Centurion isn't the only one benefiting off of his return to wrestling glory.

It has been an interesting year for Nellie Cortinovis. She started the year as a member of the Wildwood Crest School Board, with many folks talking about her as a future governor of New Jersey. Unfortunately for her, those plans would be dashed, as she lost her re-election bid. This, however, was merely a sad footnote in an otherwise amazing year - one that has seen her become her father's manager, rake in endorsement deals, and above all else - cash. And with that cash comes a lifestyle she's been adopting as her own.

We open up inside the private jet of Centurion in Tampa Bay, Florida. The plane is grounded and parked in a hanger at the Tampa Bay International Airport. Inside the plane, we do not see Centurion - rather, we see Nellie and her fiance, Erin. The sound of loud music blares throughout the plane, and a layer of smoke hangs in the air. Sitting side by side are Nellie and Erin, with their eyes closed and their heads tilted back. They both have joints in their mouth, and are just enjoying life.

"They doing a good job?" Nellie asks in a relaxed, calm tone. Erin just lets out a "Mmmm" as a response, and neither open their eyes. Nellie takes the joint out of her mouth just long enough to grab a beer that is sitting next to her. She takes a drink, sets the bottle back down, and puts the joint back in her mouth.

"I can get used to this as a Christmas tradition." Erin says with a giant smile on her face.

"Maybe next year I can book something for Dad in Puerto Rico." Nellie responds, and they both laugh. Nellie let's out a slight moan as she takes a hit of her joint, and the two continue to vibe…

...until the music in the plane shuts off.

"What the fuck?!" A familiar voice screams from the front of the plane.

Startled, Nellie and Erin both quickly open their eyes to spot Centurion standing in the front of the plane. He has his arms crossed, and is staring a hole into Nellie. Nellie and Erin both quickly put their marijuana cigarettes out as they scramble to find a blanket.

"You're supposed to be doing a meet and greet!" Nellie says, her voice shaking.

"They cancelled it." Centurion responds. "Omicron. What in the actual fuck are you two doing?"

In the commotion, two scantily clad, dark skinned girls stand up from in front of Nellie and Erin, their heads previously hidden from the seats in front of them. They both turn to look at Centurion.

"Who's the old guy?" One of the girls says in a thick Latin accent. "I thought we agreed no dudes."

"GET OUT!" Centurion yells, causing the two ladies to quickly get to their feet, grab their remaining clothes and bags, and run out of the plane. Centurion slowly walks up to Nellie and Erin, who both put their heads down, knowing they are in a lot of trouble. Centurion stops a few feet from them and puts his hand on the back of a seat as he glares at Nellie.

"I don't care what kind of lifestyle you live." Centurion begins in a lecturing tone. "If the two of you want to bang chicks in every state, have a blast. If you want to be a pothead, go for it. All I ask is that everything you do, you do safely, and you're a pretty smart person, so I don't have to give you that speech. HOWEVER! I do have two rules. Number one, I still pay you, so when I'm working, YOU'RE working! I don't care if you just act busy - you're not going to be carrying on when you're on the clock. Number two, while you may be my manager, this is MY plane. It's used to travel, and to occasionally take a nap in. It is not used as a hookup device, or to flex on the local population. Got it?"

Nellie just nods her head, but Erin begins to cry. Centurion's angry face turns into one of confusion and worry as he glances over at her.

"Why are you crying?" He inquires.

"Hem mah mer herr blemmm…" Erin tries to answer, but it comes out as a blubbering mess. Centurion glances over at Nellie, who looks back at him with a blank expression.

"She can get pretty sensitive." Nellie says. "Also, she's kind of intimidated by you."

"Really?" Centurion questions, taken aback by this fact. "I guess yelling probably didn't help that fact, did it."

"No." Nellie says plainly. "You just gotta let her cry it out." Nellie glances over at Erin, who continues weeping despite not even paying attention to the conversation anymore. Nellie looks back at Centurion. "And I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Centurion responds bluntly. "Just don't do it again. Now…" Centurion turns around and faces away from Nellie and Erin. "...make yourself decent so we can discuss business."

The sound of Nellie and Erin scrambling behind Centurion can be heard. After a few seconds, the sound of the two of them sitting back down can be heard, and Centurion turns back around to face them. Erin is wiping tears from her face while Nellie pulls up a smart tablet and begins clicking on it.

"What's next?" Centurion asks as Nellie scrolls through her schedule on her smart pad.

"Well, we're ahead of schedule... obviously." Nellie says as she glances up at Centurion briefly. "We're not expected to get into Savage until tomorrow morning. We can either fly back to Chicago, or we can stay here and relax for a bit."

"I'd rather go home and relax." Centurion says as he exhales. "I'm going to be sleeping in enough hotels over the next few days as it is. Where the hell are we going, anyway? The North Pole?!"

"Northern Canada." Nellie factually responds. "Another one of Vinnie Lane's weird investment opportunities."

"I hope this isn't Leap of Faith all over again." Centurion responds. "That whole "we're going to the Moon!" thing was the dumbest shit I've ever seen."

"I think this place is actually real." Nellie says in return. "At least, I found it on Google maps, so there must at least be something there."

"I still hate this." Centurion says as he sits down in a chair across from Nellie and pulls out his cell phone. "I can't believe I have to fly all the way to some artic tundra to fight Michael Graves of all fucking people."

"And Rampage." Nellie corrects him.

"Yeah, him too." Centurion says off handedly. "I just feel like this whole thing is a waste of time, but hey, what do I know? I'm sure half the people backstage think I'm going to fall on my face in this one." Centurion presses a few buttons on his smartphone and holds it up to his ear. "Javier? I'm ready to go now." Instantly, the engines of the jet begin to fire up, and Centurion sets his phone down next to him. He takes a deep breath as he lays his head back and closes his eyes. "At least you hot boxed this thing."

------Dripping In Harmony, Like Fifth------

We reopen somewhere in the Arctic Circle. There, we see snow falling, and the land almost completely bare and desolate while covered in snow. The only one crazy enough to be standing in a place like this is Centurion, who is wearing a giant coat with the hood up. He looks into the camera and speaks.

"This area of wasteland is the site of this week's Saturday Night Savage. On Christmas Day, folks will be gathering around their television sets to watch the festivities from the North Pole.

...yeah, right.

I know I'm supposed to be a "company guy" and say that everyone should make Savage a part of their schedule on Saturday, but...I mean, come on. Look at this card. You can festive it up all you want - put the match on the North Pole, fill the ring with Christmas ornaments - but in the end, you're still asking people to spend time away from their families to watch Charlie Nickels and Elijah Martin get in a tickle fight. Which makes me wonder - did the XWF put out a lackluster card BECAUSE it's Christmas, and they knew no one was going to watch? Who knows."

Centurion pulls out a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He goes to put it in his mouth, but the wind blows the cigarette right out of his mouth. He frowns as he looks off into the direction it flew, before turning back to the camera.

"Take my match, for instance. A couple weeks ago, I was in a triple threat match against Betsy Granger and Marf. Two legitimate contenders, one of whom is one of the best wrestlers in the world. Big money match with big implications. This week, on Christmas, the XWF has the opportunity to put me into another big match. And who do they choose?

Michael. Fucking. Graves."

Centurion pulls out a flask from his jacket pocket. He opens it up and goes to take a swig, but nothing comes out. He turns the flask over, and nothing drips from it, indicating the liquid has frozen inside. Centurion casually closes the flask and puts it back in his pocket.

"Seriously, XWF, can we stop trying to make Michael Graves a thing? How many times are we going to give this creepy fucker a chance before we all come to the conclusion that he just isn't worth the massive headache that he brings the entire federation? I don't care whose body he inhabits - he's still Michael Graves. He's still much more known for the horrible things he does than the achievements he has in the ring. He's an honest to goodness terrible wrestler, and yet somehow, he still finds himself getting work.

He seriously needs to go. I'm all for second chances, but Graves is on chance number 12. I thought I had taken care of him once and for all, when I buried him and his sister in law two years ago, but of course, the XWF couldn't pass up the opportunity to give him more money, and they brought him back through the curtain, showing once again that the XWF doesn't have a screening process when it comes to who they hand money out to.

And I know Michael thinks this is our first encounter, but I assume he means it's our first encounter in that skinny ass body he's in now. We've faced off before, a few times, and much like the other members of his family, he was never able to beat me. Not that any of that matters - whether this was our first time or our 100th time, it's still incredibly clear how much better I am in the ring compared to him. Like...it's not even close. It's honestly embarrassing how big the gap is."

Centurion pulls out a lighter from his jacket pocket. He takes one of his gloves off and lights the lighter before placing the flame under the palm of his hand, just to feel some warmth. He slips the glove back on and puts the lighter away.

"I can only assume the XWF is keeping a big time match with me under wraps until they get past the holiday season and the viewership bounces back up. I can only hope anyway. If they continue to waste my time by putting me in matches with Michael Graves, I may just move to UGWC full time. At least there I'm not in the ring with any rapists…

...that I know of. Gabriel Baal is kind of sus, to be honest.

Still, we know what Michael Graves has done in the past, including what he did to Vinnie Lane himself, and yet Vinnie continues to let him roam around the federation completely unchallenged. Maybe he's into that kind of stuff. Maybe if Graves chloroforms Vinnie and tosses him into an unmarked van, Vinnie will give him a Universal Title shot. Kick Vinnie in the nuts a couple of times, and Graves will have an entire pay per view to himself. It can be called "Cock And Ball Torture", and every wrestler in the world will be invited to partake in a battle royal, winner gets to watch Graves sodomize Vinnie Lane. What a yuletide carol, indeed.

We all know what's going to happen here on Christmas night. Let's not pretend like the future isn't already determined. I will be taking Michael Graves, and tossing him through a bunch of Christmas bobbles and do-dads. And when it's all said and done, I'm going to leave Michael Graves bleeding on the mat after he meets his…

FINAL FAN…"

Centurion stops, and he puts up one finger. He stops walking for a second, as he looks to be pondering something.

"Wait, wait...I almost forgot. There is another wrestler in this match. The giant Rampage is also joining us in this Festivus Shindig. I almost forgot because, well...quite simply, he's almost forgotten, but I guess I should at least acknowledge his presence, if only for a little bit.

Rampage is on the record books as a former champion in the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. I think that just goes to show you the revolving door of champions we can get in this place sometimes. Sure, you can get your dominant champions who hold on to a belt for a long time and make a name for themselves, but then you also have your Rampages. Your Felix Joneses. Your Alexis Medvedes. Wrestlers that find themselves on the official list of champions, but when you really take a step back and think about it, all you can find yourself asking is "who?"

Rampage's title reign was less impactful than the invasion of the XWF - and I don't mean the OCW one, I mean the Revolution1 one. Rampage somehow makes Michael Graves look more competent, which is an absolutely unbelievable thing to think about. Dude was inside Peter Gilmore's bloated corpse and was also kinda maybe a werewolf and yet somehow he looks like fucking Lee Stone next to Rampage. This reminds me of that old saying.

The bigger they are, the harder they suck.

My only concern is that I'm going to beat Michael Graves so badly that I may end up getting distracted, allowing Rampage to awkwardly stumble on top of the dude for a three count. Maybe the key is to get rid of Rampage first. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do.

Sorry, big man, but you gotta die. Or, at the very least, get humiliated so bad that you decide to pursue a career in acting. I just can't take the risk."

Centurion stops walking as he reaches the outside of an igloo. He goes to step inside, but turns back to the camera before he does.

"You should see it in there. Fucking beautiful.

Merry Christmas, XWF faithful. For those of you so dedicated to our product that you're actually going to watch the show, I apologize in advance. You're not going to get a great wrestling match. What you're going to get is a bitter old man who's mad he had to fly to Canada on Christmas to beat up a couple of nobodies. But hey, if that's what you're into, then you're in luck. Stay safe, keep your chestnuts warm, and enjoy an absolute blood bath to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

The XWF is so fucking strange."