Well folks, it's time for the most exciting part of all of this, where I pretty much dictate George's next promo.

"But Bobby, whatever do you mean?"

Well, let’s start from the top.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital. It's a haven for some of the most unfortunate souls on Earth. You don't want to wind up here, count your blessings you aren't. Simply put, it's where kids go to fight and die for the sake of making some sort of advancement so more kids won't die from one form of cancer or another eating them alive from the inside. The photos you see, the heart wrenching ad spots you get here and there showcase the brighter side, or as bright as it gets. The adorable doomed in vibrant clothes, looking upbeat and hopeful, belie the many who aren't quite so photogenic. The destitute and hopeless children waiting to transition from a bed to the morgue. In other words, a prime location for those attempting to save face and seem wholesome to make appearances.

On that note, we see a heavily banged up red stretch Humvee sputter up to the front of the building. The commotion of this extravagant jalopy causes quite a stir as passers-by watch. The onlookers are equally as baffled as the driver exits the vehicle, a few empty Bud Light cans clattering onto the pavement as he does. Thunder Knuckles drops trow and begins to relieve himself then and there.

Bobby, wake the fuck up!

A moment later the passenger door opens and Bobby Bourbon steps out. He yawns and stretches, wearing a t-shirt that reads "I Beat Ovarian Cancer".

We’re already here?

TK pulls his pants up and sneers at a group of onlookers.

Yeah, and these shit heads have a fucking staring problem.

They’re just starstruck.

Whatever. You sure you wanna be doing this?

Absolutely.

I don’t fucking get it. You're gonna be reeking of dying kids after you get done in there, you're going to get dying kid all over you.

Hogwash.

Bobby turns to TK.

They bathe the kids.

Whatever, not well enough so they don't die.

TK hops into the red stretch hummer and peels out, nearly hitting two people. Bobby looks around and shrugs.

Welp, let’s do this. Time to grant a few wishes.

Bobby enters the hospital. He's immediately greeted by a member of security staff. The guard looks at Bobby, in his ostentatious shirt, suspiciously.

Hello, sir, can I help you?

The tenor of the question seems anything but helpful.

Yes, I'm here to visit with patients, I was sent by the XWF.

Bobby grins. The security guard checks his workstation. As he does, Bobby averts his gaze, hoping he can bullshit his way into the hospital for some much needed PR material. The guard looks back up.

Centurion?

Bobby’s eyes go wide for a moment before he looks back at the guard.

Yes, that's me. Good ole' Centurion, beloved XWF mainstay.

The guard nods having done just enough work to get back to diddly fucking around on his computer. He hands Bobby a badge that reads 'VISITOR'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, what do you wanna discuss next for me?

You did the goofy thing everyone does in pointing out where I lost in the past. Ooh, how innovative! You can keep trying to convince yourself I'm nothing to worry about, but that’s going to come crumbling on down as soon as I bash you in the mush. Yeah, good call, ignore the victories I've held, don't learn anything.

Your future is looking bleak.

So I figure I would give you a few legitimate talking points now, seeing as you couldn’t really come up with anything fresh besides digging into a War Games event where I was definitely and absolutely outgunned. Why not talk more about Relentless, hmm? Cat got your tongue regarding the main event of night one?

That's okay, George, you're going to burn it all, be the fire! I haven't noticed the heat, though, you're probably going to have to dial it up. Maybe in the future. Definitely not now. You aren't getting hotter than I am.

So, maybe you can talk about the phenomenal talent you've beaten this year. There was old over-the-hill Doc, not once but twice! Neato. I guess if you, yourself, beat me at War Games when Dolly did, which is the goofy point you made to yourself, then I beat Doc too even though he wasn't in any match I was booked in. If we're going to use goofy silly logic, well, by all means. Then there was the murderers row of talent in, uh, who exactly? Look, if you want to impart some knowledge on me bud, why don't you just explain what it's like to lose to Lycana. I haven't.

Eh, I'm kidding, I don't give a shit about your resume or your past, but if you wanna blind yourself dwelling on mine I won't stop you. I mean, sure, you wouldn't have the backbone to keep going if you went through what I did. Nobody is doubting that. As for what exactly makes me the 'Great' Bobby Bourbon, well, you’re going to have to ask around and ask yourself. A gentleman never asks and a lady never tells.

Now I get it, I get it, I addressed a few of the things you mentioned, but I'd be an idiot not to. Unless you say I'm an idiot for doing so. You're gonna be contrarian either way, and I'm not coming to Savage for an argument.

This fool has been blinded like Geordi La Forge, eat 'em all, stupid, go ahead and gorge, bring your fire I'm tempered, my soul's iron in a forge, you? You're just little old George. Meet me in the squared circle and we can have our dispute, the bullshit that you spew ain't there for me to refute. Keep on telling yourself what you wanna hear and think it sounds cute but you'd sound a lot smarter if you put yourself on mute. Go ahead and give me a tune lil songbird, sing it loud and proud, crow it so it can be heard! Hold it near and dear, every stanza, each word, because to everybody else you're just a broken record. Who gives a rats ass about what you think, opinions are like assholes don't pretend your shit don't stink. I live on the edge while you teeter on the brink, and the truth of it all is you're only as strong as your weakest link. This ain't some frilly silly gangstabilly allegory, I beat up all your hangers-on now to finish the story. Betsy, Lycana, Marf, and you're too chickenshit to face Corey, now the Universal Champion is this here Tyrannosaur's quarry. I'm not a legend or a creature, I don't come wearing a crown. I'm just a man with the tools to come put you down. Sometimes a beast, other times I'm a clown, but bring your fire, I'll bring my flood and you can drown.

Now, fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can almost smell the dingy gym by looking at it. The weathered leather on the bench is cracked, the padding gone in places, worn away from decades of sweat and use. The place is almost empty save for two bodies. One is a guy watching himself in the mirror as he does biceps curls with some ancient looking dumbbells. The other, Bobby Bourbon, is standing at a heavy bag, slugging away at it. The bag sways and rocks with every blow the big man nails it with, a crater formed from the impact his fists are making into it. The chains rattle uncontrollably as Bobby lays a right into the bag.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he leaves St. Jude's, Bobby looks more than shaken. Something had occured within. The red stretch Humvee pulls up, half mounted on the curb. Bobby opens the passenger side door, and as he does, it comes completely off the vehicle. Still holding the door in the air, Bobby looks at it.

I think the door is broken.

Yeah. C'mon, you gotta train the fuck up.

Bobby turns and places the door on the sidewalk. He climbs into the passenger seat and straps on his seatbelt. The vehicle peels off, and in turn we get a view from within, facing both Bobby and TK. TK sips from the beer in his right hand, his left on the wheel. Bobby takes a deep breath.

So?

A needle pulling thread.

TK toasts silently to Bobby.

You're being god damned awful quiet.

Bobby shrugs.

Did you get cancer from one of those god damned kids?

That isn't how cancer works.

Did you hear that from Fauci or any of the assholes at DARPA?

DARPA?

Yeah, they’re up to fucking something.

Bobby sighs again. As TK pulls up to a red light, Bobby undoes the buckle to his seatbelt.

Where are you going?

I think I’m just going to go and be in the woods for a while, get lost or something.

The fuck are you doing that for?

I gotta do some soul searching.

And you think it’s in the woods?

I think it’s in the woods.

Bobby hops out of the stretch red humvee and wanders off into the treeline.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We see Bobby beside a stack of wooden palettes. On the ground beside him is a red gasoline container. He picks up the container and douses the stack with petroleum.

So, I reckon you've figured out I'm the creator here.

Bobby lays the plastic container on the stack of wood. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an old fashioned metal lighter. He opens it.

George, all a flame and fire is are, well, reactions. They're not in control, not even of themselves. A flame will eat and eat it's fuel until it's burned out. Creating that spark, however?

Bobby ignites the lighter.

Not too difficult, but the fire is still just a chemical reaction. Fuel, oxygen, and heat.

Bobby tosses the lighter onto the pile of flammable material. It goes up in a blaze.

Starting a fire is one thing. I'ma snuff one out.