It was a cold blue night like any other. Sel had just finished helping clean up after his 8th birthday party and had already seen all of his friends off. Sel climbed the stairs to his room while his Mom and Dad finished the last of the dishes. However, this would turn out to be more than just a normal night. For it would forever haunt Sel in his dreams. On that night a person wearing a strange mask entered the Buchanan household murdering Val and Breanne, Sel's parents, in the dining room. Sel, hearing the commotion downstairs quickly scrambled beneath his bed to escape. The stranger quickly and quietly ascended the stairs and without any hesitation moved across the hall to the boys room, seemingly aware of his presence. As the man entered, the boy could see that the man was wearing incredibly dirty pants and trench coat. His left boot had the top cut off revealing a disgusting array of putrid toenails and a massive dirt encrusted foot. The man, breathing heavily now, moved slowly around the child's bed to the window across the room from the door. He quickly parted the curtains and threw open the shutter peering outside into the moonlit night.

"Well, a beautiful night to die if there was any." The stranger let out a quick hoarse laugh, indicating that his lungs had been put through a lot of stress over the years.

"A full moon, crisp clean air." The man breathed in, "I really can't think of one better."

The man let out a deep sigh, a small grin betrayed him, "Well, I guess I can't put it off any longer. No offense to your parents kid, but when the boss has a problem with someone they usually aren't long for this world."

As the man spoke Sel had spotted a loose nail in the floorboards of the old room and began pulling frantically at it in hopes of defending himself.

"Someone's getting a little excited under there. Just calm down kid it'll be over soon enough."

The man had a knife hanging down far enough so that Sel could see it from under the bed. The moonlight from the window cascaded off the top half of the fine knife and reflected back on to the wall as freshly drawn blood dripped down the bottom half.

"Alright, time to end this little game. I've had my fun."

The man spun around so he was facing the bed. As the man began to bend over Sel, who had finally freed the nail of it's floorboard, raised his hand and brought the nail down on the soft part of the man's foot; right between the bone. The man let out a yell of both surprise and pain and stumbled back towards the window flailing about and falling through, tumbling to the ground below. However, the man never reached the earth below. Instead he landed on the sharp side of a spear-top fence that reached around the Buchanan household impaling him right through his belly.

Sel rushed down into the dining hoping against hope that his parents were alive that they somehow survived the large man's onslaught, but as he reached the bottom of the stairs little Sel witnessed a horror he could never forget in a thousand lifetimes. There was his mother and father lying, lifeless, in a pool of darkening blood. Multiple stab wounds and lacerations stretched around and across their barely recognizable bodies as a circle of candles, almost tauntingly, stretched around them in a perfect circle. A symbol of possibly cultic or demonic origin cast a haunting outline of the events that had unfolded.

Sel, caught up in the gravity of the moment, was only capable of uttering a single wimper before finally collapsing to his knees. A warm stream of tears soon followed rushing down his cheek and collapsing into a small pool on the floor beneath him. Sel cried for what seemed to him an eternity as flashes of memories he had enjoyed with his parents drifted in front of his mind. Memories of his first bike he received on Christmas and how he had woken up an hour early to sneak a peek at his dad attempting to put his beloved two-wheeler together. Or that time he had helped his dad bake a cake for his mom on mother's day. Though the cake had never made it past the oven his mother thanked him all the same. It slowly dawned on him that he would never have another moment like this again. His parents were gone.

As the cascade of memories left him a small faint cough coming from outside alerted the young boy to the presence of another. Sel picked himself up off the floor and moved towards the door. The coughs were louder now, but sounded muffled as if they were gargling mouth wash. Sel approached the door and leaned his head against the wooden barricade. A knock came at the wooden barricade that startled Sel, but driven by some unseen force he let his hand glide over to the brass doorknob and twist it, pulling on the door till it was fully open. There standing at the top of the steps was the man who had fallen out of the window only moments earlier. The man who had killed Sel's parents moments before that. Sel could see him fully now, a tall man who appeared in his late 60's or early 70's. Long unkempt gray hair covered most of his face while a string of wrinkles filled the rest. The nail was still in his foot and a small amount of blood trickled from the wound, however, near where the man's heart might reside was a gaping wound that poured thick red plasma down the man's coat and led a path back to the fence beneath Sel's window. The man brought out a grimy blood soaked hand.

"Here kid, take this."

The man motioned with his face towards the item residing within his palm, slick with red. The mask he had worn that night when he murdered Sel's parents. Sel let out a piercing scream...

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Sel awoke, drenched in sweat, in his apartment room.

"Same damn thing..." Sel muttered groggily

The nightmares had tormented him ever since that night, but he had hoped that sleeping in a warm bed, or at least one that was warmer than what he was used to, would help assuage the visions that poked and prodded his mind during the night.

Sel let his head fall to the right and, through the awaking fog, saw the clock resting on the bedside table.

"3 o'clock..."

He sighed heavily as his head rolled back into an upright position. His eyes closed, but he knew sleep wouldn't come; he preferred if it didn't. Instead Sel thought back to a few days ago when he first arrived to meet with the TCW owner Valerie Stern. Sel had been drifting from town to town ever since he had run away from his foster parents. They, like most child abusers, were notoriously kind to anyone around them, but when they were alone with Sel they beat him to an unrecognizable bloody pulp before locking him down in the storm cellar. That was on a day he behaved. Eventually, however, someone else had entered into his life. That someone resided within. It had been raining that night and the stench of his dingy old clothes, while notorious on its own, were ten times worse. Valerie was not impressed.

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"My God! You smell like year old fish marinated in garbage!"

Valerie quickly attached her index and middle finger too her nose in a vain attempt to block the wretched stench as Sel sat himself down in a comfortable, if slightly lower, chair opposite to the imposing women.

"You ever heard of a thing called a bath?"

"Yes..."

Valerie, annoyed, let out a quick yet obviously irritated sigh before looking down at an open folder on her desk.

"I see you're quite the success in the independent scene, but do you really think you can wrestle as a part of TCW's roster? Only the best of the best and then some survive here."

"I need the money..." was all Sel said, but it was a lie. He dared not tell anyone his real reason for entering TCW. His eyes shifted quickly between his duffel bag and Stern.
"Well." She said, "You could at least be entertaining in a squash match...so I'll give you a 2 month contract. How does that sound?"

"Fine..."

Valerie pushed the contract over to Sel and handed him a pen, indicating where to sign.

"Yes well, welcome to TCW and all that nonsense. You'll be facing Ghetto Grass; damned stoners haven't done anything in a while so throwing you up against them will at least justify their paycheck." She handed him a note with directions to the hotel. Told him to mention his name at the front desk, say he was an "employee" of TCW, and then motioned towards the door.

"Now get out before the paint starts peeling off the walls!"

Sel slowly and methodically rose out of his seat and moved towards the door and into the hallway. He could hear muttered cursing before a final yell.

"And take a bath for God's sake!"

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Sel, back in his hotel room, reopened his eyes for the second time and again looked at the clock

"3 o' 2..."

Sel let out a low groan before dragging himself out from under the covers and over to the sink. He turned on the cold water and splashed himself with a handful of the frigid liquid. In his head the thoughts returned to his parents.

"You really are pathetic, you know that?" A voice penetrated Sel's head.

"I don't care..."

"I mean honestly, you make a depressed person look like their suffering from ADHD or something."

Sel turned off the water before towel drying his hands. He folded the piece of cloth and placed it back in its previous position.

"They pay people to do that at a hotel moron."

"Yeah..."

"No, don't be doing this to me man, don't be going all emo on me now. We finally have a lead and I sure as hell don't want you screwing this up for us.

Sel nodded, he wanted to find answers too. He grabbed his duffel bag and peered into the darkness of the black container, extracting the mask that, for some odd reason, he had kept all this time as well as a bracelet that he had since before he could remember. Why would someone attack his parents, could it be because of this artifact with unintelligible markings borne on it, and even more importantly why did he have an annoying split personality?

"Fuck you, I'm the reason you're here in the first place! If it wasn't for the "annoying split personality" handling all the pains of being a wrestler we'd still be on the streets douche bag!"

He was right of course though he neglected to mention who always woke up the morning after.

"God I'm hungry."

"We're hungry..."

"Okay fine WE'RE hungry. Now go get US some food! I don't want to go into our match with a low blood sugar level."

Sel sighed, threw on his dingy clothes, grabbed his room key, and slipped quietly into the night leaving his duffel bag, bracelet behind.

Ahh, the familiar buzz of the Ghetto Grass oven cooking brownies never sounded so good.

The large Praise Allah X-Press was full of members sleeping. Except for a select few who were outside at the Quik-Stop smoking a joint and grabbing some munchies.

Blazin' Buffalo Ranch Doritos and Fruit Punch Gatorade to be exact.

RINGRINGRINGBANANAPHONE!

Stoner: We gotta new text brah.

Ghetto Fire: Check it izout.

Stoner: Looks like we got ourselves a match.

Yasmin: What do we need a match for? We have like twenty lighters.

Ghetto Fire: No you dumb ho, an actual wrestling match. Where our paychecks come from?

.................................

Stoner & Yasmin: Ooooooohh.

Ghetto Fire: You think Ron is done buying all the shit?

Stoner: Schno bro, that fat ass is probably buying out the whole damn store.

The three members finish their joint and walk into the store.

"Holy shit."

They all see the 2 foot gnome buying a mountain worth of junk food.

Ghetto Fire: What in the green hell are you doing you weird troll.

Ron: I'm a gnome and I'm buying breakfast.

Yasmin: Breakfast? More like an appetizer for your round ass.

Ron: Ha! A fat joke! How long did it take you to think of something as clever as that? An hour minimum.

Yasmin: Fuck off midget man.

Before the group can continue this enthralling argument the door ding dongs, signifying someone has just entered.

It doesn't do it for exits...it's a special type of door.....fuck off.

Stoner turned his head to check out who just walked in and it resulted in him doing an army dive roll into aisle three to hide.

Ghetto Fire and Yasmin followed suit....and an hour later the gnome finally rolled all the way to the group.

Stoner: Bros, the Twinky Tickling Murderer just walked in. Grab your twinkies!!!

Obviously Stoner was tripping balls and didn't realize that their future opponent was the one behind the creepy as hell mask.

Sel stood there examining the incredibly odd contingent of men (and women) who had disappeared behind the furthest aisle within the Quick-Stop. He had caught only a glimpse of the strange foursome, but was able to discern that they were either stoners or completely insane as those were the only types usually seen around a Quick-Stop at 3 AM. A smile spread over his face.

Sel had just enough money left over from his independent jobs to buy a few small snacks for several days and was toying with it in his shirt pocket as he had walked into the front door and when he had entered he couldn't believe what he saw. A midget, three stoners and Uncle Chin behind the counter. This was too good to be true.

"No..."

"What d'ya mean No!? It's fucking perfect!"

"We have the money just buy the food and get out we don't have to make a scene."

"I beg to differ."

As Sel and...well, Sel argued. Stoner, Yasmin, Ghetto Fire, and the little Gnome Ron cowered behind the stacks of Doritos, Cheetos, and Fritos.

"Who the hell's he talking too?" Yasmin whispered

"Fool, I don't know! Probably one of them crazy homeless people we keep seeing pass by." Ghetto fired back albeit quietly.

"Maybe he's one of dem clowns, got lost." Stoner added

"Clowns don't wear masks fool! Besides Clowns don't have souls so they cant eat anything anyway."

Ron, who had just recovered from the recent shock began grabbing handfuls of junk food he had somehow managed to retain during the transition from counter to there strategically hidden location.

"Well fuck this, and fuck you guys I'm getting the hell out of here." Ron started slinking away on his hands and knees letting out a fairly obvious screeching noise as he drug himself and his carefully acquired treats across the dry store floor, but he froze in place as the next announcement reached his tiny ears.

"Alright Everyone, This is a robbery!"

Sel sighed inwardly as he swung the hand within his shirt pocket around the quaint establishment scaring the crap out of the decidedly Asian store clerk and the stoners, respectively. He not so secretly wished that he hadn't given in to his other half's demands to take the reigns of their body, but it was far too late now.

Specter stood silently, calmly, and peacefully. His mind was focused, but on many things, not just one. It came to focus on one thing when the door he sat in front of was knocked on. He quickly opened his eyes to put an alarmingly fierce gaze upon the door. The knocking still continuing, Specter spoke with a easily recognized darkness in his voice, as if the void howled quietly.

"What..."

The knocking stopped, and the man behind the door slowly and calmly stepped back, before saying:

"Fixtures for Havoc."

Specter redirected his gaze around the room, then slowly turned his head back to the door, quickly losing patience. He then said:

"Fine..."

The door creaked slightly, as the man slowly entered the room. Specters alarming gaze had not left the man since the door opened, and he slowly got up, not taking his gaze off the man. The man turned around after closing the door and jumped in surprise.

"Give it and leave..."

The man quickly held out the fixtures sheet. Specter slowly looked down, tightened his right fist, and snatched the fixtures with his left hand. Specter then slowly pulled the door open, and commanded the man out of the area, which he quickly did. He read the fixtures and was almost looked like his eyes flipped sockets as they pointed toward his nose slightly.

"A man in a smiley mask...?"

He then thought:

"Why even bother trying to judge by appearance? It will never work..."

He slowly stretched his arms and legs, as he then slowly got up. He decided to begin practicing his shifting/gas powers on a practice dummy, first, his arm slowly changed it's non-physical shape into a sledgehammer and slowly swung his arm once, twice, then smashed the dummy's head with the third swing, embedding the dummy's head into it's chest, then slowly turned into gas, and his hammer/arm quickly shifted into a sharp iron sickle. He swung it with alarming precision and ripped the top of the dummy's head clean off, and Specter slowly began chuckling as the dummy's severed head part slowly slid down the rest of it's head. He slowly slipped into gas form one last time, and turned his arm into a massive titanium version of itself. He slowly walked over to the dummy, working very hard to keep himself from falling over, then, with a massive burst of strength, punched the dummy's head off. He slipped into gas form, and reverted his arm back to normal.

"I'd say I haven't lost my touch..."

He slowly turned his head to the right and eyed a 355 pound bench press. He slowly walked up to it, and set himself up to lift it.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6....

His lifting was growing slower as he began to tire out.

7....

8....

9.....

10.....

He slowly put it back up, breathing heavily and sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Well, not too bad."

He very slowly shifted himself sideways, brought himself into a sitting up position, sprang his legs up and wiped his face of the sweat. The time had come to meet his future foes...

...He heard his telephone, whipped around, and muttered: "What?"

RING RING RING RING!

He lifted up the telephone off the hook, and pressed it against his skull.

Specter: "Yes?"

Caller: "I want you to come by my office as soon as possible."

Specter: "OK. First of all, how am I supposed to know where your office is since I haven't heard a name or anything. If I didn't know better, you could be some dumb reporter calling to interview me for a reason I don't have a clue of! So before I go ANYWHERE, you're to tell me where I'm going."

Caller: "Fine. The arena is at Cusco, Peru, The Estadio Inca Garcilaso de la Vega. I am Commissioner Stern, and my office should be--"

Specter slams the phone on the hook.

Some time later...

Specter was slowly making his way down the arena building, full of unfamiliar faces and TCW staff. However, he was moving with a purpose toward one room. "Commissioner Valerie Stern", written on the door. He slowly opened it to find a modern furniture set, a black furred dog, and a female, dressed in red.

Specter: "Are you the one who called me here?"

Specter spoke in a deep, dark tone. It is obvious he was upset. However, Stern did not respond favorably:

"First of all, yes. But before we get down to work, I want to know who do you think you are that you can speak to your boss in the manner you just did and the manner you did on the phone?"

Specter slowly walked toward her desk looking furious.

Specter: "Well OK. Let me put this into perspective for you." He slammed his hand on the desk, then continued.

"I am NOT a people person. That sums that up more then any explanation could. I am just simply NOT a people person. I don't like people being around me, I don't like interacting with people, I don't like socializing, and something you'll learn about me as I continue my stay here, if, of course, you haven't learned already, most people return that to me. I don't like being around people, people don't like being around me, things slide smooth."

He takes his hand off the desk, then continued further.

"And generally, this is learned very quickly by people because they don't like being around me. You have seen my NICE side. Now aside from that, what did you want?"

Stern: "First of all, you are going to have to be at the very least be something of a possibility to get along with. TCW can't have another Drako."

Specter: "I think Drako did you some good. Got you to try and DO SOMETHING...

Oh wait. That's right. YOU STILL DIDN'T. You have been too busy trying to take a handful of your most popular and successful people, and throw that completely out the window. If you don't have something else for me to listen to, I'll be going now."

Stern: "How did you know about--

Specter: Oh, I've been following TCW's activities for a lot longer then you imagine, Stern. Good-bye."

He whips around, walks toward the door, throws it open then slams it shut.