The scene begins today with Dorito sitting on the bed in his dark room. The only light coming from that of the multisync computer monitors just eight feet behind him. He seems to be looking down, holding something in his lap, but it's too dark to see, as the light just bends enough around the contours of his head to bring light to the left side of his nose and eye, touched with green from the streaming Matrix screensaver activated.
Dorito: Why Matt? Why? Why did you do what you did? We were the best of friends, seemingly inseparable. When D-Generation Y ran, there were the Hunters, and the Hitmen, but while they were fighting for dominacy, we were breaking all the rules, throwing all the parties, rebelling against everything they threw at us, except the orange donuts. Those they didn't throw at us because they were part of the pre-show snacks for everyone. But that damn Typhoon kept getting to them and getting to them each time, wouldn't leave any for me. But it was good that he got let go because I would've shown him what hardcore was all about. And no, I don't mean using cookie sheets and trash cans and bags of popcorn. No, what hardcore was all about was the two on ones, the gangbangs, the screaming, the moaning, the cheesy acting, Ron Jeremy's mustache, and Jenna F'n Jameson. And no one was more hardcore than Extreme Associates, where they weren't really even invited to the annual porno awards because they defied and broke all the rules of porn. Yeah, I would've made Typhoon watch all of that, and after he had watched the threeway lesbian scenes and the fourway orgy with three chicks and some guy with a penis that's maybe three inches erect, or so that was said. He would've watched the gangbang with thirteen guys and a girl and watched her take every shot. Yeah, he would've watched all that, and when he had had enough and wanted to go, I'd smack him in the ear with one of the video tapes. Wouldn't want to low blow him, the guy would be so loaded that one tap and he'd explode and possibly put anyone around him in the hospital for two and a half weeks. And that is what hardcore is all about.
Why do I ask myself a question when I already know the answer? Why ask a question when you know the answer? Why? To reassure myself that I'm right? To be sociable? That's what common people do, just to make conversation, to be social, and show that they are caring. But that was the key wasn't it Matt? I showed real weakness as a human being, as an entity. Not physical weakness, but mental and emotional weakness. It was because of Sonic, because of Kylie. When he went through that car roof and got put on a stretcher, there you saw weakness in Chris Freytag. Sonic's rival, showing compassion and concern for Sonic's well-being, assisting him in getting aid. But Sonic wanted to fight, so he got off, and what happened in that streetfight? Freytag threw Sonic out into the street with oncoming traffic, and an ambulance ran Sonic down. Break his legs, his back, arms, whatever the injuries were. Granted I went to look after him, but I thought Kylie was a bigger woman than who she was. But she left after two weeks because Sonic was broken, he was beaten, and Kylie had become attached to him to just use him as a sex-toy. Sonic was an object to Kylie, the feelings weren't real. She used him the whole time. Sleeping her way into getting trained, into getting onto television, into everything she would do, she used him. She used me. She used DY. She used you, Matt. She used every resource that she could consume until it was gone, then she would move on. Kylie Muller is a virus, but that's what humans are, a virus. I could have left Sonic alone at home, perhaps have hired him some trainer or nurse to take care of him while I kept wrestling, but no, I stayed at home for a few weeks, then a month, then a few months, then he was getting very mobile again, so I came back. I came back not whom I was before I left. I was caring of others. I wanted to help those around me. I wasn't defying the rules anymore, aside from the time of fighting with Mr. T. Cheer. My real weakness was caring for Sonic, taking those several months off to care and help my brother while he was hurting, when he was the one down. Why? Because perhaps it was a change. He was always the one above me, the one that everyone went to talk to. For awhile, I was the one that he went to for help for something. I just didn't realize it then, but for the first time, he would come to me. I was above him, even though he didn't really want my help, I had to help him. Matt, you were right all along. I should have never left NCW on that temp basis. If I had stayed, we could have disrupted the future, changed that then present, and shatter this present. That's why we fought, for my brother in name only taunted me ever since I was a child. He interfered in my fights, stole my glory from mom and dad because he was a supernerd and olympic athlete. Sheesh. Sonic was the over-achiever. But one thing he did teach me to do though, not involving wrestling, was the game of chess. To know the opponent's move ten moves before they even do it. But to not just stop with one simple game, but to string together several games, where you place intentional spots to drop games. As if a storyline that would relate to wrestling, until you start scaring him here and there, then get a big final game, a pay-per view so to speak. Here's where every move is reversed and altered to break the opponent's learning of what to expect. What to forecast what you're going to do. And he did this for entertainment. Intentionally drop four or five games of chess in a row just to squash the opponent in a final game. That was his fun with chess, especially recognizing how the opponent would pick up on something so he could do move a few moves ahead to allow them to grab the piece. To lose is to win, as everyone believes one way, this reality. But what is reality? How do you define reality? If reality is what you see, smell, taste, hear, feel, then reality is just electric impulses in your brain. At first, I thought he sucked at chess and would get lucky once in awhile. But then he told me how he did it, and after watching him several times, I started picking up on it and how to do it. Forget chess as just a game, but a shortened and quicker storyline to be told, that the ultimate winner only knows was going on in the first place, entertaining himself. And isn't that the most important thing? Ourselves? What comes first? Me. One's individualistic ego presses one to fight for themself first, help others second, if at all. It's not a choice however, although it may seem, it's not. But Matt, through all your unspoken teaching, you didn't follow your own practice. I got put in prison for what I did to Sonic, but I was set free to make room for newer convicts and felons, some way of softening up criminals. Incarcerating criminals for an undisclosed amount of time in like a buddhist monestary would be a better way to break criminals. For those who touch the wall, shall be cursed, and bring death upon allies, and torture to one's self. I put you in the ground, Matt. You hit the ground, six feet under, in Hawaii, and we buried you. Alicia buried you. She was through with you, but you still can't let go. For the past directs who we are in the present, and lays the groundwork for the future.
And in my future, my near future, are six men, standing before me. Every single one of them a threat to me, for they intend to do harm to me, and are unwilling to step aside. But unlike a hurdled run, we can kick down the hurdles as we go through rather than over. Six men may be all that people see, but there is more. The obvious would be easy to point out, but that's reality for you. When you have the curtain pulled down on your window, you don't see buildings, trees, people, grass, vehicles, whatever. Pull that curtain open, and you have a whole new world before your eyes. That's what those in WWCWF have, their curtains are closed. But why does one close the curtains? To keep the light out? To prevent from peering out upon what there supposedly is? Or to not allow those to see what is beyond a mask. Yes WhirlWind. It is WhirlWind, isn't it? But you know what? It really doesn't matter what the hell your name is. I'll call you Swirlwind if I want, or say, Vacuum. Cause you suck. Yeah, they're cheap, but when you're laying in a puddle of your excretion and I just happen to be strolling by when paramedics are attempting to identify the body, I'll call you whatever the hell I want to. "Here Lies Twirly", your tombstone may say, and the coroners wonder why both your thumbs are broken in four places. But isn't that what time is about? Looking to the past, to see how much you have spent, then questioning how much of it you have left? And WhirlWind, you're about out of time. Yeah, I enjoyed his comments, his little promo, why? Because it's what I want to hear? To let me know exactly how I'm standing in the game. And as for picking up on Digital Vapor, looking for definition as a key to understanding?
\Whirl"wind`\, n. [Cf. Icel. hvirfilvindr, Sw. hvirfvelvind, Dan. hvirvelvind, G. wirbelwind. See Whirl, and Wind, n.] 1. A violent windstorm of limited extent, as the tornado, characterized by an inward spiral motion of the air with an upward current in the center; a vortex of air. It usually has a rapid progressive motion.
A storm with limited extent. Vortex of air. Well guess what, I breathe air. So Whirlwind can bring it for awhile, and the violence is certainly measurable, it's just a question of how long it lasts, which probably isn't. But WhirlWind is "Blowing Greatness", isn't he? Great, now he's telling us what he does behind closed doors with Missle. No wonder when you walk in Missle's office and you see him sitting behind a desk, you weren't seen. More cheapshots, but who's next for you to be blowing? Lately it seems you've taken an interest in Great Malinko, the corporate clown has been remembering whom he was before he trampled over Missle's name so he could be "Blowing Greatness" too. But J-Mm'K isn't great, and neither are either of you. After sunday night, that's it, I'm through with you. That's it, no more. Done. Still, maybe some people get a tingly feeling with that mask pressing against and...
There's a knock at the door.
Voice(Alicia): Dorito?
Dorito: Yeah?
Alicia: Come on, it's time to go. It's already three o'clock. So if you ain't outta bed yet, then I'm gonna come in there and drag you out, drag you down the steps, drag you along the lawn, and throw you in the trunk of the car if you don't start moving your tookus!
Dorito's Thoughts: My what? Tookus?
Dorito: I'm up, I'm up.
Alicia: Well get your ass out of that computer chair then you net geek and let's get going.
Dorito: Fine.
He sets whatever he was holding down beside him and gets to his feet. He walks the few feet to the door, grabbing the handle and twisting it, pulling the door open. Alicia stands there wearing some gray sweatpants and a Seattle Mariners away baseball jersey tied up around her mid-drift with a gray sportsbra underneath, and her hair done up in the back.
Dorito: You look great.
Alicia: I do?
Dorito: Yeah.
Alicia: And you, uh, look like crap. You need to shave.
Dorito: I'll do it in Eugene. We'll just make a stop at Chris' place.
Alicia: Umm, for some apparent reason he has something against you, so I kinda doubt we will be.
Dorito: Well, I gotta make sure he's alright. Because if he can't make it to TLC, then I guess I may have to tag up with my ol' buddy, Crowbert.
Alicia: Crowbert? As in, the Crow?
Dorito: Whatevah.
Alicia turns and begins walking down the staircase, Dorito follows her down.
Alicia: Maybe if we get there early enough, we could hit the club scene. I hear there's a club not far from Auzten actually, just a hundred feet or so from it. Club Tsunami.
They get off the stairs and walk across toward the front entrance where they grab their luggage. They go down the steps with them and Alicia opens the inside door and goes to leave when her cellphone goes off. Dorito bumps into her from behind and stops as she fumbles about and pulls out her phone, flipping it open and holding it to her ear.
Alicia: Hello?
Brief pause, and she suddenly seems shocked.
Alicia: That's...wow. ...Yeah, I'll tell him. ...No, we were just walking out the door to go up there. ...K, thanks, byes.
She looks over at him as she opens the outside door.
Alicia: I can't believe it. Sirius, he, he...
Dorito: He-what? He-man?
Alicia: Sirius shot himself in the head. His body was found not too long ago, obvious suicide. My god...
Dorito: That's nice.
Alicia: Nice? A guy dies, and all you can is nice?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!
Dorito: What? Come on, let's go. So that's one more guy that I was supposed to fight that never happened. Oh well, it happens. Let's go. I wanna go measure WhirlWind's level of violence, see that it really isn't enough to garner an F# rating. Then I'm going to sing a song about ol' Tyler McDonald and his farm. Then I'm gonna bend Dorkin Steel and step on his toes since he doesn't have any boots anymore. And then...
Alicia: Shutup. For one, it's not McDonald, it's McClelland.
Dorito: I don't give a damn what his name is. When his body is found by paramedics and they're trying to ID the body, I'll just by passing by all of a sudden and recognize it. And what's a name good for anyways? To put on your tombstone? With an option between pork sausage or italian, and you can get extra cheese or any other toppings tossed on for an extra dollar and ninety-nine cents. It doesn't matter what his freaking name is. So what if they bring Sirius' corpse to the ring tomorrow night. I'll cover him there, so I at least have some experience with dead bodies for when Peccant falls out of his chamber door. Quoeth the laconic Triangle, Nevermore.
She just stares at him for a few moments, angered at him, then spins around and shoves the outside door open and storms toward the car, not speaking a word. Dorito just watches her for a few seconds, then shrugs his shoulders as he walks out of the house and shuts the doors behind him. The scene staying that of inside the home as it watches through the window, him rolling his luggage toward the car. It then shortly fades to black after that.
