A repeating sequence of buzzing sound brings me out of my slumber as I try to shake off the symptoms of my hangover. It takes me some time, but I finally realize that the sound that I've been listening to for the past fifteen minutes is coming from my cell phone. I roll off of my mattress and onto the filthy cement floor of the janitor's closet. I crawl around the room and sweep my arms under the mattress that I have laid out on the floor. There's my Glock, my dead rat, and-- ah finally!-- that pesky cell phone which interrupted my beauty rest.


"WHAT?! What the FUCK do you want?" I groan loudly into the speaker. "People are sleeping here!"


"Sleeping?" echoed the voice on the other end. "It's four o' clock in the afternoon! I've been trying to come in contact with you all day."


The voice on the other end is identifiable to all except for John Madison. We know her as the lovely, yet commanding Erica Rayner-- Theo Pryce's assistant.


"Fuck... Theo Pryce? Tell him that next time I see him I'm gonna pull my Glock out and pistol whip him for trying to call me outside of my usual business hours! What does this asshole want?"


I pull my Glock out of the waistband of my pants and fire a shot into the air in order to communicate my frustration to Erica. Perhaps a warning shot of some sort.


There's a momentary pause on the other end of the line.


Erica moves on with the conversation though; my warning shot hardly fazed her.


"Okay... John, you do realize that Theo Pryce is the founder of Pryce Industries, don't you? You wanted this meeting just as much as he does. You called me for two days straight and left some... very disturbing voice mails."


"Pryce Industries?" I think aloud. Suddenly it hit me; this Theo Pryce asshole is actually valuable to me. "OH! I remember now..."


"Yep," Erica confirms along with a sigh. "So do you still want this meeting or what?"


"Uhh, sure thing! You tell Theo Pryce that I'm very interested in his business. I need a lot of his money in order to fix this shit hole that we film Warfare in."


"Warfare?"


"Yeah; it's the name of our TV show. It's the TV show that Theo Pryce will be on."


"Okay, and your business with Mr. Pryce involves 'fixing it?'"


"That's right, sexy."


"Don't call me that, idiot."


"Anyway, yeah, this place is a real shit hole. The other night, one of the spotlights fell off of the ceiling and crushed an audience member's skull like a watermelon. That shit was messy."


"Umm, what the hell? Are you serious right now?"


"Sounds crazy, right? That's why I need Theo Pryce and all of his money to come fix this place up. I can't handle the lawsuits and I can't be going to court every week. Last time I went, I lost a case just because I tried to pull my Glock out on the judge. Can you believe them?!"


"Okay. I've heard enough, John."


"And when I did it, that judge started yelling at me and sent in the cops! Whatever happened to a man's right to bear arms? God damn it! They're trying to take my guns away, Erica!"


"John, listen..."


"We have to stop them, Erica! Does Theo Pryce own a gun? Does he know any Nazis or spacemen? Myself, Supernova, and NAZI have a vision for a perfect world. What is yours?"


"JOHN, SHUT UP!"


"..."


"Listen... I'm sending Theo Pryce to San Diego to meet you at the War Room. You don't need to explain anything else to me, he'll be there shortly."


"Okay, that's great! You tell Theo that I'll be here waiting in my office (a janitor's closet covered in rat feces.) for him. Tell him that if he can turn this shit around that I'll give him the opportunity to be a champion. Oh and please tell him to bring his money because shit is falling apart over here. We need lighting, seating, pest removal, hooker removal..."


*Click*


"She hung up on me, fuck!


You know, I thought co-GMing a show would be a good career move for me.


But let's face it, I'm not some uptight asshole in a suit. Well, I am those things, but working in the back office isn't my thing. I prefer conduct business in the ring seeing as how I'm a professional wrestler above everything else. And I really wish I could force this asshole into the ring the same way he's forcing me into a courtroom.


Yes, at the moment I am being sued by these ungrateful degenerates known as the XWF fans. I give these people their own venue; a captivating environment like no other, and this is how they repay me? I took an abandoned warehouse and turned it into the War Room! How many promoters have done that for their fans?


But one spotlight falls and breaks someone's skull, and I'm held liable.


What's this fan's problem? He should know the dangers of entering a building that is called "The War Room." Those fans are fully aware of the hostile environment that they are subjecting themselves to.


But it's nothing new...


Someone enters my dangerous world.


They get hurt.


And they want to retaliate. They want to retaliate because they're bitter and want to pin all of their problems on someone else.


Sebastian Duke, you are just like that fan. That fan walked into my War Room, got his head crushed by some of my equipment, and now he wants to fight me in court. You walked into my environment at High Stakes, I crushed your skull with a shovel, and now you want to fight me in the ring.


That fan stole my time and money and set my Wednesday night show back a week.


Sebastian Duke stole my crown, but he has not set me back-- not at all. In fact, he's only set himself back. That crown that he stole has altered his judgement so much that he actually believes that he can carry Peter Gilmour and Cam Lang to a Trio Titles run. Furthermore, he thinks that a group which consists of Hunter Payne and Shawn Steele is capable of going to war with my Black Circle. Shit, maybe all of that alcohol residue that I left on that crown is seeping into Duke's head.


Maybe I can't win against that fan who's suing me, but I know I can win against Sebastian Duke. Like I said, the guy has set himself back and is making a lot of amateur calls.


For those of you who are behind on XWF current events, I stabbed Duke in the back and buried you in front of millions of viewers on Pay-Per-View. Now, in Duke's ideal perfect world, he would get his revenge next Monday night and walk out with the fancy hat that he stole from me.


Then again, in Duke's ideal world, The Brotherhood wouldn't be losing matches every week. In an ideal world, The Brotherhood would hold the top championship and the big two that come below it, or at least be the top contenders at those championships.


Only reason why Duke is a top contender? Paul Heyman.


Congratulations, Duke. You're the second person where losing matches has earned you a title shot. The only other superstar to earn their King match by doing that is Peter Gilmour.


You've made so many mistakes, Duke. Ideally, you should come across as the 'good guy' in this little feud that we have between us. Fans should be rooting for you to take my head off.


But why should anyone cheer for a loser? No one likes a failure.


Why would they cheer for someone who turned on a stable member two weeks in, and then rejoined that same stable member two weeks later? No one likes a hypocrite.


Why would they cheer a man who steals championships? No one likes a fraud.


Me? I'm probably the biggest scumbag around here, but people are starting to like that. This is a competitive world that we live in so people like having someone they can look up to who does everything in his power to remain on top. I cheat in order to remain on top and people admire that. People are beginning to recognize my success and are reevaluating their own lives. They're thinking to themselves, 'how come I'm not wiping out the competition with a cattle prod, a can of pepper spray, and some fucked up friends?' They're beginning to associate with Nazis, spacemen, communists, and spiritualists. They're out there creating their own Black Circles!


Hell, the fact that people see me as a role model makes you even more despicable, Duke. You could have stopped me and set things right but instead you chose to stoop lower than me. You brought more harm than good to your name, Dukey boy. You attacked-- no-- your GANG attacked me after I outperformed Griffin and Santos in one of the greatest King Matches of all time. You then stole my crown and used it as leverage to get your King Match instead of earning it. You did all of this and for some reason you think that it earns you the right to face me.


Well, if that's the road that Duke wants to take then so be it. He doesn't want to prove to himself and everyone else that he's worthy of a King Match? Fine. Duke is the one who will have to explain himself when it's all said and done.


Duke, how will you explain to people why you chose to team up with superstars outside of your own group and then proceeded to lose? What in the fuck happened to loyalty? Maybe you should start looking up to me and Eli as role models when it comes to being a strong leader.


After that, how will you explain the fact that you lost to John Madison and that you're walking around with a golden crown while John is wearing a child's toy? I cannot imagine the shame. Will you even bother showing your face ever again?


Here's some advice, Duke:


Walk out on Monday night.


Kneel down and slowly place my crown onto the ground.


Turn your back and walk away.


We won't even go on the record in saying that you actually knelt, Duke. We'll just say that you happened to be in the kneeling position when you placed my crown on the mat.


We'll just say you had a bad week. You couldn't handle the pressure of two big title matches. You can then disappear and regroup. PLEASE regroup. Come back and hit me with something better; something that will at least leave a scratch on my arm.


Or you can walk down to the ring and get humiliated by me... again."