Quote:With all his might, Smoke lifts Davids up to the top rope! He climbs up alongside, but Davids punches him in the stomach and loads him up so the man is sitting on his shoulders, Davids leaps!

Smoke Man moans and shuffles, thinking... thinking... thinking. He groans at his thoughts, trying to shoo them away but not quite being successful. Tossing and turning in place, as his dreams becomes more clear, becoming more of a memory.

Quote:POWER BOMB FROM THE TOP ROPE ONTO THE APRON!

Trying to pull away, scratching and clawing at the surface below him, a surface which melts and molds between his fingers like jelly. He grips his hands on his head, probably making a big show of it too, but right now he is rooted to the memory, and is trying to escape, so so badly.

Quote: is tending to Smoke Man, who might be unconscious from that attack!

Smoke sharply sits up, raking his eyes open, sending in a blinding white light right to his brain. He is in a ball of sweat, breathing heavily, after feeling like not even breathing at all. He holds one hand to his chest, and the other partially covering his eyes, trying to calm his breathing and to recall his thoughts, to try and come back to reality.

But the thoughts are still there, the pain has never left, and the one hand that was covering his eyes grips his head in pure pain and torment, he cries in a shriek of pain.

Slowly, but surely, he controls his breathing. In, and out. In, and out.

In. Out. In. Out.

In.

Out.

He grabs either side of his mattress to try and dull the still present pain, but all it does is sooth him. But he is able to think, and really think this time, the once vivid memory fading away like an echo lost in a mountain range.

Smoke looks at his surroundings, realising he's in the medical centre of the XWF, actually sleeping in a real bed for the first time in a week. He notices that he's wearing bathrobes... and just the bathrobes. He rubs his hands and steps out of the bed, wobbly and finding himself out of breath easily, feeling weakness overcome his calves. He's able to grab the bedside table before he's able to fall over, sitting back on the side of the bed.

A clinking of metal is heard coming from about the door of the bay, which has been left ajar. Deciding he has no better option, Smoke calls out to them. He finds his voice is dry and croaky, dehydrated.

H-hey...

Apparently it's enough, because Shane comes through the door with a trolley, upon it being a set of various cutlery, and on top of that, Smoke's UFO Title, of which he is now a three-time winner of.

Ah, you're up, poppadom!

Smoke slants his lips and sighs at that 'greeting'. It seems that the boss is still coo-coo.

Yeah... right...

Man, you sound thirsty. Eh, being out for eighteen hours would do that do you I suppose.

Shane is still as 'cheery' as he was when he entered, going so far as to correctly sort the cutlery on the nightstand. When he finishes sorting, he does it again, on top of the other set.

Smoke is obviously shocked and confused by this, managing to only screech slightly instead of saying 'what!?' like he wanted to.

Shane quickly inhales at this feeble attempt at speaking, putting his hands up to his mouth. In a female redneck accent, he says;

Bah golly! Ah'd better getcha some wah-ter juice to cool it dahn!

Smoke sees Shane run off like he'd shat himself, and tries speaking to himself, specifically trying to say 'what' again. However, all he gets is the same; wheezing and exhausting more unused air from his lungs.

Smoke decides to just give up and wait for that 'wah-ter juice' before he tries again.

He grabs the 24/7 FTW UFO E1999 Title belt off of the tray and smirks, seeing his own reflection in the gold plating, and on the black screen. He thinks about how the last time he saw it in his own possession was shattered into pieces, and handing it over to Shane before being sent off to custody.

Slinging it over his shoulder, he swivels around and sits with his back up to the pillow, and his legs up on the bed, just as Shane walks through the door, with a glass in hand. Inside is what appears to be a brown liquid that looks quite watered down, without a moment's warning he walks over to Smoke and tips it down his throat, making Smoke splutter at the sudden intake and the horrible taste.

Blech, urgh... what is that?!

Shane throws his hands in the air.

He talks! Say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!

Wha- no! Ah, fuck, my head.

Smoke grabs his temple again and Shane lowers his hand, annoyed at Smoke's failed participation. He speaks in a sinister voice;

Do you feel blame?

Smoke rolls his eyes.

Oh, not this shit again.

Do you--

SLAP!

Enough already!

That slap makes Shane shake his head violently, then tilt his head to one side so much it dislocates his neck to the sound of a horrible crunch... but he cracks it back and no damage seems to have been done, somehow. Smoke cringes at it all, but decides to press on and not dwell on that... creepy event.

So... 18 hours, huh?

Shane goes back to piling up the cutlery, this time around putting the forks atop the spoons, the spoons on the knives and the knives on the forks. He seems more like he should be...

As in; less crazy.

Yeah, 18 hours, sleepy head. Must have been after that power bomb off the top rope and onto the apron by Steve Davids. Knocked you out cold. Had to get them stretchers out and everything to lumber you back here.

...Oh right... So what, did you feed me at all?

Naah, didn't want to disturb your while you were sleeping.

Smoke sighs in disbelief. 'Dick', he swears under his breath.

Then why are you even here!?

Shane pulls a crumbled piece of paper out from behind his open fly.

To give you this.

Smoke reluctantly takes it and folds it open, reading it out while Shane repeatedly asks his hand whether or not it feels blame, which it clearly doesn't, since it is his hand.

You've been waiting 18 hours to give me the match card? You realise there's a bulletin board like down the hall with the match cards on, right?

Still looking at his hand, Shane pauses his 'conversation' to answer Smoke.

I wanted you to see it as soon as possible.

Smoke sighs and reads allowed, cutting straight to his match.

Smoke Man*** - vs - AJ Powel Standard match, 1 Fall

You misspelled 'Powell'.

Fuck you, I do what I like, keep reading.

Shane 's potato WILL be at ringside

Your potato being...?

Shane drags himself away from his hand to look at Smoke with an expression of utter shock.

My. Potato. There is no greater manager... well other than the great la-la birds of far of Afghanistanbul, as they fly singing their majestic, awe-inspiring songs...

Just then, Shane rises with his arms spread to either side. He is running around the room, screeching like a crow but trying to form a song through it. In his head, Smoke reads the last bit of the match.

***If Smoke Man is still UFO Champion, the title will be on the line and the match type changed to X-treme Rulez, yo! Word to yo mutha!

So I'm assuming you're putting my title on the line to even the match out, considering your potato of all things will be at ringside.

Unfortunately for Smoke, he doesn't get his answer, because by now Shane is running down the hallway, screeching and yelling at other staff as he makes his way to his own office.

Smoke crumples the piece of paper himself and throws it onto the table to his side, hugging the UFO title belt with both arms. He begins to think again.

He thinks about last night, how it took a power bomb from the top rope and onto the apron to knock him out for about 18 hours. He thinks about his mental and somewhat physical struggle with the memory of it while he was sleeping. He thinks about the match ahead, a simple singles match... but if Smoke holds onto his title then not only will it be on the line, but he will be faced with an X-treme Rules match. Although, he does think about how the potato will be at ringside either way.

Well that's a consolation.

Smoke then reflects on why he has this alliance in the first place; to find the person who had burned his apartment down with unlimited permission to use the facilities as he thought was necessary, in exchange for the protection of the boss from Dean and Liz...

Smoke realises, with him knocked out, something could have happened, something probably did happen.

He exhales to expel the worry.

No, he doesn't need to 'care' for . It's an alliance, not a friendship. An alliance. If he's knocked-out for 18 hours that's not his fault, and if Shane thought whatever happened was Smoke's fault well... then there would be trouble.

Smoke smirks to himself at the thought of 'trouble'. He quotes Shane;

"Power can make a man, power can break a man."

He chuckles softly.

And it's definitely made me one psycho son-of-a-bitch.