VOLTAGE I: IN NEED OF RESPECT.

Chris DeLion?  Who in the fuck is this guy?  You’ve got to be kidding me.  When I demanded anyone to come after me last week, I wasn’t asking for chumps.  I was asking for the best that this company has to offer, not some nobody who hasn’t done anything significant in this company.  I’ve been spending my week on TV shows, movie shoots and anything more important than talking about a guy who’s called “Chris DeLion”.  Wiping my ass with dollar bills is more important than talking about this chump.  You see, I’m not a fan of where I put in this week.  I went from main eventing Voltage to merely facing a blemish in my good week.  I started off with some gorgeous women at bedside to being disrespected by Carlos Rosso AGAIN.  He knows damn well that I should be main eventing Voltage every week and not facing someone from nobodycaresville.  I was going up against some of the best that this show was offering, but I guess I’m being disrespected with a move like this.  Sure, you can say that “he’s an up and coming talent who may leave an impression on you”, but at the end of the day, he’s going to be dragged across the ring like a ragdoll.  People always try to throw shit at me like I’m some joke, but I’m holding the biggest prize that Voltage has to offer.  I didn’t cheat to win this or retain my title; I outsmart people and plan my moves.  Some could call this “cheating”, but I call it taking an opportunity and rolling with it.  Look at Keelan two weeks ago; he thought he was on top of the world, but I had a plan.  I used the environments around me to take advantage of this situation so I successfully defended my title.  Where is that kid now?  He’s buddying up with Marco and mentioning my name as if he has any right to.  Chris DeLion is going to suffer even more because he’s got no chance against me.  He’s a peasant while I’m the king of the world.  


Actually, let’s look up what this guy has done in my special Fiora servers.  Dot.  Dot.  Dot.  Nada.  Nothing.  Poof.  Why am I not surprised?  Oh yeah, because he’s just a piece of shit who Carlos Rosso thinks can keep up with me!  What a surprise.  If that Waste His Time Hashtag had any use, the moment for that would be right now because guess what?  IT’S A WASTE OF MY TIME.  I didn’t even hear about this match until a few nights ago because my agent told me about it.  I’ll quote them on what they exactly said: “They’re really not much a threat so just ignore them until you actually have to say something”.  I should not be having these kind of opponents in my league.  The Nathan Fiora League of greatness does not need to be forsaken because some general manager is so up into the rest of the roster’s ass.  So I’m telling you man to man, Carlos; give me a real challenge.  I don’t care who it is, but give me someone who I will be able to compete with and show the world why I’m so much better than them.  I’m going to wait and wait until he does it.  I will literally grab a chair and wait in the middle of the ring until Rosso gives me a true challenge.  No fucks given, at all.  Come throw your lawyers and yes-men at me and I’ll kick their faces’ in.  For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been sitting here, waiting for a true challenge while people disrespect my legacy.  Chris Elite, Keelan Cetinich, and many others have been putting my name in their mouths like some common lingo.  You don’t say my name and shit on it, ya hear?  I will go to your little homes and bitch slap each one of you.  I’m a man of my word, so I’ll be in your houses in five.  So I leave my conversation here.  I will not say any other word until my requests are completed.  You can leave my check in my personal locker with paid expenses and everything that I’ve spent to do nothing in your damn show.

In this asylum, where dreams are only faded memories and washed out faces...does it truly matter what is order and what is chaos? Eclipse let those thoughts drift around in his head as he stared at his reflection in the puddles of water on the ground. This room hadn’t changed much, most asylums dating back this long had one. His personal Sanatorium had one as well. A room devoted to hydrotherapy. Therapy was a loose term for what was often done in rooms like these, but it didn’t matter. For them it was in the spirit of trying what they believed worked. To them...it was to instill a feeling of normalcy into the derangements of those that were trapped in this hell. Normalcy. Normal. Normal to what? Normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. And so it was that they tried to impress upon him a feeling of normal. They did this by pressing him into the waters of a hot bath for upwards of a full 24 hours, isolated and alone. Other times he was simply blasted with freezing cold water from a fire hose. All to keep his mind ‘at a decent level’, and to promote that feeling of normalcy. As if it mattered what normalcy meant. It was always so funny to him that people could promote these ideas of normalcy which would then be disregarded and rejected to promote the idea of being ‘unique’ or ‘special’ in the outside world. What did it matter to try to make you fit in with everyone else in an Asylum?

In the end it was about control. You would have to succumb. That was all there was to it. If they couldn’t cure the pack, the wolves would have to be tamed. So horrible experiments like Hydrotherapy were used. Among other things. It didn’t matter. It was the past. And he had to focus on the future. He looked towards the floor, spying two sets of masks lying against the ground. His own. A white sheep mask, gazing up at him with soulless eyes. He almost smiled at the calm innocence it seemed to push out from its white substance. Almost smiled. But the other focal point was also there. The fact that staring at him right beside it, was the black sheep mask. The black sheep mask that represented the side of him he was afraid of. He clicked his teeth, breathing in and out with shaky breaths. That mask. What...he wanted. What he desired to do. Eclipse wasn’t sure if trying to control it would do him any good. Especially for who he was going to be going up against. As if it mattered though. In the end he would have to prove that he was going to be strong enough to survive against the onslaught that was two of the strongest and darkest minds in EAW history. And he was contemplating the ideas of spiders and flies. Adorable. Focus. Focus. They needed to focus.

“It’s a pity that I couldn’t have this against the two of you individually. The two of you...so powerful. So...hungry for blood and destruction. The two of you make my blood sing. My heart hammer against my chest. It’s a feeling akin to love honestly. Do you understand what it means? All the cares in the world laid out before my feet. And in the end all I want is to feel your fists upon my face. To feel my bones bending under the weight of what you do to us. To all of us. I’m more excited for this match then I have been for many things that have been thrown to me in EAW as of late, and my reason for it? It’s because of what I know this match entails. It means that every dark decision that I must make...to save myself and my family, can not only be put to the test...but can be tested against the darkest people in EAW history currently. Both born out of necessity. And what a wonder it is, that they are to be brought against me, to test their own darkness against me. I wonder if they are just as excited as I am. I wonder if they believe that they will step to greatness over me?

They aren’t like Judas. Methuselah and Voin are nothing like Judas. Judas uses the darkness only so far as he sees it. It is strength to him. Nothing more. A monster in idea only. Methuselah? Nowhere near that easy to predict or understand. Methuselah is a true monster. An unguided force of devastation and destruction built and made for death. Glory. Destruction. Ruin. Carnage. All these things make up the identity of a monster like Methuselah. But my words. My voice. Does it reach you? Or does it simply enter into the ears of your ‘keeper’ that is Soothsayer Hamasa. No. I won’t stand here and critique you for the fact that you have a keeper. Monsters do not need words to prove what they are. And you...you have enough words for me. You state that it would be best for us to simply lay down and wait for death to come to us. As if we feared death. As if I had anything to fear from it. The thing with death is...I have seen her beautiful face. I have felt the soft caress of her cheek, Hamasa. So, allow me to retort to you Hamasa, and let these words reach the ears of Methuselah. I remember the day that we fought. I remember it, and I remember it well. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth and the feeling of power in my veins as we went back and forth, our fists connecting to each others skulls. In that moment of time, frozen forever in my scarred mind...we were kin. Brothers. See, the DEDEDE that I faced then, was suppressing that beast. Holding that monster at bay. You put on this mask of normalcy. This idea that you were above the other humans, by portraying yourself as what every human aspires to become. A god. Or Gawd as you termed it. But, that wasn’t you. You are not some idea of a folk lore deity or anything of the sort. You are a monster. A beast. Your purpose to tear and rend flesh. To devour all those that come into your path and above all else...tear them limb from limb.

The thing with monsters like us is...they should never stray from where they belong. I left Dynasty. I left due to a trade deal, made by those with financial power, not power in their hands. I found myself back in my territory. My stomping ground. Voltage. And Voltage is my territory. My domain. And you don’t belong here. You’ve strayed too far from where you belong, and you are in unknown waters now.You might believe that the entirety of EAW is your territory, you stand very corrected. See, you aren’t a roaming beast. You can’t take over villages like the one we call Voltage and expect to dominate it as you do anywhere else. Not when this place has monsters of its own. And these monsters are all more than willing to tear you apart where you stand Methuselah. If for nothing else, because you decided to trespass on the ground we consider sacred.

Take this to heart, I’m going to enjoy what happens. I’m going to enjoy feeling your blood run down whatever object, steel chair or otherwise, that I happen to be wielding against you. No matter what happens or what comes our way Methuselah. I want to be sure that I destroy you where you stand, to teach a lesson to other would be monsters. Monsters like you, monsters that don’t know where they wish to go or what their purpose is...they will suffer against the monsters that have their focus in life. And just like I’ve shown to the world, since I first arrived in EAW...and which shall be proven till the end of time. This will be a battle for the ages Methuselah...it is too bad...that the end times for you have come.”

Without a second thought Eclipse reached down, picking up the black mask and draping them over his head. He leaned back, breathing out heavily as his eyes seemed to focus. Eclipse was gone. There was only Abaddon now. And Abaddon would save them. They would save them from his torment.


“Please don’t take...my sunshine away.”

Talk a big game then fall short on backing it.

Throw down the gauntlet then scurry away at the mere sight of someone taking you up on it. 

Flap your gums until push comes to shove and your lips get stapled shut.

Such is the norm for the crushing majority of the locker room nowadays. It doesn't matter how deep you have got your feet submerged in these shark-infested waters, or how long you have been around here for. Excluding a handful of exceptions, elitists left and right find themselves reduced to mediocrity. The mediocrity of empty words, promises bound to fade away unfulfilled and a verbal shield relied on for safety when the bell towers quiver at the inception of another battle. Camouflaging their weaknesses, and boy are they a plethora, by the placement of a microphone to their lips. All of the sudden they become these mighty beasts, revered for the aura that encompasses them upon voicing what roamed their craniums from "thoughts". Do they really possess that power though? The answer is no. Far from, actually. All of it is merely a façade, cooked up to distract the naked eye from beholding who they truly are beneath its pizzazz; a bunch of insecure weaklings. They would rather disguise themselves as wolves, just to relish the concomitant heartthrob of being one, than be content in their own skin since the latter doesn't provide for half the imposing presence that a wolf can. They would rather lie, bend the standards and betray their own nature to feel feared, even if the sensation lasts a few seconds, because they know it ain't a feasible feat if they stayed the conventional, church and society approved course. In simpler terms, we've got more pussies parading about the corridors of this company every day than the Vixens' dressing room on a Thursday night. Worst of all? Luckily for ol' me, I've been dealing with the biggest one of them all for the last, what? Two, three months? Yep, I got the fattest fish in the pond stalking me like a shadow. A cockroach-like creature, both looks and tenacity wise, who goes by the name of Kenny Drake. The loudest mouth behind the biggest band of deadbeats around. While I expanded upon the monotony of today's Elite Answers Wrestling and how people around entrust their mouths with the task of cementing a legacy for them or at the very least, strike fear in the hearts of their opposition, I couldn't get the image of Kenny out of my head. It's like he was put on this earth to wear those shoes and that those shoes were tailor-made for him to wear. Granted, a good many names have put the truthfulness of said hypothesis to the test and some even came close to dethroning Drake of his spot... but when the dust clears at the end of the day, nobody comes close enough. Let's put matters into perspective, shall we? Myself and Wolvesden have been at each other's gullets for a while now. We have been neck and neck in this war of attrition and that rubbed a lot of folks the wrong way because in their eyes, Wolvesden shouldn't be at the level that they are. They shouldn't be allowed to run roughshod all over Voltage, or be given the time of day by anybody on the brand, especially Carson Ramsay. To those people, I ask you to ponder this thought; ever stopped complaining about the why's and started inquiring about the how's instead? How DID Wolvesden garnered so much hype and support from the fans in such a short span of time?

Two words.

Their words.

Don't be fooled. The essence of the little domination that they have been enjoying here stems from the manner in which they word their beliefs. They are steered by the Machiavellian nature of Drake and his ability to tickle all the right nerves with practically anybody on God's green earth. That's why Wolvesden still exists, because fans hold on to their every word, allowing it to evoke an emotion in them, when everything that those masked dickwads sprout is sugarcoated bullshit. We live in a world where it's so easy to persuade, convince and subsequently enslave minds. Just give them a false sense of hope, tell them that if they choose to follow you, you foresee life to change for the better. Promise them that you will put food on their table, clothes on their kids and money in their pocket; all they have to do is give up their life so that yours can feed off the fumes. Words... one inspirational piece, that's it. I suppose I should spare a few minutes of my time to take in the fact that I just ripped the lid off Wolvesden's secret formula now, huh? I mean, that's a go-to for anyone in my shoes. The thing is, I'm saving the thrill for a much more fitting occasion. My strategy with small victories like that is fairly simple; let them stack up until the big bang pierce through to the eardrums and poof! All is worth it. The wait, the anticipation, the repressed temptations and so on. All of 'em. It has been a hot minute since the thorn that is Kenny Drake and his posse was nailed down my side, trials and tribulations plagued both of our respective coattails throughout every second of it. Shock Value looms on the horizon, and the closer we inch to the intentional marriage of flesh and electricity, the clearer the future becomes. The end is coming, hoping to snatch up two birds with one hand but I'll be damned if I let it happen easily.

However, however, that's November 19th and I have checked the calendar - which is of rarity, mind you. Turns out, we're still not done with the wretched tenth just yet. Good news is, this Sunday's Voltage will be the last of October. Better news is, I get to end the month with a bang. I know that sounds a tad too brash for me and it will be taken out of context to appease someone else's agenda, my opponent's being the top candidate, so allow me to elaborate. Recall when I said that a good many names have given Kenny Drake a run for his money in terms of having a way with words? Not to honk this chap's horn, but I believe I'm going against the runner-up (for the time being) on Sunday; Matt Miles. Heard your speech and needless to say, I was impressed. Not by spending half of it to gloat about a count-out victory over Y2Impact, that is just milking a dry cow. Who seeks bragging rights out of having their hand raised because their opponent got a little bit sloppy and couldn't beat the ten count? Regardless of the name or stature that said opponent claims, you just can't do that and expect people to sing the praises of it until your dying breath escapes. Now, don't take this the wrong way; I'm not trying to rain on your parade. I know what the records will show: Matt Miles defeated Y2Impact via count-out, I get that. I understand if the "defeated Y2Impact" part of it has captured most of your attention and you can't bring yourself to read the rest—just don't count on other people giving a fuck. Don't expect the bets against you to suddenly be scrapped off and replaced with fat rolls of green on your name come Shock Value, 'cause they won't. You barely, and I emphasize barely, got out of Dubai with the W over Impact which begs a question... a dilemma; what are you going to do in Oklahoma when you're pit against Impact AND the EAW Champion in the very same ring? If you thought last Sunday was a hassle, just wait until Shock Value. Or better yet, why wait? Tomorrow night, you'll have just as big of a challenge. Granted, I might not be competing at the main event level just yet but we both know why the imminence of that is impeded. Besides, I don't sleep hoping to find my name at the top of the card the next day; I just go out and perform as if it is. That's the mindset that brought me to the dance, that's the one that has kept me in it and that is gonna be the one that leads me to championship gold. 

It's funny how you stressed the fact that this ain't a rock, paper, scissors game between us plenty of times in your rant yet always followed them with a perfect demonstration of how a game of rock, paper, scissors would work in our situation. I see it as clear as day, Miles; your attempt to one-up me, eclipse me and still act like you don't mean to offend afterwards. Banking on a win over Kenny to tip the scales in your favor as we approach Sunday isn't a very wise argument to make, kiddo. Kenny Drake isn't a beat worth flaunting around, he's not a Y2Impact. And yeah, I know what you're going to answer in return. "But Carson, Kenny beat you!" He did, but how exactly did he manage to get one over me?—exactly. Again, I'm not trying to soil your fun with those little win of yours, Matt, they clearly mean the world to you. All I'm trying to say is that Kenny isn't the measuring stick that you should use, but since you are, I guess that paints an awfully convenient picture. Yes, you and I may have a lot in common - from friends stabbing us in the back to the underdog treatment being bestowed upon us ever since we put our foot in the door - but you also share quite a few similarities with Drake himself. You both like to boast when fate smiles upon you and you both take your sweet ass time to do so. Do you think the night Kenny that beat me on was the only time I've heard that fact shouted on the microphone? Nah, he kept flashing it in my face and everybody else's at every possible chance. He's probably contemplating if he should use it as the basis for his next string of Shock Value-related monologues, since he's too dense to think up a better argument. Another thing I've noticed about you, Matt Miles, that eerily resembles Kenny Drake is the idea that you both preach as if it's gospel truth; you think I'm obsessed. Obsessed with the destruction of Wolvesden, the death of Drake and quite frankly, you both are kinda' right. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you that not a day goes by without me pondering all the possible scenarios of that happening, and it WILL happen. Of course, you only got it half right because while I may be fueled by an obsession, I remain as focused as ever. I've got my eyes glued to the prize at all times and my objectives are too simple to lose sight of. This Sunday night, I know Kenny will prowl about salivating at the opportunity to pounce on me. I also know that Miles won't think twice about taking advantage to eventually strut off into the sunset with yet another dubious win. Most importantly, I'm well aware that both of them look at me like I'm some sort of a prey bound to fall in their trap—and I'm cool with that. Nah, scratch that; I LOVE it. I love the role that I'm playing in a tale where two expendable characters believe it to revolve around them. By all means, Miles, Drake, keep sleeping on me and consider me your Freddy Krueger. Concoct all the plans you wish to implement when I walk down the ramp, form a one-night-only alliance for all I care; maybe then Matt Miles will stand a chance at weaseling out the victor. Though, even though, I still reserve some doubt.

I don't need luck to win, son. You need it as an excuse for when you hang by a thread on the losing end.

Voltage #4

Paris, France, Friday, 1:35 a.m.

(The scene opens on the streets of Paris. All is quiet at the this hour. There is very little in the way of traffic (pedestrians or otherwise) tonight. The camera turns from the street, to find a man standing in the cold, the warmth of his breath visible in the camera's ledge. the man who will be competing in a two on one handicap match this Sunday on Voltage. The man the world knows as Solomon Caine.)


Caine: "This city, has stood for over a millennia. It not because of the marvelous wonders that man has crafted with his hands. It not because of the vanity of those who shape stone or cloth, or color. It is not because lust of those who seek another to cast their weaknesses upon. No, it is because this city was built upon blood. Like a great tree that has grrrrooowwwnn tall from being constantly watered, so has this land drank greedily of the crimson red that is spilled from the hearts of men. They have seen this, and that is why my masters have allowed it to stand. For though the heaths who trample over it are all vain, and greedy, and wicked, my masters know that this land will soon thirst again. And when it does, it will drink from all of filth within it. That time will come this Sunday.


This Sunday will see the blood of Keelan Citinich, and Marco Fedor spill from their bodies, and be swallowed up by the ground. They will be the next two to be sacrificed to keep this city standing. They have brought this judgement upon themselves, with their wicked actions, and rotten words which festers and infects the minds of those who turn their eyes away from the truth.


You horrid monsters will see the bodies of your false idols, crushed and crumbled before your very eyes. You will hear their cries for mercy, you will witness them succumb to the power of those that sent me. You vile heathens you. Your time is short and you don't even realize it. Instead you choose to fix your eyes upon those wretches that will be slaughtered in the name of my masters. You praise them for their vanity, you rejoice in their blindness. You have turned them weak. And for them indulging their weakness they must be stricken down.

You must be stricken Keelan, because you have turned away from the harsh truth, that all is for not in this world. That all the false glory in this sickly earth, will not mean A GODDAMN THING at the end of aaaaggggeeessssss! All cheers and adulation from those weak inepts will profit you nothing when your body has been eaten alive by the flames that my masters are sending. In that everlasting moment you will hear their cheers, turn into such horrific screaming that it will echo out for all eternity. You have denied them Keelan, and now they will deny you. They will deny you peace, and comfort, and rest, and hope for the small amount of miserable days you, and the The vermin like you, have left. Do as you will Keelan, partake of great feasts, swallow as much of the drink as you can, see the works of the hands of men while they still stand, for This Sunday will be the beginning of your end Keelan.

As it will be yours Marco. No amount of words could ever describe the true type of filth you are. You are a liar, a deceiver, a insect that lays its eggs in the minds of fool, and twists and perverts their true nature. You infect their minds with your disease till they cannot tell darkness from light. It is the works of men like YOU Marco, that my Masters must Come and cleanse everything on this earth. IT ALL YOUR FAULT! The screams of women and children that will fill the streets it's all your fault! The flood of fire that will tear down every nation and kingdom it's all your fault! The bodies of men that will be turned into nothing more than specs of dust , it's all your fault! WHY?! WHY HAVE YOU AND YOUR KIND PUSHED IT TOO THIS POINT?! WAS IT YOUR OBSESSIONAL GREED, OR YOUR INSATIABLE LUST?! WAS IT YOUR BOTTOMLESS VANITY, OR WERE YOU JUST SUCH A FOOL AS TO BELIEVE THAT YOU COULD COMMIT SUCH ATROCITIES AND NEVER HAVE TO PAY YOUR DUE PUNISHMENT?! You rotten fiend. They have sent me to scrub the foul smell stain of you off this planet. The end of ages will bring about your end, and when it does, my masters will take another step on their road to the glorious Reign.

It's coming, that beautifullllll day will soon be unfurled upon this earth. They have described it in the sweetest whispers in my ear, they have shown it to me in the briefest flashes before my eyes. They will must be done. THEIR commands must obeyed. What they have told me, it must be soooooooo!"


(Caine lifts his gaze to the skies above and begins to laugh menacing, and maniacally.)

Caine:"hahahah it must be so. Hahaha it must be so."

(The camera fades to black)

The end

Stepping inside of the War Games match, I had one thing on my mind; that was at the back of it. One thing that I wanted to do and that? Was to put an end to some of the BS and to get back to the top. To cut the crap --- that's not what happened. That's far from what happened. Because though I might've stepped into that match with a reason, mindset and hellbent on winning the match, that was far, far off. Instead of walking out of the War Games match, instead of winning the match... I barely walked out and there's countless explanations, reasons or excuses that could be given for that. Regardless of what that is, the fact is that I walked in, thinking that I would win and I hardly managed to walk out at the end of the night. I was battered, beaten and bloodied by the others in that match and I'm still feeling the effects of it. Make no mistake about it --- though I'm slightly battered, beaten and bloodied? I'm not broken. The others might've put me through Hell in that match but none of them have broken me and they couldn't have even if they tried because if there's one thing that should be known, it's that I'm not so easily broken. Something to be aware of because this Saturday? Marks the beginning... of the end for the likes of Nico Borg, Lannister and Ares Vendetta. I realize, I see that if I'd like to reestablish myself and rebuild what I've built for myself, I can't start at the top. If I'm to rebuild myself, I have to start at the bottom. I have to start... here. I've realized that, I've realized that to retake and reclaim what's rightfully mine, I have to scratch and claw for it --- I have bust my ass off. Starting... with my match this week on Showdown. Which I will win. Because though I might stand here right now, far from being one hundred percent? Though every step I take might still feel pain shooting through every inch of my body? I'm still more than capable of taking out the entire Showdown roster. I firmly think, there's that belief, that even with the wounds that still litter my body because of the War Games match... that I could go out there and compete with every fiber of my being. Though I might've been through Hell, though I might've been beaten, battered and bloodied and though my body might still be sore from the War Games match, I'm not the one who's broken in this match this Saturday. Because that? That's Devan Dubian. A former Answers World Champion, the guy that was poised to make EAW his and the guy who has been there, on top, countless times before. He has held practically every title there is to hold in this business and he's the guy that had this entire company within the palm of his hand, the guy so many thought would stand, unrivaled and at the top for the rest of his career but he's not so much on top at this point in his career, is he? He has let it get to his head and he's too complacent but he has realized that his complacency with his spot in this company is the exact reason he's slipping. Slipping with his fingertips barely digging deep, it's the reason for the rut he's in and I'm more than certain that Devan Dubian looks at this match and sees that he could redeem himself, to get out of the rut that he's in. I'm more than certain that he sees this to make up for his shortcomings in the past few months or so, to get back to the top and in any other circumstance? In another match, against any other competitor, that might happen. He might actually reestablish himself as a serious competitor here in this business but any chance of that happening, any hope he has of actually winning this match and making up for his mistakes? Went right out of the window the moment he was put in a match with me.

Though he might think that he's going to establish himself with this match? He's going to find himself deeper in the ruts he's been digging for himself. Instead of reviving and reinvigorating his career, this match will be the death of him and that's something that will be clear the moment he steps into the ring with me. Because though I barely walked out of the War Games match, I'll walk out of this match on my own and I will win this match. I will ruin Devan Dubian's little homecoming.

With our bitter history with one another, it's fitting. It's fitting that if Devan Dubian's career is dying, that I be the one that ends it. It's fitting that, after what we had been through in our lives and what we have been through in the past few months, that I stand here, with everything there is to make sure that I end him. I have the means, I have the motivation, I have a sold out arena to play witness. If Devan Dubian's career is to end and I'm the one who's to end it? Then that's fine by me.

But what's not fine, is the situation that we're in right now. Because I look at him, I look at the person that Devan Dubian is and I hardly recognize him. The Devan Dubian I knew and had been in the ring with, had much more life and had much more motivation in him... the Devan Dubian I see right now? Has none of those things. The Devan Dubian I see right now is nothing but an empty husk --- a shell of his former self. A guy who, sadly, is dead inside. A guy who I trained harder to get in the ring with, to compete against him, to to get back in the ring with him and yet, he's nowhere to be seen and the guy who has taken his place is nothing like him. I see that. Throughout the heated feuds he's been apart of, I have been and will be, his biggest threat. His most lethal adversary. His bitterest, most hated enemy and yet, standing here, I feel no hatred for him. My hatred for him has been replaced by pity. I pity Dubian and what he is right now. I look at how high he stood and how far he's fallen since and I feel pity. That makes me sad... for him. I'm sad that he's been reduced to nothing more than a shell of what he used to be. I'm sad that he's fallen so far and that I wasn't the one to cause it and though I could step into the ring with him and end his career? I wouldn't get much enjoyment or satisfaction from it because at this point in his career, it would be like stomping on an ant and that makes me sad for him. I pity Devan Dubian but I wouldn't mistake my pity for mercy. I'm not going to take mercy on him. There won't be a come back from him, not this Saturday, not ever again. His spot at the top of this company? Has been taken. Not by Aren Mstislav or by Ares Vendetta but by me. Whoever is in that spot right now, is merely keeping it warm for me and I will get there soon. I will get back to the stop. I will stand there in the same spot he was win and when I get there, I won't be so foolish as to let myself fall. I won't be so careless to let such trivial things get to my head and I won't get too complacent with where I'm at. Because I'm not like him. I'm nothing like him. He might brag about his bank account and brag about how he's living but I actually live this --- I live being in the ring, I live the life that he thinks he lives. We're nothing alike. He might be Tony Stark but I'm Bruce Wayne. He makes armor and I make tools --- the tools that are necessary for me to win against him. He could make whatever armor he thinks that's going to keep me from penetrating but I will dent his armor and I will penetrate through it. I will show that I'm nothing like him and that I'm to be on top and not him. Though we might've fallen, there's one thing that separates us. Because though he keeps digging himself a hole so deep that he's forgotten how to get out of? I keep crawling to the to top, on my hands and knees. I fell from the top like him but instead of wallowing and feeling sorry for myself? I got back up and started crawling again. Your hands are torn, your knees are banged up and that's okay because you couldn't pick your lifeless body up even if you had your hands and knees. You let those aforementioned things get to your head and you've fallen so hard, you fell so hard that you've practically cracked your skull; you fell so hard that you've forgotten how you got here and you've forgotten how to compete. I might pity you, I might feel bad for you but I won't take mercy on you. I will end you.

We both looked into the abyss; difference is... you blinked.

There is admiration to be had, in a match-up as marquee as this. The National Elite Champion finally accommodates himself with the one that rings true, the Elite Lord, Das Emperor - Lannister. This is perhaps a fitting fairy-tale to expend for generations, that is the influence that such a contest can mass. And why not cater to the special occasion - as Halloween is upon the land of Elite after all. But perhaps it is time to drop the circumstance, for this not quite the tribulation that leaves those in despair, running for the hills. For fear resonates within the coding of Halloween - yet remains to be a reckoning wake here. Many of foes Lannister could walk into the match-up with a mindset or game-plan in mind - but the Pizza Boy is a foe where even he must tread lightly. There is no fear to be had when the regards being sent across the field are only cast astray. Lannister finds himself stumbling upon the words to follow the train of thought - for Pizza Boy is a man that Lannister seeks nothing other than a competitor. Usually Lannister can lock eyes with the adversary and see the means to benefit through - but this, this Lannister just can't seem to muster up.

For what stands opposed to Lannister now - is found in the fire of the fury. A man that draws the line, walking it even - a transcendence on all, built upon expectations. Here, the Pizza Boy stands, sewing pieces of his legacy threadbare. Withstanding the weight of perception, not letting this world grind him down to the mush. Perhaps that is what makes the Pizza Boy such a polarizing figure, in truth - unable to concern himself with fears of the tangible. He doesn't belong. He is the end to this tormenting strife that is the glass ceiling. Many a men, you can line them up like ducks in a row, and the resemblance feels like clock work. A pattern that this industry just can't seem to shake. But the man before Lannister now is molded to no etching stone, no stable precedent plagiarize for the model of success. Truly, for the first time in the land of Elite - Lannister has come across a shade of ambition he can't seem to understand. See, Lannister is a great judge of character - he sees the inkling of ambition that echoes the ideals of the man. Glory, greed, fame, namesake, stature - common elements that are often found in correlation to these idols. But the Pizza Boy - he seems to parallel not a single one. And Lannister respects that. So while the confines of this ordeal is to generate hate, embrace it even - resort to the normal psychological beat-down that Lannister can simulate through the mind - it would be nothing but an utter waste.

Lannister sees the fun in it when Lioncross betrays his true nature out of a stretch of unfortunate fate, and that gives Lannister hope that the Pizza Boy can sooner succumb to consequence - but Lannister will not get his hopes up. The Pizza Boy simply doesn't take this seriously enough - a lethargic awe-inspiring mindset that simply draws the mind haywire. Lioncross has proves he cares far too much - but what do you do with a man that cares not for his own stature? It appears what Lannister is trying to say - this match-up, through all its star-studding potential - is dreading its stark nature. For, Lannister must come to admit his own nature - he seeks the satisfaction of humiliation. Because defeat is far too final, it doesn't last, for it is a temporary triumph that only allows room to dwell upon. But humiliation? My, how Lannister strives for the very entity of it. But The Pizza Boy simply could not give a second thought to Lannister throwing him inside a casket. And that... that simply cannot be. He is far too resilient, far too level-headed to let one blimp on the radar lead him astray. Everything this man accomplishes is already an exclusive bonus. Don't forsaken these words as a doubt that Lannister is doubting his ability to accomplish what is required to secure yet another victory. No, it's not that - Lannister isn't exactly the type to forego the due diligence of such a stage. Time is a human construct that Lannister is unbound to. However, there just simply is not enough time on the horizon to manufacture the silver lining.

Perhaps through all the tribulations of 2016 - Lannister has become obsessed with the struggle - the ideals of resentment. Lannister cannot possible see the antagonism, or potentially seeing himself become one in this particular sequence. And that... that is Lannister's own twisted view on how Halloween came early. The kicks and the screams of Matt Ryder, the desperate pleas of Tyler Parker, the entitlement of the righteous pecking order from Lioncross - THAT is what Lannister strives to expose and discharge - FEED UPON EVEN. But to simply, prove dominance - no, there must be more to be had here. The waste of expression, the drowning in confusion of entangled plans turning to black, the mass cremation of failed aspirations... that is what drives Lannister to be the Elite Lord. Pizza Boy, you are fun to many - but for all the same reasons - the opposite symbol to Lannister.

That is why Lannister must not savor this whatsoever, and chomp down and swallow hole of this match of misdirection. Simply two men following separate paths, happening to be at the mercy of the order to stand one another down. That is a challenge Lannister will simply have to learn to take - and accept as it may. Because at the end of the day, there is an art to be had in the class of competition. Lannister just hasn't been solely focused on the concept of late. This transgression must surely pass - but Lannister's dominant stature becomes evident in all due time. So Lannister comes to you, not as the King of Elite that imposes fear into the aura of the ground Lannister walks. Lannister comes at you not with the wield of the sword, seeking for the blood to flow. Nor, with the intention of sending any abiding regards, or leaving any lasting impressions. Just simply, the admiration that is House Lannister. Endure it, chew on it - do with this as you seek. But do realize - you are in exclusive company, and Lannister's brunt intentions is a mercy to not take lightly. It is not intended, but the point was always meant to be amiss. You have Lannister's attention, point blank.

And may the force be with the one who dares.

Power be dare.

Charenton Asylum. It wasn’t exactly like Prescott Hills Sanatorium, but it felt more like home than the hotel rooms he stayed in at times. His hands roamed through his hair, picking at his dreadlocks. The sheep mask that he held tightly in his left hand clasped against his hips. He wanted to be at a place more like home. It would calm them...or at least...keep the demon inside of him quelled for a little while longer. Words clinging to his ears. Crawling along his skin. The venom infecting his very blood stream. He loathed them. He wanted to break them. No...no he didn’t. That wasn’t like him. Abaddon wanted to break them. To silence them. They were hurting Joseph. Not Eclipse. To Eclipse they were but words. Words faded away. They could leave impressions, but those too would fade in time. He had learned that in an Asylum like this. Physical pain and mental pain all could fade, it just took longer for the mental pain to truly fade away into obscurity. But physical? He could deal with physical. Physical wasn’t an issue for him. Scars faded. Mental was his vice. Some would say that he enjoyed inflicting mental much more than he enjoyed inflicting physical. To Eclipse, the battle was won when the opponent stopped comprehending him as a person. Once the opponent viewed him as a monster that was all that was necessary. Nothing else mattered in the end. Just the monster that he was. He stopped his motion as he heard his footsteps start to echo and slowly looked up. He was where the cafeteria would be if the Asylum was in good condition. The walls were tattered, wallpaper peeling off and broken. The tables weathered and old, covered in bits of dust and debris. He swept his hand against one of them, and watched as a bug skittered across the floor out of the corner of his eye. Maybe it was more like home than he thought. He let his hands drift further onto the table, leaning against it for support as he placed the sheep mask down onto it.

“Individuals. That is what the enemy team is composed of. None of them allied with a purpose or a cause. They are all individuals. No guiding focus to their words. Nothing of the sort. To them, this is just a matchup, another example of what they can accomplish in the ring. It isn’t something for me to truly...fear or be threatened over. No. With the lack of a guiding purpose...the lack of a soul behind their actions, they truly do fit the idea of monsters don’t they? To them, this is a battle. They see no glory to be had with it. No...ideas evolving from it. For some, this is their chance to further stake their claim at relevance. To put their mark into their illustrious fame. To marvel at their own brilliance. What a world we live in then, that this could be what brings us together again isn’t it? And what a time to do just that. The time of...well it isn’t important what this time is for me. I have made peace with that. Just enough that my feelings for it will not interrupt my feelings for what I have to do in the ring. No. To destroy monsters, you must become one. That is what the ancient heroes did to defeat the monsters of lore. Beowulf, to slay Grendel, wrenched the arm from the beast as a barbaric act, hanging it upon the wall as a trophy. They called him a hero. Mm...I’m getting preoccupied again. In the end my focus lies on the individuals, because these individuals are not a team. They can’t work together, not as a cohesive unit. I can. I know how. I’m more than willing to do just that. My family beside me, and though some may deny this, my trust is in Hades. He has accepted the darkness that he showed me when I first gazed upon him, and that is enough for me to believe that he will help us in this war. This...blood filled rampage of monsters in the ring.

So as individuals I focus upon the vocal one of the group. Judas. And no, I choose not to mock the fact that you name yourself after Judas Iscariot, I believe I have made that statement before. No. Instead I would like to talk about who you are as a person, Judas. Who you choose to be. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you last. I know of your deeds and your accomplishments, but once more, like so many others, you only talk of things that you barely comprehend, and use the void of reality that no one seems to fully grasp isn’t controlled by anyone. Judas, you are not stronger than me in this darkness we inhabit. Because I don’t control it. No one can. This darkness we live in...it’s a living thing. It cannot be controlled through will alone. It is far beyond the mortal minds that we have. I simply have adjusted to it. I feel safer in this darkness, knowing that there is honesty in it. There are no lies in the shadow. For what is there to hide if no one can see it? I digress. You commented on my failings among other things. My failing in taking the World Heavyweight championship as your pick above all. In essence, my failure to attain that title is what you believe makes me...worthless to you does it? My loss. I find that interesting. Interesting because I seem to recall a loss of your own. The same place that I lost against Hades. Pain for Pride 9. And within an instant you lost your National Elite title. Losses prove nothing Judas. It is what is done once victory is once more attainable.”

His hands swept along the dust covered table, clearing it before he placed himself down in the seat at the table, resting his elbows against the wood. His mind drifting through different thoughts. A few as memories. He tossed the sheep mask onto the dust, coughing as it scattered in the air. The mask itself, its eyes staring deep into his own. Expressionless. Emotionless. Simply a point of existence and nothing more. He clicked his tongue, the sound echoing in the dismal darkness of this place of madness. The walls were familiar to him, he could actually picture them as they used to be in Prescott Hills Sanatorium. Sterile and white. Lights hanging above his heads. The constant mumble of voices all around him. He chose to sit alone in the cafeteria. It was better for him. His teeth clenched together, trying to block out the memories but it was too late. Lost in them. He had to keep talking. Else he would be haunted by the memories for longer. If he just kept talking he wouldn’t be haunted.

“You claim I’m using my family? That they are simply pawns in my game. What makes you believe that Judas? Do I really seem like the kind of person that would just...abuse my family. I am not that person. I am not JJ Silva. I do not torture the feelings of others, others who have put faith and trust in me, for my own selfish gains. And to accuse me of using the children who have put their trust in me as well. I saved these children from a life of pain and of...horrible abuse. And to say that I do not care about them as family. To add to this idea that they are pawns. You do not know me at all, Judas. But what can I gather from you. From what you say...this darkness you are in...it was your family wasn’t it? The greatest betrayal one can face is from their own family. Perhaps...an abusive father? An absentee mother? A twisted brother? Does it matter who it was. Their faces have blurred for you, haven’t they? Running together in a soup of torture and pain. Mixing into a stew of duplicity and lies. You never trusted from then on. Others were going to betray you as well. No one you loved would stay with you, why would they, they would use you to get what they wanted and leave. Betray them first. Take what you want from them. They would do the same to you. They would hurt you, Judas. So, you hurt them. You break them. Because, a part of you believes that hurting them will hurt the one who betrayed you. Am I close? Am I hitting the mark? It doesn’t matter to me, Judas. For every chance I give to some...to others I must deny. And you? I will deny it. I will deny it, because you are not what I seek. You have let the pain you suffered cloud that innocence you have. You aren’t using the darkness as solace or as comfort. To you...this darkness is controlled. It isn’t a beast, it’s a weapon. One you wield with the grace of a child. It’s aggression. Maddening aggression. You have strength. The strength of a true betrayer. Judas was strong of will. He did, after all, betray the son of God for coin. But do you know what he did after? The guilt. The guilt of his betrayal caused him to hang himself high, with his pieces of silver beside him.”

Eclipse laughed to himself, tracing out the image of a noose on the dust before closing his eyes tight and grasping at the mask. Images racing in his mind. The images of fellow patients, their bodies huddled close. Eyes listless in some, darting in others. The image in particular was of one man. His hair a frazzled mess. His piercing blue eyes scanning left and right with laser focus. His face covered in a network of patchwork scars and stitching. Daniel Fairfield. A spree killer, whose distinguishing feature was his painted face. He covered his face in an assortment of makeup, never truly alike in most ways. Typically they were messes of paint, thrown together to cover his scars. But...in this asylum, paint was only given to patients that exhibited ‘adequate behavior’. Daniel Fairfield never displayed that. He was too restless. With the paint gone from his life he acted to the world as if his face itself was missing. There was nothing left. His life was in the paint. At the time that he knew David, Eclipse had been around 19. He had been at the Asylum longer than most people, and had grown accustomed to his time there. And David was someone he wanted to help. Helping David would be easy. He just needed to have his face painted once more. And he would help David. In fact, he was more than willing...until he heard the stories of the crimes David had committed. Spree killings were one thing. Eclipse had seen all manner of death and murder come into his abode. That didn’t matter...but what did was the victims.

David had a favored target. Children. Child predation was his hobby. When David spoke of it to Eclipse he talked in a way that made him disgusted. He targeted them due to them being weak. They were helpless. They didn’t put up too much of a struggle. He laughed when he described the deaths to Eclipse. The amount of agonizing days that it took sometimes. He went through it in detail. So...Eclipse offered to paint his face. He was allowed special privileges, since he was a ‘good patient.’ So, using his privileges, he took David with him to the showers, saying that he would paint his face there. The guards at the door knew best not to ask when Eclipse said that he wanted to help fix the pipes in the shower. The guards didn’t care about the screams. Another dead patient didn’t matter. Dead patients meant less people to guard. And Eclipse had promised to paint his face. He never stated if the paint would simply be David’s blood. An unrecognizable bruise on the shower floor. The guards didn’t care. And neither did Eclipse. What did it matter that another body ended up in this world?


“Judas. Your painted face hides scars and burns doesn’t it? Perhaps not all physical. Perhaps. But in the end what makes you...a monster. Isn’t those scars. Nor is it the paint you wear or the words you say. What makes you a monster is that you view your actions without a shred of remorse or accountability. Body count. You prey on the helpless, those you deem as weak or incapable of fending for themselves. The man with the painted face. Well, I suppose I’m one to talk then, aren’t I Judas? After all, what is paint but a way to mask who we are...just like masks hide us from the world. Only difference Judas? My mask keeps me alone in my thoughts. I’m not hiding myself from the world...I’m making sure my demons stay with me. On Voltage...I’ll show you them. I’ll show you...what a real monster is capable of.”

It feels good to be home. Being humbled in Dynasty's realm of purgatory, I know that it is not one place that I ever want to return to again. I proudly bleed blue now and want to be once again known as a renowned cavalier around these parts and if that means taking down a fellow Hall of Famer in Tyler Parker whose current desires are not too far from my own then I have no choice. If anything, this is perhaps the perfect trial for me to prove to Methuselah why I deserve to be at the top once again and why I above all have a right to fight for that title. You know, there is an underlying measure to my move to Showdown and I have had to bear whispers from the shadows of certain partisanship going on here between the administrators and myself but all I can say about that is that the board that bleeds blue knows they can drive my career from an elite level to an unattainable level where deities get the privilege of being candidly unchallenged. 

This audition will be a battle of the high and mighty is only going to end up one way, someone's ego being shattered. And I do not certainly intend it to be mine. I am in a competition of two high ends, one where a future adversary of mine believes that he will conquer my world but the one I am more focused on at the current moment is the other one where a former adversary believes he can defeat me in the riches of intelligence, wealth, fearlessness determination knowing full well that what he is driving to bargain is nothing but drivel. It is true that Tyler Parker faced a tragedy quite early in his career but the path was always set out for him, he was awarded gold pins at every checkpoint and contracts every other week because his name had merit, it was used to the limelight and made the most of it. It is the mere fact that Tyler Parker once believed that he had self preserved more than myself that gets to me because he knows better than most what I had to go through to get here. The richness of life can only feel so good when you have dug yourself from the ground all the way to the top. And no, I am not talking about richness as in being fed from a gold spoon since I was a child because in our world, wealth is the least of our worry. It is a plus in many ways but ultimately futile to how we perform in that ring. This became increasingly prevalent when I did not walk out of this previous Pain for Pride the World Champion despite believing that my riches alone would be enough to atone for all the work that the rest of the competitors had put in the rest of the year. It became even more apparent when I was the one to be pinned but it convinced me of something, that I could never take anything for granted ever again. I know you have been holed up in your own little world for a while now Tyler and I have been millennials away doing my own thing but at the end of the day, I am getting the chance of avenge myself in the ring and I do not intend to let this momentum run from the grip of my own hands. At this present time, I feel you are the perfect opponent to connect with in the ring because you represent a hurdle that I need to get over at any cost and I can perfectly assume that you are not at your top shape right now. You are scrapping your feet right now and I intend to drop you when you least expect it because you above all need to realize what it feels to be humbled once again and I willing to grant you that gift. And that too by a man who you despise for being equaled to for the past few years, nothing will enrage you more, that kind of inconsistency will give the upper hand. There is also nothing more enticing than having targets on our backs during a match because that kind of war zone puts us on the edge the whole time, I will use that opportunity to jump that hurdle that has remained in front of me for so long and leave him face planted on the ground once and for all. Tyler Parker. This genius billionaire playboy philanthropist will outdo you for the final time.

The last time that I came to Showdown, I shocked the world when I took down the then world champion in Hades and this time, Tyler Parker will get to hold the same prerogative by being the lavish victory that gets me to shake up this roster a bit more. This roster is more diverse than anything I have seen in my career before and that gives me far more opportunities than I need to prove to Methuselah that it will be his world, not mine that is going to be shaken for good. I have been urging this chance for so long and by next weeks end, I will get you to realize that Hall of Fame title is mine. I will not remain on the defensive anymore, this attack barrage will grab me my first gold after a few years Methuselah, that much is certain. The time to reign above the best has come and will make the brand that bleeds blue prideful once again.

Voltage#3

Porte de Clignancourt, France, Thursday, 9:30 P.M.

(The scene opens in the shanty town located in the city of Porte de Clignancourt. Here we find dozens, if not hundreds of people who are poor, and hungry, with nowhere to call home but the flimsy left over cardboard that had been discarded among the trash. The camera pans across a line of people, all of whom a weary and cold, trying to huddle as close as they can to a small fire burning in an aluminum trash can. The camera stops behind a figure in a trench coat.)

???: “It is funny, how we can crave something one minute, and be destroyed by it the next. How we seek warmth and comfort from that which would consume us whole in a moment’s notice. How we think we can control the nature of some so volatile.”

(The figure turns to face the camera. It is the man who over the past several weeks has spread word of his mission via EAW’s Voltage brand. The man who’s cold, remorseless actions have garnered the attention of many within EAW. He is the man the world knows as Solomon Caine.)

Caine: “How foolish are those thoughts. No one can control neither the nature of the elements, nor the nature of themselves, they can only suppress it till it either dies, or it rises up out of their control. Do you hear my word Keelan? Do you UNDERSTANDDDDDD? Your nature is not one that can be kept under lock and key, it cannot be chained down. So you have instead decided to slowly poison it to death. You fill it with the venom that pours out of that wicked heathen, Marco Fedor’s, rotten tongue. You have chosen to lay down in a bed of snakes, you have bound yourself to a Jackal that will swallow you whole. You Keelan, are a wolf who has prostituted himself out to the sheep. YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SPARED! The ones who have sent me, they offered you a chance for your own salvation, but instead YOU THREW IT AWAY LIKE IT GARBAGE!"

(Some of the homeless near Caine start to back away giving him a large clearance.)



Caine: And why? For the praise of the sick scum that idolize rodents like Marco? For the adulation of that two faced heathen? For your own ego and your vanity to be stroked by the filth that you have chosen to be counted amongst?! For your choice you must pay the penalty. You will be made an example of. Yours will be the consequences that all who reject and defy my masters will suffer. What lays before you this Sunday is a small sample of the damnation that the diseased scum like you and Marco will experience at the end of ages. I will not weep for you on that day, for you have chosen to live blind and foolish. You have turned a deft ear the voice of powers greater than you can comprehend, allowed yourself to become inept, and weak. When the day of the glorious reign befalls us, in that brief moment that will seem like eons, remember that you yourself are the one who has sealed your fate.

And while your flesh is torn from your body, rejoice because the same will happen to Marco Fedor. The man who hides away, the man who craaawwwwlllssss across the ground like an insect hoping that he will not be noticed, because when he is, he shall be crushed underfoot, his body destroyed, his innards bared for all to see. Marco you deserve what is coming to you. You have demented and warped the mind of one who might have been set aside from the great fire. You are like a spider who ensnares its victims, paralyzes them with a toxic venom that contaminates their blood stream, and then slowly devours them till its had its fill. My masters, They have seen your works, they have heard your lies, YOUR LIES! They will repay your evil deeds with agony. And it will be multiplied by every number who you have corrupted. All Their blood that will run like a river down the streets will be on your hands Marco. All Their bodies that have been withered to smoldering ash shall be upon your head. Your judgment will greater than others, because you have lead so many astray into their own demise.

I have been asked if I feel fear. I do. I fear what shall happen if I do not carry out their will. I know that whatever shall befall you two, will be NOTHING compared to the agony and suffering that I will have now. For that reason I must... MUST PRESENT YOU AS SACRIFICE! I MUST BREAK BONE, I MUST REND FLESH, I MUST BECAUSE THEY HAVE COMMANDED ME TO DO SO!"

(Caine takes a deep breath. The people murmur under their breath in shock of Caine's ranting despite not understanding it.)

Caine: I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but I have no choice. I HAVE NO CHOICE. Mourn now, you won't have a chance to when your time has come. When the end of ages arrives not a single one of you will see it coming. Not. A. Single. One."

(Caine grabs the flaming trash can by the handle and quickly tosses it towards the background nearly hitting several people.)

Caine: all of this, they have told me and it must be so."

(Caine walks out of the frame. The camera stays on showing several men and women with fearful expressions on their faces.)