The scene fades in, a fuzzy static covering the image in a blur iconic to the picture quality of VHS camcorders. The backdrop is a few cardboard boxes arranged to resemble a castle, with a few large pieces of construction paper hung up to look like a 3rd grader’s rendition of a landscape. Despite the additions, the setting of this recording is plainly Dr. Pheelanruff’s office, Ned’s psychiatrist with a contradictory penchant for both insight and tone deafness. A prerecorded soundbite of a trumpet played obviously off of a cheap tape recorder serenades a figure who walks into frame. The figure is a shirtless Ned Kaye, a brown bed sheet wrapped around his waist. He wears an embarrassed expression, sighing as he takes a glance at a piece of paper clearly handed to him mere seconds before walking into frame.

“It is I… Samson, the Nazirite.”

Ned’s voice is about as enthusiastic as it is thunderous. Which is to say, not at all. He glares to his left, where a hand can be seen gesturing for him to continue. Kaye begins to read directly off of the sheet of paper.

“I am gifted my great powers through my devotion to God and my luxurious, well-kempt hair. I am heading to my wedding, alas. I have encountered a…”

He pauses, trying to understand the words coming out of his mouth as he says them.

“Dragon from winterlands who wishes to strike me down? Doc, I might be an atheist, but I am 99% certain that Samson faced a lion instead of-”

Before he can finish, a cardboard cutout of a white dragon wearing a ushanka and sunglasses with vodka bottles duct taped to its hands is pushed to Ned’s left. He looks over it, visibly unnerved by the portrayal of this beast.

“I took some creative liberties,” whisper-shouts a voice from off-screen.

“Doctor, I’m pretty sure taking liberties with biblical material is blasphemy.”

“Just continue!”

Rolling his eyes, Ned silently reads ahead in the script for his stage directions, approaching the dragon.

“I shall slay thee with my might, ripping you in half with my strength and sprawling your entrails across the for- okay, wait. What’s the point of this video anyway?”

“It’s for your match! You have to dress up for your Halloween match thing and I thought I’d help you get in the spirit with a little short film! I’ve seen some wrestlers do it before on YouTube, I think.”

“I guess that’s all fine and good, but I don’t want to symbolically rip Boris apart. I like Boris! Everybody does! He’s like a Russian Mini Morbid!”

“I have no clue what that means, Mr. Kaye.”

Ned opens his mouth to speak before hesitating, thinking about a more mainstream description. He smiles as it dawns on him.

“He’s like a Russian wrestling Gary Coleman.”

“Whoa, that is loveable!”

Ned nods, shrugging with a smile as Pheelanruff pulls the cardboard dragon out of frame.

“I guess we’ll just skip ahead then.”

Urias Pheelanruff walks to the where the dragon once stood, facing the camera, before ripping his tearaway clothes off to reveal an ill-fitting women's robe underneath standing proudly as he delivers his lines. Ned immediately begins to hold back laughter.

“It is I, Samson’s beloved Delilah! In an act of unholy treachery, I shall snip his flowing locks of hair and drain his incredible strength!”

Kaye is nearly doubling over laughing until the doctor pulls out a pair of scissors and turns to him.

“Okay, come on,” he says, reaching for Ned’s hair.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope,” chuckles Ned as he walks off screen, nearly in tears from laughter, “we are not doing that!”

Pheelanruff stands alone, disappointed in the middle of the frame as the scene fades.

“We didn’t even get through half of my script!”

A Book-err… Video of Judges

Ned sits in front of a brick wall, still in costume and in good spirits from his hearty chuckles from earlier.

“Well, that was a thing.”

He grabs a handful of his hair, inspecting it to see if any of it was cut before whipping his hair back.

“As odd as it was, it was fun. Unfortunately, I’ve felt surrounded by graves a lot recently.”

He pauses.

“I suppose that won’t change on Thursday, but I still feel better. Despite not being religious myself and having to endure my therapist’s… unique interpretation of the story, I find Samson to be an inspiring figure. A judge to lead the righteous of Israel in war against the threats to their way of life. In many ways, I see myself attempting to emulate that behavior without even knowing it, striving to fight for the XWF against its most vile inhabitants instead of standing by for others to conjure the will. To give judgement to those in dire need of it. But Boris, that sure as hell isn’t you. You’re not my enemy, but you are my opponent and that puts me in a very unfortunate position.”

“I want to go easy on you. I want to fight in a reserved way, but much like our costume prompt, we’re currently surrounded by monsters and heroes in this company. And I can’t be a threat to the monsters if I only ever fight my hardest against them. That means defeating the fellow heroes as well. That means taking down you in that graveyard. And while you’re simply walking in there to wrestle me, like I said, I’ve practically been in a graveyard for these past months. It’s not a change of scenery, it’s you stepping into the world of anguish I have had to thrive in whether I like it or not.”

“Find your strength, Boris. Pray if you have to. Leave offerings to those passed. But while the ghosts might frighten you, they’re familiar to me. My strength can’t be cut off or out of me. And you’re about to face all of it. Good luck.”

"You can't run from yourself."