Samson finds a Golds Gym, complete with Rocky style equipment. He sends Yako to converse with the gym manager and motions to his crew to lay mats on the second floor. He notices a man in the corner giving hell to a young gym member. Infuriated, he steps up to the bully.

Samson: Only the weak try to put down the strong. What has this man done to deserve such torment?

The then decides to do the dumbest thing a person has done and push Samson. Samson return with a stiff left jab, relocating the bullies nose to the back of his skull. He then turn to the youngster.

Samson: Come, you train with me. [aloud] Anyone who wish to become supreme fighter can stay, everyone else, get out.

Yako: Ahhh, first American students, let the fun begin.

Samson: No fun, Amerika needs discipline, focus. They need real fighter to teach them how to be men. Go now, spread word, get students.

Suddenly a sound of loud clapping fills the air. The entire crowd turns around to see Mike Emerick, sarcastically clapping at what he just saw. Eventually he stops and walks up to Chernikov, pushing Yako out of the way.

"Mr. Chernikov," Mike Emerick starts, "I've heard a little about you, you're the Russian badass. A man raised in the cold, harsh winters in Russia who has a heart colder than a Russian refrigerator in December. You know, you have a pretty big ego, maybe bigger than M.E's. You're calling yourself "supreme fighter"? You haven't even had a match yet! I'll admit, what you did to that bully was pretty impressive, but not enough to prove you're the supreme fighter. Hell, I can do that! Watch,"

Mike Emerick then turns around and sees the bully standing up, blood pouring from the hole where his nose once was. He then without warning big boots the bully square in the face, knocking him the fuck out. The bully crashes to the ground, motionless. Mike Emerick then laughs and mocks the bully, saying,

"You can consider boot mark on your face to be my autograph, kid!"

He then turns back to Chernikov,

"You see, Comrade, you want to talk about discipline and focus? You want to talk about "supreme fighter"? The man who is the embodiment of all three of those categories is M............E."

The end is nigh

We see Robbie Bourbon walk into the gym, wearing some cheap work-out gear. Shorts, a plain white tee, and of course, his mask snugly gracing his skull. He sees Emerick and Chernikov, then looks at the body of the bully laying on the ground, then back at both the men.

So, what's this training, beating on gym rats? Yeesh, I left the dojo to check this out and you guys are just laying out ham and eggers.

Bourbon smiles as starts to nod his head 'no'.

Mike, good to see you again. I will freely say that I would go to war with you as an ally again. Mr. Chernikov, nice to meet you. May I assume that the unconscious fellow with blood pouring out of his face isn't here to train with us?

Robbie then sits on the floor, crosses his legs, and closes his eyes.

I'll be honest, I'm more used to working out at the dojo and smelling what the culinary students are working on; keeps you hungry, no? Also, if you're wondering about the mask, if I recall correctly you were, I wear it for two reasons. First, my goofy mug isn't going to sell shirts, so covering it up is just sound business. Second, my mask is a far stronger symbol than my face, and if anyone wants to identify with Robbie Bourbon, they can just slap one on. Who knows, if it helps some kids with a healthy dose of mind over matter, then hey, I'll pat myself on the back.

Robbie stretches his arms out and arches his back, creating loud snaps and cracks as he limbers up.

So, what's on the agenda Mr. Chernikov?

Robbie begins to breathe deeply, though with a cadence, his eyes still shut while sitting on the floor.

"Uh..."

Mason clears his throat slightly and the view of what was going down in front of him. He takes one earphone out as he does so. He raises an eyebrow and stands up, his workout clothes jostling. He recognizes Robbie Bourbon but no one else here offhand, but with reason, he assumes they're other members of the XWF roster as they were in town for the day. He takes a couple cautious steps toward the group and slides in Razor Ramon-style.

"Well hello there," He stands up straight to try and match the height of all these giants and then gestures to the bloody bloke with his head, "So uh... is it a rare occurrence for you guys to start fights in local gyms or is this just tuesday? Cause, I'unno, seems a bit odd to me. But I'll admit I'm new here."

He presses pause on his smart phone, stopping 'Ms. New Booty by Bubba Sparxx' mid song, and puts it into his pocket along with his earphones. He claps his hand together and holds both of them out for people to shake.

"Well I'm Mason Prince of many names, including, but not limited to the Sexual Tyrannosaurus, the Giant Slayer, the Womb Raider, Mr. Kawaii in the Streets Senpai in the Sheets, the Wobbly Sausage, ClitYeastWood, and Dale," He plasters a stupid grin on his face, "Don't ask about that last one. Tijuana was a bitch."

Mason looked over to the russian guy, "And you must be Ivan Drago. Or alternatively the most complete fighter in the world, Mr. Boyka. Or any other generic Russian guy. Hello there. Please do not break me, big boy."

He then turned to Mike, "Hello Alster Roidstein. Top of the testosterone to you."

And finally to Robbie, "And hello to you Mr. Bourbon. Have I ever told you that you remind me of this one guy I used to know who wrestled with me back in Japan? Huge Grizzly or... Large Bear... something like that."

Smiles all around.

Samson addresses the slew of XWF talent.

Samson: Mr Emerick, you assume I have ego but its not case. I lost my first 3 fights in RUMMA, a lesson in humbility. You have not yet been humble, and for pushing my crippled promoter Yako, I humble you after Back In Black. Your ego is how you say, writing checks your ass cannot cash.

As for you Mr. Bourbon, I saw bad guy picking on small guy, I dont like that. It sets my heart on fire. Speaking of fire Mr. Bourbon, I have heard that Amerikans have a cuisine down to a science. Barbeque it is called, I am most interested in tasting yak steak in this style.

He then searches for Mason Prince who is caught between two roided out men whose sole religon is their monthly subscriptions to Muscle on Muscle magazine.

I do not know of these Drago and Boykin. Perhaps I ask my cousin Zangief, he is big on your culture. You are small man, but I see in your eyes some promise. You would make good opponent someday.

Stumbling to get to his feet, Yako limps towards Samson, dusting himself off.

Yako: Samson, I have just received word that the crew have procure a cooking device called a smoker and will be arriving shortly. Mr. Bourbon and Mr. Prince, will you be joining our training feast. You eat all you can, train until you drop, then eat some more.

Just then a truck carrying a heavy duty pit with "Holy Smoker" painted on the side pulls up, followed by another truck with a trailer loaded to the brim with meats from an assortment of animals.

Robbie remains seated in his meditative stance until addressed by Samson, at which point his eyes go wide and he mouths the words "yak steak' without making a sound. He promptly stands up and walks to a bag sitting on the floor. He pulls out a phone, dials, and places it to his head.

Hey. Yeah, I'm at the gym with Chernikov. Nope, not a douche, kinda like I expected. Look, pack up the travel wagon, grab a few of the culinary arts students, and bring them down here. Yeah. Holy Smokers. 20 seconds? What, did you have all the guys preloaded in case...

Robbie turns to Chernikov, Emerick, and Prince, smiling and giving a thumbs up. He takes the phone away from his head.

Don't sweat the Holy Smokers, lunch is on me.

He puts the phone back to his head.

Also, send a recovery squad. Yeah. Big guy, 'muscles in his shit' type, we'll educate him. Okay. Okay. Gotcha. Bye.

He hangs up the phone. As he does, three Bourbon Men arrive and pick up the unconscious man on the ground, carrying him out of the gym. Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, is seen telling the Holy Smokers truck to leave in the distance as a food truck towing a smoker and what looks like an industrial deep fat fryer on a trailer pulls up. Bourbon men in chef hats and jackets set to work setting up the smoker, filling it with charcoal and wood chips.

I like you Samson. You're alright. I don't have any yak on the menu today, and having been to your homeland I was happy to try a plate of goat meat with a side of little green doo-dads topped with a dollop of mayonaise. Please, allow me to show you the true ultimate in American cuisine.

As he says this, a Bourbon Man walks up carrying a styrofoam container, much like you'd get from a diner or any kind of restaurant for carry out. Robbie smells the container and grins.

Barbecue pork is so varied that to fully experience each regional flavor it could take over an hour, let alone perhaps a full day to prepare. I bring you, courtesy the Bourbon Chefs at the Robbie Bourbon Dojo for the Competitive Arts, by way of Bourbon Street might I add...

Robbie opens the styrofoam box, steam billowing from it's contents; rice, okra, peppers, celery, andouille sausage, chicken, and shrimp, almost magically bound together to form...

Jambalaya!

As he speaks, the gym owner scratches his head as he watches a few Bourbon Chefs set up a table with a pair of chafing dishes atop it. Setting up a mini-buffet of Jambalaya in the middle of the gym. Robbie turns to address the whole of the gym.

WORKOUT PEOPLE! I BRING YOU SOMETHING GLUTEN FREE, HIGH IN FIBER, LOADED WITH PROTEIN, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, DELICIOUS!

Mason had to admit, when Samson said he showed promise and would be a good opponent one day, he smiled brightly and gave him a pat on the arm in return. Usually all wrestlers are so competitive and angry and can't take a joke, he's glad he's found a group of guys who not only can take a joke, but are generally nice blokes. Even if they are a bit roidy and rough around the edges.

And when the Holy Smoker and Bourbon's Jambalaya came crashing into the gym, he saw an opportunity, and he'd be damned if he didn't take it. He wasted no time. This was a perfect opportunity for a quick advert showing off his marketing skills to the worldwide web and XWF too. Gotta build up that resume of skills if you wanna be one of the faces of the company one day.

He jumped in the way of the students, the food, and Bourbon, whipping out his phone and taking a video of himself.

"Yo wassup, it's your boy Mason of the XWF. And I'm here with Robbie Bourbon's Jambalaya. It's gluten free, high in fiber, loaded with manliness, and most importantly, it's ethnic. It tastes so good and is so cheap, it's like you're robbing him!"

He winked at the camera, finished the recording, and slipped his phone into his pocket with a smile. Perfection. He'll totally tweet the shit out of that later.

"All right, let's dig in. Then after that, I'm in the mood to spar a bit," Mason declared as he took a plate from one of the students.

Samson looks at the mass of people in frustration, but keeps a cool head.

Samson: Leave the food be for now is first lesson. We must give thanks. Yako, would you please?

Yako: Loving father, art in heaven, holy is thy name. From your word, we are fed. Gracious are we for daily bread. Amen.

Amen, Mr. Chernikov.

After the prayer, Mike Emerick speaks up,

"First of all, I would like to apologize to Mr. Yako. Had no clue you were crippled and I got a bit carried away. This might be one of the few times you hear M.E say this, but I'm sorry,"

Mike Emerick then turns around to Chernikov, "You, on the other hand, are a different story. You're right about my ego and my lack of humbleness, but I can damn back it up. You say I haven't been humbled before? Who are you to judge M.E! You don't know a damn thing about my background or how I got here! I've had my share of embarrassments, just look at my early XWF career, but I have, and always will, rise above it all and prove I can back up what I say outside the ring in that very ring in question! I would be happy to face you at Back In Black, hell I'd be happy to face you right here right now, but here's the thing. The reason I'm at this gym in the first place is because I'm training for my match at Back In Black! That's right, I'm already booked. I'll be going against, bear with M.E when he says this, a Viking named Bijorn, who has challenged M.E to a match where the loser... wait... how should I say this..."

Mike Emerick looks around the room, people are watching, and if he says this out loud they might be put off the Jambalaya.

"The stipulation is that... hang on,"

Mike Emerick whispers in Chernikov's ear, "It's that the loser will get fucked by his gay My Little Pony loving Viking Gimp cousin,"

Mike Emerick then backs off and lets the sentence sink in a bit,

"Yeah... the XWF can get weird sometimes, but anyway, I suggest you see my match at BNB as I call it. Maybe not what happens after the match, that will get graphic, but what happens during the match. I might be writing some hefty checks, but not only will I pay them all, I'll shove them straight up your cold war ass! If you really want a piece of M.E, I'd have no problem going one on one with you on X-Mas X-Treme! Until then, amen,"

He then turns to Mason Prince, his expression changing into more of a smile,

"You know, you remind M.E of himself when he started out. Welcome to the XWF! Also, what I said to Mr. Chernikov also applies to you. You want a piece of, and I quote, "Alster Roidstein"? Anytime, anywhere. Just be warned, if you face M.E, what will happen to you will end up on all of social media. The hashtag would be something between #Fail and #OMG,"

He then turns to Robbie Bourbon, who is the only person currently in the room he doesn't have beef with,

"Nice to see you again Rob! How's the dojo been going? I've been seeing what's been going on with you, Dim, and Peter Gillmour, and I just want you to know this. If those two try anything stupid or you ever need some support against them, although I'm sure you can handle those two assclowns yourself, M.E has your back. Also, where did you get all these people?"

The end is nigh

OOC: Is this thread still going now that Samson's gone?

OOC: I don't really know to be honest, but I believe it would be respectful to close it.

The end is nigh