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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » War Games 2021 PPV Board
Dicklomatic Immunity
Author Message
Ned Kaye Offline
per cogitabat, per facis
TITLE - Tag Champion



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
07-24-2021, 10:43 PM



Ned’s eyes shot open. There was a chill to the air surrounding him, one so intense that he could see his own breath. With each exhale, he could see more clearly the featureless, blank void that surrounded him. It was only in select moments that he would feel this sensation. Others it would be as if he was stuck in that vessel of a body, forced to watch every depraved action that the other him took part in. But recently, that grip began to lose control in small ways. Glimpses of autonomy in a body shaped prison cell. That was until a few nights before Leap of Faith. The night Ned awoke for the first time in what felt like ages. Still, they didn’t stop the self-proclaimed “Nefarious One” from riding high off of his control of Kaye’s body. Ned vividly recalled the night after that entity had lost the Hart Title and been confronted by Steven Cooper as if he was just Ned acting possessed, but Ned knew that wasn’t true. Ned wouldn’t hurt people in a vain attempt to regain a championship or turn his back on his friends and family just to slide into an alcohol fueled descent into madness. He dismissed the notion entirely. but all the rejection in the world didn’t make him any less alone in this foreign space, nor did it make it any warmer.

Ned ran his fingertips against the goosebumps on his skin. As he did, he encountered the occasional scar, each one a souvenir from a different match. His thoughts lingered upon those opponents, a myriad of people from across the American Independent Circuit and the XWF. The XWF. That’s why Ned became a wrestler in the first place. And everyone he had shared the ring with over the years had assisted in getting him to this point: forced to watch someone tear his dream to ribbons. All alone. Eventually, as his hand travelled over his arm, he found one scar that cut his thoughts off. it was on the back of his wrist, a small knick he had suffered in a ladder match over two years ago. He looked away almost instinctively, doing his best to avoid that memory and the person associated with it. However, as he turned, he wasn’t met by endless miles of void, but a wall. He swiveled his head, examining the place further. He recognized it perfectly. The array of ring gear and sparsely arranged hors d'oeuvres. A comforting place from his past. The APEX Prophecy dressing room. Sure, Cent and Raven mostly stuck to their own rooms, but every now and then, for a fleeting moment, the whole group would be together backstage. But that warmth and communal belonging was nowhere to be found now. The closer Ned inspected the room, the more it contrasted with his memories. The gear was worn, with bits of leather ripped and weathered at the edges. The food had long since rotted and festered, transforming into something even too toxic for the flies. And that same chill that accompanied Ned in that void remained in the hallowed husk of this room.

But something caught his eye.

Looking over to where the boots used to sit, he could see that his had been discarded, lazily tossed in a nearby bin as someone else’s shoes sat in his spot. An uneasiness came over him as he lifted the pair up, seeing that the floor beneath them was etched, fitting the patterns on these newer boots perfectly, as if they were designed to sit there. A voice rang out from behind Ned, breaking his concentration and causing the shoes to fall from his hands.

“Ned.”

He spun around, only seeing the mirror across from him, a crack down it’s center reflecting Ned in a jagged and uneven manner. The more he stared, the more the crack seemed to disappear from his view and the two sides seemed less divided. That’s when he noticed it. The figure standing behind him, long draping hair obscuring its face. He didn’t need to see the face to know who it was.

The one man Ned feared.



“Ned!”

The Nefarious One’s eyes shot open. He jumped to his feet, having been passed out on the side of his bed. After a moment of regaining consciousness, he saw a slightly taken aback Steven Cooper in his doorway.

“It’s just me for Christ’s sake!”

Ned loosened a bit, finally feeling a hangover that was long overdue. He placed a hand up to his forehead. An exasperated breath left his lips as he tried collecting his thoughts.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“You got a visitor.”

With a large groan, Ned began to walk towards the hall outside his room, Cooper politely stepping out of his way before walking alongside him.

“You alright, kid?”

“It’s just the price of a good night. I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t mean the hangover. I’ve seen you shrug off plenty o’ those. I’m talkin’ about this match. I know you and Robert used to be friends and-”

Ned and Robert used to be friends. I just hold a certain respect for him.”

“Even then, I don’t know how fun it would be to work with that guy’s tag partner. Especially after he basically started filling in for you.”

“Caedus? Please, there are better people to be jealous of. Besides, he’s actually likely to survive this match. Main? I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Look, I’m just tryin’ to let you know it’s okay to be uncomfortable or nervous.”

Ned stopped in his tracks, giving an odd look to Steven.

“Since when did you start getting into the “reassuring veteran” routine? That’s a little unlike you, Coop.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to cover some bases.”

Cooper’s condition came to mind as they resumed their way towards the living room, finally making it to the door.

“I know it can be nerve-wracking to fight a friend or whatever your “Nefarious” version of a friend is and I’m trying to let you know that’s normal. You wanna sue me for not being pissed off all the time? Go the fuck ahead, but I’d like to have my one damn moment.”

“Steve, I appreciate it, but I’m not afraid of Robert.”

Opening the door, Ned Kaye walked in with Cooper following closely behind him to see the one and only Slambassador looking out of a window, his back turned to the two men and a starstruck Dr. Urias Pheelanruff. Oddly enough, Powers’ head appeared to be completely bald despite his hair being a recognizable part of his brand.

“Wow,” said Cooper, “I didn’t know he could look even more like a Richard.”

Ned shot a glare at Coop, nearly cracking a smile at the remark as a wide grin stretched across Steve’s face.

“Ned Kaye,” said the man looking at the window, “I came.”

“Excuse m-”

“-to this building to deliver a message for the ages. I will be captaining a genuine, boner-fide pirate vessel and YOU are invited, baby!”

“I’m fairly certain I’m contractually obligated to join.”

“Excellent!” Dick Powers spun around, revealing his Dick Fury costume.

“Why the eyepatch?”

“Great question, my manwhore-at-arms!”

Cooper nearly doubled over laughing, only keeping it contained due to a sharp look from Ned.

“After an intense visit to Slambodia, I ejaculated so hard that I got cumshot in the eye!”

Cooper, snickering as the words left his mouth, asked, “And the hair?”

Striking a sexy pose, Dick replied, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Before anything else could be said, Dick put a finger up to his lips and proclaimed loudly, “Enough talk!”

“It’s time to sail the waves of puss, Ned, and the tide is high!”


Sighing, Ned, walked outside of Avalanche HQ alongside his team captain.







And you can laugh
A spineless laugh

Sitting on a stump, a large field stretching out behind him, The Nefarious One looks down. He reaches to his side and grabs a small stone, inspecting it briefly prior to tossing it at the still water, watching as it gently skips several times. Each impact with the lake brings tiny ripples that stretch out across the liquid canvas. And in a few moments, it returns to a blank, still state.

“Sometimes, you just don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“When I was first announced as a member of Team Powers, I was…”



“Well, I was less than enthusiastic, let’s just say. And while I’ve yet to completely accept that a walking penis joke could be a competent captain, I can at least say that the man knew how to comprise a team. That’s a leap in capability compared to the people choosing their circle of friends over talented alternatives, those just grasping at the chance to include a renowned champion on their team, or Thaddeus Duke. I never thought I would say this, but I am lucky to be a member of Dick’s Puss-Pounder Crew or whatever he decides to call us. Instead of taking down people with returning legend Jim Caedus or free agent extraordinaire Geri Vayden, I could be stuck pulling the weight of an entire team that can’t even support the weight of it’s captain. I could’ve been drafted by Charlie Nickles.”

“Did you know that some people still take Charlie Nickles seriously? That was a trick question. Nobody ever did. The only thing accurate about his whole team’s schtick is that he is, indeed, a one-man clown car. That said, I wish that there were as many people stuffed inside of Charlie as he pretended there are because at least then maybe one of them would be worth a damn. His legacy and perception have the structural integrity of a bean-bag chair and they stand on as many legs. I wanna give you a quick tip, Charlie, one that your teammates can appreciate: Call up Lane or Pryce and cancel. Stay at home that Sunday because there is nothing those three would like more than the possibility of a real leader and if you’re expecting them to carry your ass across the arctic like a pack of huskies, you’ll quickly find that you’re only assuring a slow, painful death for you all. You drafted an entire group superior to yourself and that bar is so absolutely low that you still built a palace of garbage. Sure, it might look nice in terms of pure composition, but trash that looks nice still belongs in the landfill. The real tragedy of it all is that you likely looked at your one victory over Ned and wrote me off just for the face I happen to wear. I want to make something very clear for you, Charlie. You could stow-away on Bezos’s little rocket and kiss the edge of the heavens and you still wouldn’t be half near my level. You are an ant to me, both in terms of sheer skill and how little I will acknowledge you while you’re crushed beneath my boot. Hell, for all of the shit I will throw Ned’s way, his fiance never chose to leave him. Yours did. I suppose it is slightly poetic that we will be meeting here, on one hand. You were there, albeit in one of your many failed attempts to be anyone else but yourself, when I first entered this company. You know who else was there? R.L. Edgar. You know where he is now? No? Consider your old buddy a vision of things to come.”

“Speaking of old R.L., I suppose I’m expected to provide a few words on his cousin or whatever inbred relative you turn out to be. Point is, Dolly, it’s promo manners to provide about a paragraph or so worth of discussion on an opponent and I just don’t know if I can justify that for you. Why, the words in this singular sentence likely outnumber your entire vocabulary. Let’s cut the shit and address why you’re really here. It’s not because of any spectacular action on your part. Your entire return was carried by the fact that you used to be somebody. Nowadays, you just got a spot on Nickles’ team because you share some stray DNA with one of the few people who have managed to tolerate him. I’d say you got drafted due to name recognition, but Charlie is as likely to remember you as I am, Holly.”

“And while we’re on the subject of unremarkable specimens, we would be remiss not to mention Marf! Talk about a fellow who pales in comparison entirely to his tag team partner. I believe Cooper once called you Marfy Janetty back at HQ and I can’t help but agree with the snide assessment. You have been made completely and utterly obsolete by the person who’s supposed to be your closest confidant and partner and it’s only a matter of time before she realizes that you’re not a stepping stone, but a boulder chained to her ankle. But even her being infinitely more talented, respected, recognizable, and beloved than you, that still doesn’t make her good! If I remember correctly, Caedus made a very good show of decrowning your better half and making it look easy. In fact, he was the only member of APEX in that show to walk out with gold on his waist. Do you get it, Marf? No amount of your professional leeching will work here. There are no winners on your team to drag you kicking and screaming to victory, so you’ll have to make due just being dead weight on your own for once. It would be a noticeable improvement!”


Gritting his teeth, Ned realizes who he has yet to discuss.

“That leaves one man, doesn’t it? The only person on that team that has ever struck fear into an opponent, let alone an entire federation. But that’s not the man coming out with the C-show wonders, is it? Couldn’t be. And everyone’s well aware of it. I remember when you first returned and you kept babbling backstage about your old team. About Ned. I was so prepared to tear you apart and torment you. Take the face of the future you looked so brightly towards and make it spit in your eyes as Ned got a front row seat to your complete and utter deconstruction. Believe it or not, Robert, even The Nefarious One can hold respect. You were going to be the sight of my ultimate accomplishment. My triumph. But look at you. The boogeyman creeping in the closet, just out of sight, has become Mike Wazowski, each pathetic, sniveling word lacking the terrifying aura that made him infamous. I was going to break the man who had an endlessly growing list of accomplishments, but in his stead is one who simply reads from a list of accolades that has been set in stone. Maybe it is the twisted sentimentality I get from Ned’s long list of memories, but I can find no joy in the knowledge that I will destroy you at War Games. There is no prestige in beating you now. There is no glory to be had in slaying you. Not anymore. Y’know, it reminds me of a story I heard once, years ago.”

“There was this pup. Fastest of the litter. His owner found out the dog’s speed after going to this lake by a wide open field and hunting ducks. Whenever he fired his shotgun and the dog heard “bang!” that hound would rocket over to the plummeting bird and come back in half the time that any of his siblings could. Well, after a while, that pup was now a little older and his owner thought that maybe he could do well as a racing dog. So, after a few short months, that dog was no longer the fastest of the litter, but the fastest at the track. Maybe even the quickest in the country or on the planet. And everyone loved to cheer for this hound as he won again and again, each achievement greater than the last. Crowds would travel the country to see that dog run.”


Ned pauses, taking a deep breath as his voice begins to shake.

“After a few good years of this, one day that hound is out racing on the track, keeping up and outpacing a much younger dog and during the key moment of this showdown, the older dog’s legs buckle. And he loses. Now everyone is wondering what’s next for that hound and whenever his owner watches him run, he can see that poor canine hurt himself as he tries to run as fast as he used to. To sprint like he thinks he can. Then, for every subsequent race, that dog goes from being in the top 3, to the top 5, and then slides back further and further into the rankings, each run bringing more pain to this animal and more disgrace to his legacy. Each loss sapping a little more and more of this hound’s dignity.”

Tears begin to well up in Kaye’s eyes, as he gulps, fighting back a surge of emotion.

“So, the owner takes this old dog and brings him to his favorite place, the field by that lake. And he gives this old, loyal companion his favorite meal. Then, when the beautiful sun is adjacent to them, just beginning to sink below the horizon, he pulls out that 12-gauge and-”

He stops himself, tears beginning to drip down his cheeks.

“What did you once say, Robert? That the end is the best part of any story? How’s this for an ending? A single gunshot rings across the field. A flock of birds scatters at the sound. The owner leaves that lake without a dear friend, but the dog leaves that lake with his dignity intact.”

Ned Kaye gets to his feet, wiping his eyes.

“I will be the best part of your story, Robert.”



"You can't run from yourself."
[Image: riNkNZw.png]
XWF
Wins | Losses | Draws
52 | 37 | 4


Indie Darling Eternal

#33 on The XWF Top 50(2021)
1x Tag Team Champion[with Isaiah King](Current)
2x [Image: CbviDqC.png] (Former)
1x X-Treme Champion(Former)
The Final Supercontinental Champion
1x Television Champion(Former)
Star of the Month - April 2019 | March 2021 | December 2022
RP of the Month - March 2021 (Void of the Mind)
Winner - Leap Of Faith Rafter Match 2019
1x 24/7 Briefcase Holder
Winner - War Games 2023(With Mark Flynn, Isaiah King, & Crash Rodriguez as G00D-B01)


All Time Career(Interfed)
Wins | Losses | Draws
52 | 38 | 4
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[-] The following 10 users Like Ned Kaye's post:
ALIAS (07-25-2021), Charlie Nickles (07-24-2021), Dick Powers (07-25-2021), Doctor Louis D'Ville (08-01-2021), Dolly Waters (07-24-2021), JimCaedus (07-24-2021), Lycana (08-01-2021), Miss Fury (07-25-2021), Theo Pryce (08-01-2021), Thunder Knuckles™ (07-24-2021)




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