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Well, Crisis, that was a match well done last Wednesday night. You fought well. You fought bravely. You defeated me. Maybe, further down the road, our paths shall cross again, and this time I will show you just how things are done. I hope to meet you in the squared circle again. Possibly with more on the line next time than just a passing match-up in a pay-per-view. A championship, possibly? That is something to be found in the future, which is an uncertain one of course.

I had expected a bit more from my first pay-per-view event here in the GWA. The performances last night were lackluster, at best. Frankly, I thought the most entertaining match-ups of the night were those put on by the Falconers as well as the women’s title match. The rest of them? Average at best. Even the main event left some to be desired. The big names did not own up to their end of the deal last Wednesday night, it was the undercarders that made the show. Maybe that’s the signal that change is coming through the GWA. Who will be at the lead of this change? Will it be people such as myself, Crisis, people such as Drake Maxwell? We are the new, we are the young, and we are the future. It is time for people like Ashram, Drakestone, Rayne and their ilk to either perform or get the fuck out of our way.

So where do I go from here? I think I demonstrated well enough my vicious streak in the match that night. I don’t think Crisis will forget that anytime soon. So I got a little out of hand towards the end there. He’s just lucky I was in a good mood.

Because you don’t want to see me pissed off.

I need a drink.

The man gets up from his bed and walks out the door, locking it behind him. He proceeds down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door of the hotel, onto the busy streets of New York. Walking north a block, he comes to a small bar set back from the street a bit. He enters the pub, ducking to avoid the top of the door frame as he enters.

Nice little place they got going here. Small-town pub in the Big Apple. O’Grady’s? Gee, are they Irish maybe?

Of course. Everybody look at the seven-foot freak when he walks in the door. I swear. You can’t go any damn place in the world without getting stared at when you’re my size. Even here in New York City, home to the largest population of weirdos and freaks in the world, I still stick out like a sore thumb.

He sits down at the bar, asks for a double of whiskey, straight. Pulling out his cell phone, he punches in a few numbers, ignoring the stares from the other patrons around him.
“T? Hey, It’s Grim. You wanted to meet? I’m at O’Grady’s pub on Seventh and Adams. Five minutes? Yeah, I’m the big guy at the bar. Kinda hard to miss. See ya.”

Got a match coming up this Wednesday. Me and Thurston against a pair of broads. Usually I’d go nice on them. They’re women. Hell, I weigh more than the both of them combined. But they want equal treatment, we’ll give them equal treatment. I hope it ends up being a good match. Hopefully no one gets hurt. Too bad, anyways. Saw them in action at the pay-per-view, they have talent, but Christ, it’s unfair putting them up against someone my size. Thurston and another lightweight, sure. But me? My thigh is thicker than either of their torsos.

The door opens and shuts, and Thurston Edward Marshall the Third walks up and sits down next to Grim, motioning to the barkeep to bring him a glass of Chivas Regal, neat.

Thurston: “So, John, how’s life treating you?”

Grim: “Not as good as it’s treating you, rich boy…”

Thurston: “Hey hey, it’s only one match. Crisis was a worthy opponent, I can think of a lot worse people to lose to.”

Grim: “Such as…?”

Thurston: “It coulda been Drakestone or that fat-ass Bedlam… or even people like Harris or Payne.”

Grim: “I beat Payne… I’ll tell you this, he’s the worst guy this federation has… His wrestling style is one of those that would be new and original… if it was the seventies. He’s uncreative as hell.”

Thurston: “He stays around though. That’s what a jobber-to-the stars gets, a guaranteed job.

Grim: “True… true.”

There is a moment of silence as the two sip their drinks, savoring the flavor, taking in the surroundings, thinking.

Grim: “What do you think about this match. I mean, you’ve been around here longer, what the fuck kind of drugs was Fury doing when he put this match together?”

Thurston: “Hey, give the man credit, he keeps things entertaining. The women’s division needs some exposure, what better way than to put them against a team that has potential to dominate the GWA, if we get our acts together.”

Grim: “True… we were a great team in the past. But I like wrestling as a single, it lets me explore my range of abilities more.”

Thurston: “That is the biggest load of monkey crap I’ve ever heard… explore the range of your abilities… You’re range of abilities ranges from bad to worse to awful...”

Grim: “Eh… shut your mouth, jit-rag… Anyways, at least I haven’t made a career out of being Jim Daher’s bitch.”

Thurston’s smile drops at this as Grim breaks out in a rare grin. That is, until Thurston nails him on the arm with a stiff right.

Thurston: “That little piece of shit beat me twice, okay? And the first time was because I had already been through a tag match earlier that night, plus having to deal with eliminating four other guys. It wasn’t a fun night, I’ll say that much. And so what if he wins? He’s got his nose implanted straight up Fury’s ass crack, it’s hard to beat that no matter how much skill you have.”

Grim: “Simmer down my man… I didn’t realize it got under your skin that bad. You’re attracting attention.”

Thurston: “Oh, like you didn’t attract attention the moment you walked in here, you fucking triple-extra-large oaf.”

Grim: “Now no need to get personal… Just because my arm is thicker than your leg...”

Thurston: “Okay, enough about size… next thing I know, you’ll want to have a pissing contest right here in front of the bar.”

Grim: “Well, actually…”

Thurston: “It’s a figure of speech, shit-head…”

Grim: “I knew that… really, I did. So, what do you think about bringing back the old gimmick?”

Thurston: “Grim and Thanatos? The Wicked?”

Grim: “I had though about it, I think it would be good for us as well as for this federation.”

Thurston: “This place needs change. It needs something that will be the catalyst for it. I think that bringing back The Wicked could be what is needed. If anything, at least it would be entertaining.”

Grim: “As compared to what?”

Thurston: “Give me a break… I know that the last stopover we had we were a little weak, but we just got to work on your mic skills a little more, everything will work out…”

Grim: “My mic skills? As I remember, you couldn’t get off more than a six word sentence without fucking up!”

Thurston: “I’ve improved since then. Seriously. But I think that this would be a perfect time to bring back The Wicked. Of course, I want to keep going as a singles wrestler, because I will take that belt away from Daher sometime soon. If Charlie boy doesn’t get it first, and from what I saw at the PPV, he stands a good chance of it. It would be a welcome change.”

Grim: “So it’s settled then? You still got your old uniform?

Thurston: “It’s in my shit somewhere, I’ll make sure I have it for Wednesday, don’t worry.”

Grim: “Sounds like a plan… I’ll dig out the old intro footage and music, I know I got that in my car somewhere.”

Thurston waves for the barkeep to bring over another double for Grim and another scotch for himself. The keep brings it over, and Thurston raises his glass to Grim’s.

Thurston: “Here’s to Fury, the GWA, all of the opponents to fall before us in the future and, of course, here’s to The Wicked....”

Grim: “I’ll drink to that, damn straight.”

Thurston: “You’d drink to anything…”