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**03-02-2017, 10:52 PM**

Referee Chronicles

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In my tireless search for the cowardly Chaos who prefers spelled out blood messages on locker room walls to communicate... but finally can't weasel his way out of a Lethal Lotto Universal Championship match against... 'THE RADICAL'. Maybe Chris is tuning up Shade for what he imagines is a beating I'll remember only through photographs after he knocks my head through a wall. Or a winshield. Chaotic thoughts loom in the mind of the weak. Controlled by... radical little bits of matter. Atoms until one day the bullshit is so immense, that it eats itself and its self-righetous arrogance... if you think for one second you are walking away from me with that belt on. My search brought me through empty arena's, broiler rooms, parking lots... and finally... to this.

Very bar. All the way I tracked you Chris. You didn't have the slightest incling. An Irish fucking pub. I walk in. Do I find Chris Chaos, my mia partner... NOOOOOOoo. I get Michael McBride. He tells me in no uncertain terms that I'd just missed you and that while the stool next to him was empty, he won't let me sit for losing the X-Treme Title to him. My hands started to throb. They wanted to hit him. But something came over me... maybe it was sympathy. A little hope. The gentleman's Irish charm. Well, whatever it was. He gave me some advice on where to look for cowards. Helpful.

But

I'll just wait until Lotto.

Or... aren't I the referee for your Savage match?! Oh... THAT'S RIGHT! You have to take on Shade. Ha. Listen. He sucks. You know it, I know it. So cannon fodder a side... it would be such a huge shame for you not to win. Right? You need this? Yes? Tell me how badly. I need a Universal reason to help. Anything less. And you'll be second best. Bitch.

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