The scene fades in from black to a dingy hotel in Detroit, Michigan. The camera flies over the property slowly and spirals inwards to a tiny balcony on the third floor of the dilapidated structure, and we see Johnathan Cable standing there, looking out over the gray wasteland of the city below him, his red and black mask shadowed in the fading light of the chilly night. On a tripod next to him sits a small camera, the tiny red light flashing into the oncoming darkness, defiant and unwavering in its purpose.

“To be back inside those ropes again. To feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. To know the feeling of flesh torn beneath my fingers, and to hear the snapping of bones once more... a symphony of lust and pleasure for me, buried beneath pain and anguish, and nothing else in this tortured existence seems to deliver the release I seek.”

“It comes like this to those who toy with monsters when in reality they shouldn't be allowed out of bed to watch cartoons by themselves in the morning. When kiddies play at big boy games, they learn lessons they may not be prepared to face yet, and who's fault is it?” John asks as he raises his arms above his head, and stretches his shoulders first one way, then the other, pulling his wrists as far as he can to stretch the tense muscles of his shoulders and back.

“Is it the child's fault who knew little better than to shove his finger through a fence because he wanted to pet the pretty puppy dog, or a parent's fault who never taught their children to survive the harsh realities we face in life? Or maybe, it was the dog's fault for doing what comes naturally to a instinctual predator with a penchant for blood?”

“Horrifying realities.” he says.

“How can one point fingers at the dog who bites, when biting is what dogs do?” he asks calmly

“How can one blame the child who knows nothing of how the world will treat him?” again he wonders out loud.

“So then, in this, only the parents are to blame. After all... it is they who are charged with keeping their young safe and sound, free from harm, and it is they who failed to protect those who are too frail and unlearned to protect themselves.” he remarks simply as he continues his line of logic.

“People find themselves submerged in a reality more akin to a horror movie than to anything people expect to find floating through the universe, and yet, in some ways, we are all faced with those sorts of moments.” he extrapolates his logic further. “We are all faced with death and miracles, and we all face loses and rejection. We all find ourselves coping with pain and hurt, and we struggle on to find our footing to go forward, but who is to blame for our failures?”

“There will be no footing.” he continues. “There will be no steep stair to climb to reach a lofty goal. There will be no ladder hanging precariously from some pointed cliff at the zenith of your twisted realities. There will be no elevator to the top this week on Brawl for the clown and the crazy. Oh no.” he laughs to himself as he continues on. “This week on Brawl, the WGWF and the Insanimaniacs will find themselves face to face with a Beast the likes they have never witnessed.”

“Oh, by all means... monsters you have seen aplenty. Monster are nothing new to the roster or the fans of the WGWF. They sprout here like a veritable monster garden in some shitty Disney movie where the mummy just wants to nurture a group of school kids, and the wolf man only wants to find a real home where someone will love him for who he is. Every single Superstar in the locker room here has disturbing skeletons in their closet, and deeds done in darkness, but each and every one of them are just fluffy marshmallows compared to the reality of the mind of a REAL monster. Just look across the ring from me this week, and you will undoubtedly see two of the sickest around... but a Beast... one like me... is a brand New Breed. Never before in the illustrious halls of the WGWF have any of you witnessed a force like me.”

Then, there is a knock on the hotel room door heard through the sliding glass entryway into the room. John reaches across the span, and turns the camera off as he moves inside to answer the door. As it swings noisily on its rusted hinges, John peers out into the darkened hallway and sees Victor Bradshaw standing on his doorstep.

Victor looks up at the massive brute, his disfigured face hidden well behind the full face plate attached to his head, his eyes gleaming in the dark through small holes in the protective barrier of steel.

“Are you going to ask me to come in, or are you going to have me stand out here in the hallway until some crack head comes along and shivs me to death?” He huffs impatiently. After a moment, John steps to the side and swings the door wide as Victor makes his way inside. “You know, John... as one of the richest men in this hemisphere, you would think that you would put yourself up in the best accommodations you could find. I mean, I know it's just Detroit, but damned! This is no place for a World Class Athlete of your caliber to hunker down before a show.”

“Vic, I appreciate your concern. Shut up. Do you think I want all those uppity fuckers staring at me, Victor? Do you think I want the kids laughing and pointing fingers at me, or screaming their fears to the wide horrible world when I look at the across the lobby and they run to hide under their nanny’s skirts?” Cable shakes his masked head side to side. “No Victor. This is a place a monster like me belongs. I am really only good at two things, and neither of them warrant me walking around in broad daylight scaring people.” Cable abruptly changes the subject before Victor can launch into another tirade of hope for his assimilation into society.

“OK. Look, I am just saying, we could find better accommodations. I hate coming to see you in places like this. It's creepy, and I just know one of these days I am going to come around a corner and some loser looking for his next score is going to gut me and take my shoes for crack rocks!” Victor toes the line of frantic as he tries to explain his displeasure over the situation.

“I never asked you to come and see me Victor. You take that upon yourself. Now, did you relay the training schedule for Sebastian like I told you to?” He remarks as he makes his way back out onto the balcony to retrieve his camera and tripod.

“Yeah. I gave him the new itinerary. He spent a few days getting his crew settled in to the new place, but he should be ready to go by next week full tilt.” he says plainly. “What you got going on out here? Working on your promo for your WGWF debut?” Victor asks, his curiosity peaked.

“Yeah. I still need some more though.” He says as he packs his equipment into a small black bag.

“Well, the WGWF likes to hear a story. They love a good verbal assassination, but the trick is to get the fans interested in the shit going on in your life. They eat that shit up. It's weird. I mean, you and I both know that it doesn't really matter what is going on outside of those ropes. The only thing that REALLY matters is what happens to the guy from bell to bell, and who walks away with all of his parts in the right places. These guys though... they almost seem like if your life isn't full of interesting tidbits that you can't cut it in the WGWF. Mostly though, the nut jobs run around drinking, getting wasted, and killing people left and right. I think it is a prerequisite to gain a contract here.” Victor explains to Cable as he finishes getting his gear together for their trip to the gym.

“Good thing I took care of that a long time ago, huh?” John says over his shoulder. Victor stops dead in his tracks as John chuckles to himself. “I would hate to think I couldn't come to work if I hadn't already taken lives.”

“I'm sorry. What did you say?” Victor asks, serious concern churning just below the surface of his fragile emotional state.

“I said, Victor, it is a damned good thing, that I have, in all earnest fact, killed a few people then, isn't it? It would be a shame if CCP hadn't signed my contract the other week on Battle Lines over such a paltry thing as failure to have blood on your hands.” he remarks causally, as if nothing were amiss with the happiness he feels at taking the lives of those who have taken their last breath between his fingers as he closed the book on their last days. “Now, I don't know exactly what the popularity with murder as a tool for shock value has to do with wrestling, but I am at least glad that I meet the mark for the amount of crazy required to ride this ride.”

“OK... well just remember that they love a good story, and I am sure that you have a few you could share. Maybe you could tell them abou...” Victor is cut off abruptly as John shoves his bag into his chest and makes his way out of the creaking front door and into the dark hallway of the dank hotel and turns towards the stairs leaving Victor alone in Cable's room.

“God, I should have taken your advice and become an accountant for the IRS.” Victor remarks towards the crumbling ceiling as he makes his way out of the room behind Cable, closing the door behind him as the scene fades to black.

So you want to hear a story, do you? You want to hear a story that is twisted, and shocking, and you probably expect me to try to throw some sexy in to boot, huh?

Well, I have news for you.

There is only one story that matters this week. It is a story of truth. No shock value outside of what fact provides. No exaggerated prophesies that will set me up for failure before your very eyes. No Ranting on and on about how I am better than the rest of you, even though I am.

No.

Today's tale is one of truth, and fact.

Once upon a time, there was a small boy. He came from a good home, with parents that loved him very much. He went to a good school and was well liked by his peers. He did well in his studies, and showed some mild talent for sports. One night, in the darkness of shadow, a noise was heard while he slept, and his parents sprung to action. His mother came to check on him, and assure him that everything would be all right. She told him to hide in his closet, and to stay there until she came to get him, and then she kisses his forehead and closed the door behind herself, and went to join his father who was already investigating the the nefarious noise.

Time went by as the ticking of the clock marked off the moments of hideous fright that followed, and still he sat calmly in his closet, abiding the words of his mother, until finally, it could not be helped, and he crept slowly from his room and down the long flight of stairs.

The fear in his heart was great, but still he went forward, until he found her. His foot slipped in the pool that had formed around her limp body laying on the living room floor, and he cried for her, and knew he had to find out where his father had gone.

He made his way into the kitchen, creeping slowly as he approached the door, and seeing his dad tied to a chair in the middle of the room. He was afraid., It filled his heart. It filled his soul. Every fiber of his being screamed to run away and never look back, but he was not that kind. He went into the kitchen, and rushed forward as the masked man who had already taken away his mother held the knife to his father's throat. Terrified, he watched on, helpless to save him from the blade, but not helpless to save himself. He drew a knife from the counter nearby as the man sliced away at his dad, and came for him next.

The shock of the weight of the man colliding with the hilt of the blade was what really surprised him. At first, that was all he could think about. How heavy this body was as he slipped past him and thudded to the floor heavily.

He stared at him for a long time as the blood pooled on the kitchen floor, the tiles diverting the rivers off in different directions as it followed the grout, a patchwork of the macabre.

People came, faceless people who all told him how sorry they were for his loss, but they weren't sorry enough to bring back his parents. Instead, they placed in one home after another, and said they wanted to help him, but there was little they could do for him to be honest.

A string of places he was suppose to call home. That became his life... until he met Hank. Hank took him into the gym and made it his home, and when he was older, he met the woman he was sure would be his life forever. Perhaps it would be her that would free him from the cages he fought in, and give him a reason to leave the bloodshed and pain behind.

That too, as with all else in my entire life has been taken... and now that boy will come for you Insanimaniacs. I will take your world apart, just as mine was, and he will bury you in the rubble of the life you wished you still had.

Your fear tactics are no good on me boys, because you are not fear.

The WGWF is your parents, and they are neglectful. I am a dog, and I only bite.