SuperBrawl RP: Turn Left

Ronin.

What is a ronin? In a nutshell, a ronin is a samurai without a master. A ronin can become a ronin by either disavowing his master, or killing his master to secede him. Much to the surprise of a lot of people, in particular the ignorant f*cks who do not understand Satanism, I have not actually killed anyone. I have not killed my first born as a sacrifice to the devil I worship, she’s alive and kicking even stronger than ever. So strong that she’s going to one day have a place in this company…good lord did I f*ck up. Mistakes were made.

Also, in regards to killing, I’ve not even sacrificed a goat in his honor on his altar. I’ve desired to pull a piece out of The Godfather lore and put the head of some kind of animal on the bed next to Drakz, Donnie, Trace and a few others in a group Hillary Clinton would call WFWF’s basket of deplorables; but I haven’t. I haven’t even killed an ant! I am a Satanic Saint!

Ok, you can stop laughing now.

So how did I become a ronin, then? I didn’t kill my master, so I had to disavow him, right? Well, in a way, yes. Truth be told, despite the fact that I own my own martial arts school and have trained hundreds of kids…actually, perhaps I should rehash how I even got into martial arts to begin with.

When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city…oh wait, that’s lyrics to a My Chemical Romance song.

When I was in high school, I was probably the biggest introvert you could imagine. Looking at me now, that’s hard to believe right? I literally live the celebrity life and have thousands of fans on MySpace, because f*ck the millions I could have on Facebook and Twitter. But in high school, I kept to myself. Nose down, homework in on time, old anime VHS binge watching on Friday nights; I was the epitome of what everyone did not want to be. But I had no aspirations for anything more. I didn’t want to go to any parties, the only reason I would have contemplated it was if the household had a cat for me to pet while I drank tap water because we all know the punch would have been spiked. I didn’t have many friends, I had one guy who I would go play SNES with but that was only because he appreciated my help writing his history papers. So how does this kid who read books, wrote history papers and watched anime religiously on party nights become a martial arts master and future WFWF Champion?

I stuck my nose in a situation where it did not belong.

There was a girl, not much younger than me and the previously mentioned SNES kid who lived a few streets up from us. I didn’t know her name, had no classes with her, and our only interaction prior to the day my life changed forever was the occasional ‘Hey there’ when she would just barely make it to the bus stop before we were off to school. I never asked her name, because frankly I had no care. She was incredibly cute: short, red hair, petite, skinny body and a very soft voice but I just had no real interest in getting to know her. I was a loner who had the career path of history professor dead on my mind, I didn’t have the time for anything else really.

So one day, we’re all getting off of the bus to go home and this girl is clearly distraught, and apparently for good reason. Only the three of us were supposed to get off of the bus at that stop. Seven people left the bus. She came up behind me and asked me if I would walk her home. I gave a look to SNES kid, and we both agreed. Something was up.

As we’re walking the streets of Ira, this girl is getting cat called by these other high schoolers. I recognized one, he was a jock for Rutland, football I think. His cohorts were much the same, I imagined. But the ringleader of the bunch, the jock, was getting rather vulgar in his language. ‘Get back here you f*cking whore.’

That’s how I learned her name wasn’t whore.

I couldn’t take it any longer, so I turned around and shot my mouth off, telling him to leave her alone and to go back to whatever cum dumpster he came from. Apparently he did not appreciate me talking about his father like that. I was told to mind my own business, which is normally something I would do. But right there, in that situation, is when my mindset drastically changed and would never revert back. I got into his face, he and his friends shoved me around and the girl and SNES kid pulled me away. The girl’s voice went from depressed to scared and just asked us to leave. She would deal with it. I was having none of it, but SNES kid was a hell of a lot bigger than me and basically took me kicking and screaming around the corner, leaving her to fight this battle on her own. I understand that I was undersized, out-matched and out-gunned since SNES kid was just fat and not getting anything accomplished in a fight unless he sat on someone. That’s when I said f*ck it.

I broke away from SNES kid, went back around the corner and dreamed of fighting off three of the guys who were helping Jock keep the girl pinned against the wall. Only an idiot would not know what they were after. I succeeded in getting the three guys down, thanks in part to hard hitting, cheap tactics that involved making sure what their plans for her were wouldn’t happen any time soon to anyone. They just would not be able to get it up…their confidence, clearly, after getting beat by a wimp. But I was outsmarted by Jock. Jock carried a knife. Jock was so furious, he pulled the knife. I shoved her out of the way and was slashed down my face, the edge of the knife going through my right hand. Blood pouring from my face, knife in my right hand, I got to my feet and found some Southpaw strength and knocked Jock’s f*cking lights out. Then my lights went out. When I came to, I was in a hospital; bandaged up on my face and hand like the Grimes family all in one, with the girl at my bedside.

That’s how I got my scar.

That’s how I lost use of my hand.

That’s when I decided I did not need anyone to tell me what to do, that I could be my own master. A ronin. A fighter with no one to answer to, a fighter with the desire to turn left when nothing is right.

And Anna, that’s also how I met your mother.

I would enter a martial arts studio after I was as healed as I was ever going to be, subsequently get married, train to wrestle, get divorced and here we are, this time in reverse.

So what is the moral of this story? That I don’t take any sh*t? Yeah, I suppose that could be a part of it. I spent about a year and change under the thumb of the Midget, but as I have made painfully clear since the get go, that was all out of selfish desire. I selfishly desired to be the KoKaine Konspiracy down, which I did. I selfishly desired to etch my name in history as the man who retired Michael Kyzer, which I did. I selfishly desired to break up the Saviors of Society, which I did. I selfishly desired to follow through with Shawn Malakai’s desire for me to complete ALL of this, which I did.

But I’m not done yet.


Forever Connected.

Salt Lake City, UT.

9-13-2016, 11:30 PM.

Sam collects his bag from the locker room, grabbing at his ribs as he bends down to lift it to his shoulder. He grabs Sakabato from the corner of the locker room, placed there by one of the members of the ring crew. He would have gladly sacrificed his greatest possession for another shot at everything that went down tonight. In particular, being taken out. He should have seen the attack coming, and he knows it. He opens the locker room door, looking to make sure no ones stuff remains. It doesn’t. He clicks the light and closes the door.

Samael: Last one out.

Sam’s ribs are taped up following the attack, but his hand is on fire. As he walks through the hallway to the staff lot he starts undoing his brace. His face is on fire too, his blood pressure is through the roof. He just won the WFWF Tag Team Championship. Again. He’s been added to the WFWF World Championship match at SuperBrawl, another shot. But yet, Sam finds himself furious with how the events of the night played out. He opens the back door to the arena, slamming it, the metal clanging and its echo resonating throughout the area. Sam grabs at his ear, putting the brace to the side of his head as if that’ll help the headache.

Samael: I’m getting too old for this sh*t.

??: You’re in a better position that I am, I don’t see what the f*ck you’re bitching about. You get a third shot at Drakz. I get the consolation prize.

Upon reaching his car, Sam finds his former tag team partner (former, as in two hours ago) leaning against his Chevy. Great. Another problem.

Samael: Please don’t mug me for bottled water money, David. I feel like sh*t.

Brennan: I’ve taken laxative caused drizzling sh*ts that looked better than you do right now, I’ll give you that much.

Samael: Funny man you are. Well, so long as you’re not gonna try and f*ck me up worse…

Sam collapses to the concrete, leaning himself against the door of his car. He leans Sakabato against the tire and holds his arm in his legs. The streetlamp is directly overhead, allowing Brennan to get full view of Sam’s hand, the scar ever present and his hand swollen like a clown balloon.

Brennan: Jesus hell, you really don’t wear that thing for aesthetic purposes.

Samael: Nope. Really do need it, contains and condenses the swelling.

Brennan: What happened? That how your face got all f*cked too?

Samael: Yep. Hey, wait; what’s it to you, anyways? Before this afternoon, I think in the years we have both been here you’ve said less than five words to me.

Brennan: Professional curiosity.

Samael: Bullsh*t.

Brennan leans against the car, slumping his shoulders.

Brennan: So why are you so f*cking moody, anyways? You should be happy as hell.

Samael: Why? Because I let my guard down and got an ass kicking for it?

Brennan: You got what you wanted, another shot at Drakz. And as I recall, you two are even at one a piece now, thanks all to me but I’ll let that slide for this second.

Samael: Congratulations, David.

Brennan: I was being sarcastic.

Samael extends his left hand up for Brennan to shake.

Samael: I wasn’t. You’re finally champion, and it was an honor to be at your side tonight and watch that achievement. You can finally squash that ‘so close, so far’ stigma that has floated over your head for the last however long. I’m sorry I was partially responsible for you losing it the same night.

Brennan ignores the hand, reaching down to the ground in his bag and pulls something big out of his bag. One of the WFWF Tag Team Championship belts. It glistens in the streetlight.

Brennan: What did I lose?

Samael: **laughing hysterically** You mother*cker, you snuck out your title…why am I not surprised?

Brennan: Because I take pride in the fact that nothing is beneath me.

Samael: Ain’t that the truth.

Brennan positions the title on his shoulder, slapping the middle plate.

Brennan: How pissed off do you think Drakz will be when I parade around the arenas with physical proof that I beat him?

Samael: You’re playing with fire. I love it. Speaking of…

Sam shuffles through his bag and pulls out a soft pack of Kools and a lighter, popping a smoke out and offering the pack to David, who lifts a hand slightly in refusal. Sam shrugs, wincing, lighting up and tossing the paraphernalia back into the sack. He makes sure to blow the smoke at Brennan out of the corner of his mouth. Dick.

Samael: What are you going to do when Lila demands the belt back?

Brennan: So far as I’m concerned, until that bitch puts together a cohesive tag team that can earn my respect, I’m the tag team champion. And as such, I get the title. F*ck the technicality bullsh*t.

Samael: F*ck Trace Demon.

Brennan: And f*ck Drakz.

Samael: Something we can both agree on.

Brennan scoffs.

Samael: So I have a question for you.

Brennan: The seven deadliest words.

Samael: Yeah, tell me about it.

Brennan: I’ll indulge you just this once, though. You look like sh*t, my answer can likely only make it worse.

Samael: After the meeting with Meyer this afternoon…

Brennan: What of it? A farce to try to get us on the same page for tonight. It somehow worked. Why drudge it up?

Samael: You had one hell of a drink in your hand throughout.

Brennan: I drink. What of it?

Samael: You left it there when you walked out of the meeting.

Sam eyes Brennan’s movement, it’s obvious that Bren knows where this conversation is going but he has one hell of a poker face.

Brennan: You pitch it or something? Expecting me to be angry? Like I don’t have a dozen Black Label bottles waiting for me…anywhere actually.

Samael: Not at all. I figured there was a chance, however slim, we’d win tonight so I figured why not toast to an unlikely alliance between myself and Chris, since you clearly weren’t invested other than promising to show up.

Brennan still makes no nervous movements.

Samael: So imagine if you would, when I poured two shots of something clear…not Black Label. I thought, eh, hiding a weaker vodka in the bottle. Maybe he’s a cheap f*ck. But then I took a swig from the bottle. And another. And another. Imagine the surprise when I didn’t feel my liver churning, or my throat on fire. I actually felt the opposite of what you’re supposed to feel when you drink liquor, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t indulge in the dark stuff, I stick to Molson and cigarettes for my vice…I may not be a bottom of the bottle aficionado such as yourself but I know goddamned water when I taste it.

Brennen: I allow my liver a reprieve. I’m also a highly effective athlete, in case you missed it tonight when I won you a match. Refresh. Rehydrate.

Samael: You f*cking bleed forty proof, your liver is shot and that’s the f*cking catchphrase for Gatorade you sumbitch. What’s the deal?

Brennan: None of your business, quite frankly. We’re no longer a tag team. This was nothing more than a one night stand I will **sarcastic tone kicks in** forever cherish.

Samael: Ass.

Brennan: Besides, you have more important things to worry about. Like that third shot at Drakz. And Stone. And…well, man you’ve got ties to that whole chusterf*ck don’t you? And where the hell did Yukio come from?

Samael: It’s funny, I actually ran into him prior to the start of the show.

Brennan: And you didn’t think to tell anyone?

Samael: I knew what he was here for.

Brennan: Ok Crux. Tell me something, what do you intend on doing to Drakz?

Samael: How do you mean?

Brennan: WFWF Championship. SuperBrawl. Drakz. Your opponent. Well, one of them.

Samael: Beating him, clearly.

Brennan adjusts his position to stare down at Samael.

Brennan: Don’t get me wrong, I really don’t care who walks out of SuperBrawl as champ, so long as they’re walking long enough to get into the ring with me and give me my WFWF Championship match. But to act so…so…aloof to the situation in front of you. Beating Drakz isn’t so f*cking easy when you don’t cheat like him, and it’s even harder when you don’t have anyone in your corner backing you up.

Samael: So you admit to backing me up tonight when trace tried bending me over?

Brennan: I admit to standing in the same corner as you and trying to not let you get pinned. Easier said than done, let me tell you.

Samael: Ok then, I’m not as stupid as you and Meyer think; it won’t be easy considering I have to have my head on a swivel for four other guys not named Isaac Cray. But you’re acting as if Drakz isn’t in the same predicament.

Brennan: You’ve made more dangerous enemies.

Samael: Come again? I’m not the guy who played nice for a year and a half, acting like the savior of the WFWF only to turn out to still be the scum of the earth and cost half of the members of the match some sort of championship or opportunity since the mask was pulled away.

Brennan: No. You’re the guy who played bad for a year and a half, decimating some of the most beloved members of the WFWF community, two of whom are in the match by the way, when you were with the f*cking KoKaine Konspiracy alongside god damned Michael Kyzer’s midget brother in law calling the shots and pulling your strings before you decided you’d had enough of playing the bad guy and served Mike up like a rare filet in front of millions of fans around the world. He might be the most disliked figure in WFWF history, but he’s also the most revered, maybe second only to EBR. Maybe. Even if I hate the son of a bitch I’m smart enough to acknowledge that, and I’m no where near as dumb as you and many others have made me out to be. So what we have here is Drakz, good guy turned bad guy…which everyone saw coming; and Samael Ahriman, good guy turned bad, shocking everyone with his actions and racking up a list of enemies longer than my dick. That’s saying something.

Samael hangs his head. Brennan is exactly right. Dead. F*cking. Right. The only person in this match without a major bone to pick with Sam is Yukio, and even then he’s likely seen on TV Sam’s actions and has to be sick to his stomach at what the disciple of Shawn Malakai; a man Yukio Blaze respected above anyone else, has done during his untimely departure.

Samael: **under his breath** Dammit.

Brennan: We’re not friends. We’re not allies. We’re not even in the same league. We just got paired together for one night because Trace Demon thought he could play a cruel trick on you and Drakz. So you don’t have to take anything I say tonight to heart or heed it as Gospel. F*ck knows any advice you’d try giving me would pass through me like that water you drank with Meyer. This is just me paying a debt.

Samael: You’ve never been known to pay your debts, I’m pretty sure most barkeeps would say the same.

Brennan reaches into his bag and pulls out the other WFWF Tag Team Championship, tossing it into Samael’s lap.

Brennan: Like I said, just paying a debt I don’t want called upon later.

Samael: You stole the other one too?

Brennan: After your scrum with half of the roster, and after the fans left I figured I would snag both titles. Keep one as a souvenir and the other to parade around with. But technically your name is in the win column with me as defeating Drakz and that other guy. So…yeah. Take it. Burn it. Give it back. Throw it away. I don’t care. My work here is done.

Samael: Not exactly.

Brennan: What?

Sam wipes the butt of the cigarette on the concrete and grasps the top of the title with both hands, almost as if he is staring into someone’s soul.

Samael: You didn’t give me a straight answer about the water.

Brennan finally shows some irritation, it’s reflected in his voice.

Brennan: Why are you so damned obsessed with one tiny little detail? About MY life nonetheless?

Samael: Because I’m curious who you’re trying to prove something to.

Brennan: **repositioning the title on his shoulders** Was Drakz defeated tonight, and a precious title taken away from him? Yes? Then I have nothing to prove. I didn’t to begin with, but this just furthers my point.

Samael: I didn’t say you were trying to prove something to the fans, or to Drakz. Hell, I know you had no intentions on proving anything to me. Like you said, you showed up. Did your job. That was just an added, albeit pleasant, surprise for me. But purposely leaving a bottle of liquor with Chris and myself? Knowing how much of a pest I am? Meyer would have chucked it, but I had to get a taste of the real life of David Brennan, and when it tasted like water…well, it got me wondering. You have to know Meyer is considering abandoning ship, right? Well if you didn’t, or didn’t want to believe it…he told me straight up. I talked him into sticking around. I can’t help but think that you knew I would take the bottle and Meyer would find out that your ass is sober. Ish. A last ditch attempt to try to keep what may be your last remaining friend. But I don’t know anything about your personal life so that’s just mere speculation. What about if the truth is you’re trying to prove something to yourself? Prove that you have the discipline to be the same badass that’s scared every member of the WFWF locker room, but this time completely coherent and not piss drunk. I know that would scare the hell out of me. Or maybe someone else is close to your black hole heart? Because if so, I know the feeling. There’s a reason I’m ducking the f*ck out of this place after SuperBrawl. But again, just mere speculation.

Brennan: Give me the title back.

Samael: What?

Brennan: I won the match, I keep the titles.

Nerve successfully struck. Sam pulls himself to his feet and tosses the title onto his shoulder.

Samael: Not a f*cking chance, Dave. I did the heavy lifting. I’m going to keep this as a souvenir of the time I helped David Brennan defeat Drakz and win his first championship in WFWF history. Aaaaaaaaaaaand to rub salt in the wound, enjoy the fact that you and I are now tied together in history as champions together.

Brennan: F*ck off.

Samael: My pleasure.

Sam tosses his bag and Sakabato into the back seat and walks over to the drivers’ side. He opens the door but before he gets in, he looks over the roof of the Chevy to Brennan.

Samael: Not that you give a sh*t, but I don’t think you’re a bad guy.

Brennan: I don’t give a sh*t, good guess.

Samael: **sighs** Well, regardless…David and the Devil slayed Drakz and Dean, that’s impressive. So do me a favor, after I beat Drakz again, along with the rest of the raggedy patch kids at SuperBrawl and ride off into the sunset with another championship…go win that one from the challenger Drakz. Give his pathetic ass a nasty case of championship blue balls.

Brennan: Vivid imagery. Good luck with that.

Sam gives David a small, half assed salute as he gets into the car. He fires up the ignition, rolling his window down as Brennan backs away from the car.

Samael: Well regardless, it’s been a displeasure doing business with you. Have a good night. Aquafina’s on sale at the 7/11 down on the corner.

Sam rolls up the window and pulls out of the parking lot, David yelling something likely obscene at Sam as he peels out. Getting onto the main road, Sam tosses on the radio, NPR. Exactly what Sam wants at a time like this. He stops at a red light and looks at the championship belt sitting in the passenger’s seat. Sam reaches into his glove compartment to pull out another pack of smokes and lights up. He smiles.

Samael: Thank you, David.

Sam pulls onto the interstate and is now en route to Ira to show his daughter and fiancée a new piece of jewelry, this time a piece with some added meaning. That meaning? Sam has an unlikely ally, whether Brennan wants to admit it or not. Sam has left a third of the WFWF in good hands.


Cornerstone.

Seattle, WA.

10-10-2016, 8:00 AM.

The place it all changed.

It all just disappears, doesn’t it? Everything you are, gone in a moment like…like breath on a mirror. That’s the saying, no? Everything you have lived your life for, just…gone from a moment of blind judgment. This building is more than proof of that.

Dressed in a black hoodie, the hood up and over his face, Sam turns the corner around the place where his personal hell began, the club of Donnie Monte Kent, Michael Kyzer’s midget friend and leader of the KoKaine Konspiracy. Here’s the thing about this establishment, however. It’s always notably empty on Sunday morning. The patrons, workers, Donnie’s midget army and Donnie himself are away on Sunday mornings, however they are certainly on their knees at church. Thank god for bender induced comas.

See, during Samael’s tenure with the KoKaine Konspiracy he learned that if he ever wanted peace and quiet; believe it or not, it was to sneak in the back door when none of the midget army members were able to guard the door (and they left it unlocked) and hope to not run into Zmey. Or hope to run into Zmey. Donnie would be right pissed if he knew how many conversations Sam had with Zmey back in the day. He was so close to converting him away from the little cult, pun totally intended, Donnie had created for himself.

Sam sighs at the thought. He knows Zmey won’t be here, the poor lug has been shipped back to wherever Donnie found him last Sam heard, so a completely empty club awaits Sam and his guest.

He reaches a big metal box on the side of the building. Sam pops the lock and reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a small wire cutter. He NEEDS this meeting, and he needs it in this place. Donnie, on the other hand, would put a hit out on Sam if he ever found out that the guy was back in Seattle, so no way Donnie can know he’s been at the club. At the very least, Sam and his appointment need plausible deniability. That means no security cameras or alarms. Good thing Donnie didn’t know Sam spent a LOT of time casing the inside and outside of this place, learning exactly where the central wiring is. In fact, the last time Sam was written in an RP in this location I purposely wrote Sam casing the place while conversing with one of the ignorant midgets. Sam’s plan was never to break in for a conversation, more like sneak in and leave a goat head or some sh*t on Donnie’s desk (a “classic” Satanist move, right?) when he was done with DMK and ready to toss him to the curb but hey, this is classier, right? This is only destruction of private property and burglary, not midget hate crimes.

Samael: Right. Power…down.

Sam cuts out all of the wires in the box and closes it back up, likely costing DMK a small fortune to repair in the process because he was too cheap to purchase a simple lock for the outside of the box. Good thing the little guy has an illegal drug business on the side to help cover the cost since lord knows he doesn’t have insurance on a drug ring headquarters. It’s a fair guess that Nationwide wouldn’t be on his side for that one. Sam places an ear to the side door, curious if there is any shuffling from inside. Nothing.

Samael: Perfect.

Sam puts the wire cutters back into his hoodie and pulls out the pick and torsion wrench from his back pocket and inserts both into the keyhole, an ear against the knob. Don’t believe Sam can pick a lock? Go read the second RP when he broke into an old church to prove to himself he wouldn’t burn alive if he stepped foot into a house of God. Old dog, old tricks, still effective. Come on, if Sam can beat Drakz for a title, he can pick a f*cking lock. Middle fingers, doubters.

Sam hears a few of the pins being pushed into place, final push and turn of the plug…

??: What in the hell are you doing?

The voice from the other end of the alley causes Sam to drop the wrench and break the pick in the lock. Sam looks up the alleyway and sees the friendly face he was meeting today, which arguably pisses Sam off more.

Samael: Dammit, Ante. The f*ck’s wrong with you sneaking up on me like that?

From the shadows comes none other than Ante Whitner, the future winner of the Golden Opportunity and, more importantly to the newest viewers of the Young and the Wrestling (thanks for that line, Schneider) the final member of the KoKaine Konspiracy and at one point, one of Sam’s closest allies and the man he desperately needed to meet with.

Ante: Well, I mean, you texted me telling me you wanted to meet up. I assumed you’d want to meet in Pasadena, but you said Seattle. You said Donnie’s club. I figured that was a logical place, and we’d just, ya know, roam. Maybe flip off Donnie’s cameras, or go juvenile and spray paint tiny dicks on his windows or something; not break into the club. Speaking of, you know you’re on camera right now, right?

Sam points to the electric box that he brutalized just a few minutes ago.

Samael: Cut the feeds. Smart, right?

Ante: Uhh…Sam? That’s not the main power supply. That just cuts electricity to the front of the club. Congrats, his beer is warm and the neon sign is out.

Samael: …what…

Ante: And did you do anything about the entry security system? You tried jarring the door, so I’m assuming.

Samael: That’s not attached to the main power supply?

Ante: Well, the front of the club’s security is down like any other building around here. Donnie set up a separate grid for the back end to make sure no one messed with his…private areas.

Samael: Well I’m officially boned. Don’t suppose you mind a stowaway in your trunk back down to Pasadena do you?

Ante laughs.

Samael: What’s so funny?

Ante reaches in his pocket and pulls out a key, spinning the loop around his index finger.

Ante: Oh, nothing. Let’s hope he didn’t change the locks.

Ante walks up to the door with the key, reaching back into his pocket to grab a small pocket knife, digging the blade in and he quickly digs out the broken pin and hands it to Sam and unlocks the door with the key. Sam follows Ante in and watches Ante disabling the security system, ten seconds from sending an alert to Donnie apparently.

Samael: You want to explain to me why you have the password to Donnie’s club security system? Or a key for that matter?

Ante: Let’s grab a seat first. You’re gonna crack up.

The men head to the front of the club and sure enough, safety lights are on but that’s all that’s running. At least Sam did something right in all of this. Ante pulls up to a booth that doesn’t look…sticky…and Sam pops behind the bar.

Samael: What do you want?

Ante: Surprise me. Top shelf, though. And no shot glasses.

Sam combs the top shelf looking for something he recognizes, not being a major drinker and accidentally knocks down a brown bottle and it shatters on the floor.

Samael: Well f*ck me.

Ante: Good job, klutz. What did you just waste?

Samael: Hell if I know. Dal…something I think.

Ante: Dalmore?

Samael: Yeah.

Ante: Donnie’s gonna be pissed. Sh*t’s expensive.

Sam grabs a bottle of something he recognizes thanks to commercials, Crown Apple, and tiptoes around the broken glass and takes a seat with Ante.

Samael: How much we talking?

Ante: Two hundred.

Samael: Oh that’s not terrible, even for a low level drug dealing establishment. I was expecting more.

Samael breaks the seal on the Crown and takes a small sip.

Ante: Grand.

Sam coughs, trying to catch his breath and the Crown goes down the wrong pipe. Sam practically tosses the bottle at Ante, trying not to die in Donnie’s strip club. Ante busts out laughing, taking a very large gulp of the Crown and watches Sam as he desperately seeks death’s warm embrace. Coming back to the land of the breathing, Sam finally is able to compose words.

Samael: Y…you don’t owe me anything…b…but **coughing** how the f*ck do you have all of this access? Didn’t Donnie disown you when you beat Kyzer?

Ante: Sure did. Here’s the thing. I actually listened to him in his emergency Konspiracy security meetings that you either blew off or were too busy trying to get into the head of Tugarin.

Samael: Ok, I’ll bite. What did I miss while falling asleep at the angry man’s meetings?

Ante: He let slip where he kept the key to the back since he had two separate keys for the front and back, saying it was no-where anyone would think of looking.

Samael: And that was?

Ante: You remember what he used as a coaster for his shots when you were actually around?

Samael: A book. Red trim, if I recall. He liked flaunting it for whatever reason.

Ante: It was the f*cking Bible.

Samael: You’re sh*tting me. He keeps a Bible in this place? Even I know that’s some serious sacrilegious sh*t.

Ante: It’s because of you. He’s superstitious of your religion.

Samael: Yeah, I know that much. He asked me once if I needed a steady supply of virgins to piss on before each match when I first signed on. I just assumed ignorance.

Ante: I believe it. Guy loved a good insult at your expense. Truth be told, I think you scared him a little bit. He knew you were never truly under his control. Maybe he hoped someday you’d go snooping and burn yourself on his Biblecoaster. I seriously believe that. Little man’s crazy.

Samael: That doesn’t explain how you knew about the security code. That’s some stuff that only exists in fiction.

Ante: You know I’m bipolar, right?

Samael: Yeah, what of it?

Ante: Before I was diagnosed, I suffered acute manic episodes that far exceeded the severity of my depressive episodes. Thing is, I was…oddly productive in my episodes. I bounced around from job to job while trying to keep up with training.

Samael: And that led you to becoming some kind of passcode savant or some sh*t? Who are you? Anonymous?

Ante: We don’t forget. We don’t forgive. Expect us.

Samael: You’re sh*tting me.

Ante: Yep. Just wanted to see how much you’d bite. Nothing to do with my disorder. Got one of Donnie’s security midgets piss drunk one night and he spilled the password and all of the info on the power and security. His security’s surprisingly simple for a mid-level drug dealer.

Samael: Does Donnie know you know any of this?

Ante takes another swig, passing the bottle back, shaking his head.

Samael: I’ll be damned. Curious, what’s his password?

Ante: It’s Donnie. He’s a self-centered prick. And he’s simple. His birthday.

Samael: Lordy. That’s as bad as using password as your password on a laptop.

Ante: …you want a sneak peek at Donnie’s laptop by chance?

Samael: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Ante: Nope.

Samael: How in the hell has his ass not wound up in jail yet? Even I would know to cover up my tracks a little better than that. Donnie’s street smart, I really can’t believe he’s that much of a simpleton.

Ante: Well believe it. He’s got a storage of crack about four rooms back from where we entered, completely unlocked. Or at least it always was when I would poke and pry around.

Samael: Ok, I get him letting me get away with my prodding. I was almost exclusively outside, Donnie couldn’t stand when I smoked cheapies in his office so he’d send me outside with MusclesGlasses or Jew Nose or some sh*t. But how did he manage to let you get away with snooping around internally? I couldn’t even get in to see my god damned tag team partner without a tiny escort.

Ante: I dunno. Donnie didn’t trust you, I know that much.

Samael: Well do you blame him?

Ante: Never said I did. Who have you ever proven yourself truly loyal to in your career? Shawn? So the words of a dead man are to convince the rest of the world that you’ve changed your ways? At least if Donnie didn’t trust me, which I imagine he didn’t, I never gave him any reason to abandon the possibility of an illusion of trust. You, on the other hand, skewered his brother-in-law on national television after I beat him.

Samael: You still hate me for that?

Ante takes another chug, wiping his mouth.

Ante: Eh. I wouldn’t call it hate, so much as I would irritation. Kyzer made a career on being unbeatable. I mean, only Schneider was ever able to get over on him cleanly before me and that much is still a hotly contested debate among online keyboard warriors, how Schneider could knock off the God of F*ck. So when I did it, it was a statement. I am Ante Whitner, and I am here. How did I prove it? Put Michael Kyzer’s shoulders to the mat for three seconds.

Sam grabs the bottle.

Samael: I feel as if there’s a but coming at the end of this.

Ante: However…

Samael: Good word choice.

Ante: …you’re the one they’re still talking about. I beat Michael Kyzer, and it was completely overshadowed by some katana wielding butch who put a sword f*cking THOUGH Kyzer.

Sam takes a large gulp of the Crown.

Samael: I wish I could say I was sorry about that. But I’m really not.

Ante: Oh, I know. Your assault on Kyzer was nothing more than a power move, make sure your name was on the lips of Lila Sleater and Drakz at the end of the night. And I gotta say, it’s worked out handsomely for you.

Samael: WFWF Championship match at Black Hole Sun, the main event of SuperBrawl, and taking away a record from Drakz in the process; not only ending his tag title reign but his obscene winning streak that he refuses to acknowledges ended at the hands of Josh Dean…maybe with a little bit of my help.

Ante: Hold up. That last part. That’s more than enough to get Drakz to throw a fit and grant you any fight. So what you’re trying to say is that in reality you never needed to go Top Chef on Kyzer, you could have done anything to get under Drakz’ skin to get your way and you chose to obstruct my moment?

Samael: Sort of.

Ante leans back in the booth, taking the bottle away from Sam and chugging away.

Ante: Sort of? You’re one mighty piece of work, Ahriman.

Samael: Not as much as you think.

Ante: Oh yeah? Try me.

Samael: That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. To clear the air, and ask a question.

Ante: About what, Sam? You took a shot and you hit a bullseye. It irritates me that I could be the one in your shoes, but you’ve been in this game so much longer than me. You know all about the game and how to play it. Win or die, right?

Samael: Taking out Kyzer to get Drakz’ attention was not, actually, my plan. That result was, in reality, just an adorable over reaction from a man who is convinced the world revolves around him.

Ante: That seems to be the case with all six of you.

Samael: Ok, I’ll finish my explanation because I know that I owe it to you. But first, I’d like to hear your take on the match.

Ante: What, me saying the six of you thinking the world revolves around yourselves is enough to set you off?

Samael: Nah. I just want to hear from you what you think my opponents flaws are, and if I buy what you’re selling, perhaps I’ll let you say mine to my face.

Ante: Yukio Blaze will do anything to stay relevant, at one point going so far as to try and claim he was married to Thunder’s sister, and abuse his general manager position to albeit successfully vanquish Thunder from the WFWF for quite some time. This is after he signed on the dotted line that he would retire if he lost to Thunder in the main event of SuperBrawl six. This man has had more faux retirements than ZMaster, and here he is again with this three wishes nonsense. If he doesn’t win, do you really think he’s going to give up on that title? He’s too vain. He needs that title so he can feel like he’s just as good as EBR and Michael Kyzer when in reality he couldn’t even carry their jock straps.

Samael: I never knew you held so much resentment for Yukio.

Ante: I don’t. But sometimes someone just overstays their welcome, and in this case he’s six years overdue for a long ride into the sunset down a dusty trail, ya hear? You’re no longer a legend if you degrade your legacy with a trail of sh*t in an attempt to try to prove to yourself that you’re still on the same level where you never really ever were to begin with.

Samael: Michael…I mean Thunder, would be pleased to hear that.

Ante: First name basis?

Samael: I’ve got this sinking feeling that the Ahriman’s and Knight’s will one day be closer than I want to openly admit.

Ante cocks his head to the side, not really getting where Sam is going for a moment. Then a smile.

Ante: **lowly singing** Here comes the b…

Samael: Finish that sentence and I leave another member of the Konspiracy cut to pieces, this time bleeding out on the floor of a drug dealing strip club in the slums of Seattle.

Ante: Well let me ask, do you not see any issue with half of the main event?

Samael: Of course I do. There’s only three people who should be fighting. The two who were robbed, and the thief.

Ante: Then why are you so nonchalant about Yukio’s involvement? And why has the name Trace Demon not left your lips?

Samael: Same reason you’re not throwing a fit at the second chance battle royal for your match. At this point, it is what it is. Trace Demon is a manipulative c*nt who knows how to outsmart Lila Sleater at every moment. Let’s be honest, he knows that the more people in the match, the fewer eyes on him. When your head has to be constantly swiveling, you can’t be fixated on any one person which benefits him because he’s not even the champ but he’s the one everyone wants their hands on. Even Drakz. Yukio’s involvement is of little consequence to me, when’s the last time he’s won a match? Three years ago? That’s just an extra man someone else has to keep their eyes on instead of me. I completely see where Trace is coming from with all of this, even if the match itself came from Lila; and the match type came from Drakz, if you try telling me he didn’t have something like this planned you’re fooling yourself. I have very little positive to say about Trace, but he’s one smart son of a b*tch.

Ante: That’s the truth.

Sam takes a drink and hands the bottle back to Ante.

Samael: So you never let me finish my point.

Ante: I only threw down my opinion on Yukio. Still five others to go.

Samael: My point helps make yours less venomous when you arrive to me.

Ante: Ok. I’ll bite. Why’d you really cost me the spotlight?

Samael: It could have literally been anyone. Didn’t have to be you. I could have easily interfered at the end of a Kyzer and Dex match if it happened. The timing just happened to be prime after, you know, Kyzer was dealing with something he’s not dealt with much in his career, defeat.

Ante: You’re beating around the bush.

Samael: It was Malakai’s wish.

Ante: What?

Samael: He’s the whole reason I even joined the Konspiracy. He couldn’t go anymore, and he needed someone that could get close to Donnie and draw Michael Kyzer out of the shadows. Guess what happened?

Ante: You got close to Donnie and drug Michael out of the shadows.

Samael: Cheers. The whole thing was supposed to lead to ME taking down Kyzer, one on one. I just got a little **makes small motion with his fingers** carried away.

Ante: You know how insane that sounds, right?

Samael: Getting carried away?

Ante: Blaming the dead guy who can’t corroborate your story.

Samael: You know, that would normally piss me off, but considering you didn’t know a thing about the guy other than what your youthful self watched on the television I will let it slide.

Ante: I won’t doubt that Shawn put the idea in your ear, but don’t act holier than thou in all of this. It’s unbecoming of you. You got satisfaction out of it.

Samael: Oh certainly. There’s a reason I told you I wasn’t going to apologize. I stole the spotlight from a rising star, effectively retired a legend, brought down the KoKaine Konspiracy and inadvertently got two WFWF Championship matches out of it all in one go. I’ll take it.

Ante: You truly are a selfless hypocrite.

Samael: Samael, the selfless hypocrite. Sounds pretty cool. Better than katana wielding butch, anyways. I’m becoming accustomed to these odd nicknames. Brennan’s taken to calling me Crux. That’s borderline adorable.

Ante: You two are still working together?

Samael: We’re the tag team champions, I would hope so.

Ante: You got stripped. I was there.

Samael: The indecency of your youthful mind! All you saw was a bitchy woman in a mood from bleeding taking out her frustrations on the nearest group of men achieving success while she’s too busy having to eat a whole box of Midol.

Ante chokes.

Samael: Until some team comes around capable of knocking off David Brennan, we’re still the champs. Even in my retirement.

Ante: You know how f*cking stupid that sounds, right?

Samael: You know how little I care about your irrelevant opinion? Brennan’s a big boy. Dave wants to take this route, with this mindset, I won’t tell him otherwise. And if it f*cks with some people along the way, namely Isaac Cray, I will hardly complain.

Ante takes a drink, polishing off the bottle and setting it on the table.

Ante: **laughing** How did we get to this point?

Samael: Hrm?

Ante: We both have the biggest opportunities in our entire careers in front of us, and yet here we are a couple of hundred miles away from Pasadena, breaking into a dive strip club on a Sunday morning, drinking burning liquor owned by our old boss?

Samael: Your boss. My means to an end. But now you’re starting to get why I wanted to really talk to you.

Ante: Not apologizing to me wasn’t your only reason?

Samael: Nah, that was just something I needed off of my chest. I actually have a favor to ask of you.

Ante: Oh?

Samael: When Shawn left, on top of what I told you before with the whole Konspiracy situation, he tasked me with something else. He spent his entire career doing one thing, righting the wrongs he’d seen occur throughout his career. He accomplished that by taking down Trace Demon on the biggest stage of them all; and I have the chance to do the exact same thing. You’re going to watch lightning strike twice. However, just like him I know what’s going to happen the moment I walk out of those doors for the final time. Demon and Drakz aren’t going anywhere. They’ll be sure to step right back into the role they’ve been playing for the last two years. Puppet-master and henchman, running this company straight into the ground.

Ante: Why are you asking me? Of all people?

Samael: Because like you said, I could have done anything to get Drakz’ attention, Kyzer was an unintentional happenstance which took spotlight away from you. If I would have bided my time a little longer, there’s a damn good chance that you’d be in my place and I’d be riding off in the middle of the card if I wouldn’t have already quit. You’ve got the Golden Opportunity at SuperBrawl. Win it. Then give my comrade David Brennan the fight of his life for the International championship.

Ante: That confident in Brennan?

Samael: I’ve got a voodoo doll of Brennan ready to go if he loses to f*cking Justin Tyme.

Ante: You mean Lucas Crowe.

Samael: I know what I said. You give Brennan the fight of his life, and prove to everyone that you deserve to be at the top of the pack. That this is your time. Wayne McGurk told Shawn Malakai to right the wrongs. Shawn Malakai told me to remain held to the mark and take back the crown. Now here in the ‘home’ of the man who brought us together inadvertently creating an alliance he never could have dreamed of, I’m asking you, Ante Whitner, to protect the house and leave it in a better place than us here previous cornerstones left it, and better than you found it. Become that final piece to the foundation so your eventual successor can build upon something great.

Ante grabs the empty bottle, hoping it magically refills or some sh*t. It’s clear he hasn’t a clue how to respond, the silence is telling a substantial story. Sam reaches his left hand over the table.

Samael: As I was told upon my agreement; Ante, welcome to the family.

Ante sets the bottle down and shakes the hand of Samael, understanding FINALLY the gravity of the situation. Both men turn to the front of the club when they hear a noise, a high pitched male making a ruckus. Sam and Ante shoot out of the booth and quietly walk backwards towards the door they originally came though.

Ante: **whispering** What the hell is Donnie doing here?

In a hushed tone…

Samael: Little man has some sh*t security system if it took him this long to find out his place got broken into. Knew I had nothing to worry about.

Ante: You know he’s going to kill us when he watches the tapes of us getting in, right?

Donnie is screaming at someone out front about a c*cksucking something or another, clearly fumbling with the keys.

Samael: How fast can you run?

Ante: About time to find out…

The door breaks open, causing Sam and Ante to take off like bats outta hell through the back. Audible behind them is the Little Red Man.

DMK: I SWEAR TO GOD IF IT WAS THAT F*CKING VIRGIN PISSING SON OF A BITCH THAT GOT THE F*CK IN HERE…

MusclesGlasses: The f*ck you think Sammy Boy would be doing here?

DMK: DO I REALLY LOOK LIKE I UNDERSTAND FLUENT F*CKING R*TARD?

MusclesGlasses: You want an honest answer, or…

DMK: I WANT NO ANSWER FROM YOU EPICMEALTIME F*CK.

MusclesGlasses: Sheesh.

From the back, Ante and Sam hear someone step on some glass.

DMK: THE F*CK GOT BROKEN?

MusclesGlasses: Glass.

DMK: NO F*CKING SH*T.

MusclesGlasses: Looks like…uhh…it’s your Dalmore, boss.

Silence. Then little feet footsteps.

DMK: I’m gonna f*cking kill him…where the hell is he?

In the back, near the door, out of earshot of Donnie.

Samael: Definitely…not…here…

Ante opens the back metal door, Sam busting through the opening behind him; both men taking off down the alleyway, making sure the door slams on the way out, just so Donnie knows there was never a way to stop these two. And just wait for everyone else to realize…there never will be.