North Korean War Criminal hangs up his smock. Another respectable honest day managing the Baskin Robbins off Route 225 is complete. He’s a happier man now. Seven years have come and gone. He has a beautiful house and wife... in Sims 3. He has access to all 31 flavors and the power to decide who else may sample his wares.

He lives the life of a king.

He walks satisfied up to the register to shut the lights off when he notices an odd lump sitting in the middle of the floor.

It’s... someone? A guy. His name is unknown. He might have some Alias, but NKWC is unfamiliar. And... on his waist. It’s the 24/7 belt.

Like a heroin addict stumbling across a month’s supply, his will to be without professional wrestling evaporates. Only... How do you pin someone again?

NKWC strokes his chin. It must be just like riding a bicycle, yes?

NKWC straddles Alias awkwardly, facing the man’s feet, and begins peddling his legs. An unorthodox but cromulent pinning maneuver.

An XWF official, who also part times at the Baskin Robbins off Route 225, begins to count...

1...

2...

The man dreams.

He dreams of Italy; of Rome; of the Gelateria Del Palma. This was the site where he and Corey Smith established the grounds of their friendship, and a small glimmer of hope crept into his life once more.

Since then, he has taken that glimmer and turned into the brightest light. He is so close! He begins to dream of the next step.

But something rouses him. The now-familiar doors of the X-Treme corridor led him here for the night, and as has become the norm, the impulses of another bubble to the surface. Almost preternaturally, he hears - nay, feels - the ref's two-count. He kicks out and wakes back into the real world. And what a world it is!

In the shift between realities, he goes from 100 flavours to 31. This man, this criminal, has stripped away 69 flavours from him! 69! The horror! How dare he? How dare he take 69 and Corey away from him? That cunt!

He flies into a rage. On his feet, he gives the North Korean War Criminal a stark reminder of the world of professional wrestling, raining hammering knuckles down upon his 69-less face. A cheek busts open and a tooth goes flying. Soon enough, NKWC is left lying on the cold ground.

But it is not over. You see, this Baskin Robbins recently got a new freezer, and its large cardboard box is sitting in the corner of the room. NKWC is dragged across the floor and stuffed inside the box. A roll of duct tape and a marker pen are conveniently sitting on a shelf nearby. The tape is wrapped around the box, sealing it tight, and is severed from the roll by gnawing teeth.

Taking the marker, words are written upon the side. The camera pans back to reveal 'TO DEMOS' on the side. Locking eyes with the camera, the reigning 25/8 (get it right, dummy) speaks.

"Hey Demos, I think your dear leader might have misplaced this. How about I give him back, and you stop being all... you-like, deal?"

He smiles a crooked smile at the camera and heads off, awake once more. There's plenty of time for dreaming.

Today we wake.
Tomorrow we dream.