It's like something out of a nightmarish fever dream. The realization of a reality that cannot be, and moreover should never be ALLOWED to be. But nonetheless it is there. A scab on the face of sane, justifiable actuality. You cannot suppress the shudder weeding it's way up your spine at the speed of neuronal conversation. Your body rejects this sight on a primal level, beneath conscious awareness.

Because the Engineer is seated in the Oval Office.

The transformation is utterly remarkable. Dr. Bennie is a genius.

POTUS Donald Trump sits across from Engy on an opposing couch, gushing, his ever present phone in his hand.

I only hope that one day he can work the same magic on Barron as he did on you.

The Donald looks over at his youngest child, Barron Trump. The boy is decked out in a smaller version of the suit his dear old dad is wearing, Mini-Me style. But the boy is standing with his face pressed against the office window, lapping his tongue in and out of his mouth and stopping ever so often to assess the patterns of saliva he is making on the glass before resuming.

Barron. Barron! Stop that! Ah Jesus, he doesn't even look at me when I talk to him! Melania says he has the autism but I fail to see how the product of my loins could be...defective....in such a way.

Engy smirks knowingly, nodding his head.

I'm sure your loins are just fine, sir. Regardless of what certain foreign leaders may have to say about them.

The Donald leans in, a tight pressured expression on his face.

Wh-why? Have you heard something? Did somebody have something about my penis? It's huge, if anyone's asking.

It goes without saying, of course. But certain people **cough** Kim! **cough** clearly show insufficient appreciation of the size of your manhood.

That son of a bitch! Well, while we're, uh, on the topic. I sometimes like to run foreign policy decisions past some of my trusted friends. So, whaddya think: nuclear option, yay or nay?

I say, what's the point of having the capability to destroy the planet thousands of times over without being able to bust that kind of power out every once in a while and let it swing in the breeze?

The Donald reaches over and claps Engy on the shoulder.

I like your style!

The door to the Oval opens and a secret service agent steps inside.

Sorry to interrupt, sir. But Madison Dyson is here.

Oh yeah! Send her in!

The agent disappears and Madison Dyson reappears in his place. She immediately takes note of Engy's presence, and a scowl leaks out. Pulling up a chair, she brings it over to the couches and sits at the head of both men.

Madison, we were just talking about Engy's miraculous recovery.

Madison sucks her teeth a little, forcing a smile on.

Yes it is indeed miraculous. Almost as miraculous as him suddenly getting audiences with the president.

Madison has been just as shocked as you sir about my recent improvements. It's been taking her some time to adjust certain new...DYNAMICS....in our relationship .

Engy's eyes never leave Madison's face as he says this. Donald is naturally oblivious to the tension. Madison tears her gaze away from Engy's and reaches into her purse, pulling out a manilla folder.

Sir, if you don't mind I was thinking we could go over this week's talking points for my show. I don't think that clusterfuck in Vegas is going to blow over anytime soon and Wayne over at the NRA is getting absolutely BOMBARDED...

The Donald holds up a hand.

All in due time. But first, how about a toast to our friend's newfound abilities?

The Donald walks over to his desk and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. With his back turned Madison mouths to Engy We need to talk. Engy smiles and winks at her, which only seems to annoy Madison even more. POTUS walks over, pouring them each a shot of whiskey and handing them a glass.

To intellectual superiority!

All three of them, Madison somewhat reluctantly, bring their glasses together in a toast. Engy and Donald drain theirs, and Madison takes a sip to be polite before placing it at her side. However, she is soon distracted by young Barron Trump, tugging at her sleeve.

Mama, mah dickie wood.

I'm sorry, what?

Barron go run along. This is grown up stuff.

Mah dickie wood. Pretty lady make mah dickie wood.

Barron takes a step back, grabbing at the erection straining against his trousers. Madison looks instantly appalled, Engy descends into a callous grating laughter.

Oh for Christ sakes Barron! No, do not take off your pants! I'm getting...fuck!....I'm texting your mother right now!

Barron seems to be trying to unbuckle his belt to take out his dickie wood but mercifully cannot get past his belt. Donald starts typing furiously into his phone. Madison's phone chimes shortly thereafter. Quizzically, she pulls it out and as she reads the screen her features pall as this shows up on her screen.



Oh shit! Sir, that wasn't a text you just sent!

Wha...? I.....oh FUCK!

Hey guys, I'm gonna go pop a squat while you figure that out. Be back in a bit.

Engy gets up to leave, still hissing out laughter at the commotion behind him.

FUCK! I just tweeted it again! Where's....?!

Delete sir, delete! And Engy, we're not done!

Engy holds up a hand in a barely there gesture of acknowledgment as he passes into the hall. He steps out into the romantic pale white environs of the White House. The secret service agent at the door eyes him momentarily. Engy waves at him and sets off down the hall. The camera reappears in front of him, catching the Xtreme champion in a full body shot as he makes he makes his way down the passage.

How's that song go John? Everybody wants to rule the world? Tears for Fears man. Don't act like ya don't know. But bein' in this place, I believe those Brit wankers 100%. I mean, who wouldn't want to rule the world? You get to live in a bigass mansion. Tell people what to do all the time. Mold the entire world in your image.

And while The Kings may not exactly rule the world, they have ruled the roost in the XWF for quite some time. So I suppose it's inevitable that a plucky underdog such as myself would eventually bump my head against the glass ceiling that they've created.

Oh, how rude of me....



Engy stops walking for a moment and extends his hand, as if to offer it for a shake.

I don't think I've formally introduced myself to you specifically John. Dexter Bright. I know, you may be a smidge confused. When you last saw me, pouring shit over my head and stealing my crown, I wasn't quite the same man.

Engy continues making his way down the hall.

I've undergone some changes recently, John. For the better! And to be fair, I have The Kings to thank. Oh sure, I'm certain you guys are grousing over how convenient it is that I've suddenly learned to form coherent thoughts just in time to face XWF's preeminent supergroup. But that's my exact point. You guys made this. You made ME! You forced me to nut up and confront some serious shit that I've been avoiding for almost two and a half decades. How often is it that a man can say they have so expertly crafted the complete reconstitution of another human being?

So yeah, from the bottom of my heart....thank you, thank you, thank you.

And now, please die.



He stops, smiling, in front of a portrait of Abraham Lincoln.

When I told you that this match was life and death John, right after I finished drowning Theo's wife in human feces, I wasn't whistlin' dixie! It really is. You see, deposing a former ruler is a messy, messy business. And history has shown that the only solution to unchecked power is death. You don't let a tyrant live after they've been deposed, it just makes no goddamn sense. You gotta burn that shit out at the roots, John. Kill it so it never grows again.

And I'm going to kill you. This isn't a promo. This isn't hype. This isn't me trying to play the scary heel card. I mean, shit, if anything you guys are the bad guys here.

No,no,no. This is just me telling you what will happen. Because quite frankly, in the end, this will all be so much more satisfying for me if I laid my cards out on the table and you still weren't able to stop me.



Engy looks up at the portrait of Lincoln, smirks, removes some gum from his mouth and sticks it to the portrait. He keeps walking.

But I can hear you protest “How can you get away with live televised murder Engy? Are you sure you're not still mentally ?” And to that I say, “Jesus son, have you seen the state of the world today?” I mean, we got millionaires mowin' down country music fans by the scores just because they can. A president who literally said he could kill a man in the street and it would have zero effect on his approval ratings. International relations devolving into actual dick measuring contests. A planet who's environment is going to shit and the combined authority of most of the world's leaders is powerless to stop it. Phantom Panzer making it into the King of the Ring finals! Up is down! Left is right! The hell mouth is open and the demons are pouring out!

Insanity, dear John, HAS TAKEN ROOT. And I couldn't be happier. So just how much heat am I gonna get for offin' one uppity past his prime former white senator turned faux royal?

Not even a blip John. Not even an iota in the mass psychosis that is daily life on this planet. I'll be outta jail and kicking ass in a week's time. It pays to have friends in higher places than a King.


He spreads his arms wide, indicating the White House environs he is so casually sauntering down. He stops at a locked room.

However, I must say, as passionate as I am about massacring you in front of a live audience numbering in the thousands, that doesn't mean that I don't want you to keep it interesting. Which is why it aggrieves me to see that you seem to have lost your smile.

You know, I was *THIS* close to pulling a run-in on you at Savage during your match with Luca. I've never been so happy to be a lazy fuck in my life though. Because if I had, it would have denied me the chance to see you turn tail on a match you demanded.

I mean, what the fuck John? That match should have been one for the history books. But instead, once it became clear you couldn't hang, you bent down, grabbed your ankles and quit. What kind of King does that shit, huh? What kind of King just gives up? Makes me wonder what I can expect outta you at Leap of Faith. Are you actually gonna fight for your life, or are you gonna load the gun for me and kneel at my feet?

I'm prayin' John, I'm PRAYIN' to the powers below, that that was just a sorry attempt at a mind game. That you're trying to make me overconfident. Because a mercy killing is not what I had in mind! So you better find that smile a yours right fuckin' quick. Because I don't want you earnin' any sympathy points after I shuffle your feeble ass off this mortal coil.

Engy produces a key card and slides it through the reader next to the door. He steps down into a room he most definitely should not be in. A large screen consumes the far wall. And a gun metal gray table takes up the majority of the remainder of the room. Clearly this room has been the scene of innumerable late night emergency strategy sessions. Great men have sat at this table, rolling the dice on the fate of the planet.

Tomi Lahren is sitting seductively on the table.

Hey babe. I'm here, just like you asked.

I don't recall asking you to talk.

Tomi's face loses some of it's wiles, and she suddenly looks pensive. She bites her bottom lip, looks like she's about to speak again, but then decides against it.

Show me a King, John. Show me a man who's spine stands straight on his way to the guillotine. And I'll show you an ending fit for the Gods.

He walks around the table, turning on the monitor. Instantly, scenes and sounds of warfare and strife from the world over fill the room. The dying sigh of a planet gone mad.

Now take your panties down and bend over the table.

Engy advances on Tomi is as the screen cuts to static.