XWF∞

{{Oliver Last is sitting on the sofa in the living room, the television is on and there's an opium pipe resting on the the coffee table, directly in front of him.}}

It's been a while, since I last chased the dragon. Well, no time like the present to smoke some "grade A" opium, the roommate is out, doing fuck if I know, she doesn't tell me shit and I have the apartment to myself.

{{Oliver picks up the pipe, fetches a lighter from his pocket and hits it. Slowly exhaling a fragrant cloud of smoke, shortly afterwards.}}

Think I'll watch some tv.

{{Sets the pipe down on the table and lifts the remote up, that's laying next to him on the sofa and starts browsing channels.}}

Hey, look... there's old wrestling promos, from another federation on. Y'know what, that was a pretty good hit, I'm feeling quite relaxed, this might be entertaining. Fuck it. I'll watch 'em. There's one starting out, right now.

{{Lays the remote down and settles back.}}

Okay, there's a chick and a bald dude talking. He seems concerned. The lady is beginning to hear things too. Some kind of static. Huh? Is this a horror movie or a wrestling promo? There's an ominous, disembodied voice, saying - CROOOAAATOONNNN. That's weird. What the fuck is a Croaton? She should probably get the fuck outta there and arrange for a priest to rid her place of evil spirits. Either that or schedule an appointment with the local head shrink. This is definitely not the time to start snorting coke. Oh shit. There's some freaky dude in a hood. Where the hell did he come from? Yeah, this female should most assuredly, get the fuck out of there. Although, all he's doing is talking, it's not like he came in stabbing, with a huge knife or some shit. Oh... so he's Croaton. Fuck. He's the worst horror movie villain... ever. Shows up and starts giving a speech. I guess his thing is talking to people, till they die of boredom. That's... that's something, alright.

Hmmm... now he's getting this girl to talk about her childhood. A dark secret from it. Holy fuck. She was raped by her father, when she was seven. That's messed up.

Wait. 

She wasn't raped?

No.

Instead she conjured a plan to frame her father for rape. By manipulating her fifteen year old brother to have sex with her! What the fuck?!?! That's one devious seven year old child. Fuckin' Machiavellian. The female version of The Good Son. Only more depraved and twisted in the head. Oh god! She's going into detail! This is so fucked! I can't watch this crud! She has her brother fuck her like she's getting raped too and he goes along with it cause he's suffering from raging hormones. That still means he's getting turned on by tiny child. I don't care how hormonal a teenager can be, if he's getting all hot and bothered by a seven year old girl, he's majorly broken in the mind. Fucking warped. Cracked in the head.

I gotta turn this filth off! Now!

{{Oliver frantically grabs the remote and starts hitting the button to switch the channel. When it doesn't work, he slams his finger onto the power button, furiously. And when that doesn't work. He screams. Like a person being chased through the woods and fearful for their life cause a deranged maniac is running after them, whilst wildly waving a chainsaw in the air.}}

She swallowed his semen!

And jerked off her father!

I think I'm going to puke!

I need to get this sick shit off my television! I can't watch another second!

{{Oliver throws himself onto the floor and swiftly crawls on his hands and knees, over to the wall, where the socket that has the television plugged into it is located. From there he grabs the cord and yanks it from the wall. The TV instantly goes black. Hours later. His roommate returns home and finds Oliver, sitting on the floor, with his knees hugged to his chest. Rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. She walks up to him and places her hand on his shoulder. This startles him and he looks up, his eyes wild and wide.}}

"CROATON!"

{{His roommate jumps back, completely caught off guard.}}

"CROATON!"

{{The woman looks bewildered, what the fuck was Oliver screaming? It didn't even sound like a real word!}}

"CROATON!"

{{Shaking her head, she makes the conscious decision, to ask Oliver.}}

"What's a Croaton?"

"Oh, you don't wanna know."

{{Oliver shakes his head and then rests it against his knees.}}

{{After witnessing that, his roommate nods to herself and then grabs Oliver, by the arm. Her voice gentle as she gradually, pulls him to his feet. Like a nurse in the psych ward, that actually cares about the patients' mental health.}}

"Come on, lets go to the kitchen and get you some hot tea. See if we can't calm you down and relax. Whatever you seen or heard that disturbed you this badly and made you upset. It's gone and you're safe now."

{{Oliver nods and his roommate slowly guides him to the kitchen.}}

{{Several minutes later, Oliver is sitting at the table in the kitchen with his roommate, drinking tea.}}

"So a wrestling video got you that freaked out? How?? Why???"

"A promotional video. Yes. It was shot like a low budget, scary movie. It had this guy in a hood, named Croaton and this chick. For some reason, he appeared out of nowhere and started talking and that made her reveal her darkest, most foul secret, from her past. And let me tell you, Ivy... it was seriously, fucked up. So fucked up, she never told anyone and with good reason."

"But she willingly admitted it to Croaton? Just from him talking to her."

"Almost immediately."

"He didn't do anything to extract the information? Torture her? Shove bamboo under her finger nails? Smack her around? Electrocute her with a car battery? Do anything to cause agony upon her, at all?"

"Nope, it was super easy... barely an inconvenience, he just showed up and started talking. Within a few minutes, she confessed. It didn't take much effort, at all. She went into deep, gory detail too. Described almost every aspect about the event in question. Willingly. It was vile, putrid stuff that went down too. Beyond messed up. This shit is going to haunt my nightmares for years, if I don't do massive amounts of drugs and erase it. Like we're talking right now and enough to knock my ass down... and out! Fuckin' out! Near overdose style."

{{Slowly nodding to himself, Oliver rises to his feet.}}

"Think, I'll get on that then."

{{He begins walking to the doorway, that exits the kitchen and leads to the living room.}}

"Do me a favor... check on me in a couple of hours, see if I'm still breathing, yeah?"

"Okay. You owe me for this though."

{{Pause.}}

"Hey, Oliver."

"Yeah?"

"Do you best not to die, alright?"

{{Laughter.}}

"I'll do my very best, not to perish."

{{Oliver exits the kitchen.}}

"Okay."

"So on the next edition of Friday Night Frenzy, I have been placed into a match, with the chance to obtain a title shot. My opponents for this event are Isabella Ravenwolf, Drezdin, "Super" Scatbear and bRiaN sTorM."

"The stipulations for this match are undecided and will be chosen on the night of the fight."

"That's... that's something."

"I'm super glad, the powers that be, are so well organized, capable and competent that they're idea of booking a bout is to merely wing it, when it comes to the rules. Who needs planning and preparation, when you can simply figure it out, last minute and on the fly?"

"Good job. Real, proud to call you, my employers."

"Fucking morons."

"Hey, I got a fantastic concept for you, how about you don't pre-book people in matches, at all? Just tell everyone to show up and whoever arrives first, that's who will fight first. And as people walk in the door, those people will be in the following frays, afterwards. In that order. That seems like a legit, awesome suggestion, right? You can call it... ' The First Come - First Serve Showdown' that way, you can do even less work in advance. Hey, how about you not even rent an arena or set up a ring, merely place a couple of metal trash barrels about and light the contents on fire within them. People can gather around and gawk, inside of a parking lot of some abandoned factory, while we all take turns, fighting it out like hobos. You can pay us in 40's of cheap malt alcohol and bottles of Mad Dog 20/20. You know, the wine that comes in a bottle that looks like a brick and rightfully so cause when you wake up, after getting drunk on it, you feel like you were smashed over the head with a brick... several times, till you were rendered unconscious. Whaddya say? That's a damn good design for a wrestling event and it should save you a ton of cash."

"Anyways, moving on to my opponents for this fiasco..."

"Isabella Ravenwolf. Yeah, I never heard of you but my guess is that you're some kinda, generic witch. Correct? From your name, that's what it sure sounds like what you are. Like you should be on a cheesy, badly acted, supernatural show on the CW or some shit. Haha! It's hard for me to take ya seriously. And I know a sincere, real life, sorceress too! Her name is Nyx Nephthys. She's my buddy, Zane Norrison's lady."

"So do you actually know how to wrestle or are you going to come out and use a magic wand, Sabrina? I hope it's the latter. You're probably one of those girls that watched too many episodes of Charmed. The remake, not the original. I bet your name isn't even Isabella Ravenwolf. You pulled that off some fantasy name generator, late one night while you were getting drunk on Boons Farm and listening to Morrissey. Hey, Hot Topic, why don't you, work some magic and wake yourself up? You vapid, waste of oxygen. Go squander someone else's time with your nonsense, this is a wrestling federation... somewhat, and if you go to that ring, thinking you'll do anything but fail and suffer the consequences of your poor judgement and stupidity. You're only lying to yourself."

"Drezdin. Nope. Not even going to waste my breath on you."

"Super Scatbear. So what's your deal? Are you like a 'bear' that's into scatplay? That's disgusting. You should do the world a favor and fucking kill yourself now."

"Finally, bRiaN sTorM. Someone I know and respect. How's the farm doing, man? I should stop by sometime and hang out, it's been a minute since I was there. It's awesome that you're in this match. Hey but don't get me wrong, just cause we're friends, that doesn't mean I'm going to hold back or go easy on you. Ha! I say that like you don't outweigh me by 121lbs and tower over me by six inches. Pretty sure if you hit me, I'll fucking fly across the ring, bounce off the ropes and wind up laying there, in a heap on the canvas. Trying to assess what's broken in my body. Meanwhile, if I hit you, you'll barely be fazed and most likely start laughing cause it'll be like a very small kitten, swat you with its paw. I'm going to have to rock some steel toe boots to the ring or something, if I hope to inflict any damage. Still, this should be fun, I can't wait to take the risk in this game of chance, test my luck with 'Mr. Southern Hospitality'. May the best man or vertically challenged, midget win."

"Right then, that's all I got so far... till next time, folks."

"Mr. Luck... out."