bat smacking him right in the face. Hysteria begins laughing wildly as he begins fading into the shadows once more.

That gluttonous beast lays on the ground with tears glistening down his face like glaze over the ham-sized cheeks.







How reprehensible…

A list comes out for the most worthy to be claimed as the ‘XWF Top 50’ and yours truly isn’t on that list of candidates?! One mention according to all the judges. ONE. What a fucking joke. I’ve been beaten only once. However, I’ve taken down some of the biggest names on this roster. Look at the very names on that list, Loverboy Lane. HAHA! A fucking waste of space that gets confused for an ugly girl and doesn’t even bother to repute the accusations. Perhaps it is because he has a vagina. Maybe that’s why from time to time, Loverboy acts like he’s on the rag more than Roxie. Why does that ingrate deserve it more than me?! The answer: he doesn’t. The reasoning here is merely that you’re popular. Girls like you much like they like having that gay friend around. Guys like you because they don’t have to be so serious around you. Guys like that they don’t have to feel intimidated by you. So when asking who should be bumped up into the Top 50, they nominate you. Because you’re the nice guy. You’re the guy that everyone gets along with.

After looking at the list, the name that surprised me to see so high was Morbid Angel. Morbid fucking Angel. Yes, my opponent this week. Why not, right? That’s how you move up in the world, right? You take a shovel to the baddest looking guy around? Well that’s why we’re here. Everyone seems to think that Morbid Angel is some GOD or some undeniable entity around this place. Why is that? Why do you all lay down and lap at his seat as if every word that spews from his lips is pristine gold? The guy’s a joke. A delusional moron that thinks he’s all-powerful and what evidence is there to support it? None. None whatsoever. Oh but he did take a sudden interest in male genitalia. How… queer. You do realize, Angybaby that you touched men’s penises! Willingly. Not only that, but you wore one around your neck.

Let’s look at this fucking homo. He’s like a thief in the night taking penises to hang around his neck like surfers do with shark teeth. How, interesting. But let’s see how the ‘Morbidgod’ is spending his week. Hmm… it appears as though the fucker is trying to screw me over! He’s taken the owner of the company hostage and is forcing him to kill and for what?! Is this supposed to strike fear into the heart of Hysteriaaaa? BAHAHA! Try again. The simple fact of the matter is I live in the darkness. I strive in the darkness!


Those bumps you hear in the night?


That’s me.


That moment when you glance over your shoulder when you think you feel someone’s presence?




That’s me.



When your dog barks into the dark seemingly at nothing…

That’s me.

I’m always there, Angybaby! When you least expect it. When you most expect it. I’m there. Watching, waiting, poised and ready. As you lie down for sleep and dream of sugar plum fairies and decapitating corpses, I stand over you primed to take the necessary actions once the time is right.

Be wary, Morbid Angel. Be wary. For when the time comes and the clock strikes 12, it all will unfold and you will be lying there in a pool of your own fecal matter. Whilst I hold this belt up high above my head and give a deafening laugh. BAHAHA!

Have a blast at your little killing party, for when we collide… it will be a moment lived on in history. A moment in which Morbid will never forget. A moment in which Hysteriaaaa will reign supreme.

So fuck you Morbid.





Hysteria stops dead in his tracks sliding into the knee-high freezing snow sending a wave of snow forward. He stomps through the snow being careful not to trip. He lifts his foot straight up before extending it for the step. As he works his way through the snow, he finally makes his way to the sidewalk. He shivers slightly as he breathes out a burst of warm air. Hysteria jams his numbing fingers into his jacket. The further he walks, he notices someone sitting outside of the church he calls home. As he gets closer, he sees the man wearing filthy garbs covering his face and body. Extended out in the older man’s wrinkled hand is a metal cup.

The Prophet leans over and looks in the cup to see it’s empty. Despite the chilling temperatures, the old man sits on the bench and doesn’t even slightly tremble. Hysteria looks on at the man, wondering if he’d passed away due to hypothermia. Seemingly as soon as he questioned it, the hand moves with the cup moving a little further out. Hysteria chuckles a little, but generally seems pleased there wasn’t a dead man outside of his church. As the wind blows the jacket against Hysteria tightly, he begins sifting through his pockets looking for even the slightest amount of change within his pockets.

After a few moments, Hysteria grunts in disgust. Knives, forks, lighters, and various other bizarre weapons, but not a single quarter or penny. He scoffs again before holding up a single finger.

One second. I’ll find you a contribution.

Hysteria walks up to the church and opens the door. As soon as he enters, he’s met by two of the soldiers.

Jack, Scarecrow. Go open the vault. Bring me whatever funds are left from rebuilding the church.

The two soldiers look at each other and share an awkward gaze.

O Mighty Prophet… there is no remaining money. All the money was used on the repairs and that wasn’t even enough. We had to uh… take the rest of the parts.

Hysteria rolls his neck and begins massaging his temples through his mask. He looks around and begins tapping his foot.

There’s no fucking money at all?

None sir. Well other than this dollar I found the other day.

Scarecrow reaches into his pocket and withdraws a single crumpled dollar. In one quick motion, Hysteria grabs the dollar and turns around for the door. Scarecrow looks dejected and saddened by the loss of his only dollar.

Hysteria walks towards the front door and opens it. He’s welcomed outside by the chilling air and the heavy snowdrift pounding into his mask. Hysteria walks out into the snow and down towards the road. He ignores the street lamps to prevent another transition into the past. As he gets to the street, he looks at the bench in which the man had been perched. However, when his eyes found the spot, the man was gone. The two Soldiers were now standing behind their leader in the snow looking puzzled. Hysteria begrudgingly gives the dollar back to Scarecrow and leads them back inside.

As the door is slammed shut, Hysteria walks up to the front podium and rests his arms on it. The two frozen soldiers walk up to the front row and speak up.

Wh-wh-wh-what ddddddddid you guh-guh-guh-go outssssside for?

I saw a homeless man. Sitting out in this freezing weather. He had a cup in which he pushed in my direction. A lost soul in a sea of uncertainty for sure. Here, I thought I could find yet another family member. Alas, I had no money. I entered The Higher Power’s sanctuary to discover that we have no funds. No money to aid a fellow lost soul. How worthless are we? This is a problem that needs amending. Boys, rest up. For tomorrow, we’re going to fix our little problem.

Hysteria begins to slightly giggle under his breath. A different Soldier that had heard the conversation steps forward.

How are we going to do that, O Mighty Prophet?

By doing what Morbid does to male genitalia…

Suck it?!

The entire room burst into laughter.

NO! Hehe. We’re going to TAKE IT!



Fade into nothingness...