Tombstone, Arizona. Hours into Thanksgiving eve, the XWF technicians work tirelessly to make up for an unexpected rainstorm that hindered their progress earlier in the day. Normally, the work would continue for the next few days, but High Stakes would be coming on Sunday and this Thanksgiving holiday forced the work to be done on a more conservative schedule.

The ring, being outside, was nearly constructed for the coming event, but as darkness fell, the lightning department had to work longer to maintain enough sight for the ring crew to finish their work; no staff member allowed to head home for the holiday until the work was made up. This caused much stress amongst the crew and a bit of resentment towards the XWF heads that would sometimes overwork their staff and talent.

As their work progressed through the dark Arizona night, one crew member had surprised the rest of his crew with booze he had grabbed from a liquor store in the town nearby. They stopped their work to share a cold one where they would vent about the XWF management's inconsideration and would fantasize as a collective about the prospect of unionizing, or in some cases, forming a mutiny. Some laughed it off but those who pitched it simply drank again silently, wishing others had the audacity to stand up for themselves and each other.

In their shared dread for overtime hours on the night before Thanksgiving, an unfamiliar and eerie sound interrupted their banter. It was a strange sound- almost operatic music but accompanied by seemingly reversed words laced throughout the composition. The nature of its dark tones concerned the XWF staff as they all searched where the music was originating from. It was loud. Loud enough to be the sound guys but they wouldn't have been there this late.

"I'll check it out." Frank, the Tech supervisor says, climbing down from the ring to head for the sound equipment.

"Somebody trying to get a rise out of us." Dustin, his assistant, snarls as he finishes the last bit of beer in his bottle and treads after Frank.

The others get down too, spreading out to search for themselves as the music is unrelenting and startling as it continues, it sounds demonic in nature, and this is unsettling for the normally funloving road crew.

When the ring becomes scarce of XWF staff members, a dark figure emerges from behind a dumpster, a chain in the man's hand swings a smoking cauldron like a pendulum as he circles the XWF ring. The smoke trailing where it moves and expanding into a cloud that lingers around the ring as the man walks around it. He finishes the circle before lowering the chain to the ground, taking a small blade in his other hand and slicing the open palm of his left hand. Blood exits and runs down his bare hand until he lowers it to the edge of the ring's mat and smears the crimson life force into the pale mat. He utters something in Latin and he hears the men returning.

"Who the fuck is that!" Frank yells out from the distance.

The man lifts his left hand up to the approaching men and a grin forms across his face. The men slow down but persist towards him.

"Hey! This is XWF Property!" Dustin deepens his voice.

"Who is that?" Frank utters.

"I can't see with that hood over his head," Dustin says.

"We don't want no trouble..." Frank insists, still approaching with his hands lifting to show he is unarmed, "Are you here on behalf of the XWF?"

The man continues to grin as the evil music plays on, but with great haste, turns from the men and takes off behind the dumpster from which he had come from. As the men chase after him, they realize he is too far and too fast to catch for their salaries. Out of breath, they stop short of the dumpster as the man has disappeared into the darkness. They turn to the rest of the crew that had found their way back seeing the same man.

"What was that about?" A crewman asks.

"No clue..." Frank says, walking with narrowed eyes to see through the hovering mist to make out the stains of blood on the mat, "Some freak."

"Is that blood?" Dustin asks, closing in on Frank's position.

"Looks like." A crew member answers.

"Some kind of fucked up prank." A crew member says.

"Well, this is vandalism." Frank corrects him, "We should call management, let them know."

The man stand, all in shock as the music continues to play.

"Can we get that shit turned off?" Frank's frustration reveals itself.

"It wasn't our equipment..." a crewman says, "They didn't even wire the PA yet."

"Are you sure?" Frank asks.

"I called Craig and he isn't expected out here until Friday afternoon to finish up."

Frank is confused.

"Well, THEN WHERE IS THE-" the music shuts off, "MUSIC COMING FROM!" his voice yells over the silent small town of historical Tombstone.

Altogether, they hear the screeching of a large vehicle peeling out, and as they turn they see a black escalade pull out from behind an alley. It takes off in the opposite direction more and more hidden by the cloud of dust it leaves behind.

"Some weird shit going on," Dustin says out loud.

They walk over to the stain on the mat and from a different angle they can see it's not only a smear of blood, but an intentional L painted with the hand as a paintbrush. An L within a red circle, all with the blood from this person's self-lacerated left hand.

"What is this?" Dustin asks, bending down to find a piece of paper folded up on the ground, "Did he drop this?"

"Open it up." Frank suggests, "Wait... maybe don't."

"Why not?" Dustin asks, about to unfold it anyway but Frank grabs it.

"I got gloves." Frank says, "We don't even know if this guy has something wrong with him- let alone if his blood is... ya know."

"Fine..." Dustin says, "What's it say?"

Frank reluctantly unfolds the letter, blood-free, and begins reading out loud to the XWF crew.

"Behold, a pale horse and his rider is death."

"What the fuck is this shit?" Frank says.

"Come on, just keep reading..." Dustin urges him to continue.

"What, you into this shit?" Frank asks, "This gets you off?"

"It's just weird, man!" Dustin, "Come on!"

Frank shakes his head and lowers his gaze to the paper left behind by this cloaked figure.

"Sunday is a day that, to the blind, will be anticipated as just another day in their aimless walk of life- and like the sheep, bowing their mindless heads to eat poisoned grass, the XWF will underestimate this day as just another pay per view event- just another show- just another day.

Mistaken. Unfortunate. For these individuals understand not the dark forces at work- right beneath the surface and yet, all the clues are there, and still, they'll underestimate. They'll disregard the signs and they'll focus their attention on the people they know. They'll take me lightly- and for that reason, they will wake up Monday morning and realize that while they were sleepwalking, I was planting seeds... I was securing positions... I was contaminating the well water.

After Sunday, the XWF will only have the memory of what things used to be-and after Sunday, the new world will be thrust upon them... they'll wonder, what happened? They'll reflect and ask "why didn't we see any of this coming? weren't there people who knew? who could've stopped it?" but the answer is No.

But don't feel bad. Nobody ever stops it. Humanity and it's naive compassion can't make sense out of the chaotic world I thrive in. Unpredictable... antifragile... their perfect structures are but isolated systems awaiting for entropy to be initiated. I am that entropy. I am the pressure that finds the inevitable weak joint from within... and the more the system tries to contain pressure... the more pressure builds up and ultimately explodes.

Be warned, XWF.

The Left Hand is the new normal.

I suggest you all begin taking things a bit more seriously.

-Baphomet"

Frank lowers the paper as his eyes rise to Dustin.

"What a fuckin' whacko." Frank laughs and tosses the paper on the ground, walking away to grab another beer, "Hey, Mark... get some bleach so we can get this paint out of here. Fuckin' wrestling gimmick."

"Yes sir." Mark heads for the supply truck.

"Let's get back to work, I want to get home for some Turkey," Frank says, popping the cap from the bottle and lifts it to his mouth.

Dustin looks down at the Baphomet's letter as the wind begins to carry it away. He looks up at the "paint" on the mat and then back to the letter as it floats away. He can't help but wonder if this is more than a wrestling gimmick.