The smell of batter fills the air, mixing with the scent of impending bad news. Bobby Bourbon stands in the middle of the kitchen, grinning like a kid who’d just been handed the keys to a candy store. The apron tied around his waist reads Eat Mine, but the look in his eyes suggests Try Me and Die might be more appropriate. Thunder Knuckles walks through the swinging doors, shoulders hunched, scowl plastered on his face. He snatched an apron off of a hook like it insulted him.

Bro,

TK grumbles, eyeing the flour and ingredients scattered across the countertop.

Why the hell are we cooking flapjacks?

Bobby’s grins.

It’s a charity pancake breakfast.

TK freezes while tying his apron, staring at Bobby like he’d just confessed to joining a boy band.

Charity? I don’t believe in no goddamn charity!

Bobby sighs, the kind of sigh that says ‘I knew this was coming’.

They blanked all the Xbux.

TK’s eyes snap open.

What the fuck do you mean they blanked all the Xbux? Are you misremembering and meaning they wiped out everybody’s Xbox account or did they…

You’re bankrupt.

The words hit TK harder than a steel chair to the back of the head. His fists and jaw clench in anger before shouting.

HOW THE FUCK, BOBBY, DID YOU-

Fuck no! I didn’t do shit! I just took some money from Ozzy. We still have his coffers. I haven’t told Mark or Schism yet, but I kinda… used it to open a coffee shop a block from the Bastard’s Den.

So, wait, we still have Oz, we're not poor?

Nah, dude, that sucks. But some shithead decided to wipe out all the Xbux and take ‘em for himself.

TK's eyes narrow.

Wait… someone figured it out?

Thad.

TK pounded his fist into his open palm.

Son-of-a-bitch. I should’ve taken the GM job when Theo offered it. His second choice sucks huge camel balls.

Bobby just nods.

Yeah, well, we gotta repay Oz. So… pancakes. You know how it goes. He absolves us of any debt so long as we act in his will.

TK’s demeanor shifts, and Bobby is grateful TK hasn’t pulled a full Richard Powers over the loss of his beloved money. However, TK just hasn’t figured out how he’s going to get back at Thad yet.

Oh, shit. Yeah, we’re cooking some pancakes, Bobby. In the XWF, on Anarchy, because of Ozzy, and I’m amped for it!

Bobby and TK whip up pancakes for three hundred as soon as four hundred arrive. Caught under the pressure, they cooked on and whipped up another three hundred in time for seconds. More patrons came, giving money to TNGB for mere pancakes, and you gotta admit, the pancakes sound fucking delicious. Bobby starts to describe the recipe for the pancakes, but TK cuts him off.

Oh, no, this is some sacred Bastard Brew.

The Bastard Brew?

Bobby cocks an eyebrow.

Why didn’t you say so?

Bobby reaches under the counter and produces a vial of some clear liquid. Bobby drops an eyedropper of it into the pancake batter.

The tears of Christ.

The saddest of all the tears!

Blessed are the weep.

Bobby then heaps a mittful of salt into the batter, a cup of sugar (but not as much as you’d think), and self-rising cornmeal with plenty of flour into a huge bowl. He douses it with water and buttermilk. He grabs a whisk. He does some anime chef shit, impressing everybody!

Bro, you handle that, I can get cooking the meat.

Huh? We’re making pancakes…

People can pay extra for bacon!

TK starts spreading bacon across the massive griddle, and Jimmy walks into the kitchen.

Guys you have a match on Anarchy! What are you doing?

TK throws a spatula at Jimmy’s head once he notices Jimmy is in the room.

Shut the fuck up Jimmy! Thad stole all my goddamned XBUX and you didn’t tell me!

Yeah, leaving me to tell him the bad news! Just go bring those people their pancakes, upsell some bacon, and we’re keeping your tips!

Jimmy takes a deep breath and hangs his head low, realizing that his life, while far richer with TNGB together, is all the more complicated.

How much for the bacon?

3.99

No, $4 even, Jesus.

Bobby and TK look at each other and nod.

Make it $5.

TNGB exchange a no-look fistbump as they focus on flipping bacon and pancakes. Jimmy indignantly leaves the kitchen.

He is right though…

Fuck him… What the Hell could he possibly be fucking right about?

We do have a match on Anarchy.

Bobby begins to stir more batter. TK is just leaning against the counter top taking a break for no reason whatsoever.

Fuck yeah, we do!

The focus in the room has shifted but there is still work to do in the kitchen.

Oh, wow. Look at you, Madison. Really feeling yourself lately, huh?

You just described her and every Onlyfans ever.

Convinced that you drop the hottest promos this side of Bastardville on less talented opponents. My ass, what you've been putting out isn't biting, it's been TED Talk after Ted Talk, long-winded, self-important, and ultimately, completely mind-numbing.

Stop boofing TK. Weird.

Bobby is flipping flapjacks like a boss, while TK throws more bacon on the griddle.

You strut around here like you have some earth-shattering XWF insight, but all you really do is spend five goddamn minutes trying to convince yourself that we, Hell, anyone, isn't a threat.

Didja know taking keyboard cleaner up your number 2 is called the Silicon Valley Slide Whistle?

If you gotta talk that much to make yourself fucking believe it, you might as well call up the Engineer, Lux, or even Corey for backup because I think we both know the truth, don't we?

Yeah, Engie, Lux, and Corey are gone and terrified, I guess being a shitstain didn’t do you any favors. You know what? I’ma talk about the finest competitor I ever teamed with instead of those pieces of garbage that tried to fit in. Let’s hear it for Harmon Egan, a true fucking underdog in this business. While those shits were only puppets, Harmon stood for what he loved. We can understand that. We don’t understand the other pieces of garbage.

Never missing their stride as they talk shit, both men continue preparing their "charity" breakfast.

You can talk about waking up dangerous every day like you do with the peasants. However, We No Good Bastards wake up winning. We wake up knowing that when we step through those ropes, we don’t have to rely on spooky gimmicks, alter egos, or some convoluted ‘I’ve seen darkness’ bullshit. We just show up and kick ass. That fucks you up inside, doesn’t it? That people like us, guys who don't have to overcomplicate shit, who don’t need a novel-length explanation for why we're the best, can just be that much fucking better than you.

Who the fuck saw darkness? It’s not seeing anything. They opened their eyes, shit didn’t work, now they’re here. Kids, if you think we’re here to cure your ails, you’re definitely blind.

The difference between us is simple. You need people to believe your hype. You need the theatrics, the overstimulated pseudo-intellectual bullshit. Us? We need one night. One match. One moment. When that bell rings, all your fancy-fuck words won’t mean a goddamn thing.

Bobby begins to stir more batter. TK is just leaning against the counter top taking a break for no reason whatsoever.

Oh, and lets not forget her not full time, but this time, tag partner, the garbage man. Yeah, shit stain, real goddamn intimidating. You spend your days picking up trash, and now you get to step in the ring just to be trash. Congratulations fuck face, you made it! I certainly hope your rasslin’ skills are better than your garbage pickup in Baltimore because I’ve seen cleaner streets after a tornado hits in Ohio. Hell, maybe when we're done beating your ass, you can do me a favor, scoop up what’s left of your partner, and toss her in the dumpster where her rasslin’ career belongs. She's a fucking manager anyway, just ask'er.

Now done with his break, TK flips some bacon.

Jesus, Dominick Strife, for all of his life, tryna impress Mr. Star, and not to sound harsh, he’s just trash from White Marsh, and that shit won’t carry him far. How the fuck do you manage to be uninteresting and in Baltimore? We could walk into that city, and we have ridden there and flown there, and have Joan Jett and John Waters wanting to do crab cakes while sipping Bohtinis.

TK stops working again and looks at Bobby. Bobby, who loves making food, keeps pressing on with the flapjacks. Bobby pulls a can of what could best be described as Baltimore harbor water with a little extra piss out, and before cracking it, sticks the top of the can into some Old Bay.

Little Dominick over here, tryin’ to act like Mr. fucking Responsibility because some shitbird named Jimmy Stars and some little cunt that goes by Isla Burke gave him a pat on his peanut head and told him that he's special.

Dom, looky here. First, welcome to the big time. Stars of Combat is a fart in the wind compared to what gets done in the XWF. I know you could have learned that by now, but not actually honing your craft or fighting, taking months off from the ring, will hamper you, and I get it. You don’t know how to set your own course. When your trainer says jump, you ask ‘how high’. When your valet says get in, you ask ‘where are we going’. When you come down and see TNGB in the ring ready to beat the piss out of you, you lose.

Newsflash, fuckboy, just cause you got some manager bookin’ your flights and a valet who’s your sister’s BFF, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly hot shit. You ain’t carrying the weight of the world, you’re just carrying their goddamn bags, bro.

Right, and Jimmy carries our bags.

Just as Jimmy’s name is said he walks back into the kitchen to get more food to take out.

Jimmy, take a lap.

But… I have to serve the people.

No, you’re taking a lap.

Dom, If you really think living on your own gave you a “revitalized sense of responsibility?” Pfft, please. I had more responsibility in my fucking pinky finger when I was blackout drunk last Tuesday than you got in your whole goddamned body. That says something. You’re out here “giving your all" like that’s something impressive. That’s the bare fucking minimum, ass-mite! If you’re not out here to dominate, annihilate, and leave your opponent questioning their shitty life choices, then pack up your shit and go back to Mr. Stars and get some of those rasslin' lessons he failed to teach you.

TK looks up from flipping the bacon.

Bobby, this poor little bitch doesn't wanna let people down, did you know that?

Right now there are literally three people I don’t want to let down. You, me, and whoever is eating the pancakes we’re making because when we get to cooking it’s sweet, it’s savory, and it hits the spot. If someone wants to feel disappointed in me, that’s on them.

Buddy, you already disappointed yourself when Stars brought you in and made you think you could hang with Them No Good Bastards with the help of Madison Dyson. Now get the Hell outta here before you embarrass yourself even more.

Yeah, and life is short, get happy.

Bushmaster cut our checks, oh, and XWF, TNGB is back, you're welcome.

Bobby sets a platter of pancakes up in the window as TK leaves some sizzling bacon up there. Jimmy returns to the kitchen after taking a lap, sweating profusely, grabbing the food as the only server there.

Order Up!