Hi XWF Universe!

I’m The Buronan’s narrator…

Instead of muffing around with some poor attempt of another fancy, metaphoric driven intro into The Buronan’s backstory, I’m just going to try and bring all of the viewers up to speed with what’s been happening over the last few weeks.

We began this journey into The Buronan, with what is likely the ending of Buronan, is that cliché? Fuck yes it is, but we did it anyway. What better way to drive up curiosity than giving someone a peek into the forthcoming demise of their hero? Then everyone is all like:

“O-M-G! Buronan died?!? Well how is he still here then? MY GOSH! I better stay tuned to find out!”

It’s a commonplace reaction of the plebs, but please don’t mistake my condescending tone as a lack of appreciation. I personally have enjoyed, and will be continually excited to unfold this entire story before your booger filled eyes.

After that, we brought you into the beginning of Buronan’s time in an undisclosed prison, where he wakes up from a traumatic beating and torture session that he could feel but could not hear of visualize. OH AND HERE’S A TWIST: When he wakes, Buronan has no idea who he is or how he’s gotten into this prison! And now he’s struggling with an internal dialogue about not knowing if he has the heart to carry on through his misery.

God we’re cliché, I know, but just hang in there. It gets better.

Buronan is not alone in his prison cell, as he has found a new friend in his cellmate named Dimas. Dimas is a blind [racial description redacted] man who goes on to explain to Buronan that this isn’t really a prison that they’re being held captive in. It’s rather the personal torturing chamber of a heroine drug cartel that has taken over his undisclosed third world country.

Dimas goes on to tell Buronan that the government of this country they’re in is corrupt and is in cahoots with the drug cartel- but that if he were able to see, he would have tried escaping this hell hole long ago; cluing Buronan into the vulnerability of the shit-head guard named Tyson who regularly visits their cell.

Now The Buronan has a decision to make: Follow the brash instincts he feels yearning from within his spirit and try to escape this prison? Or rest on his laurels and rot away in a world where he never remembers again who he was?

Well how about I stop rambling so you wrestling junkies see for yourself?

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“I can feel you inside of me. I know you, but I don’t remember you. You’re tugging at my heart, pulling it to a place where it should be, away from the place where I’ve lost it. My exterior feels so frail, but inside I know a monster exists… I’ll resist you no longer.”

"Listen!"

Dimas demands of Buronan as the footsteps of Tyson can be heard echoing closer and closer to their cell.

"He's coming now."

"What should we do?"

Buronan asks.

"An agitated man is a vulnerable man. We will leave him no choice but to open himself up to us- then you will strike."

Buronan's heart was racing, he could feel the blood sinking down into his toes as he leaned up onto his trembling arms from the cells floor. He tightenes his small fist into a ball, his white knuckles cracking and bursting up through his dried skin.

"HEY OH! HEY OH-AYE-OH-OH!!!!"

Dimas begins screaming at the top of his lungs, smacking his hand against the cell wall as the deafening sound of Tyson's shoes stomping up the hallway outside stops. Buronan feels nauseated by the anxiety as everything seems to slow down. Dimas continues screaming out and smacking the wall, laughing wildly as the sound of the shoes resume.

The moment was near. Buronan knew he was made for this, but he just didn't want to believe it... he knew there was a reason he was in this prison, and now was the time to adhere to this constant calling of innate resourcefulness.

There's a loud pop and the giant door to the cell opens. Tyson marches directly into the cell and boots Dimas in the face; the heel of his boots ripping open the flesh on Dimas' cheek.

"Hey !"

Tyson quickly turns toward Buronan and catches a loogie right in the eye from our hero. The man lets out an irritated chuckle, grabbing a handkerchief and wiping away the snot filled spit wad before tossing the piece of cloth to the ground.

"You know. I've been waiting for this since they day we drug your sorry ass in here. So excuse me if I'm being a bit too forward, but I am really... REALLY going to enjoy this."

Tyson leans down to the rail that keeps Buronan's legs locked in place and pulls from a ripcord key-ring on his waist an unbelievably large looking key. He sticks the key into the lock and turns it, causing the U-shaped bolts to unhinge, thus letting Buronan free.

Buronan tries scurrying backwards on his butt, but Tyson is like an animal and pounces down onto his prey. His massive frame quickly overtakes Buronan as he drives his knees into his chest, leaning forward and wrapping enormous hands around Buronan's skinny neck. His grip tightens as our hero struggles to breathe, his arms flailing around trying to grab a hold of something... anything to help pry this asshole off from him.

But the tightening persists, and Buronan can start feeling the blood vessels in his neck pop. He looks into the eyes of Tyson, they're bulging and bloodshot as he screams out something or another that Buronan can't focus on. He feels himself fading, and it appears now as if he'll be forced to submit to this world... forever.

But there's something! That giant key dangling from the ripcord on Tyson's waist. It must be at least five inches long with rough, rusty looking edges. Buronan grabs the key, and trusts upward with all of his remaining might.

Paydirt!

Tyson releases his grip and looks down to see his key has driven into his side, just above his kidney area. Buronan twists and turns the key as Tyson gasps deeply and shouts out in pain. The giant man sends a thunderous right fist directly to Buronan's face, hitting him with such a force that to knocks Buronan's head against the concrete floor as it whiplashes back up; also likely breaking his nose.

But Buronan doesn't let the minor scrape detract him. He yanks the key back out from the wound and drives it in again... and again, and again, and again. Tyson's eyes roll into the back of his head as his jaw swings open and vomit pours out from his gullet onto Buronan, followed by a mouth full of blood that drips out onto his chin.

There's as gasp and a light wail as Tyson falls off of Buronan and over onto his side, grasping at the key that his protruding from his side. Buronan scoots backwards on his butt to the corner of the cell. His eyes are widened by the devastation before him.

"WOOO! Ahaha! OH CRY BAPER-BAPER! Meki bitch!"

Dimas lays on his back laughing uncontrollably as he senses the man who helped murder his wife and caused his blindness has been incapacitated.

Buronan presses his arms up against the cornering walls behind him and pulls himself up onto the shaking legs he hadn't stood on in weeks. Slowly he trips his way over to Tyson's body, kneeling down and yanking the key out from his side, causing Tyson to shriek out with immense discomfort.

Buronan goes over and unlocks Dimas from rail, as his cell mate wastes little time leaping over ontop of Tyson, turning him over onto his back and feeling around on his face. Once Dimas feels what he had been looking for, he slowly begins jamming each of his thumbs into Tyson's eyes, pressing down with a vicious might his bony thumbs into Tyson's eye sockets.

Tyson again screams as his body begins gyrating, blood rushing out of his skull and onto Dimas' hands until finally his body ceases to move. Dimas starts inaudibly speaking in his native tongue as Bruonan grabs him by his arm and guides his blind friend toward the cell door.

"What do we do now?"

Dimas smiles, grabbing Buronan's face with his blood stained hands, pulling it down and kissing him on the forehead.

"We find dem, and we kill dem. Every last one."

To be continued...

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It's happening, and it's all as picturesque as I had initially foresaw it being. The semifinals of Lethal Lottery 4 are on the horizon, and Buronan's name is still on the docket for a trial in the courtroom of greatness. How could it be that some talentless rookie, some buffoon who paraded around for two weeks as Deadpool, some 'trying-too-hard-to-be-funny' hack could possibly find himself knocking on the proverbial door of XWF lore?

Let's take it first from a practical stand point. Let's imagine that this is all somehow coincidental and that Buronan is just some rookie who lucked up by having to battle against the worthless Hero Xtreme who was virtually partnerless for four weeks straight. That would make sense wouldn't it? After all, Buronan did very little, if anything to contribute to his teams winning. Sure I've uploaded around eight heart racing, show stealing promos onto the internet-of-things to help build up my matches. But look at who I was paired with... Trax in round one, Jim Caedus in round two. Those are two men who needn't any luck- they will themselves forward unabashed and mostly unchallenged.

Now how about the road less traveled? How about the conclusion that your shallow minds wouldn't dare dive into? The one towards left field of conventional wisdom: this entire spectacle has been planned and executed to perfection by yours truly. The one. The only. The Buronan. Are we really going to believe that a complete idiot, a man with no prior dealings in the wrestling world who weighs one-hundered and forty-nothing was able to enter the squared-circle and compete with some of the greatest athletes in the world?

And not just compete... The Bruonan helped lead his teams to consecutive victories, and he had to put forth almost no effort in doing just that; thus conserving himself for this exact moment and this exact opportunity. I, THEE Buronan am now ready to unleash myself and lead not just from the mental, but the physical aspect to singlehandidly lead myself and my newest project, Cadryn Tiberius into the epic conclusion of Lethal Lottery 4.

I have little doubt that as Cadryn and I easily move into the finals, where we will be met by a team of men that I already know very well. Trax and Jim Caedus. What are the odds that every man who I've partnered with will be entering the finals together? So yes... this is my master plan, and it has unhatched to perfection and I will be the one in the finals knowing the strengths, weaknesses, abilities and limitations of every man in that ring.

Michael Graves obviously can't see the inevitable bane of his spirited run in the tournament, nor can Peter Gilmour for that matter; which to be fair, Peter can't see much while spending his days knee deep in tranny-asian manholes rather than training or working with his partner.

But Michael has been so blinded lately by his mediocrity that he actually believes he has a fighting chance against me. It's fucking laughable. I've never witnessed a man having so astutely brought the art of coming-up-short to a science. Michael Graves, the best thing you could do from this moment on is to keep your pathetic trap shut. Do you honestly believe that I've come this far, worked this hard to see my plans unhatched perfectly just to let you swoop in as underwhelming as you are and somehow win? Fat fucking chance pal.

I'm going to overwhelm you, because while you'll be so concerned about your friend and closet-love-interest, Cadryn, I will be pounding your ridiculous face into oblivion. In the time between now and our March fifteenth rendezvous, I'm going to bring you to terms of what it's REALLY like to go toe-to-toe with the elite in this industry. The fact of the matter is that you'll have lost this match long before you even step into the ring.

I know what you're thinking: "How does this guy who's only had two matches really think he's elite."

Mikey, I knew from the second I stepped foot in these doors and entered my name into the Lethal Lottery that this entire fucking tournament was mine for the taking. I have something you lack. That killer instinct. That drive to be always a step a head of my competition. Your history of coming up short in important matches proves that you haven't got what it takes.

And your partner... he's no different. The longevity of mediocrity and disappointment, that's Gilly's entire career. And even when he did luck up and knock of the weakest Universal Champion of all time, like a half eaten bone tossed his way, he couldn't sustain anything symbolizing a run. Amazing.

And so now I'm having to sit here and listen to you bark, and groan and moan like how you're winning this match and it's a foregone conclusion? And about how your friend, and my partner is a meth addict, like this somehow has a fucking thing to do with me? Please, bitch! People are the company they keep, just take the fact that Cadryn has a demon lingering in his head now as a direct result of your negligence in your friendship to him...

See, you took your friend for granted didn't you? Assuming that he'll always be the lesser of your tandem. That you, Michael 'I cant win a big match to save my faggoty life' Graves would always be the one in the limelight, getting the big match opportunity while Cadryn played sidekick. Well Bats, it looks like little Robin is finally ready to spread his wings and now it's got you scared to death...

Scared to look...

You're so fucking shook, and I don't even have to expose it, dude.

It's on display for the entire friggin' world to see- the fact that you HAVE to have a lovable idiot by your side to deflect from your own stupidity. Obviously, as to why you've been wasting time holding auditions for a replacement Cadryn.

Giving credence to the fact that you can't get the job done alone because you're an overgrown pussy with emotional issues; who weeps and moans about shit that takes place in the realm of Overly Obese Cocksuckers as a way to justify being inept.

I don't recall ever having a conversation with Cadryn, and in fact I could care-less if you two continue to jerk-one-another off in your promos... but what I believe is happening now is that Cadryn is starting to feel a bit used. Starting to realize that the tasteless, minuscule, fruitless success that Mikey Graves has gotten in the XWF has come at his own detriment. How about you buck up like a man, Mikey and learn to get this shit done on your own? Let's see if you have what it takes. The fact that you would want to use your own opponent, friend or not, in your own promos against him just proves to me what a stupid piece of shit you are.

If you wanted to do something as stupid as use your opponent in your promo, then you should have went it for it, bub. Why conform to what you thought The Buronan wanted or didn't want you to do? I'm not the master of anything. You're the one slowly digging your own Grave, pardon the pun, I'm just going to be the one to help you lay in it.

I'll see you at your loss, .