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**Doctor Louis D'Ville** · **03-27-2015, 06:09 AM**

"To succeed in life you need two things, ignorance and confidence."

â€• Mark Twain

Can you boys survive long enough TO succeed . . . ?

Welcome to your new home . . .

Like a moment never passed, the Doctor stands in the halls of the hospital he transferred his Ex-Detective to. The purpose of this, against the opinion of the entire medical staff at the Rose Medical Center, was one of the Doctor's ways to hide the Ex-Detective's dark past.

The Doctor travels up a couple of floors, then exits the elevator and begins his way down another hallway. He pauses for a moment then approaches the door off to his right. He slowly pushes it open and can hear sobbing from the other side.

Misery?

Oh, sweet, sweet misery.

The Doctor opens the door the rest of the way and slowly lurks into the room. A small man is curled up in a ball, shivering and crying to himself. Murmering prayers off the top of his head. His dark eyes look up to the Doctor.

"You've come for me haven't you? You've finally come for me."

For you? No. I do have a favor to ask though.

"Oh, please, please, take me. I've suffered enough, my Lord. I--"

Silence, friend. Your day to basque in the darkness will come soon enough. Close your eyes.

The old man shuts his eyes tightly. He begins whispering and murmuring his prayers over and over again. The Doctor reaches down and holds the man's head in his palm. The old man begins shaking and after a few moments, he takes his last breath. The Doctor smiles and slowly creeps away to the other side of the small hospital room. Around the dividing curtain was his friend, the Ex-Detective himself. He walks over to the foot of the bed, reaches down and picks up the chart. He reads down the list of the different things troubling his friend, the lung cancer, pneumonia, slight coma, which led to a further induced coma.

Interesting.

The Doctor throws the chart in the garbage can beside the bed and sits down next to the Ex-Detective.

Hello, my friend.

It's been a long time, has it not? I must apologize for the way we left things a few months ago. You helped me with my mission in any and every way I requested. You were loyal to the Higher Power even before I was unveiled as such. You and I made a deal and you stuck to it. It was my fault for not shining more light on the finer print. Your services were no longer needed, my friend. Therefore, I did what I could to preserve you. Keep you safe until the time was right until I called upon your services once again. It was important that we didn't have a repeat of the last time I set you free.

Your ties with gangs, drugs, and the real world was an unacceptable anchor that we could not drag with us through the trials we faced in our journey. It was important that we were rid of them as soon as possible. We did fair, I suppose. It was too risky though, that is why we're in the position we're in now.

In a short time you're going to wake up, Trevor. You're not going to remember me or anything after the death of your loved ones. It's time to start over. I'll leave you with enough information to lead you down the right path, but that's all you will have. It may be confusing to you for a while, but you'll catch on. You've always been the smartest young man. Good luck to you friend and see you down the road.

The Doctor reaches over and holds the Ex-Detective by the head. A red mist slowly creeps out of the Doctor's hands and surrounds the Ex-Detective. The red mist vanishes and almost seems to be soaked up in his head. The Doctor releases the head and rises up out of the chair. He smiles at his patient and slowly backing out of the room.

You've crossed my mind . . .

I'm fucking haunted.

Haunted by a fucking demon that won't let me die. I've asked him before, what makes me so fuckin' special, man? Why was I chosen for this hideous fate of being the Devil's lap dog?

I don't get it.

I thought for sure I was done for this time. After Lou decided he didn't need me anymore, I thought for sure he would've just let me go. How stupid. Even in a coma, the brink of death, I'm still a pawn in one of his little games. I'm still a puppet. A marionette, suited for battle.

I'll never forget the way you used me, Doc. The way you manipulated my life, the way you destroyed my family, my career, everything. I'll never forgive it. No matter what spell or hocus pocus your going to cast on me here, I'll never, ever let this go. You want to start over? Find a new victim for your bullshit. There's billions of people in this fuckin' world, man, let me go.

I know you can hear me too, you old fucker. You fucking monster. I know I'm not alone in this fucking head of mine.

Fuck you and your prison.

Back of the bus . . .

The Doctor lights a cigar as he walks away from the medical facility. The mini bus pulls up and the Doctor climbs aboard. A fat man in a friar outfit is driving the bus now. He nods to the Doctor as he passes and swings the lever to close the door. The Asylum wasn't on board for this trip. Probably already waiting for the Higher Power to arrive in Florida. He told them very little about his side business, as he was let off near his destination out west. They continued their own journey back across the country to the epic show in Florida.

"Where to today, m'Lord?"

The fat friar man spoke to the Doctor on his way back to his seat.

One last stop, my friend! Then off to the show!

"Certainly, sir!"

The friar driver throws the bus in gear and pulls out into traffic. The bus speeds through the city, whether the lights signaled go or not, at an extremely fast pace. The Doctor found his seat in the back of the bus and produced a small flask from inside his jacket. As the last drip fell from it he cursed it and placed the cap back on, then thowing it back into his inside pocket.

As the light around him slowly fades, the Doctor seems to melt into the scenery around him. Like an oil painting, the phantasmagoric image molds itself into the Doctor sitting, once again, on his throne.

Much different from the familiar office setting that the Doctor once used to share his thoughts, this place was a dark void. The void was made up of nothing and surrounded the throne. The Doctor sat with his lit cigar and pondered about recent happenings in the XWF . . .

You know, friends.

Lethal Lottery is getting down to the nitty gritty, isn't it? Four competitors left. One event. One briefcase. Ricky Desmond teamed up with Peter Gilmour and Dim teamed with the new XWF X-Treme Champion, Unknown Soldier. Now, a few of you are returning XWF'r's and one of you is Peter Gilmour. In case you're unsure who I am, my name IS Doctor Louis D'Ville. I am--

Who am I kidding. Surely you all know exactly who I am. Peter, I hope you win the briefcase, my friend. Because I know you'll come straight after me the next chance you have with that briefcase. I know you, Peter. It's in your personality. The itch will be too strong and you'll give in immediately. That is where you will once again fail. You'll never hold a decent title in this federation, whether you've held the X-Treme Title twenty times, thirty times, forty times... It doesn't matter, Pete. It seems to me that a lot of folks back in the day here, when you were at your prime it seemed, were easily distracted. I'm sure even someone like you could win a title such as the X-Treme back then. Anyway Peter, say you do win the Lethal Lottery and you take your little briefcase and think you're going to win the Universal Title from the good ol' Doc. Say you're stupid enough to do such a thing. Peter, you'll be one of the few people in XWF history, none in my time anyway, that fail at a cash-in. Then all of that work during Lethal Lottery will be put to waste and you will be once again with out a title. I don't believe your newly selected partner, Ricky Desmond, has much faith in your team.

Could it be that he is unhappy with his partner, the Legend, the Icon, the XWF mascot, Peter Gilmour? I'm not sure you'd do well in either situation, my friend. As good of pals that the three other men are, I believe your chances of coming out of this one are quite slim. So you're absolutely right to doubt yourself.

The two men across from you are so involve with Mister Gilmour I don't think they'd have the heart to take this away from him. So there's another disadvantage for you Mister Desmond. They could perhaps take a fall for Peter and take you out of the picture before the final match even begins! That's my wild imagination going again. But I suppose anything could happen!

If not, Unknown Soldier and Dim meet in the finals. Congratulations on your victory and gaining the X-Treme Championship, my friend. Anything done to help collapse Defiance is worth taking a bow.

The Doctor slowly bows forward.

Justin Sane was not only knocked out of the Lethal Lottery but he was also taken for his title. A title that I believe he never deserved in the first place. I suppose I should have never cared about such a thing, but I held onto it for so long it still seemed like it was part of me. I still look down at it with prestige. Unknown Soldier, with your constant kick outs, I commend you. It's quite convenient how everything landed together, is it not? Nearly half way through the tournament that rewards a briefcase, you gain the championship the rewards one, as well. I know what it's like to come close to that feat. It's quite exciting and I was biting my nails deciding what to do. I believe I chose the correct path. I haven't steered wrong yet in this organization. I've been on a steady path to the top since I walked through those very doors. And here I am. On a throne, on top of a mountain, kicking off whatever the XWF brings to the table.

This week, I defend the Universal Championship against two gentlemen that have never been in this type of contention before. They've merely skipped over any type of Number One Contender's Match! They've gone from 'zero to hero' in less than a week, ladies and gentlemen. They barely make it through the Lethal Lottery Tournament and land themselves in the Universal Title match at the pay-per-view itself. I'm still not over the fact the you called all that I have here a matter of being 'lucky', Mister Knight. You're the one who's lucky, my friend. You want to compare me to an old nineties film? Let's talk about being the ultimate underdog in every single encounter I'm in. I'm not sure what that's like actually. You certainly do. Like I talked about before, your confidence level, zero. Ziltch. Nadda. You have none. You have no balls. You have no guts. This type of match, isn't for you Mister Knight. You weren't ready for the Doctor the first time and you're most certainly not ready for him now. You're foolish to even think you can compete at my level and you're foolish to even show up to this event. If you thought that southern prick had it bad the last time we had a match, prepare yourself because you're going to be involved in something much bigger than just a title defense. I'm going to make a point this time. All of you were on my case up and down about defending my X-Treme Title. So I did. I defended it against the likes of you, Mister Wallace. I defended it several other times and even held onto the thing after I was given a briefcase. Must I do the same with this Universal Title? Haven't I proven to you all that there isn't a single person in this universe that can take down the Doctor? Over and over again I have stressed to you. No one listens. They come at me with the same jibber jabber. Same nonsense.

Everyone here came SO CLOSE to beating the Doctor. Knight wasn't beaten, he was outside of the ring when I pinned Reynolds. Wallace wasn't pinned, I pulled him off of Punk and made the pin on him instead. Yeah, you fellows were close alright. Well, Knight you might have been better than close since you not only survived the match, your hand was raised in the end.

HA. HA.

I like it. You can have that one, my friend. Little about that match really mattered, aside from my revenge on the man that decided to come at me when my back was turned. So we're only a few short days away and you boys don't have too much to say. I have plenty to say still. I could repeat myself if you'd like? I could come up with new ways to make you feel better about yourselves. Especially you, Mister Knight. You've seemed down in the dumps lately. Maybe you should consider partaking in a little puff puff pass next time the opportunity arises. It may change you're mood slightly and you won't be stuck with some annoying contact buzz. I could tell you were high, Mister Knight. The things that were spilling out of your mouth were absolutely ridiculous.

You seem so sure of yourself when you talk but deep down I know you don't stand behind your words. You're just trying to pull something out of the air that you know about the Doctor and use it against him. Some patients can't be helped? Like who?! You?! Nonsense. Those voices in your head is a way for your mind to say, "Holy cow, man. Get it together." It's your subconscious trying to steer you in the right direction. Now, that may seem confusing. Obviously since one of your little episodes landed you in the hospital, but hear me out.

You're being haunted by Doubt. Well, we've seen this before and I've explained it. You're obviously doubting yourself in this upcoming contest. You doubt yourself every single day of your life, let alone another bout against the Doctor. Continuing to doubt yourself, my friend, is going to continue the voices. We could go back and talk about courage and honor again, if you'd like.

You've been feeling other emotions, as well? Well, it's common. Along with constantly doubting your abilities and living off of whatever change is in your pocket, I could relate on how someone could be angry. Or does it go deeper than that? You choose this career because you're able to provide well for your family. Does your family know your digging in garbage cans for meals and sleeping wherever you can lay your head? Do they know your hanging around riff raff on beaches, suffering from contact high's, eating nickel ribs from some cannibalistic, crippled Pacific islander? I'm sure if they knew, they'd insist you save a couple of dollars for yourself to survive while out on the road. No wonder you can't keep up with the competition around here . . . You're starving to death, man! Go eat a sandwich. Build up some strength and come at me with the best you possibly have. Maybe if you'd win a few matches around here you'd get a bigger salary and be able to provide for more than the bare minimum that your family needs. Is that the source of the anger? The fact that you work day in and day out, week after week, all year long to provide for a family that you never see? And by doing so can barely survive yourself? Does it make you want to quit? That little sister of your's at home would understand. You're too weak and can't go on. What if you would suffer a career threatening injury? You already ruined your sky diving career, what would happen if your wrestling career was ruined as well? Do you think you would make enough money flipping hamburgers or working the factory life? I think you're going about things all wrong, Mister Knight.

This match is the match of your lives. Giving up isn't an option and not trying isn't one either. I'm sure the hatred alone for each other is enough to keep you fueled in a match, yet you have nothing to say? I just got done mentioned I didn't want you two to focus on your current little feud, but if it takes breaking you out of your little shell then so be it! You make me sick! I had to work for everything I have here in this fine federation. From day one, I won my matches and I was dominant ALL THE TIME. I proved myself time and time again and finally WORKED my way into a Universal Title position. So many road blocks along the way and a million obstacles to cross, but I did it. You two, just like so many others I see, have been handed a golden ticket of opportunity. This match isn't like what you're used to. It's not just 'filler' on a card. I'm not a filler. I'm a main event. I'm a champion. There's nothing higher than the Higher Power, my friends. The matches that take place after us, the ones that hold the purpose of the pay-per-view itself, would mean nothing if it the XWF didn't have the Doctor. No one here can beat me face to face. Now that I have an army standing behind me, the Asylum and the Doctor will stand proudly upon the mountain in the XWF and spit down at you all as you clumsily try to climb to the peak.

XWF rejects, am I right, Mister Wallace? Rejects. My Prophet held the Identity Title longer than anyone and retired it himself in the middle of the ring. My Violator has been more than a thorn in everyone's side once or twice. So, stepping back and looking at your career here in the XWF, for as long as you've been here, my friend, you haven't really amounted to much. You're entire XWF career has been a waste. I'm quite sure you thought leaving the Underground was a good career move for you. So instead of having a few allies during this war going on in the XWF, you decide to go solo. Smart move, Mister Wallace. It would be a different story if you had the strength to back up everything you claim, but unfortunately, you're to weak to carry any banner by yourself.

The Doctor is pushed forward slightly as the bus comes to a quick stop. The void around the Doctor quickly shakes back to life.

"We've arrived m'Lord!"

The friar driver shouts to the back of the bus.

They're outside the train station. The Doctor leaves the bus and enters the station, making a quick left and heading down to the lockers. He removes a key from his pocket, unlocks it, and places a large yellow envelope inside. The Doctor locks the box back up and walks back outside to his mobile throne.

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