Golden Ticket Ladder Match

[Alex Smiley]

This is the place where the burritos--I mean roleplays--go.

Hype: You'd be surprised what motivation a climb for gold can bring. Alexia, Leander Apollo, Tyler Graves, Mason Daniels, Rex Evans, Maverick Jones, and AC Thunder all have a shot to ascend to something greater...but who will keep their eyes on the prize?

RP Deadline: May 27, 2018 - 11:59PM Eastern

[Tritch]

the demons.

"When are you people going to learn that this is a hopeless cause?" His voice echoed off of the stone walls, followed by the sound of a match dragging across its striker. In the distance, a steady beat could be heard increasing in volume - not a drum beat, but the beat of flesh slapping against any surface it could reach, accompanied by a low, guttural howl. It increased in volume, and the man in the cell turned to cast a furrowed look over his shoulder as he took a long drag of his cigarette. "I've only been here for two days and you've already given me a nickname. Consider yourselves lucky you're getting out of here alive."

After a few seconds the sounds reached a fever pitch, becoming almost deafening as a chorus of voices chanted "ubit' krasnogo osuzhdennogo" over and over again. The chanting was soon joined by the jingling of keys as his cell door quickly slid open. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took a final drag of his cigarette, but the smirk faded as three burly Siberian prisoners stepped into his cell and the door closed again behind them. They snarled at him like rabid dogs, placing fist into palm as they looked him up and down.

"Really?" The American man asked as he noticed one of them brandishing a shiv. "Trying to kill me before I even step foot in the ring with Callahan?"

A breathy chuckle echoed from outside the cell, coming from the man who opened the door. With a shake of his head he began walking away, shouting, "Enjoy time in Siberia, Mister Rex."

The American was Rex Evans, and for the first time since stepping foot in the Siberian prison, he looked nervous. Scared, even. His fists clenched as he looked between his adversaries, the smallest of whom was an inch bigger than he and brandishing the shiv. He took a deep breath, and another, and slowly it turned into a growl. The three Siberians looked between each other, before laughing and lunging forward.

And Rex shot up to a seated position in bed, covered in sweat and panting. His fingers were digging into the bed at either side of him, and he looked around to catch his bearings. He wasn't in Siberia, he was at home in Atlanta. He soon felt the soft, warm touch of his girlfriend, Alexis Boyd, reaching up to caress his back.

"It was just a nightmare," her voice was still filled with sleep, hardly louder than a whisper as she leaned forward to kiss the back of his arm. But he threw his legs off the bed and leaned forward to place his forehead in his palms.

"No. Not a nightmare, a memory," he took a deep breath before pushing to his feet. "Of that place."

Alex pushed herself up to a seated position at the head of the bed, tucking her legs beneath her as she watched him with concern. He took a few labored steps into the bathroom, flicking on the light and leaning against the sink.

"Baby, I know you don't like to talk about that time of your life, but..." she paused to gauge his early reaction, but he didn't seem to flinch. She swung her own legs out and off the bed, quietly moving towards the bathroom to wrap her arms around his waist. "What happened there, during that week?"

There wasn't a response right away. He stayed there, hunched over the sink, staring at his own reflection as she placed her cheek on his back, listening to his heart race. Eventually he took another deep breath, before speaking in a soft, broken voice.

"Imagine being trapped in one of the most grueling places on Earth, and then imagine that place coming into the possession of a self-absorbed narcissist with no prior experience or knowledge of how to run it," Rex's head dipped to look straight down at the sink, but his eyes clamped shut. "When The Experts went out of business, very few people had even made it to the prison yet. But I was still in prison. So I was delivered early and moved right into a cell. Something got lost in translation with the company shutting down so suddenly and abruptly, and I was forgotten, with very few people fighting for me on the outside.

"On the inside, I was the only one fighting for me. And I had to do it constantly," his lips began to quiver as he spoke. "Bodies piled up in my room and nobody was brave enough to come drag them out, so they just kept sending more. I was... I had never... I'm not a killer. But in that place, if I didn't... I had to defend myself. I was locked in that prison for seven days before the people on the outside finally won their fight. I-I honestly don't know how many people lost their lives in that cell, but at that point in time it felt like I was one of them."

Rex felt a tear hit his back as Alexis squeezed him a bit tighter. He opened his mouth to go on, but she snaked around to place herself between him and the sink, pressing a finger to his lips and kissing his chest.

"Not another word. I understand why you never wanted to speak about it, and we don't need to reopen any of those old wounds," she said, squeezing him tightly again from this new position.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," he took another deep breath. "I can't believe I'm going back there."

"Things will be different this time. You're no longer incarcerated, and you have plenty of people out here on the outside that care about your safe return," she buried her face in his chest, still hugging him tightly. "Besides, I highly doubt the folks at Evolve are going to let you up and disappear before Season 2 even starts filming."

A laugh escaped his lips as he finally hugged her back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding on, finally looking into his own eyes in the mirror.

But his reflection smirked, flashing a shit-eating grin he hadn't seen in years, and he quickly looked away.

*****

"Listen, I know we haven't spoken much about wrestling since you returned without even telling me you were medically cleared," Tommy Evans' voice called from the hallway as Rex set a pair of bags next to the front door - one an ordinary suitcase, the other his old duffel. Rex took a quick, quiet, yet deep breath before turning around to face his younger brother, whose face was flooded with a mix of indistinguishable emotions. "But I know what happened where you're going, and I know what you're going to go through when you get back there."

Rex stood a few feet in front of the door, his jaw tensing as his brother spoke. He took a few more deep breaths. He had been trying not to think about where he was going anymore than he had to with making travel preparations and packing. His eyes slowly closed and his fists clenched, but Tommy took a few small, silent steps closer to his big brother.

"Just remember who you are now, how far you've come. There are a lot of people here who love you, who respect you, and who are counting on you. It's not just Talon and a few correctional officers waiting for you to come home this time. You've got me and Ash. You've got Alex, and everybody at Brutal. You've got Ally and... Danny."

As if on cue, a young boy - maybe four or five years old - stepped into the hallway smiling up at his father. A smile curled onto Rex's lips as his son stepped towards him, and he bent down to scoop him up.

"And we're all just the tip of the iceberg. You've got a shitload of fans - oh, sorry, Danny," Tommy quickly shot a hand up to his mouth, realizing he used dirty language when Danny's eyes grew wide. "Your trainees at the Brute Camp, all of your friends in and outside of the business... Just remember that all of us are rooting for you to come out the other side the same man we're sending you in as."

Rex stared at his brother for a moment, Tommy staring right back, and Danny looking between each of them. The elder Evans brother finally took a deep breath, his eyes lazily blinking a few times as he shifted his son around to his chest and gave him a kiss on the forehead, before pulling him in for a hug.

"Love you, bud," he said with his eyes closed, rubbing his son's back.

"I love you too, Dad. I'll see you when you get back," the boy pushed away from his father in his arms, looking at him with a bit of a smirk. "Fuck 'em up!"

"Danny!" Both Evans brothers shouted in unison as the boy slid down from his father's arms, running away with laughter towards the living room, where his aunt Ashlyn - Tommy's wife - was watching cartoons. Rex shook his head with an eye roll.

"I have no idea where he learned that word," Tommy said as he looked back towards his brother, before covering his mouth and pointing over his shoulder with a whisper. "I blame Ash."

Tommy barely finished his statement when he was pulled into a tight, almost painful hug by his older brother. The happy-go-lucky, carefree expression that normally adorned Tommy's demeanor dissipated as he wrapped his arms tightly right back around him, giving way to a much more serious, almost frightened expression as the brothers held each other.

"Be careful," the younger sibling whispered just before Rex released the hug, turning away from his brother with a playful slap on the cheek, opening the front door to his massive home without any other words, outside of a quick goodbye to his sister-in-law.

The door closed behind him, but it was clear that Tommy's impassioned speech had gotten to him by his narrowed eyes and constantly tensing jaws. He walked down the front steps with a bag in each hand, taking deep breaths as he neared the Model X in the driveway, behind which stood his beautiful girlfriend, Alexis Boyd, moving things around in the trunk.

Rex rounded the vehicle and noticed luggage already in the trunk, as he set his two bags inside with a puzzled expression. "What's all this?" He asked as she took a deep breath and turned towards him with doughy eyes, her legs crossed and arms linked behind her back.

"I've made a decision," came her simple response, before she abruptly turned and walked towards the passenger side of the car. Rex's eyes crinkled as he shut the trunk and walked towards the driver's side, still looking puzzled.

"What kind of decision?" He asked once he'd lowered himself behind the wheel, turning on the electric vehicle with the push of a button, beginning to back out of the driveway.

"Well..." she hesitated, looking out the window a moment, before turning to look directly at him. "I've decided I'm not just going to let Lowell, your pilot - whom I adore, don't get me wrong - be the only one to accompany you to the worst place you've ever been."

Rex's brow furrowed once again, but not in confusion like it had before, almost in anger.

"If you mean what I think you mean, the answer is no," Rex said with finality.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm not really giving you a choice in the matter then," she said, a bit disappointed but obviously unsurprised by his response, before looking back out the window. "Lowell is expecting me and has guaranteed me that he won't take off without me."

Rex's jaw tensed again as he sat in silence, the vehicle picking up speed as his knuckles turned a bit white around the steering wheel.

"You might supply the money," she quickly added, glancing back at him again for only a moment. "But I sign his checks."

"Hmph," was his only response for a moment as they sped along back roads and side streets. After a couple of minutes, he finally spoke, without even glancing at her. "Siberia is a dangerous place. Not just the prison, the entire place. If you're coming, you're to stay with Lowell and Sean at the hotel the entire time. I can't be worrying about you while I'm in there, but I appreciate the sentiment."

"Absolutely," she cut in, finally turning back towards him excitedly, grabbing his arm to wrap her own around it. Then, with a bit of confusion, she added, "who's Sean?"

"Under zero circumstances are you to step anywhere near the prison," he finally glanced at her, making sure she saw the severity in his eyes. "I don't know what Jack is like these days, but I imagine several years alone in a prison hasn't done him any favors. I don't know what he'd be willing to do if he found out someone I care about is on the premises. And I'm sure he won't be the only loon crawling out of the woodwork."

"I love you," she said, resting her head on his arm, squeezing it between her own.

"Promise me," he said, and she looked up to see him staring at her, glancing up every few seconds at the road, but his stare would come right back to her. She recoiled a bit, truly seeing the sincerity and fear in his eyes for the first time.

"I promise," she muttered, not taking her eyes off of him as his own returned to the road with a deep breath.

*****

It wasn't nearly as cold as he remembered, but perhaps he had just exaggerated it in his memory. The sky was overcast and it wasn't a warm summer day, by any means. But the ground wasn't covered in snow, just a few mostly melted piles remained. A plume of smoke escaped his lungs as he exhaled his last drag, before quickly replacing it with a new batch from the half-smoked cigarette in his hand.

"What's goin' on in that thick skull of yours, Rexy boy?" The familiar voice called from behind him, but Rex didn't flinch. He remained leaning against the front end of a Russian cab, duffel bag resting on the hood not far from him, staring through narrowed eyes at something off in the distance.

It was the Siberian Prison Complex, the same one he had been locked in for a week almost five years ago. There were people all over the grounds preparing for the upcoming show, but Rex was a good distance away in a parking lot atop a hill that overlooked the complex.

"What's the matter, you don't want to chat, for old times' sake?" The voice came again, but still Rex ignored it, taking another drag of his cigarette. The cab driver looked a bit annoyed but scrolled through something on his phone, unfazed by whatever was going on outside his windshield. "C'mon, buddy? I miss you!"

The voice continued, and a figure stepped around the front of the vehicle to lean against the car right next to him. It was Brandon Garcia, somehow flashing that shit-eating grin despite the stogie in his mouth.

"It's been years since you pushed me away. It seems only fitting that I come back here, where it all began, right?" Garcia nudged him, but Rex didn't budge. Evans took a deep breath before taking another drag.

"It didn't all begin here for you and I," Rex muttered after exhaling, causing the cab driver to look up at him a bit puzzled.

"Meh, maybe not for you and the real him," Garcia responded, pushing off from the vehicle and twirling around to come face to face with Rex, cutting off his vision of the prison. "But our relationship started right down in that prison, remember? When you finally gave in and let me help you?"

"No," Rex almost shouted, and the cab driver looked even more confused. The former pushed off from the front of the car, taking a final drag of the cigarette and flicking it off into one of those snow piles before grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He leaned forward and laid some money in the passenger seat, muttering "spasibo," before turning back towards the prison.

But his eyes grew wide as Garcia was gone, and in his place was the darkened visage of Diego de la Vega in the latter stages of his career. "Perhaps this will jog your memory a bit more?"

"Stop," Rex muttered as the cab's engine fired up, taking off out of the parking lot. Rex pulled the hood of his thick, black sweatshirt far over his head before adjusting the bag on his shoulder and looking right past Diego at the prison, beginning his long trek down the hill.

"Awh, c'mon, Rexy," Garcia had returned to slink down the hill behind the man formerly known as the Code Red Con. "It's the perfect reunion. You, me... Jackie B... and alllll those Siberian criminals we killed."

"Stop," Rex turned toward the vision of Garcia with fury in his eyes. "That wasn't me."

"Oh, what," Garcia laughed loudly, reaching out to grab Rex's shoulder as he doubled over. "The ol' guns don't kill people argument? Who's gonna believe that bullshit?"

"I-" as Rex opened his mouth again, Garcia jolted upright, getting right into Rex's face with a nasty snarl.

"Shut the fuck up, Evans. You need me now more than ever. You're not ready to step back in there and face all your demons by yourself," as Garcia was berating Rex, his form shifted back to Diego, and then to Jack Benevolence himself, then Evan Envi, and then Sandy Makel, before settling back on Garcia. "You took lives in there. But more than that, there are at least three people in there whom you haven't managed to put down, no matter how hard you've tried. Jack. Sandy... Doug. You need me. You need the side of you that I represent. C'mon, old pal. The boys are back in town. Let's get the band back together-"

Garcia's expression changed as his head drew back, looking at Rex in puzzlement, because Rex was smiling - laughing, almost. He shook his head at Garcia in front of him. Before Garcia could ask him what was so funny, Rex took a step closer to him.

"You're the only demon here," he said emphatically, causing Brandon's eyes to grow wide. "And I don't need you anymore."

Brandon reached up to grab him, but he blinked out of existence as if he had never been standing there at all. A few yards away, some crew member from the Experts was staring across the field at Rex, eyes crinkled. Rex lifted a hand to wave at him, before turning back towards the prison with a renewed sense of confidence.

It didn't take long for him to walk through the several gates of the prison, and as he passed through the check in point he found himself in a block lined with floors of cells. All of the inhabitants were shouting expletives at him and all of the employees around them, but Rex simply smirked. He came to a stop, unzipping his duffel before dropping it to the ground. He reached up and pulled the hooded sweatshirt over his head, shoving it into the bag.

Standing back up with gritted teeth, the numerous tattoos and scars were now on display for the incarcerated to see. All of the voices slowly began to fall away, and before long the entire cell block was in silence. The security guards looked around puzzled, before a solitary voice nearby called out in a shaky tone- "Krasnyy osuzhdennyy..."

Then someone else shouted it, and before long all of the prisoners in the cell block were shouting the name, almost chanting it. The guards looked around confused, before one of them turned and looked at Rex, now able to see his face and torso more clearly, and his eyes began to widen with a glimmer of recognition, before he said with a stutter... "Krasnyy osuzhdennyy... vozvrashchayetsya!"

*****

May 22nd, 2018 - Brutal Enterprises Offices; San Clemente, California

I'll admit, it has been a long time since I've opened this journal. I'm writing this before I leave, because I'm not sure how much time I'll have once everything gets going. But I'm going to have one of my assistants digitize it for release once I'm there. Anyways.

They say timing is everything. How fitting, then, that just a few days after I make my return to the ring, the company that built Rex Evans has risen like a phoenix?

Wrestling was my escape from an early age. I don't think it's any secret that I used to sneak into bar shows as a kid and watch local wrestlers do their thing. Wrestling has been with me for a very, very long time.

But I also don't think it's a secret that when I was in college, I watched a match between Sandy Makel and Jack Benevolence that changed my life. I saw them battling inside the prison that, as you're reading this, I'm probably sitting in right now. I watched the passion with which they fought, and the willingness to do anything to pull out the victory. As much as I despise them both, I owe them a great deal, and I've looked up to them from a competitor's standpoint for a very long time.

In May of 2012, I entered my first Experts event, and the rest is history that I don't think I need to drone on about. You can probably find it on wikipedia or whatever with a simple google search. But it is important to remind anyone and everyone reading this that the Experts are the reason I exist today.

Without the Experts, I probably would've rotted away in a prison cell years ago, just like Jack wants. I was going to write a long list of things that never would have happened without the Experts in my life, but they all pale in comparison to my son. The moral of the story is that without the Experts giving a shitty little kid from the midwest his opportunity, the man writing this letter would be a very different man today.

So it's fitting.

I retired two years ago when I was told I would never be able to wrestle again, and a few weeks ago, after months of work, I turned that diagnosis around. I became medically cleared to compete, and then I beat a couple dozen American wrestlers to earn my spot in the World Cup of Wrestling.

So, I'll reiterate just one more time, it's fitting.

In just a few days, for me - perhaps today or tomorrow for you, when you read this - I'll be stepping back into the Siberian Complex that sparked my career and then nearly ended it. I'll be stepping into the same building as some of my most bitter rivals. I'll be stepping into the same building as the True Expert, Doug E. Fresh, whom the fates have continuously prevented me from challenging.

More importantly, I'll be stepping into the ring. I'll be stepping into the ring that, despite getting locked into a nearby cell for seven days, I never actually got a chance to compete in. I'll be stepping into the same ring as some of the biggest names in Experts' history, maybe even in the history of wrestling.

AC Thunder. Alexia. Leander Apollo. Mason Daniels. Maverick Jones. Tyler Graves.

But... that means they'll be stepping into the ring, too. Not just with each other, but with me. With Rex Evans, the Avatar of Brutality. Refreshed, renewed, and hungrier than ever.

You know, they gave me a nickname in Siberia. I don't know what it means, but I like the sound of it. It elicits fear. Which is exactly what each and every one of you should feel when you step into that ring. Because there is a laundry list of people who have been in there with me that can tell you, as cordial as I am outside the ring, as happy and outgoing as I am in any other setting... when that bell rings, I become a different man.

I become an animal, a beast. I become the monster that earned nicknames like Bull and Loose Cannon. I become the Avatar of Brutality, a mantle I have worn with pride for years. I become the brute that climbed to the top of not one but two different Experts promotions.

Nothing and no one will stop me from claiming that Golden Ticket, because if it does what I think it does, then Jack or Doug - whoever comes out the other side - will have someone breathing down their neck with every waking moment.

I'll see you in Siberia.

- Krasnyy Osuzhdenny... Rex Evans

[MasonDaniels]

The Experts Is Back

Years had passed since the last Experts Tournament had taken place. Mason had occassionally made his presence known in The Experts, but no where near as much as his mentor, Rick Rampage, had. Rampage had entered the World of Experts at On Hallowed Grounds and quite easily made his presence known as a force to be reckoned with. When Mason finally put his name in the hat though, he never made the same type of impact.

Now though, everything had changed. Mason was no longer the fun loving maniac that played to the fans. He was much more methodical and only cared about pleasing his own selfish needs. Since his turn around, he has become much more successful in the wrestling world, though a title still evades him. He has faced down and defeated men like Rowyn Starr and has taken champions like Cassius Reed to his limits.

Mason had even taken on a few students of his own, creating his Pulpit of followers. As a group, they had taken Phoenix Wrestling by storm as of late, becoming the most feared and dominating force Phoenix Wrestling had ever seen. Jade had become the Number One Contender to the Rising Phoenix Championship; Asger and Azazel were considered the most dominating force in the Duos Division; and Mason Daniels, well, he was highly regarded as the most dangerous man in all of Phoenix Wrestling.

Now he was ready to set his sights back onto The Experts. It was the first show back, and maybe even the last show, but that did not matter to Mason. He wanted to take it by storm and show the world that he was truly the most dangerous man in the business. At The Experts Invitational, Mason would open the match against some of the best in the business. A few of the names he knew and some he didn't.

He knew of Tyler Graves, AC Thunder, and Leander Apollo because of his mentor. Rampage had faced Tyler Graves and Cobra in a Triple Threat Match for the Number One Contendership for the CWC World Championship; and Rampage had also competed against Leander Apollo and AC Thunder in the TFWF. The other three though, Mason was less familiar with. He had heard the name Rex Evans around, but he wasn't quite sure from where. When it came to Alexia and Maverick Jones though, he had no idea who they even are.

No matter who was in the match though, Mason was not going to let them stop him. It could have been Doug E Fresh and Jack Benevolence in this match with him, and he was going to do whatever he had to. There was going to be no stopping him, and that was something that wrestling fans around the world was about to realize. It wouldn't matter if he ever got the shot that winning this match ensured; it didn't matter if this was the last show The Experts ever hosted. The only thing that mattered was that winning this match proved that his name belonged with The Experts greats.

There was no telling what would happen, but it won't be long until the result is known. Mason would step into the ring and look up at his prize. From there, it would just be a matter of time before he climbed to the top of a ladder and claimed what it was that he desired; not just a shot at any match and title that he wanted, but the right to claim that he was one of the greats. It would just be a matter of time before Mason Daniels could claim that he was a True Expert.

* * * * *

Mason can be seen packing his bags in a hotel in Orlando, Florida. Phoenix Wrestling's event, Redemption, had just ended a few hours ago, and while his Pulpit wouldn't be leaving for the next Redemption for a day or two, it was time for him to get headed out towards The Experts Invitational. It would be a long flight to get from Orlando to the land of Siberia. Once there, there would be no rest. The cold and all the commotion would make it hard to get any at all. The War Hound placed his last article of clothing in the suitcase and zipped it up as a young, beautiful woman emerges from the hotel bathroom. Her hair was wet and she had a white towel draped around her slender and toned body. She wraps her arms around him from behind, and speaks,"Do you really have to leave, my love?"

"Yes Jade, we have been over this," he responded,"This is important to me. It is important to the whole Pulpit. I go to Siberia and I win, and it solidifies the fact that I am one of the greatest in the game and it solidifies that we are the ultimate force in all of wrestling."

Jade begins to rub his chest a little, turning him around to face her. "And there is nothing I can do to keep you here," she said as she let the towel slip down onto the floor. "I am sure that I can make it worth your while."

Mason smirked as he looked down upon her, placing his hand on her cheek. "As much as I would love to do unspeakable things to that sexy little body of yours, I have to go. This whole thing in Siberia is bigger then the both of us; it is bigger then the Pulpit. Maybe one day you will understand, but there are things that have to be done that don't make sense some times. I know you don't think this has anything to do with The Pulpit and that it just feeds my ego; but this has everything to do with The Pulpit. A win here means an open door for us to go anywhere. We can ascend past Phoenix Wrestling and move on to bigger and better things."

Jade looks up at him, opening her eyes up wide as she tries to lure him in. "You know, it's going to be really cold in Siberia, so why don't you take me with you and I will help keep you warm at night."

"As much as I would love to have you there, I need to keep my mind sharp and focused. You would be a distraction to me and that is something that I can't afford to have." He sighed slightly as he leaned down, picking the towel up off the floor and handed it over to Jade. An irritated look appears on her face as she storms off back into the bathroom. Mason walks over to the suitcase, pulling the handle up as he walks over towards the doorand mumbles to himself,"Such a fucking child sometimes." He walks through the door and onto the side walk of the hotel as he makes his way over to a black town car. A man pops the trunk and takes Mason's back, placing it in the back and closing it once more. He then opens the back door to the sedan as the Phoenix Wrestling superstar steps inside, the door closing as he does. The driver then hops into the car and the car takes off towards the airport.


* * * * *

A small plane landed on a runway, somewhere on the outskirts of the Siberian Prison. It rolled to a stop as it reached the run down airport buildings in the winter wasteland. After a few moments, the door to the plain opened and a staircase was wheeled up to it. A few unknown people exited the plane before Mason stepped off, a light jacket wrapping his body as he stepped onto the stairs, making his way down onto the tarmac. It was getting to be summer and the weather wasn't all that bad here. Make no mistake, it definitely would never be called warm here. The typical summer weather here around sixty degrees and the average winter weather was around negative thirteen.

Mason noted that it was a little warmer this time around. In fact, to him, the weather was kind of perfect. As he took a deep breath, he reflected back on what his girlfriend had said, that it would be really cold. That was a misnomer if there ever was one. Yes, Siberia was one of the coldest places on the planet as it stretched to the northern parts of Russia. The summers however we cool and mild for the most part. Although recently, there had been summer temperatures here that had reached the nineties.

Mason walked away from the plane and towards a car that was waiting. As he stepped into the backseat and sat down, he began to think about the last time he was here. It had been so long ago. Since the last time he had competed in The Experts, he had turned his back on his friends and the fans; he had fought one of his closest friends to the brink on several occassions; he had retired and gone into management; and had since then come back out of retirement to take Phoenix Wrestling by storm as the leader of The Pulpit.

As the engine to the car started up, the driver spoke,"Where to sir?"

Mason smirked slightly as he responded,"To the Siberian Prison."

The driver looked back at him and then forward again speaking,"What is everyone's obsession with the Prison today? It hasn't been used as a Prison in decades. I mean sure, some pro wrestling group used to use it a few years back, but that hasn't happened in years."

The War Hound just shook his head and responded,"The Experts are back in town. They are using it at least one more time for a comeback show. I am going there because I am competing for a chance at any Experts championship title I want."

The man in the driver's seat continued,"Oh wow, you must be pretty good then. I never really got into wrestling, but one of my friends drives for the same company, and he loves it. He said he picked up one of his favorite wrestlers just a day or so ago. Guy by the name of Rowyn Starr." Mason's headed perked up as the driver continued,"Said he talked the guys head off. He took him to the Prison too and he has been excited ever since."

"Is that so," Mason responded.

"Yeah, the guy said he talked to him about how much of a fan he was and how glad he was that he was back. Told him he was so happy that his sister had broken free from this guy named Mason Daniels."

Mason's smirk disappeared,"Is that so. Sounds like he hates this Mason Daniels guy."

The driver laughed slightly as he responded,"I think hate might be an understatement. He can't stand the guy. He used to tell me all the time about some of the stuff he did. He burnt some guys parents home down to the ground; then he kidnapped his sister and turned him against him. Said he walks around carrying this barbed wire baseball bat and uses it more then a teenage boy uses tissue if you know what I am saying."

Mason spoke,"I think I get the meaning. So, this Mason Daniels guy sounds like a vicious maniac who you would never want to cross."

"Exactly, the guy sounds absolutely fucking nuts. I mean, who kidnaps a guys sister and turns her against him. I mean, that is just sick and twisted. Takes a special kind of monster to do that", the man said,"I would never want to cross him. I heard he almost ended some guys career not too long ago. God, that is the last guy I would want to piss off."

Mason laughed to himself slightly as he looked into the front of the car,"Yeah, I do tend to have that affect on people."

"What do you mean?", the man responded with a puzzled look on his face as they pulled up to the Prison.

"You really should read your work order when you come to pick people up. My name would be right on the sheet of who you are picking up. I am Mason Daniels, the guy who is absolutely fucking nuts that you wouldn't want to piss off", Mason said.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry Mr. Daniels. I didn't mean anything by it. I just...."

"Just shut up before you make it worse." Mason opened the door himself, not waiting on the driver. "Now leave before I decide to make you regret saying those things you said."

Mason shuts the door and the car drives off. He looks over at the prison and takes a slight breath. So, Rowyn Starr had made the trip all the way out here to spectate. Mason couldn't help but wonder if he had an ulterior motive for being here, but that was something that he would have to worry about later. His focus needed to be on the match that was ahead of him. In just a few days, he would compete against some of the most dangerous wrestlers in the world. Mason would be competing for a prize that may eventually prove to be worthless if The Experts wasn't able to make a full comeback.

Mason took a few steps towards the prison and then reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He punched in a number on the screen and lifted the phone to him as he walked into the prison,"Yes, I just took a ride with one of your drivers. He was completely rude. He insulted me the entire trip. How do you even employ such an unprofessional driver? If he isn't fired, I am gonna make sure myself and others who come here never use your service again...good, I am glad we can agree on that."

Mason hangs up as he disappears into the prison.

* * * * *


Mason stood silently in a part of the Siberian Prison that he knew well. It had been years since he had set food inside this place; so long ago in fact that he couldn't even remember who he had faced here. His experience in this place; his experience in The Experts was just a small fraction of others who competed here. He had never been a big part of The Experts, but at a younger age, he had always respected what they stood for. Now though, that was not necessarily the case. It wasn't about respect anymore, it was about what winning here said; it said you were the best, and that is what he was after.

Mason had always been the man who fell just short against the greats. He had always been the man who was good enough to get close to the summit, but always fell short. Just months ago, Mason stood toe to toe with Cassius Reed for the PW Rebirth Championship and lost due to interference. He had shown the world that their indestructable champion could be destroyed; he had shown that Cassius could be defeated and very well could have defeated him that night for the title if it hadn't been for the outside interference.

This event, this match, was Mason's chance to break that cycle. At Chaos Reigns, he would face off against some of the most dangerous wrestlers to ever grace a ring, but they would be facing him in his element. This match would push them all to their limits, but that was something Mason was more then ready for. He took a few steps through the prison, allowing his fingers to run along the bars of the cells as he walked past and spoke,"Chaos Reigns, a rather proper name for this event; and a good description of the match that I will be fighting in. In just a few days time, I will square off inside this prison against six other competitors in a match that is sure to be pure chaos."

Mason walked deeper into the prison as he walked into a room where there stood a tall ladder with a wire hanging above it. The War Hound smirked as he looked up at top of the ladder and then continued,"This match will push us all to our limits. Not only will we all battle to climb the ladder and fight each other off, we have to fight off the prison itself. This place has a mind of it's own and whenever you compete here, anything goes. I have seen people mysteriously get locked in the cells; I have seen rabid, hungry dogs interfere in matches; and then you can't forget about the variety of unique weapons that we, the competitors, can use on others."

Mason walks up to the ladder and begins to slowly climb up it,"All of this we will all have to fend off as we climb this very ladder, trying to reach the prize that we seek. Winning this match will guarantee one of us the chance to face off against anyone for anything we want. Climbing this ladder and grabbing hold of the prize at the top will show the world that you are the only person worthy of competing to be The True Expert. Winning this match will show that you are hands down one of the most elite wrestlers to grace a ring."

Mason reaches the top and seats himself on top of the ladder,"This is what winning this match means. It means you will sit atop all of wrestling looking down at the men and women who wish they could be you. That is why winning this match is so important to me. It isn't about the prize, it isn't about getting to face the winner of Doug E. Fresh and Jack Benevolence; it is about proving once and for all that I belong at the top of this business; and I will do anything I can to make sure that I am the one to walk away with victory. If I have to, I will beat each of my opponents within an inch of their life. Hell, I will leave them dead in this place if I have to."

Mason began to gave down at the base of the ladder, envisioning the chaos that he planned on wreaking in this match,"So many people in wrestling underestimate me. The former Phoenix Wrestling Champion William Batemen is one example. Leading up to this event, he called out The Experts for having me in their event. He called me a disappointment in wrestling form and claimed that I was less of a threat now then when we had faced back in the day. Well, I want the world to know how wrong he was and I want my opponents to understand that if they come into this match and write me off, they will be making the biggest mistake of their whole career."

Mason smirked slightly as he looked back on how far he had come over the years,"You see, I am far from the man that I was when I last set foot in this prison. I am a completely different man from the one who faced off against William Bateman. Back then I didn't know what it meant to do whatever is necessary. Back then I thought it was okay to give your all, and leave it all in the ring. I would go all out and I would time and time again risk my career and physical well being for the fans. I was put into a coma by Masaru Inoue; I had my back broken by my own mentor, Rick Rampage. I fought to make it to the top of Inferno and it cost me my family. I lost everything trying to do the right thing for the fans and make it to the top and I got nothing in return."

A slightly disgruntled look appeared on his face as he reflected on it all,"So I said fuck the fans and all the people who were holding me back. I turned on my friends...men like Rowyn Starr, and battled him across several federations until I sent his ass into retirement. In the process, I turned his own family against him, destroyed his childhood home, and pushed him further then anyone had ever pushed him before. I became the man that I had fought for years; I became everything that I had always stood against; and I fucking loved it. I don't answer to anyone and I have nothing that stands in my way from getting what I want. That is something everyone in this match will learn."

"Some of the biggest names in wrestling will be in this match and it will take everything I have; every ounce of my ability and every ounce of cunning I have to walk away victorious; but I will walk away victorious. With the names in this match I know that is a lofty thing to promise, but that is how confident I am with my abilities and with my ruthless aggression to do whatever is necessary. I know for a fact that I can take on anyone in this match. Take Rex Evans for instance. I have never faced the man, but his name precedes him. He is a former World Champion and a repeat competitor here in The Experts. The man is much more accomplished then I am, but I have shown through my career that I have the ability to put those people and their accomplishments in their place.

You have women like Alexia Frost, a former champion from the late and great VWF; a women who also stepped into The Experts and CWC ring.  She too is more accomplished then me, but accomplishments mean nothing when it comes time to stand toe to toe with a man like me. I don't care about what you have done; I only care about what you are capable of and what I am capable of. Many may claim to have faced men like me, but there are no men like me in this match. I am one of a kind and when it comes to facing people like Rex Evans and Alexia Frost, I am the type of man you need to be to take them down.

Then there are men like AC Thunder; a man who is much like what I used to be. He isn't willing to do what is necessary to get the job done. There are things that he doesn't have the stomach for. Thunder has won his fair share of titles and has competed in one of the greated companies this business has ever seen, the TFWF. Thunder is a true competitor and he is tough as nails, but at the end of the day, if it comes down to the two of us, he will not do what he needs to do to keep me down. Me on the other hand, I will leave him a bloody corpse, in much the way Drake Mosa did, to ensure that I walk away the winner of this match.

You've got others like Maverick Jones, another VWF competitor that will look to step into this match and walk away with the ultimate prize. Maverick is a dangerous opponent to be sure, but this isn't a submissions only match and he isn't a man that has as much fight in him as a man of my caliber. You see, if you want to defeat me, you are going to have to kill me, and that's the bottom line. Men like Maverick will fall back and be a non factor in this match after the first couple of hits he takes from a steel bar. You see, this match is my kind of match. It takes a lot of drive and tenacity to get through. You have to be tough as nails and in some instances, just plain retarded to make it through a match like this, let alone win it. Men like Maverick look up at this ladder and they see the dangers of it, I sit atop this ladder and look down and realize just how much fun I am going to have destroying all of my competitors.

Then you have Leander Apollo, once of the most travelled and accomplished wrestlers in this match. He has competed and won titles at places like the TFWF. He has competed with and against some of the best that this business has to offer. Leander has truly done it all and many would consider him a legend in this business. Legend or not, I will not be deterred from doing what I need to. Leander won't be the first legend I have dismantled and he won't be the last. I have dismantled men like Masaru and Rowyn Starr; I was brought along by one of the biggest legends in this business, Rick Rampage; and many would consider me a legend in my own right. I have been in some of the most grueling and legendary matches to ever be seen in a Phoenix Wrestling ring. This match will be no different. I will rise and shine; I will show the world what I am capable of and when it is all said and done, I will climb this ladder and claim my prize.

The last, but not least, you have Tyler Graves. Tyler is a fierce competitor to be sure. He has faced off against some of the toughest opponents to ever grace a ring. He has stood tall against men like Cobra, Rick Rampage, Jynx, and so many more when he competed in the CWC. He was a constant competitor for the top prize there and everywhere else he went. Mr. Graves is a lot like me though, he belonged in the top tier, but never truly found his place amung the stars. In CWC, he constantly fell short when facing the likes of Cobra and Rampage; but that is where I have changed my stripes. You see, where I couldn't win the big matches before, I have started to win them now. It will only be a matter of time until I finally get my real shot at a title and when I do, I will show the world what I am capable of."

Mason quickly hops down off the ladder, landing firmly on his feet, and begins to walk back towards the cells,"This match is going to be my coming out party. It is time for a new era in wrestling, and I will be the beginning of  that new era. It is time for a changing of the guard and when I win this match, we will be one step closer to the beginning of that change. After I win, I will move on to take on the winner of the True Expert Championship match. When all is said and done, and the dust has settled, the world will know why I am now known as the most dangerous man in wrestling."

[Strike]

May 15, 2018

"I'm going to need you to wake up for this one..."

The piece of paper held carefully on his left hand was a particular piece of writing that he'd read since its arrival at his home in Astoria, New York. His grip around it automatically tightened in his hand as he made his way further into the dim-lit room, his glance shifting from the entirety of the room having its curtains up and almost wide shut with just enough room to let in a spectrum of light to the large bed in which a figure continued to rest in slumber. A man-made slumber that he witnessed within the confines of a wrestling ring with his own two eyes on Easter Sunday. And yet, he couldn't help himself with his greeting as he slowly walked around the large bed and made his way to the chair that was empty right next to the man's bedside.

Myron Napaeae, better known as Leander Apollo to the wrestling world, took one good look at the man who slept far, far too peacefully for someone who was nicknamed "The Morning Star" and whose reputation as a professional wrestler was on the same veins of people such as the Spartans of Greece or the Vikings in Scandinavia...it has been constant, it had been brutal and its tales had expanded across the globe for nearly two decades. But the importance of this visit wasn't just a means to check on the status of the man who took him under his wing in Germany and who prepared him for the harshest winds that the sport of professional wrestling could throw at a young man whose excursion for experience was meant to only last the equivalent of a semester in college while he finished his degree abroad. The figure whose eyes stayed shut, his breathing consistent such as the clock hands moving through each and every passing second projected the image of someone who had serenely accepted their own fate but Leander Apollo knew it all too well that there was something more that met the eye as he took his seat, something far more defiant raging in battle within the very subconscious of his mentor to do something about this practically vegetative state.

The first time that Leander Apollo met one Andreas Lasiewicz in 2009 taught him that much...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 22, 2009

"C'mon, Abel...get up, you American bitch!"

He felt the spit hit him on the side of cheek, the ooze and phlegm mixed within the saliva gradually dripping down as the heat of this entire dingy beer hall converted into a wrestling ringside area intensified as he was stomped on his vertebrae once more, taken down to the mat. His breathing was heavy, the match in front of him still being only his twentieth-sixth of any kind...a learning experience within the heart of Germany, he told himself once or twice. But right now, he was simply focused on his own survival against the burly Austrian that had challenged him and challenged his current record of 25-0 throughout the months since he'd started working in shows all around Germany.

Phoebus Abel, as he was called, was forcefully stood back to his feet and his groin was reminded of the pain it suffered after a low blow caught him while the referee's field of vision was obstructed. A wily-maneuver for the Austrian who had taken advantage and nearly gotten the three count he so desired moments ago. That was probably why the burly man had stood him up, screaming obscenities that Abel couldn't possibly make out in a normal state, let alone at this state of exhaustion. It wasn't long after that he felt himself get backhanded so hard that he stumbled backwards to the roar of some in the crowd and a few shocked reactions from some of the other patrons closest to the squared circle. But it was as Abel's back hit the ropes and he began to bounce back in which he blinked and saw the man in question with his tongue out, his eyes widened and his hands extended outwards as if to celebrate his imminent victory. A victory that man couldn't seize without playing dirty, without violating the rules and getting away with it by the simplicity of a referee that was too oblivious to it all...and yet, that Austrian man stood there, acting as if he owned the world, as if he was above it all...above him.

And for that, Phoebus Abel wanted his blood.

That was when something inside him snapped as he grit his teeth, bounced off the ropes with ferocity and he charged onto the man, his head colliding fiercely with the man's skull.

It wasn't long after that he saw the Austrian's expression change from unbridled, cocky joy to utter shock before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he awkwardly fell to the mat below him. All that Abel could do was just stare him down, watching as the referee frantically moved towards them and checked on the man in question, the rowdy crowd having suddenly come to a quiet as if a symphony commanded to cease its song after its proper crescendo had been reached.

But it wasn't until he saw the spots of crimson hitting the canvas that Phoebus Abel realized he'd drawn blood...pouring down from his own skull and trailing through his face onto the squared circle.

The shock on his own features at that realization was enough to where he couldn't even hear the bell and the declaration of his own victory via a technical knockout. Something to which Andreas Lasiewicz carefully observed from within that rowdy crowd, which came unglued as the announcement was made...and the hint of a smirk appeared on his own face in the process, all as he began to hear a few men in the crowd pounding the apron vicariously, one particular word being shouted by them that rang across this beer hall and eventually became a chant in unison to the bloody man standing tall.

"Unbesiegbar."

Invincible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Heather ended up falling asleep on the couch," Leander continued. Andreas' pregnant wife had not left his side, let alone left their home since the incident took place and since the doctors were able to move Andreas there. She already knew the details of his visit, having explained it over coffee within the hour since his arrival. "Otherwise she'd probably be lying down at your side for this one..."

He blinked, taking in a deep breath and letting himself exhale it out as he brought the letter into the forefront, reading over its contents with his almond shaped green eyes. It had been six years since their last calling, seven years since first seeing the familiar logo across the letter and within it, an invitation to a private hell halfway across the world from which he once used to escape the sleeping man before him and the life in which he once knew.

"This invitation is the same one as the one you saw come into my hands seven years ago..."

The Experts had returned from the dead in order to claim their yearly pound of flesh from those brave enough to step into the harshest prison complex in all of Siberia that was once infamous for playing host to the greatest professional wrestling tournament on the face of the planet. When Leander Apollo's name had been called through for the first time in 2011, he remembered Andreas Lasiewicz's words as the invitation was read and the very reputation of that prison, of its environment and of the competition that made the yearly trek to it:

"You are not ready. Not for that."

The fact that Leander could hear those words in his mind didn't help matters at hand, as Andreas' expression never moved, never changed.

"I need to wake up..." He whispered. "Because this isn't like all those years ago. This isn't me trying to run away from everything that you once taught me to the point where I disassociated myself with you and anything involving the Silver Eagles. This isn't me trying to prove that Leander Apollo could belong in the world stage of professional wrestling without his patriarch at his side..."

The tone on his voice cracked for a moment. A good look at his forearm and Andreas' right forearm, the emblem of a silver eagle still shone brightly within them both. Proof that it had all changed, as he didn't have this one tattoo at that time years ago. Back then, he didn't have anywhere near the confidence or the resume as THE tag team specialist who could also go at it against anyone in singles. The technical wizardry wasn't anywhere near as refined, his love for suplexes was a mere hatchling compared to the fully-grown phoenix it had become.

The Experts tournaments of 2011 and 2012 were good runs that saw Leander Apollo make a name for himself but always, always end up eliminated in the very first singles match within Siberian walls. He had never won a match within that hellish complex in three attempts. He wasn't ready back then, as much as he may have told himself that he was in order to survive.

But 2018 was a completely different story.

"I can finally achieve everything you said I have the potential to do..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 17, 2009

"It was by luck that we saw a particular show in Hamburg prior to heading back up to France. A show where you achieved your twentieth-sixth victory... You know the one, boy."

Myron Napaeae sighed. "Yeah, my head remembers the damn near concussion I gave myself along with the blood pouring out of my skull..."

"And those in attendance will remember that sight for the remainder of their days, boy," Andreas Lasiewicz stated from the other side of the table at the dingy beer hall in which they found themselves eating and drinking, all syllables spoken with the level of authority and experience that a ten-time World champion commanded in each word spoken. "That was the only match I needed to see from you as proof of what you can become one day...that is, if you choose to go that route."

"Route?" Myron asked, not quite realizing what "The Morning Star" was getting at.

It took a moment while grabbing some more food with his fork and chewing through it to where Andreas Lasiewicz finally answered his query. "It is clear that the man who trained you did an excellent job in teaching you the basic points of technical wrestling. It's also clear that you have some sort of combat experience, most likely something that was not taught by one Lyn Dallins. Am I correct to assume that, boy?"

The nod from Myron Napaeae only serves as a means for "The Morning Star" to transition onward into his next point. "You have the instincts and skills of a fighter but you hold those at bay for the monotony of being just another wrestler type. Whether it is your own soft spots or something else impeding it, you don't show those instincts unless you are either pushed...no, not even that. It takes something egregious to even cause you to treat the squared circle and those who oppose you like you are in a fight rather than part of a sport..." Andreas took another sip of his beer, looking Myron right into his eyes as he spoke once again. "There is a darkness deep within you, boy. One that is as bright as the light you carry. Unbalanced and yet, capable of showing its true colors when the cards are down."

...For one, Myron Napaeae never thought Andreas Lasiewicz was the psychiatrist type.

But lo and behold, "The Morning Star" was correct in his assumptions. For much prior to even professional wrestling being his primary interest, Myron Napaeae simply wanted to fight under mixed martial arts rules. His big sister and him were both did make it all the way to purple belts in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Myron's own striking ability had been honed by a former pro wrestling great whose success was found on a catch-style of wrestling. But at the same time, incidents like the ones with the Austrian played a part in why Myron Napaeae never quite went "that far" inside of the squared circle.

The other part? Well...

"I...I have my reasons," was all that he could reply with, before taking a deep breath and looking Andreas Lasiewicz in the eye. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I see something deep within you, Abel." Boldly, Andreas Lasiewicz's eyes met Myron's own and within them, the rookie could see the veteran's years of war seemingly flashing by them. Eyes of pure intensity, a gaze that had seen the best and the worst that this industry could offer and with it, a promise of something else beyond what Napaeae had currently come to see during his experiences as a pro wrestler. "You believe that those two styles shouldn't mesh. Yet, I believe that I can turn you into a man who can control and blend both of them at will."

Myron Napaeae had to blink at that last bit. "Hold on. You, Andreas Lasiewicz, 'The Morning Star' himself...you want to train me?!"

"Do I look like the type of person who stutters, boy?" The sardonic tone wasn't lost as Andreas sipped his Kölsch beer once more. "Unlike any previous students I have had, you already have the basics that I require down to a science. A toast to your teacher, at that. But should you choose to come under my tutelage..."

Andreas Lasiewicz finished the last bit of his beer, a sly, all-knowing grin on his lips as he savored the last bit of his liquor and stared upon the hatchling in front of him.

"By the time that you are done with all of your enemies and you truly reach your potential...I assure you, Phoebus Abel," Andreas Lasiewicz's grin widened. "The world will remember your name."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"But to do that...I may have to very well lose something in the process. It's why I came to see you."

While others faded away from their primes and out of the spotlight since the last tournament in 2012, he went from being considered a prospect to winning whatever accolades he set his mind to...the wars, the opponents that forged him into a better, stronger version of himself...to a beautiful wife who had been his tag team partner in and out of the ring for so many years now, with a daughter that was on her way to their world and with that, the very foundation of a promise he made that he'd come back safe and sound to them.

A promise that meant just as much as fulfilling every bit of potential that his benefactor once saw in him.

But he couldn't do that without the Golden Ticket that would be hanging high in the air and in order to get it, he would have to go through his greatest test yet against a proverbial and quite literal murderer's row of wrestlers who made their own names under The Experts banner:

Alexia, Tyler Graves, Mason Daniels, Maverick Jones, AC Thunder and Rex Evans.

All of them racing up into the skies via a ladder to claim an opportunity that Leander Apollo still remembered quite well from his time with T.F.W.F., the place that allowed for his launching pad into North America. You win that Golden Ticket, you have the chance to use it in order to attain whatever it is you desire the most and with it, it was a gateway into the next big stage of your career. Apollo remembered seeing in person how old man Michael Thunder begin his own career renaissance all those years ago thanks to that shiny Golden Ticket, he remembered well that the Golden Ticket opened up the path that led Sandy Makel to becoming a World champion and one of the "True Experts" in the process and it still stuck out to Leander Apollo in this day that all you needed in professional wrestling was one single window to open up in order to find opportunity.

The important question was whether you could leap through it without any fear, without any hesitation, without trying to think up of all the consequences that the afterward would bring...

To do that, Leander Apollo knew that this couldn't be like the last two years of arriving at Siberia.

"I need you to wake up..." Apollo whispered, this time a far more desperate plea than before as Andreas didn't budge, continuing in his deep sleep. "You've walked through decisions like this one in life, you know what this path might lead into and I...I am still uncertain if I have what it takes to balance those very different sides that you have seen out of me so many times. So please..."

He exhaled once again, blinking while his own hands tightened into fists...

Because living up to his potential perhaps meant undoing everything he's built over the last six years.

Because going back to Siberia meant having to confront his own mortality and with it, the limits to which a man could be pushed.

Because failing in Siberia meant that perhaps he was never worth the adulation, the hard work and all of the memories that Andreas Lasiewicz and so many others allowed him to be a part of.

"...Please wake up..."[/color]



BLOG ENTRY:

I never thought I'd see this place ever again.

Six years ago, the last images I had of this place was being French kissed on top of a ladder by Hannah Rickman before being shoved down to the mat as she retrieved a briefcase with enough money that allowed her to start her own crisis management firm shortly after it was all said and done. Then you add the incident prior to the start of the attempted 2013 tournament and you can see why I thought that The Experts were yet another chapter in professional wrestling where all things must come to an end.

So imagine my surprise when an invitation shows up at my door with that logo from long ago and with it, the memories came flooding back. Because while others might owe an extra stripe or two on their resume for participating in their fair share of Extreme Tournaments, my story is a little bit different...

Coming out of Germany after two years of starting my career, two years of being undefeated...I looked at the 2011 Extreme Tournament as nothing more than business as usual, to add even more victories to the column and to simply just let it be known worldwide that I was as good as everyone in Europe was beginning to say...eventually, as I learned more about what was at stake, I became...enamored with the idea of holding that True Experts Championship...to be put in the same pantheon as names who went on to become legends in this sport. Like everyone else in 2011's tournament, that championship became my goal. But it was once I got through undefeated in the Legacy Plaza rounds in California and once I got to Siberia that I faced the first true tests of my entire career, where I was exposed to how wide and how talented the wrestling world around me was and in both of these tournaments, I was taken down in the elimination stages in the first round by men who have gone on to legendary careers such as M.D.K. and Evan Envi, where wrestlers such as Legacy, Georgie Nickles, Diego de la Vega, Dorling, Michael Thunder, Sandy Makel and Doug E. Fresh taught me directly or inadvertently that I was nothing more than a mere hatchling in a world of titans at that time of my life...and that there was so much more for me to learn in order to reach their level.

My undefeated streak saw itself ended in Siberia...but losing at the hands of M.D.K. for the first time and losing at the hands of the One Ring Circus in the final show of the 2011 tournament, it gave me a renewed purpose and it opened the first door...it led into TFWF, into one of the longest reigning tag team championships anyone's seen in the modern era in any company alongside Jason Proctor, it led to my first singles championship in the TFWF European Championship to what eventually lead me back here today, right to the biggest opportunity presented to me yet...so, to put it bluntly?

Without The Experts, there is no Leander Apollo.

I believe that with every bit of my being.

So it is only fitting that after losing my last match within the Experts banner in a ladder match that an opportunity unlike no other hangs high above the ring and that the only way to reach it is to climb a ladder...but that in order to do it, there are six figures etched into Experts lore that I have to outlast and that I have to incapacitate in order to get the one thing that matters most to the seven of us once that bell rings:

The Golden Ticket.

...I remember it well. Most of you who are familiar with TFWF lore, you know very well the significance of that prize. A single Golden Ticket that is the answer to one's deepest desire, something that you can cash in for the opportunity that you so wish to have and in TFWF, that meant the TFWF World Heavyweight Championship. I remember watching it as a man like Sandy Makel took that Golden Ticket and gambled part of his own life on that squared circle for the opportunity to be called a World champion. I remember when old man Michael Thunder fought Father Time himself and stuck it to Jack Benevolence on behalf of the One Ring Circus by taking that Golden Ticket and cashing it in at the most opportune of times to win the TFWF World Heavyweight Championship and with it, begin a career renaissance across multiple companies that saw him go far longer than any man or woman could have ever predicted him to have done.

That Golden Ticket is another reminder of the past, of the legends that I was so lucky to see go through their primes and into the twilight of their careers. How lucky I was to learn from so many of them and most importantly, how grateful I am for both the good and the bad learned during that time. For six years ago, I was but merely a prospect. But now? I am reaching my prime, having wrestled across the globe over these last six years, building my own resume and becoming one of the more recognized names in professional wrestling.

So as I sit here and look at my opposition for climbing that ladder and retrieving the Golden Ticket, one by one, the names invoke memories of old and new:

Alexia Frost, an old Goddess of days past with the desire to soar high into the skies before crashing down on anyone unlucky enough to fight you. Tyler Graves, who was a guy who made his mark during the CWC era and is looking to prove he's still got it within him. Mason Daniels, a War Hound of years past whose bite hasn't quite lived up to the bark made over the years...a Hound fixated on turning the revived Phoenix Wrestling into his own bloody playground over the past year. Maverick Jones, who is a man that may have had his fair share of nicknames given to him in VWF but chose to bear none...instead, only focusing on what mattered most and that was the squared circle. AC Thunder, a mainstay during my time in TFWF and someone who had found his success throughout the prior years in SCW and SCCW prior to Drake Mosa nearly ending his life. And then, Rex Evans...my old friend, "The Avatar of Brutality," a man who is violence personified and perhaps the man I'm most familiar and most aware of going into this match...probably because there's a similar mindset between us regarding the old guard of The Experts.

Six different names, six different paths that lead us back to the hellish prison in Siberia but all of it under the same purpose of making that one wish come true with that Ticket in hand. It doesn't matter how long you all outside of Mason and Rex been gone from the squared circle, because an event and an environment like the one we are about to go in will force us all to be at our best. But what matters is just how much willpower it is that you all have going into it, folks. How much are you willing to sacrifice for the biggest opportunity that has ever been presented to the seven of us in the entirety of our time spent with The Experts? How much pain can you endure? Because I know my threshold will be pushed to its limits by the six of you. I expect it to happen, I expect to leave this match a physical mess but at the end of the day, I expect myself to be the one at the top of that ladder with that Golden Ticket held high in my hand.

Because I believe I have something none of you six do. And it's something that has pervaded through my entire life, something that has been there ever since the every beginning. This isn't something so simple-minded that applies to being undefeated in that squared circle, it is a way of life!  It's something that has been inside of me all along, a word that has defined my mentality going into every aspect and every challenge that I have ever faced. Because when you look at the facts, I'm not exactly the smartest man in all of professional wrestling - that's an argument for Doug E. Fresh and Chuck Matthews to have amongst one another. I'm not the best athlete on the caliber of so many people who make this pro wrestling thing look effortless...lord knows there's too many of them to name, including a lot of folks on this show. But any of those categories are utterly irrelevant to me, because I know that I've got my flaws and that with my own code of honor, I sometimes can end up being the biggest idiot that can walk this Earth...

But there is one thing that makes me a successful person at what I do and that is...at any time that I am convinced, no matter what situation it is that I find myself in, it's something that defines my mindset, that tells me that "I can do it," no matter how long it takes, no matter how much pain I have to absorb, no matter how much shit I have to eat in order to get to that point!

That mentality is one simple word that I learned during my time in Germany before The Experts came into my life:

Unbesiegbar!

Invincible.

One word. Four syllables. A credo that's been every bit a part of me, as a professional wrestler and as a man! And when I am practically depleted of everything within me by the ladders that will find themselves clashing my body, the falls that I will likely take from high in the air off a ladder to the canvas or even the floor below the ring...no matter how battered, broken and bloodied I am...that one simple thought is going to be enough to carry me forward. It's going to be enough to bring me up the ladder and it is going to be enough to seize the Golden Ticket!

I will pay whatever price it is I have to pay against you six in order to live up to my potential.

Six years ago, I wasn't ready to be a True Expert.

...But that was six years ago.

The moment that I seize that Golden Ticket by any means necessary, I am calling my shot right there and then.

Whether it is Doug E. Fresh or Jack Benevolence...

I am coming for you. And I'm coming for that title of True Expert, I am coming not for the power, not for the gold...but to prove the point that every single bit of potential that you all have seen and feared in the past out of me...that it's now a reality. That the goal that I set for myself all those years ago finally comes to fruition after I thought it was long dead and gone...

I will get that Golden Ticket...and I will come for that championship!

Because I am Leander Apollo...

And I am...

UN-BE-SIEG-BAR!



Andreas Lasiewicz didn't move a single muscle, after all.

His battle with his own demons that kept him from re-entering the world of the living after the man-made coma he was put in within the confines of a wrestling ring were much stronger than even Leander Apollo could have expected. And yet, he knew this coming into the fold at the Lasiewicz household. Once he said his goodbyes to his mentor and to his wife Heather, Leander Apollo took a moment to breathe in the fresh air as he walked his way out of their neighborhood and into the streets, knowing that he could use the walk to decompress.

What he said inside of that home still rang true.

For all the potential in the world, it had still been rare for him to allow himself to tap into that much darker nature that he only conjured against those who wronged him and pushed him over the edge. But the environment within the Siberian prison was enough to where if he didn't allow himself to let go, he would be eaten alive by those prison walls, its very surroundings and with it, the Golden Ticket that guaranteed a means to finally have concrete proof of his true potential would slip through his fingers once again.

It wasn't the easiest decision to make.

But he was going to go back to that night in Germany all those years ago and find that beast deep within him once again. But this time? He would tame it. So that when Andreas Lasiewicz woke up, he could see it just along with the remainder of the world that he lived up to everything and then some.

Phoebus Abel didn't know how to do it.

Myron Napaeae may still fear what it would do to him.

But Leander Apollo? ...He could pull this off.

He is Unbesiegbar, after all!

[T-Bonizzle]

The Evolution and Calling My Shot

"I hadn't thought about it in years. The cold and dark prison. Sometimes I under sell it in my mind. 'It is no big deal. It is just another arena in another place.' But...it is not. It is not just any place, it is The Siberian Prison. I was there just once. Years ago. At the time I was able to somewhat block out the gravity of the situation. At that point I was wrestling 400 days a year, and everything was a blur to me.

But now, I'm a different person. Older, perhaps smarter. A little more grown up? Can you still grow up at 28? I'd like to think so. I don't know. I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life. Returning to The Siberian Prison. What even possessed me to do so? I don't wrestle anymore. I, like most guys, quit when the wrestling bubble burst and all the big companies collapsed. TFWF, CWC, VWF, and yes, The Experts. Leander, Mason, Tyler, AC, Rex, and Alexia...yeah her. That's gonna be weird for me. Especially with Scott around. In the 1910s she left him for me, we got married, had two kids. Of course... Scott also got his hands on a cursed artifact which made him covet more cursed artifacts. It was a whole thing, and he might have caused the end of the world. I guess we'll find that out in a few years.

Wait Maverick, that timeline doesn't exist. It was all in your head. Lexi doesn't even know and you won't blurt it out like an idiot. Okay? Okay. Besides how do you have that conversation during a match? "Uhhh hey, do you remember that alternate life when we are married OH GOD don't hit me with that chair!" I guess I can try to have that conversation before the match. It might even throw her off her game. Or she might slap me with a restraining order. Also Maverick, need I remind you that none of that ever happened! Really.

So we all quit and led mostly non-wrestling lives. I teach right now. The only interaction I've had with wrestling in the last 5 years was that day Thad came to visit to talk about his new wrestling career.

Well that's not entirely true either. Maverick Jones hasn't been in a wrestling ring in over 5 years. But The Masked Maverick has. I know, it isn't a subtle name. I figured I'd blow my cover if I used another name. Can you imagine someone shouting about King Jaguar (the name I wanted to use) and me not responding because it isn't my name? They'd know something was up in a second. But, I put on a mask, changed up my style a little bit, and have been wrestling for Grand Slam Wrestling. It is barely more than a backyard wrestling promotion, I have to let these young guys win on occasion, but it is cool. I knew I couldn't stay away from the ring. At least out of respect no one bothers trying to find the identity of masked wrestlers."

----

Kitt Kaff: Hello and welcome to another edition of Grand Slam Wrestling! We are sold out here in the Bethesda Free High School gymnasium! I'm GSW legend Kitt Kaff, and tonight promises to be a great night. With me as always is the Commissioner of GSW, Mike Farris.

Commish: Right.

Some royalty free punk music begins playing in the gym, and all 89 fans get to their feet.

Kitt Kaff: Ladies and gentlemen, your GSW World Champion...The Masked Maverick!

The Masked Maverick walks out from the boys locker room and heads down to the ring, with the plastic GSW Title Belt on his shoulder. The crowd cheers as he walks up the plastic steps and gets into the ring. Kitt Kaff gets up from his ringside position and gets in the ring to give The Masked Maverick the only microphone. The Masked Maverick bangs it on his thigh a few times to get it working.

Maverick: Hello GSW nation!

The crowd cheers. The Masked Maverick tries to say something else, but the microphone seems to not work again. He shrugs and hands the microphone back.

Maverick: I'll just shout then. Guys in the back, can you hear me?

The guys in the back-row stand up and yell.

Maverick: Great. I have an announcement to make. Kitt, can I have the ring?

Kitt nods his head and rolls out of the ring, returning to his chair at ringside.

Maverick: Right. Nation, this has been such a journey for me. We've had a ton of good times here together. I have been proud to be your undefeated GSW Champion for the last 530 days. I'd like to say I could do it for another 530 days.

YES! YES! YES!

Maverick: I've had some great battles with the guys in the locker room.

"And you've beat them all!" one of the guys in the back-row shouts.

Maverick: I might have. I haven't kept track. Nation, I'm here today to say goodbye.

BOO

Maverick: I know, I know. You know I love you all. But, I've been given this new opportunity. You see The Exper....ience of a lifetime awaits me. I've been given a golden opportunity I can't pass up. So, I'd like to say...thank you.

The fans start clapping.

Maverick: Thank you for watching, thank you for trolling in the same high school gyms we do. Thank you for getting behind me as your champion.

'Thank you, Maverick'

Maverick: So, with all this in mind. As I lay this title in the ring. I'd like to say...to be continued.

Maverick lays down the title in the ring as his royalty free punk music hits. He gives a bow to the crowd and exits.

----

"So, a 4-hour train ride, and a 2-hour terrifying prop plane ride...and then 3-hours by dog sleds...and 15 minutes of walking...and I'll arrive at The Prison" Maverick says to no one in particular. He steps off the plane onto the tarmac and looks up to a sign above the entryway. There are four different languages, three of which Maverick can read...but he eyes gravitate to the English sign. 'Welcom to Novosibirsk'. The 'e' has faded. Maverick takes a breath and heads inside the terminal.

Maverick follows the arrows through the terminal to customs. He arrived at 4am local time, so luckily the line was short. Maverick greets the man behind the counter and lays out his passport.

"What bring you to Russia?" the man says in slightly broken English. Maverick peers at his name tag and reads it.

"Kirill my good friend, I am here to go to The Prison" Maverick explains. Kirill gives him a look.

"You travel to Russia to go to prison?" he asks.

"The Siberian Prison." Maverick says matter-of-factly. Kirill raises an eyebrow.

"Siberia is big place. There are many prisons. All of them more harsh than last" Kirill says.

"Yes, but this one is 4-hours by train, 2-hours by terrifying prop plane, 3-hours by dog sled, and 15-minutes on foot." Maverick explains. Kirill considers this for a moment.

"That's not most terrifying prison in Siberia. That Prison is 10-hour by train, 4-hour by dog sled, and 1-hour by goat" Kirill says. Maverick now considers this.

"Oh...well...then I'll stick with the one I am going to. Thanks." Maverick says.

"Do you have thing to declare?" Kirill asks, flipping through Maverick's passport.

"Declare? Like...a promo? You want me to cut a promo?" Maverick asks back.

"I know not what a promo is. Do you declare?" Kirill asks again. Maverick considers this for a moment.

"To be honest, I'm terrified. I'd never admit it out loud, and certainly not to one of my opponents...but yeah." Maverick says.

"Yes, but do you declare?" Kirill asks impatiently this time.

"I do. I declare that despite this journey, despite my trepidation...when the cell doors close so to speak, and when I enter that ring...I will grab the Golden Ticket. My Golden Ticket."

"Ah, you have golden ticket?" Kirill asks.

"No not yet. That's what I'll get when I win this match. I've just got to go through Leander, Mason, AC, Rex, Tyler, and Lexi...I mean Alexia." Maverick says.

"You declare Alexei?" Kirill asks, not following Maverick's train of thought at all.

"No I said...well I say a lot of things. Some call me crazy, some call me naive, some call me weak. Maybe I am two of those things. Weak though...definitely not. I mean, sometimes I have this thing going on inside my knee, like it feels like there is a bubble under my kneecap...but I'm not weak." Maverick leans against the counter and looks at Kirill. Kirill looks back at him, perhaps searching for something to say.

"Who is Alexei?" Kirill finally asks.

"Alexia." Maverick corrects. "And she's no one. Well, she's someone, and also one of my opponents, but for the purposes of reality she's no one to me. She's an opponent. She's a good opponent, and perhaps one of the top women in the industry. Or was. Here's the thing about all of my opponents. They were something 5 years ago. But they've all moved on in some fashion. I didn't though. I still wrestled, in arenas, and in high school gyms. I know Lexi runs a school now...but running a school isn't the same as competing."

"You said Alexei again." Kirill points out.

"No, I meant Alexia. And that's besides the point. She's an obstacle, but I'm really good at avoiding my problems. Like really good. I can't remember the last time I've paid taxes." Maverick says. Kirill smiles.

"Ah, you are comrade?" Kirill says.

"Maybe? I mean, I used to consider everyone I worked with my friend. But I haven't worked with her in so long, and in fact, I haven't worked with most of these guys, save for the odd Experts event. I've never stepped into the ring with any of them one-on-one. What would happen? I bet if you ask all of them, they'd say they beat me in a one-on-one competition. They'd reduce me to a small guy who can catch a lucky break and get a submission. They'd say things like that. But, they can all have their fantasy one-on-one match-ups. Tyler Graves vs. Maverick Jones? Fine, fantasy book Tyler to win. I'll take reality booking any day, and reality says, in this 7-person ladder match, Maverick Jones wins. I'm the most ring ready out of all the competitors. In a normal place in a normal time, I'd be the 1 to 1 favorite." Maverick pounds his elbow on the counter. Kirill gives him another confused look."

"Tyler is your favorite?" he asks.

"Favorite what? I'm just saying in a normal multi man and woman ladder match, I would win. This is a fantasy one-on-one bout. But...this also isn't a normal match. And I get that. I do. The Siberian Prison is the most fear facility in all of wrestling." Maverick says.

"But is not most feared prison in Siberia" Kirill reminds Maverick.

"You're really killing the mood." Maverick says.

"You are killer? Makes sense." Kirill says.

Maverick stops leaning on the counter and looks around the airport. An impatient line has begun to form behind him. Visitors from various countries all lining up. Some bored, some annoyed, all of them silently judging Maverick...probably. Maverick turns back around.

"Do you wish insurance for visit?" Kirill asks. Maverick thinks about it for a moment.

"No thanks...I don't think that will help..."

----

Back inside the boys locker room Maverick is unlacing his boots. He just made his announcement a few minutes ago, and he still felt the weight of it. Out back in the gym, he could hear Kitt Kaff yelling and the sounds of a body being slammed on the ring.

Vance: So, are we too big for you now?

Maverick looks up, and adjusts his mask slightly. Vance stood in front of him. Vance was a small time veteran of the high school gym circuit. He was okay in the ring, but he never caught on big time because of his plain look. All he had going for him was the deep voice of a black man trapped inside a plain white guy's body.

Maverick: No, I'm grateful for the time I've spent here.

Vance: Are you?

Maverick: Yes?

Vance spits on the ground at his feet. Maverick shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Vance: Done slumming it with us? Done making a mockery of us? You may have the Commissioner fooled, you may have everyone else fooled, but do I look like a fool?

Maverick: Well I mean...sometimes...

Vance: I know who you are. A big time wrestler, a World Champion, a big shot everywhere you've have gone. And so you join GSW, so what, you can beat up on a bunch of kids with 1% the experience and skill you have and crush their spirits?

Maverick: I don't know what you're talking about.

Vance: Yes you do. The Masked Maverick? Maybe everyone else around here is stupid...but I've finally figured out who you are. You're a fraud....Maverick Jones.

Maverick gives out a low whistle.

Vance: Maverick Jones. I've seen you around. Top Championships in every promotion you've been in. Multi-time Viking Federation Champion...including the VWF Championship. Victories over high profile names like Jonny Cedrone, Black Death, Rick Rampage, Jack Benevolence, and Doug E. Fresh. You're some kind of bigshot with all those wins and accolades right?

Maverick: No that's not...

Vance: And now you waltz into GSW. A place which is a stepping stone for young guys who weren't given a shot in a big promotion at age 17 like you were. And you crush them, victory after victory, and you take their top title, that plastic garbage you left in the ring tonight, and you hold it hostage for 500 days. So what, you can hold down the next generation of wrestlers? So no one can do what do did at their age? And now you're ready to fuck off to God knows where.

Maverick holds up his hands.

Maverick: Whoa. Language.

Vance smacks Maverick's hands away.

Vance: Don't put your hands in my face. This isn't the ring, I don't have to adhere to any rules.

Maverick puts up a hand again, and Vance shoves him backwards. Maverick falls backwards off the bench and hits his head on a locker behind him.

Vance: At least you live up to your reputation. In the ring, you're a good wrestler, everyone knows it. Between the ears though, you're naive, and you're weak.

Maverick hops back up on his feet pulls his mask off and gets right into Vance's face. Vance takes two steps back startled by this, startled by the look in Maverick's eye.

Maverick: I know what they say about me. Back off. I wasn't here to ruin your precious career, or ruin GSW. I wore a mask to hide my identity...just so I could be one of the boys in a small promotion. I've been on the fame train since I was 16. Maybe I just wanted to do the one thing I love without a giant spotlight for a little bit. But you didn't consider that. You're as selfish out of the ring as you are in the ring.

Vance takes another step back as Maverick leans down to grab his mask. He puts it back on just as Commissioner Farris walks in.

Commish: I heard a bang and shouting. You know that we are in a high school right? And that we have rules we must follow if we ever want to have a show here again?

Vance has a slightly guilty look on his face. Maverick steps up to the Commissioner.

Maverick: It's my fault. I leaned back slightly on the bench and fell and hit my head. Vance came to check up on me.

Vance has this bewildered look on his face. The Commissioner considers this.

Commish: Wow. That's very out of character for you. Here I thought I'd have to fire you for starting another fight in the locker room.

Vance just gives a very sheepish and unconvincing smile.

Commish: I'm pretty sure Masked Maverick wouldn't take your shit, so he must be telling the truth.

Maverick: Oy, language.

Commissioner Farris just chuckles and turns to exit the gym, leaving Maverick and Vance alone once again. Vance just stares at Maverick while Maverick packs up his gear.

Maverick: Good thing I'm a fraud right?

Vance just nods his head.

Maverick: I mean, you're the fraud, but that's okay. I didn't want to take away your big fish small pond complex. I'm a nice guy. Do you know why people talk about how naive and weak I am? It isn't because I am those things. But because I don't hold grudges, and I can let things go. I haven't told anyone yet, but I'm going to Siberia.

Vance: The place that the Experts used? I remember seeing that on TV years ago.

Maverick: Yeah. I'm going to Siberia to compete in an Expert's reunion event. Chaos Reigns is what I think they are calling it. I have some opponents announced already. And when they see that I am one of their opponents...I know they will do what you just did. Call me, naive, call me a fraud, and call me weak. Do you know why they do it?

Vance shakes his head.

Maverick: Because they are all those things. Maybe not all of them. But certainly the type of person that looks on me and rattles off a bunch of insults, rattles them off because of their own insecurities. You Vance, are afraid people think you are weak. You're jealous of a guy like me. People who call me weak, are jealous because looks are deceiving. I am what you all want to be.

A range of emotions washes over Vance's face, as if he can't decide whether to be angry, sad, frustrated, or depressed, all at once.

Maverick: Do you know why I came to GSW to wrestle in high school gyms? Because I just wanted to wrestle. That's it. I wrestle because I love it more than anything in the world. And I will wrestle anytime and anywhere. Here is a high school gym...or even The Siberian Prison. Regardless of how I feel, I'll do it. And as far as crushing the careers of these guys...Seth just got a contract offer from the XHF Network as a result of the match he had with me at Red, White, and Blood. I send all my matches with GSW stars to various promotions to see if they are interested in signing one of them. Yes, I even sent the match we had at Rumble in the Jungle last year to a few promoters. No one's failures is because of my presence here.

Vance: You did what? I got a call from a promotion in Ohio...they said they liked my tape. I thought it was a prank.

Maverick shakes his head and heads for the door.

Maverick: You need to learn not to project your insecurities on others. See you around.

Maverick waves and heads out the door...

----

Maverick tears off his scarf as he is lead inside the Siberian Prison Facility.

"15-minute walk? That felt like 2-hours!" Maverick says, to no one in particular. The prison guards are instructed not to speak to the wrestlers. Maverick knew it from the last time he was here. He tried having conversation with the guards, to no avail.

He sort of knew the drill. The guards would lead him to a processing room, where he would be stripped off all his belongings. No cell phone or other electronic devices were permitted. Maverick would be treated like a prisoner. That's just the way The Warden likes it. Rumor is Jack Benevolence owns the facility now. Maverick hadn't really looked into it to see if it was true. Benevolence fancies himself a King or something like that. He doesn't lose often...but he is probably the type to hold grudges. Maverick could be in for a miserable experience if the rumors are true.

The guards aggressively strip down Maverick and begin checking him for contraband. Weapons, drugs, electronics. The weird thing is that Maverick was almost 95% certain he could find the first two things inside the prison proper. Maverick was competing in a ladder match. Not that Maverick wanted or needed those items. It just struck him as odd.

The one thing Maverick knew the guards wouldn't mess with would be his ring gear. That was specifically off-limits as per the rules. Not that Maverick had elaborate ring gear. He brought his boots, knee pads, long crimson and black tights, and a crimson hooded sleeveless shirt. Maverick left his valuables in a safe at his hotel in Novosibrisk. That probably unnerved him more than anything else. The prison facility had a rotary phone...but Maverick doubted it even worked. No, they were all alone deep in the Siberian Wilderness, in the most dangerous place in the world for wrestlers. It doesn't matter what Kirill says.

The guards finished their checks. They didn't have anything to take from Maverick other than his winter outdoor gear. Maverick just brought the clothes he was wearing and his gear, knowing they wouldn't allow him to keep anything else. They began leading him into the facility proper. The entrance way was bright and well lit for the guards. Once you got into the facility, the lights were dim, and some of them didn't work. Frankly, it looks like The Warden, or Benevolence haven't kept up with maintenance at all. The guards lead him through some large imposing corridors until they reach a cell. Maverick's cell. This is where he'd be staying for the duration of this event. He stepped inside and the guards slam the cell doors behind him. All new arrivals are isolated for a bit, so that they can get acclimated to the facility.

Maverick sat down on the slab of stone meant to be his bed. He was just going to try and sleep the experience off. He stretches and lays down on the cold surface, putting his bag with his ring gear under his head for a pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

----

"Maverick...Maverick...wake up." a woman's voice said in a hushed tone. Maverick opened his eyes to see that Lexi was standing over him.

"Wasn't I in prison?" Maverick said to her.

"Huh? Are you having visions of that life again?" she asked. She looks peaks outside the tent flaps.

That life. Right. The life where Maverick is some sort of gladiator combatant in the future. A future that is unlikely to occur, with the end of the world looming.

"Myron is rolling up the other tents. We have to go." Lexi says, as she ducks back outside. Maverick is left wondering who Myron is.

Maverick crawls out of his tent and immediately swats at some bugs.

"Someone unleashed a plague of locusts" said a guy Maverick recognized as Tyler...from his dreams. Also Mason, AC, Rex, Myron, and Lexi were gathering up various items around their makeshift camp. Maverick doesn't remember how he got here.

"What is going on? Where is Jonny, Scott, and Sean?" Maverick asks, yelling over the wind.

"Who are you talking about?" Myron asks, now beginning to take down the tent Maverick just crawled out of.

Maverick was confused. This wasn't right. Why was the men in his dream all of a sudden with him and Alexia? What happened to Scott, Jonny, and Sean? They were some of Maverick's best friends, and they have faced down many of the mystical horrors with him.

"Babe, we have to go." Alexia shouts...but she shouts towards Tyler as opposed to Maverick. Maverick feels crushed for a moment. Mason comes up behind him.

"My friend, we must depart. I fear the war between The Professor and the Deep King is causing this." Mason says and gestures to the locusts buzzing around them.

BANG. Rex grabs a shotgun and begins shooting into the air at the swarming locusts.

"You're just wasting ammunition!" AC yells at him, slinging a pack over his shoulders.

Maverick checks to see if his berettas were in his belt. They were. Just then a cloud blocks the sun. Maverick looks up to realize that a swarm of locusts have formed above them.

"RUN!" Tyler shouts. Everyone begins running, but he trips and the swarm of locusts immediately dive on him. Alexia turns around but Maverick is quicker grabbing her by the arm and dragging her with him.

The six of them continue to run through the jungle for a few frantic minutes. They hop over fallen logs, run through dense bushes, and scare off birds and small mammals aplenty. Finally they come upon a small stream. Mason, who had run out ahead of everyone has them hold up. Finally Alexia tears her arm away from Maverick's grasp.

"You left him!" she screams at him. Maverick felt a weird sense of something at this.

"No, stop, Alexia. He saved us. Tyler did." Rex said to her. Maverick could see that tears were running down her face.

"We'd all be dead if we stayed." AC adds. "He gave us another chance to find the Golden Voucher and end this war. We can get mad at Maverick for not letting you die too, or we can honor his sacrifice and retrieve the Golden Voucher."

"What did you say?" Maverick asked, remembering something from his dream.

"We can honor Tyler's sacrifice by getting the Golden Voucher and wishing for this war to end between The Professor and The Deep King." AC explained further.

"Right, I knew that." Maverick lied. "It was just...in my dream...it felt so real. The 7 of us were in a prison, vying for a Golden Ticket."

"Is this really the time for you to give into your madness?" Rex asks. "Which life seems more real to you. The one where people "fight" inside some stupid ring for the entertainment of the masses...or whatever it is. Or the one in which we are trying to prevent the end of the world at the hands of either The Professor or The Deep King? Because one of those lives sounds far fetched."

"I know. I know." Maverick concedes, although he wasn't sure at the exact moment.

"My friend, I wish we could undo the effects of that book you read." Mason says. He was referring to the book Maverick once read to try and learn the future and prevent the end of the world. Maverick did not learn those secrets. Instead, he saw glimpses of an impossible future of himself and his friends working as modern day gladiators. Except they called it professional wrestling. But, this life wasn't the one Maverick was accustomed to either. Something had gone wrong. Did an artifact change his timeline?

"Hey. Something weird is going on." Maverick voices to the group.

"I agree." Myron says, getting close to the ground.

"Yeah, most of you aren't supposed to be here with me. Or maybe I'm-"

"No, I mean the ground is shaking." Myron says cutting Maverick off.

"We need to run." AC says, pointing to the sky. They look up to see a new cloud of locusts forming.

Maverick looks at his friends, seeing despair on their faces. He felt it too, but not just for the life threatening reasons they were faced with. He walks over to Alexia who is sitting on the ground.

"Come on Lexi, we need to go." Maverick holds out his hand.

"No one calls me that-"

"But me." Maverick cuts her off. For whatever reason this seems to satisfy her and she takes his hand and gets up.

"Why does the name Scott sound familiar?" Alexia asks him.

"Because-" but Maverick can't finish as the ground begins to shake violently beneath them. The ground splits and Alexia tumbles into the crack just out of Maverick's reach. Maverick drops to his knees and looks over the side of the crevice. He can't see anything in the darkness.

"Maverick!" Myron shouts before he is swallowed up by the ground. Rex starts shooting his shotgun in the air at the cloud of locusts. Maverick looks and sees strange creatures leap out from the jungle. They are jaguar like in their movement, but much more monstrous.

Maverick slides to the edge of the crevice Alexia fell into. He looks around.

"No! We must get the Golden Ticket!" AC shouts. Maverick suddenly feels dizzy and falls into the crack. He feels himself plummeting in the darkness, thinking just one thing. Why would he say 'ticket'?

----

Maverick is startled by the sound of his cell door sliding open, making a loud metallic sound as it does so.

"Am I dead?" Maverick asks out loud. He looks around. Right, he's in his cell, inside The Siberian Prison. He wondered if this life was truly better than the alternative right now.

Maverick stumbled out of his cell and into the cell block. He felt a little dizzy but began to walk around anyway. He stumbled until he was leaning on a cell. This cell had an occupant, but they were shrouded in darkness. He looked around, five more cells with occupants. At the end of the cell block, shining like a beacon...a Golden Ticket. Maverick smiles to himself and begins to walk towards it.

"This is where we are, right? Just me and my 6 most favorite people in the world right now, battling for that."

He peers into another cell.

"I've been thinking about what I might say to my opponents, were we given a proper opportunity. What would I say with the seven of us in a ring, microphone in hand. I'd hear about how weak I am, how I will fade into the background. I'd hear about how naive I am, how I'd be tricked into stepping aside. I'd hear about how much of a fool I am for making this journey in the first place."

Maverick walks over to another cell, with a different occupant hidden by the shadows.

"And I'd refute those points. I'd point out that this match is my match to win. And I'd be thinking of good one-liners to put them down with. But, I have realized something. I'm not here for any of them. I'm here for something else."

Maverick moves to another cell and looks at the occupant in the shadows.

"I'm here for Jack Benevolence and Doug E. Fresh. The King and The Professor. I don't know what my opponents dream of doing with the Golden Ticket. I know that there are many possibilities for the winner. I just want one thing."

Maverick moves over to the fifth cell. He examines the competitor inside and then continues.

"I am calling my shot. Maverick Jones is calling his shot. I am taking the Golden Ticket, and I am declaring myself the #1 contender to the Title of True Expert. That's why I am here. That's why I am suffering through these conditions. Once and for all, I am going to take that Golden Ticket, and I will challenge Doug or Jack, whoever is the Champion."

Maverick walks over to the final cell, featuring a female competitor hidden by the shadows.

"Is this the most imaginative thing I could want? No. But it is the most direct. More than anything, I want to be the True Expert. I want to be the standard bearer of wrestling. No one loves it more than I do. I want to change wrestling as we know it. Maverick Jones as the True Expert will be a great moment for wrestling. No longer with the True Expert operate from the shadows. No longer will the True Expert hide behind wealth, or corporate power, or anything like that."

Maverick walks to the end of the cell block. He turns around and faces the cells he walked past.

"I don't know if you are listening. I don't care. Say whatever you need to say to yourselves to convince yourself that you can win. Tell yourselves of the ways in which you are better than me. Be comforted by those. I'm not some naive kid anymore. Tell yourself these things, while you watch me claim the Golden Ticket, and claim the Title of True Expert. Tell yourselves these things."

Maverick turns his back to the cells behind him.

"Tell yourselves these things just as I make my wishes come true."

[AlexiaFrost]

Dublin, Ireland, mid-March
"ALRIGHT MAGGOTS, DO IT AGAIN AND THIS TIME DON'T DISSAPOINT ME!"

Alexia stood outside a wrestling ring, scowling, arms crossed, looking up and in. She hadn't changed much over the years. Her face had gained a maturity that hadn't been there in her early and mid-twenties, but her eyes still lacked crow's feet, and laugh lines hadn't begun to show yet. Her long blonde hair was as platinum as ever, pulled back into a high ponytail and exposing her graceful neck. She was wearing gym gear, a bright blue sports bra and loose black workout pants. Her body was as fit and trim as it'd ever had been. Despite years of not actively wrestling weekly, she was by no means out of shape or out of practice.

Her charges groaned and collected themselves, resuming their positions on the skirt of the ring. One leaned over to her neighbor and whispered, "Coach Frost is in rare form today. What crawled up her cunt and died?"

Alexia walked over behind the young man and hit him in the back of the knee just hard enough to cause him to buckle. He clung to the top rope to keep from falling to the floor below. "I heard that Nolan. You go first." He gave her a look that asked her how she expected him to climb to the top after his knee caved in and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't be a fucking baby, I didn't hit you that hard. Up. NOW!" She eyed him squarely and he sighed, raised himself and got into the ring.

As Nolan made his way to a corner and started to climb Alexia started pacing around the ring, lecturing her handful of students. "You want to fly, you have to learn to take a hit and STILL FLY! A chop to the back of the knee can't stop you, any of you! A lariat to the larynx can't stop you. If you hurt, you fly through it anyway. Being a high flyer isn't the most difficult wrestling style there is, but it is up there with them. You have to be quick, and you have to be willing to throw your body around despite the risks and through whatever pain you might be in! And you have to be able to take care of your opponent while you're flying. You have to be quick on your feet while being quick thinking too. The goal is to hurt them, not kill them after all. Nolan, if you let that make you hesitate today, I am loath to see what you'll do once you start taking bumps for real. Now go!"

Nolan dove and executed a moonsault onto the dummy in the ring. Alexia shouted, "NEXT!" and the drill continued, her students each taking turns preforming moonsaults. They carried on like this, with Alexia shouting technique corrections until each had jumped from all four turn buckles. When they finished Alexia called for a stop while she lectured again. Some sat on the ground or ring edge while others stood. There were nine of them in all, men and women alike of various ages.

"Do any of you know why I make you run the basics so much?"

"Because you enjoy torturing us?"

The group chuckled as Alexia gave him an evil grin, "If I were going to torture you, you'd know it was torture. Trust me. Any other stupid guesses?"

Silence.

"Good answer. I drill you because you need to know them. Body memory is important in wrestling, especially in the air. If you can jump and land, twist and turn your body midair without having to think about, if you can just move it on instinct, that frees up your mind to think about other things. To be able to correct yourself if your opponent isn't position correctly. Or to prepare for a landing if you're coming in too hot. You have to be able to multitask while in the air, and body memory allows you to do it."

She stopped speaking, allowing for her students to take in her words. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again.

"Alright, you guys worked hard today, let's leave it here. Just a few things first before you go. I won't be around for the next two weeks. Tanner will be taking over your days so check with him for that schedule before you leave since he works some night we're usually here. I..."

"Are you going to be gone for the Experts Invitational?" Alexia was interrupted by a young woman with an eager look on her face.

She glared in annoyance and the girl until she shrank back a bit before answering. "Yes Sarah, as I was about to say before you interrupted. I will be gone, traveling for the invitational. Before that my time will be spent at the office making sure my loose ends are settled before heading out. I'll be gone at least a week just traveling to that god forsaken hell hole, but it'll be worth it when I win. So my ducklings, behave for Tanner, don't give him any shit while I'm away. Believe me, I will know. I always know. And I expect to see better landings from all of you, or I will be severely displease." She punctuated her sentence with a warning look that told her students she wasn't fucking around. They all nodded. "Alright, get out of her. I don't wanna see your faces until after I'm back."

The group rose and started to scatter. A few approached her, wished her luck and safe travels. Nolan and Sarah approached her together both looking excited.

"Coach! You're in the golden ticket match, aren't you? What are you going to cash it in for if you win?" Sarah asked her.

Alexia raised an eyebrow and gave her a cool smirk, "You mean when I win, my dear. There isn't an if about it. I will win."

"Yeah, but," Nolan interjected, "You can't really know that. There are six other people in that ring with you. The odds are really stacked against you."

She shot him a look, her words harsh, "If you go into a match with that attitude, you'd never win." Nolan didn't know what to say to this, so she continued. "As it is, the cards all fall in my favor. Yeah, I may be going in blind as far as not really knowing most of them. I know Graves, he's a very good friend after all, so I know what to expect there. I tend to excel in multi-person matches. No, if anything I'd say the cards are stacked very much in my favor."

"Well, you're a high flyer, a ladder match is right up your alley, isn't it?" Sarah pipped in.

Alexia nodded, "Well, yes it is. I have no issues Sacrificing someone from however high I need to. But that's not really what I like about ladder matches."

"Then what is?" the girl asked.

"Why, the brutality of it all, of course. Any chance I get to make someone bleed, or break a limb, I'm there. Ladders make that easy." She answered with a tone that said Sarah should have known what she was going to say. Her students looked completely taken aback, so Alexia sighed and explained. "I am a woman in a very much man's world. I do not like women's only competition, it screams sexism to me, and I'm better than most anyway. I enter matches for a challenge. Now if my opponent happens to be a woman, fine, whatever. However, more often than not I am going up against men. I need to make sure they know who they're fucking with. The harder I am on them the more likely they are to take me seriously, and not underestimate the woman in their midst as men are wont to do. I have to establish my dominance. I am the alpha. Not the alpha female. I am the alpha, period. And they must know that. If crushing an arm in the joint of a ladder gets my message across, so be it. I would win if it were just a straight seven-way match, ladders don't matter much for a victory. But for setting the stage and making a point as to my position? Ladders are a fantastic tool, and I will be using them. I will win and I will stand over them all, and I'll do it simply because I can."

They listened to her intently, she was serious, she wasn't messing with them, and they knew it, but neither knew how to reply to her words. Alexia smiled at them, "Alright, I need to head out now, see you in a few weeks."

She scooped up her bag, throwing it over one shoulder and turned to go. She'd only taken a few steps when Sarah found the words to stop her. "Wait! You didn't tell us what you are going to cash the ticket in for when you win?"

Alexia looked back over her shoulder and grinned at them in a way that made their blood run cold. "Yes, I did. I already told you. Dominance. When I win, I'm taking possession of the prison."

And with that she walked out leaving Sarah and Nolan looking after her speechless.


Some time later in a Siberian Hotel

"Lexi, you can't possibly be serious about going back there!"

Alexia's twin brother Juston stood in the doorway of her hotel room, arms crossed, a pleading look on his face. "What can you possibly be thinking!" It wasn't a question. "Are you out of your mind going back to that place? Especially after you've been out of the ring for several years?"

She ignored him as she scrolled the information on her laptop while sitting on the edge of the bed, reading up on the various statements her opponents have come out with in regards to their match. "Looks to me like I'm the only one who doesn't have some kind of ulterior motive." She says talking more to herself than her brother.

"Lex, what are you even talking about? Are you listening to me?"

"I've been listening to you the entire way here, little brother!" She sighed in annoyance, "I'm already here, I don't know why you're even trying to at this point. You know nothing will stop me."

"Clearly, but I still have to try, if only to say I told you so after they air lift your broken body back here!"

She rolled her eyes. "It's just a ladder match."

"AN EXPERTS LADDER MATCH!"

"A ladder match is a ladder match, it doesn't matter who hosts it. I specialize in it, and I will win. Plain and simple."

"At what cost Alexia?"

She threw her head back and laughed, "At what cost? Juston, you can't be serious!"

He crossed his arms as he stood in front of her. "I am. At what cost will you win this?"

She smiled wickedly as she snapped her computer shut and rose to meet him eye to eye. Juston could see the fire of intensity in his twin's blue eyes and it took every ounce of will he had not to take a step back. Showing Alexia fear was one of the worst things you could do when she was like this.

"I will win this at the cost of my friendship with Tyler Graves. I will throw his body to the mat from the upper most reaches of the ladder if need be. Tyler has fallen to me time and time again, this will be no different.

I will win at the cost of Maverick's sanity. Not that he has much of that let from what I hear.

I will win at the cost of Rex Evans failing to face a past that I hope... oh how much I hope, left him with PTSD of the place, because I plan to make it worse.

I will win at the cost of Mason Mason Daniels, Leander Apollo, AC Thunder, all of who appear to have some kind of need to win.

I will win at the cost of each and every one of their dreams of winning that golden ticket. Because it seems to me they all want this, they all need far, far more than I do.

You want to know what the cost of my winning is? What price I will pay should I fail? That's easy. Absolutely nothing. Nothing. It is as simple as that. I have nothing to prove, no desires of my own I need to show the world. I have, quite literally, nothing to lose. So, I also have nothing holding me back from going all out. I took this match for amusement. I can, there isn't anything stopping me, and it'll be fun. And as for what I seek? All I want in ownership of the prison transferred to me. Not for power. Not to hold it over their heads. Hell, they can use it every month if they want, I really don't care. I will claim it because I can. Because those are the rules of the Golden Ticket, and if there is a system, why not play it to piss someone off? I don't want any title matches, they aren't worth anything to me. I don't want a rematch, or a dream match, or any dozens of other things I could ask for. Why bother with something like that when there isn't anything amusing in it?"

She shrugged, her intensity dropped, and she became mildly more light-hearted. "So, there you have it. I took this match because I can. It costs me nothing to win or lose, and when I win I will demand ownership of the prison, against, because I can."

He stared at her agog, "That's it? That's all?" He threw his hands up into the air and walked out of her room and into the main living quarters that connected their two hotel rooms. "Why am I not surprised? Why am I not even the slightest bit surprised that you're doing this FOR AMUSEMENT!?"

His voice faded out as he reached his own door and slammed it behind him, still grumbling about his sister. She walked to her door and hollered across the room, "WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE TAKING A TOUR OF THE COUNTRY BEFORE GOING HOME!" She waited a moment before smiling at the frustrated yell of rage that came from the other side of her brother's door. Then she went back to her bed and started going over the two bags sitting there. It was a long trip to the prison and she wanted to maker a final check of all her travel gear before she left.

[Geordie]

On a sunny afternoon in Las Vegas, there's an unmistakable buzz in the air. After all, the city's very own Golden Knights are authoring one of the greatest sports stories in decades, and the residents have hung onto their every move. However, they're not Sin City's only success story.

In the much smaller niche of professional wrestling, local boy Ace King has had quite the run of late; not only has he had a long reign as the Extreme Wrestling Corporation's United States Champion, but his wrestling school, King's Court, has seen an influx of new interest in recent months.

Therefore, it's easy to see the smile plastered on his face as he enters the school for another day of work, greeting all students and trainers alike in the name of maintaining positive morale.

After getting through the group, he unlocks the door to his office and steps through, surveying his surroundings intently before sitting down behind his desk, the reinforced walls affording him added privacy.

However, he's hardly comfortable before his phone buzzes. Leaning back to reach into his pocket, Ace pulls out the phone, only to immediately drop it once he reads the screen. His eyes go wide in disbelief, and he gets up to grab a bottle of water, affording a glance at the unlocked phone screen. The message's sender is unknown, but the words ring out loud and clear.

"Coming to town in a couple days. Need your help. I want to compete again."

With a lengthy exhale, Ace sits down in his chair and leans back, picking up his phone and re-reading the screen a couple times to make sure he's seeing the message correctly. Then, a look best described as trepidation crosses his face; he knows what the sender is capable of in the ring, and if there's anywhere he's going to succeed, Las Vegas is the place. However, it's been so long... Can he even help? Or is it a case of being too far gone?

Regardless, Ace picks up the phone; after a slight hesitation, he punches digits into his phone and waits patiently.

"I got your message, Thunder," he says, a hint of concern in his voice. "I'll be waiting."

———

I've always wanted to go to Siberia.

It's a strange thing to hear, I know; it sounds odd coming out of my mouth, trust me. Regardless, it's the absolute truth, and it all boils down to the concept of validation.

For all the things I've experienced within the Experts confines, none have gone down inside the notorious Siberian Prison. In many ways, the cold, decrepit prison walls are a rite of passage for many of the greatest to ever step through the ropes... Names like Nickles, Fresh, Level-One and Tenegra, even if I had to vomit through those last three.

I've tangled with many True Experts in the past, and win or lose, I've always held my own when staring them down. I've been overlooked a great many times in my career, but I've forced opponents to respect my abilities each and every time.

And yet... I was never truly taken seriously.

With multiple appearances in Extreme Tournaments and other Experts events, not to mention laying it all on the line in the name of the Experts during On Hallowed Ground, I had built up something of a profile... But even then, I was never seen as being good enough to be considered a challenger, and that's always bugged me.

Hell, you could even look at this very show; I wasn't originally part of it, as my invitation had apparently gotten lost in the mail... Or maybe I wasn't initially seen as a big enough name to be involved, I don't know. Bottom line: I'm here now, and I'm not about to let this opportunity slip away. I know full well there are six others in the same position I am, but at least they have other things to fall back on.

Me? I'm on borrowed time. My doctor would kill me at the thought of doing this six years after I was left for dead, but the mental damage it would cause me to NOT be here would go far beyond anything physical I could suffer.

Therefore, I take back what I said. See, I don't want to go to the Siberian Prison... I need to go. I NEED to know if I can make good on all the promise and potential I had when I was younger. I NEED to know if I can be the guy others see as being a dominant force in this business.

I NEED TO KNOW... if I have what it takes to become a True Expert.

The Golden Ticket would go a long way toward accomplishing that, and it would go down as the biggest victory of my career... You'd better fucking believe I'd bleed out before even thinking about rolling over.

Hell, I've done it once... Sure, it took me this long to get back into fighting shape afterward, but in my view, if you're not willing to risk EVERYTHING for a shot at being the best, don't bother showing up at all.

My Name Is Thunder... AC Thunder, to be precise... But I'll make sure everyone knows who I am once I climb the ladder and get the Golden Ticket in my hands. Then, and ONLY then, will I have the validation I've long sought.

———

May 2012
TFWF Highlight Night

Beep... Beep... Beep...

The consistent, almost metronome-like beating of the heart rate monitor is the only sound in an otherwise stone-silent room; a team of medical professionals trained to handle anything are at a loss for words, for the carnage that could conceivably come from three men is left as the ruins of one.

"This is really bad," the head doctor laments, rifling through a book to see what exactly he can do in this situation. He knew professional wrestling was a dangerous business, but in the decades he's been practicing, he's never seen anything like this.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

Nurses scurry about, thinking up any possible remedy to try and make things even a little more comfortable; as they do, the patient comes into full focus: It's AC Thunder, the fledgling TFWF competitor... And to put it mildly, he looks like death. After all, Drake Mosa had just done a furious number on him, leaving him the kind of bloodied mess that wouldn't be out of place in a war zone.

Lines are hooked up to him in just about any conceivable fashion; people who say professional wrestling doesn't hurt need only look at this scene to know otherwise. Thunder's chest heaves up and down very feebly, showing there's at least a small sign of life within this fighter. For a guy who'd gone to TFWF primarily to try and convince his former friend Georgie Nickles that being part of that cocksucker Ornery Hillman's One Ring Circus was the worst thing she'd ever done, he couldn't have imagined things going like this.

Sure, TFWF was a destination featuring the world's best competitors, but to be left in a scarlet ocean of his own blood, hacked up and busted open on almost every limb? No, this can't be the end of the story...

Beep... Beep... Beep...

There's a sense of urgency among the doctors and nurses tending to the 26-year-old Canadian; sure, TFWF likely wouldn't see him as anything more than a footnote in its history, but that didn't mean they could just let stand by and let him go. As the doctor prepares himself, he notices something unusual: Thunder's not flat on the bed. They'd been extremely careful with his body when laying him down, so how was this possible? Unless...

"Oh my sweet Jesus," the doctor mutters, doing his best to keep a brave face as he looks down at Thunder's lower back, seeing something clearly out of whack. As he carefully reaches out to touch the back, an audible groan escapes the patient's lips, briefly startling the doctor. However, it's not long before he gently tries to adjust Thunder so he's level; as he does, the young man's eyes slowly open.

"W... Where am I?" he stammers, using just about all the energy he had in reserve before barely mustering an exhale. With Thunder's consciousness drifting, the doctor offers a resigned sigh before gripping the battered wrestler's hand, choking back the words a couple times before finally acknowleding...

"It's over."

———

Six years gone...

Six years where I could have been on top of the world, six years where I could have left little doubt about my legacy in the business, but most importantly, six years of a happy, healthy life...

It was ripped away from me in one fell swoop. It's taken me this long to get back here, and I know I can't get those years back... However, what I can do is take control of what's in front of me. I never appreciated how big a commodity time really was in my younger years, but I sure as hell don't plan to waste a second now, because an opportunity like the Golden Ticket, and potentially an avenue to becoming the True Expert, doesn't come along every day.

Of course, to move forward, I must acknowledge my past.

Sin City was good to me; admittedly, I probably didn't appreciate it as much as I should have... But goddamnit, I made a mark there; I guarantee you nobody thought I could be a Hall of Famer, but I defied logic to make it happen.

It's a shame our paths never crossed, Rex. We were passing ships in the night, doing our damage in different eras of the company... And yet, even with all the brain damage I've incurred, I know more about you than you realize.

See, I have a trainer who's done a lot of things in the business. His best friend? A man you'd be familiar with... Does the name El Pablo ring a bell?

Oh yes, you and Senor Skittles had the measure of each other... Business associates, even. Though I've never fought him, I know enough to understand he's one of the baddest hombres on the planet.

As for you? While I respect your accomplishments as a SCW Global Champion, there's clearly more to you than meets the eye. I'll never question your toughness, but I have to ask: Are you ready for the horrors waiting inside the Siberian Prison?

Sure, you've spent time behind bars... But that may as well be an open meadow compared to what's on the horizon. I'm sure it sounds rich coming from a guy who's never been to Siberia, but here's the thing: For the last six years, my brain has been a chamber of horrors. The doubt, the breakdowns, the self-pity... It took a long time, but I've finally come out the other side. NOTHING can intimidate me.

In many ways, the prison confines will feel like home... Of course, the only road to freedom is to ascend and seize the Golden Ticket. It's the expressway to the top, but for me, it's a road I NEED to travel, and I won't let you stop me.

Had I stuck around Las Vegas longer, we could have made magic, Rex. Instead, I had to see if I could hang in TFWF... Only someone from the same signing class thrived where I couldn't.

Mr. Apollo, the pleasure is all mine.

From the outside, it's easy to see you as the man whose path to the top is paved in gold. After your impressive Extreme Tournament, you were TFWF's hotshot signing, cemented by the year-long Tag Team Championship reign, and Tag championships just about everywhere you competed... It presents a conundrum, because once the doors are locked in the Siberian Prison, you're on your own.

You're as formidable as they come technically, Red Comet... But let me ask you something: Which Apollo will you be in Siberia? Apollo 11, producing an iconic moment to make people remember you for the rest of your life? Maybe Apollo 13, finding triumph through numerous hardships?

OR... Will you be Apollo 1... Where, instead of making an unprecedented mark on the world, you crash and burn?

Admittedly, I'm not much of a spaceman, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see one of those things is not like the others... And the pressure not to flame out has to be agonizing.

It would be really easy to say we're at a similar crossroads in our careers, Leander, but the reality is we're not. You've stayed sharp, fighting all over the world, so you should be peaking just at the right time... But what happens if you lose momentum right before the summit and plummet to earth?

I'm playing with house money, because nobody expects me to win after being out for so long. With no expectations, there's nothing to lose... And when there's nothing to lose, there's everything to gain.

The Golden Ticket would obviously mean everything to me, and I'll stop at NOTHING to get it... Even if it means watching someone as talented as yourself go down with the ship.

———

May 16, 2018
King's Court Wrestling School
Las Vegas, Nevada
10:14 a.m.

"So, let me make sure I've got your story straight..."

Ace King's eyes dart around his office, his frazzled mind shifting between focusing on his students training outside and trying to rationalize what he's heard from the man sitting across from him, none other than AC Thunder, who's got a deathly serious look on his face.

Ever since receiving his text a few days ago, it's evident that Ace has been racking his brain, trying to think of something that could be helpful to the once-proud fighter without straining their relationship too much.

"You haven't wrestled in over six years, right?" he asks, his eyes finally settling in on the younger Thunder, though his tone is pensive, at best.

"Right," Thunder grunts simply.

"And the last time you were in a ring, you were nearly-"

"No need to bring that up," Thunder interjects, bordering on snapping back at his friend. "I've seen the replays more than enough over the years, and the world knows what happened there, so no need to rehash."

"Frankly, I'm surprised you would remember, even all these years later," Ace retorts, his pained expression unmistakable. "Anyway, that happened... And now, not only do you want to come back, you're looking to fight in... a Siberian Prison?"

Awkward silence envelopes the two men; both understand the weight behind those words, though neither is willing to meet the other in the middle.

"And you're leaving in a few days?" Ace asks, still processing the information.

"Right," Thunder answers bluntly, though his gaze averts that of his friend and, more recently, his trainer. However, Ace won't have it.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!?!?!" he bellows, startling Thunder as he leans in, digging his elbows into the solid oak desk, though his expression softens.

"Do you have ANY idea what kind of danger you'd be putting yourself into?" he exhales, putting a hand on his pupil's wrist. "This is just a little different than starting to ride a bike again, man. You wanted an honest opinion, so that's what I'm giving you."

Dejection washes over Thunder's face; any lingering excitement he might have felt before is pretty well gone as he looks up to the ceiling to try and keep himself together.

"I really thought you'd want to help me," he states quietly, still looking up at the ceiling to avoid breaking down in front of his trainer. Sensing the shift in emotion, Ace rises from his chair and walks around his desk to try and comfort him.

"It's not that I don't want to, I hope you know that," Ace begins with a sigh, pausing as the gravity of his words hits home for him, too. "It's just that I'd much rather see you be healthy for a really long time instead of being-"

"What, exactly?" Thunder interjects, his words a little more sharp and confrontational than even he expected. "Crippled? Maimed? Left for dead?"

The venomous response takes Ace aback; he's dumbfounded as he runs his hand through his hair, but at the same time, he hears the fire in his pupil's voice and understands it.

"Pick one," Ace answers calmly. "You have so much to live for, and I'd rather not see you risk losing that opportunity by doing something-"

"THIS WAS MY LIFE!" Thunder shouts directly in Ace's face, his own face getting red as he stands up. "What happened to always betting on yourself, Gambler?"

Ace is left speechless as Thunder rises, a scowl on his face as he bears down on his friend and trainer.

"Look, if you don't want to believe in me, fine," he continues, the veins in his temple starting to bulge. "Wrestling was my baby, Ace, and having it ripped away from me for all these years has been gut wrenching. You, of all people, should know what it's like to lose someth-"

Crack.

Thunder's unable to get the last word out as Ace's open palm connects with his jaw, his face left red from the impact and getting worse. Thunder casually sets his jaw back in place, while Ace's eyes are still wide after he snapped; Thunder had clearly struck a nerve, and the ensuing impact was loud enough for even the students outside to hear, as evidenced by the hush that falls over the building.

"I-I'm so sorry," Ace mumbles as he sullenly settles back in his chair. "I don't know what came over me, but I shouldn't have reacted that way, and I just... I'm sorry."

Unable to find the words, Ace looks down at his EWC United States Championship as he can't look into his friend's eyes.

"I deserved it," Thunder confesses, still massaging his jaw after the slap. "I was wrong to bring that up, so I'm good to call it even if you are."

Ace simply nods at Thunder, who rises from his chair with his head hanging low as he turns to leave the office. However, as his hand is on the doorknob...

"Wait."

Thunder turns around, only to see Ace approaching him, a pair of his training tights in hand.

"I can see how much this means to you," he begins, leading Thunder out the door. "I just hope you don't expect me to go easy."

It takes a few seconds, but Thunder's eyes widen once he realizes what Ace is saying; he immediately goes to the change room to get ready, excited by what's about to happen. Every comeback trail has a start... And it only requires somebody taking a chance.

———

Wrestling is a journey, and no two paths in this business are alike.

Of course, if you're someone like Tyler Graves, that journey's taken you all over the planet multiple times over, occasionally finding the right fit in the same way a broken clock is occasionally right.

I admire the tenacity and respect the hustle, Tyler, I really do; I swear, there are some days where I looked at your schedule and had to figure out how you did it, so I have no idea how your head wasn't spinning in your heyday. Hell, to an outsider, it'd be easy to say you weren't all there by times.

Oh sure, you've had your successes, the CWC World Heavyweight Championship being chief among your career highlights... But that, along with anything any of us have done, will go straight out the window the second you crash into the cold, hard Siberian steel.

You've had to bounce back throughout your career, Tyler, but let me assure you this is a MUCH different ballgame.

I remember you being on the CWC side that fell at On Hallowed Ground, so if I needed any further reason to not give you even a millimetre to work with, there it is. Of course, that kind of motivation's cheap, so instead, I'll spell it out like this: I've quite literally bled in the name of the Experts, and I'm not about to let a mercenary get anywhere close to such a valuable prize.

That Golden Ticket is the avenue to my revival, the culmination of my own journey back from the dead, and a springboard to a life beyond my wildest dreams. I'd say you'll take this over my dead body... But, I've been close to that point and still came back, so I won't sugarcoat it.

Your journey to the top? It dies in Siberia, plain and simple.

With all that said, a journeyman like you should be commended for your dedication to the craft, Tyler. With that said, there's somebody else whose path... Well... I can't say I'm too sure of what's going on.

It's rare that I'm overly puzzled, Maverick, but here we are.

I can't recall ever crossing paths with you, so you'll have to bear with me if you find I'm being short-sighted, but... What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here? I swear I'm not overlooking you in the least, but apart from a run in VWF, I'm really searching for answers here.

Maybe it's a bit ironic for me to do this, but I've always wondered what was in a name. Don't get me wrong, you certainly seem like the kind of guy who's content marching to the beat of his own drum, but is calling yourself Maverick really a good idea?

I mean, Tom Cruise and Sarah Palin have both gone that way at different points in their careers... If those are the examples you want to follow, I suppose nobody can stop you. YOLO... or something.

However, if you're Jonesing for a shot at the Golden Ticket... Well, I'd suggest you try and find a placebo, because it's not happening this time around. Your career's been quiet as of late, but mine? It was very nearly dead, so I will dig deeper than anyone else, because I know how close I came to losing it all for good.

If you still don't think I'm out to make up for lost time? Oh, what a crying shame it will be, for you'll be left the same kind of broken, bloodied mess I was the last time I was in a ring. You seem decent enough, but I can't leave anything to chance.

So take your best shot, Maverick... But just know you're stepping into the Danger Zone, because my mind is locked on a singular target: The Golden Ticket.

———

May 20, 2018
Somewhere along the Trans-Siberian Railway
3:05 a.m.

"Wake up."

If the gruff, broken English of the Kremlin soldier hadn't gotten AC Thunder's attention, the swift steel toe to his ribcage certainly did. Thunder wretches on the cold, hard floor as he gasps for air following the kick; the desolate train station didn't exactly feel like home, but it was a place for him to lay his head, if only for a short time.

The imposing soldier drags the bleary-eyed Thunder to his feet and onto the platform; the Sun has yet to rise on this part of the world, yet soldiers communicate down the line in their native tongue, a language Thunder neither speaks, nor understands enough to read. He doesn't know where he is, but he knows full well where the end of the line is: The Siberian Prison.

"Get in, mudak," the soldier grunts, forcefully throwing Thunder headfirst into a dingy freight car and getting in with him; it's hardly a lap of luxury, but it was to be expected... And in the case of AC Thunder, desired.

It wasn't a mandate this time around, by any means, but from what Thunder had recalled from the final Extreme Tournament held here, all competitors were to experience solitary confinement before they stepped into the ring. Dozens of the world's best wrestlers had done it going back to the days of Siberian Wrestling, so to the now-grizzled and exhausted Thunder, it was a necessary step.

Sure, it would be even better if Drake Mosa were still the prison's Warden, for it would present an opportunity to slay the demon that robbed him of six years of his prime. However, in this business, you can't get everything back at once... And some things, you can never get back.

Instead, Thunder props himself up groggily against the wall of the car as the train slowly begins to move; the antiquated technology delays the expected departure time, but the steam whistle's shrill blast is universal in its intent.

The locomotive gets up to its cruising speed, and Thunder starts to drift off, the pungent smell of coal dust infiltrating his nostrils. Though it's a far cry from the dead of winter, this ride is colder than any Thunder has taken in a long time; maybe it's the reputation setting a precedent, who knows? As he ponders the question, the soldier forcefully drives his boot into his ribcage again, so close to being completely out.

"No sleep," he grunts, smirking as Thunder gasps for air a second time, clutching his ribs once more; though nothing's collapsed yet, he can tell it's not too far away. He slowly gets to a knee, casting a sideways glance in the soldier's direction with a small wince; the rebel spirit that made him a chief figure in the Defiance Reborn stable harkening back to his SCW days is still very much present as his wince turns into a smirk. For his part, the Kremlin soldier, known as Rybarikov based on the badge stitched expertly into his uniform, is unamused by his stowaway's demeanour.

"Mudak," he mutters again, just loud enough for Thunder to hear as he shakes his head in disgust. Settling back into his corner uncomfortably, Thunder looks out the car's miniscule window; the Sun has only just appeared on the horizon, its golden rays at just the right height to shine right in his eyes. Thunder feebly shields his eyes, unable to prevent the light from shining through and blinding him. He curls up tightly in the corner of the car, all while Rybarikov remains stoic, his eyes never deviating from Thunder.

Then, the locomotive takes a harsh left turn away from the Sun and into a mountain range; the Sun and its rays are left in the distance, and Thunder settles himself again, curling up into a ball and allowing the brisk Siberian morning to envelope him. He tries to drift off again, but any time he gets close, a bump in the line seemingly jolts him from his slumber; each passing bump has Thunder thinking back to what Ace said.

Is he jumping in too deep too quickly? Is he rushing himself back, even six years after his last match? Should he be more worried about his own wellbeing?

Before he can think about it too much, he's propelled out of the freight car and onto the cold, hard ground; in the distance, he sees Rybarikov looking out at him with a twisted smirk on his face.

Thunder slowly picks himself up off the ground, checking himself for blood after the hard landing. Once he's all clear, he looks up; in the distance, he can see it: The Siberian Prison.

He has no idea where he is, but he knows exactly why he's here: He's here to reclaim his status as one of the world's finest professional wrestlers, and it won't matter if it's Alexia Frost... Leander Apollo... Mason Daniels... Maverick Jones... Rex Evans... Or even Tyler Graves... Nobody's going to stop him from capturing the illustrious Golden Ticket.

———

False prophets are hilarious to me.

Everybody knows people who fall in this category; they're the people who think way too highly of themselves and their abilities, ultimately putting themselves on a level they're too self-absorbed to sustain.

Looking your way, Mason.

I should probably be careful with my word choice given who runs the Experts right now, but I'll stand by it, and it especially seems to apply to you.

Not unlike Tyler, you forged your own path in the business, taking up your training with a former business partner of mine in Rick Rampage, so I know you'll have a mean streak to rival anybody in this business, let alone in this match.

Of course, if you're anything like big Rick, and the evidence is there based on how you followed Rowyn Starr from place to place... You may not always think about what you say before it comes out, but in the ring, you'll be relentless to a fault... And therein lies your biggest flaw: You've got a one-track mind and you're hellbent on destruction, but what happens if your grand vision gets altered somehow? Will you be able to roll with the punches?

You might be the War Hound, but we're all rabid animals starving for an opportunity to catapult ourselves to a level we couldn't have imagined otherwise.

Pontificate from your Pulpit all you want, Mason, but at the end of the day, don't be disappointed when you realize your big boy words will wind up just like your hands... Empty.

As for me? I've been pretty reliable in terms of doing what I say I'm going to do, and even all these years later, I'm not about to back down now. I've come too far just getting to this point to let anyone stop me now, so as the bodies are strewn all over, War Hound? You'll hear me Cry Havoc... And you'll see me clutching the Golden Ticket, because the competitive fire has never burned brighter within my soul.

I'm sorry, were you wanting to build a snowman, Elsa-- I mean, Alexia?

I could probably make Frozen jokes for an hour, but I'll let it go... Instead, I'll level with you, Frost: Your reputation precedes you in a way nobody else's can in this match. By hook or by crook, you had a long string of gold-plated success... But the one constant with you is your status as one of the coldest, most calculating competitors to ever step in the ring.

Here's the funny thing: The cold never bothered me anyway.

Though my career is considerably shorter than most people my age, thanks to the likes of Doug E. Fresh and M.D.K., I've still faced off with more than enough scheming pricks to know how to handle business should you try anything underhanded.

But what do you care? You're the Goddess, right? Everything just seems to work out in your favour, because it's all about you, and the world needs to fall at your feet immediately, right? Jesus Christ, it's like you're a more plastic version of Hannah Rickman, only 10 times more annoying.

As for your aspirations of capturing the Golden Ticket? Well, they're almost like your tits: Artificial, overinflated, and irreparable when they burst. Yeah, you might stay sharp with your training, but that can't possibly prepare you for the environment you're about to experience.

Mark my words: Siberia is where the so-called Goddess falls from her perch, landing in a world of eternal damnation.

This might be the craziest environment I'll ever compete in, but given where my mind has been these last few years, it's home... And my home will be atop the ladder, the Golden Ticket in my hands.