After my stunning victory with those fucks, I decide I need some green so I pay a visit into the back office of the Master Card Arena to see Warfare General Manager, Matthew Oaktree. I heard he was gay and can be an asshole with some guys, as long as he doesn't try to cop a feel I think I'll be fine. As I walk down the cold, grey concrete walls, the noise of the fans enjoying a not as great match starts to quiet down. I get to a large black door, management written on a piece of paper taped on the door. High class. I knock three times. Best be polite to my new boss.

Mr. Oaktree shouts from inside, I twist the handle and enter a rather nice looking office area. Chinese decor, always looks too busy to me. There's even one of those golden cats. I hate those fucking cats. I look to Oaktree, which by the way if a dumb fucking name in my opinion. No way that's his real name. Probably watched Game of Thrones and wanted a name that would fit with a House... Chill Hastur, need to be friends with this guy. I look to Matthew, he's sat behind a pretty nice desk, television behind him with Abaddon against Christopher Isles kicking the shit out of each other. Matthew looks to me, shuffling some paper to the side, he smiles. I smile back. Politeness is key.

He stares at me, I think he's annoyed. But lucky for me, he's a busy man and I have nowhere else to go right now, he knows that. Matthew opens up a drawer and takes a clip of US dollars, he licks his finger taking a few bills out and hands them to me. I count out the money in my hand. One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight. Fifty. Cheap mother fucker.

"Eight hundred and fifty!? Is this a fucking joke?"

Asshole's right. More than a minimum wage employee gets in a month. And it'll add up, most wrestlers are millionaires right? Contract pay and all that shit, just need to keep working. I stuff the money in my pocket and smile at Matthew.

"Thank you, Mr. Oaktree."

Oaktree goes back to his papers. I turn and head for the door, closing it behind me and walk down the hall. Eight-fifty. Fuck! Let's think. Skip the plane ticket back to the states just hide out with the cargo again, get some new gear, could steal some. Nah, too risky. Okay so buy some gear, and some horse tranquilizers to keep killer asleep and me in charge. Should be okay for a while.

Fingers crossed.

...

"You asleep?"

I click my fingers but killer is out cold, about damn time. I take control of my body and shake my head to wake myself up, picking myself up from the floor and rushing through the apartment building down to the ground floor. I need to be quick before he wakes up. As I crawl through a broken window to get into the street. the thick snow crushes under my heel, I turn up the lapels on the trench coat to shield myself from the cold as I walk.

I need to get into the XWF. There's only a few things I'm good at, hurting people, cheating people and arts and crafts. And there isn't much money in the last one. If killer thinks someone there can help us, then he'll be all the more for it. Only problem is, how the hell do I get in?

Fuck it, that's something for later on. Now, I'm going to find a nice place to stay. I keep a quick pace, trying to avoid the main streets and duck into the alleyways when I can. Passed the tall buildings and closed stores, I find a small residential area. No need to be picky here. I jog to the first house and hop over the small chain-link fence and get on the front lawn. I keep my head down as I head to the side of the house, I think I got lucky; no dog toys or kid's toys outside. Small piece of shit car in the driveway. Most likely a couple, possible chance just the one person though. I get around to the back of the house, curtains are open so I can see inside the kitchen. It's dark. Big surprise. I try the handle on the door, locked of course. I take another look around the back, the stairs leading to the door look new. Wood is clean, the screws still have their shine. I hop off the stairs and look underneath, rummaging my hand through the snow on the off chance.. Haha! Today must be my lucky day. Either that or this guy is begging to have his house broken into.

I grab a hold of the screwdriver hidden in the snow and get back to my feet, dusting the snow off myself. I jam the flat head of the screwdriver into the bottom of the window pane and force the window loose; it cracks open a little and I lift the window up. The opening isn't large enough to fit myself through, I put the screwdriver in my pocket and put my arm through the window. I reach around to the door, the keys hit my fingers and I twist them, unlocking the door.

I go back up the small set of stairs and enter the house; no alarm. I close the window, turn on the light and look for something to eat. Searching through the dark wooden cupboards I find a few tins of beans along with a bunch of other store brand crap, I take a tin out and use the screwdriver to pry it open as I take a seat on the small round table in the center of the kitchen. I use my hands to eat the cold beans, I'm so fucking hungry. This place could make a nice home, coat of paint. Some actually meat in the house. Better car. Could even put a swing out back, for the kids during the summer while me and killer have our annual barbecues. I lift the tin to my mouth and pour the rest of the beans into my mouth and swallow. I hear movement up the hall, a bed creaking and footsteps. I stare straight ahead, licking the sauce from my bandaged up fingers. A door at the end of the hall opens and a overweight man, early thirties with a fucking ugly neck beard walks out slowly towards me. I continue to site and smile, as he nervously enters the kitchen.

I chuckle and wipe my mouth, staring at this half naked slob. I grab a hold of the screwdriver and lean forward on the table.

"I think I should be saying that to you."

I flip the table towards this fat fuck and leap on top of him, stabbing him over and over in the neck with the screwdriver. He gargles on his own blood, staring at me as the light drains from his eyes. I stare back, smiling as his blood hits my face. He stops struggling almost immediately as his limbs lay still in a pool of his own blood. But I keep stabbing. Certainly no masterpiece like at the bar, but this bass-line of metal piercing fat will suffice. A final strike into the jugular and I get to my feet. Hope this guy has a shovel. I'll need to bury him before killer wakes up.