Archibald: Are you sure about this UK deal, sir?

Duke: It’s all about expanding the brand name, my good man. We’re taking this company, MY company global!

Archibald eyes the man he serves, observing the multi-billionaire with his usual sense of wonder. Duke smiles at his butler as he tilts a fist sized glass of aged amber to his lips, letting the rush of expensive liquor run down his throat.

Duke: Twenty years old and already the most successful oil tycoon this side of the fucking Milky Way!

The inside of Duke’s private plane begins to shake a tad, causing both Duke and Archibald to raise a suspicious eyebrow towards one another.

Duke: Apparently, my money wasn’t good enough to buy a competent pilot. Fucking hell.

The young billionaire rises to his feet, straightening out his suit before stepping forward towards the cockpit.

Duke: You touching yourself up here or something, skippy?

With no response coming, Duke choose to push past curtain separating the pilot from Duke and Archibald.

Duke: Fuck!

The butler calls to Duke who emerges back through the curtain concealing the cockpit of the aircraft, a look of horror on his face.

Archibald: Master Duke?

….

Archibald: What’s wrong, Master Duke?

The young aristocrat feels his muscles tighten as his mind struggles to find the words. After a bit of stuttering, he manages just two.

Duke: He’s dead.

Archibald: You mean-

Speech is cut off as the horrific sound of steel twisting through dense jungle fills the air before all goes black.






Much like a strong hangover, Duke Preston wakes up to vision blurred like Velma Dinkley in search of her spectacles. He coughs wildly as a result of the smoke filled air around him.

Duke: HELP ME!

He screams out in panic as he begins to come around, taking further notice of the reality of the situation. Pulling himself to his feet and coming to a limp, Duke notices the bloodied corpse of his former butler flung towards the back of the wrecked aircraft.

Duke: HELP!

The sound of tropical birds squawking can be heard just outside, causing Duke to breath a sigh of defeat as he realizes just how fucked he appears to be. After taking a moment to catch his breath, the young aristocrat gingerly makes his way to the former door of the plane which is now a dismantled doorway full of beaten metal and jumbled wiring.

Shit...shit….shit!

Stepping out of the wreckage, Duke pivots his head around, laying eyes on what seems like an endless amount of nature.

Where the fuck?..

The young Preston feels the vegetation beneath him crunch under his feet with his next few steps. He takes one last look back at the fiery disaster where the body of his lifeless friend remains before continuing his exploration of this newfound reality.






Duke: Mmmmm...mmmmm...mmmm!!!

A sly smirk spreads across the lips of the crazed, but wealthy man. They part to allow his tongue to slide across them in a circular motion before the smirk returns.

Duke: It seems like I’ve only been contracted to this company a few minutes and ALREADY I’m treated to a fine dining experience with this one. The service here is delightful I tell you!

He lounges further back on his throne, a fine armchair that appears to cost more than most people’s home. As Duke makes himself more comfortable, he lifts his arms up to show off the luxurious manor he’s regained since returning from isolation. Mr. Preston leans forward as he continue to address the camera filming him.

Duke: Getting all of this back, well that was just the beginning. You see, Duke Preston laid eyes on XWF with the intentions of expanding the empire. People like me, we get things done. I make things happen, because that is what winners do. For fuck sake, I had to eat MY FUCKING BUTLER just to make sure that I was able to continue on.

Fists become bawled up as Duke jokingly rubs fake tears from his eyes. After a bit, his fists drop down as sinister laughter fills the estate, a nasty tone bouncing off the high ceiling.

Duke: Dark meat is underrated if you ask me, so delicious. Once you sink your teeth into the flesh of an old negro, it’s like you just can’t stop. It’s like pulled pork filled with so much mouth watering flavor it would make Grandma Jones’ soul food get together look like a tray of ham and cheese sandwiches!

He rubs his stomach as he lets out another audible “mmmm”.

Duke: You know me so well, Vinnie! It’s so kind of you to treat a first time guest with someone like Shandell Jones!

His eyes grow wide before his stare drops a bit, his mind letting his own words sizzle a bit.

Duke: No...no, I’m not gonna eat you Shandy, but I’ll have you wishing that was the case. Cannibalization, I’ve put that behind me. Now, it’s become the metaphor that will make your skin crawl as you come to the realization that the arrival of the great Duke Preston means you’re completely and utterly f-u-c-k-e-d. We need no Vinny Mac types around here in order to bury the career of an aging black man with smack talk equal to that of an infant. Nope, Vinnie took care of that task the minute he got yours truly to ink pen to paper. My signature? That means something.

It means that this company, hell, this INDUSTRY is about to undergo a transformation. One where Shandy boy will be under me. Tell me, Shandy, do you know what it’s like to conquer mother nature? To step foot into hell and walk out of it a changed, but still living man. No, you don’t. You know the definition of subpar like it’s your middle name while I get the feeling you are as familiar with actually being talented as you are your father.

The crowd goes silent. “Wow, that new rich guy with the fucked up haircut is such a racist?” Racist? Racist?! Tell that to crippling heat stroke as you fight the sharks just to put undersized salt water fish upon your dinner plate/rock! When you hear these words, you know what they spell. Fin. Two pins and you're done is it? I’ll make sure Mr. Zebra shirt holds off a bit before making that bell ring. I think I’ll take ohhhh..let’s say five or six three counts on your worthless ass before I call it a night.

I couldn’t forget about Killjoy now, could I? Now this, THIS is when the matchup starts to get reeeeal interesting. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my mother hid a half brother from me due to the incestous nature of his conception. I mean, let’s be real, it’s Duke Preston with a fucked chin and a slack jaw. Fucking CHRIST, I feel like someone’s gonna send me to the principle’s office for beating up on the kid.

You know why I win this? Because you’re the Andrew Garfield to my Toby McGuire, the shit reboot to my much more tasteful originality. You know what the worst part about this all is? You came first, yet you STILL seem little more than the clone of a clone. While I thrive and evolve, I get to watch you deteriorate into liquid fecal matter before finally dying off like a beloved cult comedy followed up with crowdfunding money. Duke Preston fucking OWNS Killjoy, plain and simple.

To both Killjoy and Shandy, just know that soon, you will be presented with the end of what you believed this all to be. The bigger picture is back from the dead and I’m daaaammn thirsty for competition. Trained ten years for this shit in a mat room wrestling school? Nope. Spent the same amount of time fending off predators? You bet. This, this is where you experience the wild, the factor of unpredictability that has you shitting your pants. Before me, you’ve known no better. Now, well now it’s time for the first lesson!

The sound of hands clapping together fills our ears as the feed cuts to black.