Ghetto Sez:

And the Creative team Sez: Strickmore overcame HUUUUUUUGE odds at Retribution and took home the trophy, check and all that lovely goodness that comes with it. Drakus came THIS CLOSE || to winning but ended up short, well here is his second chance to crack the nut called "Matt Strickmore"

BUT!! HOLD ON!! STOP THE PRESSES!!

The Hammer dropped a hammer on the World champion at Retribution and reasserted him as one of the top players in the federation. So "guys aspiring to climb to the top and hold on" Vs "Guy who's already holding on" it is as this titanic threeway terrificly teutonic match of non-eliminations was signed.

It's strange how much things can change in a matter of weeks. Let's face it, a few weeks ago Mutaaz Tareef wasn't exactly on anybody's list of top contenders for any title. He hadn't even competed in a singles match since losing to Darkness at Road To Glory, spending most of 2006 teaming with the Ghetto Grass kids. He joined Infinity, but seemed to fade into the background afterwards.

But, some people are at their most dangerous when you're not expecting anything from them. Hammer's shocking victory over TCW World Champion Jason Dante has put him right back at the top of the heap. A lot of people were surprised by Hammer's victory, but Mutaaz Tareef knew all along that all he needed to do was be in the right place at the right time to regain his rightful place at the top of the singles rankings.

Well, maybe not the top. After all, Matt Strikmore came out victorious in the Majestic Cup, and Drakus had a very impressive performance making it to the last fall of the match and scoring victories over some good talent along the way.

So, what's the best way to clear up this logjam at the top of the singles rankings? Easy, book them all against each other in a triple threat! That'll get ratings and create an almost undisputed #1 Contender. I say "almost" because Hammer will certainly dispute it if he loses, and Highone probably also has something to say about that since he's the Transcontinental Champion and Dante didn't beat him.

Mutaaz Tareef is feeling pretty good about things these days. The long ride on the Praise Allah X-Press from Madrid to Paris didn't seem nearly as long as it took...mostly because Hammer kept watching his victory over and over again. Good times. He also spent a lot of time on the phone talking to people, including his Infinity stablemates. Shadow promised to have the files on Drakus & Strikmore at his hotel room when he got there, along with anything else he might need to deal with his opponents so Hammer was happy about that. It's nice to know people with power.

As for Hammer's employees, they are happy that Hammer won for one reason...it keeps him from taking out his anger on them by ordering them to do ridiculous assignments. Sure, Yasmin was forced to do the daily backrub, but other than that they only had to worry about Muhammad Jabbar ordering them to give him food. Lots of it in fact, dude must have put on 10 pounds this week.

Which would put him at about 100 pounds.

After arriving at the Hotel Des Versailles, Hammer had Ghetto Grass put all the stuff in their rooms. They then went down the street to...Hard Rock Café? Yup...Hammer had been told that Hard Rock had the nicest & biggest bathrooms in Paris. Most bathrooms in Europe just weren't built for people the size of Mutaaz Tareef.

Hammer had made a phone call during the long bus ride requesting the presence of a man with connections to one of his opponents at Hard Rock at 7:00. Since Hammer & crew made it there at 6, they were just receiving their food when he walked in...

Hammer: There's our man. Watch this.

An Indian man wearing a rather luxurious suit walks towards Hammer's table. Mutaaz stands up and shakes hands with him...

Hammer: Glad you could make it, sir. Kids, this is Mr. Pryce, lawyer of my honorable opponent Drakus. Mr. Pryce, these are the Ghetto Grass kids and my spiritual advisor, Muhammad Jabbar.

Pryce: Charmed to meet you all.

Hammer: Likewise. Have a seat, Mr. Pryce.

Pryce sits down in the open chair next to Hammer. Hammer takes his seat and begins his pitch to Pryce.

Hammer: I just wanted to invite you here to let you know how pleased I am to get the chance to take on your client at Friction. Drakus has proven to me over the past several weeks that he is one of the top wrestlers currently competing in TCW, and sooner or later he will be holding a major title here. I look forward to the challenge of taking him on, and I just wanted for you to tell him that I say "May the best man win."

Pryce: Thank you. I can't guarantee that Drakus will feel the same way, but I certainly appreciate your kind words.

Hammer: Understood. It's just too bad our opponent doesn't have the same amount of respect for Drakus that I do.

Pryce: What do you mean?

Hammer: Well...I don't know if you caught his post-match press conference, but he had some rather interesting things to say about Drakus. Let me get out my newspaper...

Hammer takes a French newspaper out from under his plate and flips it open to the middle.

Hammer: I had this translated by Mr. Jabbar, who has a good understanding of the French language. Let's see here...."Defeating Darkness was very difficult. He is a tremendous wrestler and you can see how he was a former champion. DeSean Blackwell is also very good and I look forward to facing him again. Drakus, on the other hand, was a complete pushover."

Pryce: He said that?

Hammer: Yeah, I didn't believe it either. He seems like a nice guy, but apparently he has it out for Drakus. Let me read further: "There is no place in wrestling for people like him. He needs to leave TCW and find something he would be more qualified at, like working at McDonald's"

Pryce: I'm going to need to discuss this with my client.

Hammer: That's a very good idea. Mr. Pryce, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Drakus deserves to know when people are talking about him behind his back. Would you like to stay for a drink?

Pryce: No, I better leave. Thank you for the information.

Pryce shakes hands with Hammer, then gets up and walks right out of the restaurant. Hammer's wide grin on his face prompts a question from Stoner.

Stoner: Dude, did Strikmore actually say any of that stuff?

Hammer: Well...I have no proof that he didn't.

Alexxx: Do you have proof that he did?

Hammer: Heh heh...kids, do you not believe in Mr. Jabbar's ability to translate French?

Ghetto Fire: No, but I think it's more likely that you would lie about something to make Drakus mad at Strikmore to keep him off your back.

Hammer: Well, I'll be damned...you guys are a lot smarter than people give you credit for.

Hammer chuckles as we go from the beautiful Hard Rock Café to the not quite as beautiful hotel room of Matt Strikmore. After giving up on trying to understand French television, Strikmore's spent the last hour or so catching up on his Superman. He's a big fan of Superman and superheroes in general...it probably doesn't occur to him that as the Majestic Cup winner he's probably become a superhero to some kids out there. And let's hope it doesn't, because he's a lot better off not being full of himself like so many people around here.

Three knocks on the door. Strikmore isn't expecting company, so he has no idea who it could be. He gets up to answer...

*The bar in the hotel lobby is nearly empty this time of night. Lobby bars aren't exactly social hotspots. It's just a place where you can grab a drink after a long flight, or somewhere to storm away to if your tongue got too far from its leash. There's a low din of a small tv that the bartender sits watching, all the while running a dishrag around the rim of a glass. And older woman sits in a far booth, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper. A busboy is pushing a broom around the floor, and starting to stack the chairs on the tables. It really is a great example of a building going to sleep. Of course, the peanut flying through the air and hitting the window kind of breaks the mode.*

*Dink! A peanut hits a bar stool and goes spinning under a table.*

*Dink! Another peanut goes flying out the door and hits a luggage rack.*

*The scene swivels to a two-top table, with Matt Strikmore sitting by himself. He has a small pile of peanuts in one hand, and has set one peanut carefully on the handle end of the spoon. With his hat turned backwards, one eye squinting, and the top of his tongue slipping out of his mouth, Matt pounds his fist onto the spoon and sends the snack flying through the air, landing in a nearly empty glass sitting in the busboy's tray. Matt sticks his arms up in the air in triumph, dropping the handful of peanuts as he does so.*

Matt: He did it! He did it! My god, this goes on the highlight reel. Children's children will talk about this on their death bed. Yes, Matt Strikmore has shot a peanut across the bar, into the glass! He has ended communism and drought! Hold hands, everyone! Peace on earth!

*Matt lets his hands drop limp to his sides, as he leans his head backwards and looks toward the ceiling, laughing all the while. The busboy shoots the bartender an angry look, finally forcing the manager to take action and speak to Matt. Sighing, he puts down his overly clean glass and heads to Matt's table.*

Bartender: Sir?

Matt: Yes, your majesty!

Bartender: Sir, I think maybe you've had enough.

Matt: How would I know that? What's too much?

Bartender: Well, how many have you had?

*Matt looks at this table, strewn with peanuts and ripped up napkins. His tongue starts to stick out again as he does his tally.*

Matt: Well, I believe it was... two.

Bartender: Two?

Matt: Well, you see, there are circumstances. I lost a lot of blood. See?

*Matt points to the large wad of gauze stuck to his forehead.*

Matt: I'm still a bit leaky, too. So really, it's like two beers times .... blood lost...which equals.. me.

*Matt points at his face to emphasize the "me". The bartender sighs again.*

Bartender: Sir, I think you should probably retire for the night. Rest would do you some good.

Matt: I guess it is getting kind of late. It's what...

*Matt tries to read his watch*

Matt: Night o'clock.

Bartender: Take care, sir.

*Matt gets up, slowly and carefully. He grabs his Majestic trophy, which was sitting across from him at the table. He smiles widely when he picks it up. Cradling it under his arm, he walks through the doors and into the hotel lobby. It's a really nice hotel, really. For a guy used to Ramada Inn's, anything with a fountain in the lobby is extravagant. It's the kind of hotel where people on vacation still wear suits and pearl necklaces. If Matt wasn't so drunk, he'd probably feel under dressed with his shorts, sandles, shirt, and hat ensemble. Matt takes a slow stroll through the lobby, walking circles around the lobby fountain for no reason other than to get a little dizzy. He almost loses his balance, and sits down on the rim of the fountain. He pulls the Majestic trophy from under his arm, and admires it again. It's like it was made for him. It has a large letter "M" on it. Just like his name. He suddenly felt the need to express that. Without standing up, he thrusts the trophy over his head and yells...*

Matt: M!

*The conversations in the lobby quiet down a bit at the sudden outburst. Matt rests the trophy on the top of his head.*

Matt: M is for Me! And Me is for Matt!

*Matt smiles as big as he can without showing any teeth. A young woman happened to pick that moment to walk across the lobby. Matt leans in towards her.*

Matt: I'm Matt.

*He gives her a thumbs up, and then falls over laughing. With tears in his eyes, he looks from the lobby floor back into the bar, and sees the bartender looking at him. Matt puts on a mock-danger face, and puts his finger over his lips.*

Matt: SHHHHHHH!!

*Matt laughs some more before pulling himself up from the floor. He walks towards his room, thankfully on the first floor, in a moderately straight line. He spins from time to time for no apparent reason, other than to say "Wheeee". He seems to have a hard time juggling the trophy and his room key, but manages to get the door open and spills into the room. Still giddy, and propping himself up on the wall, he sees an envelope from the front desk. He knows what's in it. Fixtures for the next show. He lets his legs give little by little, sliding down the wall until he's sitting on the carpet. He kicks a leg out to shut the door, and stares at the unopened envelope.*

Matt: I know what you have inside. You have my nightmares and fears and worries in there. Cause really, what would my life be like without that stress. Probably dancing in a hotel lobby, half cocked on beer and blood loss. But I come home, and I see you, sitting there all innocent looking. You've brought me nothing but trouble. I rip you open, and someone rips into me. Well you know what? I'm not gonna open you. I"m gonna sit right here, and I'm gonna enjoy my win. I'm gonna enjoying being Matt for just a bit longer. So you can stay in there, and I'll catch up with you in the morning.

*Matt tries to push himself back up the wall. He gets about halfway there before his legs buckle and send him tumbling to the floor.*

Matt: This'll do...

*And just like that, Matt is asleep, his Majestic Trophy tucked under his arm.*

*Matt wakes up hours later. He tears his face from the carpeted floor, his drool attaching the two overnight. The light shooting through the window is a bit more than he'd like, but at least it means he made it through the night without vomiting . He dredges himself up, and into the bathroom to clean himself up. An hour later, and he's more or less back to himself, with a huge headache riding shotgun. He's put on a pair of sunglasses, and lays on his bed with a stack of comics he grabbed at the airport. He's halfway through the newest issue of Runaways, when he hears a knock at the door. He lays the comic on his chest and sits his head up.*

Matt: Did I order room service?

*Matt talks louder, asking the door itself.*

Matt: Did I order room service?

*A flat "No" is heard from the other side. Matt shrugs and tosses the comic to the side. He stands up, but has to steady himself on the wall as he grabs at his head. He gingerly makes it to the door and opens it up. Looking back at him stands Pryce. This would mean something to Matt, but he'd never seen the man before.*

Matt: Can I help you?

Pryce: I believe so. I'm on a bit of a fact finding mission.

*Pryce sidesteps Matt and walks into the room, prodding piles of clothes out of the way to make a path for himself.*

Matt: Sure, come on in?

Pryce: Thank you.

Matt: If you happen to have two cups of coffee I can have, I'll offer you a cup.

*Pryce turns on his heels to look at Matt. He talks rather flatly, with little emotion.*

Pryce: Comical.

*Matt is completely baffled by who this is and why he's here, and his head isn't letting him think very much at the moment. He tries to speed this along, more interested in seeing how Molly beats the demon in his book.*

Matt: You had something to ask me, yes?

Pryce: Indeed. It has come to my attention that you have had some words directed at Drakus after your match the other night. Congratulations, by the way.

*Pryce gestures with his head toward Matt's trophy.*

Matt: Thanks. As for any comments I made, I really can't remember anything much. I took a lot of head shots, and lost quite a bit of blood. A late night flight and a couple beers have pretty much wiped that slate clean.

Pryce: Think harder, if you would. These comments would be negative, and quite clear in their intent.

Matt: Look, I told you I don't remember anything. I don't remember being handed that trophy. I don't remember the walk to the back. I don't remember showering. There's a big gap between razor wire and my plane landing. So I'm sorry, but I can't help you here. Now if you don't mind...

Pryce: These comments were printed in the paper, it would seem. Perhaps a perusal of them would refresh your mind?

Matt: If it's printed, why ask me?

Pryce: The integrity of journalist is suspect at best. Maybe you could take a look?

Matt: It won't do me any good. All I speak is English. Reading the Taco Bell menu is as close as I get to a second language. So reading a French... we're in France, right?

Pryce: Yes.

Matt: Right. Reading a French newspaper is out of the question.

Pryce: It's just that these comments were negative, and if they were indeed spoken by you, it would interest my client very much so.

Matt: Again, I don't know. I'm sure someone stuck a mic in my face after I won the match. I'm sure I said something. How much I said, how accurate it was, I dunno. But, if I said something about Drakus, I can't imagine saying anything positive. I've got nothing but contempt for the guy. He waved bye bye to humanity a long time ago. The guy tried to kill me, straight up kill me, on a rooftop in Spain. So no, I can't see myself giving him a glowing review. And no matter how negative a comment they printed, I can't imagine it being far from the truth. The guy has nothing but negatives as far as I'm concerned, nothing redeeming about himself as a person. Now, unless you have an aspirin the size of a hockey puck, I'd appreciate if you got out of my room so I can try and rest up. I'm sure the paper mentioned all the lacerations and such, not mention this hangover/head trauma hybrid I'm nursing.

Pryce: I apologize for my intrusion. You've been most helpful, and my client will find your insights most interesting.

*Pryce steps through the door, and has his hand on the handle to close it behind him.*

Matt: By the way, who's your client?

Pryce: That would be Drakus. Good day.

*And with that the door closes. Matt stands dumbfounded for a minute.*

Matt: Well, it's not like he could hate me more. At the least, I'm done with him for now. He'll find someone else to hate, and I'll be a distant memory.

*Matt heads back to his bed when his foot catches on something. He looks down, and sees the envelope that he'd completely forgotten about. Not seeing any point in putting it off any longer, Matt reaches down and tears it open.*

Matt: Let's see... Matt...Matt...Matt... Ah, here it is. Triple Threat match. Matt Strikmore versus Hammer versus.... Dra...kus....

*Matt just stares at the floor in disbelief. He lets his gaze fall over the ripped envelope lying on the floor.*

Matt: Why do you hate me?

*Matt tugs at the bandages around his neck. From the shoulders up, he looks like a hastily done mummy. Drakus had made certain that everyone leaving that match bore his mark. The warm afternoon certainly didn't make it any easier to carry the wounds. Matt tries to put it out of mind, as he signs another magazine, napkin, or polaroid. No one had ever asked for his autograph before. Hell, no one knew his name before all of this. But here he is, across an ocean, and strangers are asking for his signature. It's a great feeling.*

*The line Matt is in stumbles forward, getting him closer and closer to his first face to face with Hammer. Matt's last few introductions haven't gone so well. With any luck, the busy line will make the meeting quick, reducing his time for idiocy to a minimum. Peaking over the heads of those in front of him, he can see Hammer's black turban coming up. He's almost to the front. Matt works the stiffness out of his fingers, and notices his palms are sweaty.*

Matt: C'mon, Matt. He's a coworker, not the cute girl at the Orange Julius. Knock it off.

*He wipes his hands on his pants, and takes his place as next in line. Hammer sits, handing out photographs of the final blow in match last week. A great shot. You'd swear you actually see a vertebrae break. Mr. Jabbar stands over his right shoulder, beckoning people to come and go in line. As the woman at the table turns to leave, Jabbar notices Matt. Matt smiles back, slightly waving his hand. Jabbar leans down to Hammer's ear, and whispers. Hammer doesn't look up yet.*

Hammer (To himself): So, this is Matt Strikmore. This is the lamb I throw to Drakus' slaughter.

*Hammer looks up, with a polite smile.*

Hammer: Matthew! It's nice to meet you. Please, come forward. Mr. Jabbar, please hold the line.

Matt: Nice to meet you as well!

*Matt extends his hand, and the two shake.*

Matt: So, nice turnout.

Hammer: Yes, I do seem to have quite a following in the area.

Matt: I don't mean to hold up your signings. I just happened to be around, and thought it'd be nice to meet before the bell rings.

Hammer: Of course. I've no problem with courtesy.

*Matt grinds toe into the ground, blocked from Hammer's sight due to the table.*

Matt: Great, Matt. You've already run out of things to say. Cut and run! Cut and run!

Matt: So, I should probably head back to the arena. Doctor wanted to make sure my cuts are healing well. If you could indulge me one thing though. Mind if I have an autograph?

*Hammer raises an eyebrow in amusement as he reaches towards his stack of photos.*

Matt: A guy just never knows when his run is going to end. It'd be nice to have some souveniers, so I can be sure this all happened.

Hammer: I'm sure there are many memories for both of us to make yet to come. We'll certainly make one in a few days time.

Matt: Well thanks alot. Best of luck to you.

Hammer: You as well.

*Matt starts to walk away, while Hammer's brow furrows as he thinks. Hammer is very good at playing the media game. After all, that's all life is. Perception. His meeting with Drakus did not go very well, and would much rather Drakus' attention be refocused. Hammer looks at Matt as he walks. And then an idea.*

Hammer: Matt! Just a second!

Matt: Huh?

Hammer: It seems only fair that if you have my autograph, I should have yours.

Matt: Heh. Sorry, I don't have any glossys on me.

Hammer: Easily remedied. Mr. Jabbar, would you please take a polaroid of our friend here?

*The camera flashes, and Hammer hands Matt a sharpie.*

Hammer: Just sign on the back. Wouldn't want to mess up the picture.

*Matt hands back the picture, and shakes hands with Hammer before leaving.*

Matt: Thanks for your time.

Hammer: And you for your civility.

*Matt walks off with a smile on his face. Hammer smiles down at the photo that is now starting to develop.*

Matt and Hammer: That went well.

_____________________________________________________________________________

*Hammer sits in his hotel room, with the door open. He glances at the phone, and at the picture laying beside it. Finally, one of the Ghetto members runs to the door, and gives Hammer the signal. His guest has arrived. Hammer jumps up and grabs the phone, unplugging the cable from the walljack. He begins to talk to dead air a few moments before Mr. Pyrce walks into the room.*

Hammer: I don't operate that way. It's against what I believe in, and the codes I follow. I realize, a one on one match would be better odds, but I'll take my chances in a triple threat.

*Pryce's ears perk up at the conversation, while his demeanor remains the same. He keeps himself falsly occupied by running his fingers over the details of the dresser.*

Hammer: I have a guest. I'm ending this call. I'd appreciate it if you'd not get in touch with me again. I took the call out of courtesy, and now that it's been extended, it can be forgotten. Goodbye.

*Hammer hangs up the phone heavily, and looks at the photo while shaking his head.*

Hammer: It's hard to believe some people, isn't it? The tennats of hard work mean nothing. Just shortcuts all the way.

Pryce: I know the type. Shall we be off?

Hammer: Of course. Where are my manners. Thank you for taking my invitation to dinner. I didn't want Drakus' opinion of me resting on a brief encounter. I was hoping you'd be better at expressing my feelings toward the matter.

Pryce: But of course.

*The two start to leave the room, but Pryce looks back at the picture lying on the bed. It's of Matt Strikmore, sticking his thumbs up with a big smile on his face. Pryce scowls.*

Pryce: I see.

Hammer: Excuse me?

Pryce: Oh, nothing. Excuse me.

*Hammer smiles as he walks out, Pryce behind him.*

Hammer (To himself): It's all about perception...

"I want Matt Strikmore's room number."

Upon arriving at the hotel, Drakus goes up to the front desk and asked the worker there for the room number of Matt Strikmore. Now, ordinarily Drakus is the kind of guy that'd just tear through every hotel room until he found Strikmore's, but tonight he wants to make sure that he doesn't wear out before getting to the hero.

"No parlais Anglais, je parle Francais."

Well, so much for Drakus's temporary good will. After punching the worker, Drakus follows his mantra of "hit, crush and destroy", tearing through everything in his path in the classy but small French hotel. Unfortunately for Drakus, Matt Strikmore is not in his room right now.

-----

Matt Strikmore is not in his hotel room because he has been summoned to the Palais Omnisports de Paris-Bercy, where TCW Commissioner Valerie Stern's office has been set up for the week. Ms. Stern has requested Strikmore's presence to discuss what he plans on doing with that title shot he won at Retribution. Valerie and fellow members of TCW Management have an idea for it, but they want to allow Matt to make his decision, whether it be a shot at the World title, the tag team titles, or even the WWF title or whatever the hell Dick Flehr is calling the Aftershock strap these days.

After exchanging some pleasantries, Valerie dives right into business. After all, she is a businesswoman first and foremost.

Valerie: Well Matt...it's like this. Drakus is not an option for champion. He would never do things the TCW way, and would be impossible for us to build a brand around. Hammer...well, I'd rather not think about what'd happen to our buyrates in the red states if we had him as champion. And while Jason Dante is a popular champion, the fans don't think he's going to hold on to it much longer. What we need is a popular champion that can defeat anybody standing in his way and stand up for what's right.

Matt: Ms. Stern, are you sure there's anybody in TCW like that?

Valerie: Matt, what I'm trying to say is that the rest of TCW Management and myself would like to see you as our World Champion. Since you've been here you've been victorious in matches with Darkness, Titanium Insomniac, David Hardy, DeadZone, DeSean Blackwell, Drakus...the list goes on and on. The people would buy you as a champion. They want you as their champion.

Matt: So you want me to use my title shot against Dante.

Valerie: Well, it beats the option of having Drakus or Hammer going after it, that's for sure.

Matt Strikmore ponders the notion. The idea of being the World Champion sounds pretty appealing to him. It'd probably feel like the way Peter Parker feels when he puts on the Spiderman mask, or how Clark Kent feels when he changes clothes in a phone booth.

Matt: This is a tough call. Can I wait until Friction?

Valerie: Of course.

Matt: OK then. See ya later!

Matt Strikmore leaves the office to head back to his hotel room. He wonders why he couldn't have met with the commissioner at a time better than 2 AM, but his body clock is all out of whack anyway so it doesn't really matter...

-----

"So how did it go?"

After finishing his late dinner with Mr. Pryce, Mutaaz Tareef meets up with spiritual advisor Muhammad Jabbar at a discotheque. You would think that a smoke filled room with a lot of people drinking and dancing wouldn't be the kind of place Hammer & Jabbar would make a habit of hanging out at, but Jabbar's been there all night after receiving some good news from Universal Pictures concerning his upcoming film's distribution.

Hammer: It went pretty well. It seems like he's more concerned with punishing TCW's champion than he is with helping Drakus.

Jabbar: I hope I don't need to remind you that he is a lawyer...

Hammer: I know, you can't trust lawyers as far as you can throw them. But, I can throw people pretty far.

Hammer takes a sip of his water and looks across the dance floor, where he sees somebody familiar...

Hammer: Well look at this...DAVE! OVER HERE!

Fellow Infinity member David Hardy doesn't have a whole hell of a lot going on this week, so he's been partying in Paris with his special lady friend that happens to be in the bathroom at the moment. He walks over to Hammer and the two shake hands. As Hardy pulls up a bar stool next to Hammer, Jabbar's cell phone rings and he walks outside to take the call.

Hammer: I was talking to H1 on the phone today and among other things he mentioned your match is off. What's up with that?

Hardy: I dunno, guess PD and his mystery partner disappeared or something.

Hammer: PD disappearing...where have I seen this one before?

Hardy: Ha, yeah. At least Highone got a sweet referee gig, I've got jack shit to do at Friction now.

Hammer: Well man, I'd see if I could get you to ref my match, but I'm on thin ice with management as it is.

Hardy: It's all right, I'll find some way to make an impact.

Hammer: Oh by the way, what's Drakus got against you?

Hardy: He's just pissed off that I had several people attack him a few weeks ago. Bastard deserved it, he tried to take me out in one of my first matches! No joke, that guy's fucked up.

Hammer: Yeah, I've noticed that.

Hardy: Seriously man, watch out in there. He doesn't mess around. Ah, there she is! I'm gonna head back on the floor Hammer, we'll talk later!

Hammer: All right, brother.

Hammer hadn't really seen much of this "Leela" chick yet, but she sounded all right from what he'd heard of her. He turned back around to order another water, but was interrupted by Jabbar, who had come back into the building pretty quickly after finishing the call.

Jabbar: We gotta head back to the bus, we got some problems!

Hammer: Woah, what's going on?

Jabbar: I'll tell you on the way...

-----

The Ghetto Grass kids spend their night on the Praise Allah X-Press doing what they usually do, smoking some dope and listening to loud music. Which wouldn't go over very well with the people in the hotels surrounding the X-Press if anybody was sleeping, but apparently sleeping is not something that happens much in Paris.

Well, beds are used sometimes. Considering people have called it the "city of love", you can figure out what they're used for.

Ghetto Fire: This sucks.

Alexxx: Seconded.

Stoner: Thirded.

Yasmin: Fourthed.

Ghetto Fire: Ever since Hammer took us back under his wing, we never get to do anything! All we ever do is take orders from him and Jabbar. How come we can't wrestle?

Alexxx: He told us we "weren't ready yet".

Ghetto Fire: Well, that's a bunch of crap and you know it. We co-held the tag team titles with him. And Alexxx, you're a former Aftershock champion. There's no good reason for us to be stuck here doing absolutely nothing.

Stoner: Well, it's not so bad when they're not around and we can sit here and smoke.

Yasmin: That's for sure.

Alexxx: But, we agreed to that stipulation. We should have known better, but we agreed to it. And now we gotta live up to it for as long as it takes.

Ghetto Fire: Hopefully it'll be like everything else in wrestling and not last forever.

Stoner: Hulkamania lasts forever.

Ghetto Fire: Hulkawhat?

Alexxx: Exactly.

What Ghetto Grass doesn't know is that their period of inactivity is about to come to an end. The Praise Allah X-Press is parked in front of the hotel that Hammer & Jabbar are staying in. That just happens to be across the street from the hotel Matt Strikmore is staying in.

And since Drakus hasn't found Matt Strikmore left, and he's just left the hotel and sees the Praise Allah X-Press parked across the street...he figures he might as well hit, crush and destroy one of his opponents.

He starts shaking the bus back and forth...yeah, I know it takes a lot of strength to do something like that, but after seeing the kind of stuff he did in last session's feud do you really believe he can't make a bus rock back and forth?

Needless to say, the Ghetto Grass kids are pretty confused.

Stoner: What the hell?

They hear Drakus yelling "WHERE ARE YOU, TAREEF?"

Alexxx: Great, Drakus. That's not good.

Ghetto Fire: I'll go talk to him.

Other 3: Are you insane?

Ghetto Fire: Well, somebody's got to get him to go away! Yasmin, call Jabbar and tell him to get Hammer over here. Alexxx, Stoner, back me up!

Stoner: Oh God, we're gonna die!

Alexxx: Get a hold of yourself, it's 3 on 1! We'll be fine!

You'd think so, but...well, Ghetto Fire running towards Drakus ends with Drakus punching him right on the jawbone and knocking him out. I'm not saying TCW punches don't hurt...but Ghetto Fire's never been hit like this in his life. He starts putting the boots to Ghetto Fire until Stoner tries to stop him with punches to the back. Drakus picks Stoner up and slams him to the ground, then picks him up and whips him into the bus. One belly to belly overhead suplex later and Stoner's out of commission.

Alexxx shows no fear and goes right after Drakus, but Drakus just kicks her in the stomach and puts her in a guillotine choke. Alexxx tries to fight her way out and screams as loud as she can, but eventually the choke cuts off her air supply and she goes to sleep.

Ghetto Fire tries to get back up, but Drakus kicks him one more time right in the gut. Ghetto Fire rolls over and spits up some blood. Stoner is on the ground holding his head from the suplex, and Alexxx is lying unconscious on the ground.

Since business is done on the outside, Drakus decides to go inside the bus. Upon his entering the bus, Yasmin screams loud enough to be heard across town.

Matt Strikmore is not across town, he is just in front of his hotel heading in for the night. Upon hearing the loud scream of Yasmin though, he runs across the street to see what's going on. You know, that old "superhero" instinct of his kicking in.

Meanwhile, Hammer & Jabbar are rounding the corner and are within 100 feet of the bus.

Something tells me business is about to pick up one way or another.

*So much for a quiet night. Matt rushes across the street, a crowd already starting to form around the bus. Yasmin's scream still hangs in the air, and another one starts to take its place. Three seconds ago, Matt was just giving thought to what to do with his open contract. He was thinking about how to spend his tournament winnings. He was thinking about whether Superman could tear Mr. Fantastic in half. He was thinking about anything and everything other than Drakus for the first time in two weeks. But he can tell from that scream. Nothing makes a person scream like Drakus.*

*As he rounds the front of the bus, he sees members of Ghetto Grass strewn about the sidewalk like garbage. He sees Ghetto Fire on the ground, coughing up blood, and he can't help but playback the site of Ghetto falling off that scaffold, eyes wide as saucers as he plummeted to the floor below. Another memory he'll never be able to wipe out. Another situation that his employment in TCW forced on him. If he weren't a TCW wrestler, he'd probably never have known who Drakus was, and Matt will forever have a bit of disdain for the company for that knowledge. Another scream from Yasmin snaps him out of his self-absorbed stupor. Matt catches Hammer in the corner of his eye. Jabbar has his hand on his shoulder, as if such a simple gesture could hold back a man like Hammer. But yet, he doesn't move. With that, Matt runs into the bus. Not as Superman. Not as Thor. As Matt Strikmore.*

*Everyone looks at the bus in anticipation. We hear a beastial scream from Drakus, but nothing from Matt. After a few moments, Yasmin scrambles out of the door, falling to the sidewalk as her feet still run in the air. Tears roll down her face, as she talks hysterically. The bus begins to rock a bit, no doubt barely containing the violence inside. Drakus, a monster full of hatred. Matt, someone who couldn't let a woman be in the situation he now finds himself. After thirty seconds or so, the motion stops. Everything is still. Hammer shrugs off the hand of Jabber, and begins to work his way closer to the bus. Everyone stops breathing, waiting for resolution. The Ghetto Grass begin to pull themselves together, using one another for support. And then the glass explodes.*

*A large window on the bus explodes from the inside, as a body goes airborn in a shower of glass. The bandages around Matt's head and neck flow freely in the air, stained red with recent trauma. Everything moves in slow motion. Matt sees everyone around him as he floats in the sky. He can't help but think, through the confusion in his brain, that this is what flying is like. He bets Superman never gives landing a thought. Matt hits the sidewalk hard, rolling into the brick building before lying in a heap. Drakus stomps off the bus, rushing in to finish his prey. Reaching down to grab Matt, he sees Pryce and spares him a glance. He can't read Pryce's gaze. He hesitates. He hears sirens in the background, getting closer, but ignores them. He feels Matt's fresh blood running through his fingers again, but ignores it. He looks at Pryce, but can't ignore it. As the police push through the crowd, Matt acts out of self-preservation. He grabs the rain soaked shirt of Drakus, and throws all of his weight backwards. Drakus' head is driven through a shop window. Drakus howls and rips himself from the display window, grabbing his face with one hand and swinging wildly with the other. Rather than make a judgement call, the police grab both Drakus and Matt. One struggles, and one resigns himself to it. We can guess which is which.*

*An hour later finds Matt and Drakus in neighboring jail cells. No charges were pressed, but they're both being detained for the time being. Matt thanks the guard for the bowl of water and a towel, as he attempts to dress his wounds as best as he can. Drakus stalks his cell.*

Matt: Remind me to bring you on my next vacation, Drakus. You're a friggen memory machine.

Drakus: Quiet!

Matt: Seriously. Most people talk about the tower when they head to France. I can talk about how I went through a tour bus. "Oh yeah, I visited Spain. Funny story. I was nearly choked to death on a rooftop. Mitsy and I laughed and laughed at that one."

Drakus: With every sylable you utter, that's just another of your last breaths you waste.

Matt: If that's the case, I've suddenly become ok with that. What would you rather me do? Beg? You'd slaughter me anyway. Bargain? The only I have that you want is my blood, and I'm quick running out of that. I'd knit you a sweater if I thought it'd help get you off my case, but we both know that isn't going to fly. So I'm going to do the one thing I always do. I'm going to blabber on and on. I might even sing for a while. You're cool with Van Halen, right?

Drakus: The world is a joke to you.

Matt: No, the world just isn't a war like you seem to believe. If you could stop seeing red for a second, maybe you'd see that.

Drakus: You're naive.

Matt: Yeah, I probably am. I bet you wish you were too. At the very least, it must be better than waking up every morning thinking about vengeance and death and such. You know what I think about when I wake up? Do I want Corn Pops or Oatmeal Raisen Crisp. You know, normal things. It's one of the quirks of being human.

Drakus: Listen to you, trying to rationalize yourself. Trying to convince yourself there's some large gap between what we are. You call me a monster? I saw the monster in you when you tried to break a table over my head. I saw it just tonight, when you put me through the window.

Matt: Now who's rationalizing. I agree, there's a monster in everyone. Something flips a switch, and we go all Omega Red on the world. The thing is, I think you liked being the monster, so you found a way to flip that switch yourself. You stripped the human part out of the equation. You just wanted the monster. I mean, look at you. You're pacing the cage. You want something, anything, to come in there so you can destroy it. And why? Cause you and Dante have beef?

Drakus: Do not trivialize what he's done! He -

Matt: You know what, I don't care. I couldn't care less about what who did to who. I just don't care. Maybe he did wrong you. SO what's your retaliation? Rip his head from his shoulders?

Drakus: To start.

Matt: And then what? Do a little jig under the fountain of blood shooting from his neckstump? Piss on his grave? You haven't thought that far ahead. Your type never does. It's just scorched earth till reach where you started. You disgust me.

Drakus: I can't help but think that this conversation would be differant if we weren't in these cells.

Matt: Of course it'd be differant. Every time we've ever been this close together, your hands were around my throat! And if these bars are giving me some sense of false bravado, then I might as well go crazy with it. So for the next twenty three hours, I have a free pass to piss and moan about you. I have nothing to fear. I could have posted bail and been on the street thirty minutes ago. But you know why I didn't? Because this will be the first solid nights sleep I get in three weeks. No waking up and looking for TI, or you, and anyone else who seems to have a problem with me being able to put shoulders to the mat. For the next day, I'm bulletproof. So I'm going to go to my little cot, I'm going to fluff my prison issue pillow, and I'm going to have the best sleep anyone has ever had in the history of mankind. And you know what I'm going to dream about? I'm not going to dream about anything, because I have no need for escapism. This is the ideal place. Right here. Right now.

Drakus: When I get out-

Matt: In twenty three hours, you'll do nothing. We'll still be in police station. You do one thing out of line, and they'll put you right back in. And then I'm going to go outside, right outside your cell, and play the harmonica. And here's a little bit of information for you. I can't play the harmonica. Because really, what do I have to lose? You want to wear my chest cavity as a hat. I can't exactly have you more pissed at me.

*There is silence for a moment. We can hear Drakus' heavy breathing.*

Matt: One more thing before I knock off for a dozen hours, princess. Just a little something for you to think about. We've been in here for an hour. Pryce was at the scene of the crime. So where's Papa Pryce now? Traffic? Maybe it's traffic. You think it's traffic? Drakus? Drakus? You there? You think it's traffic?

Drakus: QUIET!!!

Matt: G'night Sugar. Sweetie. Cutie pie.

*Matt rolls over with a smile on his face, closing his eyes gently. Sure, he just signed his death warrent. But he was standing on the gallows anyway. His signature was just a formality. Fade out with a shot of Drakus grabbing the cell bars white knuckle tight.*

The Paris police release Matt Strikmore early the following morning. Drakus watches the police take Strikmore from his cell. Unlike Strikmore, who slept like a baby, Drakus hadn't had a moment's rest. The two men lock eyes as Strikmore is led past Drakus' cell. The rookie can't help himself. He asks the guards to stop, then leans in close to the bars.

Strikmore: "Somebody out there must like me. What about you? Want me to call your lawyer when I get back to my hotel room?"

Drakus: "You better start running now, boy."

Strikmore: "I'll bet I could crawl and still be far away from here by the time anybody shows up to help you."

Drakus leaps forward and grabs the bars with both hands.

Drakus: "If we'd been in the same cell for one night, they'd be carrying your carcass outta here."

Matt smirks.

Strikmore: "And if your auntie had a dick she'd be your uncle. For now you're still looking out from those bars, and I'm on the other side."

Drakus' hands clutch the bars with more force. His knuckles are white, fingernails dig into his own palms until they begin to bleed.

Drakus: "I won't be in here forever."

His face is practically pressed against the bars, teeth bared like an animal. Without realizing it, Matt takes a step back.

Strikmore: "I know. We'll see each other again soon."

Drakus: "Then I'll finish what I started."

Strikmore: "I'm sure you'll try."

The police lead Strikmore away. He looks back at Drakus, no longer quite so cocky as he'd been the night before. In the cold light of morning, he can see his future opponent more clearly -- the dark circles under the eyes, the throbbing vein in the forehead, the eyes practically blazing with rage. Regret creeps in. But what's done is done. As Strikmore leaves the holding area, both men are certain of one thing: there won't be any conversation the next time they meet.

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Hours pass. Drakus waits, staring at the door at the end of the hall, waiting for his attorney to show up. Strikmore's taunts continue to haunt his mind. Where the fuck is Pryce? He should have been here first thing in the morning. Hell, he should have been here last night! It's never taken this long for Pryce to bail him out of a spot like this before.

Day passes into evening. Drakus paces, mumbles, punches the walls until his knuckles bleed. Finally he slumps to the floor, head in his hands.

Drakus: "He's not coming."

Maybe no one will come. Maybe the fed will leave him behind to rot in a foreign prison. If not Pryce, who'd ever bother to even try to get him released. There's probably not another soul on the planet who'd bother trying. Not any of his surviving family members, if they even realized he never came back to the United States. And any friendships Drakus made earlier in life, before everything fell to pieces, have long since soured. He's completely alone, deprived of the one thing that keeps him going -- the promise of revenge.

Pryce: "Look at you."

Pryce stands in front of the cell, looking annoyed and more than a little disgusted.

Pryce: "What happened to you?"

Drakus looks at his hands, knuckles crusted with dried blood.

Drakus: "Got mad."

Pryce: "Of course. And as usual, it made you do something stupid."

Drakus wants to respond, to lash out at Pryce, but the desire to get out of the cell keeps him quiet.

Pryce: "Well, let's go."

A policeman opens the door. Drakus stumbles out, unable to look his lawyer in the eye. They don't speak until they're in Pryce's towncar.

Drakus: "Why didn't you come sooner?"

His tone is unusually sheepish, more petulant than angry.

Pryce: "I was busy. Besides, this isn't business as usual. Dealing with the American authorities is one thing. But this is a whole new kind of trouble, and I'm not sure you're worth the effort anymore."

Drakus keeps his head down.

Pryce: "I did manage to free you, though. So I'm waiting -- what do you have to say to me for granting you your liberty?"

Drakus hesitates. His hand is shaking. He curls it into a fist.

Pryce: "Well?"

Drakus turns toward Pryce, eyes still downcast. He doesn't want to see Pryce smirking again, or he might not be able to stop himself. Pryce's manicured fingers are drumming on the leather interior.

Drakus: "... thank you."

Pryce crosses his arms.

Pryce: "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

More silence. Drakus hopes Pryce won't humiliate him any further. Those hopes are quickly dashed.

Pryce: "I don't know how you'll beat them. Strikmore has made a fool of you at every turn, now this to top it off. And Hammer -- he's a clever man, far too clever for the likes of you. He knows how to get what he wants by any means necessary, not just brute force."

Drakus: "What's that mean?"

Pryce: "I've spoken with Mr. Tareef, learned a few interesting things. For instance, he has in his possession a snapshot of Mr. Strikmore, looking quite pleased with himself."

Drakus: "And?"

Pryce sighs loudly.

Pryce: "It's quite reasonable and prudent to conclude that the two came to some kind of arrangement, in all likelihood to remove you from the picture at Friction. Mr. Strikmore undoubtedly knows your murderous intentions toward him haven't abated, and Mr. Tareef understands his chances of victory are greater if he can eliminate the stronger opponent and focus on a less experienced competitor who also happens to be nursing serious injuries from his last match. You're a logical target for them both, and you've accomplished nothing to shift the odds in your favor. In fact, you've given them both new reasons to see to your incapacitation first."

Drakus shakes his head.

Drakus: "What could I do?"

Pryce: "Actually using your mind would have been a novel choice. Unfortunately it's too late now. There's really nothing either of us can do or say to prevent what will happen. If that wasn't in fact Mr. Tareef's plan prior to your public assault on his unwilling minions, that incident has no doubt strengthened his resolve. He may even decide to involve his Infinity teammates as retribution."

Drakus: "Can't you fix this?"

Pryce: "No. There's only one course of action left. You have to beat them both."

Drakus: "If I don't?"

Pryce: "Then the next time you find yourself in a cell, there will be no one coming to get you out. Understood?"

Drakus: "Yes."

The car pulls up to the curb in front of Drakus' fleabag Paris hotel.

Pryce: "Good. Now I suggest you get some rest. You look like hell."

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Hammer and Jabbar sit in the waiting area of a local hospital. Ghettofire and Alexxx are still patients thanks to internal injuries and concussions inflicted by Drakus. Hammer and Jabbar are here to give the two their best wishes, Hammer hoping that with their injuries they won't recall the fact he didn't come to their aid during Drakus' assault.

Hammer: "How much longer? These places creep me out."

Jabbar: "The federation's camera crew and local media will be here shortly. When they arrive your act of compassion will be recorded for all to see."

Hammer grins and nods.

Hammer: "I like it. The humanitarian vs. creepy Dracula guy for the world title. No big mystery who the fans wanna see come out on top in a match like that."

Jabbar: "Yes, the public loves you more and more each passing day. Vanquishing this creature Drakus at Friction will only add to your reputation."

Hammer: "Not to mention tarnishing the finish on the rookie's new trophy."

Jabbar: "He has been lucky so far, but he does not have Allah on his side."

Hammer: "Got that right."

They spot a TCW producer coming down the hall, cameraman in tow. Jabbar goes to meet him, explaining where they'll be filming. Hammer waits, preferring to let his spiritual advisor handle the details. While Jabbar and the TCW producer talk, someone sits next to Hammer. He turns and sees a big man in dark glasses and a black baseball cap pulled down low. The flame tattoos on the forearms are a dead giveaway as to the new arrival's identity.

Hammer: "Come back to pull the plug on Ghetto and Alexxx?"

Drakus: "No, I came for you."

Hammer turns and smiles, seemingly unconcerned.

Hammer: "I thought you just got out of jail. But if you wanna do this thing now, I've got a camera crew right over there to film me whooping your ass."

Drakus takes off his cap and glasses, revealing a bruised face with several small cuts.

Drakus: "Don't get in my way."

Hammer: "What's that?"

Drakus: "I don't want you, I want Strikmore. Got me arrested, and the shit he said ... I just want him, got it? Smarter for you to let me do what I want."

Hammer: "You don't really think I'm just gonna stand by and let you pin him."

Drakus: "Not talking about pinning him. I'm going to break him, and if you try to stop me, I'll break you too."

Hammer: "You're talking to the man who knocked out the world champion. That big talk doesn't impress me much."

Drakus: "I know what you were gonna do ... you were gonna use him to help you beat me, weren't ya?"

Hammer: "I don't need a rookie's help."

Drakus: "Good, then give Strikmore to me."

Hammer: "Say I did have some deal with him. You want me to turn on him like that, let you go all psycho on him right there in front of me? Why would I want to do a thing like that? I've got an image to think about."

Drakus: "You're smart. You can do it so people don't know what's really goin' on. I'll put him out of everybody's misery permanently, you'll never have to see his face again."

Hammer: "Then it's just the two of us."

Drakus: "See, smart."

Hammer looks back over his shoulder. Jabbar and the TCW film crew are coming towards them.

Hammer: "I'll think about it."

Drakus: "You do that. Think hard, do the smart thing out there."

Jabbar's pace falters as he recognizes the man next to Hammer. The old man visibly tenses up, fearing a violent confrontation at an event meant to showcase Hammer's benevolent side. Drakus sees Jabbar's expression and decides it's time to make a hasty retreat. Hammer watches him go.

Hammer: "I always do."