The blown out speakers of the 92’ Grand Am pump the music as Charlie bops his head along to the beat. His unshaven beard doesn’t quite reach his sleeveless plaid jacket, but it has grown considerably since the last time Charlie was seen by the “XWF Universe”. His gaze drifts down to the gas gauge, which is starting to sink close to the E. He sighs softly before flicking his blinker on and shifting into the right most lane on the interstate. Charlie rides on for another minute before taking the first exit available. He pulls into the lot of the first gas station he sees.



Charlie pulls up alongside one of the empty gas pumps for personal vehicles. He takes the key out of the ignition and the engine grinds to a halt. As he steps out of his beat up hoopty another vehicle pulls up on the other side of the pump. A short, plump man with a receding hairline steps out of the driver’s door of the jet black 2016 ford expedition. The rather unintimidating man is dressed in a tan suit and dress shoes. The tinted windows of the expedition are questionably legal, shrouding the view of the vehicle’s interior, save for the tiny sliver of the car you can see from the slightly rolled down window in the back. A moment later a much taller blonde woman steps out of the passenger side door. Her knee length scarlet sun dress is complimented nicely by the red laces on her white platform shoes. The couple walks into the gas station together. Charlie scowls at the loving couple behind their backs as he approaches the gas pump. He pulls his wallet out of the front pocket of his jeans and retrieves his debit card. He places his card in the pump as some voices begin to ruminate from inside the ford. He turns back to unscrew the gas cap on his piece of shit Grand Am before finishing his transaction on the pump.

Child’s voice: It’s him!

Teen’s voice: Nah, that guy is way too poor.

Charlie raised his eyebrow but remained silent. He grabbed the cheapest gas nozzle and started filling his vehicle. The back driver side door of the ford opens, and a small boy’s head peeks out. Charlie makes eye contact with the youngster for a millisecond before the boy shuts the door and heads

Child: No, it’s him! Look at his fucked up nose!

Teen: Let me see!

The door opens again and this time another head pops out, of a much older boy with long red hair. The boy looks at Charlie for a few seconds before the door closes again.

Teen: Ohhh shit it is him! He’s going to get his ass beat by Robbie MOTHERFUCKING Bourbon so hard!

Child: He’s going to tap out like a little bitch! Do you think he’s going to win his match against Wrestler 85 on Saturday Salvage?

Teen: I don’t watch the jobber show! That show sucks. Who cares? All I care about is ROBBIE MOTHERFUCKING BOURBON! WOO WOO!

Child: Woo woo!

Charlie pulls the nozzle out of his car and places it back in it's slot. He walks around the windshield washing station, crossing over to the other side of the pump. He walks up to the back passenger door and opens it all the way. He looks into the vehicle and sees two boys, one much older than the other.

Teen: Hey, what are you doing?!

Charlie: Just who the fuck do you think you are?

The older boy looked to be about 14 or 15. His green braces were filled with the remnants of lunch and he was generally unhygienic, with deep sweat stains running down his Robbie Bourbon t-shirt. The younger boy looked like he was still in elementary school, but was quite tubby for his age. The mouths of both young men were agape. Charlie took one step into the car, right hand clenched into a fist.

Charlie: Are you little shits going to back up your words, or are you going to stand there waiting for me to sock you in the jaw?

The younger child screamed and climbed over the center console placed between the front seats before escaping through passenger door. Charlie rushes into the car, grabbing the older teen by the shirt.

Charlie: Robbie’s not here to protect you, boy. But you watch the show, huh? You want me to give you a special preview of what I’m going to do to Robbie?

The teen bursts into tears as the family man gets face to face with him. Charlie grips his shirt tighter and pulls him in even closer.

Charlie: I figure I got about ten seconds before your parents get out here and ruin our meet and greet. Want to see how much damage I can do in ten seconds?

The smell of piss tickles the nose as the teen boy wets himself in fear. Tears are streaming down his eyes. Shouting can be heard a dozen or so feet from the vehicle. Charlie lets go off the kid and backs out of the car, leaving the door wide open. He turns around just in time to see the father coming around the hood of the expedition, with his wife and younger son a safe distance behind him.

Father: Get the hell away from my son!

Charlie: You sure he's your son, man? Your wife is awfully fine. I bet she lets her little coochie lips travel all around the town. These kids don’t look much like ye’. Well, I guess the fat one does.

The father steps up real close to Charlie and points a finger in his face, albeit at an extremely upwards angle. The height difference between the two men is exacerbated as they stand next to each other. The smaller fellow is at least half a foot shorter than Charlie.

Father: You listen here! I don’t think you know who you’re messing with. I work at the most prestigious personal injury law firm in the greater Omaha area. You lay a hand on my son, I’ll sue the shit out of you! I’ll sue you so hard your grandchildren will be in debt to my family their whole lives!

Wife: You tell him, honey!

Child: Be careful, dad! He’s a wrestler! He beat Boris and The Hammer!

The father turns around to face the kid, arrogantly exposing his back to Charlie.

Father: Wrestling’s fake! How many times do I have to tell you boys this?

The father turns back around to face Charlie.

Father: You’re not really tough, you’re just an actor.

The man in the suit looks across the pump at Charlie's beat up whip. A cocky smirk spreads across the balding man's slightly wrinkled face.

Father: And not a well paid one at that. Now get lost, Leonardo DiCRAPio!

The wife and kids burst out into laughter as the father smirks. Charlie lets out a few insincere ha-has.

Father: Now go on, shoo!

The father shoos the wrestler away. Charlie responds by kicking the cocksucker in the balls. The man in the suit collapses, falling against the open car door as he cries out in pain. The force of his drop sends the car door flying closed. The man leans against the now closed door of the expedition, holding his balls while he groans repeatedly from the pain in his testicles.

Charlie: Did that feel fake, huh?!

Charlie grabs the man by his hair. Charlie lifts the man's head up and brings it back only to send it smashing into the car window repeatedly! On the fourth window slam the man's head went through the glass window. As Charlie pulled the man's head out of the window the glass around the gaping hole fell to the floor. Charlie slams the man’s head down on the bottom of the window frame for good measure. Thank god for the non-shatter glass that comes standard in all 2016 ford expeditions. Charlie throws the poor bastard against the gas pump. The wounded man falls to ground, moaning in pain. His wife and kids are screaming their heads off as Charlie grabs a gas nozzle and looks at the screen attached to the pump.

Charlie: Pre-purchased fifty bucks, huh? Let’s use it, Jack!

Charlie selects the most expensive gas then puts his finger on the trigger, spraying the downed man with the gasoline hose. The man is squirming as he tries to get away, but he keeps slipping and sliding on the gasoline. Charlie walks over to him and puts a knee on the man's back to keep him still. Charlie starts spraying gasoline on the man's face, up his nose, and into his ears.

Charlie: How are you going to sue me, Jack?! I ain’t worth shit!

Charlie continues to spray gas onto and into the lawyer as the gas station attendant comes running out of the convenience store. The man is decently well built and about six feet tall. His black mustache looks like it came straight from a 1970s porno. He speaks with a heavy Mexican accent.

Attendant: Ese! Stop!

Charlie lets go of the gas hose and takes his knee off of the lawyer, who is coughing up gas and crying. Charlie stands up tall and starts walking towards the attendant. The wife and fat child run around the other side vehicle, kneeling before their fallen patriarch as Charlie walks away from the family vehicle.

Attendant: Just go, hombre!

The attendant makes a motion for Charlie to get in his car and leave. Charlie continues to walk towards the man.

Charlie: Vaaaaatoooooo. They give you a gun to keep behind the counter? I know some of these truck stops got em’, but I can’t imagine any real business owner trusting someone like you with a glock.

The attendant backs up, putting his hands up in the universal “bro i mean no harm” gesture.

Attendant: Please sir...please just go.

As the attendant is walking backwards he steps into a slight pothole, tripping and falling over backwards. His head lands with a loud smack against the pavement. The man lays motionless, moaning in pain as his ankle lays at a twisted angle and a slight pool of blood develops around the back of his head. Charlie chuckles and turns away, heading back to his car. He takes one last look at the terrified family, which is cowering before him as their patriarch lay on the ground, vomiting, clothes soaked in gasoline.

Wife: You monster!

Charlie spits at the family before climbing into his car. He reaches into his dashboard and pulls out the dash cam he bought from the Steubenville Best Buy. He sets it up on his dashboard with only minor difficulty. After the camera is set up Charlie looks in the mirror and picks some brown stuff out of his teeth. He takes another moment to wipe a few pancake crumbs out of his beard before turning on the dash cam.

The point of view immediately shifts to the dash camera. We see Charlie on the right side of the screen, framed from his midsection up. He is wearing his classic sleeveless plaid jacket and a white crew neck tee shirt beneath it. The screams of the sobbing wife and terrified children penetrate the background.

I need to get some shit off my chest.

You fucking people need to learn your place, and learn some respect for your superiors. All you fans in the audience, all you jack offs in the online forums, I'm not the guy to fuck with. That man you see on T.V.? That's not an act. That's me. So if you approach me like some two bit jobber looking to get his head knocked off or asking me to sign some stupid fucking shirt for your dying son, I'm going to kick your fucking ass! Because that's just who I am!

You all need to understand that I am nothing like these other mindless apes in the locker room. I’m not here to entertain you. I’m not here to make you feel good. I’m not here to be a role model for your shitbrained brats. I’m not here to sign autographs and pose for pictures. I’m here for one reason and one reason only:

To be the best there ever was. I am going to win match after match, by any means necessary, and become filthy fucking rich in the process. And I don't owe you a leeches a damn thing while I do it.

See, I’m nothing like those mindless apes in the locker room.The pretty boys with the thick skulls, the stage actors, the roided up bodybuilders. That trash infests this industry, dragging it down to the depths of depravity.

Honor, popularity, decency: these words mean nothing to me. Illusions, fantasies, that’s all they are.

I will defeat Reggie Estrada, and then just days later I will become the Warfare MVP after Robbie and Kitty tap the mat and beg for my mercy. They won’t receive it, but they will beg for it. Grovel for it, praise me like the God I am as they plead for forgiveness. It will be a joy to watch the hope fade from their pained eyes as I sink the hold in even deeper.

Charlie chuckles to himself. He cracks a smile as he brings his hand up and runs it through his hair.

Kitty, kitty, kitty.

Some people don’t like what I did to you. I got a call from one of those globalists in the corporate office, bitching at me and telling me I have to act “professional” and “treat my coworkers with respect”.

Charlie simulated the air quotes with his fingers.

But here’s the thing Kitty: I am many things. I am a sinner. I am a cheater. I gamble, I drink, and sometimes I smoke! I’m AWOL, I’m a loose cannon. I am a bastard, and a whore-monger. But I am damn sure not a liar!

And Kitty, well, I don’t respect you! And I’m not going to lie to everyone and act like I do! I call a spade a spade, and you’re nothing but a little pussycat! You know kitty, I heard cats always land on their feet. but when I lifted your limp body and brought you down through that table, well, you damn sure didn’t land on your feet! What’s the matter kitty, did you leave your talent and grace in the litterbox? You’re gonna need to be a bit more active if you want to escape Warfare with a single one of your 9 lives.

You call yourself a Lynx, huh? You’re no Lynx. I’ve seen you first hand, pussycat. You’re not so tough. You’re just a little house cat. One that gets to go outdoors from time to time, but a house cat none the less.

When I put you on your back last warfare, I was putting you in your place. And I’m more than happy to do it again. And again. And again. Until you quit. Until you say those magic words, and tap and bang against the mat pleading for an end to the suffering.

Your little obsession with honor? It won't get you very far with me. While I choke you out and you pleadingly whisper to me about honor and respect.....I'll laugh in your face while squeezing your windpipes even harder. Can't stand listening to that rubbish for too long, after you get a good laugh it just gets old.

Honor gets you nowhere in this world. This world runs on blood. The most honorable man is nothing more than a bag of blood, waiting to be spilled at the end of the day. The dirty bastards, the thugs, the lowlifes: those are the people that make it in this world. Those who will step on the skulls of all who oppose them. Those are the people built to last. Built to make history.

You know, you're an odd cat. You see, I've hung around with cats before. Dirty cats, alley cats, hanging around on the outskirts of society. Now these cats are tough, something to watch for. They're dirty, they're relentless, they're clever....and they're always on the search for their next meal. For prey. For a street rat, ready to be ripped apart and feasted upon. Those are the cats that make it in this world. The kind of cats I can respect.

But I don't hate you, pussycat. You were doing so good these last few weeks. You were having a fun time cleaning up the trash at the bottom of the card. And I’m not a cruel man, kitty. I’m a family man, and I know everyone has a place in the XWF family. I’m going to make sure you stay in yours. For God's sake you’re only 200 pounds, you’re still just a kitten! You’ll only get hurt trying to step up and go pound for pound with the big dogs in the main event. You and I are just built different, kitty cat. I’m a purebred American hound, but I promise you my bite is worse than my bark. But you learned that first hand didn’t you, little pussycat?

Charlie chuckles a bit as he reminiscences about slamming Lynx through a table of deli meats and cheese cubes. His gaze drifts away from the camera, through the window of the driver’s door. His face remains fixed for a few moments, as if Charlie is in a different place. He shakes his head a couple times as he snaps back to reality. His smile slowly fades as he turns his gaze back to the dash cam.

But you know, my momma always said don’t get full on your appetizer before the real meal arrives. And Bourbon, well, you're the prime rib aren’t ya'? The cream of the crop. The MVP of Warfare.

Robbie Motherfucking Bourbon. Fan favorite, decorated legend. Hell, you’ve won more matches for the Warfare MVP than I've even had on Warfare! You’re the former Universal champion. Former Hart Champion. Former X-treme champion. You’ve had the accolades showered upon you, money thrown at you. The kids chant your name, the marks buy your merchandise.

I bet you sit back comfortably in your home, looking at your awards case. Looking at the stacks of money you’ve earned from being on top of the game for years. Basking in nostalgia, your mind running through the memories of your greatest accomplishments while your body aches in pain from the years of abuse. And don’t tell me you don’t feel that pain with you, lingering at all times. It gets worse and it gets better, but it’s always there. Omnipresent.

Charlie stares straight into the camera unblinking. His facial features contort to express something that almost looks like sympathy.

I feel that pain in my body, Robbie. In my joints, in my bones, in my lungs. When my head starts to feel dizzy and it just gets a little bit HARD TO BREATHE. Do you know the pain, Robbie?

Charlie's facial features quickly contort into an expression of smug arrogance.

Of course you know the pain! You share the pain with me. And even though it’s always there, we know it can get worse. And some days are much, much worse than others. Can you bear the pain, Robbie? Of course you can. But for how long?

When I’m on top you, cranking that elbow wrench, how long will you be able to bear the pain? For a few seconds? Certainly. For a minute? I’d think so. What about two minutes? Could you take the pain for two minutes? Maybe. But what about three? Four? Five?

You See Robbie, after I eliminate Lynx from the match it’s just you, me, and the referee between those ropes. No one is going to come save you. No one is going to help you. It’s just going to be me, on top of you, cranking your arm until you quit. How long will you bear the pain?

You won’t be able to escape. I’m sure from the comforts of your chair, sitting in front of your awards case and your stacks of money, you think you’ll get out of it. You’ve always gotten out of the hold before. You’ll face yourself in the mirror, put on your mask, and give a rousing speech. You’ll feel so confident, so proud, so brave. Your determination will be unshaken, and your will resolute.

But when you step between those ropes with me on Warfare, that award case isn’t coming with you. Those stacks of money aren’t coming with you. And you’re not going to be sitting in your chair staring at yourself in the mirror. You’re going to be laying on your back, staring at my face as I tear your elbow out of it’s socket! And your little speech won’t go so well while my sweat and blood drip into your eyes and mouth. You might find it hard to speak with your throat trapped beneath my body! Every single word you prepared for your victory speech will vanish from your mind, and all your mental energy will be exhausted dealing with the pain!

Charlie shakes his head from side to side, licking his lips as he does so. He cracks his necks from side to side before bringing his knuckles up and cracking them towards the camera.

How long will you bear the pain, Robbie? Will you lay there in agony as I rip your arm in half? Will you lay there screaming, even after I have dislocated your elbow and the bone starts to pierce through your skin from the pressure of my elbow wrench? Will you lay there, watching your own bone rip through your flesh as I pull back on your wrist? I’m not a squeamish man, Robbie, I won’t stop at the sight of a little blood.

What would make a man go through all that suffering. Go through all that torment?

Would you bear the pain for your legacy? Your legend has already been created. You’re Robbie Bourbon, you’re larger than life. You’ve lost before. Many times before. And your legacy was untouched. You know you’ve built your mythos, hammered it into the history books. You don’t need to put yourself through unbearable pain to go down as one of the greatest of all time. The people will understand.

Would you bear the pain for the money? After the medical bills it won’t be worth it. I promise you. You’ve made your money, you’ve made enough for several lifetimes as one of wrestling’s biggest stars. Why go through unending torment for pennies on the dollar? It just doesn’t make cents.

Would you bear the pain for the MVP Shield? It’s the least impressive accolade you’ve held in this company. You’ve been a universal champion, you’ve been a hart champion, you’ve been an X-treme champion. What is one lousy shield compared to real title gold, or even silver? This shield doesn’t mean anything to you, it’s just one more thing to fight over.

Charlie taps his head with his right pointer finger a couple times.

Think about it Robbie. You have nothing left to fight for. Your best days are behind you, but those sunny days were so bright you’ll go down in history as one of the all time greats.

You’ll tap. Sooner or later they all do. You may take longer to get there, you may endure an incredible amount of agony and pain, but eventually, you’ll tap. And you’ll be happy, and breathe a sigh of relief. For the moment, the pain will be gone.

But me, Robbie? I am just built different than you.

I have wrestled for 23 years. 23 years of blood, sweat, and tears. All invested in this business. And what do I have to show for it?

23 years as a mediocre indy guy, and two matches in the X-treme Wrestling Federation.

I have no legend. No money. No accolades, no cases of awards. Fuck, I don’t even have any fans.

23 years, and I have not accomplished a goddamn thing.

Charlie sighs softly as he runs his hands through his hair.

But now, after 23 years, I have this one shot.

A shot at the Warfare MVP.

A relatively meaningless shield, in the grand scheme of things. A stand in for one of the lowest singles belt in the federation. It’s only got a month of history. It will probably be phased out as soon as the corporate fat cats can get their hands on the hart championship again. This little meaningless shield…

Is beautiful beyond compare to me. When I look at that shield, I see a college fund for Emily. I see a fridge stocked full of food. I see a loving wife, and a happy family! That’s what I see when I look at that shield!

And I would do anything for my family. That’s why I won’t….no, why I CAN’T quit. No matter how much pain I’m in, when I look over at that MVP shield it will all melt away. I will provide for my family, no matter the cost.

But do you know what else I see when I look at that shield? I see the embryo of a legacy. A trail of success. A path to greatness. I have spent my whole career between those ropes looking for this path. This opportunity. And now here it is, mine for the taking.

And I will take it.

Charlie reaches towards the dash and turns the camera off.