Madame Maluna’s Metaphysical Megastore is where our adventure begins. The once meager little mystic shop where XWF megastar, Dolly Waters, began practicing the art of black magic and witchcraft, has been transformed into a thriving corporate stronghold for all things witchy.

Fluorescent lit aisle ways carve through shelves stacked with mass manufactured goods, such as spell books, raven feathers, the skeletal remains of small mammals, starter tarot decks and the like. But no item in this WalMart for witches and warlocks is moving faster than the very item that manifested its success in the first place: ‘Dolly’s Divine Timing’.

It’s a third-eye-chakra tea that claims to give its consumers the ability to see into the future. All they have to do is read the tea leaves left at the bottom of their cups. How on earth, you might wonder, could people be so gullible? Well, with a proper marketing ploy, you can make most people believe anything. Especially when your targeted consumer base is that of the credulous wrestling fan. After all, there exists a heavy contingency of XWF fans who believe all sorts of nonsense, like for example:

That Jenny Myst is interesting outside of being a case study on the chauvinistic exploitation of women…

Or,

That Thunder Knuckles is capable of achieving success without his hand being held by Bobby Bourbon…

Or,

That Doctor Louis D’Ville ever stood a chance of defeating ALIAS before withering away into a shameful obscurity…

Or,

That all the losses Mark Wright has suffered is just some bad beginner’s luck…

And with fans dumb enough to believe these sorts of things, it’s easy to see how a proper marketing ploy might lead them to guzzling Dolly’s tea by the gallon.

Only the marketing ploy Dolly hatched wasn’t just proper.

It was perfect…

Some might even say it was Divinely inspired when it all culminated at XWF MayDay 2. The event that catapulted her market-cornering tea onto the world stage, as well as cornering up a draft order for XWF War Games that put Dolly in a prime draft position during the captain’s match.

We see jittery, tea addicted simps pack the Megastore by the dozens. They’re clawing for the intentionally short-stocked product that Dolly has been peddling for months and rushing it to the registers.

The store’s great beneficiary, Madame Maluna, accepts their hard earned dollars with a devious smile. The once struggling but spiritual, and hermit-like tarot reader, appears to have all of her wishes of success and prosperity coming true, all thanks to Dolly’s Divine Timing.

But where is Dolly in all of this?

One might think that a little cretin as obsessed with pomp and fame as Dolly is, would be basking in the glow of such a calculated marketing scheme gone-well. But Madame Maluna’s long awaited wish of finally counting substantial amounts of cash in her register is just a front for a bigger, more MONSTROUS count that’s happening in the back of the store…

”...and now for the last stack.”

Patel Gagendepp, the trusted assistant to Dolly Waters, piles in a tower of fifty-dollar bills into an automatic money counting machine. He pulls the green, translucent visor from his forehead and pats at some sweat with the back of his forearm. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he looks across the tight, smoky walls of this dark and shady little office. He peers into the eyes of his employer Dolly Waters who watches Patel with her arms folded, leaning against a wall of dirty cash money.     

There’s an intense, swelling silence between the two of them, as Patel looks down at his series of calculators and count sheets. He takes a hefty pull from his cigarette, and slowly pulls a finger up toward the button on the money counting machine.

…what are you waiting for?!

Dolly’s break of the silence breaks Patel. He slams his hands on his accountant station and bursts from his chair,

What am I waiting for?!

Ms. Waters, what are YOU waiting for?!

You’ve had me locked in this room since MayDay, counting this money you schemed from those poor, unsuspecting fans at the gates for worthless Limp Bizkit tickets, over, and over.

And for what?!

What’s your play here?

You go out and put on some uninspired performance in the Captains Match, and then you draft your best friend on a team with one of his sworn enemies, Unknown Soldier? And then draft a man you ambushed in Dionysus?

PFFT!

Whatever Patel, who was I supposed to take after Corey?

Some infantile podunk who simps BOB because of their lean toward dumpster humor like Crash Rodriguez?

Or even worse…

Some inbred meth addict who’s perfected the art of losing matches like Mark Wright? If I wanted to draft a shitty, overplayed stereotype of a country bumpkin antihero I would’ve asked my father to enter the draft.

Sure, I could’ve drafted Isaiah King too. Another goddamn cliche wrapped in a cliche.

But instead, I’ve got a Hall of Legends member, and a former Universal Champion in Unknown Soldier. Not mentioning the man who just snagged the TV title away from King in Dionysus… I’ve got exactly the team I need to unleash upon Tokyo.

As for Corey’s drama with Soldier, he and I have already spoken and he’s on board with-

wHaT?!?!!!

Patel slams a fist onto the desk,

You mean to tell me that Corey is privy to this scheme, but not ME?! The very person you’ve tasked with the lunacy of counting this stolen money, over and over?! You don’t appreciate me at all, Dolly! I should just take my talents ELSEWHERE!!!!

Jesus, Gag! You sound more butt-hurt than jEnNy…

oH dId sOmEoNe mEnTiOn mE?! i’M sTiLl hErE dOlLy, dO yOu sTiLl tHiNk aBoUt mE?!

The latex sex-doll that Dolly brought to life by conjuring the essence of Jenny Myst’s spirit, MYSTeriously pops into the scene. She’s been a part of Dolly’s entourage for months now, but everyone mostly ignores her existence. She’s a walking, talking sex-doll for crying out loud. 

Both Patel and Dolly cringe at the sound of her voice, before refocusing on the argument at hand,

-anyway- of course I had to let Corey in on the plan. He ain’t like us, Gag.

Corey is a man of integrity, and virtue. A true good-doer, and truly, outside of being my best friend, he’s the best goddamn wrestler in this entire WarGames field.

I need him fully on board.

I ain’t stupid enough to act like I don’t need him to win. Like the way Thunder Knuckles will certainly try to paint his drafting of Dawk as some backward, and ironic indication that he’s able to succeed without a clearly superior partner holding his hand in Bobby.

Everything is in motion, I just need you to finish counting the goddamn money and quit questioning me!

But Dolly’s steering of the narrative does little to quell Patel’s indignant attitude. And though he might look back at recent history and understand that, as unorthodox as her strategies have appeared on the surface, Dolly has yet to necessarily lead him astray, Patel can’t help but feel that this time she’s royally screwed up. Afterall, she’s entering as captain in a WarGames contest themed around a battle of giant monsters, the Kaijus. Whatever in the fuck that was supposed to mean. And with little time to spare she’s done little to prepare or actually lead her team, and instead all the time has been spent-

Counting the goddamn money?

He grits through his teeth,

Ive counted these filthy, hippie sweat soaked bills six-hundred and sixty-five godforsaken times! And the result is the same every. Single! Time!

The total is:

Fifty- -

COUNT IT!

She screams while slapping him in the face. Patel’s finger inadvertently slams the button on the money counting machine as he falls back from the slap. The bills begin rolling and clicking through the mechanism of the machine. The red digital numbers are lighting up and climbing at a ferocious rate. The final bill counts, and the machine stops on a number.

The bewildered and worn Patel pulls himself up, leaning over the accountant station with an intoxicated poise. He writes down the number in a log, then types it into a calculator and presses the addition button,

…the final count… panting, …for the six-hundredth, sixty-sixth time…

Dolly glares down upon him as he announces,

…a sum total of fifty-million, and five hundred dollars

Then by the divine it’s verified.

what’s verified? That you scammed the MayDay 2 audience out of an obscene fortune?

Dolly just smiles, and produces her cellphone.

Don't you wish it were that simple?

She pulls the phone to her ear,

- - -yes, Matiur? - - -

A thick sounding accent can be faintly heard coming through the other end of the phone speaker,

- - -yes, this is the dumb gypsy girl. I have the money. It’s all been accounted fer’, now bring me the-

Before Dolly can even finish her sentence, the door to the office is kicked in. A small army of middle eastern  men wearing suits and turbans barge in with empty body bags

Matiur?!

She points one of them out in particular,

Yes, dumb gypsy girl?

Where’s the lamp?

A frightened look of incredulity washes over Patel’s face as he mouths to himself: ‘lamp?’

Lamp? You no buying lamp, dumb gypsy girl.

The fuck I ain’t!

As Dolly’s coils with aggression toward Matiur, she and Patel suddenly find themselves at the end of dozens of AK-47 barrels. Dolly slowly raises her hands in the air as Matiur approaches her smiling, reaching into his suit jacket.

The fuck…you…is… isn’t?

He bends his brow, having to think seriously about the reverse of Dolly’s phrase

Bah!

His hand bursts from his suit jacket. Dolly squeezes her eyes shut.

After a moment or two of silence, Dolly realizes she’s still alive. Pulling her eyes open, she sees dangling before her exactly what she’s just spent the 50 million dollars she worked so hard to scam the MayDay2 audience out of…

A tattered piece of leathery looking paper, with faded scribbles of hieroglyphs and other unintelligible languages on it,

You buying ancient map of hidden temple in Cairo, where magic Djinn lamp is located

Dolly’s eyes go wide,

But this whuddant the deal, dude! I wanted the Djinn lamp

Matiur let’s out a nervous chuckle,

I no risk my men in the Cairo ruins for the Wishmonger. You want power like that, you get it yourself.

And with that, Dolly is left holding an ancient map in her hands, as Matiur’s men gather the 50 million in cash, stuffing it into the empty body bags.

As the room clears out, Dolly lifts her eyes from the ancient map, and spots Patel. He’s standing with his arms folded, tapping an annoyed foot on the floor…

Do you seriously mean to tell me that-

-that it’s time to assemble my WarGames team fer’ an adventure to retrieve a magic lamp?

One that contains a giant desert Djinn who will grant us any wish we desire- and destroy all the other monsters at WarGames?

Patel’s eyes go wide as a frightening look of calm and poise consumes Dolly,

…Yer’ goddamn right I do.

-to be continued-


There’s a hint of daybreak peaking over the horizons of an unidentified airstrip, where a vintage looking aviator aircraft is slowly illuminated by the morning’s glow. It has two large propellers marrying the wings to the base of the craft, with the capacity to transport only a handful of passengers. Emerging from the cockpit, dressed in an Amelia Earhart inspired steampunk getup, wearing a leather helmet, and goggles, is Dolly Waters.

She stops just at the base ladder to the aircraft and looks into the camera facing her,

How far are you willing to go to see yer’ wishes come true?

How many millions would you spend? To which heights would you soar? Over how many oceans would you cross? To know that you could have anything you’ve ever desired?

She pauses for a moment and takes in the aircraft, reflecting on the adventures ahead with her team, and reminiscing on the adventures long passed…

How many people would you manipulate, Dawk?

How many would you fool into the belief that you hold some fabled key to success in this industry? One that yer’ willing to share with your allies once they’ve dragged that rotting corpse of yours to the finish line… we’ve seen the story unfold enough times to know, that when Dawk wins anything it’s because he and he alone was involved, no matter if he has a partner, or not.

And when he loses?

Well, it must’ve been Chaos’ fault, or Thad’s fault, or Corey’s fault, even poor Phantom Panzer’s fault, or just insert a laundry list Dawk’s scapegoats here to understand that the Big Bad Wolf is great at huffing and puffing a bunch of hot air, but he ain’t blowing shit down. Them lungs are just too old, too filled with cigar smoke and all the smoke you’ve had blown up yer’ ass for years in the name of nostalgia for an era when people like Scully, and Peter Gilmour were Universal Champions.

How long before they figure it out, Dawk?

Poor Mark, poor Jenny, poor TK… how long before they realize that you’ve assumed the pilot's seat on the team and that you’ll be hitting the eject button just before you crash the plane into the mountains?

What do you wish for anyway? Besides another melodramatic, fiery death?

That heart of yours to finally be restored?

Well you better be wishing real hard, and chucking every shiny penny you pickup into a well deep enough to hide the scent of your bullshit, because I’m calling you on it… all of it. And you better be bringing a heart big enough to outlast what yer’ looking at now, because mines beating with a an actual purpose. While yours was beaten out of you a long time ago.

How many “brothers” would you abandon, TK? All for the sake of having your wishes come true? The wish of finally proving to everyone that you don’t need your “brothers” to prop you up for success in the ring? Oh, I already know the answer! It’s two! One Bobby and one Crash. Now, before we get to groveling over the idea that yes, I also passed up on the chance to draft Bobby Bourbon, let’s not ignore the fact being this: you and Bobby are THE no good Bastards.

I mean hell, when I saw the draft order lay out the way it did, I was relieved to know that Robin would be able to reunite with Batman.

Yer’ the Pippen to his Jordan.

The Hillary to his Bill.

The Steadman to his Oprah!

Surely to god you wouldn’t pass up that opportunity, would you?

Well, you sure proved me wrong. But I suppose it makes sense, afterall, the last time THE no good bastards teamed up in XWF they… lost to Dolly and Vita for the Tag Championships at Back To Relentless? Maybe you don’t think Bobby has what it takes anymore, maybe you just don’t trust him… maybe it’s really none of my business. Afterall, I’m one of y’all now, right?

Dolly’s a bastard, or better yet, I’m the bastards Dolly. I mean, given the trajectory of professional wrestling these days, what group doesn’t need an undersized blond headed female wrestler in their ranks? We’re all the rage. Should serve well with Jenny, right?

Before we get too hung up on qualifying exactly what any of that means, I think it’s fair we set the record straight because industrial amnesia can be quite the bitch in wrestling. But I’ll not let you forget that you Bastards approached me to join yer’ ranks, so at the end of day, save any bullshit you have about Dolly needing yer’ help as a sweet little lullaby you can whisper in Jenny’s ear to make her feel better about herself. God knows she could use the lift in morale.

And so what about you, Jenny? How many burials are you willing to endure to see your wishes realized? How many big time wrestling promotions, like the XWF, are you willing to bolt from to become a hot commodity on some podunk brand like OCW? Isn’t that what you truly desire? To be recognized, to be adored, to be patted on the head and assured that yer’ doing great. How long will it take this time for you to chase down that wish? I mean fer’ fucks sake girl, I thought we were burried and done with you now! You even look like yer’ still wearing some of that dirt I left on you back in El Paso. The only thing surprising about you being “TK’s mystery pick” is that it didn’t involve you being ordered from an OnlyFans discount selection.

Don’t you wish things had gone differently by now, Mad Dawg? After realizing what an unhinged cluster of self-serving dickwads you’ve been drafted to join? Maybe had you put forth even the slightest bit of effort between your forgettable debut, and all of the forgotten work between then and now, you wouldn’t have slipped so far in the draft. But I wouldn’t let it discourage you. Because if you wish hard enough on the brightest star you see, maybe, just maybe, TK and Jenny Myst will suddenly get good at wrestling, and yer’ bullshit team won’t be completely out of luck at WarGames.

Now, if you don't mind me... Dolly pulls the ancient map she purchased from her leather pilot jacket, My team and I have an all powerful, wish granting giant Djinn to unleash on WarGames.

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
2x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory

my loves:
[spoiler]