By: Dickie Watson

Writing Prompt: Yes

Date: 26th Jan 2022




I never liked the name. Earth-lover. Demeter. I can’t think of a man in the world that carried the name “Dimitri” and wasn’t a piece of shit. Look up the name, and you get a thousand footballers that are ultimately irrelevant. And besides, if you paid attention in Mythology class, you’d remember Demeter was a useless sack of waste that turned the world into Winter because she couldn’t save her daughter from being kidnapped by the God of the Underworld, Death Incarnate, Hades. She couldn’t protect whom she swore to save, and ended up emotionally scarred while also not owning her own shit.

Sounds like some people that used to walk the halls before they were ousted from this world for being racist cunts. Shots fired, look how much I don’t care.

As I grew up, I slowly began to distance myself from the name. For a while, I Sherlock Holmes-d myself and went by Watson. But there’s only so many times someone can say, “Elementary, my dear Watson”, before you’d rather go and stick a q-tip so far down your ear you rupture your eardrum. There was an adjustment period before I’d introduced myself as “Dickie”, and really, the only people that continued to call me by my name are now better off not seen, nor heard. Lies are prevalent, and if you listen to them, I only ever cared about myself anyway.

I’m not starting off this way in the same kind of shtick I always do. “Let me tell you how boring, let me tell you how useless, let me tell you how shitty I’m perceived to be so that I can prove you all wrong and come out swinging out of left field.” You’ve done that. And by the time you watch this, you’ll have seen everyone follow the same goddamned format that seems to be the easiest.

“Let me run down the entire roster, weakest to strongest, and then save the champion that I’m going to claim to beat in a matter of seconds because I’m suddenly fucking better than I was at the previous show.”

Or maybe, you’re here because you wanted a moment to reconcile out of your home company. Another place to feed your need for violence and hedonism, a place where you salivate on the proposal that you’re going to wipe the floor with the contestants running around the Happiest Place on Earth because you’re obviously the cream of the crop outside of this company. But let’s just put it this way: this isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill kind of joint. We don’t do normal. You’re not coming into this with an automatic win because you, either A) have a championship or two or three, or B) someone told you that you’re the best thing in the world and you mistakenly believed it.

Winning championships is a foregone conclusion within this sport. Anyone can get lucky and get ‘em. The real challenge is keeping them.

FIGHT! isn’t what you think it is. You see it from the outside, watch the shows, see how everything flows and comes together. The leylines of the lifeblood of this place crisscross and intersect to the point where everyone and everything is intertwined. The second you step on the roster, your life is forfeit. It’ll never be the same, it will stay with you forever, whether you continue on with us or not.

If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s the fact that everyone powders their own ass with their own accomplishments to make them seem better than they ever are or were. You’ve got people running around the Twittersphere pushing out two minute promos and they’ve got a championship. You’ve got people running around saying that they’re the best thing, but the only thing they’re good at is sliding under someone because they’re trying to get over their worst mistake of December after making October and November the same way.

They’re fucking useless.

I find myself on that cusp. I’m not going to be a hypocrite and tell you that I’m the best thing to ever grace FIGHT! Programming because I have a championship. Nor am I going to tell you that I’m their golden child like Sahara wants to be, begs to be, needs to be so she can feel like she’s done something remotely decent in her life besides being a twat. I know you love hearing your name, Saharlala, but that’s the last time I’m uttering it. I live to annoy you now. You, and by you, I mean everyone…wants validation. I’m not just the Empire Champion.

I am the face of the company.

I am synonymous with the name. There’s no one in this company, past or present, that gets as much clout as me. I am the target. I am the goal. Paul Montouri was finally going to gain recognition in the world as something other than a space-fuckin’-cadet, and no matter how much he can blame the people around him for his failures, he was the one to fail not once, not twice, but three times against myself and/or New Status Quo. Dane Preston’s goal was to find retribution for him and the old guard in defeating me, but look where we stand. It wasn’t the Tower that brought him down – it was the fuckin’ Rise to Glory into the silver platter that all of you think I have that fucking knocked him out entirely.

Your greatest contenders.

Shaken to ash in the breeze of ever living change.

You have to adapt to the circumstances of the world around you. You have to learn to do that in this company, and if you can’t…then you’re better off stepping out of the doors and into another lesser company that will shower you with accolades for being mediocre. Adaptation is the hardest thing to do. But it is required if you think you’re going to walk into Blood Money. Adaptation is Dimitri. Adaptation is Watson. Adaptation is Dickie. Create the circumstances in which you wish to live. The best stories ensure that while everything else is static, the main characters always change, always evolve, always become what the moral of the story is.

Never live by the goals of someone else. It’ll bite you in the ass in the end. Like it did me.

Everything is fractured now.

And we’re trying to hold it together the best we can.







The entirety of the building was crashing down around him. Thunderous booms, light fixtures glitching and fritzing out of control and rumbling that seemed akin to an earthquake. The analogy of war was thrown about often within the confines of the wrestling community, but not many could say they experienced battle-torn cities and survived. Whatever was happening in the tower itself was akin to that ravaged tower, the explosions in the distance, the utter feel of dismay and terror creeping into your bones because you don’t know what’s going on, and yet you still trudge along and wait for the silence that accompanies the death of lives, the death of the environment you’ve grown used to in the scheme of life.


Hell, a year ago, maybe he was searching for it. Fed up with everyone, everything, turned his back on his friends and family. Or did they turn their back on him? Regardless, as the room shook, the windows shattered, and the tower purchased by Xavier Black and Co., the environment cultivated for the sake of entertainment, the arena built for men and women to settle their differences with fists…it crumbled. It would never be the same.

They would never be the same.

Holding his championship on his arm, Dickie walked the hallways. Several times, the FDNY firefighters rush past him, yelling at him to vacate the premises now. The Empire Champion heard them, but gives them no heed. EMT’s tried to help him, looking immediately at his brow, which was sliced and covered with blood. He waved them off. He could stand. He could walk. He did not need help. Blood coated his wrestling boots, and left squelches unheard on the floor except by his own ears. His eyelashes fluttered. He swallowed, but his throat was dry.

His next step was the one his body finally began to give out on. Dickie stumbled forward, his footing giving out on him, and crashed to the floor. He’d walked out of there, high on adrenaline and victory, and now…now it seemed like he was destined to die for this damned sport. He rolled onto his back, pushing himself upwards and up against the wall next to him, looking up at the light that seemed to hang by merely a thread. Oh, how the mighty have fallen…

He thought about the headline that would read. Empire Champion Dead at 25, Dies in Crumbling Former Hearst Tower. But it wouldn’t be at the hands of Dane, no. Not even how much he made a bullshit comment about it. He chuckled to himself, his eyelids lowering over his hazel eyes, lidded and heavy. At least his mother had made the twenty-seven club. But that was his life, wasn’t it? Dickie wasn’t meant to survive. The first to be blamed, the first to be ridiculed. The first to take the brunt of every hit. If Dane Preston hadn’t died in that ring tonight, after the final bit of the cage crashed onto him, then it would have to be him. That’s what this war had garnered, hadn’t it? The death of one of them. Chaos had risen and it demanded a sacrifice.


His ears picked up the sound of his name being called, but he called bullshit on it immediately. No one was coming to save him – how many times had he said he didn’t need to be saved anyway? Maybe it was the angels. It sounded like one. But he didn’t deserve heaven, not after everything he’d said, done, been. He coughed, felt blood trickling down the side of his mouth, and smiled. Maybe he’d atoned. Somehow. Or…maybe…? No. He didn’t remember her voice well enough for it to be his mother, and she would have never called him that.

But they were omniscient, just like God, weren’t they?

…мать?” He questioned, slowly.

Dickie!” No. It sounded much closer than his mind had initially stated. And then he saw her. Brunette hair pulled up into a ponytail, one of those neckbeard masks the idiots in America didn’t want to wear because the “virus never existed” around her face, obscuring her features. She scuffled up to him in her Vans and her ripped jeans and her Commonwealth hoodie. FIGHT! Brand merchandise capped her outfit off with a black beanie worn loosely on her head. “Fuck, I thought you’d already gotten out, but I didn’t see ya.” Her accent was just as strong as her brother’s.

…Minnie?” Another question, though loosely.

No, it’s Minnie Mouse.” She sighed, bending down and leaning over him. “I’m gonna help you get out of ‘ere, but it’s not like I can carry you. You’re gonna have to help me.

Dickie nodded, but inwardly, he just wanted to sit and do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just let all of it be over. Didn’t anyone get this? He went to war, he fought for his pride, for his championship. He continued to be the damn near unbeatable one. He would never live down losing to Dane Preston once, but he’d killed him tonight. They would bring it up over and over again, like it was some sin. Whatever their preconceived notions were, this match went ten times more vicious than his match with Paul. Dane had brought his everything, and even still, ended up like a fish hooked on a line that he had no control over. The Empire was still his. It was in his grasp.

But all empires crumble.

No. That couldn’t be true. Not if he had anything to do with it. But fuck, he was just so tired. Tired of dealing with people who lived to shit on him and his reign. Tired of dealing with the Saharas and the Paul Montuoris, the ones who got in their feels because there was someone better than them, always better than them. He knew he would forever be the target, but this? This was the only constant he had. Put one hundred percent effort into everything you do, he was told. He did; if anything, he went over it. He thought he’d surrounded himself with people that offered the same thing…but how had he not?

Amelia Reynolds rose to her feet, her VIP lanyard and badge hanging from her pocket as she leaned down, helping Dickie to get to his feet. It was a struggle, what with her smaller frame and trying to adjust to his weight bearing down on her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leaned his head against her head.

Let me–” she reached for his Championship, offering to carry it for him so the weight didn’t bury him down, considering he was the weak one. But his hand was quicker, despite his weakness. He clutched the belt to his shoulder without a sound. He wasn’t going to let her take it off of him.

He wasn’t going to let anyone do that. Not unless he was broken, dead, and buried.

She stared at him, watched the blood trickle from the gash on his head, the cut on his cheek, the side of his mouth. But the determination in his eyes said everything. “Okay,” she nodded. But his clutch on the championship didn’t subside, it didn’t fail. With Dickie’s pace the telling factor, the two made it to the stairwell and descended together. Step by step, he found himself exiting the building. But his consciousness was fading. His body was giving out.

He was just so damned tired.

Tired of defending himself in front of a bunch of fucking sycophants who felt their feelings were hurt because there was better outside the company than they thought. That brought their personal, pedantic and trite issues forward, labeling their problems because the staff had a beef with all of them. Because they couldn’t hack it. They sent their best, and he laid out everything on the table: every personal, non-wrestling related issue created in a den of pathetic pissants who whined, cried and bitched because they couldn’t hack it against a twenty-five year old kid who had been the top champion in every company he’d ever graced.

He was the target.

He would always be the target.

It was a burden that he would wear like a badge. It would always be that way. He said it so long ago, didn’t he? That he would be fine carrying the weight of the company on his shoulders. But that didn’t mean he could stop feeling. It didn’t mean he could just turn it off. He wasn’t heartless. He was human. Everyone expected him to be heartless, callous, cold…

…maybe it was time to be that way.

…Aiden…?” At the bottom of the third floor stairwell, he piped up again, inquiring about his brother. Or at least, the closest person to his brother. Aiden Reynolds, of course, had been concussed at the end of his battle with what we know now to be IMaGiNE. Amelia readjusted, pressing her hand to Dickie’s chest as she calmly stepped down to the next step, and the next step.

He’s fine. He’s at home. He wanted me to come watch and get the details.” She explained, paused, and then continued. “I bet he’s seen the news now. My phone was blowing up about twenty minutes ago.

…good.” He sighed, somewhat relieved. Though he was miffed, he didn’t wish anything bad upon him. He slammed his eyes shut, as if there was something more that he wanted to ask, but couldn’t think of it. He let out a breath of fresh air as they made it to the second floor landing, and then the first.

Amelia’s fingers were cool to his bare skin, but he wasn’t even aware of it. All he wanted to do was sleep. She walked with him towards the blue and red flashing lights, past the crowd that gathered at the sides of the barricades as she pushed open the door. Emergency Medical Technicians rushed them, immediately grabbing him and forcing him to one of the gurneys.

He fought.

I’m fine!” He yelled, but it didn’t matter. They saw the blood, they saw the injuries, and they knew the smoke inhalation was likely already messing with his body completely. He swung his arm, but they just grabbed it and pushed it back. He grit his teeth and tried to swing, but his body just wouldn’t cooperate. Funny how just minutes before, he was ready to fall down. Ready to pass out. Ready to just stop existing. But now? Now that he was laying here, on this gurney, receiving attention he did not want…he found the energy he’d misplaced.

Let’s just get you cleaned up, sir.

Just…fuckin–” he argued, his Cockney accent strong and his irritation high. But that calm, cool hand again, placed on his chest. He turned his gaze to find Amelia, though her mask had dropped lower now. She smiled, soot staining her cheeks; but nevertheless, Dickie found her beautiful. Not that he’d actually say it – Aiden would lob off his dick if he even went in that direction. She shook her head slightly, left and right, and then raised her own oxygen mask to her face, inhaling. He relaxed, swallowing and nodding at the same time. With his obvious permission, they placed an oxygen mask over his face, and in the same moment tried to take the title from him.

The impatience, the anger, it rose again. He felt his blood boiling beneath the surface, he felt like the world was crashing down upon him one more time. He grit his teeth, he snarled. His canines were bared. Again, he fought against it, clutching the metal and leather to his chest. They relented, backing up. Dickie’s hazel eyes watched them like a hawk as he exhaled and inhaled heavily. He’d fought for it.

The stars were there. He couldn’t see them through the foggy sky, couldn’t see them through the smog and the light pollution. But he knew they were there. The war of the tower did not follow him out here. He relaxed, but only slightly, his breaths coming slower, his heartbeat dropping lower. Amelia reached upwards, holding his hand. A calm in the storm that welled around him, so to speak. It was…comforting.

Wonder what fuckin’ happened up there, eh Jim?” One of the EMTs gestured, looking up at the tower itself. Windows were shattered, explosions clearly having taken sides of the building out.

It’s FIGHT!, Ken. Don’t you watch it? Their uh…first pay-per-view, way back in July, was a disaster of the building, but absolutely entertaining. In fact, this kid right here, he won the whole thing.” Jim leaned closer. “You kept that belt offa Dane, good on ya. Personally, I felt it might have gotten too bland and blasé if he woulda won. We’ll be goin’ into the new year with the same champion. Ahhhh, haha,” he said cheerily, knocking Dickie with a closed fist on the shoulder.

Dickie nodded, but didn’t respond. His throat felt too dry to speak. Nor did he want to shoot the shit with someone he didn’t even know. A commotion sounded as several EMTs and firefighters scurried out with another body. He suspected this one was Dane, judging by the worried expression on Xavier Black’s face. He watched with interest, but not enough. He closed his eyes.

You can rest now, Watson. We’ll take care of everyone else.

So he did.









Fitfully, Dickie grasped the cage. If he could hold it up, perhaps Dane wouldn’t actually have the cage fall on him. Everything would be fine. Everything wouldn’t have become the way it was, the man wouldn’t be in a coma. He could stop it, couldn’t he?


The sound of the fire raging around him, crackling and angry. He looks everywhere as the cage wobbled in his grasp. It was as if it was held by a single thread, waving and swaying in the breeze brought in by the blown out windows. He coughed, blood coagulating in his throat. How could he not try? He looked down, and saw the roster of FIGHT in the fiery flames. White-eyed demons, coming for his throat.

How dare he do this! How dare he kill Dane Preston!

They reached out to him, and tugged on his pant leg.

No! I can’t! If I let go, it’ll fall–

They screamed. They didn’t care. All they wanted was his blood, all they wanted was for him to go down in the flames of their own burning righteousness. One grasped his ankle, pulling at him, and he fought them off until he couldn’t anymore. They pulled him down.


He clawed at the canvas mat, his fingers leaving gashes within it. He clutched at it, biting his tongue, trying with every bit of his will to keep himself upwards. He could see the cage, he watched it clink and sever, and then…the cage fell. Just as he was pulled into the fire and consumed.


Dickie snapped awake, sweat pooling at his forehead and on his chest. He stared at the blacked-out room. The curtains in the penthouse were dark enough that it kept the room cold and serene. But his heart pounded beneath his breastbone as he sat up and clutched at it. His breaths were angry. His voice shot. Had he been screaming? He wasn’t sure, maybe he had. Not that anyone in the house would know. After all, she’d been gone for how long now?


Except he wasn’t alone.

She popped up, nearly tripping up the steps, and he saw her face through the glass staircase banister. She looked a lot better than she did when he saw her just days ago. He blinked through the small bits of light that came through, the curtains, and she stopped when she saw him sitting up.

Are you okay?


He nodded.

Are you sure?” She approached the bed, sitting down on it as he rolled over and turned his back to her. She tilted her head to the side. “Do you want anything?


I’m here. If…if you need anything, okay? Not goin’ anywhere. Aiden will be–

I’m fine. You can go.” He cut her off, shaking his head and pulling the blanket up over him.

All he wanted was sleep.


JANUARY 06TH, 2022


This time, it wasn’t the cage. The fire raged around him, an angry epithet to the problems that he manifested in the world around him. The roster wasn’t there. Dane wasn’t there. The cage wasn’t apart, nothing had shaken, rattled or rolled yet. He stood, his championship laying in front of him, and he looked around.

I can’t believe you are what I have for a son.

Dickie snapped around and looked in the direction of the man with the same jawline as his own, the same eyes. Michael Watson. He stood in a suit, adjusting his cufflinks and looking superior. His voice was deep, annoyed. The voice of a father that never wanted him, never knew he even existed.

Your siblings, you know, are far better than you. Oh, I suppose being the champion of a wrestling company is something to rest your laurels on, but your brother…nonono, he’s a doctor. Spends his summers in Africa tending to small children. Your sister? Becoming a prosecutor for the local judicial court…yes, very high, intelligent humans. I suppose it’s best you were a bastard after all.

Dickie’s heart dropped. He looked down, at the ground, and he shook his head.

I just…I thought you’d be proud of someone like me.

The man scoffed, adjusted his blazer and shook his head.

What, for doing what you did? You hooked a man’s face with a broken crutch, for God’s sake! It’s your own fault the whole roster hates you.


Suddenly, he was right in front of Dickie. So close, he could smell his breath, feel the heat radiating from his body.

You should have let the tower take you down with it.

He pushed Dickie backwards, and suddenly, he was falling into the fires that raged around the ring. The cage didn’t stop him. Xavier didn’t stop him. No one stopped him.

And then the flames were quenched. Satisfied with his death. Was it an allegory? An analogy? What–

It isn’ like him to be sleepin’ this long.”

Aiden’s tenor was what woke him up this time. Downstairs, in the living room with the white couches he’d purchased from an age of happiness long ago. Dickie didn’t move, but he did open his eyes and stare at the dresser across from his bed. He waited…waited for them to talk about him like he wasn’t alive. Because that’s very much where he wanted to be.

Nah, maybe I could just go wake ‘em up, aye? Maybe I can snap him out of this depression. I did it once before, didn’t I?

Yes, but that was…

With that cunt, I know. He’s a lot better off without her, ya know. Always second guessin’ his shit, makin’ him think he wasn’t worth the time or the energy that was put into him. I swear to god she was in kahoots with that bitch of his sister, trying to tear ‘em apart from the inside. But it’d be just like him to rise up and face people like he does. The tower match must have been awful, the inside.

It…it was…

Besides, FIGHT has been sending us emails stating that they have the plans up and everythin’. He’s gotta be looking forward to that, not…not this.

I think, Aiden, that he’s struggling because he’s not himself. I mean, he hasn’t smiled one bit since he got back.

I know, Minnie. I know. But it’s Dickie. He’ll ride this wave and he’ll be fine in no time. No time at all.


JANUARY 08TH, 2022

Silence greeted him this time. There was no dream. No terror to be seen. But it gripped him so tightly that he was clutching the blanket to his face as he laid there. The world around him seemed to be falling apart, but he wasn’t interested in being in that part of it. He’d gathered at this time that Amelia was staying in his penthouse to ensure that he didn’t try to off himself like he did last year. And this time, he was certain it was because of her own volition, not Aiden’s. He could hear her every once and while, trying to keep the television quiet. Trying to make her presence not known. But he didn’t have a maid, and she always seemed to be there for all of his meals.

He sat up slowly, holding his head once he awoke from this particular terror. Aiden was right. There was going to be something up ahead, something big for Season Three, but how could he get there if he never felt rested? Fuck, all he wanted to do was sleep. Over and over again, it was everything he thought about, everything he did. For the times he was awake, he’d eat, take a shower, and go right back to sleep. Wolfslair wasn’t a thing. Training wasn’t a thing. His Championship laid on his dresser near him, but even then, he wasn’t interested in looking at it.

He’d fought so damn hard for that thing too.


The sound of Kei’s deep voice startled him and he jumped slightly, his hands in his tangled mess of his hair. He looked out of the corner of his eye to see the Japanese man sitting, very closely, to the edge of the bed. Dickie dropped his hands.

How’d you get in?

Baka, I knocked.” Kei snorted, shaking his head a little bit and crossing his legs tighter.

He noticed Kei wore a black band today, and his hair was just as all over the place as it always had been. His suit was sharp, but in his hands he cradled a coin, rolling it from finger to finger in his right hand. He caught it within his hands and smiled.

The pretty girl downstairs, she tells me that you have been sleeping continuously. This does not bode well for a champion.

I told you if I needed your help, I’d call.” Dickie countered, throwing the sheets and blankets off his body.

Says you scream in your sleep.

Dickie ticked through his cheek and rose to his feet, padding across the hardwood floor into the bathroom, slamming the light on and shaking his head. “I’m fine.

Mmm,” Kei shook his head again, folding his hands over his knee. “The only way to get rid of bad thoughts in your sleep is to speak about them, tell them to the heavens, and then forget about them.

Dickie splashed water on his face, turning off the faucet and then looking up at himself in the mirror. God, he looked like hell. Even with all the sleep he was getting, his eyes were dark purple underneath the lashes, and he looked exhausted. He reached for a washcloth, drying off his face, and then turned to look at the man seated on the chair. “You’re not my confessor, and I have no sins to give you.

Kei chuckled, with another shake of his head. “I did not expect to be, Kodomo. I am not seeking the same offering as your brother gives. Finn is very good at his job, but you? You would fall apart if you did the same. No, I come to you as an open window to seek knowledge beyond. I suspect you have a match coming up soon with Finn…after all, it is what he is begging for on the outside.

Yes. I know.

Does this bother you? That he does not think you are good enough to face him?

Dickie narrowed his eyes as he walked back into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed across from him. “It’s not that he thinks I’m not good enough. He knows I am. And now he’s calling my bluff.

Like so many on the FIGHT! Roster do? Saharala, or whatever her name is? Pretty girl. Stupid. Baka.” Dickie stayed silent then, and Kei perceived this very quickly. “You are worried about what it looks like. The tower and Dane.


Kei narrowed his already narrow eyes and pressed. “It is your father then?

Dickie’s jaw clenched before he relaxed it and shook his head. “No.

Then what is?

It’s personal, Kei. And just because you’re here doesn’t mean I’m going to spill all my secrets out to you so you can use them to blackmail me. I’m not interested, how many times do I have to tell you? You can show me a fucking piece of shit who lives ten blocks from my house and expect someone like Finn to gush all over that, but I’ve made it just fine without him, and I don’t need him. He probably wouldn’t think much of me either. And to tell you the truth, at this point? Let the FIGHT! Roster come for my throat. I’ve respected all of their abilities so many times and for what? Them refusing to give me the benefit of the doubt that I know what I’m doing? That when I make a challenge like I do, it’s not because I’m full of shit?

Whatever Xavier and company come up with next isn’t going to be easy. I’ve already gotta start lookin’ at that, you know? I just…am fuckin’ tired. Just tired. That’s all.

…the burden of the championship, I know, is difficult to face.

And it’s not a burden. I carry it gladly, Kei. With pride. And these pissants think they can do the same.

Then your friends.

Dickie was silent.

That was the question he had. The one sitting in the back of his mind. The one that he didn’t want to give voice to, and wouldn’t. The cracks had begun to show, even before Countdown, and he knew they were worse now with what happened. Everything he’d been through. Everything he’d done…it was like it was sinking into a pit of despair that he couldn’t reach. He didn’t want to give voice to it. But he did. In his own mind.

Were they even friends anymore?

Was New Status Quo dead?






The sound of a waterfall rushing into a flowing river was audible as the scene opened, the camera beginning. It was night time at Disney World, and the wooden, lodge-esque structure that towered above was almost as daunting as the FIGHT Tower, just not as tall. The glowing, light blue pool lit up the area in the closed off section of Disney’s Fort Wilderness Lodge pool, the obvious absent splashing of it noted as it has probably closed for the night. In the background, the Wishes Fireworks were visible over the notable and famed Cinderella Castle that was the focal point of Disney’s Magic Kingdom park, and the one place that every child ever wanted to go.

Expectations are a bitch.

Seated on the rock sculpture that the waterfall came out of was Dickie Watson. He folded his hands together and looked down at the viewers, a slight smile on his face. He crossed his arms, raising a hand and pressing his thumb up under his lower lip, a smirk rising for a second before it went away.

I remember saying that nearly seven months ago, when I first introduced myself to all of you. When I informed you that I wanted to put all of you on notice, that I wasn’t just a name looking to sit on the midcard because I wasn’t the best damned thing to come across wrestling. When I told you that I was breaking the cycle created by the old guard, the ones that became complacent, that never pushed themselves to be higher than they were. When I told you that I was what you needed. Do you remember it? Because I do. I told you all that cycles were continuous in this sport, that families make their names and their friends, and they hold their figurative balls in their hands…and suddenly it becomes…I believe I stated it to be…‘as stagnant as a pool of rainwater in an otherwise unworkable drainage ditch’. Verbose, and powerful.

Now do you see what I meant?

Dane Preston told me that you all were used to the same thing over and over again: come in, take names, run the place. Then that place would crash and burn, and you would all start over and over, repeating this cycle. Until…

Until Shawn Warstein came along. Until James Raven came along.

Until I came along.

He grins, pushing his lip up just a bit more and then dropping his hands.

Six months have come and gone, and what do you have to say for them? That you’ve all fought your hardest? That it wasn’t going to be so hard to topple the man that put FIGHT on the map? That it wasn’t going to be so hard to topple the lucky little duckling that made it to the top, made it to the end with a belt that everyone covets and wants too much. What do you think is gonna happen when you topple me? You think you’re not going to crack under the pressure of holding the most high belt? You don’t think you’re not going to see the strain of holding yourself so tall that your world won’t bend and break beneath you?

Yet you fucking break when someone points out your flaws. When someone else beats you. Because your ego is so high that you can’t even begin to look at what being the Empire Champion actually means. It’s not about gaining the championship. It’s about keeping it.

Every one of you have salivated in the hopes of earning the Empire Championship. You’ve thought to yourself that you’re more than capable of doing that, that you’re easily able to bring it into your hands, and you haven’t looked at the kind of caliber fighter I am. You look at the loss to Dane Preston like I was worthless – I showed you, didn’t I? You look at the loss in the Toxic Tag tournament because I wasn’t able to advance, but look at my partner, who fucking cracked.

And while you sat there and fucking complained about the fact that staff likes me, have you ever considered that maybe because I don’t sit on the sideline sulking and being a fat, fucking bitch when I lose had anything to do with it? I took it on my chin, every loss, and I came back better than I was before.

You wouldn’t be able to hold this. I look at men like Stephen Stratford, who none of you could beat either, and at first, I didn’t understand why.

It’s because you don’t adapt.

You don’t change.

He shook his head, leaning forward, and dropping down to the ground. He landed with a thud, and he looked out upon the pool, and the lake beyond that.

This world is about adaptation. Darwin talked about it in evolutionary theory, but when I look and see what I have against me, I see the same thing, over and over and over again. Egos who don’t deserve to have it. You live in the world where you were the cream of the crop and you resent myself and my counterparts because we’re the ones that rose to the occasion. While it may be certain that Paul “My Penis Is A Small As My Self-Esteem” Montouri and Brandon “I Don’t Know What Day It Is, Much Less If I’m Going To Continue Living” Moore may have the Islands Championship now, you can rest assured knowing that sometime, some place, we’ll be seeking them out again. And you know they’re shaking in their boots about that. Because, unlike the rest of us, they didn’t change. It’s the same diatribe drivel that I’ve seen before. Self-fulfilling prophecy.

That’s what allowed Betsy Granger to lift the title off of Michelle Moore. What allowed me to win and continue beating everyone down in my wake.

I don’t regret my match with Dane Preston. He may have thought I underestimated him, but no amount of MMA training in a cage was going to save him from someone like me. It wasn’t about the cage, wasn’t about being locked in with him. I wanted that match. I wanted the opportunity to prove, once and again, that I am more than just the little emo kid you all label me as. That I’m not an idiot. Sure, you may have known the cage, but I knew what to do with the tools bequeathed unto me. I’m not sorry for the match. I’m not sorry for winning. I am, however, sorry for the events afterwards.

I’m glad he’s out of a coma. Glad he can appear a month later and will move with the expected speed and grace of a two year old gazelle. And glad I can put him on the floor again.

He walked forward, swooping up his championship along the way and placing it on his shoulder.

This is what everyone wants. This championship. And I’m sure that all of you believe you suddenly have a chance at it. You, the whole of the FIGHT! Roster, and the people who have come in as guests. I see all of you, waiting in the wings, thinking that you have an opportunity because you’ve been able to scope the field while we have not. Unlike my counterparts did with me, I want to wish you all a good welcome to FIGHT!

But you’re not getting close to this championship.

I don’t care who you are, what you’ve done, and where you’re going to be in the next five years. You are on the lower end of the totem pole right now to me. I’m not going to run you down like everyone else has, but I want it to be clear that no one in this event has come close to me. None. Let me tell you I am good at what I do. I don’t quit, I don’t stand down, I face everything head on. Should your path cross mine? Rest assured that I will make sure your elimination is swift so you don’t suffer the embarrassment of walking back to your regular land with an embarrassment on your hands.

Dickie shook his head, stopping to stand on the edge of the walkway, at the banister where he set his hands. In the distance, the fireworks show continues to play.

Like a firework in the sky, I wanted to light FIGHT on fire when I first came here. I wanted to invoke change. And I did just that. And since we’re at Disney, what better way to give allusion to my point than to use a Disney movie to justify and make claims? You see, Disney has all of these movies that are…for the most part, the same theme. How many of you thought about being at Disney World and wanted to relay yourself to the easiest things to come across? The Little Mermaid, because there’s an easy villain in Ursula that you’re going to quash with the power of your voice. Or maybe the Lion King, in that you have a throne to sit on that’s yours and the evil Scar currently holds your personal Pride Rock? Hell, Beauty and the Beast, because you know, you’re the Belle of the Ball and The Beast is the easiest thing to pick on as a villain turned good?

I don’t go by your standards. And I don’t expect you to go by mine. You see, I was four when this movie came out, and to me, I think it encompasses everything I’m trying to say.

Lilo. And motherfuckin’ Stitch.

I could associate myself as Stitch. You know, the little blue alien that learns how to love and have a family after being created as an evil monstrosity. But I think there’s something more here to be learned. When Lilo and Stitch came out, it was rejected by a lot of people because it wasn’t the norm.

One point in the column for Dickie, right?

The entirety of the first season, and actually, the entirety of the second, Dickie Watson was rejected by this company’s roster simply because he was what he said he was going to be. He defeated their best in Paul and Dane, and not only that, they destroyed any hope that any person had about creating teams. The bitterness and anger than ensued when we just did our fucking job well was astonishing, and led to a massive rejection that even the best could not explain. Like Stitch, I didn’t get along with my co-workers. And just like him entirely, I gave no shits.

Stitch was trying to keep himself from being placed in a prison, and in a way, I was too. I didn’t want to be hemmed in by the people I trusted a long time ago. I didn’t want to be put in a box because someone didn’t like me, because they stopped being engaged. So I adapted. Like him, I pulled myself back, I became what you thought I would never be…and set this whole fucking company on fire. Something bubbled through season one and season two like a plague, spreading to every person who tried to stand up to myself and my counterparts.

You couldn’t, because you couldn’t change.

When the storyline changed, when the concept of family arose, I found mine in New Status Quo. Anyone can see that we’re…a little off now. We all have shit going on in our lives, but at the end of the day….Ohana means fuckin’ Family, mate. And no one gets left behind. Whether we think someone is a weak link or not, we don’t admonish them. We don’t treat them as if they’re lesser. And yeah, maybe we’re pissed, but we figure it out. I don’t know what’s going on with Bets and James, or Shawn…but when push comes to shove, I know that in the end, we’ll push together.

That’s three for three, guys. I know that some of you have a difficulty with counting, but I want to make this clear.

I am Stitch. Coming to fight was my Experiment 626, and now….? Now I’m continuing to build the ecology system for mosquitos that don’t fuckin’ deserve it. Pandering at the seams like J Mont, thinkin’ you’re gonna take my championship like you did on Twitter.

Fuck outta here.

No matter where we are, whether its the FIGHT Tower, or Disney World, I hope you don’t expect me to just throw my shit and panic. I’m not like that.

I hope you’ve learned that.

And maybe…maybe you’ll break your own cycle too.






JANUARY 24TH, 2022

It wasn’t strange to have hundreds of people gathered around the AdventHealth Waterside Stage in the area of Disney Springs. Lake Buena Vista hosted thousands of groups all across the continental United States, and some international talents. This evening, however, it was scheduled that FIGHT! NYC would have a signing event, and some of the most popular talents would be there to sign promotional material for their big event in Disney World. Some people said it was going to happen during open hours, but that was unlikely. Anything as violent as what would be Blood Money 2 wouldn’t be visible with the random public attending. Maybe those who paid tickets, but that was unlikely.

After all, the whole of Disney World – all forty-eight square miles of it – was going to be used at the hands of the FIGHT! Roster. Woe be to those who would expect Disney’s park to be open the next morning.

Of course, what signing would be popular without New Status Quo? The team that virtually held FIGHT! by its figurative balls for the better half of six months. Though they didn’t have the Islands Championships now, they did carry the clout that so many searched for and wanted. The relevancy. As people shuffled by, holding their memorabilia and grinning, hoping to take a picture with the people, the members of New Status Quo were all smiles…at least.

For the cameras.

Betsy Granger sat with her Manhattan Championship. James next to her, though their seats were a bit further apart than normal. On the other side of her, Shawn Warstein sat, Kasey to his right. The group was completed with Aiden sitting next to Kasey, joshing around with her every so often while she laughed and hit him back. Dickie, as well, sat on the other side of Aiden.

It was easy to smile for the fans. Every time one of them popped up in front of Dickie with their eager little grin and their Autograph book (hell, some of them were visiting parks and brought their Disney Autograph books with them), he’d give them the most bullshit smile he could, sign, and high-five them as they came. He’d ask their name, he’d be cordial and friendly – the direct opposite of Warstein, who never broke character because he was that way.

But he listened. He observed the rest of the time. Kasey and Shawn were so chummy, but even they seemed off to Dickie. Like they were isolating themselves from the rest of them. And Betsy? He didn’t know what had happened between James and her, but if Twitter was any indication, nothing boded well on the horizon. She didn’t even look slightly happy when her face was turned to be seated anywhere near any of them.

Warstein would look up at Dickie every so often they both had breaks, trying to catch his gaze. As if to say he was sorry, that he wasn’t there to help, that he was the one that failed them all. Dickie didn’t bother looking at him. It was easier. His job was what mattered right now, and blowing up on everyone wasn’t the best idea. He sucked in his teeth, he grinned, he signed. He did nothing to insinuate there was a crack at all.

But Lord, were they completely fractured.

I can’t wait to see you all at Blood Money…I know you’re all like, gonna have to face each other, but NSQ! All the way!” One of the fans, a young woman with a smile and a British accent grinned from ear to ear.

Yeah, love, it’ll be great to see them all fightin’. I ain’t competin’. Too many people, not enough booze.” Aiden replied, grinning charmingly. “I think me an’ Kasey are the ones steppin’ out, but we’ll be cheerin’ on our teams, aye?

Oh…” she looked sad, watching as he signed her poster. “That’s too bad. Maybe next time, right?

‘Course. I’m good with the sidelines.” He grinned back, handing her property to Dickie.

Oh, and you!” She grinned wider as she looked at him. “Dickie, I’ve been following you since Project–” she started, but watched as his eyes slowly moved upwards and he looked at her through his eyelashes. “You know. It’s been awesome to watch you stand at the top of this company too. You’re kinda like a role model to me, you know. We even have the same last name!

Oh?” Dickie questioned. Part of him wasn’t even intrigued, but there was something about her that he saw. Something different. Something…familiar.

Yeah. You can make it out to Mikayla Watson.

He looked up at her. She had hazel eyes, a smile that was just as charming as her personality, and short, cropped hair. She teetered eagerly on her tip toes, bouncing up and down slightly as he signed. He could have sworn he’d seen her somewhere, before.

You were at the signing after The Crowning last year.

Oh my gosh, you remembered!” She squealed. “Yeah. You did such a good job then, and you keep just tearing everything apart. Thank you so much for the autograph again!

You’re welcome,” Dickie smiled, trying to make sure it was the most warm one he could give, despite the rotting cold and irritation he felt within his body then. She beamed at him, and then exited the area as she was directed to. He watched her go, trying to figure out what, or whom, she reminded him of. Aiden jabbed him in the side.

We have the same last name!” He teased Dickie, adjusting his voice to sound like her.

Shut up.” Dickie snorted, but shook his head, leaning backwards.

The rest of the affair went smoothly, mostly because all of them were suave professionals and could figure out how to deal with their differences. At the end, they dispersed faster than you could say BREAK! Betsy went one way, Shawn and Kasey another, and James begrudgingly followed, shaking his head and walking a different way as he tipped over a chair. This left Aiden and Dickie, who didn’t speak to one another, walking towards the shops and restaurants within the area together.

Fuck, that took forever. It wasn’t even that warm out, I don’t know what the hell they’re thinkin’.” He shook his head. Waiting for them was the blonde-haired woman named Kallie Reznik that was part of their Wolfslair team, but also Aiden’s girlfriend. She beamed at both of them, her Mickey Mouse ears wobbling from side to side as she did so.

Yep.” Dickie replied, shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging.

Aiden surveyed his friend. Ever since Countdown, he hadn’t been very talkative with him. His observation, and thought process, was that Dickie was just in one of his moods. He’d come out of his shell, be fine afterwards. It wouldn’t take everything in the world to get at him. They’d go back to being the team they were after he got over his precariousness.

At least, so he hoped.

Oh my god, you guys took forever.” Kallie whined slightly, reaching out and giving Aiden a tight hug. Amelia stood behind her, looking out on the lake as she waited for everyone else. “I know you’re tired but can we–

Ah, no Kallie!

PLEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASE!?” She scream-yelled, tilting her chin upwards and squinting her eyes shut. Aiden dropped his arms to the side and raised his chin to the sky, rolling it back on his shoulders with a heavy, unfiltered groan that indicated that he absolutely did not want to, but she was just so happy and carefree that he would have to agree to her demands.

Fine, but we’re not spending the entire evening there. I need food.

There was World of Disney, the Disney superstore that existed in Disney Springs. You thought it might exist? You bet it did, in that store. The second they went into the overly crowded with tourists store, Kallie was off to the clothing section, Amelia dashing off behind her. Aiden sighed, but didn’t follow. He and Dickie roamed the store silently, through the men’s clothing section, the stationary and toys section, all the way to the back of the store where a sign labeled ”Jewelry and Collectibles” was visible above their heads.

Aiden mosied on up to the women’s necklaces, leaning down to peer at the brightly lit cases. “Some of these bastards are nickel-plated and they have the audacimity to sell ‘em for like a hundred and fifty freedom bucks.” He commented again, trying to lighten the air around them.

Dickie peered in as well, then straightened out. He shrugged his shoulders, glancing around.

Aiden chuckled, though lightly, and shook his head. There was one, in the case, though, that he paused and really bent down to look at it. “Kallie loves Minnie Mouse…and that one is actually really shiny…

Fuckin’ buy it then.

Dickie’s tone was dismissive, but Aiden didn’t pick up on it. He crouched down, squinting at it and cocking his head to the side. “Fuck…that’s prob, what, five hundred, six?” He questioned. “You know, mate…I really like her. Kallie. She doesn’t judge me bad habits in the apartment, and she laughs at all me jokes. I know it’s only been a bit, but she’s just…she’s great. She challenges me, and I know that I can help push her more because she doesn’t…act like a complete and utter bitch. She’s really different, mate. Different from Flo.

Dickie rolled his eyes. Everyone was different than Flo. Flo was the most self-absorbed piece of shit in the entirety of the world and had the audacity to try and change Aiden, who wasn’t going to be changed simply because someone didn’t like something about him. The only thing he did out of the norm, besides you know, buying his girlfriend things, was wear a shirt when she asked.

Her birthday is comin’ up.” He straightened up. “I think I’ma get her that necklace. She’ll be fuckin’ stoked.” He snickered then, and turned his head to look at Dickie. “Ey, mate…think they take Blood Money?

Dickie snapped.

No. There was snapping. And then there was becoming so manic that you switched from moderate irritation to flat out violence in less than three seconds.

Dickie’s fist flew upwards and socked Aiden right in the jaw. It was but a second later that the shocked Australian was literally crashed into by the slightly smaller Brit, knocking him not only into the floor but into the cases, which also crashed to the floor. Several people around them gasped, jumped out of the way, as Dickie’s knees landed into Aiden’s sternum and the air was knocked out of the Australian’s lungs. He got to his feet and stared down at the man. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Mate, what the fu–” Aiden started, but didn’t get any further due to the boot right into his ribcage. Somewhere in the background, Dickie vaguely heard for security to be called, but all he could see was red.

Is everything a goddamned joke to you, huh?” Dickie snarled. “It was hilarious when it was fuckin’ Cunt-Hulu, and then as we go, the fuckin’ parodies and spoofs of people. But lately, it’s like you just don’t give a shit about anything we do? Is that what it is? You stopped caring? Stopped fucking trying? Ever since you started fuckin’ Kallie, we make strides as a team, but you don’t care. You let that fucking pissant man-child get the better of you twice, not to mention goddamned Sykes. Two belts. Two fucking belts lost in the space of three days. Do you just not give a flying fuck about what we can do? Do you not give a shit about me or the rest of NSQ anymore?

Aiden’s eyes widened as he looked up at Dickie, who stood fuming above him. The Australian Wolf’s mouth opened as he held his side. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. Dickie’s blindsiding him felt like a complete crash – fuck, how many times had they said they were a team? That when one fell, the other did too? Was that no longer the case?

And Dickie? Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Part of him already regretted it, responding in such a fashion, but the rest of him felt that he was utterly justified in it and if Aiden had just actually put his fuckin’ effort in in both places, they wouldn’t be like this. At all. Instead, he was angry. He was irate. He was the person that he never wanted to be.

Sir,” armed security guards arrived, and one placed their hand on Dickie’s shoulder. Another pressed an arm across his chest, blocking him from getting back to Aiden. They both pushed. “We need to ask you to leave at this time.

Yeah, yeah, I’m fuckin’ goin’,” Dickie snapped at them, shrugging his shoulder away. He stomped towards the entrance, passing Amelia and Kallie without even looking at them.

The cracks just seemed to grow, no matter what they did.






So tell me, how much clout did you think you were going to get by making sure you mentioned me thirty thousand times in your promotional?

Dickie continued, looking at the viewers once more as he turns and leans against the banister. The smirk that’s been on his face for a majority of his promo was still plastered upon it. He tilted his beanie laden head to the side and shrugged his shoulders.

I mean, I get it. You would be absolutely remiss to not try and do the same thing everyone else did and run down the roster. It’s what happens when you speak about everyone. Multiple times I’ve done this now, and there is nothing as boring as giving your opinion about every person appears on this roster and how you’re going to beat them. Chances are, you’re not even going to see all of them, and you’re certainly not going to eliminate every single person, but just in case you get there…you wanna have a good excuse. This person sucks, this person is better.

But I think you need to take a step back and you need to realize what this is and where you are. No one honestly gives a shit what you think about Jennie Fenix, or Tara Fenix, Damian Ayla, or fucking Joe Montuori – dude, please stop posting expose pics on the internet – Jesus’ eyes are crying. No one cares if you put them in a list, or you just mention them quietly, because then you’re just missing the whole fuckin’ point.

This is about what you are going to do. Not everyone else when you see em. You.

So I’m sorry to say I’m gonna burst your bubble. Don’t take it personally, like I haven’t sat there and watched what you all can do. I know what you can do. I don’t need to describe it. But if I had to put everything down everything I wanted to say about everyone, we’d be here for six hours and I’m not about that noise.

He snorted and shook his head. In the mean time, he crossed his feet.

But I bet you’re wondering what I see. I see you all in the shadows, hoping that you’ll catch me off guard. For one night, we’re all enemies again. For one night, I’m ready to take off any head that needs to roll in the event that I have to. New Status Quo included. Shawn, James, Betsy…none of them are off the list, and while I might be sorry for that on a regular night, I’m not here. We have our differences right now, but…I’m not afraid to put any of you in your place. We are a team on a regular day, but trust me when I say I don’t trust any of you as far as I can throw you right now. Yeah, Aiden, you too.

All if fair in love and war if there’s a shiny prize at the end that everyone covets. Maybe Sahara might have an opportunity to shine, if she doesn’t put herself in a box. Maybe Dave is gonna bring back the Jurassic Period. Or maybe…maybe Chris Page or J Mont will really show us all what CCP Enterprises has in store for everyone…spoiler alert, there’s something bigger than even that ahead.

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.


He exhaled slowly, and then shook his head once more, slowly from side to side. He took in the humid air, the silence of the area. Even from here, he couldn’t hear the crowds of the Magic Kingdom. Here, it was quiet. Only the people walking into the hotel were audible, and even then, it wasn’t that many.

The fact of the matter is that it is anyone’s thing to take, as any tournament is. Anyone can fight, anyone can cheat, anyone can be a massive piece of shit. And no one will care. Why? Because this is what we do. This is how we fight. This is how we entertain. And I can tell you right now….all of us love it. We agree to this shit because this world is our oyster, and I don’t care if you’re a Moore, or a Montuori, or a Preston, Stratford, Warstein, Raven…I am coming for your fucking throat.

He paused once more, hiking his championship up on his shoulder.

It’s an elimination style tournament, one night only, at the Happiest Place on Earth. Sorry. Violent place. And if any of you watched Blood Money 1, you know what you’re in for. I’m not sure where we’re fighting, but I would assume it’s Epcot and Magic Kingdom, but I’ve learned not to assume. Anything could be cooking in the mind of Xavier Black and Miss F, but trust me when I say….fuckin’ anything can happen. I mean, Vhodka and Voodoo were at one another’s throats and threw each other everywhere, so safe to say that Space Mountain is going to be a doozy of a drop. Not to mention if someone gets anywhere near the castle. There’s a moat below, but you know…crocodiles.

Or maybe you’ll end up going over the balcony in the Haunted Mansion, falling into the guest floor, and the ghosts will dance around you to your own death. For me? There are a million options, a million places you could go for it, and here we are, waiting for the opportunity to rush down the Seven Dwarf’s Mine Train just because it’s fun. Can’t forget Main Street U.S.A., the opening to the whole of Magic Kingdom, and all the shops on either side that you could destroy all of their shelving units.

‘But Dickie, why are you telling us all this shit’?

He groaned slightly, shrugging his shoulders and stepping forward a bit as he began to walk towards the docks.

Because I’ve been to these parks a bazillion times. I’ve been in every cranny, taken every backstage tour. Met every animal in the House of Mouse, and to be perfectly honest, rode the train for a fuckin’ nap. There’s the lake in the back, Splash Mountain, you name it…anywhere and everywhere is an opportunity waiting to happen. An opportunity for the likes of everyone to come to and absolutely tear everything apart. But like Blood Money 1, I know how to wait it out. I know when to come swinging. You’re all so goddamned bloodthirsty that a simple opportunity to tussle with the men and women you haven’t gotten to fight…you think this is your opportunity.

It might be the opportunity.

But it won’t be your night.

You see, I plan on winning this one again. Why shouldn’t I? Because I won the first one, how fucking dare I hog all the glory? Do you remember who was in the top five last time?

Brandon Moore. Todrick Tabor-Ramsey. Shawn Warstein. Paul Montouri. Me.

How many of us all have been champions in some way, shape, or form? Warstein was an Islands Champion since Season One. Todrick carried the Manhattan Championship for a good stretch from Season One to Season Two. Me? Empire Champion for two hundred days, bitches. The only ones, at this point, who had to suffer the consequences of the first two seasons before they had gold? Wrecked and Worthless, and that’s because they fuckin’ are. It took a split personality for you to win them, just like everyone else has tried…and yet you all still sit there and claim you’re going to take me out?

I see you, Shawn.

Don’t think I’m hiding from you, mate. You want this as much as I do.

Dickie stopped, scratched his nose with his thumb, and shook his head.

I’m not in the business of talking shit, so let me be quite honest here. I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you’re going to say you’re going to do. Have your weird ass seances and your tiddily-wink cupcake parties with one another, but let me inform you how this is going to go.

Dickie Watson, Winner of Blood Money 1.

Dickie Watson, Winner of Ascension.

Dickie Watson, Winner of Countdown.

Dickie Watson, Winner of Blood Money 2.

I don’t become complacent, mates. I shoot for the stars every fuckin’ time. And I don’t need to give clout to names that don’t deserve my undivided attention. Know that every one of you is on my mind, that any time any of you cross me, whether you are friend or foe, that you’re going to go down in a pile of your own shame. And don’t think that you’re special now that you have the backing of a great wrestler behind you, that that’s the change you needed to get ahead. Anyone can play that game.

You have to find it in you.

And ninety-five percent of the time? You haven’t.

Welcome to Season Three, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. The Wide World of Disney World is proud to present to you the most bloody affair that you can think of. At the end of it all, the House of Mouse will take your offerings at the center of Main Street U.S.A, where you can gather in your failure and rail backstage about how fucking angry it makes you that the outsider who is no longer an outsider still holds your precious gold.

I hope you’re entertained.

Dickie smirked one more time as the camera moved closer to him, and he grinned, half eying it as he walked by.

I know I will be.