I don't mind being the one to kick open the taboo conversation and put my credibility on the line by being the one to say it. The Savage Ryans are one of the greatest tag teams of all time. I'd say we're up there RoViper, Dynamite Rain, The Backstabbers, Team Burial; name any team in EAW history and I say we match them at every turn in every respect. We've been allies for a year and a half, and in this time we've adapted and evolved tremendously as a unit. We've learned the in's and out's of each others frame of mind and we've been able to use what we've learned to the dance and, in result, we've competed in great matches -- amazing matches, and we've come out on top more often than not.

But I finally get it... God, this is going to come off as contradictory I'm sure, but I'm finally able to wrap my head around what it's truly like to be the underdog. For years I've been the furthest thing from it, but putting myself in the position as a tag team wrestler and stepping out of my comfort zone has allowed my perspective to widen far beyond preexisting margins. For a while I hated the Underdog and everything it stood for. I thought it was an overrated concept based more off of sheer hype and less from legitimate substance. For as long as I can remember I cheered for the superheroes, the Ali's, Tyson's, Jordan's of the world. Likewise I rooted for the New York Yankee's, the 90's Bulls, the Patriots, the "evil empires" in some respects when it pertains to how dominant they've been in their line of competition. I was always the one to root for the consistent winners because in my mind THEY were the BEST. Why root for anything less than the best? Why put any stock into the "underdog"? What the fuck is the underdog? But I understand it now, because whether public perception deems me as one or it doesn't, right now in 2015 I am one.

"From God to the Underdog," I know, it sounds perplexing but... I spent a whole career relying on my wits and my willpower. Everything I could possibly need was within me; there's no one else I needed to push me during training or during matches than me. I proudly, boldly boded to go completely alone into the jungle and it was kill or be killed. If I couldn't make it out; I didn't deserve to. It was all on me! Then I took a risk that most people on my level wouldn't take... I staked half of my success -- strike that, all of my success on being able to find a synergy between myself and my partner Ryan Savage. You might look at me and see the furthest thing from the underdog with all of the accolades, all the achievement and superstardom that I've attained, and I couldn't blame you for that. The luxury of my life that I paid for--not in money, but in blood--it's easy to see all of that and see me today as the Yankees, the Patriots, the 90's Bulls or the Showtime Lakers, but when I took that gamble by siding with Ryan Savage I put everything I owned on the chopping block. I'm at the point now where everything I do is a liability to who I am. It's why some people get out as soon as they can. They make millions of dollars, win a few World Championships and they're out the door. In some cases it's worked out well... you look at the allure of a man like HRDO or a man like Mak, two examples of guys who could have easily kept going and been successful, but they stopped when they were satisfied;, and when the greats go out in their prime the illustrious allure is what keeps their legacy alive. Then there are those like myself and my opponents this weekend on Showdown, Impact and HBG, who take a gamble with every match they compete in. You know the saying, "never meet your idols"? Yet those in the EAW Universe who've idolized us for years continue to see us everywhere they go and every move we make is placed under the microscope and studied intensely, picked apart meticulously, and every flaw is the world's to see as individuals like me who are hailed as "The Greatest" are forced to adapt with the times and perform under the same expectation despite age, injury and fatigue. And despite IT ALL I've allowed a young man named Ryan Savage to come into my life and completely hold my fate almost entirely in his hands. For the first time I've truly been put in a place where my skills of communication and cooperation -- long time weaknesses of mine -- are forced to become strengths. Or else I die! Or else the legacy of Mr. DEDEDE dies! I put my professional LIFE on the line and Ryan Savage took an equally dangerous risk, joining the same pact at the infancy of his career and when I reflect on what the last year and a half has been like, I've finally come to understand that the underdog is not the randomly selected average joe being put in the starring cast of the greatest show on earth... how WELL someone qualifies means nothing. All the underdog is is the one least expected to succeed in their role. And despite how great I ever was, Ryan Savage and I are the greatest underdogs to ever join forces, and I'll say we've done pretty damned well for ourselves.

What might be flashing in your head right now is the loss Ryan and I took at Civil War against the Hexa Gun. Virulent skeptics might be wondering  "what good is being the underdog if the cinderella story doesn't come true in the end?" That's a valid point to make, especially considering Ryan and I were just handed a loss and I'm over here calling us one of the greatest tag teams of all time. Here's the thing... and I hope The Mercenaries are listening... it doesn't end. What you are experiencing right now is exactly what it's like to be in a recurring nightmare. This differs from what you might consider to be a "Hell" because Hell comes with no end. This nightmare does. This chase does, you just don't know when. Believe it or not.............. Believe it or not, you two are running. You don't know what direction and you might think you do, and you might think you know why, but you don't. This is a "falling" dream, and you don't know when you'll hit the bottom, but in this case you will. Or maybe I will. Someone hit the bottom. Allow me to first backtrack from any tone that suggests that I'm speaking from an omniscient point of view... however, this doesn't end until I retire. You two have to understand, this is IT for me! This is really it! There is no turning back now. I LOST against the HexaGun! I tried as I might to assemble a force to take you two down and I wasn't successful at it. So what is Mr. DEDEDE to do when he suffers such a demoralizing loss? Turn the other cheek, tuck his tail in between his legs and go home? After everything I've worked for, after all I've put on the line just to help make The Savage Ryans work, I'm going to walk away at this stage of my career and allow The Mercenaries to boast until the end of time about their triumph over Mr. DEDEDE? I'm going to sacrifice everything I loved and work endlessly for the majority of my life towards countless wrestling accolades under my belt only for all of it to be rendered for naught because the last thing people remember about Mr. DEDEDE is how his insatiable drive for success waned into a sullen acceptance of his own mediocrity? There's no other turnout if I stop right here. I'm in far too deep now. This is MY fall from the top of the pyramid, this is MY fade to black, this is as I said before, a nightmare -- but this is MY NIGHTMARE, and you're both figments of it. And in these falling dreams you're expected to wake up because if you don't, you die. Well I guess we'll see if I hit my bottom, but remember that I've hit my bottom plenty of times before and I came back better than I ever was. This loss at Civil War was NOTHING in comparison. The fight's still on, Mercenaries. Showdown is just days from now, House of Glass is just weeks from now, and although Ryan and I in our interactions haven't even entertained the possibility of losing, I will say that even if we aren't able to retrieve our Tag Team Championships, or even if we can't exact our vengeance at House of Glass... your salvation from this seemingly endless nightmare will be by sheer novelty and nothing more. Expect no salvation from us, because we aren't your saviors. And though this recurring nightmare does seem endless, expect a bloody bitter end.

One more chance; you have one last chance to grasp onto the championship some believe you should have won at Territorial Invasion. The world has one final opportunity to will on their hero in the hopes that he can finally grasp onto the EAW Championship and guide this company into the future. You see, I’ve been told for what seems to be a million times that respect is never given, but that respect is always earned. That with enough hard work and determination that you’ll slowly begin to earn the respect of your peers and the millions sitting at home watching us do what we love, but no matter how hard we try, we never truly ever earn the respect of those people. I used to pride myself on trying to be a hero. I grew up and wanted to be the man that the world would look at for protection when something was wrong. I joined this company and won the New Breed Championship in the matter of weeks; I stood at the top of the next generation of this business, proving that the future of this business was brighter than it’s past. I did everything that I could to help rebuild a division that had struggled for over a year, and built a platform that people like TLA, Mexican Samurai and Thomas Minns stand on today. I stood against the vilest man in this company after Pain for Pride Seven as the fist of justice as he attempted to burn this company to the ground and took eight months off the man’s career. When everyone else had failed, I stood against the Chairman of the company, Zack Crash, in the hope of ripping the control he had over this company because it was the best thing for every single person that loved this company as much as I did. I had to watch the man use Hades to rip the EAW Championship out of my grasp and declare himself the new champion because of every single person backstage, but I never once whimpered. No, instead I picked myself back up and dusted myself off before walking into Pain for Pride Eight and regaining the championship that I never lost. But, after everything that I’ve done for this company; after the fact that I have stood at the top of this company for the matter of seven months… where’s the respect that I’ve “earned.” I’m a man that had constantly placed himself before others and yet, my greatest successes are when I’ve placed myself first. I wouldn’t be the EAW Champion if I didn’t do what was best for Xavier Williams.

I’m forced to listen about how Jamie O’Hara was screwed at Territorial Invasion; that if it wasn’t for Albert Hitchman, Jamie O’Hara would be standing here today as the EAW Champion, but I have to ask: who once argued when I was stripped of my EAW Championship? Who once protested when I was forced to defend my Cash in the Vault briefcase just under a year ago against Diamond Cage, or was forced to leave the brand I placed on my back and recreated into the powerhouse it is today, in the form of Voltage. Not once has the world mourned for the losses that I’ve been forced to deal with as I stood against the people with “power” in the company. Not once did the world bitch and moan about the obstacles that I’ve been forced to hurdle because I’ve been the biggest threat to the people with “power” in this company. But again, that brings me back to the respect that I’ve been given. Look back at the night that Jamie O’Hara announced that he was cashing in that Cash in the Vault briefcase; he said exactly what the world has believed from the moment that I first won this championship from Diamond Cage at Reckless Wiring. I’ve heard it a thousand times; I never won this championship, I stole it from Diamond Cage. I picked the carcass of a defenceless champion and stole the championship that Diamond Cage had fought two years to finally grasp onto. With that being said, I think that Albert Hitchman said it perfectly on Showdown; what’s going to be the excuse when Jamie O’Hara loses in a few weeks? How is Jamie O’Hara going to be the victim of a screw job at the hands of the big, bad Xavier Williams? How is Xavier Williams going to “steal” his way to another championship defence? What am I going to have to hear someone like Jake Mercer whine about, because the “undeserving” champion still holds the championship? Let me ask you this; if I don’t deserve this championship, why hasn’t anyone that this company has on its roster, whether it is on Showdown now, or on Voltage before Pain for Pride, why hasn’t one person been able to cleanly take this championship away from the “undeserving” champion? You see, because on Showdown with Chuck Scene, I’m going to do the same thing that I do every time I step foot inside that squared circle. I’m going to lace up my boots, prop this company onto my shoulders and continue to carry it higher than it’s ever been, like I have done on my own for the past year and a half.

Not with Brian Daniels.

Not with Tyler Parker.

Not with Mr. DEDEDE. 

Not with Devan Dubian.
 
Not with Starr Stan.

No; just the Best in the World, Xavier Williams.

SHOWDOWN PROMO 1


The camera opens up in the promo booth, inhabited only by Barney M. Bailey on his brick of a cancer breeding 80's cell phone.  He paces frantically, wobbling to and fro as he speaks to the person on the other end.

BMB: Listen, I wouldn't do this if I wasn't desperate, ya know? I mean if Tony knew-...no, he skipped town with Percy.  They're both terrified to get in the ring with the kid.  They're afraid he'll hurt himself more than anything.  This whole HexaGun thing, and now Mexican Samurai...great.  Great, fantastic even.  It's good to know I got someone in my corner to 'save this kid's soul' as you put it...whadda ya mean I have to clean up my act too!? I'm a friggin' saint! Oh...hold on, here comes the kid.  Gotta go.

PB walks into frame, looking exasperated, frustrated, and paranoid.  His eyes bloodshot under his Pizza Hut hat  He cuts them at Barney, whom surprisingly sinks at his gaze as he self consciously covers his phone receiver with his hand.

PB: Who're you talking to?

BMB: Don't worry about it.

PB: Who is it? Mobsters? Tony? HexaGun? Samurai? Someone else who'd rather slit my throat than shake my hand?

BMB: Nah, kid.  Listen.  I've got something lined up for ya that-

PB: Oh you do, do ya? Like a shot at the Pure title? Because I'm not in the tourney, Barney.  Instead, I'm being recruited to fight battles that aren't mine and tag with men that I didn't trust to begin with!

BMB: Andy, calm down.

PB: Don't give me that 'Andy' crap.  The novelty of you calling me by my actual name has worn off, old man.  How about you get out of this promo booth and, for once in my miserable career, you do your job for a change and get me booked against someone who isn't a sociopath?!

BMB: I have to talk to you about-

PB: GET OUT!

PB shoots his hand out right under Barney's nose in defiance and points to the door off-camera.  Barney flinches as his protege's hand flies at his fist.  Momentarily he starts to puff up, before scanning PB and realizing that his threats aren't going to budge him anymore.  He hangs his had, shaking it to himself in rage, and walks out of the booth, as the Pizza Boy steps in front of the camera and oblivously gestures for the production booth to start rolling.

PB: Mexican Samurai...hah...I can't say that I was taken off guard by your usual semantics.  Don't sell yourself short, though.  You and I were working well as a cohesive unit, and about midway through our match against HexaGun, I began to consider buying the bull you were selling me about 'respect' and 'being impressed,' regardless to how horrible you were at lying about it.  I'd thought, 'hey, maybe he's changed his mind? Maybe showing that we can work together and be something bigger than HexaGun will convince him.' and for awhile, I thought I saw a glint of hope in your eyes...and then you did what you always do.  You shot yourself in the foot just when it seems like you're getting somewhere.  And then you stuck that bloody foot in my mouth.  It's getting harder and harder to trust, MX.  Not just you, I never really trusted you, outside of a false moment of hope in an otherwise suspect tag encounter, no, I'm beginning to wonder who really has my best interests in mind.  See, Barney keeps booking me against lunatics like Calvin Havoc, men who come to the ring in straight jackets, claiming to have some vague, dark past, when in reality all they prove to be are sadomasochistic mamma's boys with daddy issues looking to blow off some steam and take a little debauchery in.  I can't claim to be any of that.  I love my parents, I love life, and I'm really getting sick of feeling pain all of the time.  And yet I'm here, amidst a crowd who thinks I'm a joke, a roster that thinks I'm an insult to their profession, and a posse that wont even look me in the eyes anymore. But it seems more and more likely that I'm the only one amidst a sea of cowards that really gives a damn enough about this company, a company that hates my guts by the way, to take on the shapely menace anymore.  What happened to Anti-Gun? What happened after we fell at Civil War? Is that the end? Did everyone just roll over and show HexaGun their yellow bellies? Am I the only one left with any kind of honor? The joke Pizza Boy who no one wants to make eye contact with anymore?!  And I know this isn't about you in particular, Calvin.  You're new to the dance, so I can't really blame you for not having a stake in this battle, but I shouldn't be the only man trying to do something around here.  Not when I'm constantly beaten over the head with machismo, psychosis, and muscles that I'll never have that guys like you possess, Havoc.  And yet, where are you when it comes to fighting for your meal ticket?

PB throws his hat down in frustration as he sizes up the camera, his face filled with rage and stretched from a lack of sleep.

PB: I was drug into this  war and left at the battle lines alone with no Anti-, no Pizza Party, no ally in sight.  And yet, I still come in with my concussions, my stingers, my scratched corneas and my ever growing collection of scar tissue and fight for something I shouldn't believe in because it doesn't even believe in me.  So tell me, 'Calvin Havoc', if that is your real name, whose the real mad man? The quantum locked ghost of EAW future fighting atop a pile of cinder with a HexaGun flag planted in it? Or another goof with a bad haircut and an entourage trying to look tougher than he really is?  Go back to hell.  And when you do, say 'hi' to the rest of the traitors and turncoats on the Showdown roster for me.  Hell must have bad reception, because they sure aren't returning my calls.  You know what? Screw it, I'll send you back myself.  I'll say what all of those dead and damned have said to me for the past seven months, 'I'm going to make an example of you'.  But instead of saying it, Calvin, instead of spouting off some hollow like that to sound intimidating to the 'new fish',I'm actually going to do it.  I might even take out my little friend and carve a domino in your forehead, just so I can ditch the stupid sponsorship and alienate yet another facet of my tool existence.  From here on out, everything that happens is blood on their hands, blood on your hands, blood on HexaGun's hands, and blood on EAW's hands.  This is what they wanted me to be, this is what they've driven me to become!

PB tearfully rips off his bow tie and throws it at the camera, before storming out of the sound studio.  Barney waddles into frame once more with his hand cupped over his mouth, speaking into his cell phone in whispers.

BMB: He's getting worse...

Production Booth: *click* That's a wrap.  Jesus that kid's getting dark. Think we could get him back for a more lighthearted B-role Barn?

Barney solemnly shakes his head and hurries after PB, his phone still to his ear as he rushes out of the room.  The camera pans down to the Pizza Hut hat and discarded bow tie on the floor, before losing focus, and fading to black.

Well, well, well. 

First off, I love the fact that Valiente Wyvern bowed to me. He surrendered himself completely to the Wrestling Messiah. To the God among men of EAW. Warrior V1. However, I'm not completely sold on what exactly it is that I'm being pushed into right now... 

I made a STATEMENT destroying Thruster and then shortly after, I DECAPITATED Wyvern. And I get placed on the card to do what? A sit down interview with WWEFan? I don't get a spotlight on me? I don't get a match on the show? 

Well, first EAW, I just want to know if you're afraid. Are you afraid of the Version One? Are you afraid of the society that will seep through the souls of every single creature that walks in that lockerroom, whether forcibly or acceptingly? But maybe, just maybe, you're afraid that Warrior V1 will badly hurt somebody again. Maybe you're afraid that the next opponent for the Warrior will wrestle his last match in that ring. Maybe that's why I haven't wrestled any of the so-called "Top tier" talent Voltage has to offer. Dubian, Hades, Oasis, Landerson, and any other ignoramus who feels ballsy enough to step into the ring with me, just keep in mind, that offer stands. 

And as you should know by now... The Warrior NEVER sleeps. However, he may be a bit lightheaded having to talk to WWEFan on Voltage. What is it, senior citizen appreciation day? Let's face it, for the time that I get to speak, I will proclaim the message that will be known as the closest thing to biblical for the sheep that we call "extremists" here. I will proclaim the message that will be known as "bone-chilling" and "terrifying", simply by glaring into the camera with a menacing face. 

A few days ago, I was approached by a fan, who asked for my autograph. And then he preceded to ask, "Warrior, why are you such a bad guy?" I let out a burst of laughter. I went off on a tangent about how nice of a guy he was, and how great he was for following my career. But then my smirk turned serious. My light turned dark. I looked the kid dead in the eye and said, "I'm not the bad guy."

You see the perception of what is good and what is bad is all in your head. If you lived the lifestyle that Warrior V1 has to offer, that switch that tells you what's wrong and right gets distorted. For what's bad for me, might be good for you.. and vice versa. Yet, I tried my best to be respectful and friendly to someone jarring such harsh accusations to me. 

I mean, look at me, EAW. Am I not the nicest man you've ever seen? 

The Warrior never sleeps. And come Voltage, the entire roster will be put on notice. 

SHOWDOWN#1

(Video fades in to Maxwell Dachs sitting by his fireplace, he tosses a Mexican flag into the fireplace and a replica of Piff Fumador's mask.)

Maxwell Dachs: Oh hello! I'm back! Finally I have returned to the company where I got my start. I'm back in the better company of EAW. And I have my first match on Battleground against the degenerate drug addict Piff Fumador. And I am extremely glad to finally be back in a competent company, with people who actually have some idea on how to actually run a wrestling promotion. And my agenda is the same today as it was when I first walked in through the doors of EAW. And I am using this new stage to open up a new chapter of my career. I finally got through my goal of getting off the sinking ship of Dynasty. Away from the fuckboy Sebastian Monroe, who's crude and unfair opinions about me showed i his unfair treatment of me under his reign. Even going so far as to convince my now ex wife to fucking go against my back and make me lose my championship and then never letting me fight after taking away my championship. 

(Dachs prepares a glass to pour whiskey in.)

Dachs: So now I got all this pent up aggression and anger and I'm going to take it all out on that drug filled luchador, Piff. He's a more Mexican version of TLA. People like Piff make me sick. I don't like it when people poison their bodies and destroy their bodies like Piff does. But that is Piff's prerogative and not mine, he can do what I want and that's perfectly fine. But when it basically becomes your whole identity and personality that is where I draw the line. You're out of control, Piff. But hey, if he wants to smoke all of that devil's cabbage that is just fine. That just means I can beat him easier. Because of all the smoking he does, his lungs will be damaged heavily. Despise being a luchador, he will be unable to match my agility and speed due to his excessive drug use. And through that drug use he shows his disrespect for this business, because real wrestlers don't poison their bodies like he does. I couldn't imagine being in Piff's sombrero. I mean imagine going up against a guy who has been stuck under a glass ceiling for the past couple of months. And suddenly it is lifted and this man has all this pent up aggression and he is just going to take it all out on you. It would be pretty scary for someone who will be unable to keep up because of the poison he puts into his body.

(Dachs pauses to pour some whiskey into his glass and he takes a sip.)

Dachs: And after watching that little segment he made with him in Green Bay trying to get some of the mary jane off some degenerate kids, you can clearly see he isn't even focused on the match. This Mexican fuck is to myopic to see the road ahead of him and take the path of the righteous. Instead of preparing for our match and trying to stay off drugs, he chose instead to get some drugs off some white trash kids in Green Bay. And you know, I find that offensive. I really, really do. That this spic would rather acknowledge the true challenge ahead of him. He's treating me like he treated El Landerson, and that's your first mistake bud. I am nothing like El Landerson. I'm leagues ahead of him. And if you watch back on that promo, those degenerate kids even know how fucking good I am. And I have never even been to that backwoods town. That's just how far my spread is. And Piff even acknowledges me just a little bit but he is just too focused on smoking the ganja. And that is whats going to happen in our match. I fucking bet that asshole is gonna show up the match high. And if that fucker does, I'm going to injure him.

(Dachs takes another drink of whiskey.)

Dachs: And this is why I proposed a plan. To make EAW great again. I'm going to send all the problematic competitors in EAW to Dynasty. Dynasty keeps sending their degenerate wrestlers over to EAW. And it's ruining our company. They're in here doing drugs, stealing our places in the company, and just ruining this company. And I'm going to put a stop to it. I suggest that we send them back to Dynasty! Send them back! They're not supposed to be here anyway! They're just here freeloading and doing drug! Just like Piff! Then after we send them all back, we're gonna build a wall around Dynasty! And make Dynasty pay for it! We can't have Dynasty continuing to send them back over here! It's a big problem! And the first one I am going to send back is Piff and he's heading back where he came from this Monday on Battleground. And, that's a promise. 

(Video fades to black.)

The King of Battleground? Getting destroyed by Diamond Cage and Dark Demon? That never happened to me.....I think you are thinking of the man that went by the name of The Franchise Demon. Franchise never got treated correctly and should've deserved better. But The Franchise Demon is gone, all but a myth and no longer with us in this world. The only thing The Franchise Demon see's is his reflection in the mirror. Exit Franchise Demon, say hello to Jay Omen. Jay Omen isn't a myth, isn't a legend. Jay Omen is the present and is going to put fear into the eyes of children. Myself and The Franchise Demon have one thing in common with each other and that's growing up in foster care and had no one to talk to and celebrate child hood memories with. I am the dragon that's going to show the EAW Locker Room and viewers what I have suffered all my life, and I'm going to do that by dragging each and everyone's soul out of there respective bodies and dragging them into mine and they are going to experience what it's like to be Jay Omen.

Vance Tybull you are just like all the rest of these peasants around the world that don't believe in me. You think I am a joke, you think I am a delusional human being and I have some sort of disorder. Want to know something? I have no disorder, I am not delusional and I am very smarter than you think. You maybe the big bad wolf but I am just the angry dragon waiting at your front door. For the first time ever in your life you're going to have a tough challenge in the squared circle. This isn't going to be a 'squash match.' This is going to be an all out brawl Mr. Tybull. When your blood is all over my hands you will have to get ready to be terminated by the dragon by looking into his eyes as your soul will be dragged into my body then I will be in charge. I will be the National Elite Champion and I will be the one telling the story when you step in my shoes. Get ready Mr. Tybull, you're first in line for the brand new ride in EAW and it's called Jay Omen!

I've got to admit, I admire your spirit Franchise Demon, oh, I mean "Jay Omen." To have such confidence after having your ass handed to you so many times should be considered admirable. Undaunted in the face of adversity, this one! But I have some bad news for you. You're being completely blind to the fact that you're the one who really needs to be getting ready for Battleground. You're strutting around with a dragon's confidence saying you're king of Battleground but how can a man be king of something when he has never conquered a kingdom in his life? Sure you squeaked out that lucky roll up on Psycho Brody, but look at your track record on Battleground. Your first match you got destroyed by Dark Demon, then later on by Diamond Cage, followed up by Hades, and most recently by Chuck Scene. If anything, you're the Battleground kingdom's court fool, because people seem to be laughing at your expense more often than not. If anything, I'm the king because I don't know if you noticed this or not... BUT I'M ON THE OFFICIAL POSTER FOR THE SHOW!

You seem quite delusional as well. Not just for the king deal, but rather because you started spewing hot bullshit through your lips from the moment you started talking. For instance, "The New Ministry was going to be the next big thing." Let's get something straight, buddy, there was only one "next big thing" when the New Ministry was around, and his name was Vance Tybull. And it still is. There is nothing you, Kerry Keller or that Draven guy - who I'm pretty sure walks around wearing a helmet all the time now, because they don't want him to do any further damage to his brain - can do. Let's get something else straight. Your failure was not because of Draven leaving, Kerry Keller being dead weight, Ashten Cross being incompetant or Ken Stark being out to get you. The reason Franchise Demon turned into a joke is because you made him that. You only have yourself to blame for being irrelevant at the end of the day. Once you're able to nut up and admit that you're the ultimate master of your fate, you'll finally be able to do what it takes to get to the next level of your career you've been desperately striving for. But until then, you're still destined to be a loser and a laughing stock and whether people call you Franchise Demon or Jay Omen there is no changing that. 

So let's get one final thing straight between you and me, Omen. I'm no stranger to darkness in my life, I'm no stranger to beating the shit out of dragons, I defeated the Komodo Dragon to capture the title I have around my waist. So this whole trying to intimidate me shit is wasted breath on your part. I've gone up against the best this industry has had to offer, former World Champions and legends in this business among them, and I've come out on top time and again. You've been afforded similar opportunities and you've done nothing but choke. You've desperately tried so hard to seem fearsome, but the harsh reality is that you're going face to face with a man who is as fearsome as they come. You're looking at a man who has ended the career of one who many consider to be among the all-time greats. You're looking at a man who has never backed down in the face of the most fierce competition and always finds a way to stand tall. Omen, on Battleground the Big Bad Wolf is knocking at your door, and you'd better pray to Satan or whoever you worship that you can run before your house fashioned out of bullshit comes tumbling down just like your career has since you came to EAW.

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OOC: Truthfully I'm really enjoying these Havoc rps/promos. I really am. Well this is it for me this week, thought both these promos turned out very well.

Well when you see Havoc, you know there is going to be chaos, slaughter and complete and utter devastation. The devil’s advocate has been located somewhere around Green Bay’s asylum. May it was something like home for him, but after hearing that Clark Duncan’s reply to his earlier promo, the asylum was the only place for Havoc, because if he would have located Duncan on the streets, there wouldn’t be a match on Monday, hell Duncan wouldn’t been in EAW for too much luck because Havoc was ready to do whatever it took to put the Michael Clarke Duncan brother… or so Havoc’s people called the guy. This Monday night Havoc was dead set on causing just as much Havoc as possible, EAW better be thanking god it’s close to halloween the past few weeks, because there is one thing on the sick, twisted mind of , Havoc... BLOODBATH that's what he was planning for Clark Duncan.

The camera focused in on one dark figure standing alone, as moments pass two other men step into the view as the camera lights turn on to find Michael Shaw and Sam Steele standing on each side of Havoc in nice black suits, Havoc on the other hand dawned a straight jacket with the arms tightened in front of him, Shaw and Steele laughed.

Michael Shaw: Do you think Havoc is just about Havoc, Pain and Hell... this man wants nothing but success my friend, success of a man, success as a professional wrestler… and soon to be success of a damn CHAMPION… let me tell you something man… you're taking matters into your own hands by stepping into the ring with a man of Havoc’s nature… a man that makes Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, Ghostface and Michael Myers look like children… this man makes Hannibal himself look weak, and you think he’s just out for chaos and pain?.. and you go out of your way to say this is a man made of nightmares... that’s not it kid… this man IS nightmares… he ain’t made of nightmares… NIGHTMARES ARE MADE OF HAVOC!

Shaw put a toothpick into his mouth. Steele shook his head back and forth.

Sam Steele: A rude awakening, that’s funny kid… you actually think you’re going to give a rude awakening to this psychotic sunuva bitch here.

Pointing back at the opposing Havoc standing behind him, he laughed looking over at Shaw, still keeping an eye on Havoc.

Sam Steele: Who is this guy man… a wannabe Rick Rude… oh god please don’t tell me he’s gonna come out there with some chick plastered on his fucking tights… he does that I swear to god, I’m gonna throw up!

Shaw shook his head back and forth, a cocky smile on his face.

Michael Shaw: This Monday night at Battleground, the Rude Awakening will come from Havoc… when he unleashes all hell on Mr. Clark Duncan… because you see, Clark I see a Death Drop in your future… THIS MONDAY it’s a Battleground For Havoc!

Shaw laughed, Steele looked back at Havoc with a smirk on his face, they wheeled him forward, revealed that his masked was latched on his face as well, they unlatch both sides and remove the masked, without hesitation… without pause Havoc screamed out towards the camera, nearly contorting his entire body in different directions.

HAVOC:... RRRRRUUUUUNNNNN DUNCCCCCCCAAAAAAANNNNNN!!

He laughed methodically, insanely, he sounded even worse than the Joker from Batman. He abruptly stopped laughing, his face cold and calculated, staring straight into the camera, his eyes widened in a crazy like manner as he let out a earth shattering scream.

HAVOC:... RRRRUUUUUNNNNNAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH… BATTLEGROUND WILL BE YOUR FINAL DAY… COUNT THEM SHORT AND COUNT THEM SWEET… YOU SONUVA BITCH!.. SAY YOUR PRAYERS… TELL YOUR KIDS GOODBYE… KISS YOUR FUCKING WIFE!!.. BATTLEGROUND WILL NOT ONLY BE YOUR DEATH… IT WILL BE YOUR DAMN GRAVEYARD… YOU TOMBSTONE WILL BE WRITTEN IN STONE… THE FUCKING DEVIL IS HERE…

Michael Shaw and Sam Steele tries to put the mask back on his face, he shakes his head back and forth, the mask flies across the room, Shaw and Steele scatter for the mask, Havoc slightly leans forwards towards the camera, screaming out once more.

HAVOC:... RRRRRUUUUUNNNNN OR THE DEVIL WILL HAVE YOUR SSSSSOOOOOOOOUUUULLLLLL... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Steele and Shaw pick up the mask, shoving it on Havoc’s face as the cameras go dark as the scene fades.

 
The word garbage comes so natural to you. Almost like you’re strangely familiar with it. I already know you would spin a response to that, something about how all you do is face garbage wrestlers. It’s almost like you’re trying to channel the Macho Man Randy Savage. All I could do when I saw what you had to say this time, was laugh. I get it, you like a couple Vixens, but the rest of us aren’t holding up to the name you now suddenly hold to be so high and mighty. I don’t hate you nearly as much as you must think I do. I don’t hate you even half as much as I think you hate me. I really don’t care what you do think about any of the Vixens, and I didn’t expect maternal instinct from your crusty ass. I certainly don’t want you handing down congratulations to girls you probably don’t see fit to compete in the Special Olympics. I just wondered how you could have such a low opinion of so many. Maybe I jumped at a knee jerk reaction when I put you in a class all your own, outside of the Vixens. Oh wait, I think you do that yourself on a regular basis. Guess I didn’t make a mistake there after all. Maybe I thought, because Cameron came back to the Vixens and acted like she was wasting her time, that you are in the same class. If they asked you to compete in the Empress of Elite tournament, you wouldn’t have. And not just became of the lame comeback you have for me on that. No, it would be because you would outshine everyone and you wanted to give some girls a chance. That’s not how you think and not how you operate. You truly thought it would be a waste of time, just like Cam did. Accuse me of putting words in your mouth and see if I care. But I know that thought crossed your mind.
 
Yes, you are a Vixen. One that wouldn’t even bother to fight in the division on a part time basis if they offered. Let’s be clear about that. You came back here to win tag titles with your man, and to lead your badass unit of ass kickers on a mission to… to… well god I don’t even know. You’ve been so busy tearing apart my career this week to even get to that. What in the hell are you Hexa-gun people even trying to do here in EAW anyways. I have to be honest, I don’t pay all that much attention to what you have to say on a regular basis because I don’t really care that much. You haven’t really addressed what I say the Iconomy is trying to achieve too often. Do you think it’s really so stupid for us to try to push the idea that there are hidden gems in the EAW roster, just waiting to be given their opportunity to shine? You and I both no there are men and women out there who are just one push in the right direction from achieving great things. Why don’t we take our very own Vixens champ for example? I’ve heard plenty about Maddie’s failures when she was the company’s most lovable, dare I say it, cuddly Vixen. And then she flipped the switch, took a push in a different direction and became the queen bitch. Now she wears a title belt around her waist and sounds her own trumpet as much as any Vixen I know. I’m just curious is all. Is the idea behind what I’m hoping for EAW really so stupid? Maybe it’s naïve to think that something besides the usual thing can work out.
 
I’ve told you this before, but I cherish everything you do as a woman in professional wrestling. When it comes to being a girl among the boys, few have been able to hold a candle to the kind of success you’ve been capable of. You were my own role model during my later teenage years, while I was apparently wasting my time dreaming of the future. Now I know you want to crush whatever dreams might exist by showing me I evidently don’t belong at whatever unattainable level you put yourself and the rest of your cohorts on. It amazes me that you can point out that I haven’t achieved much since I’ve been here in July, but you miss the fact that I have been in that ring, fighting my ass off every chance I could. And that evidence is all you need to decide that I’m not only garbage, but I also don’t have a future in this industry. Poking fun at me for my matches against rookies over the past two weeks? You think I even choose that? Go ahead and remember for yourself what being a rookie was like. I might not be a rookie in wrestling, but I am a rookie in EAW, and I’m getting my licks and experiencing it like every one of the other new Vixens is. But I’ve never once said that you aren’t the best woman on the roster here. It’s just hard to buy you as a Vixen anymore. Do they even put you on the Vixens page on the website anymore? Oh yeah, that’s right. Y’all have your very own special page dedicated just to whatever the six of you are doing this week.
 
Speaking of mixing words, I don’t think you would ever cheat to win. No, that is beneath you. You would never pretend to be some sort of a witch that spits stuff into people’s eyes and calls herself by a different name. Or… anyways, I was talking about Maddie. Did I royally screw up the biggest chance I’ve been given in EAW. Yes, I think we’ve both addressed that well by now. I think your man has taken his turn at addressing it. Now you have grown to hate me so much in the last week that you feel a need to expose every flaw in my abilities. You want to embarrass me so much. I can only think how red in the face you will be when our match actually happens, and you don’t just manhandle me in quite the same way you believe you will. I will don’t care if the crowd boos me, if they cheer me or laugh at my misfortunes. My ego is not so far through the roof that I’m crushed to dust when I don’t win a match or a title. I’m not preparing to lose you self-important jackass, I don’t go into every match just slumping my way down the ramp like Charlie Brown. I go into every match with a desire to outperform everybody in the ring. If anything, my own emotions got the best of me when I couldn’t keep them in check. Imagine me, getting the first chance ever to wrestle in the same ring as some one I modeled myself by when I was first coming up. You think it’s any coincidence that we both do some of our biggest damage with a certain singular kick? I just think mine happens to be a little bit better is all. I wish I could see the reaction you had to that. You probably threw up in your mouth you think so much of yourself.
 
And then you’re so stuck on the reaction to a tweet that doesn’t mean anything to anyone. Those girls went in on you because they felt like it, who cares. They’re clearly in your class of garbage Vixens along with me, because they don’t fell the need to kiss your ass at every turn and prop your ego up even more. Is that it? Are you so angry with me because I don’t stroke your ego just right, the way Imp does when you get in bed at night. God knows he must have to work like a slave to keep you satisfied. Or is the real problem that you actually do indeed care what some of the other people in this company care about you? Nah, that couldn’t be it. What the hell has you so worked up about social media? This is such a mystery to me. I rarely even go there, but I had to post those words because I thought it was funny. Never once have I been lumped into a group of people thought to be abominations of their craft. But here I am, looking to fight my way out of this clearly tight spot that you have put me in. If only I could find a way to shed the hurt and pain that you have caused me mentally. Nevermind, I’m already over it. Why aren’t you?
 
You have a lot of things you want for me after this match. You know what I want? I know you don’t even care, but here it goes. I want you to eat your words. I want you to take every bad thing you’ve said about me, and feel what it’s like to have it shoved back down your throat. Not like what you and Imp do, no, I’m going to literally kick you so hard, that you have a moment of realization that you were the one who was naïve. I’m going to prove to you and everyone else in EAW that our first meeting was a fluke. Everyone has a bad night. Even you, like when you lost to Sabina in that title match. This time is going to be a completely different story. And at the end of the match, no matter the result, you will be wide eyed at what I did to you. And I bet you’ll hate me even more than you already do.
 
Keep thinking I’m a nothing. I’m going to show you what it’s like to be truly wrong about everything you thought to be a reality.

The glory of a man. Is a high renown or honor won by notable achievements. A man once stood upon Glory. He captured it through hard work. Through fight. He defied the odds that were against him, and rose to the top, claiming what he worked so hard for. With glory, he brought hope. Hope for a new future. A bright future. A future in which he reigned at the top of all humanity, he sought the passion and thrived to be a champion, that all could get behind. But even though Glory is not easily achieved. It is easily lost…. Could this be the story of my life? Has Vic Vendetta stooped so low that he has lost himself? Here’s a bit of a riddle. You walk up to a mountain that has two paths. One path leads to the other side of the mountain, and the other will get you lost. You meet two twins who know the path that will get you to the other side. You can ask each twin one question. The problem? One always lies and one always tells the truth, and you don’t know which is which. What do you ask to find the path? Brett you are now at the cross road where you need to pick which side of Vic Vendetta will lead you down the right path. Here’s the answer… none. I have finally awoken from this foolishness known as companionship and a family bond. You see I thank you young Ares, I thank you because you have turned a simple minded fool into an intelligent psycho path.  You branded me and embarrassed me not only in front of the audience but in front of Lannister.. The man who once again beat you.. I now understand why you attacked me because of jealousy, the green eyed monster came out of you because you were jealous that you have failed countless times against Lannister but I defeated that fool in one night and it only took me one match. You can’t defeat Lannister with out help but why could I? You call yourself the true King of Elite but would a king fall to their knees in front of a peasant? Haha Ares I forgive you for your jealousy but I do not forgive you for your insolence…I will have it in the back of my head that you were the man who left this scar on my body and you will eventually have it that I was the blood that ended the lineage of your side of the House of Vendetta.
 

His head and his hairs were blonde like honey. And his eyes were as a flame of fire, and his voice as the sound of many waters, and out of his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and his presence was as the sun shined in his strength! The lamp of the body is the eye. If therefore your eye is good….your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is bad…your whole body will be full of darkness. Corruption. Dishonest and fraudulent conduct by those in power, typically involving bribery, deception, or manipulation. Those so desperate to find glory once again, obsessed with it…can find themselves open to the influence of darker forces. Where light can shine…so does darkness. It is spread through the Corruption of others. A corruption that turns once glorified men, into shells of their former self. Turning lions into sheep. Heroes into liar. And the blood of one family against each other and into war. Ares Vendetta is a fool for crossing my path but Brett Kennedy is a bigger fool for opening his mouth. You know I don't mean to correct you Brett but if I may, you really are the fool that I have been constantly hearing about. You have the resolve to “kick my ass” but you can’t even take care of your own life. You must have forgotten the accolades of the House of Vendetta when I was in it we were a dominant family and force in the WWE, there was no one better. We have proven it time and time again and even thanks to me by beating Ragnorok and thanks to me why Matt Miles was stretchered off and haven’t been seen again. It's too bad Matthew had to stick his nose where it didn't belong otherwise he wouldn't be in the position he is now, the 24/7 contract holder is probably still on life support breathing through his neck. This may sound a bit Diamond Cage like but would you like to be next Brett? But who am I kidding!? Matt Miles deserved everything that I did to him. What I’m about to do on Showdown will be the perfect and crystal clear example of what will happen to everyone else who decides to stick their noses in my business and dear cross my path. Brett you can be the first sacrifice I make to my father in spirit and faith Charles Manson as I begin my destiny to revive the TRUE Vendetta Dynasty.

Jesus, Cailin Dillon... What has the Iconomy done to you? Is their stupidity contagious? Were you too close, too involved with their goals and social gatherings that it's driven you to become deluded in their LSD-induced illusions, hearing different words, misinterpreting my thought-process, and actually convincing yourself that I HATE the Vixens Division? Take a look at me, Cailin. Take a look at the Heart Break Gal, and what do you see? You see a fierce woman who likes to look and dress pretty, so the world may see her and become astonished by her mere presence. You see a former Vixens Champion, now a fighting Tag Team Champion, struggling and vying tirelessly to make a difference from the moment she held her partner's hand, someone who devised a couple of elaborate schemes and introduced their comrades, the Hexa-Gun, guiding matters in the right path to complete domination where it concerns our fight for Extreme. I could give you all the definitions you need. I could give you a brief summary of what I've done since returning and what I aspire to become, but I know that all the obvious facts mean nothing if you continue to miss what I truly am and know what I represent...

I am a Vixen.

And I never ridiculed the division, to correct you. I never said I was too good for it, because no matter how many times we try to reinvent ourselves as we go above gender roles and stereotypes, no matter how much we fight for our rights, this is simply what we are and there is absolutely nothing we can do to change that... And I love it, Cailin. I love the fact that Elitists instantly underestimate me because of the fact that I am a woman competing in a male-dominated industry. I love the rush I get knowing that after my opponent has undermined me for my physical disadvantage, I still somehow outsmart them and find a way to make them my bitch. Because that's just how I operate, Cailin. That's how I fight. I set my fears aside and search for an angle that I can exploit to my advantage in successful efforts to fight my way out of difficult predicaments, I look at things with a fresh point of view instead of complaining about how unfair things are and how I've become the underdog. I stopped thinking about what I couldn't do and what I couldn't change, and instead continue to improve on the things that count. And that's what separates me from a piece of trash like you, Cailin Dillon, that's the reason why I'm Champion right now, an exemplary vixen and a role model for underachieving women that feel confined by their environment, while you're stuck beating the shit out of rookies who couldn't even wrestle if their lives depended on it. You can't just go around misinterpreting my words to fit your own version of events. I acknowledge that there's a heap of vixens with tremendous talent. I can see you've all strived to see your goals realized and you've fought whether the likelihood of victory was low or high. But it would make me seem like a fake bitch if I just congratulated you forever for working hard to resolve issues that I couldn't care less about. I don't want to pretend to be the kind, loving, wisdom-imparting mother of the Vixens Division and say I'm not better than you as an act of kindness and modesty...

Because then, I'd be bullshitting.

Don't take it personally, Cailin. I do think that you're garbage. I do think that a lot of you are simple-minded abominations who run around in their stilettos, refusing to have their extensions messed with and then turn around the next second pretending they're Wonder Woman. A true Vixen does what she can to be considered the best. A true Vixen snatches opportunities whether or not they deserve it because she believes that winning the race is the only way to take your prize. A true Vixen is beautiful and stunning in more areas than appearance alone, and she defeats her opposite through any means necessary regardless of the deed that must be done, always setting her sights on the highest luxuries. Championships are certainly coveted by true vixens, but the satisfaction of destroying her opponent is absolutely paramount. And I don't think you've noticed, Cailin, but one can only count three, maybe four vixens who live by that description, while the rest of you are just wannabes and tryhards who essentially do the opposite. A few compliments here and your head inflates like a birthday balloon, some sweet words there and you think you can rule the world and destroy everyone in your path, a few retweets from your dumb fans and now you think you have the right to express yourself as if your shortsighted opinion is the all-encompassing authority on a subject. You tend to think that you're important. You think that this company wouldn't function without you opening your mouth and stating your piece, and you couldn't lose a damn match without crying about it on social media. You hate the kind of treatment that you're getting. Those in charge had to devise a new way to keep you bimbos entertained to shut you up, and finally be satisfied that there's still something to fight for. You can go ahead and tell me how you believe that you're one of those high and mighty vixens who assume that the reason opportunities passed them by is because they've been screwed out of opportunities by those above who tend to pick favorites and leave the "quality" performers behind, instead of admitting to themselves that they're just incompetent, untalented piece of shits, and couldn't deliver when it's needed the most. And just like the rest of them, you're fucking laughable.

Don't ever mistake me cheating to win, with your own stupidity, clumsiness, inadequacy and lack of awareness, Cailin. You can make all of the excuses that you want, but the fact of the matter is that the last time we faced each other, you acted like we assumed you would, and just became a walking target for Hexa-Gun to take down. You were in the perfect position to stop me, and do something wonderful and history-making in your career for once in your sad life, but just like how you handled the Empress of Elite, and how you will be at this Championship Scramble, you failed and fell victim to your own ego. I'm glad you're prepared for losses, Cailin. I'm glad you have braced yourself for what's to come. I'm glad you have stepped up and given me this confident face of yours with that stupid smile, because I would be more than happy to make you suffer and make you look like a fool and a laughingstock in front of a live audience to the point that just about every vixen in this company speaks badly of you and doesn't take you seriously any longer. Say goodbye to future Championship opportunities and grand matches that nobody thinks you're going to win. I want your dreams to be crushed, Cailin. I want everyone to look down on you. I want them to be reminded how one brave and strong woman in the Vixens Division has disintegrated to nothing after she has been dealt with by the true fighting vixen of EAW, half of the Tag Team Champions, Co-leader of Hexa-Gun and the Greatest Vixen of All-time..

I want them to see you for who you are, and what you always have been compared to the Heart Break Gal...

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

I had no idea an Answer’s Championship reign came with a complimentary set of genitals; but after seeing you put on such a spectacle I would say that I’m a firm believer of it.

But seriously, you may exhale now.  Do you and your lungs a favor and release all of that air now before you cause yourself to blackout.  As I’m afraid the slight pucker of your chest isn’t doing you any favors with me.  I’m not impressed or the slightest humiliated by words of fictitious mold that hold as much weight in this encounter as wind and hot air.  Though I must admit I am baffled by the sudden spark in confidence you seem to have.  Looking at you now, I’m reminded of a simpler time when Devan Dubian was “Dubian JoMo”.  Who was he?  Meh, nobody special really.  Just another performer lost in the crowd.  An ambitious – and albeit highly inexperienced – aspirant with unrealistic goals of becoming more than what his own reflection perceived him to be.  Optimistic of the day of his big break, he prostituted himself as a sex symbol; strutting around in bedazzled mink fur coats and designer lenses hopeful that it would help him stand out a bit more.  And in some light or another, it did, however it was his constant failing at every opportunity life provided him that made this captivating star’s light burn dim.

Now look where we are.  For years I have watched your transition from “The Shaman of Sexy” Dubian JoMo of Dubai to Answer’s World Champion Devan Dubian of the United Kingdom from my rear-view mirror; and when it finally happened for you I was extremely proud of you.  Considering the lengthy – and often times grueling – journey you had to endure to reach such a pinnacle moment in your career, I knew this newfound sense of self-worth and pride you’ve adopted was bound to rear its ugly little head eventually.  But I’m afraid pride isn’t a luxury you can afford to indulge in right now, as I’m sure the last thing you’d want is for someone like me(who has a long history of defeating you for Championships) to take offense to anything you say and challenge you to a Championship Match you’d be too afraid to accept anyways.  So for once in your career, take the smart approach and tear a page out of the big book of humility before you get yourself hurt.

With all of the hiccups and fall-on-your-face moments you’ve experienced in the past, one would expect more of an understanding tongue from you; but instead you insist on kicking people when they’re down.  Apparently you’ve never experienced the joys of being up, so in poor attempts to hold on to that feeling you diminish the value of those that arise as a threat to you.  But you’ll soon come to find that my spirit isn’t that easily broken or discouraged as I’ve been exposed to nearly impossible odds a handful of times in my career.  Take my encounter with the CN Tower for instance; Jaywalker as the undisputed World Champion and Cleopatra as the Show-Down General Manager, to say they made my life a living hell would be an understatement.  Their constant schemes and underhanded ploys made it incredibly difficult for me or anyone to get close to capturing the World Title.  I came close a time or two – so damned close – only for Cleo to swipe the rug right from beneath my feet time and time again.  I could take a hint – neither of them wanted to see me as the Champion – accepted it, taken my ball, and gone home; but I refused to fold because I’m that hard-headed.  I’m one of those individuals who doesn’t listen to the reasoning of that tiny little voice in the back of their heads telling them when enough is enough.  I wasn’t that type of person then, and I’m not that type of person now.  So instead of wasting valuable time trying to convince me that I’m inferior, meet me out in the ring and show me!

I doubt it'll be much someone of your limited merit could show me.  After all my name is among the elite of this generation.  Not only has my story inspired a multitude but it’s paved a route that those who come after me can follow.  Without my influence, who’s to say where this sport would have been today?  Credited to my assist toward the construction of several wrestling establishments, it’s easy to see why wins over me mean something around here.  I mean, even someone as legendary as the Heart Break Boy boasts of triumph over me.

For years my presence alone has inspired more accidental bowel movements than any laxative under the sun.  I have buried more bodies than a mortician and drawn more blood than a phlebotomist; with over twenty championships credited to my name – thirteen of which are World Titles from very reputable companies – I am someone you too should aspire to one day reach the level of.  In EAW I have won just about every tournament there is, set the bar for most eliminations in a single Rampage, single-handily personified the meaning of a Pain for Pride Moment three years in a row, and as a result was pushed further along the card than you at Territorial Invasion and Midsummer Massacre.  So let’s cease going forward with this tomfoolery by pretending I haven’t been selling out arenas in times both recent and ancient.  If you don’t believe me, feel free to check Show-Down’s match card from the months I’ve been there; I’m sure you’ll come to realize that I’ve headlined more televised broadcasts than the current and former World Champion.  Go on, I’ll wait…now do you see?  I’ve been acquainted with the Main Event scene for years, whereas you’re only just getting that privilege.

How’s that for “conclusive”?

Was that what you wanted to hear, because I can read directly from my resume all day long if you’re still unsatisfied; but what would be the point?  At the end of the day I’m still going to be solidified as a big name and the actions you’ve showcased in recent months will remain confirmation that you’re intimidated by the likes of Brian Daniels.  And you say you’re embarrassed by me?  Ha, that’s a laugh – a real knee slapper.  You’re a Champion who’d rather take the safe route by cautiously choosing your challengers to ensure a lengthy reign as opposed to taking on whosoever is next in line.  I’m embarrassed FOR you Dubian.  Five long years in the lower ranks and this is what all the anticipation has gone to waste on?  What a letdown.

You may feel that you’re above everyone here and because you’re Champion you don't have to prove anything to the rest of us, but I say you do; just as much if not more than I have to prove going forward that I still have what it takes to compete on the standards of Championship gold caliber.  Though seeing as you’ve already set the bar so low, I’m sure to impress this Sunday.

六 We see footage from a security camera outside of someone’s home, as a pizza delivery guy makes his way up the walkway and to the door. Before he can knock, the door swings open to reveal Drake Jaeger - dressed in his usual black boots, trunks, trench coat, gloves, and sunglasses - with a grin on his face. Inaudible talk is heard between the two until Drake pulls the reluctant pizza guy into the home and kicks the door shut. 六

Pizza Guy: Sir-sir, I…. I really need to get back--

Drake: Relax, guy, relax…

六 The scene picks up from a handheld camera following behind Drake and the Pizza Guy make their way down a hallway. 六

Pizza Guy: I could get fired for entering someone’s home like this, sir!

Drake: If it’s any consolation, what I do to you will be much worse than whatever your boss could think of.

Pizza Guy: Oh God… Please…. You can take my money, just please--

Drake: Relax, relax…

六 Drake loudly slaps the Pizza Guy’s back as the Pizza Guy winces in pain. A few seconds later, they finally stop at the living room of the home, where everything looks normal with lamps, a television, a couch, a couple leather chairs, and a little chihuahua sitting on the couch. The Pizza Guy looks on in confusion. 六

Pizza Guy: …. What is this? What do you want me here for?

Drake: You sound REALLY distrusting, guy. Do I look like someone with bad intentions?

Pizza Guy: …. Yeah…. You kind of do, yeah.

六 Drake chuckles and slaps the Pizza Guy on the back again. 六

Drake: I said relax, buddy! Nobody’s gonna do you any harm here… That you don’t deserve.

Pizza Guy: Please…. I just want to leave--

Drake: Calm down, calm down, what do you think this is? You think I’m sick? You think I’m gonna knock you out, tie you to the radiator downstairs, and let that little shit of a dog have at you? You think I look like someone who’s put a lot of thought into how long I could keep you alive while barely feeding you or giving you water as you rot away down there in the dark, cold, basement? Do I?

六 The Pizza Guy attempts to flee, but he’s quickly overpowered and stopped dead in his tracks as Drake grabs him by the arm. 六

Drake: Now if you decide to run, then you must not believe me, and THAT would make me look like a liar. I’m not a liar. You know what happens to people who make false accusations, guy? I said relax.

六 The Pizza Guy reluctantly obliges and stands back in the same spot he was before. 六

Drake: You know why I need you here? I need you here for my masterpiece. I call it: “Know Thy Enemy”!

六 Several seconds of awkward silence go by as Drake waits for someone to applaud him. 六

Drake: You don’t like it.

Pizza Guy: I don’t even know what this is, sir. The name… Doesn’t really make sense to me.

Drake: Oh, right, right. You see, Pizza Guy, YOU are the Pizza BOY.

Pizza Guy: Pizza Boy?

Drake: He’s this little punk that was taken captive by a manager and forced to become a wrestler, but then it became clear he actually had some talent and got trained and won bigger and bigger matches and had an undefeated streak and then he got his ass kicked by Hexa-gun, but not before chopping off my hair and nearly my testicles with a pizza slicer. Got all that?

Pizza Guy: H-huh?

Drake: And THIS little guy…

六 Drake and the Pizza Guy look towards the now growling chihuahua sitting on the couch. 六

Drake: This is Pizza Boy’s partner, Mexican Samurai. Stupid fucking name, right? I thought about just hiring one of the Mexicans that hang out in front of Home Depot, but they were way too expensive. But hey, don’t worry…

六 Drake leans in to the uncomfortable Pizza Guy. 六

Drake (whispering): I made sure it’s a bitch.

六 Drake backs away with a look of satisfaction on his face. 六

Pizza Guy: Mexican… Samurai?

Drake: EXACTLY! Who calls themselves something like that? I heard Nobuhiko Takada gave him the name, but let’s face it, that was probably in the hopes that Mexican Samurai would commit ritualistic suicide the next time he’s utterly defeated. Which happens to be very, very soon. Take a seat.

Pizza Guy: I’m fine… I think I’d rather--

Drake: Oh, I see. Well, how about we decide whether you sit down or not by playing a little game. I call it “Ultimatum”. All you have to do is pick one of two: You can either sit down, or I can make it so it’s physically impossible for you to stand up.

六 The defeated Pizza Guy lumbers over to the couch and sits down, but is immediately startled as the chihuahua starts loudly barking at him. 六

Drake: Hey, hey, hey! Calm down, Mexican Samurai! And what did I say about getting on the couch?

六 Drake kicks the couch as the frightened chihuahua jumps off and runs to one of the leather chairs, jumping on it before he starts growling once more. 六

Drake: You’ll have to forgive Mexican Samurai, Pizza Boy, he’s a real yappy one, but don’t pay him any mind. He’s all bark, and no bite. He’ll just bark and bark for no good reason, and not a single Goddamn thing that comes out of that ugly little mouth of his will ever be of any significance.

六 Drake starts so smile as he looks over at the chihuahua. 六

Drake: Hey, Pizza Boy, what if I put a pair of MMA shorts on this dog? What if I made him the strongest-looking chihuahua around? What if I got him all fired up to look as menacing as possible?

Pizza Guy: He… I don’t know, he’d still be a chihuahua. They’re not very--

Drake: Hahaha, EXACTLY! I like you! Say, I just might take you captive and see how well you perform in the ring.

Pizza Guy: So you’re a…. Wrestler? Is that why you’re dressed like that?

Drake: I mean no offense by this, Pizza Boy, but shut the fuck up. I’ll ask the questions around here. Ahem…

六 Drake sits down on the coffee table, as he faces the still growling chihuahua. 六

Drake: Let’s start with you, Mexican Samurai. Now, as I said before, I’m not a guy with bad intentions for ANYONE. I try to be a good boy. I try to behave. I try to be a… A role model, of sorts. There’s a lot of children who look up to Drake Jaeger, ya know? Just look at this stuff I’m wearing. You think this is just some cheap gimmick? No, sir, this is a way of LIFE. If this were some cheap gimmick, there wouldn’t be Drake Jaeger trench coats, sunglasses, gloves, replica pistols, inflatable dolls, snuggies, and hand towels practically FLYING off the shelves (only available at Hexa.gun.net.com). But then, I suppose bringing up selling merchandise is unfamiliar territory to such a REBEL like yourself, whose only marketable trait is being an angry Mexican guy who thinks he’s an MMA fighter, but little do you know, our fans could turn the corner and see angry Mexicans JUST as delusional as you painting their neighbors houses. I’m getting off track here…

六 Drake coughs and tries to regain his composure before he continues. 六

Drake: Now, as I was saying, I try to set an example for my many, many, many young warshipers. I don’t LIKE to partake in mudslinging on the level of middle school children, ya know? Sometimes it’s just hard to contain myself with people such as yourself surrounding me and Hexa-gun. It’s almost hard to breathe, and perhaps that’s why I lash out. Maybe that’s why I just LOSE MY MIND sometimes, ya know? Now I heard everything you had to say to me, and my compatriots. I heard the insults you threw, I saw the anger flaring up in your eyes, and even I could taste the bile in the back of your throat with every second you spent talking your trashy trash (in a non-sexual manner, of course). First and foremost, I’d just like to say ya got me. Ya got me. You hit the nail on the head. Let’s go down the list:

Am I a big fan of anime to the point of an unhealthy obsession, so much so that I’ve named every one of my maneuvers after an anime reference?

Guilty.

Were Tiberius Jones and myself eliminated by The Pizza Boy at Territorial Invasion?

Guilty.

Despite three years of Spanish, did I only recently find out that the Mexican National Anthem isn’t ‘La Cucaracha’?

Guilty.

六 Drake puts his right hand up and his left hand over his heart. 六

Drake: Guilty as charged. Dead to rights. Lock me up, and throw away the key. Throw me in your finest prison cell and torture me with everything your sadistic little Government has in their arsenal, BUT…. But, but, but…. I think it’s only right that you come with me.

六 Drake puts his hands down and continues. 六

Drake: It’s ONLY fair. You have to come with me, Mexican Samurai, because YOU are every bit as guilty as Drake Jaeger is in your own right! You’re guilty of sticking your nose in the business of others in RAPID succession on the last Showdown alone. You’re guilty of being a foul-mouthed little troll that crawled out from under his bridge because he’s tired of being an obscure little dot on the radar. You’re guilty of being such a desperate, pathetic little man that you cling to our spotlight for a taste of that fame, like… Like, I don’t know, like exactly how desperate you portrayed Drake Jaeger as a mere little goon whose job it is to suck the life out of Y2Impact. Now I’m gonna go and ignore your heinous crime of gender equality by not including our Co-Leader, the Heart Break Gal, in this money shot scenario you’ve placed me in, BUT I’m NOT gonna ignore that you are every bit as eager to gobble up the cock of Hexa-gun’s relevance if it means someone will finally talk about the Mexican Samurai. Don’t get me wrong, guy, I thought it was a BRILLIANT little argument. Such detail, such fury, such anger - I felt like I was right there with you as Y2Impact’s semen came crashing down like a great tsunami, but I’m afraid your hypocritical little smoking gun just wasn’t enough for a gun that shoots much more than smoke! So here’s what’s gonna happen, Mexican Samurai, here’s what’s gonna happen:

You’re gonna join me in that cell, and I’m gonna fulfill your fantasy, and I’m gonna give you a chance to be famous, and I’m gonna break your back, and I’m gonna metaphorically fuck you in the ass until you regret the day you ever fucked with Drake Jaeger and Hexa-gun. I’m gonna make you my prison bitch, and I’m going to sell your cholo ass down the river to on to the next guy for a pack of smokes! That’s fate, baby! That’s YOUR fate! Was it worth it? Was it? Don’t speak, Mexican Samurai, because I can already hear you mumbling out a faint little verbal retort, and nobody - yourself included - wants to hear it. It’s hard to breathe right now, isn’t it? The Hexa-gun life support your career is on is only a day away from having the plug pulled out, Mexican Samurai! Start panicking! Start struggling! Oh God, Mexican Samurai, CLING! Cling to life! With everything you’ve got, cling to life! What do we got? Uh, uh, uh, oh! Drake still got eliminated at Territorial Invasion, right? His time may have won, but HE got eliminated, right? Well, two can play at THAT game, guy. Let’s take a look at how well you performed at Territorial Invasion:

六 Drake grabs a nearby remote and sits down on the couch, next to the frightened Pizza Guy. Drake turns the television on as nothing but white noise plays. 六

Drake: ….. What is this? Is something wrong? Did I break the television? Is there something wrong with the DVD? There’s gotta be something…. Oh….. OH…. OH, WAIT! Now I remember!

六 Drake throws the remote over his shoulder and jumps back over to the coffee table to stare at the chihuahua. 六

Drake: You didn’t HAVE a fucking Territorial Invasion match! And what does that say about you? What does that say about the Mexican Samurai? Now, I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m kind of a psychic. Let me look into my crystal ball…

六 Drake pretends to look into a crystal ball. 六

Drake: I see….. Excuses…. I see denial…. “Management screwed me over”..... “People are just afraid of what I can do”.... “I--” ENOUGH! I can only take so much bullshit before the smell of it has me literally sick to my stomach! You know why you didn’t have a match at Territorial Invasion? You know why you weren’t getting a fat paycheck? Because there isn’t a Goddamn time when a promoter goes “I think we should book Mexican Samurai this week.” without it being followed by the question “What the fuck is a Mexican Samurai???”! You know why they don’t know what a Mexican Samurai is, guy? It isn’t because of how stupid it sounds every time they cringely speak it. It’s because regardless of how many offensive moves, vulgar slurs, and cute little badass poses you bring to the table, you will NEVER bring what people like us can, and it’s the most crucial thing that keeps the World on spinning. 

六 Drake does the hand gesture for money. 六

Drake: You will never, in your entire, painfully slow, plodding, insignificant career…. Bring money to this table. You know why that is? Stop what you’re doing and look in the closest mirror. Look at your MMA shorts, look at your face, and listen to your own words, and you’ll have your answer, buddy. You, my friend, are a dime a dozen. You are one of millions. You can fight and fight and fight and fight until your body can move no more, but you will ALWAYS be pulled down before you can escape this hole you lie in by all the others JUST like you! You laugh at me for my association with Hexa-gun, but your little rebel-without-a-cause, lone wolf bullshit is exactly why you don’t matter here or anywhere else you travel to. It’s exactly why a team in desperate need of a fifth man chose a fucking guy named “The Pizza Boy” over you. All your life, you’ve looked at yourself as a STAR…. Oh yes, you’re a star. In fact…

六 Drake gets up, quickly makes is way over to the back deck of the house, opens the sliding doors, and makes his way over to a telescope. Drake looks into the telescope and at the night sky. 六

Drake: Look at all those stars. There’s Hexa-gun… There’s Mr. DEDEDE… There’s Tyler Parker… There’s Brian Daniels…. But, hold on…. Where…. Oh man, I can’t seem to find the Mexican Samurai.

六 Drake stops using the telescope and turns back to the camera. 六

Drake: You know why that is? Because a star you may be, but we can’t all be in the forefront for the World to see! You’re a star ALL the way down at the ass-end of our solar system! THAT’S you! A funny little footnote! You don’t make history, you ARE history! The day the star called “Mexican Samurai” dies out, nothing will change. Nothing will change whatsoever. The World will never notice a thing, because you’re just one of many who suffered the same fucking fate! You’ll disappear and you’ll be JUST another guy who tried and failed while men like Drake Jaeger who associate themselves with a group that you consider the punchline to your jokes - he thrives, and he lives, and should he EVER die, he will be missed by those he fought and died for! You? You’re expendable! It’s a Goddamn TRAGEDY that you’re no real Samurai, because at least you’d have a retainer who would mourn your loss. Maybe your mother might notice for a second or two, but she’d move on, fuck another burnout from some bar, and pop out another Mexican Samurai! The ONLY one who might miss you…. Is the man who relies on you come Showdown…

六 Drake turns to the terrified Pizza Guy on the couch. 六

Drake: Hi there.

Pizza Guy: Can I please go?

Drake: What’s the hurry?

Pizza Guy: I… Have a job?

Drake: That you do, Pizza Boy. You have a job to step into the ring with Drake Jaeger once more. Once more into the fray, right? Into the last good fight you’ll ever know? Don’t act like such a little coward though! Come on, act like the REAL Pizza Boy! Man up! Puff out that chest! Tell me how much you hate my guts and go into excruciating detail of how you’re going to rip and maim me! Go ahead! Put on your little show for us just ONE more time.

六 The Pizza Guy doesn’t move; scared to do or say anything. 六

Drake: What… What’s that smell? I think…. I think that’s the smell of DISSENSION. Oh yeah, I can smell it all over you, Pizza Boy. You reek of it! If there was anything you should have learned from Territorial Invasion, it’s that you simply can’t trust those who try to have your back against a force like Hexa-gun, because let’s be honest, throwing two or three or four or five incompatible pieces of garbage together is never gonna match up to a well-oiled machine. It really says something that YOU were the last man to survive on your team, doesn’t it? Not even a certified Legend and former multi-time World Champion could keep up with us, but you… You stayed alive. Was it luck? Ignorance? Underestimation? Strategy? You’re like a cockroach after a nuclear strike. You may have survived, Pizza Boy, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a cockroach… And all it takes is a little…

六 Drake loudly stomps his foot on the floor - startling the Pizza Guy. 六

Drake: You fought and you failed last time we stepped into a ring on Showdown, so exactly how many pills did you pop to convince yourself your odds just as good, if not better now? You think because you’ve got an angry little Mexican at your side that you can put aside your differences and overcome myself and Tiberius Jones? Tisk, tisk, tisk, Pizza Boy. I thought you were smarter than that. Then again, how smart can you be if you’re willing to jump back in front of this freight train once more? Let me put it into perspective for you: You’re taking on the two men who you managed to eliminate at Territorial Invasion. Two men who have a massive score to settle. Two men who are a part of an entire group of people that specialize in torturing overconfident little pissants like you. Two men who are the most talented young prospects in this entire company. And at your side, as your only help, you have a man that not only clings to life like the newborn little bastard he is with the umbilical cord FIRMLY wrapped around his throat. For your partner, you have a man whose time as a team with you consists of passive aggressively insulting you backstage.

六 Drake shrugs. 六

Drake: Need I say more? Do I really need to keep up this delusional little game of your’s? Do I have to pretend you’re still a threat? You told me Hexa-gun is only threatening in droves. Well, this may not be a drove, but if one of us was enough to beat your scrawny ass on Showdown, just IMAGINE what we can accomplish with two of us and a taste for pizza! That’s not gonna be sauce running down your face on Showdown, motherfucker! It’s time to end this sham! It’s time to rip apart this picture you’ve painted where you’re even remotely any kind of a threat to us! Tomorrow night on Showdown, I put a gun to your head and paint every member of the first few rows with your brain matter! Now get the fuck out of my house!

六 The confused Pizza Guy silently looks back and forth at Drake and the hallway that leads to the front door. 六

Pizza Guy: I…. I can leave…. Now?

Drake: No you can’t fucking leave! This isn’t even my house! I’M leaving!

六 Drake stands up and storms off as the camera remains on a somewhat relieved Pizza Guy. After a few moments, the Pizza Guy looks up in fear as Drake comes rushing back in; only to pick up the untouched pizza, stare at the Pizza Guy for several seconds, and storm off again as the camera shuts off. 六

 

The sun is shining bright on this average afternoon in suburbia of Green Bay, Wisconsin. Kids and Teens are out enjoying their weekend, riding around on bikes and skateboards trying to forget about their homework that’s still yet to be done. The sounds of Beastie Boys’ 1994 album ‘Ill Communication’ is blasting through Piff Fumador’s portable speakers as he walks round the suburb wearing a Sacramento Kings basketball jersey and shorts as well as his signature Luchador mask. He stops a man on the sidewalk, the white haired man is roughly in his 60s wearing a Packers polo shirt and corduroys.
 
Piff: Hola amigo, my name is Piff Fumador. I’m a luchador for the EAW, specialising in weed smoking and ass kicking. What is your name, hombre?
 
Man: What did you just say boy? I honestly can’t understand a single thing you’re talking about?
 
Piff: What do you mean, esé? This is just how I talk, born and raised in Tijuana. Now I’m here in Green Bay to hit some 420 Splashes and earn a title shot on Monday, you know battleground?
 
Man: Battleground? Honestly son, you’re making no sense. You’re from Tijuana? You sound like you’re from California or something.
 
Fumador doesn’t have too much patience for the man, he’s looking like he’s had a rough week.
 
Piff: California? No Tijuana in Mexico, gringo. Look what is your name-o? I need some help!
 
Man: Well my name is Eric, born and raised in Green Bay. Your name is Keith you say?
 
Piff: Keith?! No Piff! Look Eric I need a really grande favour, can you help me out, amigo?
 
Eric: Well okay Keith; I can try to help you out. What seems to be the problem, son?
 
Piff: Well basically, I’m a highflying professional wrestler. With a big emphasis on ‘high’. I like to smoke God’s green leaves of love, a bit of the dank stuff. I like to go down on Mary Jane, daily. You catch my deriva?
 
The old man suddenly switches on to what Piff is talking about.
 
Eric: You like to smoke Marijuana?
 
Piff: Exact a mundo, Eric! But I can’t smoke as well as wrestle, for some reason.. I don’t get it, I’m in a wrestling company where one guy can get away with MURDER?! And countless are juicing up to get their arms as big as a burrito supreme, but I can’t enjoy a couple tokes on the job? It’s mierda, amigo…
 
Eric: Mierda? Oh that’s ‘bullshit’, looks like we both know some basic Spanish, haha. But okay I know where you’re coming from, you wanna carry on breaking the law and smoking drugs on your job? How in the holy hell can I help with this situation, Keith?
 
Fumador starts to look increasing frustrated, which is fairly out of the ordinary for the pot-head luchador.
 
Piff: It’s Piff btw, gringo. But okay, yes that is basically the point. There’s a group that enforce the criminalisation of this beautiful plant, called the Western Executives for Ending Dope. They’re complaining to the head honchos at EAW where I wrestle, and if I don’t pass a live drug test on Monday then I can’t get a title shot for the Top Prospects Championship!!
 
Eric: Oh wait.. I think you’ve lost me again, boy.
 
Piff: AY DIOS MIO! JUST GIVE ME A BOTTLE OF YOUR PISS!
 
Eric: My urine? Why in the hell would you want that?
 
Piff: Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying?!
 
Fumador walks off, uncharacteristically pissed off. He carries on walking along the pavement until he passes two boys who look around 18-20. The boys are both wearing hooded sweatshirts and shorts, looking fairly shady; which catches Piff’s eye. He stops the two of them, and they both look at each other like they both vaguely recognise him.
 
Piff: Hola Amigos, my name is Piff Fumador and need some help.
 
Boy 1: Oh shit, it is you! Haha, I thought you were just a guy wearing his mask. Damn that thing looks like you bought it at the dollar store.
 
Piff: No this is the realeo dealeo, I am Tijuana’s finest strain and need your help.
 
Boy 2: That’s cool man, we’re EAW fans. Never really catch Battleground, but who actually does?
 
The two boys laugh while Piff looks unimpressed.
 
Piff: Funny stuff, gringo. But if you caught last week’s you’d know I have to submit a drug test on Monday or I can’t face Maxwell Dachs for a shot at the Top Prospect championship.
 
Boy 1: Oh shit, Maxwell Dachs from Dynasty? That’s awesome, he’s the Devil of St Paul..
 
Boy 2: The Man Without Fear
 
Piff: Yes, the Vigilante, the man who beat GI Styles. Those are all his nicknames, esé. And before you say, he does an amazing Dachs Destroyer, Daredevil Driver, Path of the Righteous.. Basically all his moves are great. See, I haven’t had a joint since Monday and I’m getting really irritable. Which isn’t like me, I like to kick back with a dooby and jack my thang looking at Vixens’ boobies. You know what I’m saying.
 
Boy 2: Yeah no we get that man, you’re not alone there.
 
The three of them all laugh and high five each other, forming a small bond with the luchador. Piff however does look increasingly desperate to smoke and impatient with the conversation.
 
Piff: Exactly, esé. And I have a couple grams of Columbia’s finest sticky icky in my pocket that I’m dying to smoke, but I can’t blaze any of it until I pass the drug test. Or until I can find an amigo to donate their piss to me, to help the cause. That’s why I’m in Wisconsin a couple days before Battleground, I need to get my hook up for this drug test so I can start smoking again. You getting my drifto, hombres?
 
Boy 1: You want us to give your our piss? Haha no way, man, that’s so fucked up. Although we can sell you a gram of Wisconsin’s finest? We got some super dank white rhino if you want?
 
Piff: Hmm.. White rhino? Errrr… actually yeah I will take I gram of that, homie.
 
The 1^st boy signals to the 2^nd to get the baggie from his pocket while Piff gives the money to him. After the exchange they all give each other a mutual nod of the head and part ways. Piff then realises what he’s done and looks even more frustrated.
 
Piff: OH MY GOD I NEED SOME PISS! I NEED TO SMOKE SOME WEED! AY DIOS MIO, I’M LOSING MY MIND!!!!
 
He carries on walking through suburbia trying to find what he’s after as the scene ends. Whether he’s successful or not? I guess the drug test on Battleground will reveal the answers.