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 The Story of a Broken Saint

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The One

Posts : 744
Reputation : 26
Join date : 2010-11-30
Age : 25
Location : The 36 Chambers

PostSubject: The Story of a Broken Saint   Wed May 18, 2011 1:59 pm

Note: highlight the spaces for the other end of the phone conversation.

Blood Red Snow

Fade in. The lounge of Steve Storme’s new Brooklyn apartment is dark; curtains drawn tightly shut and no artificial light. On the black leather sofa sits Storme, dressed only in baggy grey pants. On the glass table in front of him lays a pile of cocaine and a white prosthetic mask. Storme’s face is cast in shadow, obscuring the full extent of his burns. He eyes the coke with a vacant stare before suddenly snapping out of it as the thought of 1.3 comes to mind. He finds Alyster Black in the contacts list of his cell phone and makes the call...

Black: What is it?

Storme: We have a match on the 26th.

Black: Merry fucking Christmas. Is this my present, you finally decide to return my calls?

Storme: No. Your present is the same as mine; the chance to rip Sonichu’s furry little head off.

Black: Heh, I’d drink to that.

Storme: If you had lost by pinfall to that thing, I never would have returned your calls. You know that, right?

Black: If I had lost cleanly I would have hung myself. Then you’d never get a chance to call me. But you’d enjoy not having to talk to me unless it was an hour before match time and you wanted to dress me in riot gear.

Storme: And yet you still didn’t say no.

Black: Shut the fuck up Steve! I didn’t do that shit for you! I stopped doing that shit for you when I tried calling for the past three weeks worrying about your condition and not getting a single fucking answer.

Storme: I didn’t feel like talking - I still don’t. I just wanted to make sure you had your shit together because I don’t lose.

Black: Yeah, nothing but the right side of your face.

Storme: Cold. I like it... doesn’t mean I won't put you in your fucking place again though. Maybe you’re forgotten who you’re talking to – I’m not your little buddy Krash. We’re not friends; I don’t like you and I barely respect you. Even though you failed me last time on Livewire, I’m giving you another chance at relevance. So tell me, Alyster, are you going to make the most of it this time? Or are you going to act like a petulant brat and bite the hand that feeds?

Black: I’ll bite the hand off its fucking wrist and spit it into Ashburn’s face.

Storme: Just remember that you’re replaceable.

Black: Yeah but you’d miss me.

Storme: I’d miss you like a hole in the head. Anyway, just come prepared. I don’t want to have to carry you to a victory you don’t deserve.

Black: You’re just jealous cause my mask is better than yours...

Storme: ... grow the fuck up, kid.

Storme doesn’t want to hear more, simply shutting his phone with a sigh. He drops onto his knees and hunches over the glass table. After several snorts, thick blood begins to slowly trickle from his nose, the droplets falling into the white powder. Storme stares down at the contrast of colour for a few seconds before his eyes shut momentarily.

When they open, Storme is stood in a void of total blackness. Then a single white spotlight flickers on to reveal he’s now clad in the prosthetic mask and wearing a stylish black slim-fit suit.

Storme: So, here I am again... on the eve of yet another match. What makes this one any different to the hundreds before? It’s not the opponents; two curtain-jerking no-name faggots; one in clown make-up and the other in some cheap “Sonichu” costume. I don’t give a damn what a “Sonichu” is, all I know is that this bad joke holds the Ultraviolent Title. He’s no champion and yet he holds the championship. Gold is the price for rebellion. Alyster Black stepped out of line and lost that title for it.

Don’t you motherfuckers get it? Nothing’s changed – I’m still a deity. Disfigure my face and destroy my fed but you’re tripping if you think it will change what I’m capable of. I can give life and I can take it away. Think about it; I’ve brought countless allies and enemies to prominence and caused the downfall of even more, forcing them back down the card or into an early retirement. I’ve seen kids with egos come and go in this business – I’m one of the few to last. Most of these punks have to bite the curb and it’s usually me pulling the trigger.

See, the past year, I’ve had damn near everything taken from me. What have I got left to lose? Only my legacy... and you pieces of shit better believe I’ll fight to my DEATH to preserve it. I refuse to allow ANYONE – lest of all you miscreant bitches – to jump-start your pathetic careers at the expense of my own. I’ve had too many bones broken to let that happen. I’ve lost too much of my own blood to let the undeserving claim the recognition that I’ve EARNED.

I smell a massacre.

Fade out.

Onward To Victory

December 7th, 2010

Fade in. Aesha sits fidgeting in a hospital waiting room, exhaling slowly as a way of calming herself down. As per usual, she’s dressed fashionably; make-up, black winter coat, tight-fitting dress and boots. The door swings open and a middle-aged doctor beckons her outside into the corridor. In silence, she follows him past several rooms. Then he stops and turns to her, a very stern expression on his face.

Doctor: Miss Cole, I don’t want you to be alarmed when you see Mister Ashton. He has suffered quite serious burns and scarring to his face. Right now we’re unsure on what can be done in terms of plastic surgery and skin grafts - but we’re doing all we can.

Aesha: Okay.

Doctor: Just make sure you sign out when you leave.

Aesha nods once. The doctor walks away briskly as she takes a deep breath. Without knocking, she pushes open the door and cautiously enters. A figure in bed instantly reaches to the bed-side table, grabs hold of a prosthetic mask and clasps it to his face.

Aesha: You don’t have to do that.

Storme sinks back into the bed, his head resting gently on a soft pillow. Through the eye-holes of his mask, he watches Aesha push her flowing black hair out of her face. She stands still, hands clasped together, blinking back the first teardrops.

Storme: I don’t want you to see me like this.

Aesha: It won’t make me think any less of you.

Storme: That’s real sweet - but it’s just not true, is it? Appearance is important, Aesha, and we both know this very well. You seem to have forgotten all about the Syndicate of Sexy.

Aesha: Honestly, that doesn’t matter to me now. All I’m thinking is that the man that trained me is going through a painful time in his life and he needs somebody to help him through it.

As an awkward silence ensues, Aesha takes a few paces closer to Storme. With the mask obscuring his face, she cannot tell his emotional response to her words.

Storme: So that’s it, huh?

Aesha: What do you mean?

Storme: The man who trained you - that’s as far as we go – but that’s never been enough for me. Don’t you get it, Aesha? I love you. I fucking love you.

Her eyes gently close as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

Storme: I always have done; from the days I trained you right up until this very second. That’s why it hurt so much when you were with Dash... you know, I would have left Kaya for you. I swear I would have left her.

Aesha opens bloodshot tearful eyes and looks into Storme’s, mascara ruined. She takes a deep breath and then speaks with a tremble in her voice.

Aesha: I-I’m back with Dash now.

In an instance, Storme’s hands clench into fists and his head lowers, chin nearly touching his chest. Aesha sniffs as she wipes away more tears.

Aesha: I’m so sorry, Steve. There’ll be other girls.

Storme: No. Not now. Not with these burns.

Aesha: The doctor said that-

Storme: I know what he fucking said! There’s a chance they can make me normal again... a chance... why didn’t you ever give me a chance, Aesha? All I want from you is an answer. Come on, you owe me that much. What does Dash have that I don’t?

Aesha immediately turns and walks quickly to the door. She opens it but before passing through, takes one final look back at the bed.

Aesha: I hope you get better soon, Steve. I really do.

Storme glances sideways at the solemn Aesha. She blows a kiss and leaves. Fade out.


December 8th, 2010

Fade in. Steve Storme is still lying mask-clad in the hospital bed. Since Aesha left, he has done nothing but reflect upon all the successes and failures of his past – all the things he regrets. His train of thought is disturbed as the doctor enters with a weak smile.

Doctor: How are you feeling today, Steve?

The doctor waits by the door for a few seconds, waiting for a response. When none comes, he clears his throat and takes a few paces closer.

Doctor: Well I’ve got someone outside who’s here to talk to you about options - what to do next with your life.

Storme: I don’t need advice from somebody who doesn’t even understand the business I work in. I get tired of people looking in from the outside THINKING they know what’s best for me.

Doctor: No no, Steve, this man was a former professional wrestler himself. He had to retire earlier than expected as a result of injuries inflicted by rivals, so he’s perfectly qualified to discuss your future with you. Hopefully this will be beneficial.

When there is no reply from Storme, the doctor opens the door and “The Eliminator” Zachary hobbles in with aid from a cane. Steve doesn’t turn his head and just continues staring into space. Zachary has changed considerably; his stomach protrudes and his previously muscled arms have sagged. He walks with difficulty into the room and stands leant on his cane as the doctor exits. When the door shuts, Zachary speaks firmly with some bitterness in his voice.

Zachary: Bet you didn’t see this coming, huh?

Instantly recognizing Zachary’s voice, Steve’s head turns rapidly, his eyes narrowed.

Storme: W-what the fuck?

Zachary: I volunteered to do this. Why? Well if I’m totally honest, I wanted to see how far the mighty Steve Storme has fallen. You know, a lot of people have been waiting, no, praying for this – the day you get your comeuppance.

Storme: If you’ve just come to gloat then you can get the fu-

Zachary: You can’t say you don’t deserve this, Steve. Ryan Ashburn may have thrown the fireball but your downfall was always going to happen sooner or later. It was inevitable. There’s a common saying that I’m sure you familiar with: karma’s a bitch.

Storme: Still bitter, I see.

Zachary: Wouldn’t you be?

Storme: I ended you for a reason, Zach, a good one at that.

Zachary: Oh don’t give me that shit. You just wanted to make a statement.

Storme: You didn’t deserve that paycheque. Not when CGS was on its knees.

Zachary sighs, eyes studying the contours of Storme’s mask.

Zachary: Maybe not, but look at me now. I used to be strong; I used to look chiselled out of stone – like a Greek god. It took me years to achieve that. I could bench press more than anyone in the damn locker room. Now I can barely lift myself out of bed each day. A few years ago I was on top of the world: a World Champion. Nobody remembers that though. My career will be defined by what you did to me. That night you robbed me of my legacy. I was a king among men... now I work a desk job at a fucking gym.

Storme says nothing, his mind racked by guilt as he sees the sadness in the eyes of Zachary.

Storme: I-I’m sorry...

Zachary: It’s the nature of the game; cut-throat - kill or be killed. What are you going to be remembered for? My only advice is for god’s sake, don’t let it be this.

Zachary motions to Storme’s mask-clad face and Steve responds with a single nod. Zachary nods himself as he turns to leave, hobbling out as slowly as he entered and leaving Storme alone with his thoughts again. Fade out.


December 9th, 2010

Fade in. Steve Storme awakes suddenly to the creaking sound of the room’s door. He turns quickly to see a flash of vibrant red hair before this woman disappears into the corridor. Storme tries to leave his bed but due to lying down for so long, his legs aren’t ready for it so he stumbles and falls. When on the ground, he realises that he isn’t wearing his mask – somebody must have removed it. He glances round the room and sees it on his bed-side table, concluding the woman with the red hair must have done it. With a struggle, he pulls himself back onto his bed and tries to think who this woman could be. Fade out.


December 10th, 2010

Fade in. Steve Storme is still in bed, checking through the inbox on his phone with the prosthetic mask across his face. The door opens and a tall figure dressed in black suit slips inside. The man has jet black hair, slicked backwards, and a slight smile on his pale face as he approaches Storme’s bed. The mask-clad wrestler spots a small brown paper package under the man’s arm.

Storme: Who are you?

The stranger chuckles a little, stood with hands clasped together.

???: We have spoken before, Steve – a few years ago.

Storme: Oh?

???: Does Ring of Glory mean anything to you?

Storme: Yeah, I won the championship there a couple times.

???: Indeed. Does the name Dante mean anything to you?

Storme: Vaguely. I think we were on different brands though...

Dante: Correct.

Storme: So, uh, what are you doing here?

Dante: The truth is I’ve been keeping track of you for a while.

Storme: What do you mean by that?

Dante: I haven’t been following you, Steve, I have better things to do.

Storme: I should hope so.

Dante: I’m just interested by you – no – fascinated. I find your whole story to be quite remarkable. I’ve watched your shoots interviews, I’ve read your book, but I wanted to meet you in flesh.

Storme: So what do you want – an autograph or something?

Dante laughs again, shaking his head from side to side.

Dante: No, actually I’ve got something to tell you... but it can wait. First, why don’t you open your Christmas present? I know it’s early but I thought you’d need cheering up.

Storme takes the brown package from Dante and cautiously opens it. Inside is a cellophane bag filled with white powder. Beneath his mask, Storme smiles just a little – for the first time in days.

Storme: Thanks...

Dante: No problem. There’s more of that back at my place.

Storme: You’re a dealer now, huh?

Dante: I share my drugs with friends.

Storme: Oh we’re friends now?

Dante: I don’t see why not. You could do with a friend.

Storme: I have plenty of “friends” already.

Dante: Exactly. “Friends”. How many times has Krash called you since End of Days?

Storme: He hasn’t.

Dante: So like I said, you could do with a friend – especially one that can provide you with your favourite things.

Storme: Usually anybody that wants to be my friend has an ulterior motive. What do you want from me, Dante? A way back into the business?

Dante: No, I just want to hang out. I’ve got a big apartment in Brooklyn that I share with a couple cute girls. Maybe you can come over sometime – I’ve got more than just coke.

Storme: Maybe.

Dante: Until then, why don’t you enjoy your present?

Storme: I’ll wait until you’re gone.

Dante shrugs and then takes a few paces towards the exit.

Dante: Well then I think it’s time I take my leave. I’ll see you around.

Storme nods in response and Dante’s off into the corridor, the door gently closing. Steve takes a few moments to reflect upon that unusual meeting before turning to his present. He tears the cellophane bag open, carefully pours some of the contents onto his bed-side table and then removes his mask. Wanting a quick fix before interrupted, Storme doesn’t bother making lines and just dips his nose straight into the powder. Several big snorts later and he’s sprawled back on his bed, eyes drifting shut.

When they open, Storme is stood in a void of total blackness. Then a single white spotlight flickers on to reveal he’s now clad in the prosthetic mask and wearing a stylish black slim-fit suit.

Storme: I’ve only been back a couple weeks and already I’m starting to miss my hospital bed. Why? Well I only had to put up with one pathetic ignoramus – the doctor. It’s a different story here. Most of you reprobates make me want to punch a wall. Hell, I can barely stand my own tag team partner – but I know he’s got my back. When I was in hospital, Alyster Black called me every single day without fail. Did I want to talk to him? Hell no, I never picked up and I never called him back.

Well, at least not until the night of 1.2. Black had shown his loyalty and so I knew he would be the perfect choice to launch my counter strike with. See, I’m a smart fighter; I know that even someone of my calibre can’t bring down a whole group by himself. Everyone needs an ally, somebody to watch their back – especially when at the top. Once you reach the upper echelon, all the lowlifes want to drag you back down to their level. They say “most young kings get their head cut off” – I’m the exception to the rule.

It’s been over three years now and I’m still ruling with an iron fist. It doesn’t matter who has what belt because I transcend championships. That furry piece of shit can claim to be the best on Bloodsport but ANYONE with sense knows otherwise. I’ve proved my worth time and time again. I’ve beaten everyone in this industry that’s ever been relevant and even more that aren’t. Speaking of irrelevant, me and Black are facing several punks at High Stakes with the chance to be the first CAW Tag Team Champions.

The opponents are weak; I see the fear in their eyes. They may boldly proclaim their superiority but deep down inside, they don’t believe in themselves. They know that they’ve been mismatched against a monster, a force that they’re incapable of conquering. I’m just tired of hearing the same recycled lines from simpletons that shouldn’t be setting up the ring, let alone fighting in it.

The Bloodhounds. What’s the point of this little partnership again? It seems to me like Eric Logan just wants someone to carry his bags and swallow his spunk. Meanwhile Horatio Gates is awestruck because he gets to play water boy to a former CGS World Heavyweight Champion. That’s cool and all but I won that belt FIVE times. So what does that make Logan? One fifth of the man I am? That’s giving that loser too much praise. Regardless, if the drugs don’t kill him then I damn sure will.

The rest of these minnows are all the same. Sure, they may differ in specifics but they all have the common theme of self-entitlement to things they don’t deserve. Be it respect, championships or whatever else massages their over-inflated egos. I resent naming these kids in my promos; I don’t want to give them a single minute of fame – especially when they’ll use it to spew the same bullshit. Will they make good on their promises? There’s more chance of Aesha keeping her legs closed when Dashy comes calling.

The truth is that none of N.M.E.’s opponents deserve to even be in this match. The Bloodhounds failed at the first hurdle, losing to a thrown-together team with no experience whatsoever. So logically, the rest of the tandems in this gauntlet will be more of a challenge despite consisting of has-beens, no-hopers and never-wills. Listen. I don’t take any of you seriously. I don’t view any of you as a threat. Even you Logan, I’m not impressed by your transitional title reigns. You want my respect? Of course you do – I’m the greatest of all-time. So earn it or at least die trying.

Happy New Year, motherfuckers. Just know your days are numbered.

Fade out.

Glass Ceilings

Fade in. With one half of the CAW Tag Team Championships slung over his shoulder, Alyster Black slips through the black curtain into what’s commonly referred to as the gorilla position. He pulls his mask off to feel the cool air on his face but his eyes narrow when he spots Steve Storme and Kayla sat together on an old sofa up against the wall. Kayla’s sat on his lap, one arm round his neck and the other’s hand on his chest. Black approaches with a sigh, shaking his head back and forth to show his disapproval.

Storme: Hey partner.

Black: You know, I’m REALLY starting to get sick of this shit.

Storme: Hold up. I just got you that shiny new toy so you can feel like a man and THIS is how you repay me? Goddamn, Alyster, a little gratitude would be nice.

Black: Fuck you. I earned this belt.

Storme: Sure you did, “champ”.

Kayla chuckles in response to Steve, earning a glare from Alyster.

Black: You’re messed up, you know that? I don’t really know what you see in this prick but don’t be surprised when he leaves you broken hearted. It happens to any chick that’s fucking stupid enough to put up with him.

Kayla: Aw, you jealous? Its okay, lots of people are.

Black: Jealous of what exactly?

Kayla: Steve, of course. You’re jealous of the way he scores with girls WAY out of your league, despite having suffered serious burns to the face. I could also mention how much more successful, talented and respected he is but I figured even you couldn’t deny that.

Black: Shouldn’t you be strapped down in an asylum somewhere? I don’t have to hear this from a fucking psycho.

Storme: Simmer down.

Black grunts in annoyance, turning his attention back to Storme.

Black: Look, Steve. You’re pissed off about what happened to your face – I get it – but this is REALLY what N.M.E.’s about? I’m not here to be treated like a piece of shit by you and your latest girlfriend. I agreed to this team because I share your disdain for Ryan Ashburn and his furry puppet, and I know you’re one of the best. But I’m starting to question that decision.

Storme: Go on.

Black: Sure, we can fight in the ring but tag teams need more than that to survive. They need a foundation – a bond. We don’t even like each other; we’ve got nothing in common.

Storme: What about Breakfast At Tiffany’s?

Black: I think I remember the film. And as I recall, I think we both kinda loathed it.

Storme: Well that’s one thing we got.

Alyster rolls his eyes and takes a few paces towards the corridor.

Storme: Hey Black?

Alyster turns his head round to face his masked partner.

Storme: You did good out there.

Black: Thanks, I-

Storme: But get involved in my business again and I swear I’ll knock you the fuck out. Those miscreants DESERVE the pain I’ve been put through. You’re not a hero – don’t try and act like one.

Black: Whatever, Steve.

Black walks off down the corridor and Storme watches him go. The mask-clad champion gently pushes Kayla up and hands her his belt. She slings it over her shoulder and they follow Black down the corridor to a general lounge area. Black is filling up a plastic cup with water while some other wrestlers are sat on the sofas in discussion. They don’t see Storme and Kayla stood not far away.

Adonis: You know, I really hope someone takes those belts from N.M.E. soon.

Bailey: I hear ya, man. It’s like the Steve Storme push never ends. When is he going to finally step aside and let some of us have a chance to shine? It’s too hard to break through the glass ceiling.

Adonis: No doubt. We’ve proved our worth; surely we deserve a bit of-

Storme: Let me get this straight...

The group instantly turn towards the couple – all going silent upon confirmation that the voice belongs to who they thought. Fallen Adonis and Josh Bailey trade an anxious glance. Meanwhile Black watches from the water cooler with a small smile.

Storme: I’m holding you down, am I? I’m not giving you a chance to shine, huh? See, that’s where your mentality is wrong. That’s why I’m stood here with yet another championship belt and nobody above curtain-jerker status knows your damn names. I could be giving this speech to any of the punks in that gauntlet or hell, any of the punks on the damn roster – you’re all the same.

Whatever happened to EARNING your shot? Neither of you earned your place in that gauntlet, you were just handed the opportunity. I spent months on the undercard of CGS, desperately looking for a way up the ladder while Dash Blade – the paper champion – enjoyed the only main event run of his career. I had to damn near kill myself just to get a push in CGS. When I was finally gifted with a major title shot, I made sure I didn’t let it slip through my fingers. You can whinge and moan like a bitch on her period to get the shot but when it comes to match time, you either have “it” or you don’t.

You lot don’t. How do I know? I was the one that was kicking your thick skulls in. What’s sad is that you punks think that I should just step aside and LET you become successful. You don’t want to WIN a championship; you just want to hold one – like Sonichu. What’s a belt worth if the holder didn’t earn it? Only the cost of its own production. To be true champions, you must defeat the best. You’re looking at him.

The only glass ceiling is your own lack of motivation, resilience and ability. Throughout my time in CGS, I came across countless rookies who felt they deserved some of MY success just for turning up to the arena. But when the spotlight was shining, these kids choked. They couldn’t back up their big claims and instead faded quickly into obscurity. It’s the same thing here in CAW. The torch will burn out before it gets passed.

There’s more to my success than just my in-ring talent. There are many wrestlers, who have the skills and the potential to be great, but don’t have the mentality; they’re lazy or uninspired. Me? I never stop pushing myself. I never stop upping my game. I’ve been voted Wrestler of the Year in 2008, 2009 and 2010 for a reason: I rise to the occasion each and every time. When it matters, I excel, whereas lesser men crumble under the pressure.

It will be the same story next week – whoever N.M.E. are facing. I don’t care who we’re lined up against because I KNOW that none of the teams in CAW have the passion to match us, let alone defeat us. So talk shit amongst yourselves, lie to each other, and claim the only reason for your miserable career is that Steve Storme isn’t giving you a chance. But when the bell rings, you and everybody else will see just how out of my league you truly are.

With that, Storme turns to leave. Kayla smirks at the other wrestlers’ awkward silence and joins Steve by the arm. They walk off down another corridor while Black chuckles to himself. Fade out.

Smells Like Team Spirit

Fade in. Steve Storme’s eyes open slowly from a deep sleep. The setting is the lounge of a large apartment in Brooklyn, New York. Storme is sprawled over a black leather sofa, dressed in a white vest and grey pants. Steve stretches with a groan and rolls onto his side to see a smiling Dante sat in a matching leather chair. He immediately sits up.

Storme: How long have you been here?

Dante: Oh just a few minutes.

Storme realises he’s without his mask and starts scanning the room for it.

Dante: Look down.

Steve does so and sees his mask on the carpet. He quickly puts it back on.

Dante: I’m sorry if I startled you. I was just... curious. You’ve been living here a couple weeks now and I still hadn’t seen your face.

Storme: It’s not something I like to share.

Dante: Well, your mask was already off when I came in. Anyway, there’s something important I’d like to talk to you about. I’ve been meaning to since I visited you in hospital.

Storme: Okay...

Dante: You have a daughter, Steve.

Steve lets out a light chuckle in dismissal.

Dante: I’m serious. Six years ago, you were in Buffalo at a nightclub. You got talking to a girl named Jessica. One thing led to another and soon you were back at her place. It was a drunken one night stand but she soon discovered it was far more complicated. She was pregnant.

Storme: This kid could easily be the result of someone else’s drunken one night with Jessica. How do you know it’s mine?

Dante: No, what happened that night was out of sorts for her.

Storme: You still don’t know for sure, maybe she-

Dante: You have to trust me on this.

Storme: Why do I have to? How the hell do you know all of this?

Dante leans forward to take a sip of daiquiri before settling back into the chair. Steve studies Dante’s face; no sign of age, no blemish on his pale skin.

Dante: I know Jessica personally. When I inquired about the child’s father, she told me about a night of passion with an aspiring wrestler. Being in the industry myself, I asked for his name. “Steve Ashton”, she replied softly.

Storme: How long ago was this?

Dante: A few months.

Storme: Why didn’t you tell me before? I’ve been here for-

Dante: You’ve had a lot to come to terms with lately.

Storme: How thoughtful of you.

Dante: No need for sarcasm, Steve. I had your best interests in mind – as always. In that hospital bed, I saw a broken man with nothing but wrestling to live for. I knew you had a child and in time I would tell you, but I wanted to ensure you weren’t burdened with such a responsibility at such a fragile time. So I brought you here – at no expense – for a couple weeks, provided you with companionship, liquor, coke – whatever you desired.

Storme: You’re right, I’m sorry...

Dante: Don’t stress it.

Storme: I get it now – why you let me stay here. So thank you. I’ll get out of here soon, just give me a few days to move my-

Dante: No need. I enjoy your presence, like the brother I never had.

Storme: Oh. Thanks, man. I really appreciate this. I don’t know what I would have done if I all I had was an empty apartment and my thoughts.

Dante nods in reply before taking further sips from his drink.

Storme: If I’m going to stay here long-term, I may need somebody else with me though...

Dante: Oh?

Storme: Kayla. It’s going pretty well between us and she’s suggested I move in with her. I’d rather stay here and bring her along – if it isn’t too much trouble.

Dante: Of course not. You’ve seen the size of this place; I could have ten people living here at once. But, may I ask when you plan on inviting Kayla?

Storme: I’m going to give it a few more weeks – just to make sure I’m not rushing into things.

Dante: Smart move. It means you can get to know Charlotte and Olivia better. I’ve seen you checking them out and I don’t blame you.

Steve smiles behind his mask, laughing along with Dante.

Storme: That’s where it ends though. I’m trying to be a better boyfriend for Kayla than I was for the others...

Dante: I understand.

Storme: What’s her name – my daughter?

Dante: Cassie.

Storme: Cassie... fuck, I’ve got so many questions.

Dante: I’ll answer them all tomorrow. Now, do you want a drink?

Storme shakes his head in the negative as Dante exits to fill up his drink. Steve listens intently to the hushed murmuring from the kitchen/dining room but can’t pick out any specific words. Soon Dante returns, with Olivia in tow. While the former goes back to his original seat, Olivia decides upon the same sofa as Steve – despite there being other spaces free. She flashes a sweet smile, leaning back into the leather and crossing her long tanned legs. Storme can’t help but take a glance.

Olivia: Hey Steve.

Storme: Hey. Where’s Charlotte?

Olivia: She went out into town, but I’m still here.

Dante: Clearly.

Olivia flicks her long blonde hair out of her face and takes a sip from her cocktail. Steve takes another look at her perfect body before his eyes meet with a smiling Dante.

Olivia: I saw you on TV at 1.4. You and Alyster Black really don’t get on, huh?

Storme: No, we don’t. It’s a pity Dante doesn’t wrestle anymore.

Dante: I don’t like life on the road. It’s not like I need the money either.

Storme: True...

Olivia: You’ve got a pretty girlfriend, Steve. It’s a shame she lost her match.

Storme: Yeah, it was a close one though. She’s talented.

Olivia: Do you see her often?

Storme: Most days, yeah.

Olivia: I don’t have a boyfriend. I prefer to keep my options open.

Steve nods and then notices Olivia is sliding up the sofa towards him.

Olivia: You seem tense. Why don’t you let me give you a massage?

Storme: Uh, well-

She moves closer, her hands rubbing his shoulders sensually.

Olivia: See, isn’t that better?

She leans in further, so her mouth is inches away from his ear.

Olivia: My rooms only down the corridor from yours, Steve. You can come and see me anytime you want to...

Storme suddenly gets to his feet and takes a few steps away from the sofa.

Storme: Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind. Excuse me for a moment.

Steve exits swiftly and walks down a narrow corridor. He slips into his room, throws his mask onto the double bed and stands up against the rain-lashed window, staring out onto downtown Brooklyn. With a sigh, he runs his hand slowly over his charred face. Soon his cell phone is against his ear, irritated by the long wait for Alyster Black to pick up.

Black: What do you want?

Storme: I want to discuss a few things with you.

Black: Fine. Make it brief.

Storme: I doubt you’re busy.

Black: Yeah, I’m just not in the mood for this shit right now.

Storme: I don’t care, this isn’t any other match. We have to rely somewhat on Chris Williams and Sonichu if we’re to win – and you know I don’t lose.

Black: Well I hung out with Chris earlier – he’s actually pretty cool.

Storme: Pretty cool, huh?

Black: Yeah, I like him.

Storme: Kyle Evers gave me some advice last year. He told me that I had too many allies, that I allowed too many people to get close to me – only making it easier for them to stick a knife in my back. I shrugged it off at the time but he was right.

Black: What are you on about? Your friends have all TRIED to stand by you despite this bullshit attitude. I don’t understand why you’re so determined to distance yourself from-

Storme: My “friends” tried to stand by me because they know that it’s in their best interests to do so – not because they care for my well-being. Look at The Antidote. I let Ashburn into my inner circle and when he saw no more use in me...

Black: So you’re saying Chris is going to turn on us?

Storme: I’m saying that making friends with him is counterproductive.

Black: Too bad I’m not interested in what you’re saying.

Storme: I’ve made countless careers – yours included. Act like a petulant brat all you like but we both know where you’d be without me. I know this business better than ANYONE on the roster but I suppose you’re too hard-headed to acknowledge it. What a pity that-

Black: Is this all you called me up for? A fucking lecture?

Storme: You need one. What happened last week? You left the ring to fix your mask, leaving me open to The Bloodhounds. While they were hitting their finisher, you were-

Black: You kicked out though so what’s the big deal?

Storme: A lesser man wouldn’t. You, for example. The big deal is that you put MY Tag Team Title on the line to protect your fucking gimmick. You don’t NEED to wear that mask. I guess you thought you could rely on me to endure any two-on-one beat-down, huh? I knew you were a low-life but I didn’t think you’d be so keen to confirm that you’re the junior partner.

The phone line goes dead from Black’s end. Storme exhales heavily and stares back out onto the Brooklyn streets, his troubled mind racing. Fade out.

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PostSubject: Re: The Story of a Broken Saint   Wed May 18, 2011 2:00 pm


Fade in. With his face cast in shadow, Steve Storme walks slowly into the main seating area of a small church. His eyes flicker round the dimly-lit room, scanning over pews and intricate stained-glass windows. The echo from his foot-steps breaks the silence, causing a priest to rise from his knees. He is no older than sixty five or so, with a somewhat hunched frame. He peers through thin spectacles at a man dressed in an immaculate black suit. They approach one another but as the priest moves closer, he sees the prosthetic mask and stops, jaw dropping in surprise.

Priest: Steve? Is that you?

Storme: The one and only.

Priest: My grandson told me what happened...

Storme: And by that you mean?

Priest: What happened to your face, my son.

There’s a brief silence before Storme’s cold laughter cuts through the air.

Storme: Do you remember the last time I was here?

Priest: Well, yes... but that was a long time ago. It must have been-

Storme: Six years. I was eighteen and my future looked bleak. I was lost in the world and came here of all places for advice, telling you my hopes and dreams, how I wanted to wrestle on the grandest stage. And do you remember what you told me?

Priest: I... I... I told you-

Storme: You told me to follow my dreams.

The priest nods once, eyes looking down.

Storme: So I did. I lifted weights, I ran miles and I trained harder than anyone at my wrestling school. It wasn’t long before I had signed a contract with CGS Wrestling.

Priest: You’ve done so well for yourself, Steve.

Storme: Oh is that so?

Priest: Well I’m not much of a wrestling fan, but my grandson sure is and he tells me you’ve won everything there is to win. You were even voted as the greatest wrestler in CGS history, right?

Storme: Correct.

Priest: Then you did it, you achieved everything you ever dreamed of.

Storme: At the expense of friends... loved ones...

Priest: I... I don’t know what to say.

Storme: Look at me.

The priests eyes stay rooted on the floor.


The priest looks up into the cold eyes of the mask-clad Storme.

Storme: That’s the price of my success. Tell me, father, do you regret what you said to me six years ago? Do you wish you had advised me differently?

The priest’s eyes fall to the floor again, avoiding Storme’s piercing gaze.

Priest: It seemed right at the time - you wanted to wrestle more than anything.

Storme: And yet here I am, face burnt beyond recognition.

Priest: As terrible as it is, you can’t blame me for what happened, Steve.

Storme: Who is to blame then? How about your precious god?

Priest: God gave man free-will.

Storme: So god stands idly by while the innocent suffer horrendously just so humanity has free-will? I’m not even referring to myself here, I’m far from innocent but a lot of people suffering are.

Priest: Would you like to repent your sins?

Storme: Answer my question.

The priest sighs a little and he feels tiny droplets of sweat run down either side of his face.

Priest: If there was no evil then there would be no good. God gave us free-will so we could choose the right path and build a meaningful relationship with him.

Storme: What about the babies slaughtered? They never got the chance to choose any path. They were without sin and yet nothing was done as they were murdered. What kind of a god intervenes on this planet to turn water into wine but allows such horrors to continue? Not a benevolent one, father, no fucking way.

The priest closes his eyes and runs a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling once again.

Storme: What’s wrong, father? Have you run out of lies to spew already? I’m surprised. I expected you to keep on justifying your god’s apathy towards the evil deeds inflicted upon good people every single day. Don’t tell me I’ve destroyed your beliefs so easily.

Priest: No no, I’ll never lose my faith, but I pray that you find yours. I know times are hard but God can help you through the darkest days. Trust me.

Storme: Your god can’t save me now. He can’t give me what I want. He can’t give me what I NEED. Besides, I couldn’t bring myself to bow down to a deity such as yours. This is the depths of hell, this earth with all its evil. This isn’t just about my burns, you have NO idea.

Priest: Then tell me, Steve... please, I want to help you.

Storme chuckles through the mouth slit in his mask, turning slightly to his right to study a stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary.

Storme: What could you do to help me? You don’t understand my line of work, you don’t know the kind of fucked up people involved in this industry. You can’t just reel off some shit from the New Testament and expect everything to be okay.

Priest: I don’t, but perhaps I can help you come to terms with it... so you can move on.

Storme: Come to terms with what? COME TO TERMS WITH WHAT?!

The nervous priest bites his lip, feeling uneasy in the presence of someone so unstable.

Storme: Come to terms with the hideous burns that deform my face? Or the death of the very company I’ve done everything I could to protect? How about the relationship between my half-brother – a piece of shit that I loathe - and the woman I love? Oh wait, here’s the best one... come to terms with the fact I’m... responsible for...

Priest: Go on, my son.

Storme: I MURDERED Kaya, alright?! I MURDERED her! All it took was one push and she fell screaming to her death!

The priest’s eye widen in horror and he takes small paces backward.

Storme: What’s wrong, father?! What’s the matter?!

Priest: Y-y-you need help-

Storme: I thought that was the whole point of this exercise.

Priest: Who is this Kaya?

Storme: Who WAS she? Well, I’ll get straight to the point: I loved Kaya... but my love for my work caused her to sleep elsewhere. I put up a brave front; I pretended I was over it. But when she was at her lowest, stood contemplating suicide, I made the decision for her while scenes of her promiscuity flashed through my mind. I... I just couldn’t help myself.

Storme bows his head in regret. The priest’s eyes close as he looks up to the heavens, almost asking God what to do with this broken man. His attention is drawn back to Storme as the masked wrestler speaks out softly.

Storme: I’m near breaking point, father. I only have one thread of sanity left... now I fear that it won’t take much more to push me past the brink of sanity forever.

Priest: I need to make some phone calls, Steve. So you can get the help you need.

Storme: I told you I’m on the edge. Don’t push me over it.

Priest: I’m worried about you.

Storme: And so you should be, because I won’t hesitate to do something that I may later regret. Keep that in mind while you’re making your phone calls, father.

Storme turns on his heel and walks casually towards the exit, leaving the priest to reflect upon the coldly delivered warning. As the church door slams shut, the priest takes a handkerchief and wipes the sweat from his brow, signing in relief. Fade out.


Since End of Days, I’ve drifted apart from so many friends and allies. I haven’t to spoken to Kyle Evers, Krash or Psycho Dragon in months. I can only tolerate Alyster Black long enough to let him know that he’ll be anything more than my subordinate. We’re both just using each other to pursue our own individual goals. We’re no team, there’s no bond of trust.

I tried to see my daughter Cassie but she didn’t want anything to do with me. All she saw was a stranger in a creepy mask – like something from a nightmare. This is her father? This broken man, the weight of world forcing him into insanity. I’m no father. The burns have ruined any chance of that. The new Storme is nothing but a cancer on people’s lives, a corrupting substance that poisons minds.

I won’t fight the last person in my life that believes in me.

Fuck this match, you can’t make me fight.

Fade in. The setting is a small private locker room – one that CAW is contractually obliged to provide. A masked Steve Storme is sat staring into space. He’s wearing casual clothes despite the show starting in just an hour. The door opens and Dante enters with a look of concern.

Dante: Shouldn’t you be getting ready?

Steve looks up at his only friend left and sighs.

Storme: I’m not wrestling tonight. I just can’t.

Dante: What happened? Are you injured?

Storme: No, I’m fine but... I still have feelings for Aesha – strong feelings. I... I don’t think I can bring myself to fight her.

Dante: You love her, don’t you?

Steve goes to speak but stops, instead looking downward at the floor again. Dante rolls his eyes and takes a seat opposite his friend.

Dante: I knew it when you walked out of that tag team match last week. You could have just told Kayla not to tag in so you and Black could take out Aesha.

Storme: I couldn’t fight either of them.

Dante: Couldn’t fight Aesha but didn’t want to fight Kayla.

Storme: What are you implying?

Dante: You think a lot of Kayla, you’re thankful that she’s been there for you when nobody else has... but you want to be with Aesha. She’s the one you truly love.

Steve lets out another sigh and looks up into Dante’s cold eyes.

Storme: Drop it. I don’t need this right now.

Dante: Then I guess you better go tell management you’re not wrestling tonight, huh? The fans are going to be disappointed.

Storme: Sometimes you have to put yourself first.

Dante: You’ve made a career out of it.

There’s an awkward moment of silence before Steve gets to his feet and walks quickly out the door. Dante chases after him down the corridor but when he’s level with Storme, the masked wrestler continues walking.

Dante: What’s the matter?

Storme doesn’t respond and simply carries on going. An irritated Dante follows just behind him, hands in pockets. They pass the odd wrestler or official but Steve ignores them all. Krash approaches his former mentor with a tentative smile.

Krash: Hey Steve, we haven’t talked in a long time and-

Storme: And what?

Krash: I just wanted to wish you luck tonight, man. We’re rooting for you.

Storme: What do you mean “we”?

Krash: Your old friends; Alyster, PsyDrag-

Storme: You know what? I’m sick of people leeching off of my name, my hard work... trying to be part of something FAR greater than they’re capable of. You’re not my friend, Jake; you were never there for me when I needed you. I’m just a commodity, something for you to use for your own benefit – an easy ride to the top. You’re all in over your head without me and it’s pathetic.

An offended Krash starts to respond but doesn’t bother as Storme and Dante move off swiftly down the corridor. Steve turns a corner but then suddenly stops. As if frozen, he stands with eyes wide open and mouth ajar.

Dante traces his friend’s path of vision to a woman walking through the doorway of the women’s locker room. Her eyes are locked with Steve’s but the expression on her face is very different – the corners of her lips upturned and a glint in her eye. Kaya.

Kaya: Been a while, hasn’t it?

Steve remains frozen as Kaya slinks over to him, wearing a tight-fitting black dress and heels. Standing just a few inches away, she flashes perfect white teeth as her eyes flicker up and down him.

Storme: Y-y-y-

Kaya: Spit it out.

Storme: You’re... dead...

Kaya: Don’t threaten me. I’m not like-

Storme: No, you’re dead! I-I killed you!

Kaya: Is this some sort of joke? Because it isn’t very funny.

Steve steps forward and touches the warm flesh of her arm, his brow furrowed in disbelief. She recoils with a look of contempt.

Kaya: You think I want you back? HA!

Storme: I killed you; when you were contemplating suicide on that cliff, I-I pushed you. It was nearly a year ago – last January.

Kaya: What the hell is wrong with you?

Storme: How did you survive that fall? It must have been a miracle-

Kaya: I didn’t survive “that fall” because “that fall” never even happened!

Storme: But I saw it with my own eyes!

Kaya: Okay, this pathetic little game has gone on long enough.

Storme: No, Kaya, I swear to you-

Kaya: Real fucking mature.

Storme: This can’t be real, it just can’t be-

Kaya: Oh it’s VERY real, Steve so just cut the bullshit!

Storme shuts his eyes tightly, his breathing hurried. As Kaya watches, her expression changes from one of annoyance to concern. She starts to edge away from her old boyfriend.

Storme: My mind must be playing tricks on me.

Kaya: Maybe you’re more fucked up than I thought. All the knocks to the head, the pressure and the various drugs – you must have finally lost your last thread of sanity. To be honest, I can’t say I’m surprised.

Steve opens his eyes and stares into Kaya’s, so many questions running through his head.

Storme: If I didn’t kill you... then where have you been for the past year? I’ve tried every number, I’ve been to your house countless times, and I’ve asked every friend of yours I know. You just... disappeared.

Kaya: I needed to get away from everything – the stress of our break-up was too much for me. I needed a fresh start so... I went to... Aesha.

Storme: WHAT?!

Kaya: Ugh. Try to see it from my perspective, Steve.

Storme: This whole time you’ve been with AESHA?!

Kaya: Look, I didn’t want to have to deal with your bullshit and Aesha was just happy to help out a friend – especially based on how you’ve treated her.

Storme: But you disappeared in January... me and Aesha didn’t even fall out until the summer...

Kaya: You didn’t talk much before that though, did you? That’s because she knew what you’re really like – from me. By the time you two were in regular contact again when DeMarco revived CGS, she didn’t think much of you anyway. With your giant ego, it was bound to end badly.

Storme shakes his head slowly from side to side, struggling to fully comprehend the enormity of this revelation. His mind had driven him to insanity based on... nothing. Aesha had always known the cure to his madness but just watched him fall. It was the ultimate betrayal – and he been victim of a lot of those with Aesha over the years.

Storme: Why now? Why are you here?

Kaya: I wanted to talk to you one last time... because you won’t ever see me again. You’re delusional, you need help – professional help. I want nothing more to do with you, Steve. After everything you’ve done to me, to Aesha, to Scarlett-

Storme: You know NOTHING about me and Scarlett!

Kaya: Aesha told me all I needed to know. You’ve treated people like dirt for years and now finally life’s paying you out for it. Karma’s a bitch, what goes around comes around. Look at you now; hopelessly addicted to drugs with nobody but another psycho for company. Your friends, your family – they all hate your guts!

Storme: That is NOT true! Those “friends” were snakes, they only hate me now I’ve realised that. But now I have real friends, friends that I can trust and rely on with anything.

Kaya: Like who, Steve? Who actually LIKES you these days?

Storme: My best friend Dante is stood right next to me.

Kaya’s brow furrows as she glances back and forth.

Kaya: Oh sure, Dante. That’s real cute – an imaginary friend. I think I had one of those once – when I was like, six. God, you’re so fucking-

Storme: But he’s right there...

Steve’s voice trails off as he turns to see he’s alone except for Kaya. He frantically looks up and down the corridor for his friend while Kaya groans in annoyance.

Storme: Dante! Where’d you go?!

Kaya: You’ve been by yourself the whole time!

Storme: Then he must have gone off before then.

Kaya: No, Steve. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on here. Just like you inexplicably thought you had KILLED me, you think you have a best friend named Dante that obviously isn’t real. You’re INSANE!

Storme: But he told me about my daughter!

Kaya: What daughter?

Storme: Cassie, she’s beautiful. I didn’t know even know about her until Dante told me. He knows her mother – I had a one night stand with her six years ago. She lives in Buffalo; I went to see her last week but my mask...

Kaya: Then tell me about this Dante. Where does he live?

Storme: He has a large apartment in Brooklyn and-

Kaya: What neighbourhood?

Storme: Bay Ridge.

Kaya: That’s where YOU live! Aesha told me you moved-

Storme: No, I live in Manhattan-

Kaya: That was months ago! Dante’s not real, Steve, he’s just another fabrication of your fucked up head! Just like my death, your “daughter” Cassie and all the other bullshit... seriously, get some help – you’re not right.

Nearly lost for words, Storme turns and throws a fist straight into the breeze block wall. He recoils in pain, his knuckles cut open and bleeding. Kaya mutters under her breath as she slips back through the doorway and locks it.

Steve then runs, through every hallway in the building, checking every room in a desperate search for Dante. But he’s nowhere to be found and deep down, Steve knows that what Kaya said is true. Storme returns to his private locker room and tears his mask off, revealing a charred face that was once the envy of many.

He sits down and puts his hands to his head, a few tears trickling slowly down his blackened cheeks. As he reflects upon the past year, the colours of everything around him begin to fade into each other; blues seep into greys, reds into browns and so on. The whole room becomes a blur of colour until black engulfs all else and Steve is left in a familiar void of pure darkness.


Storme: I didn’t want to do this... I didn’t want to choke the life out of a woman I’ve loved more than anyone for years...

I’ve been rejected, turned on and betrayed by you so many times... and yet, you owe your career to me. It was me who trained you; me who taught you how to wrestle, how to channel your emotion, how to spot an opponent’s injury and then exploit it. I’m the reason you’re in this business. Where would you be if not for my tutelage?

I gave purpose to your life, something to focus on. Hell, it was through me you met Dash... Dash fucking Blade... he may have taken you from me but he won’t ever be my equal. That clown will forever be in MY shadow, I’m the one with the respect and fear of the entire industry.

But it’s not like it matters that he’s with you, Aesha, because... I don’t want you. Not now, not after what you’ve done. You make me sick. I wouldn’t go to your fucking funeral – same goes for your piece of shit boyfriend. In fact, I’d open up some champagne.

You’ve stuck the knife in my back so many times but now you’ve put the last nail in the coffin. This is the wake-up call I needed. My love for you made me weak, I couldn’t bring myself to beat you like you deserve. Think about it. I’ve always let someone else do it on my behalf; Harter, Black, PsyDrag...

Now it’s a different story, now I’ll... oh I’ll leave you more broken and bloody than Scarlett ever was. Before, I was angry you had picked me to fight at this final show but now? Now I can’t wait. I’m itching with excitement. I’m so pleased I found out about your lies before our match... now I can exact revenge the way it should be done – and nobody can stop me.

It’s just a pity that I had to lose my sanity and everything else with it... right?

Steve stops and bows his head, breathing heavily for several second. Then suddenly he explodes with rage, fists clenched tightly, eyes bulging out his skull, baring his teeth as he snarls.

Storme: You think I’m going to give up now?! NO. FUCKING. WAY.

You LIED through your teeth to me for over a year and for what?! There’s more to it than just your friendship with Kaya, you just WANTED to see me suffer. You stood back and watched while I slipped further and further into depression. You let me turn to drugs to sooth my pain and then you laughed as my mind decayed.

Oh I’ll force you to your knees alright but it won’t be for what I’ve wanted so long, oh no, you’ll be begging me to stop. You’ll be crying and pleading for me to show compassion but I will show NO MERCY. You don’t deserve that much, bitch, you deserve to BLEED. When that bell sounds, I will rip you limb from limb; I will tear flesh, break bones and scar your pretty little face forever.

I understand why you want to face me, Aesha – you’ve always wondered if you were capable of doing the unthinkable. On this night you hope to become legendary, to do what only a handful of men have done and defeat Steve Storme. But my student, you have unleashed a beast within me, a thirst for bloodshed that won’t be quenched until your demise. With the lights at their brightest, you face the toughest challenge you will EVER encounter – that I promise you!

No man or woman can deny I am THE greatest to ever do it and you will know that more than anyone when I am through. I do not succumb, I do not give in, I do not quit. I’ve built my entire career on these values and with this fire and hatred in my heart; I will endure ALL pain and ensure your destruction. Tonight, the creator will destroy his creation in the most brutal way possible!

I will NOT be denied any longer, you must pay for your transgressions!

Storme is suddenly overwhelmed by flames, his whole being a roaring fire.


???: Steve? Are you okay?

The voice comes as a surprise to Storme and the blackness quickly fades back into the previous setting of his private locker room. Still sat in the same chair, Steve looks up to see the striking red hair and toned physique of Kayla. With a worried expression, she takes a few more steps towards him.

Storme: What did you say?

Kayla: I just asked if you’re okay. You look kinda out of it.

She places herself down on his lap with her arms loosely round his neck. Her eyes quickly spot the tears, causing her brow to furrow in suspicion and concern.

Kayla: Steve?

Storme: Yeah, I’m fine – sorry.

Kayla: Where’s Dante? I thought you said he was coming to this show.

Storme: Oh, he... he couldn’t make it.

Kayla: Well that sucks. Seeing as we’re moving in with him soon, I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet him.

Kayla glances down at Steve’s attire – he still isn’t ready for his match.

Kayla: Uh, babe, aren’t you going to wrestle tonight? You’re still not dressed properly...

Storme: Oh I’m wrestling. Not for the fans, not for my legacy – I’m wrestling for vengeance.

Storme gives Kayla a passionate kiss and whispers something in her ear. She nods and gets to her feet. Steve takes a deep breath, staring down intently at his bleeding knuckles as a twisted smile forms on his face. Fade out.

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The Story of a Broken Saint
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