Post by Logan on May 8, 2016 12:09:18 GMT -5
The cameras opened up amongst the pitch black of the night. The only source of light coming from a full moon that shined over Mexico City. The frame settled on a shot of a house in ruin. The outside structure became overgrown with all sorts of vegetation throughout its many abandon years. With the still night, the clouds vastly floating over the moon, it genuinely looked spooky. WCF’s latest, greatest, and current World Champion was fixing to explore these dwellings and you were about to find out why. Logan. Faithfully dressed in his Sunday’s best. A burgundy velvet vest, white long sleeve collared button up shirt underneath, black slacks and brown wing tips appealed to the casual looker. A badge sewn into the breast pocket of the vest featured a heart with the name of “Seth Lerch” just above it. His admiration for the owner of WCF was no secret. Not to anyone.
He wanted to make sure that anything with two ears heard about his appreciation for Seth throughout the week. He was laying the foundation one brick at a time for the relationship between the two that would undoubtedly rule over the company for months to follow. They had the power on both ends, both hands. Seth with the authority of WCF and Logan with his legendary presence and most importantly, the belt. Logan was the icon that Seth needed to establish this new super power to help mold WCF into the way he wanted it. The company was Seth’s baby after all, and as for Seth, Logan needed him and his powerful authority as a deterrent to keep every willing abled jobber off his back. Because let’s face it. Other than Dag, Game, maybe a select few others… there wasn’t a soul in the back that was not jealous of Logan. That had been displayed the very second after he defeated Joey Flash via tweet reactions and the like.
He carefully stepped into the pitch black, following a path of concrete mostly buried beneath sand that was once a lovely sidewalk in its day. With the right amount of work someone could’ve shoveled it up, given the walk a nice polish and restored the path to former glory. The same could be said for the equally neglected house. If only the locales did not believe this residence to be cursed, then yes, a restoration would’ve been in order. Ever since an entire family was found mysteriously murdered and then the very next family that moved in the year after in the exact fashion, it was easy to see why the place was allowed to become a ruin. Not even a bulldozer had enough force to break the houses superstitious hold over the public. It was here at the porch where he stopped, as well as where an eight year old boy and a year followed an eight year old girl were found tacked onto the porches wood flooring with over five hundred ten inch nails.
Logan: Ever since disposing of Joey Flash in the better part of four minutes and reclaiming my belt, everyone has been well… concerned to say the least. They don’t believe in me. They don’t think I’m regarded as a right fit to lead WCF despite the very fact that with no help whatsoever I cleanly beat the very best WCF had to offer last Sunday. Before that, only a few months prior, most of everyone believed my return to Fifteen to be a one off joke. A way to throw a big name in the match to spice it up. They were wrong once again when I defeated the very best of next potential World title contenders and walked away with the briefcase. It’s not my fault everyone is annoyed. I can’t help being the greatest of all time. Which is why tonight I shall prove once more that not only am I fit to be your World Champion, that you also will not find another soul on the roster that could be more capable of being your World Champion. Tonight I prove my courage. It has been tested many times before in the face of fear. The self-doubt that fills one heart when fighting for their third War win. The overwhelming butterflies of cashing in and fighting to compete for a sixth World Championship win… well… NONE of you know what that’s like, but either way you shall witness my courage and desire to overcome the odds in full throttle, once more, right here in this house, tonight.
You see I am to my knowledge one of the first feet to walk along this porch ever since police investigated the murders here over a decade ago. No one has returned since. The house has never been resold nor does anyone dare to destroy it either. Do you know why? The locales are scared out of their wits. And do you know why they are? In nineteen ninety nine an entire family was brutally murdered here. Not a single survivor. And by an entire family I mean six people to be exact. A Mother, Father, two Sons, and two Daughters. The killer of these vicious crimes was never discovered. Matter of fact not a single shred of evidence suggested anyone but the family was ever here that night despite the messy massacre. That was a tragedy. Nothing to make them genuinely fear stepping onto this land. Just a simple unsolved unfortunate event. So, fast forward a year and six body bags later, and another family – also of six – moves in to find themselves murdered in the exact same fashion. Not only just exact, but precise. Found in nearly the identical same manner as the last victims. And once more not a single finger to point to anyone who may’ve committed these crimes. The work of a ghost, more or less.
THAT was when this land became cursed enough to strike enough fear for anyone to ever dare step onto this land or into this house, and then there was… me. The first man to do so in about sixteen years. I for one do not believe in supernatural evil forces unless of course Joey Flash shows up to wrestle at Slam after being buried last Sunday. The point of this is to show to everyone in WCF that I am a man of courage. Do you think Joey Flash, much less his luggage; Jared Holmes and Andre Aquarius have the strength to do some of the things I have done? Of course not. I took this so called next big thing of WCF and dropped him and his belt within about four minutes. I made the fall of Joey Flash look effortless, because for me, it was. I could have cashed in earlier and wrecked Jayson Price, but I knew he’d do that for himself within a month. When Joey Flash won the contendership match at Fifteen that’s when I saw the opportunity. I let you stay champion for two months, Flash. I wanted people to believe that you were the hot shit you yourself believed you were before I brought you down and showed everyone how easily it could be done. It was only easy because, well, I’m Logan.
Had Steve Orbit or anyone else won that briefcase? You’d still be champion, Joey. Most likely. People cannot get things done the way I can. They lack patience it takes to sit on a lottery ticket for four months before cashing in and becoming king. I bet you weren’t even thinking about that prior to my music hitting on Slam were you, Flash? I had quietly existed on purpose simply to add further surprise to the moment you were dethroned. Because I could. That’s why, Joey. You were never ready for the World Championship anyway. It’s not like the belt made you anymore entertaining. You’re the same greasy retarded faggot spitting bore that you always were even after winning the belt. You had no intention to evolve into anything greater than that. I on the other hand take this championship with me to continue building a legacy far beyond the reach of any member that ever stepped foot in WCF. You especially included, Joey. I’m not only building a future for myself, but for WCF as well. I aim to put an end to these annoying stable wars that have existed over the last few years. Under my regime they will be shattered. The only community that has any right to be here in Seth Lerch’s WCF is The Family.
Everything else is just a rehash over and done with a million and one times. A new group pops up every other week. And for what purpose exactly? Just to be a group? Simply to exist? Things will change. The waves of treachery are going to crash down upon these shores of ridiculous generic stables and pull the BitchKrew back with it out to sea. I never had the need to surround myself with drunken soft frat boys. The people that support me, that have my back are sharks. Killers. And they’re loyal to me. There are people backing me then no one else even knows about yet. But they’ve always been by my side. You see, I wanted to know who I could trust and who I couldn’t before winning the biggest prize a man can carry that paints a target on his back. That’s why none of these stable wars concern me, because The Family has always been outside of these petty dealings. My group’s only purpose is to make sure that type of shit that happens to everyone else, the bullshit backstage attacks, and the pointless beat downs do not happen to me. I wasn’t born yesterday. When you’re the World Champion everyone wants a taste of that hotdog. Even your beloved fan favorites will steep to new lows if it means getting a taste.
My question to you is this, are you willing to get down on both knees and have yourself that taste? That’s the only way you’re ever getting another title shot. You must be an idiot if you think a rematch clause means anything. Seth Lerch, my best friend is also your boss. Which basically means if I feel like you don’t deserve a shot… then yeah, fuck off. Maybe you should earn your rematch, Joey Flash. You could start by winning the Trios but we both know after Slam your team is finished. You were nothing ever but a one hit wonder, my man, or as Zach called it.. a flash in the pan. Your first title run lasted a minute. Have you seen what Dune has accomplished since then? Dune went from the almighty powerful ripping apart everyone in his path and then… he burned out? I believe that’s the truth. Dune burned out. He needed some time to recharge and you caught that Dune flame just as it was dwindling down to nearly nothing. You never took on Dune at his absolute best and we both know it. The man went on vacation after War and ever since he returned has been nothing more than a glorified mid-carder. Yet again another one hit wonder.
So let’s discuss your second run, Joey. You defeated Jayson Price. Who is that supposed to impress? It’s a well-known fact that wine cooling chugging drunk was already on his way out to rehab. He basically handed you the title. Here you go, Flash. All yours. So, tell me, Flash – we both know WCF isn’t about what you did yesterday or the year before, but what can you do for me NOW? You haven’t done shit other than help send Price to rehab. Meanwhile, me? I made my comeback four months ago and climbed that ladder like any other new guy could and became the very best in WCF right NOW. You, Joey? You have to prove yourself to me. Not the other way around. I already did that last Sunday. You have absolutely no way to even threaten me into a title shot. Lerch runs the show. You can’t shoe horn anything in this company. Might want to try your luck someplace else, Joey, because the shit ran out.
He let out a deep exhale. Sometimes it felt exhausting spending a great amount of time talking about people who weren’t even on his level. Nonetheless, he had a haunted house to explore. It was already made clear earlier of how the boy had been nailed to the porch with over God how many knows nails. A few pounds. At least. That was most likely how he perished. Either from the shock or by simply bleeding out. Some of the nails from the last murder still resided into the porch planks, similar to how crime scenes had chalked the location of dead bodies, this one outlined the body of a small child from nails. Disturbing to say the least. Much to his surprise the door wasn’t locked and he pushed it open. The only thing giving the door any resistance was the amount of spider webs covering it’s frame. Black Widows, particularly, spun one of the strongest silks of any spider, and they were quite common in Mexico City. Rather or not he was too dumb for his own good or just simply brave, the poisonous spiders nor the family murdered here before refused to put any hesitation into his step. The living room blacker than the night air. This was where the Father met his demise, reclined back on a couch when the claw end of a hammer got stuck in the back of his head. No prints came off the hammer either, or any one of the few hundred nails that pinned his Son to the porch.
Fascinating felt like a strange word to use amidst such tragedy, but there was no other way to explain it. He could already feel eyes on him from all directions. No exact location. Waving cobwebs from his face, he dug deeper into the blackness, finding that furniture from the previous murdered family had never been removed when his shin collided with the edge of a coffee table. Though his tolerance of pain was quite high, he’d rather be smashed in the head with a chair. The shin along with the pinky toe could bring any man to his knees. Unless of course that man was Joey Flash, then he’d already be on his knees, begging for a title shot with a mouthful of someone’s cock. He cursed beneath his breath, rubbing at his shin, and feeling a gentle wind, as if a whisper of a breath coated the nape of his neck. He spun on his feet immediately, turning to notice the door had silently closed behind him.
Fascinating. There was that word again. If he kept this up he’d grow pointy ears. He played off the creepiness factor as nothing more than wind despite the very lack of it tonight. Simply the weather pushing in air then pulling it out and taking the door to close with it. A flashlight would seem helpful in a situation like this… for a pussy. A loud crash followed by the forceful rumble of an earthquake shook the house followed by a blood curdling scream from the second floor above. He pulled out a flashlight.
Logan: What?!
He was more confused than frightened. Confused by what produced such a cry. He knew for a fact he was completely alone. He also knew supernatural encounters were a load of horseshit. Ghosts did not exist. Evil did exist, but it wasn’t invisible to the naked eye and it could not become host of another person despite all those so called ‘true story’ movies that claimed it did. After ruling out the different scenarios he gathered it could have very well been an animal; an animal that mimicked the death hurdling scream of an adult female. It was the second floor where the scream came from that bothered him most. Not the scream itself, but the source of it. Only one murder occurred on the second floor and both times it was the Mother, found bare naked with all limbs amputated by a chainsaw from the outside shed. She had been raped prior. That’s what the report indicated. Or during. The only people who knew were her and whoever raped her, however yet again not a single drop of evidence was left behind to judge who or what did the horrifying deed. The houses aging staircase creaked beneath his feet. Pictures of the family lined up along the walls of the staircase. One of them, in particular, caught his eye. The frame and glass encasing the dead girl had a faint blood smeared handprint over it. The handprint itself appeared human, five fingers, though it did not account for the thinness and claw like shape of their points. Every step of the staircase towards the source of the scream made gravity feel heavier. Once finally reaching the top, the photograph on the wall he examined on the way up fell off the wall and crashed onto the bottom step.
Logan: Just a draft.
Though there wasn’t one. The only thing he felt was someone’s eyes crawling over him. His own eyes peered into the open door way of the room that the Mother was killed in. A blackness shot from within the room. It had no real shape. It made a swooshing noise as he watched it launch himself into him until his vision was completely blinded by black. He remembered the force of whatever it was pushing him backwards down the stairway.
THE DREAM
The concrete floor his bottom rested on was cold and hard enough to numb his cheeks. Logan picked himself up and studied his surroundings. The place was familiar. He hadn’t been here since childhood. A morgue. His Father’s. His Father, Jack, had been a mortician, running his own funeral home just as his Father before had. If Jack hadn’t of died from heart failure at Logan’s early age of ten, Logan himself would’ve probably ended up in the family business. Once Jack, his Father, died, there was no incentive from his Mother to keep the wheels turning and she ended up selling the morgue and the funeral home. The corridor was lined with refrigerated body drawers just as he had remembered. It looked quite longer than before. He studied some of the names printed to each drawer. Cyrus. Wreck. Jack of Blades.
Jack: You killed them.
Startled by the unexpected voice, Logan looked up to find his dead Father, Jack, wearing a lab coat covered in specks of blood that he once wore when preparing bodies.
Jack: They trusted you and you killed them!
He slammed his fist into the wall, causing all the drawers along the corridor to launch open. Dozens of corpses unleashed from their refrigerated sanctuary.
Logan: I never killed anyone.
His Father seemed to ignore that last statement.
Jack: And soon Dag Riddik will find his place here.
He hardly knew his Father. He remembered him some from his childhood, but what he learned of his Father was more from stories that others told. Most of what he gathered was that he was an honorable man, unlike himself at times.
Logan: Those guys turned their back on ME. Dag would never do that. He’s loyal.
Jack: Then where are they now?
Logan: How should I know? Hadn’t seen these guys in years.
Jack: Because you murdered them.
Anger fueled his path towards his Father. He reached out to grab his lab coat by the collars, yet he vanished just as quickly as he had appeared. The corpses lining the corridor walls began to rise from their beds.
Logan: Jack..?
He called out once more.
Logan: Dad?
The morgue hall was dead on both ends. No exits. Speaking of dead, they began to make their way towards Logan.
Jack of Blades Corpse: Looo... gan.
Logan: Blades. You left me, not the other way –
The cold mouth of Jack of Blades sunk its teeth into Logan’s arm. He felt himself reliving the exact time he supposedly murdered Jack of Blades.
Logan: The Team of Treachery couldn’t be better. Look at us. Tag Team Champions. And you… World Champion.
Jack of Blades: Rightfully so.
While Blades grin, Logan gritted.
Logan: There is only room for one World Champion in ToT.
He dug a dagger into the spine of Blades. Logan awoke on a table, one which his Father, Jack, used to prepare the dead for viewing in the funeral home up above. Logan was strapped to the table. Bare naked.
Logan: That’s not how it happened. I never killed Jack of Blades. He disappeared.
His Father turned to face him, a scalpel idly waving around in his hand while he spoke.
Jack: People tend to disappear when they’re no longer living.
Logan: He’s really dead?
The mortician rolled his eyes. Logan himself was beginning to wonder if he actually had killed Blades. It was strange how he was suddenly at his side every day for the better part of five years then mysteriously gone the next.
Jack: He was so young. Who knew what he would’ve gone on to accomplish in WCF.
Logan: I killed him… I really did. I did it. Didn’t I?
Jack: Starting to remember?
The dagger refused to dig any deeper into the back of Blades thanks to the efforts of his spinal cord taking the better part of the knife. Blades turned, gasping for air and answers in his last breaths.
Jack of Blades: I can’t feel my legs, Logan.
He fell down into the corner of a hotel room, awkwardly curling into a ball.
Jack of Blades: I should have..
Logan bent down next to his dying comrade, lending an ear to his dying breath.
Jack of Blades: … listened to them.
Logan: Goodbye, ‘Pete’.
The nickname referred to an aged long inside joke between the two. Jack began laughing only as Jack could before finally slipping into whatever Hell awaited him.
Jack: Now you remember, my Son?
Logan: Yes.
Jack: Good. Then you’ll understand what I must do next.
The scalpel sliced through Logan’s chest like a stick of warm butter. Without being able to move, all he could do was cry in agony underneath his Father’s knife.
Jack: You’re too poisonous for your own good.
To the surprise of Logan, he was still conscious while he watched Jack dig his hands into his flayed chest to rip out and hold up his beating heart.
Logan: Don’t.
He held Logan’s heart in one hand, a screwdriver in the other.
Jack: It’s the only way to keep Dag Riddik alive. Eventually he’ll use up all his usefulness to you as the countless others had in the past.
If he could have lifted his hand in protest, Logan would have.
Logan: He’s different. The times are different.
This caught the curiosity of Jack.
Jack: How so?
Logan: I never needed Dag to succeed. And he never needed me. We’re… Family.
Jack: Cool story.
The screwdriver plunged into Logan’s heart. He awoke at the bottom of the stairs within the cursed house of Mexico City, grabbing at his chest in a panic. His heart throbbed and rocked against his skin. He could almost see it pulsating underneath his velvet vest. He clawed at the buttons, revealing his chest to his eyes to notice a deep aged scar that had never existed before. With a perfect mix of confusion and anger, he called out to the dark corners of the house, despite the fact he was alone.
Logan: What have you done?!
A pair of hoofs echoed the stairwell as they made their descent towards Logan. He looked up to find a beast from the waist down and a charcoaled demon from the waist up.
Eligos: I am Eligos. The Great Duke of Hell.
His hoofs soon reached the bottom step near Logan.
Eligos: And I know everything that you have done and will do.
The last week Logan partaken in Mexico City he spent a decent forty-eight hours eating peyote and seeing things that never existed. However now he was more sober than a Jayson Price in his eighth day at rehab, if such a recover lasted that long.
Logan: A demon?
Eligos: Yes. Also a ruler of many. Like yourself.
Logan: No wonder the police could ever find any DNA.
The Duke of Hell extended his reach to Logan to get him back on his feet.
Logan: Why the hell not.
And he let the demon help him up.
Eligos: You’re only a man.
He cockily examined Logan, looking him up and down. Logan accepted himself in this moment. He realized that despite what he had believed was right throughout his years of treacherous behavior, that in the end he had been wrong. That he himself were nothing more than a bastard.
Logan: If you’re here for a soul…
Eligos: Yours is far too tainted.
Logan: What did you do with my heart?
Eligos: I readjusted it.
Logan: Readjusted?
Eligos: It’s going to explode in June of twenty-twenty.
Nice. He always wanted to know when he’d die. Now he thought himself as a walking time bomb.
Logan: How long would I have lived had this encounter between us never happened?
Eligos: This was your final year. You never lived to see Christmas.
Logan: Heh..
He smirked. Logan feared death to an extent. He feared dying if nobody ever remembered him. However, if someone built a statue in his memory on a Monday, he could die on a Tuesday and be okay with it. But nobody ever built statues of the living.
Logan: What’s the catch?
Eligos: Do you seek to repent?
Logan: Even if I did would a few years of good deeds out weight a life time of bad ones?
Eligos: No. You’d never meet Him.
Logan: Then why give me extra time?
Eligos: To ruin as many lives as possible.
Logan: Shoot up a school? I bet you give that deal to everyone these days.
Eligos: Something a bit more original.
FEW DAYS LATER
Evil resided within Logan. It always had. The only difference being now he knew how much time he had left to let it loose. Earlier in the day he purchased C4 explosives from an arms dealer in Mexico City. He had no knowledge of planting them, so he also purchased a man affiliated with the cartel to plant them – on a church. The fuse was lit and ready. All he had to do was push a button. Much like he did when he blew up Club Violet. He watched from across the street. He watched the Hispanics gather in lovely clothes, smiles, and warm eyes as they entered the white building that praised Jesus and the Cross. It was difficult to explain why he wanted to do this. It wasn’t for gratitude of Eligos extending his life. He had nothing to gain in WCF by blowing up a torch and setting fire to a group full of strangers. He had to do this because…
Because he could. His evil wasn’t a drug. No urges sought him out to purchase plastic explosives. He didn’t know a soul within that church but he suspected at least one good one resided in it. His evil was simple. Was it amusing? He didn’t know at the time. He imagined he would if anyone came out, hitting the ground, and trying to roll the flames off. It’s not that a doubt resided within, but more of a question as to why to do such a thing. It’s not like Joey Flash as at church. Not here anyway. He thought back to his childhood, when his Mother would drag him to a Baptist church every Sunday. He wondered if anytime then did a man ever sit outside with the a trigger button ready to blow up the building while he sung choir. What happened to life. What went wrong. He knew now it was too late to repent, even as a demon had told him a few days before. Even so, he didn’t have the urge. He was who he was. Did his Father dying at a young age shape him into the man he was now? And then he thought, what if his Father had never died to begin with… where would he be now? It didn’t matter. No one could change the past. There was only the future which existed right now if or if he didn’t press the button on the donator. He’d ruin lives. Children’s lives too. Children that would never grow up to have children. Blowing up Steve Orbit’s club was different. He did it to break Steve Orbit. This? Oh fuck it… this was for the laugh out louds. He pushed the button.
The cross launched into the air like NASA was trying to send it on a mission to Mars. Then the entire church buckled from wall to wall, breaching outwards near the bottom before the top gave in and crumbled apart like a cracker beneath a hammer. He expected to find at least a few people evacuate, in flames, hitting the ground. Nothing. Then finally someone crawled out from the wreckage. A young girl, maybe nine years old, with the left side of her body charred black. The only survivor so it seemed. Logan stepped out of the car parked across the street and walked over to the crawling mess of a girl.
Logan: Does it hurt? Well, of course it does.
Tears would’ve fallen down her baby cheeks if her ducts weren’t scorched.
Logan: Why aren’t you laughing though? Seriously? Think about it, doll. You’re here to worship a God that lets a person like me burn it to the ground. God doesn’t care about you. If you didn’t care about him, you’d never be here. No. You’d be alive and well. Don’t you find that the least bit funny? Think about it… the only thing God did for you was lead you into a painful death.
He unzipped his pants and began to urinate on the dying burned child.
Logan: You’re welcome.
Later that day he rang Dag Riddik and put it on speaker for the benefit of the camera. His clothes still stank of smoke from the church bombing. Dag finally answered.
Logan: You hear the news about the church?
Dag Riddik: I did.
Logan: I did it. I don’t even know why. But I did… to prove a point? I don’t know. I thought it would be funny but…
Dag Riddik: It was.
The other end of Logan’s line was filled with laughter. Dag could hardly contain himself. Soon enough, finding that someone else found amusement in this, Logan began to laugh too.
Logan: Haha! Dude I wish you were here. You should have seen it… haha… the fuckin’ walls literally went flying. It was weird. Like someone filled up a balloon and then it finally popped.
Dag Riddik: Oh my God! Haha!
Logan: Yeah. He wasn’t there.
Dag Riddik: Haha!
Logan: Then there was this girl.. maybe nine or ten years old at best that crawled out looking like Two Face from Batman.
Dag Riddik: Really?
Logan: Yup. Fuckin’ pissed on her too. Right on the side of her burned up face. It actually started steaming. I shit you not.
Dag Riddik: GET OUT! HAHAHA!
The connection dropped. Damn you Mexico. Logan turned to the camera to have his say.
Logan: I should feel dirty. Not that dirty though, like… I will get a shower tonight and forget this whole thing ever happened. Another Tuesday for me. Well, fuck it. I had fun. The clock is ticking and sufficed to say this almost brought as much joy to my dying heart as winning the belt did. There are no regrets. Only smiles. Do you know the difference between reality and the dream beside the barring fact that one is made up – Dag Riddik and I surpass any tag team that has ever existed in WCF. Jack of Blades was a fuckin’ flake. Simple as that. I never truly trusted him the way I do Dag Riddik. Dag has had my back from day one. He stood beside me while this shit of a group crumbled. Without Dag Riddik, simply put, there is no Family today. It would just be me out there in the open on a sinking life raft waiting for the sharks. But nope. I got Dag Riddik. He’s my own shark. My deterrent to keep the others at bay.
So what makes Andre Aquarius and Jared Holmes so special? Speaking of which, did those two fuck and have Andre Holmes for a baby? Seriously I’d hate to be a commentator calling a three way between them. Joey Flash and his goof troop. Give me a break. This isn’t a comeback story for Flash and his two bitches certainly aren’t going have any roles in it. I’m smashing any comeback from Joey. Just like I did his title run. Andre Aquarius can get fucked too. He’s never going to find his way into any title picture that I’m involved in. And you, Jared? I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to hug Flash to death at the De Mayo. Get over that shit. Stop crying. I’ve heard you fuckers and your backstage talk. Everyone seems to think Joey never had a fair chance. Well, guess what, assholes? It’s called Final Destination. That’s what happens when you win a briefcase that gives you a shot at the belt at any single time of your choosing. Don’t like it? Then maybe some of you crybabies in the back should’ve stepped up and won that match. Oh wait, you didn’t? Exactly. Because I’m better than all of you. If you think I don’t deserve this championship then come take it off me, fuckers.
Here are the facts. My team is winning the Trios Cup. FACT. I’m going to be the one that scores the pinfall in the finale. FACT. And when I do guess what happens next other than me once again proving I’m the greatest motherfucker to ever exist? I’ll be getting a month off from defending this belt. Know why? Because no one else will be on my level. That’s talent, my friends, and when that happens people are once again going to cry and bitch backstage. I have never in life heard more drama than with this roster. You all act surprised. As if Logan was never going to cash in his shot and this was never going to happen. Well get the fuck over it. It has happened. Dag Riddik, myself, and the Game are coming hard this Slam and it doesn’t matter how much any of you cry and bitch backstage we’re winning this fuckin’ tournament. That’s the facts. I see a lot of potential in The Game. He doesn’t know it yet but this dude is probably going to be my left hand man. I’d make him my right if Dag Riddik wasn’t such a talented killing motherfucker. Love me some Dag Riddik.
Know what’s truly disappointed though? WCF’s competition. Everyone been in a uproar since Seth Lerch and I aligned. It’s like you boudles forgot who made WCF in the first place. WE DID. Seth Lerch and I run this place. Get used to it. Don’t act like it’s new butthurt all of sudden. Because this isn’t anything new. Seth knows what is best for WCF, and MR. WCF is BEST for WCF. That’s another fact. I have surpassed every Hall of Famer and now every future Hall of Fame, as if this current roster actually had any besides myself. You all seem to have forgotten just who I am and it took me shaking shit up and Joey’s skull last Sunday for you all to remember. So, let me just remind everyone – I’m THE WORLD CHAMPION. YOU’RE NOT. I’M BETTER. FUCK OFF.
Scene ended.
He wanted to make sure that anything with two ears heard about his appreciation for Seth throughout the week. He was laying the foundation one brick at a time for the relationship between the two that would undoubtedly rule over the company for months to follow. They had the power on both ends, both hands. Seth with the authority of WCF and Logan with his legendary presence and most importantly, the belt. Logan was the icon that Seth needed to establish this new super power to help mold WCF into the way he wanted it. The company was Seth’s baby after all, and as for Seth, Logan needed him and his powerful authority as a deterrent to keep every willing abled jobber off his back. Because let’s face it. Other than Dag, Game, maybe a select few others… there wasn’t a soul in the back that was not jealous of Logan. That had been displayed the very second after he defeated Joey Flash via tweet reactions and the like.
He carefully stepped into the pitch black, following a path of concrete mostly buried beneath sand that was once a lovely sidewalk in its day. With the right amount of work someone could’ve shoveled it up, given the walk a nice polish and restored the path to former glory. The same could be said for the equally neglected house. If only the locales did not believe this residence to be cursed, then yes, a restoration would’ve been in order. Ever since an entire family was found mysteriously murdered and then the very next family that moved in the year after in the exact fashion, it was easy to see why the place was allowed to become a ruin. Not even a bulldozer had enough force to break the houses superstitious hold over the public. It was here at the porch where he stopped, as well as where an eight year old boy and a year followed an eight year old girl were found tacked onto the porches wood flooring with over five hundred ten inch nails.
Logan: Ever since disposing of Joey Flash in the better part of four minutes and reclaiming my belt, everyone has been well… concerned to say the least. They don’t believe in me. They don’t think I’m regarded as a right fit to lead WCF despite the very fact that with no help whatsoever I cleanly beat the very best WCF had to offer last Sunday. Before that, only a few months prior, most of everyone believed my return to Fifteen to be a one off joke. A way to throw a big name in the match to spice it up. They were wrong once again when I defeated the very best of next potential World title contenders and walked away with the briefcase. It’s not my fault everyone is annoyed. I can’t help being the greatest of all time. Which is why tonight I shall prove once more that not only am I fit to be your World Champion, that you also will not find another soul on the roster that could be more capable of being your World Champion. Tonight I prove my courage. It has been tested many times before in the face of fear. The self-doubt that fills one heart when fighting for their third War win. The overwhelming butterflies of cashing in and fighting to compete for a sixth World Championship win… well… NONE of you know what that’s like, but either way you shall witness my courage and desire to overcome the odds in full throttle, once more, right here in this house, tonight.
You see I am to my knowledge one of the first feet to walk along this porch ever since police investigated the murders here over a decade ago. No one has returned since. The house has never been resold nor does anyone dare to destroy it either. Do you know why? The locales are scared out of their wits. And do you know why they are? In nineteen ninety nine an entire family was brutally murdered here. Not a single survivor. And by an entire family I mean six people to be exact. A Mother, Father, two Sons, and two Daughters. The killer of these vicious crimes was never discovered. Matter of fact not a single shred of evidence suggested anyone but the family was ever here that night despite the messy massacre. That was a tragedy. Nothing to make them genuinely fear stepping onto this land. Just a simple unsolved unfortunate event. So, fast forward a year and six body bags later, and another family – also of six – moves in to find themselves murdered in the exact same fashion. Not only just exact, but precise. Found in nearly the identical same manner as the last victims. And once more not a single finger to point to anyone who may’ve committed these crimes. The work of a ghost, more or less.
THAT was when this land became cursed enough to strike enough fear for anyone to ever dare step onto this land or into this house, and then there was… me. The first man to do so in about sixteen years. I for one do not believe in supernatural evil forces unless of course Joey Flash shows up to wrestle at Slam after being buried last Sunday. The point of this is to show to everyone in WCF that I am a man of courage. Do you think Joey Flash, much less his luggage; Jared Holmes and Andre Aquarius have the strength to do some of the things I have done? Of course not. I took this so called next big thing of WCF and dropped him and his belt within about four minutes. I made the fall of Joey Flash look effortless, because for me, it was. I could have cashed in earlier and wrecked Jayson Price, but I knew he’d do that for himself within a month. When Joey Flash won the contendership match at Fifteen that’s when I saw the opportunity. I let you stay champion for two months, Flash. I wanted people to believe that you were the hot shit you yourself believed you were before I brought you down and showed everyone how easily it could be done. It was only easy because, well, I’m Logan.
Had Steve Orbit or anyone else won that briefcase? You’d still be champion, Joey. Most likely. People cannot get things done the way I can. They lack patience it takes to sit on a lottery ticket for four months before cashing in and becoming king. I bet you weren’t even thinking about that prior to my music hitting on Slam were you, Flash? I had quietly existed on purpose simply to add further surprise to the moment you were dethroned. Because I could. That’s why, Joey. You were never ready for the World Championship anyway. It’s not like the belt made you anymore entertaining. You’re the same greasy retarded faggot spitting bore that you always were even after winning the belt. You had no intention to evolve into anything greater than that. I on the other hand take this championship with me to continue building a legacy far beyond the reach of any member that ever stepped foot in WCF. You especially included, Joey. I’m not only building a future for myself, but for WCF as well. I aim to put an end to these annoying stable wars that have existed over the last few years. Under my regime they will be shattered. The only community that has any right to be here in Seth Lerch’s WCF is The Family.
Everything else is just a rehash over and done with a million and one times. A new group pops up every other week. And for what purpose exactly? Just to be a group? Simply to exist? Things will change. The waves of treachery are going to crash down upon these shores of ridiculous generic stables and pull the BitchKrew back with it out to sea. I never had the need to surround myself with drunken soft frat boys. The people that support me, that have my back are sharks. Killers. And they’re loyal to me. There are people backing me then no one else even knows about yet. But they’ve always been by my side. You see, I wanted to know who I could trust and who I couldn’t before winning the biggest prize a man can carry that paints a target on his back. That’s why none of these stable wars concern me, because The Family has always been outside of these petty dealings. My group’s only purpose is to make sure that type of shit that happens to everyone else, the bullshit backstage attacks, and the pointless beat downs do not happen to me. I wasn’t born yesterday. When you’re the World Champion everyone wants a taste of that hotdog. Even your beloved fan favorites will steep to new lows if it means getting a taste.
My question to you is this, are you willing to get down on both knees and have yourself that taste? That’s the only way you’re ever getting another title shot. You must be an idiot if you think a rematch clause means anything. Seth Lerch, my best friend is also your boss. Which basically means if I feel like you don’t deserve a shot… then yeah, fuck off. Maybe you should earn your rematch, Joey Flash. You could start by winning the Trios but we both know after Slam your team is finished. You were nothing ever but a one hit wonder, my man, or as Zach called it.. a flash in the pan. Your first title run lasted a minute. Have you seen what Dune has accomplished since then? Dune went from the almighty powerful ripping apart everyone in his path and then… he burned out? I believe that’s the truth. Dune burned out. He needed some time to recharge and you caught that Dune flame just as it was dwindling down to nearly nothing. You never took on Dune at his absolute best and we both know it. The man went on vacation after War and ever since he returned has been nothing more than a glorified mid-carder. Yet again another one hit wonder.
So let’s discuss your second run, Joey. You defeated Jayson Price. Who is that supposed to impress? It’s a well-known fact that wine cooling chugging drunk was already on his way out to rehab. He basically handed you the title. Here you go, Flash. All yours. So, tell me, Flash – we both know WCF isn’t about what you did yesterday or the year before, but what can you do for me NOW? You haven’t done shit other than help send Price to rehab. Meanwhile, me? I made my comeback four months ago and climbed that ladder like any other new guy could and became the very best in WCF right NOW. You, Joey? You have to prove yourself to me. Not the other way around. I already did that last Sunday. You have absolutely no way to even threaten me into a title shot. Lerch runs the show. You can’t shoe horn anything in this company. Might want to try your luck someplace else, Joey, because the shit ran out.
He let out a deep exhale. Sometimes it felt exhausting spending a great amount of time talking about people who weren’t even on his level. Nonetheless, he had a haunted house to explore. It was already made clear earlier of how the boy had been nailed to the porch with over God how many knows nails. A few pounds. At least. That was most likely how he perished. Either from the shock or by simply bleeding out. Some of the nails from the last murder still resided into the porch planks, similar to how crime scenes had chalked the location of dead bodies, this one outlined the body of a small child from nails. Disturbing to say the least. Much to his surprise the door wasn’t locked and he pushed it open. The only thing giving the door any resistance was the amount of spider webs covering it’s frame. Black Widows, particularly, spun one of the strongest silks of any spider, and they were quite common in Mexico City. Rather or not he was too dumb for his own good or just simply brave, the poisonous spiders nor the family murdered here before refused to put any hesitation into his step. The living room blacker than the night air. This was where the Father met his demise, reclined back on a couch when the claw end of a hammer got stuck in the back of his head. No prints came off the hammer either, or any one of the few hundred nails that pinned his Son to the porch.
Fascinating felt like a strange word to use amidst such tragedy, but there was no other way to explain it. He could already feel eyes on him from all directions. No exact location. Waving cobwebs from his face, he dug deeper into the blackness, finding that furniture from the previous murdered family had never been removed when his shin collided with the edge of a coffee table. Though his tolerance of pain was quite high, he’d rather be smashed in the head with a chair. The shin along with the pinky toe could bring any man to his knees. Unless of course that man was Joey Flash, then he’d already be on his knees, begging for a title shot with a mouthful of someone’s cock. He cursed beneath his breath, rubbing at his shin, and feeling a gentle wind, as if a whisper of a breath coated the nape of his neck. He spun on his feet immediately, turning to notice the door had silently closed behind him.
Fascinating. There was that word again. If he kept this up he’d grow pointy ears. He played off the creepiness factor as nothing more than wind despite the very lack of it tonight. Simply the weather pushing in air then pulling it out and taking the door to close with it. A flashlight would seem helpful in a situation like this… for a pussy. A loud crash followed by the forceful rumble of an earthquake shook the house followed by a blood curdling scream from the second floor above. He pulled out a flashlight.
Logan: What?!
He was more confused than frightened. Confused by what produced such a cry. He knew for a fact he was completely alone. He also knew supernatural encounters were a load of horseshit. Ghosts did not exist. Evil did exist, but it wasn’t invisible to the naked eye and it could not become host of another person despite all those so called ‘true story’ movies that claimed it did. After ruling out the different scenarios he gathered it could have very well been an animal; an animal that mimicked the death hurdling scream of an adult female. It was the second floor where the scream came from that bothered him most. Not the scream itself, but the source of it. Only one murder occurred on the second floor and both times it was the Mother, found bare naked with all limbs amputated by a chainsaw from the outside shed. She had been raped prior. That’s what the report indicated. Or during. The only people who knew were her and whoever raped her, however yet again not a single drop of evidence was left behind to judge who or what did the horrifying deed. The houses aging staircase creaked beneath his feet. Pictures of the family lined up along the walls of the staircase. One of them, in particular, caught his eye. The frame and glass encasing the dead girl had a faint blood smeared handprint over it. The handprint itself appeared human, five fingers, though it did not account for the thinness and claw like shape of their points. Every step of the staircase towards the source of the scream made gravity feel heavier. Once finally reaching the top, the photograph on the wall he examined on the way up fell off the wall and crashed onto the bottom step.
Logan: Just a draft.
Though there wasn’t one. The only thing he felt was someone’s eyes crawling over him. His own eyes peered into the open door way of the room that the Mother was killed in. A blackness shot from within the room. It had no real shape. It made a swooshing noise as he watched it launch himself into him until his vision was completely blinded by black. He remembered the force of whatever it was pushing him backwards down the stairway.
THE DREAM
The concrete floor his bottom rested on was cold and hard enough to numb his cheeks. Logan picked himself up and studied his surroundings. The place was familiar. He hadn’t been here since childhood. A morgue. His Father’s. His Father, Jack, had been a mortician, running his own funeral home just as his Father before had. If Jack hadn’t of died from heart failure at Logan’s early age of ten, Logan himself would’ve probably ended up in the family business. Once Jack, his Father, died, there was no incentive from his Mother to keep the wheels turning and she ended up selling the morgue and the funeral home. The corridor was lined with refrigerated body drawers just as he had remembered. It looked quite longer than before. He studied some of the names printed to each drawer. Cyrus. Wreck. Jack of Blades.
Jack: You killed them.
Startled by the unexpected voice, Logan looked up to find his dead Father, Jack, wearing a lab coat covered in specks of blood that he once wore when preparing bodies.
Jack: They trusted you and you killed them!
He slammed his fist into the wall, causing all the drawers along the corridor to launch open. Dozens of corpses unleashed from their refrigerated sanctuary.
Logan: I never killed anyone.
His Father seemed to ignore that last statement.
Jack: And soon Dag Riddik will find his place here.
He hardly knew his Father. He remembered him some from his childhood, but what he learned of his Father was more from stories that others told. Most of what he gathered was that he was an honorable man, unlike himself at times.
Logan: Those guys turned their back on ME. Dag would never do that. He’s loyal.
Jack: Then where are they now?
Logan: How should I know? Hadn’t seen these guys in years.
Jack: Because you murdered them.
Anger fueled his path towards his Father. He reached out to grab his lab coat by the collars, yet he vanished just as quickly as he had appeared. The corpses lining the corridor walls began to rise from their beds.
Logan: Jack..?
He called out once more.
Logan: Dad?
The morgue hall was dead on both ends. No exits. Speaking of dead, they began to make their way towards Logan.
Jack of Blades Corpse: Looo... gan.
Logan: Blades. You left me, not the other way –
The cold mouth of Jack of Blades sunk its teeth into Logan’s arm. He felt himself reliving the exact time he supposedly murdered Jack of Blades.
Logan: The Team of Treachery couldn’t be better. Look at us. Tag Team Champions. And you… World Champion.
Jack of Blades: Rightfully so.
While Blades grin, Logan gritted.
Logan: There is only room for one World Champion in ToT.
He dug a dagger into the spine of Blades. Logan awoke on a table, one which his Father, Jack, used to prepare the dead for viewing in the funeral home up above. Logan was strapped to the table. Bare naked.
Logan: That’s not how it happened. I never killed Jack of Blades. He disappeared.
His Father turned to face him, a scalpel idly waving around in his hand while he spoke.
Jack: People tend to disappear when they’re no longer living.
Logan: He’s really dead?
The mortician rolled his eyes. Logan himself was beginning to wonder if he actually had killed Blades. It was strange how he was suddenly at his side every day for the better part of five years then mysteriously gone the next.
Jack: He was so young. Who knew what he would’ve gone on to accomplish in WCF.
Logan: I killed him… I really did. I did it. Didn’t I?
Jack: Starting to remember?
The dagger refused to dig any deeper into the back of Blades thanks to the efforts of his spinal cord taking the better part of the knife. Blades turned, gasping for air and answers in his last breaths.
Jack of Blades: I can’t feel my legs, Logan.
He fell down into the corner of a hotel room, awkwardly curling into a ball.
Jack of Blades: I should have..
Logan bent down next to his dying comrade, lending an ear to his dying breath.
Jack of Blades: … listened to them.
Logan: Goodbye, ‘Pete’.
The nickname referred to an aged long inside joke between the two. Jack began laughing only as Jack could before finally slipping into whatever Hell awaited him.
Jack: Now you remember, my Son?
Logan: Yes.
Jack: Good. Then you’ll understand what I must do next.
The scalpel sliced through Logan’s chest like a stick of warm butter. Without being able to move, all he could do was cry in agony underneath his Father’s knife.
Jack: You’re too poisonous for your own good.
To the surprise of Logan, he was still conscious while he watched Jack dig his hands into his flayed chest to rip out and hold up his beating heart.
Logan: Don’t.
He held Logan’s heart in one hand, a screwdriver in the other.
Jack: It’s the only way to keep Dag Riddik alive. Eventually he’ll use up all his usefulness to you as the countless others had in the past.
If he could have lifted his hand in protest, Logan would have.
Logan: He’s different. The times are different.
This caught the curiosity of Jack.
Jack: How so?
Logan: I never needed Dag to succeed. And he never needed me. We’re… Family.
Jack: Cool story.
The screwdriver plunged into Logan’s heart. He awoke at the bottom of the stairs within the cursed house of Mexico City, grabbing at his chest in a panic. His heart throbbed and rocked against his skin. He could almost see it pulsating underneath his velvet vest. He clawed at the buttons, revealing his chest to his eyes to notice a deep aged scar that had never existed before. With a perfect mix of confusion and anger, he called out to the dark corners of the house, despite the fact he was alone.
Logan: What have you done?!
A pair of hoofs echoed the stairwell as they made their descent towards Logan. He looked up to find a beast from the waist down and a charcoaled demon from the waist up.
Eligos: I am Eligos. The Great Duke of Hell.
His hoofs soon reached the bottom step near Logan.
Eligos: And I know everything that you have done and will do.
The last week Logan partaken in Mexico City he spent a decent forty-eight hours eating peyote and seeing things that never existed. However now he was more sober than a Jayson Price in his eighth day at rehab, if such a recover lasted that long.
Logan: A demon?
Eligos: Yes. Also a ruler of many. Like yourself.
Logan: No wonder the police could ever find any DNA.
The Duke of Hell extended his reach to Logan to get him back on his feet.
Logan: Why the hell not.
And he let the demon help him up.
Eligos: You’re only a man.
He cockily examined Logan, looking him up and down. Logan accepted himself in this moment. He realized that despite what he had believed was right throughout his years of treacherous behavior, that in the end he had been wrong. That he himself were nothing more than a bastard.
Logan: If you’re here for a soul…
Eligos: Yours is far too tainted.
Logan: What did you do with my heart?
Eligos: I readjusted it.
Logan: Readjusted?
Eligos: It’s going to explode in June of twenty-twenty.
Nice. He always wanted to know when he’d die. Now he thought himself as a walking time bomb.
Logan: How long would I have lived had this encounter between us never happened?
Eligos: This was your final year. You never lived to see Christmas.
Logan: Heh..
He smirked. Logan feared death to an extent. He feared dying if nobody ever remembered him. However, if someone built a statue in his memory on a Monday, he could die on a Tuesday and be okay with it. But nobody ever built statues of the living.
Logan: What’s the catch?
Eligos: Do you seek to repent?
Logan: Even if I did would a few years of good deeds out weight a life time of bad ones?
Eligos: No. You’d never meet Him.
Logan: Then why give me extra time?
Eligos: To ruin as many lives as possible.
Logan: Shoot up a school? I bet you give that deal to everyone these days.
Eligos: Something a bit more original.
FEW DAYS LATER
Evil resided within Logan. It always had. The only difference being now he knew how much time he had left to let it loose. Earlier in the day he purchased C4 explosives from an arms dealer in Mexico City. He had no knowledge of planting them, so he also purchased a man affiliated with the cartel to plant them – on a church. The fuse was lit and ready. All he had to do was push a button. Much like he did when he blew up Club Violet. He watched from across the street. He watched the Hispanics gather in lovely clothes, smiles, and warm eyes as they entered the white building that praised Jesus and the Cross. It was difficult to explain why he wanted to do this. It wasn’t for gratitude of Eligos extending his life. He had nothing to gain in WCF by blowing up a torch and setting fire to a group full of strangers. He had to do this because…
Because he could. His evil wasn’t a drug. No urges sought him out to purchase plastic explosives. He didn’t know a soul within that church but he suspected at least one good one resided in it. His evil was simple. Was it amusing? He didn’t know at the time. He imagined he would if anyone came out, hitting the ground, and trying to roll the flames off. It’s not that a doubt resided within, but more of a question as to why to do such a thing. It’s not like Joey Flash as at church. Not here anyway. He thought back to his childhood, when his Mother would drag him to a Baptist church every Sunday. He wondered if anytime then did a man ever sit outside with the a trigger button ready to blow up the building while he sung choir. What happened to life. What went wrong. He knew now it was too late to repent, even as a demon had told him a few days before. Even so, he didn’t have the urge. He was who he was. Did his Father dying at a young age shape him into the man he was now? And then he thought, what if his Father had never died to begin with… where would he be now? It didn’t matter. No one could change the past. There was only the future which existed right now if or if he didn’t press the button on the donator. He’d ruin lives. Children’s lives too. Children that would never grow up to have children. Blowing up Steve Orbit’s club was different. He did it to break Steve Orbit. This? Oh fuck it… this was for the laugh out louds. He pushed the button.
The cross launched into the air like NASA was trying to send it on a mission to Mars. Then the entire church buckled from wall to wall, breaching outwards near the bottom before the top gave in and crumbled apart like a cracker beneath a hammer. He expected to find at least a few people evacuate, in flames, hitting the ground. Nothing. Then finally someone crawled out from the wreckage. A young girl, maybe nine years old, with the left side of her body charred black. The only survivor so it seemed. Logan stepped out of the car parked across the street and walked over to the crawling mess of a girl.
Logan: Does it hurt? Well, of course it does.
Tears would’ve fallen down her baby cheeks if her ducts weren’t scorched.
Logan: Why aren’t you laughing though? Seriously? Think about it, doll. You’re here to worship a God that lets a person like me burn it to the ground. God doesn’t care about you. If you didn’t care about him, you’d never be here. No. You’d be alive and well. Don’t you find that the least bit funny? Think about it… the only thing God did for you was lead you into a painful death.
He unzipped his pants and began to urinate on the dying burned child.
Logan: You’re welcome.
Later that day he rang Dag Riddik and put it on speaker for the benefit of the camera. His clothes still stank of smoke from the church bombing. Dag finally answered.
Logan: You hear the news about the church?
Dag Riddik: I did.
Logan: I did it. I don’t even know why. But I did… to prove a point? I don’t know. I thought it would be funny but…
Dag Riddik: It was.
The other end of Logan’s line was filled with laughter. Dag could hardly contain himself. Soon enough, finding that someone else found amusement in this, Logan began to laugh too.
Logan: Haha! Dude I wish you were here. You should have seen it… haha… the fuckin’ walls literally went flying. It was weird. Like someone filled up a balloon and then it finally popped.
Dag Riddik: Oh my God! Haha!
Logan: Yeah. He wasn’t there.
Dag Riddik: Haha!
Logan: Then there was this girl.. maybe nine or ten years old at best that crawled out looking like Two Face from Batman.
Dag Riddik: Really?
Logan: Yup. Fuckin’ pissed on her too. Right on the side of her burned up face. It actually started steaming. I shit you not.
Dag Riddik: GET OUT! HAHAHA!
The connection dropped. Damn you Mexico. Logan turned to the camera to have his say.
Logan: I should feel dirty. Not that dirty though, like… I will get a shower tonight and forget this whole thing ever happened. Another Tuesday for me. Well, fuck it. I had fun. The clock is ticking and sufficed to say this almost brought as much joy to my dying heart as winning the belt did. There are no regrets. Only smiles. Do you know the difference between reality and the dream beside the barring fact that one is made up – Dag Riddik and I surpass any tag team that has ever existed in WCF. Jack of Blades was a fuckin’ flake. Simple as that. I never truly trusted him the way I do Dag Riddik. Dag has had my back from day one. He stood beside me while this shit of a group crumbled. Without Dag Riddik, simply put, there is no Family today. It would just be me out there in the open on a sinking life raft waiting for the sharks. But nope. I got Dag Riddik. He’s my own shark. My deterrent to keep the others at bay.
So what makes Andre Aquarius and Jared Holmes so special? Speaking of which, did those two fuck and have Andre Holmes for a baby? Seriously I’d hate to be a commentator calling a three way between them. Joey Flash and his goof troop. Give me a break. This isn’t a comeback story for Flash and his two bitches certainly aren’t going have any roles in it. I’m smashing any comeback from Joey. Just like I did his title run. Andre Aquarius can get fucked too. He’s never going to find his way into any title picture that I’m involved in. And you, Jared? I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to hug Flash to death at the De Mayo. Get over that shit. Stop crying. I’ve heard you fuckers and your backstage talk. Everyone seems to think Joey never had a fair chance. Well, guess what, assholes? It’s called Final Destination. That’s what happens when you win a briefcase that gives you a shot at the belt at any single time of your choosing. Don’t like it? Then maybe some of you crybabies in the back should’ve stepped up and won that match. Oh wait, you didn’t? Exactly. Because I’m better than all of you. If you think I don’t deserve this championship then come take it off me, fuckers.
Here are the facts. My team is winning the Trios Cup. FACT. I’m going to be the one that scores the pinfall in the finale. FACT. And when I do guess what happens next other than me once again proving I’m the greatest motherfucker to ever exist? I’ll be getting a month off from defending this belt. Know why? Because no one else will be on my level. That’s talent, my friends, and when that happens people are once again going to cry and bitch backstage. I have never in life heard more drama than with this roster. You all act surprised. As if Logan was never going to cash in his shot and this was never going to happen. Well get the fuck over it. It has happened. Dag Riddik, myself, and the Game are coming hard this Slam and it doesn’t matter how much any of you cry and bitch backstage we’re winning this fuckin’ tournament. That’s the facts. I see a lot of potential in The Game. He doesn’t know it yet but this dude is probably going to be my left hand man. I’d make him my right if Dag Riddik wasn’t such a talented killing motherfucker. Love me some Dag Riddik.
Know what’s truly disappointed though? WCF’s competition. Everyone been in a uproar since Seth Lerch and I aligned. It’s like you boudles forgot who made WCF in the first place. WE DID. Seth Lerch and I run this place. Get used to it. Don’t act like it’s new butthurt all of sudden. Because this isn’t anything new. Seth knows what is best for WCF, and MR. WCF is BEST for WCF. That’s another fact. I have surpassed every Hall of Famer and now every future Hall of Fame, as if this current roster actually had any besides myself. You all seem to have forgotten just who I am and it took me shaking shit up and Joey’s skull last Sunday for you all to remember. So, let me just remind everyone – I’m THE WORLD CHAMPION. YOU’RE NOT. I’M BETTER. FUCK OFF.
Scene ended.
