Super6 Finals - Elimination Chamber for the True Expert Championship

[Alex Smiley]

Main Event - Elimination Chamber for the True Expert Championship
(Word Limit: 3000)
Jack Benevolence vs Robina Hood vs Aidan Collins vs Ace King vs Georgie Nickles vs James Raven vs Michael Thunder

RP Deadline: Sunday, February 23 at 11:59 PM Pacific

[Russ]

Legend

"Mr Thunder, welcome back... a few words if we may?"

Cameras are flashing as Michael Thunder strolls through the arrivals lounge of Hayward Executive Airport, his eyes shielded by dark glasses, a stoic and focused expression on his face. A local Experts reporter is with him every step, microphone in hand, whilst a cameraman is two paces in front, capturing every moment. Thunder offers a gruff nod as the journalist smiles.

Journalist: "Thank you. First off Aidan Collins and James Raven, two men with their own past, two men who are new to you, and two men in their first ever Extreme Tournament. Could they make history this weekend?"

Michael Thunder: "Without a doubt they could make history, everythin' I've seen of them has been impressive. I've said time and time again the Experts stands as a place for people just like Raven and Collins to make their name and carve their legacy. I'm lookin' forward to goin' up against the challenge of a fellow gold-strewn technical master in Collins; and hell, James Raven is in what, four Hall of Fames? He may not be a well-known name in the Experts, but he's clearly got the pedigree to back up makin' it to the final. Thing is, they're forgettin' one thing if they want to make history..."

Journalist: "What's that?"

Thunder smirks.

Michael Thunder: "I'm in my first Extreme Tournament too."

He lowers his sunglasses and winks at the journalist as the group rounds a corner.

Michael Thunder: "Now someone who ain't in their first rodeo is the one and only Rebel Child, and I bet you were about to point out that she and I are teammates. You know what else Nickles and I are? Fuckin' professionals. We've been in this game way too long to think for one second our friendship will get between one of us walkin' outta there the True Expert Champion; we're also too long in the tooth to let the outcome of the Chamber affect us goin' forward. Nickles, if you're watchin' this, ya know I respect the hell out of you and I couldn't be more pleased to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you. It will be an absolute pleasure to take on a former Extreme Tournament winner and True Expert... let's give 'em hell kid..."

Thunder nods to the camera as the group rounds another corner, and the journalist brings the microphone back to himself.

Journalist: "Mr. Thunder, there's been a lot of hype surrounding Ace King, a man who held Jack Benevolence to a draw..."

Michael Thunder: "Absolutely there has, and it's very well deserved to my mind. A tough son of a bitch who also defeated two former True Experts in Level-One and Doug E Fresh. Nothin' gives me more delight than seein' the next big name come through these tournaments, and I guaran-fuckin'-tee ya Ace King is the next big name on the scene. Hell, you can bet on that. He's only been in this sport a decade or so and yet the brain on the kid, the plannin', the execution; it's a thing of beauty. Without a doubt he's gonna be one of the toughest battles in that Chamber, and honestly it wouldn't shock me to see him crowned the winner... but he's gonna have to come through some gnarly fuckin' opponents... and he's gonna have to come through me."

Journalist: "And have you got any words for Robina Hood, especially after she famously sided with the Eternal Circle?"

Michael Thunder: "Oh boy that she did, and showed herself to be one of the most vicious and violent wrestlers out there. Robina, listen up. You've proven yourself a hell of a talent throughout this tournament, but above all you've chosen your side, you've made your bed, and now comes the time to fuckin' lay in it. I've seen countless like you over the years, talented, obsessed with inflictin' pain and misery on their opponents... the only cure is to put those assholes in their place. And if it takes a former two-time TFWF Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion, the joint longest-reignin' SCW Global Champion in history, a former King of the Deathmatches, A HALL OF FAMER, A LEGEND OF THIS SPORT, AND THE NEXT TRUE EXPERT CHAMPION TO DO JUST THAT THEN ROBINA, SO... BE... IT!"

He points down the camera lens, and a few of the other travellers in the airport stop and stare as Thunder gets more and more riled up. Finally The Living Legend calms himself and continues walking as the journalist half-jogs to keep up.

Journalist: "And finally we come to Jack Be—"

Michael Thunder: "It's been a pleasure to talk to ya kid, I've gotta get goin' now..."

Thunders offers a half-smile before powering on ahead, leaving the reporting crew bewildered as they stare after him...

* * * * *

We come to a downbeat bar in Hayward as The Living Legend approaches the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. Thunder takes a seat on one of the bar stools next to a figure bent over nursing their drink, and he takes a deep breath, giving the room a brief look-over. As the bartender approaches Thunder gestures towards the man by his side, and offers a half-smile.

Michael Thunder: "Two of whatever he's havin'..."

The bartender glances down at a half-empty glass, before heading off. The figure to Thunder's right slowly turns his head, a solemn and stoic look on his face as he looks into his old friend's eyes. The years have not been kind to The Warden of Siberia, much as they've aged The Living Legend...

Michael Thunder: "I was surprised to hear from you old pal, how've you been keepin'?"

The Warden: "Lets dispense with the small talk Michael, we've not spoken since The Experts fell, you couldn't give any less of a shit about how my wife and kids are than I could about whether you've found anybody you love half as much as you love wrestling. I had no intentions of this being a long conversation."

As the drinks arrive Thunder slides one over to The Warden and nods for him to continue.

The Warden: "This war you're waging, it's never going to end. For years you were in control, then they took it from you and now they rule the wrestling world. What use is fighting to take it back from them? You'll spend the rest of your days watching your back, waiting for the next ambush. The Experts' glory days are over Michael... leave it to the damn hyenas to fight over the scraps..."

Michael Thunder: "You know as well as I do I can't do that... you said it yourself, nothing makes me feel alive like this sport does. I'm 53 years old for fuck's sake, my in-ring days are comin' to an end... but the legacy... trainin' the future... providin' somewhere for the best to be the best, to test themselves against wrestlers they'll never come up against anyplace else... that's all I live for. That's all that keeps me goin' day after day. I can't let that slide into their hands permanently... I can't."

The Warden: "And the True Expert Championship... winning The Extreme Tournament...?"

Thunder stares down at the bar top, looking like a schoolboy caught doing something wrong. For all the bravado about legacy and defending The Experts, there was always a place in his heart that craved that glory, that longed for the ultimate accolade.

Michael Thunder: "Truth is I want it so fuckin' bad it hurts..."

A sigh emanates from the Warden's mouth, almost like a relief from hearing what he's known all along.

The Warden: "Michael, I don't know what you wanted me to say to you tonight. To justify your actions, to be another old man egging you on? I won't do it. This is your personal war. If it puts you at peace to wrestle control of the Experts back again, if it makes a broken old warrior smile again to hold the True Expert Championship, then I wish you the best of luck old friend. Though in truth Michael Thunder, I daresay you are truly gone. Consumed by the sport that gave you everything."

The Warden finishes his drink and slams the glass down on the bar top, before he walks straight out of the building, leaving Thunder sat where he is. For a few seconds The Living Legend stares dead ahead into the middle distance. Maybe he was all-consumed by the world of professional wrestling, maybe it was all he had ever had or ever would love. But he had a mission... a purpose. In a few short hours the doors of the Elimination Chamber would lock behind him, and history would forever judge him on what happened inside.

* * * * *

"This one's just for you Jack... man to man..."

Our final scene opens in Michael Thunder's hotel room in Hayward, California; the curtains are drawn, the night has long since set in, and the Living Legend is sat in an armchair working his way through a glass of Jack Daniels. His icy blue eyes are fixed on the camera as he sends his message...

Michael Thunder: "You ask anyone who followed our sport in the eighties and nineties... you ask 'em who the best wrestler in the world was, and there's only ever one name that leaves their lips... Michael Thunder. Fast forward all these years, and you ask the fans of today who's the best? Who dominates every ring they're in? Who's the greatest of their generation? There's only one name they'll tell ya... Jack fuckin' Benevolence. And you know the worst part? The part that makes me sick to my fuckin' stomach?! It's that they're absolutely damn right."

The words hang for a few seconds as a look spreads over Thunder's face, one of disgust at what he's said, but also a stoic look, sticking to his guns, accepting the realisation.

Michael Thunder: "I've known you for almost a decade now, and I can't deny it anymore. You might be a damn snake, you might manufacture half your opportunities with dodgy deals and shady transactions, but truth is when those opportunities come ya take 'em with both hands and make 'em count. Who else has defended the True Expert Championship against some of the world's best for over 400 days? Who else has been in three Extreme Tournament finals? I hate you to the core of my very bein', you're everythin' that's wrong with professional wrestlin', I'd love nothin' more than to snap your arm in two and end your god-damned career in that Chamber... but fuck it Jack Benevolence you're the best wrestler in the world..."

Thunder spits on the floor, his face wracked with pain at the mere notion of declaring Benevolence the best. He throws the rest of his glass of whiskey back and goes to pour himself another, before deciding against it, and instead drinking straight from the bottle.

Michael Thunder: "You and I have gone toe-to-toe countless times over the years. 'Far as I remember it, we're pretty evenly matched. I took a couple of titles off of you, you took a couple of titles off of me, we put on some of the greatest technical masterpieces ever seen. Benevolence and Thunder, a storied past, two men destined for the Hall of Fame, the greatest wrestlers of their generations. Ain't that a beautiful thing? 'Cept of course here I am... an old man... a has-been... tryin'a make it big in your time. What right do I have to be here? How can I show my face round here, harpin' on about it bein' the pinnacle show for new folks showin' their talent, and yet I'm here determined to beat the best and take some gold for myself. I'm a hypocrite, right Jack?"

He snarls as he glugs back another burning mouthful of Tenesee's best.

Michael Thunder: "See the problem I've always had Jack is I take things too damn personally. The fans boo me one night, and I spend the week wonderin' what the fuck I did wrong, desperate to make amends. I don't win the World Championship when I get the opportunity in the TFWF, and ten minutes later I'm signed up with the One Ring Circus takin' every chance I can get to weasel my way to the top. I see The Experts in the hands of scum-sucking bottom feeders, and the True Expert Championship back round the waist of one of the most despicable sons of bitches in wrestlin' history AND I JUST CANT HELP MYSELF GETTIN' INVOLVED, CAN I?!"

The Living Legend rises from his chair, staring into the camera, his face flushed and veins bulging.

Michael Thunder: "What you've done helpin' those fuckers into power, you don't even fuckin' know. You see a chance to score yourself the gold again, you see a chance to push the Jack Benevolence agenda, you've got that two-bit fuckin' sidekick Russell White whisperin' in your ear, and you'll do whatever without thinkin' about it. Well tough-fuckin'-luck son 'cause you've won these tournaments before, you've held that gold before, that means The Experts' successes are your successes, and it's failures are your failures. You'rethe king of the world again, you've got your title – but at what cost? What's the point of bein' True Expert when The Experts is little more than Legion's shitty project at the expense of years of history and legacy. You played a role in that, you helped him to power, not Nickles, not Collins, not Raven, not King, not Hood, just you Jack. That's why you're gettin' this special message... that's why I'll stop at nothin' to ensure you barely even walk out of that Chamber, let alone leave it with the True Expert Championship."

Thunder breathes deeply, running a hand through his greying hair as he does so.

Michael Thunder: "Over my thirty years in this sport I've learnt that every man and woman who steps into that ring eventually reaps what they sow, and you've been sowin' for far too long with nobody to haul you up on it. Jack you're the best damn wrestler in the world today, week on week, month on month, year on year, decade on decade, no fuckin' soul in this game can come close to matchin' your record, nobody else can even attempt to pretend to have the talent you do. But the Elimination Chamber ain't a week... or a month... or a year. It's minutes. When that door locks, when those pods open, when there's seven of us in there goin' hell of leather I fuckin' swear to you son your record means jack shit. When we're starin' across the ring at one another it might as well be 1992 'cause I am more fired up than I've ever been before, 'cause I am fuckin' ready to TEAR YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU REAP WHAT YOU'VE SOWN JACK BENEVOLENCE! FOR ONCE I'M GONNA BE THE BEST IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW... FOR ONCE YOU'RE GONNA GET EXACTLY WHAT YOU DESERVE... FOR ONE FUCKIN' TIME YOU'RE GONNA BE THUNDERSTRUCK YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The Living Legend's eyes are bulging, his teeth gritted, his entire body shaking with rage. He leans back against the wall and steadies himself, catching his breath. Through it all his gaze never leaves the camera.

Michael Thunder: "My time in this sport is almost done, my time as a wrestler is almost done, the legacy of Michael Thunder is almost done. I spent years cultivatin' The Experts, I ain't ever been prouder of somethin' my whole life, and it's torn me in two watchin' it fall apart in the hands of The Eternal Circle, and you bastard I hold you responsible for that. One day you're gonna look back at this and regret it all. If I don't succeed in that Chamber, if the Circus doesn't succeed against the Eternal Circle, you're gonna find yourself in your 50s teachin' some young punk the way of the world, and you're gonna tell 'em you're Jack Benevolence, True Expert Champion, and ya know what they're gonna say?"

He sneers.

Michael Thunder: "'True Expert? Who gives a fuck about that?'. Well I give a fuck about it now, and even if it ends my career in that Chamber, even if it fuckin' kills me Jack, I will give everythin' I've ever had and more to tear that Championship outta your grasp. And just to teach you some fuckin' humility maybe I'll make you tap the fuck out and hand that title over. Ya see walkin' out of that Elimination Chamber the winner of the Extreme Tournament, the new True Expert Champion, well Jack that'd just be the icin' on the cake. But my goal is salvaging my Experts... my goal is riddin' this place of the cockroaches that infest and destroy it... MY FUCKIN' GOAL IS BREAKIN' YOU APART AND RIPPIN' THAT TITLE RIGHT OUTTA YOUR GREASY FUCKIN' HANDS BENEVOLENCE."

He leans both forearms on the back of the chair and hangs his head, almost exhausted with his own words, taking deep labouring breaths. After a few seconds Thunder looks up and takes a swig of whiskey, swinging himself round and slumping into the chair again. He holds his head in his hands, his grey hair falling over his face briefly, before looking up and sweeping it away. The Living Legend takes one final deep breath and fixes the camera with his icy gaze.

"When the Chamber door locks shut, when the bell rings, when there's no fuckin' contracts, or lawyers, or security guards to protect you, it's gonna dawn on ya Jack. You're locked inside the Elimination Chamber with your worst nightmare... you might be the best wrestler in the world, the greatest talent of his generation... but when it comes down to it you're not some kinda demigod, you're just a man... a man who's locked inside the Chamber... with a legend."

Fin.

[Aidan Collins]

If he had the strength, Aidan Collins would rise from his bed on this rainy February afternoon and head to the sanctuary of his personal gym. After all, in order to emerge from the Experts Elimination Chamber victorious in late February, his body would need to be in its absolutely finest condition. In a field as contested as the Experts Tournament finale, any sort of improvement in performance could be the difference between triumph and heartbreak.

Unfortunately for the self-proclaimed King Infinity, he simply does not have the strength to rise up at the moment. A back injury sustained at OCW Throwback a few weeks ago has left him virtually bed-ridden, restricted to an upright position on the mattress he shares nightly with his wife, Seras. A snug crossface applied by Vincent Langston was enough to reaggravate an old injury Aidan experienced in his WGWF days, when former foe Dante Anglais suplexed him back first onto the side of a ladder.

Earlier this week, a doctor made a house visit to assess Aidan's condition. Even though it would require an MRI to confirm, it was speculated that Aidan had bone spurs in his upper spine, for which the doctor recommended an immediate foraminotomy. Unfortunately, the recovery window for that procedure would effectively rule Aidan out of the Experts Tournament Finale.

Somewhat fortuitously for Aidan's chances at competing, there are a litany of nonsurgical options available for those afflicted with his condition. On the spot, the doctor gave Aidan a perineural steroid injection and prescribed anti-inflammatories. He even referred a specialist to administer acupuncture...It's just that those treatments have had little effect on the pain Aidan has been experiencing.

Typically for someone in Aidan's situation, these nonsurgical options would be performed in conjunction with a pharmaceutical prescription for painkillers. When Aidan broached the possibility of a short-term Vicodin prescription, though, it was effectively shot down.

"I could not, in good faith, prescribe opioids to someone with a well-known history of narcotic abuse," the doctor told Aidan over the brim of his clipboard. "And plus, we both know that you're able to get them if you want," he followed up with cynical repentance.

The doctor's abrasiveness would have irked Aidan, if he wasn't absolutely correct...All it took was a call to a shady journeyman in the local indie wrestling scene and a quick Venmo transfer to have a bottle of Percocet delivered to Aidan's house while Seras Collins was across state lines in Tennessee, wrestling for ECWF.

Now, Aidan lays in bed with his back throbbing, reading the label of the prescription bottle that has the actual patient's name scratched out. Even though the writing displays typical elements of a pill bottle—the medication name, dosage information, warnings of this being a 'highly addictive substance'—Aidan reads the words as though he'll find an individualized inscription giving him permission to numb the fire rising through his spine.

However, the label does not say "IT'S OKAY TO TAKE THESE AIDAN. YOU KNOW BETTER NOW. THESE ARE WELL WORTH THE RISK. YOU CAN BE THE TRUE EXPERT." If Aidan decides to take some pills, it will be his decision alone, and it will be in spite of his doctor's objection, in spite of his family's wishes, and in spite of his own better judgment.

When he started taking painkillers for the first time 9 years ago, he was much in the same scenario that he is in today. Then, it was the WGWF World Title he was chasing rather than the title of True Expert, but he took the pills to remove the competitive disadvantage of injury. The pills certainly worked as intended, as Aidan went from injured to WGWF Champion in a matter of a month.

The problem was that the injury eventually subsided, but Aidan did not stop taking pills. In fact, they transformed from the tool Aidan used to kill his pain and become a champion to a focal point of his life that cost him the belt he worked so hard to obtain. He went rogue from professional wrestling, holed himself up inside his house, and took pills until he overdosed. If not discovered by his best friend, Drake Komodo, he would have died on the spot.

The harshest reality for Aidan to come to grips with, though, is that he wouldn't be taking the pills just to numb his pain.

Despite the highs of wrestling, sex, and love, nothing in Aidan's life has been able to top the feeling of flying close to the sun on narcotics. It's a feeling that he's never been able to shake. 9 long years and he's thought about painkillers nearly every day.

Opioids are the key that releases him from a self-imposed prison of desire, self-doubt, and regret. When he's pilled up and zoned out, Aidan is able to truly let things go and cruise on a cloud of comfort. A high Aidan Collins isn't concerned about his legacy, nor does he obsess about his past mistakes. A high Aidan Collins just basks in the afterglow of feeling good.

Aidan's focus on the bottle is broken when he hears his phone vibrating on his nightstand. He looks over to see that he has an incoming call from 'Jimmy Raven '.

Aidan thinks about answering, but eventually decides to let the call go to his message inbox. Even though Raven has been Aidan's ally for well over a decade, he can't afford to let James know his current condition. It would just be too big of a risk heading into the Elimination Chamber. Raven is a great friend, but he's also a phenomenal competitor Aidan will have to defeat to become True Expert. There is simply no way Aidan can defeat The People's G.O.A.T. if Raven knows about Aidan's back...and most of all, Aidan cannot bring himself to lie on the phone and pretend everything is fine.

When Aidan's phone stops vibrating, he pops the pill bottle's cap open and retrieves a single pill. After putting the rest of the pills away in his nightstand's shelf, he looks at the sole Percocet with a sense of longing.

Aidan holds the pill between his thumb and ring finger, the chalky texture chafing his fingertips. Even though he can recall the metallic bitterness of its taste, his mouth waters. A warmness creeps up his neck, making his hairs stand on end as he reminisces how opioids used to make him feel. His blood rushes; his heart thumps; and his vision tunnels.

Just as he is about to succumb to the desire to take the pill, there's a knock at the door.

Aidan quickly hides the pill in the pocket of the shorts he is wearing. "Yes?" he calls out.

Aidan's bedroom door swings open, and his son, Brendan, walks inside carrying a breakfast plate on a tray. Seras Collins follows the boy, keeping an eye on him as he walks while balancing the food. Aidan does his best to conceal the fact that he's on the verge of relapsing.

"Got breakfast for you, dad!" Brendan exclaims as he hands the tray to Aidan.

"Wow, bud! Thanks!" replies Aidan, impressed by the boy's thoughtfulness.

Aidan reaches over, wincing slightly as he takes the tray from his son's grip and places it on his lap. Brendan seems proud of himself, as he grins from ear to ear.

"Can I play Fortnite?" Brendan asks his father after a beat, a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he requests to play a game that his mother has forbidden him from playing.

Aidan knows that he's being buttered up, but he can't fault the child's thought process.

"Sure thing, sport," Aidan confirms.

Aidan can barely get the words out of his mouth before Brendan runs out of the bedroom towards his gaming system.

Seras, who watched the interaction, steps forward with a smirk.

"You better hope he can keep this a secret. The last time you let him play that game, Alex wasn't very happy about it," Seras reminds Aidan, referring to his ex.

"Yeah, I know," Aidan acknowledges. "It was a nice gesture for him to bring me breakfast, though. Figured he deserved the reward."

"But I'm the one who put things together!" Seras protests, pouting with her hands on her hips.

"Well, yeah... I think Alex would be even angrier if we had Brendan running the oven!" Aidan says with a smirk.

"That's true," Seras concedes. She steps forward and looks Aidan up and down with sympathy. "How's the back?" she asks Aidan with a raised brow.

"Better," Aidan says through his teeth. It's a lie, but he doesn't want to burden her with thoughts about his health.

"Good." Seras leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. "Let me know if you need anything. I'm going to go make sure Brendan behaves himself."

Aidan nods and Seras heads out of the room, closing the door behind herself.

Aidan sighs looking at the tray of food. It's a firm reminder that he has a support system behind him that will give him support when he doesn't have the spine to support himself.

If he had the strength, Aidan would be able to put his family ahead of wrestling. He would quit the business, stop caring about chasing titles and achievements. He'd spend his time raising his son and supporting his wife. It would be the honorable way to leave an industry that has continually threatened his long-term health.

If he had the strength, there would be no reason to fall into the same traps and take the same drugs that nearly ended his life. He would be able to take pride in the fact that he emerged victorious from the Experts Tournament Group Stage without needing the gratification of competing in the tournament finale.

If he had the strength.



When I committed to this year's Extreme Tournament, I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into. I knew I was going to be facing some of the best talent in the world... and that's something that was true and something that will continue to be true. Sewaside, Mark Mania, and Rex Evans all gave me a hell of a fight...and each person that I will see inside the Elimination Chamber is going to give me a hell of a fight as well.

Frankly, though, I'm not very concerned about Michael Thunder and his old man porno mustache; Georgie Nickles, her nickle-sized titties, and her continual sexual harassment on social media; Ace King and his horrible gambling puns that give us all the craps; or Robina Hood and the fact that she dresses like a rejected Mortal Kombat character.

I know how matches like this play out and I know that Jack Benevolence, the current True Experts Champion, is going to be the person to beat in this match. After all, it's his ability to thrive in big situations that got him the belt in the first place. Whoever wins this match is going to have to go through Jack, plain and simple.

If you only listened to Jack Benevolence's words, you could be fooled into thinking that he's supremely confident, arrogant even. On the contrary, the fact of the matter is that Jack Benevolence is deathly scared to lose his belt.

When you're a champion, you think that losing that belt is going to be catastrophic. You imagine that the prestige and acclaim you've received will evaporate at the moment someone displaces you. You're in a bubble of your own success and you can't differentiate between the recognition you're receiving as an individual and the recognition you're receiving as a figurehead. Trust me, I've been there and I've had those thoughts.

The thing is, when you're in a bubble, your perception of the outside world is warped. No matter what happens in the Elimination Chamber people are still going to revere Jack Benevolence. Despite the underhandedness, the manipulation, the fact that he's a giant douche... there's no denying that he's a great wrestler. You could plug him into any federation's main event, against their top guy, and he's going to come away with a victory almost all of the time. That's not something that will go away, regardless of the Elimination Chamber's outcome.

Part of the reason I can identify Jack's fear is because I'm also fearful heading into the Experts Tournament Finale. While Jack is scared for superficial reasons, though, I'm scared for entirely different reasons. His battle with the way the world perceives him is shallow in nature, while I feel like I'm being put in a situation where I might do some heinous shit to come away as THE True Expert. It legitimately terrifies me to think about what I'll do to win this match.

To put it plainly, I have no impulse control. I have a long track record of hurting people to get myself ahead. In the XWF, Andrew Gibson and I kidnapped Jem Williams and Steve Jason's loved ones in a move that propelled me into the XWF's main event scene...and a few months later, I put Andrew Gibson through a car window in a move that ended his career. Thanks for the help, right?

In ECWF, I hit Summer Johnson—an acting general manager—with a blunt object that put her in the hospital for months...and it would have probably landed me in prison if I didn't manipulate her emotionally, cajoling her into an abusive relationship where I would bring her to the ring on a leash...and when I was done with her, I forced her out of my life without a single shred of compassion.

These are only two examples of people who trusted me, that I hurt without any consideration of decency. There are plenty more people I've victimized if you dig through my past.

And let me be clear, I'm not saying these things because I think I'm sort of tough guy for hurting other people. It's quite the contrary. I have many regrets about the path my career has taken and how I've treated other people. Shit, I've even been disgusted in the moment of doing some of these things...

I ended up as top champion in both of those companies, so I guess the ends justified the means...but all these years later, all I'm left with are the scars of memories that remind me of what I've done and who I've hurt.

I wish I could look at my career and say that I did everything on the up and up. That I did things the right way. That I played by the rules and fought with honor...but I can't. I've taken every shortcut. I've belittled anyone who's stepped in my way. I've ruined careers, I've broken hearts, and I've only done the right thing when I've gotten something out of it.

Doctors say CTE could lead to diminished impulse control so maybe it's just that I've been hit in the head too many times the last 16 years... Or maybe I'm just a piece of garbage...Whatever it is, I know my track record and I'd be a fool to believe that things will be different this time around. If I get the opportunity to bend the rules, target an opponent's weakness, or flat out injure someone, the odds are that I'm going to do the wrong thing to put myself ahead.

Winning this match would be the top achievement of my career. If there has ever been the opportunity to something heinous to get myself ahead, this is the match. This is the best opportunity I've ever received. This is the opportunity to be recognized as an unquestionable great, a True Expert.

At this point, you may have noticed that I have not mentioned the person in this match who I consider to be a member of my Tribe, James Raven. He is exactly the reason why I'm so scared heading into this match.

It's not because I'm scared of James hurting me—and hey, that could happen. He's a great athlete with a powerful move set. A Raven's Flight is a one-way ticket to Concussion City and he has a whole litany of choke submissions that can put an opponent to sleep...but I could live with myself after being choked out by Raven. It might even make me proud that, in a lot of ways, I helped him get to the level that he's at today.

No, I'm not scared of James Raven beating me in this match. I could live with that.

I'm scared that I'm willing to do something that will threaten our friendship. I'm scared that I'm going to identify an opportunity to hurt someone I care deeply about, and that I won't think twice before pulling the trigger. James is someone who's always been there for me, someone who I've always been able to count on. We've been tag champions together. We've been business partners together. We've been brothers.

But all of that may end in the Elimination Chamber.

I'd love to come out here today and proclaim that James and I will work together to guarantee that we will be the last men standing together. Not only would the fans get to see an encounter that has never occurred before, but James and I would be able to test ourselves in a competitive scenario that I'm sure we've both wondered about before.

That wouldn't be the truth. The truth is that I want nothing more in the world than to win this match and I'm about to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Consider this a warning to all, to friends and family and the fans alike.

I'm about to disappoint you all.

I'm about to disappoint myself...

And it will result in the greatest accomplishment of my career, when my hand is raised and I am declared the True Expert.

Truth Until Death.

[Rebel Child]

There are those who would think that I am far past my prime, trying to attain a glory once held ten years ago, to relive those glory days.  The fucking kicker of it all is – those who would think that, those that think they KNOW that, don't know me.  Don't understand what exactly it is I have come to do.  There are those who think that if I am not there to relive my glory days then SURELY I am there to go after Jack Benevolence, and going to be solely focused on him.  Nah, that's just an added bonus.  You want to know why I'm doing this?  The answer will come to you rather quickly. You'll learn soon enough.  I promise.

"I was young and dumb when I first signed up for the Experts Extreme Tournament.  A former TFWF Hardcore champion who thought, hell this is right up my alley!  I could kick ass, take names, and maybe add a little shine to what it is I stand for."  Georgie is seen walking through an old derelict parking lot seemingly miles from nowhere.  "Every challenger that stepped up, I quickly batted down.  Some easy..."  She smirks softly, "some most assuredly not... At least in the ring that is," her lips quirked in memory.  "I managed to walk out of the tournament the True Expert, something that no one thought would ever be possible, everyone thought for SURE it was going to be Hannibal Cage in that would walk out with the strap.  Hell, the odds?  The odds against me were damn impressive.  I in fact still have a few bookies pissed off about that outcome, if that isn't a legacy, I don't know what is."  Shrugging she continued moving at a steady pace.  I went on to beat Level One, and I KNOW that pissed him off, even though Lester would never admit to it.  Hell, even to the point Darksky decided to stick his nose in, trying to make sure that the golden boy walked out with the strap."  Georgie then paused in her steps, "then... Hannibal Cage took it.  No shame in admitting that the man got the title from me, he was the better wrestler that night, and continued on defending the title.  But see, even then there was something bigger to focus on.  A man known as Darksky, the one who wanted to dismantle the Experts and everything it stood for, the history and its legacy and sell it piece by piece to the highest bigger."

Her eyes slowly look out over the expanse, "and what was a girl to do?  Let the man do that?"  Then slowly the Rebel Child's eyes focused on the camera in front of her, "but... There was not a girl standing there any longer.  But a woman, changed forever by the Experts and the time she spent in that ring, and other rings.  Scarred not only physically but mentally.  The Experts is not a singular thing, but an entity all its own after all.  Heh... So I took the fight to the man who would dismantle such a beautiful thing, such a beautifully chaotic and violent thing, and do you know what happened?  I chased Darksky down like a hound of hell, nipping at his heels.  And no matter what he did, no matter the atrocities, I was there.  Finally... Finally putting that son of a bitch down, making him scream that he quit and sent his ass packing.  For good.  Even at the darkest of times in my life, the Experts was always something that I held onto.  Not because I was living in some vainglorious past, hoping to once again ascend to the level of True Expert, but because it was what was right about this profession.  It was what was good about this profession.  Even when the Experts were shipped off to Siberia, I was there.  Even when we thought that the thing known as the Experts was gone for good, I was there.  There aren't many in this match that can say that they were there, from the house that Jesse Gunn built, to the house that Darksky tried to destroy... Michael Thunder was there, Jacky Boy... Unfortunately was there for some of it... But the rest?"  Shaking her head gently, "some tried to break that glass ceiling, shattering it.  Some weren't even on the radar, some hadn't even laced up their boots for the first time.  Heh... And now they all are hungry for something that holds years... almost TWO decades worth of history."

The Rebel Child begins to walk once more, her steps solid and true, though her destination unknown to all but her, "I can't blame a single one of them.  This is the company that Michael Thunder picked up, dusted off, and led through a renaissance, though never once carrying the coveted name of True Expert.  This is the title that Jacky Boy has been fapping over for years to finally get his chance after crawling out of his crypt in Siberia.  This is the thing that Ace King has cut his teeth on sitting at the feet of a mutual friend of ours and hearing the stories.  This is the one thing that James Raven has always been denied.  This is what Aidan Collins, the chucklefuck extraordinaire swears he was built for.  And this is what Robina Hood... or Megan Treamon, or whatever else name she has gone by, hopes to finally use to establish herself as a true as hell wrestler.   And it isn't like none of them have earned the possibility to go for the title.  I would be like some of the cockjockeys in this match if I were to even try to argue that.  So why should I even try to denigrate what it is they have accomplished?  That isn't my style.  I'll leave that to Jacky Boy who begs for love, though he is undeserving."  A soft laugh comes from her, "sorry.  Sorry.  I guess I really shouldn't make fun of a guy who only has a singular title to hold onto to make himself feel like he actually means something to someone, even if it's a lie and he damn well knows it.  Hell, he's admitted to it."  Georgie stops once more in her steps.

"See, it isn't just abject disdain for the man for what he stands for currently.  It isn't the fact I detest this man with every fiber of my being because he is as spineless as he is talented.  Oh no, this... This is a reckoning years in the making from when we were both part of the TFWF, when we were actually both part of a little thing called 4K."  Slowly shaking her head, "back when I was still the weapon that others pointed when they really wanted to make someone hurt, back when I was pissed off at the world and the only thing I wanted to do was watch it burn.  That isn't to say I wasn't complicit, because we all would know that would be bullshit.  But the fact remains, Jacky Boy thought he could use me as a weapon, just like the rest.  Just like he thinks he can use Titan Corp, Legion, and even the True Experts title as a weapon.  He's a phenomenal wrestler, he beat Doug E Fresh for fucks sakes!"  Her voice echoes, "but he even has admitted that this... This is all he has.  This is all that he has left of a career made upon the broken backs and bones of others.  That THIS title is the last shining vestige he has as a wrestler.  Because when you peel away the title, when you peel away the yesmen and sycophants he surrounds himself with, what you find is truly tragic.  A man... Heh.. no not even a man, but a broken little boy who has never once had to deal with the consequences of his actions.  Jacky Boy, you've known me as a weapon.... And now, what is it you're going to do when that weapon is turned on you?"  Her eyebrow raises, a soft smile blooming across full lips.  "There won't be anywhere for you to run and hide."

Again, the blue haired wrestler begins to walk, "just like Robina Hood will have nowhere to hide.  Though, she has tried to hide so many times in her past.  Changing her name, her look, her entire demeanor just for a shot at glory.  The last time she had a little bit of glory, she let it run through her fingers like sands through an hourglass.  And if it sounds like the start of a popular soap opera, it's fully meant to.  Robina Hood has molded herself into something that people can get behind, to love, to adore, to emulate that she has lost everything about herself in the process.  She has tried in vain attempt to throw her hat behind someone who very well might catapult her career,  to insure that she will not be just another footnote in the history of someone else's book."  Shaking her head slowly, "Robina Hood is nothing more than a sum of her parts, shallow, vapid, and looking to find her own identity.  Going down a road that I know all too well, because I too have been that weapon as I said earlier, Megan.  But, I'm going to make it easier on you than it was on me, when I finally saw the light, when I finally pulled my head out of my ass and realized exactly what I had become.    It's the least I can do, right?"  Motioning with her hands to herself, "so this... if it sounds personal, well... it is.  You made it personal when you decided that the only way you could think of advancing was jumping someone.  You made it personal when you believed that throwing your lot in with Legion and his goons was the right choice.  This is personal, because out of all the other contenders in the Elimination Chamber match... you are the least deserving to be here.  After all, a weapon is only as good as the person wielding it, and there is no one around to pull your trigger."

Exhaling roughly, Georgie seems to pause in her thoughts as well as her steps, "then we have Aidan Collins.  Fucking hell.  You know, I find it amusing that we finally meet up in the ring and it just happens to be at one of the biggest events of 2019, at a place I call home.  Amusing, because to be honest – you're one of the few that I actually enjoy having a snarkfest with on Twitter.  Amusing, because for all the shit we have both talked, we have never once been in the same ring or company before.  Amusing, because even though I am going to enjoy making you scream like the little bitch you are, you've earned your place here in this match.  You have my respect, but if you think for a single moment that I am going to go easy on you?  I want you to go and watch the tape of the match I had with Scorpio to solidify my place in this match.  I want you to look at what I did to someone I consider a good friend of mine, and think about exactly what it is I am going to do... To you.  Someone I have never met before, someone I only know from insipid little tweets.  Remember when I told you there was a tool for that?"  Her head tilts slightly, "I wasn't going for symbolism there, dear Aidan.  You'll come to realize that in the grand scheme of this profession, I have absolutely no qualms making myself bleed, if it means my opponent bleeds more.  I know how dangerous you are, but riddle me this, do you understand exactly how dangerous I am?"  Shaking her head slowly, she shrugs.

Picking up her walk again, the Rebel Child shoves her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and walks quietly for a few moments as if wondering exactly who to address next.  "See, Michael Thunder and Ace King both know how dangerous I am.  Both for entirely different reasons.  Michael Thunder saw me win the True Expert title at the Extreme Tournament.  He saw what lengths I went through to make sure he became the CEO of the Experts.  He also knows the visceral violence that I truly enjoyed as a member of the ORC, the first time around that is.  He got to watch as I dismantled wrestler after wrestler, how I thanked someone for injuring out someone who is very dear to me.  How I picked up a steel pipe and rammed it into the head of Danny Tenegra and take him out.  He got to witness all of that, and he encouraged me along the way.  Michael Thunder is a living legend, a man in this sport who is not only synonymous with The Experts, but also the TFWF, and is in the history books for being part of some of the greatest matches.  He's older, yes, but he is nowhere near geriatric.  I fully understand what the man is capable of doing, and while I respect him, he isn't going to get a by from me.  We are part of the ORC now to be guardians to something that needs protecting; but we would not be able to be part of this fellowship if we did not fight to protect what the Experts stands for, which is the best of the best this profession has seen.  So... Mike... I know you're not going to go easy on me.  But old man, baby has learned some new tricks since we've last saw one another."  Winking at the camera, Georgie slows her walk to an amble.

"Which is something that I think Ace King knows firsthand.  Sure, Ace, you've beaten me twice now for that title that you cling to.  For that record that you are about to break.  The thing that has made you a household name in almost every part of the world.  The US Champion of EWC, Ace King.  Longest running champion of EWC history.  It must feel damn good to finally have your talent be fully recognized at one of the biggest wrestling events in history, to be fully recognized as you took out Lester AND Doug E Fresh, but you're not the only one who has such a glow to their name.  I've done it too, you know.  Back in SCW I made Doug cry a few times, and well... I've already talked about how I successfully defended against Lester, back when he was still better than good.  NOT saying you don't have a right to brag, but you're not the only one who's done the impossible chief, you're just the only one who's done it recently.  But see, while we've met, and while you've beaten me, put me in the hospital Ace... That was your yard, that was your time, that was... Your place.  This... This is different.  No one wants to believe me when I say that the Experts is NOT your average wrestling gig.  That it changes a person.... But you're going to learn firsthand exactly what it means to be part of the Experts, how it changes you forevermore."

Exhaling, Georgie rolls her eyes as she realizes exactly what she just said, "Which inadvertently leads us to James Raven.  A man denied no matter how many times he feels like he's been locked out of heaven.  Denied to be part of the Experts because of the company that kept him.  Or so he would like to believe.  The fact is, James.... You weren't good enough back then.  Oooh ouch, I know, slap to the ego, but it's true.  You weren't good enough back then.  But you've proved everyone wrong by making it this far.  Good on you buddy!"  She gives a thumbs up sign, sarcasm dripping from her words, her smile turning into a smirk as she then offers the thumbs down, "you've made it, now what are you going to do about it?  Team up with Collins until he or you stab one another in the back?  I mean, it wouldn't be far from the norm, but still.  The Raven Rises, is what you've said before in the past, and you've risen... Yet fallen on how many occasions?  And you think for a second that maybe just maybe... Georgie might have some goodwill left, but... Hmmm no.  It wouldn't matter if you were my best friend right about now, if I'm not going to take it easy on Thunder or King?  Why would I go easy on...you?  Not going to happen, not in a million years.  But hey!  At least the Toronto Frost is doing good this year... Right?  No... I mean seriously, they are.. right?"

Georgie slows her steps, turning as the camera follows.  Over her shoulder the Legacy Plaza can be seen, "I'm not here to try and cling to a dying dream, or hoping to relive glory days.  I am here because I have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt I belong here.  I am here, because for all of the bullshit of the past decade, the Experts has been the thing that I can always call home.  I am here, because I have not only fought for this place time and time again, but it is something that I believe in.  And I am not going to let a spoiled little man baby, a facsimile, a loose cannon, a glory hound, a living legend, or a failed businessman stand in my way and tread upon this hallowed ground, staining the history that has been placed before us.  I will make each and every single one of you a Casualty for this Cause!" She points to the Plaza

As the scene

|F|A|D|E|S|

[The Raven]

Darkness. Deep and suffocating. It envelopes me, swirling between my fingertips and curling over the edges of my lips and nostrils. I sink further into its embrace. I flail and try to push forward but it's like swimming through tar. Screaming for help until my throat strains, but no sound escapes. Maybe it does, but I don't hear it...

I give in. I exhale. The panic evaporates from my body, a comfort spreading like a soothing wave through my each and every cell. There's something familiar about all of this, about this vast nothingness.

I've been here before, more times than I care to remember.

It is the forgotten; the emptiness you feel when accomplishments of yesteryear ring hollow to a new generation. It is the void inside of you when superstars you built dynasties with for a decade move on to greener pastures and abandon you to defend it all alone. This place is irrelevancy and self doubt. It is the shadow of the man you used to be, and the upturned collars of an entire industry as they turn their backs on you to smile upon a new face in the room.

You can get lost in the forgotten. It can become your only existence, drifting through an endless shadow of irrelevancy and waiting for a life line to guide you back home.

A bright light in the distance startles me. I squint through the murkiness to catch a glimpse of glinting gold. Illuminating beams reflect off of its ornate detailing and cascade through the darkness. It feels like it's a mile away but somehow I can read the engraved faceplate perfectly; the True Expert title. My heart skips a beat, then jumps into overtime and pumps battery acid through my veins as I move my limbs like pistons to propel myself toward the championship.

"You don't deserve this, Raven. You never did."

A disembodied voice bellows from above, below and behind me simultaneously. I grit my teeth and fight even harder to slice through the shadows, but drift further away from my goal. No... please, no...

"XWF was a joke. You're overrated, over inflated. You don't belong here."

My golden salvation shrinks as I struggle desperately to close the distance, and continue to fail miserably. The voice continues to mock me.

"You're not one of us."

The light is extinguished. The True Expert title disappears. Once more I'm enveloped by the suffocating darkness. I feel the emptiness again, the void and the insecurity and the self doubt tearing at my gut and ripping through my ribcage to get out.

"Stay in the forgotten, Raven. You belong here."

I can't fight anymore. My legs are heavy, my arms collapsing limply to my side. I close my eyes. I can't breathe. I can't... focus. I.. can't... think...

I...

... can't....

"At least you tried, kid."

I...

...

...

BETSY: James, wake up!

A firm grip on my shoulder and a gentle shove to pull me back to reality. I open my eyes, the morning sunlight shining through the window and nearly blinding me. My heart is racing, breath caught in the back of my throat as I sit up straight in the hotel bed and rip the cheap and tangled sheets from around my chest. Her hand stays a constant on my back, rubbing a slow semi circle as I gasp softly and stare at the wall.

BETSY: Same dream?

I nod slowly. My neck grows hot with embarrassment and I shake my head, disgusted with myself. I've been having the same dream since the whole Super 6 concept was announced, but the past few weeks it's been worse. More regular. More intense. She leans forward and kisses my shoulder softly, blonde hair swinging loose from behind her ear as she offers me a gentle smile.

BETSY: You're going to be great.

She winks at me and pops up to her knees on the mattress.

BETSY: Come on. Shake it off. This could be the biggest weekend of your life, superstar... don't let it start off like this. It's just a bad dream, and we've got real things to worry about; like picking Tyler up at the airport, winning a fancy-schmancy title belt, and getting coffee.

RAVEN: Forget the title. Forget my kid. Coffee.

BETSY: I'm on it.

She salutes and springs into action, leaving me alone atop the hotel California mattress and steeped in my own thoughts. I take a few rhythmic breaths and try to steady myself. She's right. Don't stumble out of the blocks, rookie. Act like you've been here before. Get your head in the game. Dig deep. Give 110% and... Fuck. Ran out of sports clichés there. Oh well. I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, toes digging into the carpeting as I stand and stretch with ease in the warm sunlight. It's a stark contrast to fighting out of the forgotten.

An Elimination Chamber should be a cakewalk compared to that.



"This is not a drill people, this is an emergency situation! The curtain was drawn half an hour ago! The audience is in their seats and the stage lights are blaring, but the show hasn't begun! Don't get me wrong, waxy skinned relic Michael Thunder tried to open and get everyone warmed up but shockingly nobody was into seeing their grandfather in wrestling tights shouting angrily into a microphone about how all the young whipper snappers are wrong.

"Our benevolent champion Jack... errr... what's his last name? OH! Right! This is embarrassing... was kind enough to follow, but no matter how hard he tries the guy can not come up with one natural sounding line of dialogue. I've seen better performances in the pornographic films Aidan Collins' ex-girlfriends did, and heard more conversational tones from local news anchors in fucking Hartford.

"The people are antsy. Robina Hood and Ace King are nowhere to be found! Georgie Nickles is avoiding confrontation and subtweeting her way out of conflict! What in gods name are we to do?

"Sit back. Relax.

"Crack a beer, roll a blunt, slip a hand down the front of your pants if you need to... we're all friends here, there's no judgement. I'm here. You can all rest easy and know that you're in good hands. The People's G.O.A.T. is here to take over. Focus the spotlight and drop everyone elses mic levels to zero. They weren't saying anything important anyways.

"I may be familiar to some of you. It could be because of the posters your sisters and high school girlfriends had plastered on their walls, or because of the People magazine from 8 years ago that your mother still keeps on the coffee table with no explanation. If you're a fan of this tournament, it's because you've seen me participate before.

"I know what you're thinking, 'but James, crazy old man Thunder told us this was your first Extreme Tournament!'. I know, I know, but here's the thing. That guy is senile as fuck. No, really, I saw him backstage flipping off small children and mumbling about buttermilk pancakes. That could just be a standard Saturday for him, but it doesn't change the fact that Aidan and I both participated in this rodeo before.

"Don't worry, Thunder. I wont hold the fake news against you. I know it's got to be hard to do legitimate research or keep facts straight when you've got to trim your stubble to perfect Russell Crowe-esque levels, and slather your joints up with Bengay, and take the right mornings pills from your weekly divider... Ugh, I can practically hear him now, complaining about how unoriginal jokes about his age are and telling me he's heard it all before, but he didn't even extend the same courtesy to me to take a swing at low hanging fruit so he can suck a dick.

"Sorry Mikey, that was harsh. What you and a random guy in a mud pit did at Woodstock is your business and totally cool with me. I shouldn't have gone there. I just hate that I was totally unmemorable to you. I hate that I'm an afterthought, not worthy of cutting 30 seconds of your own back patting to take a few potshots at. I would NEVER overlook an opponent in a match like this. I would always give an opponent like you, or Ace, or Jack, or Georgie the respect and time they deserved.

"Now, moving on to Robina Hood- shoot, I'm sorry. We're out of time in this segment! Like Matt Damon on a Jimmy Kimmel hosted broadcast, you've been bumped! Thanks for coming, there's a gift basket in the green room and we'll all wave real nicely when you get bounced back to your Eternal Circle early on.

"Lulz. C Wut I Did Thurr?"



He lays in the grass, a smile on his face as he giggles and rolls underneath the wagging tongue of a golden retriever out for an afternoon walk. The owner tugs gently on the leash, urging the dog back to the path as my seven year old sits up and waves goodbye to his furry friend. His hair is a mess, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pops to his feet and rushes back over to the bench I'm sitting on.

TYLER: Dad! Did you see the dog?!

RAVEN: I did, buddy. What was his name?

TYLER: I dunno. I didn't ask.

He sits down next to me and looks out across the park, taking it all in and crossing his arms over his chest like I am. I can't help but laugh at him, rustling his head as he smiles mischievously. It's only been a month since I've seen him, but it feels like everything's different. He looks taller. He seems quicker, funnier, wiser. I've missed more than I ever wanted to.

RAVEN: I'm glad your mom let you come out here with me this weekend.

TYLER: Yeah.

RAVEN: Are you excited to see me fight?

TYLER: Mhm!

RAVEN: Do you know why I wanted you to come?

TYLER: Uhm...

He searches for an answer.

TYLER: To see you fight?

RAVEN: Well yeah, but it's more than that. I want you to see something. Have you ever wanted to be something really, really badly?

He looks at me, and then thinks deeply about an answer.

TYLER: A hockey player?

RAVEN: OK. Well, if that's what you want I promise you, you can do it... but you can never quit. There are going to be people that tell you that you can't do it, there will be things that slow you down, and you will make mistakes that make you want to give up. Believe in yourself. Keep going. Every day do whatever you can to get better, and be undeniable. Do you understand what I'm saying?

TYLER: I think so.

RAVEN: Well I've wanted to be something they call "the True Expert" since I was 18 years old, since before you were born. I've made mistakes, had hundreds of people tell me I wasn't good enough, all of that, everything bad you can think of... but I haven't quit. If I win this match, I'll finally be what I really wanted to be. If I lose, then I'll pick myself up and try again. Either way, I want you to see it. I want to tell you a secret too.

TYLER: OK!

RAVEN: ... If you and Betsy cheer real loud, I think I can win this.

His face lights up, his fist pumping excitedly.

TYLER: YES! I'll cheer really loud, and I'll make her cheer too. We'll be like "Yeaaaaaaaahhhhhh"!!!

He bounces off the bench and shakes his fists, screaming loudly enough to startle a few joggers passing by.

RAVEN: Sorry about that! Come on Tyler, sit down, save it for the show.

He plops back down on the bench, and I wrap an arm around his shoulders. The thought of celebrating with him, and letting him hold the True Expert belt... it's overwhelming.

RAVEN: I'm glad you're here buddy. I'm really glad you're here.

TYLER: Me too.



"OK, for real, what's going on here? Did you all get together and agree to try and cut Aidan and I out of this match? I know you guys are all old friends, but it's getting old watching everyone chase each other around playing 'duck, duck, goose' while we just sit idly in the circle knowing everyone's afraid to call our names. Michael Thunder is senile, we've covered that already. Robina Hood is tougher to find these days than Carmen San Diego, and not the shitty Michelle Rodriguez version... I'm talking the cartoon detective that I wanted to bone when I was nine... either way, I'm not expecting any more from her than I got from Thunder.

"Georgie Nickles seems to have no interest in speaking to me, and trust me, I've fucking tried. I've done everything but stand outside her bedroom window like John Cusack with a boombox to try and melt her icy heart, but honestly the chick is a fucking gargoyle. She gives me nothing! NOTHING! Believe me boys and girls, it ain't easy to like a person that won't tell you why they're upset and know you're going to have to kick their ass from pillar to post and from prairie to coast to take a title that they THINK they want more than you do. I don't want to be a dick, Georgie. I'm not here to try and hurl vulgarities your way or engage in a cunt calling contest like you and Aidan on social media. I'm not trying to air dirty laundry, I'm just letting you know... you can't hide from me forever. Either we talk, or we knock teeth from each others jaws, but we're seeing each other soon.

"So that's three down. Aidan Collins? He'll probably talk shit, but let's be honest I ignore half of what he says anyways... it's usually about his dick, somehow.

"Jack... JACK! I was counting on you! You were to be my saving grace, the champion everyone speaks so highly of with the silver tongue and razor wit! Surely the Benevolent one would grace me with a few moments of his time. I was ready for an evisceration, a deep dive into what makes me tick and a dissection of my very soul... or at least a few good quips.

"I'll be honest, Jack. Not as a peer, but as a friend. That was just awful. Sincerely and diabolically horrific. You delivered lines like you're RoboCop and I'm not saying it because you were stiff and mechanical, I'm saying it because Peter Weller was a terrible actor in the 80's. I've been around 10 years, Jack, and you can't be bothered to toss more than two sentences my way? You mention that I have friends, that I have hype, and then... nothing? WE ALL KNEW THAT ALREADY YOU SILLY BITCH! I'm a popular mother fucker!

"God damn it, Jack! I have neither the crayons nor the real estate necessary to explain my disappointment in you. I expected a home run from you and somehow you got tackled on third and thrown out in the endzone and have less charisma than a sloth in a vegitative state while doing so. Overlook me. Focus on Georgie and Thunder because the trash talk comes easy with recycled foes. You'll regret it in the long run.

"Where are you, Ace King? Still tucking tail, hoping to fly under the radar? A bold strategy, Cotton. We'll see if it pays off.

"God, I can't wait to see each and every one of you in that chamber, and slap you across the fucking mouths. I've waited a decade for this. I will make you all say my fucking name when I stand over you with the belt.

"I will not let you forget I was here."



It's late. The sun has long since retired; Betsy and Tyler passed out in the hotel room hours ago after dinner and an overpriced pay per view Disney movie. I stand alone on the balcony, cell phone in hand as I click through the list of outgoing calls and see the name Aidan Collins several times. I've been trying to touch base for days with no luck, but that's not entirely unusual. Disappointing, though. I'd have thought as we closed in on the finale that he'd carve out a few minutes to talk game plans or deals, but apparently he's not as concerned with what this match could mean for The Tribe as I am.

I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I sigh deeply and click on his name one more time, watching as the screen lights up and begins to ring good old Bling Bling Blizzard. I lift the phone to my ear and after two rings it goes to voicemail.

RAVEN: You mother fucker. You DID NOT just decline my call... look, I don't know if you're busy or pissed or blowing this whole thing off, but it's all good. Don't worry about me. I just wanted to wish you luck, I guess. I don't know. I guess I'll see you at the show. Good luck. You've earned this as much as I have. I'm happy you're in there with me.

I end the call and stare over the edge of the balcony. Don't put too much stock into it. Maybe he's just trying to get in a zone, or maybe he's totally confident in us to wreck the rest of the field. It doesn't matter, it's not about him. It's not even about The Tribe anymore.

This one's about me. This one's mine.

Fuck anyone that tries to stop me... even if it's Aidan.



"It's been real folks, good luck to you all. Last one to leave, turn out the lights.

Soon to be True Expert, but always the People's G.O.A.T.
- James Raven"

[Geordie]

One of the greatest things a person can ever feel is a sense of belonging.
For a good chunk of my career, I've had to force my way into acceptance wherever I've been; I came from places where I wasn't supposed to make it anywhere, places where the Experts wasn't even on the radar.
I was never the type to bitch about not being in the limelight, because I always knew I could earn my way there, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't have some effect on me.
Fast-forward over a decade, and I find myself staring at the chance to do something beyond my wildest dreams. This kind of thing shouldn't happen to a guy like me, right? I'm not the person who made their mark as an Experts staple an era or two ago... I'm part of a new generation, where talent is actually recognized for what it is.
The funniest part about it all? Despite everything I've been through, I feel right at home stepping inside the Elimination Chamber. I've said it many times throughout my career, but the steel is my sanctuary, the cage is my canvas... This is the kind of environment I thrive in, and I'm every bit as willing as anyone to put my body on the line to walk out as the unlikeliest of Extreme Tournament winners, not to mention becoming the True Expert.
It's a strange thought... A guy from Las Vegas who had visions of poker chips dancing in his head as a kid, now standing tall with the affirmation to show he's one of the best to ever step into an environment that would have eaten his younger self alive. Alas, we're here now, and I'm not about to let the moment slip.
I'm not delusional enough to assume I'm going to slice through my six opponents, each with their own motivations, nor would I foolishly proclaim myself a God of this business... Instead? I'm just going to be the same me I've always been, and once that door locks behind us in Hayward, I'll prove I belong.
Bet On It.

February 21, 2019
Serramonte Center
Daly City, Calif.
4:53 p.m.

Though it's not difficult to do, showing gratitude for others has become a lost art.

For Ace King, it's a labour of love, particularly when it comes from fans mobbing an outdoor tent in the midst of President's Day sales. The EWC United States Champion leans back as people come forward for autographs or photos.

'The Gambler' wears a broad smile as a middle-aged woman approaches, a Stranger Things-themed Ace walkout shirt in
her hand.

"I can't believe you're here!" she exclaims as she spreads the shirt out. "I missed you last time, and it's been a while."

"Glad you made the effort," he responds calmly as he picks up a silver Sharpie and carefully signs the garment. "It means a lot."

"You've been mine and my son's favourite for years," she says excitedly as he keeps his focus on the signature. "It was on in my house growing up, and now I see him watching your matches online. He's only 17, but I think he's serious about wanting to be in the ring."

"I see," Ace answers, a hint of surprise in his voice as he drops his Sharpie to reach into his bag. "I'm sure he knows nothing is guaranteed in this line of work, but feel free to have him call me."

The woman's jaw drops as Ace fishes a business card from his bag; her expression is gleeful, accompanied by a thin trail of happy tears.

"This is amazing," she says with a sniffle. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Just don't blur the numbers," he chirps with a laugh. "But seriously, I'm just trying to leave this a better place than I found it."

The woman smiles once more before taking the shirt and leaving; there's a sincerity to the United States Champion's words that puts both of them at ease as he looks up, only to find an imposing figure looming looming overhead.

"Picture," he grunts menacingly; an icy sensation washes over Ace as he stands up silently, picking up his United States Championship and walking over to the Experts-themed backdrop to meet the man, who looks perplexed.

"Why do you have that?" he drawls, the menacing tone still present. "You ain't done anything in the Experts yet."

"Yeah, just like this picture hasn't been taken yet," Ace shoots back, propping his championship up on his shoulder to further emphasize the point; both men put a fist up as the man's friend snaps photos on his iPhone. Once he's finished, the man looks down at Ace with a smirk.

"There," he says as he takes his phone back. "Now I can tell people you ain't really nothin' special."

Ace tilts his head toward the man, baffled as to why he would resort to public trolling. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, though, so he does his best to shrug it off.

Without so much as a thank you, the two men leave, and Ace returns to his seat. There's a grumble as the Experts PR person cuts off the line, though 'The Gambler' barely sits before an excited voice squeals "ACE!"

'The Gambler' looks up, and his eyes go wide; he recognizes the boy who's next in line, and a wide smile crosses his face as a result.

"Come here!" he exclaims; the boy quickly obliges, wrapping Ace in the biggest hug his young arms can muster. The crowd can't help but smile at the moment, with some taking their phones out. After about a minute, the boy lets go, and Ace gives him a high-five.

"Great to see you, Theo," Ace says to the boy, whom he'd first met at a signing in Hawthorne over two years ago. "You've grown so much."

"Yeah," he says with a giggle as he rejoins his mother on the other side of the table. Ace extends a hand for Theo's mother to shake.

"You too, Janna," he says warmly. "How are you? I thought you guys were in LA?"

"Mommy got a good job!" Theo interjects excitedly; Janna, the widow of an Army veteran killed on duty, blushes before nodding and adding "A friend had something in Silicon Valley, so I couldn't say no."

"That's great," Ace answers, unable to hide his joy. He stands and meets Theo at the backdrop, taking a knee to match his height. Janna takes the picture with a broad smile, but Theo gestures for something.

"Do you have them?" he asks; this jogs his mother's memory, and Ace's jaw drops as she retrieves the wristbands Ace wore at EWC Uncensored in 2016, which he'd gifted to Theo backstage after the show. Theo slides them on, then Janna takes a few more photos.

"I can't believe you kept those!" Ace says, the crowd laughing along. Ace takes a breath, unable to contain his happiness.

"Of course I did!" Theo quips, the moment clearly affecting him, too. As the displays come down around them and the line dissipates, Ace comes closer to Theo and his mother.

"I meant what I said about calling any time, you know," he says, tousling Theo's hair; there's an unusual joy to Ace's expression, and he sees it in Theo's eyes, too. It's nice to have someone who believes in you, after all. Ace reaches into his bag once more, pulling out two Extreme Tournament tickets and handing them to Theo.

"See you soon," Ace says with a wink; Theo's eyes go wide, and Janna's equally shocked.

"Thank you sooooooo much!" he exclaims, running off like a kid in a candy store; Janna nods with a smile before scurrying after Theo, leaving Ace alone with his thoughts. He quickly packs up, then ambles over to his signature black BMW i3. He takes a moment before starting the vehicle, pausing briefly to reflect.

"Belief is a fleeting thing," he confesses silently. "No matter what walk of life you're in, having faith in yourself is crucial, because if you don't, why should anyone else?"

Following a breath, he starts the car and navigates his way out of the shopping centre.

"It's something I've come to appreciate over the years," he continues as he surveys his options. "I've never been the most confident person in the building, but deep down, I always knew I had what it took to make something of myself, and this opportunity... A chance to become the True Expert... What an affirmation that would be."

Traffic starts flowing a bit easier throughout the shops, allowing Ace to get away and head for the I-280, northbound.

"Of course, there are limits to such beliefs, particularly when they become detrimental to your well-being," he declares with a shake of his head. Before long, he pulls up to the Cow Palace, headquarters to EWC's FSW: Uprising brand. Parking close to the entrance, 'The Gambler' can't suppress his eye roll as he approaches the statue of one Robina Hood.

"Pardon the pun, Robina, but I'm still mystified as to how you have this," he begins as he stops at the foot of the statue. "You were delusional enough as it was, then somebody saw fit to do this. Clearly, I'm not the only one who disagrees."

Ace slowly walks around the statue, revealing a bit of graffiti on the back side; some of it appears faded, while other areas look fresh.

"Let me put this in terms you might understand, Miss Viridian City: You're wrestling's equivalent Eevee: Innocent on the outside, but nobody knows what version of you is coming next," he explains with an eye roll. "Alas, I'm not fooled. Because you've spit mist in my eyes repeatedly, I've always seen the real you: A conniving bitch who can't BEAR not being in the spotlight. That's why you attacked me after I beat Doug, right? Simply being in the Elimination Chamber wasn't good enough for 'The Greatest Showman,' because you needed more attention than you were getting."

Ace offers overly flippant jazz hands to complement the disgusted tone he spits at the nickname.

"You being an Eternal Circle mercenary makes sense, though," he continues, maintaining his unimpressed tone. "Who better for someone who's repeatedly embraced cutting corners throughout her career? You've spit in this industry's face more times than I can count, so what's one more instance? In this case, it'll be the end of your bid to become the True Expert as you choke on your words again."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Ace simply turns on his heel and walks away from the statue, locating a nearby park bench to sit on, looking around aimlessly at the environment around him.

"Alas, and I know this will kill you to hear, but this won't be all about you, Robina," he sneers. "You see yourself as divine, while others have walked a path similar to mine: The long roads in places where they thought they were earning their stripes, only to get laughed at when any kind of Experts link was made... I know both James and Aidan would understand that."

Ace exhales briefly as he looks skyward, burying his tongue in his cheek for the moment.

"Yes, you both made impressions with both your mouths and your moves," he acknowledges. "People like us, it's how we have to operate: We're the guys who have always had the talent, but the platform was never willingly extended, so we had to make statements that some might consider beyond the pale... At least, that's how it was for you guys, right? Not really giving a damn about the consequences as long as you got the job done?"

After about a minute of silence, Ace stands up and heads back for his vehicle.

"You certainly both made statements with perfect round robin records, which is something I certainly can't claim," he acknowledges as he starts the BMW again. "I'm sure that will afford you both a false sense of confidence, particularly since you both know you have someone to trust inside the Chamber... But I can unequivocally say that, outside of Rex Evans, neither of you faced anyone who's been waiting for an opportunity like this every bit as long as you have, if not longer. I know what's at stake, and I know what you're capable of, but I'm not wasting this chance. Period."

Ace heaves another heavy sigh.

"You two could well form a block to try and thin the herd," he acknowledges. "Alas, the One Ring Circus could also do the same... and though I certainly owe them a debt... I'm sure Michael Thunder will understand why I can't possibly repay it in full once we step inside the Elimination Chamber."

There's a twinge of regret to Ace's words as he gets back on the freeway, but he shakes himself off quickly.

"You know the ins and outs of this as well as anyone, Michael," Ace says. "You've been around more blocks than a LEGO fanatic, and you've seen and done just about all there is to do... Except become the True Expert."
Ace shakes his head.

"I hope you didn't think I would just be the naive one going into the Chamber, Thunder," he continues, his intensity spiking briefly. "This is an opportunity for any of us to join an incredible part of wrestling history, but it's different for you. You look at your contemporaries over time... Nickles... Level-One... Sandy Makel... even Benevolence... What's their common thread? They've all been the True Expert. You ran it for so long, and now you can't imagine its history without you at the top. You know you may not have many more chances, so you'll push yourself beyond your limits this time around, and you'll crash and burn to make it happen... Not unlike another Circus member."

It's not long before Ace is back on the highway.

"There really isn't a whole to say right now, is there Georgie?" he muses aloud. "You know what I'm capable of, and I
know what you'll bring to the table, so it would be easy to skip the shenanigans and settle it inside the Chamber... But it's not that easy, is it? After all, you basically made yourself Experts royalty, right?"

Shaking his head, he pulls up his phone to reveal a recent Rebel Child Tweet.

https://twitter.com/GeorgieRRC/status/1098660033997561859

"Sure, you can say there was no malice, but there's unquestionably a threat," he growls. "Do you really think that, just because you're a former True Expert, that suddenly makes you an arbiter of building character? That would be like me completely dismissing you despite knocking you down in consecutive United States Championship matches back in EWC: Fool-hearted, short-sighted, and just plain idiotic... Just like the guy holding the title now."

Ace shakes his head.

"Look at us, Jack: Right back where we started," he growls, his stare glacial in its intensity. "Except this time, there's nowhere for you to hide. You obviously had no interest in being here, and why would you? One world-class opponent gives you fits, but six? Oy vey."

The sarcasm drips from Ace's words as he bites his tongue to reel in his composure.

"Whether it was your rogue timekeeper or your TitanCorp pals, I've been the guy you haven't been able to dispose of," he sneers. "Doug? You took him out. Lester? Got him, too. Truly unparalleled accomplishments... If, as I would suspect, you decide to overlook me once again. See, not only did I match what you did, I defeated a valiant THIRD True Expert in the same timeframe... And you know damn well my True Expert tally should be four, and will be soon enough."
Ace's intensity is rising once more as his nostrils flare out rapidly as he approaches the San Mateo Bridge, quickly engulfed by the darkening sky around him.

"I'm the guy nobody saw coming," he states bluntly. "In a group filled with current and former True Experts, it stands to reason that I had the hardest road of ANYONE to get here, and honestly? I'd have it no other way. No strong-arm fuckery here, just a strong will and the desire to show the world that anything is possible if you believe."
'The Gambler' exhales heavily as he continues his crossing, the tension still present.

"You won't admit it publicly, but I made a believer out of you that night, Jack," he boldly declares. "Why else would Russell White have tried, AND FAILED, to ensure I couldn't tie you in the group stage? Simply put, you know I won't fold where others will; I'm a Gambler, after all, so why wouldn't I go all-in to claim this industry's ultimate reward?"
As he crests the bridge's apex, Ace's eyes survey the dusky sky, and a sense of calm washes over him.

"So, do I believe I can handle something as utterly demonic as the Elimination Chamber? You're damn right I do," he says, a smirk crossing his face to accompany his uncanny confidence as he gets off the bridge. "You might be the True Expert right now, Jack, but once that door locks? You, and everyone else, will be in my domain, and it will be time to unlock my true potential as I do what so many thought impossible: Walk out as the new True Expert."

'The Gambler' smirks as he sees signs for Hayward coming up fast; the destination's almost there, but his arrival on wrestling's biggest stage is long overdue.

(EDITS were for spacing.)