<center>
The Majestic Cup 2007 Semi-Finals
The winner of this match will face off later in the show to determine the winner of the Majestic Cup tournament.

Acid Misfit vs Aaron Keening vs Malaki vs Bamlicious
Misfit and Keening moved on in the tournament by defeating their opponents at Havoc. These two have never met in the ring before, so that alone should be worth watching! Add to the mix FWR's World Champion Malaki, brought into the Cup by Commissioner Stern, and this is one match sure to steal the show, especially now that Stern has added yet another mystery opponent to this PPV! And he's now revealed as former ECF World Champion, 411Fed Aftershock Champion, The Big Bamlicious!</center>

Following Havok, Valerie Stern returned to her skybox which had been converted into a commissioner's office. Just as Miss Stern had taken a seat behind a makeshift desk (with Bruce and Adam Wilson helping themselves to hor'dourves at a corner table) a knock came at the door.

"Enter" Miss Stern commanded to the door, which opened revealing the FWRFed Champion Malaki.

"You wished to see me" Malaki asked, walking calmly into the room.

"Indeed Malaki. This will only take a moment. I was wanting to make sure you understood exactly what role you are being expected to play here in TCW." she commented, while rummaging through paperwork, almost as if her conversation with Malaki was at the bottom of a giant "To Do" list she was keeping in her head.

"You brought me here to take the focus off of some of your other wrestlers, correct?"

Miss Stern smiled. "Exactly. And do you know why I want the focus off of them?"

"Well, I would assume it would have to do with this upcoming congressional investigation."

"That's part of it, yes. You see Malaki, what we need in TCW is a champion who doesn't give the business a bad name. A champion who knows how to play ball. A champion who doesn't concern himself with....well a champion who remains focused on the business." Miss Stern replied, finally making eye contact with Malaki.

"Well, I've been FWRFed champion for over a year now... Malaki started but was quickly cut off.

"Yes, the FWRFed. It's certainly become quite an organization hasn't it? Is that supposed to be evidence that I can count on you?"

"I suppose it could be." Malaki curtly stated.

"Am I to assume you've put your past behind you then?" Miss Stern asked, her eyebrows arching. "You really don't expect me to put my blind trust in a convicted felon do you?"

"That was a long time ago." Malaki responded, the words sounding more forced than he had intended.

"Good answer." Miss Stern smiled. "You see Malaki, you're a shining example of how people truly can be reformed. That's the real reason you're here. To show, a certain someone, that people can change their ways and be successful at life."

"Well, I'll do my best."

"Damn right you will. Now then, your first step is getting through Keening and Acid Misfit. If you lose, then it's no skin off my back. Right back to the FWRFed you go. But if you win...maybe there's a future for you here after all."

Malaki stood there, unsure of how to respond so such a veiled comment. Valerie Stern continued ruffling through papers, and then realizing Malaki was still standing there, looked up at him, annoyed.

"That means we're done here."

****************************************
Following his match, Acid Misfit had returned to his locker room, and changed, then sat down to watch the rest of the show on a monitor. He sat back in a chair and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small wooden box and a noticeably dented zippo lighter. He slid the top off the box and a spring reacted, making a thin cylinder shoot upwards into his hand. Acid took the device and lowered it into the box. With the twist of his wrist he knew he had succeeded in attaining what he wished, and he took the box, sliding the top back on and placed it on a stool next to him.

Misfit knew that he needed to be cutting back on his extra curricular activities, but considering he had just defeated Draco and advanced in the Majestic Cup tournament, he figured a little relaxation wouldn't hurt.

The relaxation was short lived however, as the end of Havoc played on the monitor. As he watched Malaki and Valerie Stern shake hands in the middle of the ring, certain thoughts crossed his mind. They could best be summed up in the words he stated as Havoc went off the air:

Self Serving, Grand-Standing, son of a bitch!

While Misfit wasn't thrilled that Malaki had gone "outside of the business" to get his place in the tournament, the news he would soon receive that they were in the same match did help his mood a bit.

However, watching that on the TV had ruined his buzz. Something Misfit could never forgive Malaki for.
******************************************
Aaron Keening watched the end of Havoc as well, albeit from a different locker room and with the sound originally turned off. He was only moderately paying attention to the action in the ring and more concerned with the Vivaldi he had playing, however the point of the matter wasn't lost in him. Flipping off the television Keening paced his locker room, and continued to do so until a random TCW stage hand delivered the next card to his locker room.

Looking at the names of the people he would be facing. A single word came from his mouth:

"Dissonance"

While the meaning might have been lost on the intern, to say that Malaki's impact on TCW was at this point both harsh and incomplete was probably the best summation anyone could have made at the time.

What if there was no heaven? What if the here and now was all we ever knew of the paradise so often spoken of by the faithful? What if the God that we had prayed to all those years simply turned his back on us because we had rebelled against his kingdom one too many times before? We had known it was wrong, but it felt right in the moment. Our intent was not to challenge the Lord, God himself, but rather see how far we could stretch our own notoriety, our own mortality, if you will. But in the end, the Lord saw it as a refusal of acceptance and walked away.

Where does that leave you now? Now you are lumped in with the deviations and abominations that are strewn across the cavern floor in a land of no remorse or salvation. You struggle day to day with your rationale, your sanity. A moment of free thought would be a blessing if you could just control the nightmares that fuel your thirst to find the solution. To bring an end to the means...

Every moment you are chilled by the prospect of having what little you consider to be "your own" devastated in the blink of an eye. And what of those you once loved, but now keep far away? Would they too pay the price for your shameful actions? In part you do not seek them out at the chance your worst fears should have been realized.

You hold your head as it reels. You feel your head vibrate with the inhuman screaming of a thousand demons commanding you to end it all. Your eyes begin to tear as you grimace in pain knowing that heeding their word is defeat for what you have tried to subdue, but it becomes more and more of a welcoming option. The pain in the pit of your stomach is as if someone is tearing and twisting a dagger directly into your soul. You writhe and grimace as the sharp stabbing pain pulsates through your entire body. You suddenly have to gasp for air.

You struggle to your feet by using unidentified nearby furniture. You find a moment of balance in front of the sink as you look up into the mirror. Your face wrinkled in agony, your eyes bloodshot with defeat and disdain. Your arms tremble as you struggle to hold yourself up.

"This is definitely the last fucking time I mix sushi and Crown at 4 in the morning".

Bam kicks over the waste pail inadvertently as he makes his way out of the restroom. He makes his way to the couch, as his phone is lit up with a missed call.

Then his voicemail alert goes off.

He pops open a bottle of water as he flips the phone open and listens to the message.

He looks at the phone.

"Who the hell is Valerie Stern?"

His eyes roll for a moment as he begins a call.

Bam: Yo.

Voice: Sup biggins?

Bam: Somethin' you, uh wanna tell me?

FADE

The next day

There is a knock at Valerie Stern's door.

VS: Come in.

Bam strolls into the office, slight smile on his face.

Valerie doesn't look up from her desk as she waves to a chair in front of her.

VS: Please, sit.

Bam straightens his jacket lapels as he sits. He uncomfortably shifts in his chair waiting for eye contact.

VS (Not looking up): You're a difficult person to find.

Bam: Well...

She raises her hand cutting him off.

VS: Here's the deal. One match. (She slides the folder across the desk that she has been reading) You draw like you used to, we can talk more after the show.

Bam holds the paper as he looks at her, then down to the paper, then looks up at her. She now has her hands folded with a blank look on her face.

Bam: What's the match?

VS: You vs. Acid Misfit vs. Aaron Keening vs. FWRFed Champion Malaki.

Bam: A four-way?

VS: This is a big show. We are mid year and budgets are close. This show needs to be my cushion for the rest of the year.

Bam: When do you need my answer?

VS (Glancing at her watch): Promptly. Time is money. Time is running out, and I may still be able to get another person to replace you if you are so uncertain.


Bam's face frowns as he bites his bottom lip. He looks down at the paper again.

Bam: One match?

VS: That, is entirely up to your ability to draw. Do what you do and this business relationship will continue.

Bam: And if I take the money and bomb?

VS: Your decision. I won't be calling again.

Bam slaps the folder open, flips out his pen and signs.

Valerie looks at the contract, then slides it into her desk. A smile now barely creases her lips.

Bam gets up and walks to the door.

VS: Don't disappoint me. The days of the boys' club and your Dynasty friends are long gone. You will need to work to make your money in the here and now.

Bam (As he walks out): Lady, you got NO clue what you just signed up for.

Valerie Stern can only smirk as the door slams shut. She seems very sure of what she is doing.

Time for you to go out to the places you will be from

Aaron hated packing. While living out of a suitcase from hotel to hotel makes it easier for others in TCW, not so for the young musician. Darkness never had to pack a keyboard. Hardy never had to take down a full computer with music software. Shamrock didn't have four different instruments to lug around. But Aaron did. Nobody in this business had the same needs he did. Nothing feels worse than having a muse whisper a melody into your ear that you can't work with. Sure, you could write it down, but without the ability to expand on this base tune frustrates Aaron like few other things in the world. Hence the massive luggage.

His task was interrupted by a knock on the door. Wondering who could be visiting him, he opened the door, and his face sank. Before him stood a man his height with a slightly thicker build, topped his short brown hair. The look on his face was one Aaron knew all too well, and dreaded.

"Hi Dad."

His father entered the room without invitation and briefly scanned it, his military eyes picking up on details.

"Congratulations on your victory Aaron." He said in his brief, short way.

"...thanks? You watched?"

His father nodded. Aaron was a bit taken aback that his father would actually watch him compete, given that the older man considered pro wrestling a redneck soap opera devoid of skill and competition.

"How's the music coming?"

"Not bad. Been working on a three string Motet lately. Have base and counter melodies down, but it just feel unfinished."

"Mostly because it isn't. I wonder why you haven't finished it son."
And here we come to the reason for the visit. Aaron had known this would happen soon enough. Once his father finally accepted that Aaron's new project was more than a flight of youth, Will would show up and try to, as he put it, talk some sense into his son.

"So this is why you came all the way to LA? Another one of your talks about how I am wasting my life?"

"No. I've been out here for awhile doing some consulting work at Edwards. And for the record, I don't think you are wasting your life, just not doing what you should be doing."

"And what should I be doing Dad?"

"Music, at a minimum. Look Aaron, you have a gift, you know this. When you were a child we all knew it. And here you're fighting in a ring every week; you can't tell me that's a good life?"

"But I enjoy it. I only work for a few hours once or twice a week, get paid decent money, and have plenty of free time to explore my music. It's a sweet deal."

Will sat down in a nearby chair.

"But is it a future?"

Aaron had no answer. He knew this was only something to support him until he could make his break into the music biz, but even that industry was flighty.

"No it not son. Look, your mother and I want to see you succeed, we do. But we always want you to settle down in a somewhat normal career that will allow you to support a family like I did for you and your mother. Getting your head beat in every week in no way to do that Aaron."

"I know."

Aaron's turn to sit.

"But this is fun for me Dad. The thrill of being in that ring, with the crowd cheering for me, it's a rush. And it's not like I have some kid on the way, hell Dad, I don't even have a girlfriend right now. For the time being this is a great career for a single healthy guy like me."

"And if you stop being single, or healthy?"

"If I find somebody, then I will bow out of TCW. I could always join the Air Force Band after all. And tell Mom I will be safe. This place has great doctors."

"Well, it's your life. Just think of the future okay?"

"I will."

"Well..." Will said as he stood. "Suppose the least I can do is help you get your stuff downstairs. Decent trip to Mexico ahead of you right?"

Aaron stood up laughing.

"And how do you know I am going to Mexico?"

"Well I watched you beat that Jack guy right?"

"And you're going to keep watching?"

"Guess I have to. As soon as some of the enlisted guys in the Bomb Dump realized I was the father of a TCW wrestler, I got a bit barraged with questions and compliments. Figured I should see what all the fuss was about."

"And you're going to keep watching then I guess."

His father just smiled the answer obvious.

"Come on kid; let's get you to your flight."

Having his Dad there to help him made Aaron's task a lot easier. The two chatted about the motet while in the elevator, a conversation Aaron welcomed. He had yet to find somebody either as interested or as knowledgeable in music as he was, and it enjoyed the input.

"Well I guess I could try that, but don't you think the cello will be overshadowed with a lighter tone?" he asked as they exited the elevator on the main floor.

"Maybe, but try it in Scherzando. The playfulness of the mood might compliment the melody in the violin."

Aaron missed the last part of his father's words. He was focused on the man dressed in black near the door.

"You know him?" his father asked, seeing his son's concern.

"Dissonance."

"Unstable, I see you do know him. Wait, he was that champion guy at the end of the show right?"

"Malaki. You really did watch."

"I don't lie. So let me guess, he's throwing things in a loop around your place."

"Yup."

"He looks tough, think you can beat him?"

Aaron smiled at his father.

"I can now."

Bam flipped his phone open as he left the Skybox Office of Valerie Stern. His eyes quickly looked around as he put the phone to his ear. As the first ring sounded, his eyes bulged at the sight of an unwanted face.

"Well, hello, BAMBI."

Bam folded his phone and slid it back into his jacket pocket.

"Nice threads, too. Shudder to think they sell such things at the Salvation Army."

Bam's slight shock began to turn to anger.

"Why hello Brucie, you now rockin' the Seniors Championship belt? No wait, the Twisted Retirement Belt."

Bruce: Hardly, they left that vacant for you. I wanted to stay connected to the biz, and the pay was quite comparable to back when I was embarrassing YOU in the ring.

Bam began to clench his fists.

Bam: Funny, that's not how I recall you being buried under steel and cement where I left you.

Bruce's arrogant gaze now turned sour.

Bruce: I don't expect someone of your tender age to recall something so LONG ago.

Bam: Funny how Stern didn't bother to mention you.

Bruce: Ah, the funds have run dry, so you have come crawling back to job yourself for a meal ticket. How poetic.

Bam: Actually Stern contacted me.

Bruce: Excellent, we were in need of someone else to help with the janitorial duties in all of the venues. Finally someone has realized your true potential. How I do applaud her decision.

Bam: If I want anymore shit out of you, I'll squeeze your diaper.

Bam walks off desperately wanting to turn around and clean Bruce's clock. His eyes begin to glow blue as he suppresses his rage. He reaches his phone again and hits redial as he can still hear Bruce taunting him as he walks to the elevator.

Bam: Yo.

Voice: Hello?

Bam: Yo Jay? You there.

MWF: Mista White Folks at your service biggins. How did it go with the saucy Ms. Stern?

Bam: Saucy? That bitch is COLD.

MWF: Oh come on now playa, old chicken make good soup.

Bam: What?

MWF: She's fine bro.

Bam: Dude, SHEEUTT the fuck up.

MWF: Damn homey, what's got you? (Long pause) You didn't take it did you?

Bam: Nah, I took it. You were right about the money.

MWF: Kay, so why you so damn cranky when you call Mista White Folks?

Bam: Fuckin ran into Bruce here.

MWF: Oh, HELLS NAH, the time-travellin'-lucha-libre-reject looking muthafucka? That bitch still rasslin?

Bam: Hell, I don't even know what he's doin. Looks like he might be a consultant or security or something. He's still as big of a douche as ever, though.

MWF: Damn biggins, Mista White Folks ain't heard you this hot in a good minute.

(Elevator bell sounds, doors slide open, Bam is about to enter when 2 people leave and make their toward Stern's office. Bam steps in.)

Bam: Yeah well, few folks can piss me off like that piece of shit.

MWF: Stay on your game bro. This is your re-entry into Superstardom. This is your moment to return to the sun. This is...

Bam (cutting him off): You're tryin' real hard to not say comeback, aren't you.

MWF: Yeah, well you said you were already pissed, and you will most definitely damage the delicate Don, that is Mista White Folks, and I have a complexion to upkeep.

Bam (laughs): Do you really believe all that shit you say?

MWF: Like the gospel, playa. I am who I am, because I do what I do to get what I need. And right now, Mista White Folks don't need no broken face.

Bam: Fair enough.

MWF: So you back in then?

Bam: Yep.

MWF: And you really okay with that?

Bam: Surprisingly, yeah.

(Doors open and Bam begins to walk out to the exit)

MWF: Then Mista White Folks was more than happy to collect a fee on behalf of your happiness.

Bam: You are something else.

MWF: Otherwise I wouldn't be, brotherman. Listen I gotta split. I gotta get some hoes down to a bachelor party in North Miami. When you get back into town, holla at me. Otherwise, Imma try and get there for your big, erm....

Bam (cutting him off, laughing and shaking his head): Man you just better be there bitch.

MWF: Heard, heard. Alright poppy I'm out, but if you need me, holla at a playa.

Bam flips the phone closed, still shaking his head. He is now approaching the exit ramp.
As he leaves the arena to the awaiting stretch black navigator, he can feel someone's eyes on his back. He stops as Tony opens the door for him to quickly survey the scene.

Tony: Boss, there a problem?

Bam: Tone, I just get the feelin' we're bein' watched.

Tony starts counting on his fingers as he talks.

"Who FBI, ATF, CIA, those Canadian punks, those Japs you pissed off, any number of chicks (he turns slightly and talks softer for a moment) we are in LA, (resumes normal tone) any one of who knows how many local LA or even further away made guys. I mean come on boss. When is somebody NOT watchin' us?"

Bam: Good point, Tone. But this is different from all that shit. It ain't like surveillance, it's like, well it's just fuckin different.

Tony puts his hands in the air.

"Hey, whatever you say boss."

Tony points him into the limo.

Bam climbs in, straightens his black tie and plays with it for a moment, looking down at it, as he waits for Tony to get back in.

The door shuts, Tony drops the partition.

"So we headin to the airport now, or you got somethin' you need to do first?"

Bam: Oh, yeah. Can you get some info for me?

Tony: Absolutely. What do you need big man?

Bam: I need information on these guys I'm goin' against in Mexico.

Tony grabs his palm pilot and begins pecking wildly at the screen.

Tony: Go ahead.

Bam: Aaron Keening.

Tony: Mmkay.

Bam: Acid Misfit

Tony: Mmkay.

Bam: Malaki.

Tony: Spell that.

Bam: M-A-L-A-K-I

Tony: Yeah? Like as is FWRFed?

Bam: You heard of him?

Tony: Oh yeah, watch him every chance I get, his game is TIGHT boss.

Bam: Really. But you never heard of these other 2?

Tony: Honestly boss, when you retired, I stopped watching the old fed, even when they repackaged it with a new name.

Bam: For real?

Tony: Oh yeah. Malaki is their World Champ.

Bam: So he's pretty good, then.

Tony (slightly laughing): He's REAL fuckin' good. But that makes me think that the other 2 guys ain't no slouches either. I got that info printing up for you back there right now.

Bam grabs the papers as they come off the printer and the computer screen next to him lights up with info. The limo begins to drive away.

Bam: I'll be damned.

Tony: What's that?

Bam: Acid Misfit is the old Misfit from WMD.

Tony: Oh yeah?

Bam: Now this Aaron Keening kid is fairly new. But I'm gonna go with you and say he must be good. For what you know about Malaki, I can tell you Misfit ain't no joke either.

Tony: That right?

Bam (pausing for a moment, a puzzled look on his face): And if my aunt had nuts, she'd be my uncle.

Tony: That so??

Bam (Slightly pissed): You ain't even fuckin' listenin' are you?

Tony (nervous): N..no boss, I'm watchin' traffic. Sorry.

Bam begins to read through the pages about Malaki. For what he thinks he knows about Misfit, he has no clue what to expect out of this man. He wonders if he has gotten himself into something he might not be able to handle.

He shakes his head, slightly stunned. Doubt isn't something The Big Bamlicious is familiar with, and it concerns him.

"Tone, to the airport. I wanna get settled in so I can focus on all of this"

Tony doesn't look up as he nods and they drive off.

"What?" The elder Keening asked, casting a confused look at his son.

"I've got to learn about him to beat him, don't I?" Aaron said with a smile. His father's looked at him and nodded, a hint of pride almost visible but not obvious in his face.

"Whatever you say."

With that the two walked towards Malaki who turned to them as they approached. Keening put down one of his cases and extended his hand.

"Hey there champ."

Malaki stood, eyeing the hand, then looking at Aaron, his father, and the large amount of stuff they were carrying. He then looked back at Aaron, who slowly retreated his hand.

"And you are?" Was all Malaki said, having assessed that this wasn't a fan.

"Aaron Keening. TCW superstar, and apparently your welcoming committee."

Malaki realized he had let his guard down. He had been standing there trying to figure out his plane ticket, passport, and other necessary paperwork. Malaki hated planes, but it seemed that Valerie Stern didn't give a damn that he would prefer a train (and Malaki wasn't sure there even was such a thing as a train to Mexico). Malaki and Keening both glanced at the paperwork in Malaki's hand, then back at each other.

"So which flight you on?" Keening asked, breaking the silence.

"237, 1 pm." Malaki responded, looking at the paper again.

"Well me too. Maybe we can share a cab there, discuss our opponents." Keening stated, almost too anxiously.

Malaki looked Aaron Keening up and down before responding.

"No thanks."

"Why?"

Malaki paused, then gave his honest answer.

"Ever since I started wrestling, I've had really bad luck being around wrestlers between matches."

"What do you mean?" Keening asked.

Malaki searched for the words. "I don't know. It's just like I keep finding myself in these outlandish situations. There's always some sort of shenanigans between the shows. Ms. Stern wants me to focus on the match, and frankly I think she has a good idea."

"That's exactly why I want us to share a cab. I'm only interested in in-ring action. Our opponents on the other hand...." Keening trailed off.

"Our opponents what?" Malaki asked.

Keening smiled. "Interested? Then lets go call that cab."

Malaki looked at Keening, then at all his luggage. Finally, half interested in learning about the other men, and half grateful to have someone help in through the airport, Malaki helped the Keenings get all the crap in a cab, and took his seat inside.

"Don't worry dad. I have a plan." Was all the younger Keening said for a goodbye, and the older was left standing on a curb wondering why his son would choose to get so close to a future opponent.

***********
The flight had been an uneventful one for most of the passengers. For Malaki it had been terrifying. There was nothing worse to him than being trapped in one of these flying sardine cans, except for possibly the fact he was seated next to one of his opponents for the whole thing. Keening had been of help to him, however, as he had outlined the storied pasts (as much as he knew anyways) of their other two opponents in the Majestic Cup. Both former champions of sorts. Both with definite ties to the shenanigans that Malaki was trying to avoid.

To hide his fear, Malaki had pretended to be asleep the entire flight. He kept one eye open just a sliver, however, and had been watching Keening next to him. He had pulled a laptop out and attached headphones to it. Malaki watched as he listened to the same piece of music over again. At first the headphone had muffled the noise to where Malaki couldn't make out the sounds, but after the 20th or so listening Malaki almost had the piece memorized. Classical by nature, but very complicated. Malaki watched as Keening sat, transfixed, staring at both the laptop's EQ display and sheet music he had in his hand. Keening's mood appeared to be worsening with every listen, and by the time the stewardess announced it was time to put electronics away, it could be described as downright foul.

As the plane landed Malaki pretended to wake up. Keening said nothing, brooding over his music. As he stood to get his black duffel bag out of the overhead, Malaki looked down at him

"So that's your ‘equipment' huh? You're a musician? "

Keening looked up, his face becoming flushed. " I suppose you could say that. Although right now I'm a musician with what could be called writer's block."

Malaki smiled as he prepared to disembark the plane.

"Take the base. Tune it down. Then reverse it over the top. "

Keening looked aghast. "What on earth are you talking about? "

"It will allow the higher sounds to come to the forefront. It almost acts as a subconscious prompt for the ear to listen for the finer lighter tones."

Keening smiled, "No offense, but that idea sounds like it comes from someone who knows nothing about arranging music"

Malaki shrugged. "I may not know about classical. But I know my heavy metal."

With that he left Keening still seated on the plane, and wandered into the airport.

*******************************************
Bam had been trying to look through the paperwork he had in this Malaki character, but found himself rather unlucky. The information that existed just seemed incomplete. Bam had seen lots of crazy things in his days in the world of professional wrestling, but Malaki was a different character all together. How was he able to be so dominant. There was no mention of any sort of ability or anything that he had. It just didn't make sense.

When he realized, upon getting on the plane, that he was only a few rows behind both Malaki and Keening, Bam was overjoyed. Perhaps this was the opening he needed to finally learn something about the FWRFed champion. Alas, he got nothing out of the deal, and after watching the two disboard (Malaki first, followed a few moments later by Keening) Bam himself left the plane, following them in a foul mood.

********************************************
Acid Misfit had, probably the best seat on the plane. Granted, there was a crying baby behind him. And to be honest, the 500 pound Samoan snoring next to him wasn't exactly a perk. But from his seat he was able to both watch the actions of Malaki and Keening and watch the actions of Bam. Plus, he was able to watch Bam watching Malaki and Keening. Of course none of them had done anything interesting the entire trip, but if they had, he would have been the first to know bout it.

After all three of his targets left the plane, Misfit exited as well. He had things to do. First, he needed to make sure his dugout and zippo had made the international trip ok. He had hidden them well in his check luggage, but you can never be to sure. After that, he needed to figure out exactly what was up with this Malaki guy, and how he would be able to beat him.

In his hotel room at the Crowne Plaza Mexicali, Bam is seated in an oversized recliner. He is hunched forward, an intense look as he studies the laptop in front of him. Tony is carrying his bags past him toward the master suite.

Bam: That plane ride did nothin' for me. That Stern bitch knew what she was doin'.

Tony (With puzzled grimace on his face, as he attempts to put down the heavy luggage): Uh, I ain't sure what you mean by that. We talkin' about signin' you, or Mexico, er what, yer losin' me.

Bam: Info brah, info. See here (pointing to the screen), we got Misfit. This guy has had it out for LC and Coren.

Tony: Now those are names you ain't mentioned in years.

Bam: Are we fuckin' reminiscin' here, cuz I missed that part. Anyway, I'm wondering if Ms. Stern is setting me up to be the next Dynasty whipping boy.

Tony: Come on, boss. There AIN'T no Dynasty. You think that's whats up?

Bam (shaking his head): Hell, I dunno. All this reading and catching up is makin' me fuckin' paranoid.

Tony rustles through one of the bags and briefly shakes a prescription bottle as he holds it up to the light.

Tony: Here, take one, and just CHILL for a minute.

Bam puts his hand up.

Bam: No thanks, that shit will put me right out. I ain't ready for night-night yet.

Bam goes right back to scowling at the computer.

Bam: So Misfit is the easy part of this. Decorated guy. His style is pretty much stomp and surprise. He brawls, then he shocks the shit out of you with something out of the blue. But at least we kinda know him.

Tony: You just gotta know when the high spots are gonna hit.

Bam (pats computer): Yeah, thanks to YouTube, you can pretty much see every non-ppv he's in.

Tony: And you learn anything about this Keening guy?

Bam: Music, music and more FUCKIN' music. Bachelors in Music Theory from U of Az, been in TCW for a minute, his style looks a lot like those UFC guys. Nice mix of strikes and holds.

Bam watches a video hitting a vicious right overhand to the head of an opponent, instantly dropping them, then he drops right into a variation of an ankle lock.

Bam: DAMN! That shit HURTS, don't it.

Keening's opponent begins wildly flailing about and taps out, as he continues to lean back to apply more pressure.

Bam: See, that shit was quick, and killer. He dropped homeboy like a sack of potatoes, then made him squeal like a pig.

Tony: So you like his style then?

Bam: I like that it's all crisp and clean. No sloppy shit. This kid doesn't have a broad arsenal from what I've seen, but the stuff he's got, it's just precision, bro.

Tony: That ain't good.

Bam (smiling and shakin' his head): Yeah, not really, huh. What he does, he does pretty fuckin' well. And now your boy.

Tony: Oh, now he's my boy.

Bam: You said YOU WATCH HIM.

Tony: This makes him my boy?

Bam: You know what the fuck I mean, Mary.

Tony flips him off as he hangs Bam's shirts in the closet.

Bam: So yeah then, your boy, Malaki.

Tony flings his arms up in the air and glares at the ceiling for a second before continuing.

Bam: Year-long title reign, blah blah blah, Underground/Corporation, blah blah blah. Whoa. Check this. This FWRFed was Leroy's pet project.

Tony: Brown? Yer kiddin', that part I had NO idea about. He still around?

Bam: I'm readin'. Nah, he's gone according to this, made a brief run as a masked man, then poof again. Kinda like how he disappeared on Krista. Somebody named Brent Powers is in charge now.

Tony: Yeah. The guy's a dick.

Bam: So I see. So anyway, your boy.

Tony rolls his eyes.

Bam: He flows. Watching his shit here, he has a nice rhythm in the ring. Lots of combos, he hits a knee, into a double underhook suplex, then rolls around and puts his opponent off the ropes into a....

Tony: OMEGA DROP!!

Bam pauses with a blank stare at the wall while Tony slightly marks out. He then resumes speaking.

Bam: I was gonna say a variation of a spine buster. But, please, if you wanna scream like a 16 year old girl, I can wait.

Tony: Sorry boss. You're gonna need to watch out for that shit, for real. Folks don't get up from that bad boy AT ALL.

Bam now looks slightly irritated at Tony's enthusiasm with Malaki.

Bam: You uh, you fuckin' this guy?

Tony: What?

Bam: You fuckin' him?

Tony (seeing Bam's irritation): Nah come on boss, I'm just a fan, he's a bad ass.

Bam: So aside from in-ring shit, I got diddly on your boy. The info just doesn't exsist.

Tony slightly smiles to himself, then stops noticing Bam's irritation with his admiration for Malaki.
Bam shakes his head again as he turns back to the laptop.

Bam: Yeah, so anyway, these three are definitely...(interrupted by ringing cell phone) Hello? Yeah? What channel? In English motherfucka, ENGLISH!!!

He starts waving wildly at Tony and then the TV.

Bam: 32, channel 32.

The TV clicks on.

It is a new promo for the upcoming show. The promo shows pictures of wrestlers fading on and off screen as a flaming background gives way to what must depict the Majestic Cup itself. The Spanish announcer goes on about the matches and what appears to be the price of admission.

Bam did not see himself in the promo at all. He picks the phone back up and begins his call.

Bam: Valerie Stern please.

Voice: One moment please.

VS: This is Valerie Stern, how can I help you?

Bam: Stern, it's Bam.

VS: Ah, yes, Mr. Bam and how are we doing today?

Bam: Well, Val, hon, I was just wondering why I'm not in the TV ads?

VS: I guess you'll have to come to the arena and cut a promo or two, then won't you?

Bam: So that's how it is, eh?

VS: It's all up to how bad you wish to continue your employment. You want visibility? I suggest you get up here and DO YOUR JOB. If you're satisfied with your paycheck and one-shot appearance, then good riddance. (Click)

Bam looks at the phone, fuming.

Bam: Bitch hung up on me.

Tony is staring at Bam, wide-eyed with fear. Angry, but somewhat puzzled, Bam looks down at his arms and legs which appear to be engulfed in blue flames. After a moment the flames subside, and Bam stands up.

Bam: Grab the car, Tone, we're headin' to Plaza del Toros Calafia.

Tony: I hope the GPS works around here.

About an hour or so later.

Tony is opening the door for Bam, as Bam sets his eyes on the venue for the first time.

Bam: Are they serious? You musta got lost.

Tony: No boss, this is it.

Bam: It's a fuckin' bull fighting arena.

Tony: Plaza del....

Bam raises his hand towards Tony.

Bam: DON'T you fuckin' say it. Or I swear I will SLAP the shit outta you.

Tony: But..

Bam (lowering his hand): YEAH, I know.

Bam made his way into the old-looking building. He lowers his sunglasses slightly as he watches a man walk a goat on a rope past him.

Someone from the other side of the arena waves Bam over.

Bam grins as he ducks behind one column and reappears from another one twenty feet away from the person who is still looking across the arena for him.

Bam walks up and startles the older-looking man.

Bam: How ya doin? I'm the Big Bamlicious and I'm here to shoot a couple of promos.

JS: I'm James Sweeney and how the hell did you do that without breaking a sweat?

Bam: Practice. So this is what I was thinking....

JS: Let me stop ya right there big fella. Here's what we've got. You're a returning former champ from a different era.

Bam: Era?

JS: The way we want to take this is, would be as your big comeback bid.

Bam: Comback?

JS: All your old fans will be the vehicle to renewing the hype.

Bam: OLD??

JS: Now, while this get up you have on is fine and good. It's not gonna work for the younger crowd that doesn't know who you are.

Bam: Younger. Really.

JS: Yeah, we want the original ass-whuppin', old school, tattoo-sporting Bamlicious for these initial shots.

Bam: Old school?

JS: You see it too? Great. We want to bring back that hardcore vibe you had, while amping up the fear of your opponents, without alienating the younger generation.

Bam: Younger generation. (Barely audible) Sweeney you are hurtin my fuckin' feelins dog.

JS: Huh?

Bam: Nothin man. Where can I change?

JS: Right over here. What did you bring to change into?

Bam: What did I bring?

JS: Yeah. What did you bring for the shoot?

Bam: Uh, this? Don't you have a wardrobe?

JS (flipping through a clipboard): You don't even have a contract.

Bam: Wow. I guess I can just go shirtless for the promo.

JS: Do you have the glove?

Bam: The red one?

JS: Yeah.

Bam: I actually auctioned it off years ago.

JS: Damn shame. Maybe we'll just cut a promo in a dark corner of this place, and try to keep your pants and right arm as in the dark as possible.

Bam: Mmkay.

JS: Lets move.

A few minutes later.

JS: Everyone quiet. Cue sound. Check video. And Bam promo1 Majestic, take one. ACTION!!

The surrounding room is completely dark. There is a small amount of light from low-level floods placed on the floor. Bam's face is half-lit as he looks down. His torso completely visible.

"Mexicali, Mexico"

(He raises his head to the camera.)

"Seven competitors"

(Bam starts to sound throaty)

He raises his trembling left arm and raises 2 fingers.

"Narrowed to two"

"Bring your Virtuosos"

Bam begins to slightly quake. Sweat begins to drip off him.

"Bring your DEVIANTS!"

Bam is now shaking. Sweat is pouring off him. His eyes now have a definite blue glow.

(He now sounds like an enraged beast)

"BRING WHATEVER CHAMPIONS YOU CAN FIND!!!!!!"

The room explodes with blue flames, shaking the walls, sending chunks of rock from everywhere. The camera shakes with the room. The flames die down. Bam still has a pale blue glow.

He is now speaking slightly softer than a normal tone.

"In the end there will be only one winner."

He looks down again and wipes his face.

"So don't call it a comeback. Call it the continuation..."

He looks at Sweeney then back at the camera.

"...of the devastation, (shouts) BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABY!!!!"

JS (a little shaken): Aaaaand cut. I think I just crapped myself, take five.

Bam grabs his clothes and walks out of the room, smirking.

Later on.

Bam is laying down in his bed, smiling to himself, he was overly proud of the promo. He went to reach for the house phone as he heard a knock at the door.

He scratches his gut as he wanders to the door to see who wants what at this hour....