The bell jingled, the bell that connected to the front door, informing whomever sat inside that they now had company, alerting Deputy Chuck Davis to jump to his feet before he was caught sleeping on the job once again.

"Wake up, Davis." Sheriff Marshall bellowed between spitting out saliva laced with Skoal. The creak in the wooden floorboards from down the hall allowed Marshall to assume his deputy was awake. He approached the receptionist’s area, where a 60-something-year-old woman sat (complete with a red knitted sweater and hair dyed brunette, done up in a bun), waste-deep in a romance novel that had the image of Fabio on the cover, whisking a beautiful woman away in his arms. Of course, they have lustful passion in their eyes. Of course, it’s the cover to every romance novel you’ve ever seen.

"Any calls, Doreen?" he said, eyes narrowed behind the thick lenses of his aviators. She merely glanced from her novel while turning a page, letting out a brief chuckle before she returned to her book. "Guess that’s a no."

He retreated towards the back of the small station, past the jail-cell where Louis the Town Drunk laid passed-out on the concrete floor, and into the private quarters where Marshall found the common comfort of his desk. Deputy Davis blinked rather quickly, his eyes still adjusting to the light in the room.

"Did ya follow up with Elroy last night?" Marshall asked, pretending to be busy by looking over the contents of a blank manila folder.

"Yes sir. Said he didn’t pay Francis’ drivin’ no mind."

"D’you reckon he’s tellin’ the truth?"

Davis yawned and rubbed his right eye, saying rather flatly, "I don’t really care, sir, and I don’t see why ye’r spending so much time."

"Francis was drivin’ drunk"

"No one got hurt!" Davis tried to justify.

"He broke the law."

Sheriff Marshall’s word was always the last. Didn’t really matter how often Davis argued or how pretty he could make his arguments sound. Marshall was a firm man and often took his job more seriously than he could have.

"Understood." Davis said, understanding his position. He couldn’t blame his superior for taking such a petty case so seriously. In his eight years as Marshall’s deputy in the small town of Farmvilla, New Mexico, the extent of high-octane police action he’d ever seen was an eight-car-chase passing through from Albuquerque, and that was gone just as quick as it came.

Certainly, he could respect the Sheriff’s need to maintain the law as sternly as he did with their twenty-square-mile vicinity being devoid of any form of excitement. Who was he to blame someone that wanted to do their job for once? Davis walked towards the coat rack to retrieve his hat with sweat dripping down every inch of his forehead. He wasn’t sure if he was nervous, anxious or dying from the heat.

"I’ll go talk to Sandy over at Crazy Frog’s�ask her how many she served Frank `fore he took off."

"That’s not necessary." Marshall reasoned, somewhat guilty for the harsh tone he took earlier. In the other room, the telephone rings.

"Yes it is, Sheriff." After he prepared himself to go into the field (AKA rearranged his junk) and adjusted his badge to look straight, Davis turned to face Marshall before heading out. "It’s the law."

As he begins to pass through to the hallway he’s bumped back into the room by the large frame of Secretary Doreen, jittery and rushed and somewhat worried.

"Doreen?" dropping the manila folder, Marshall senses the urgency.

"Sheriff, you’d better get on the phone and take a listen for yourself."

"Whoisit?"

"JUST listen for yourself, Sheriff."

Davis, intrigued by the altercation, stepped closer towards the desk. The moment Marshall lifted the phone from the base, a cacophony screamed out the earpiece. Reluctant to hold it closer to his ear, he says "HELLO!" loudly through the receiver. He could almost hear someone through the chaos.

"Sandy, that you?!....The hell is goin’ on?!....He’s WHAT?!............Alright, I’ll be right there!!"

Sheriff Marshall slammed the phone down while looking Davis dead in the eye. "We’ve got to get to Main Street."

Without asking questions, the Deputy followed Marshall as he strapped on his belt while walking through the station. The two rushed outside and into the Sheriff’s Crown Victoria (the newest thing in the entire town), where they speed off down the street to God Knows Where.

"What’s going on, Sheriff?" Davis asked.

"Really..." He paused for a moment. "I couldn’t tell ya’, Chuck." Marshall responded flatly.

"Well what did Sandy tell ya?"

The Sheriff took a loud breath. "She said I’d have to see it to believe it."

After a sharp turn the two arrived at what was supposed to be the ‘restaurant-area’ of their small-town commerce zone. Instead, it appeared shrouded in death.

Buildings burned with entire walls knocked down to rubble. Cars overturned with broken windows and missing tires. Bodies, headless with a bloody stump at the neck, litered the streets and sidewalks while portions of them laid strewn across the buildings’ ruins. It was a disgusting sight to say the least, prompting weaker stomachs to reject whatever contents it contained at an instant.

"My God." Davis says to himself.

Marshall just sighed, closed his eyes and says to prayed to his Lord silently. "God save us all."

He shut down the car and jumped out, gun un-holstered with the hammer cocked back. The Deputy was quick to follow, and they followed the trail of chaos as quickly as they could.

The two passed by the ruins of the Crazy Frog Bar & Grill and the local grocery market, where entire families of people they once knew laid dead and headless staining the parking lot with their fluids. The Sheriff and his Deputy tried to ignore the sights they saw but deep down they knew they would be scarred for life after this day.

Rounding another corner to another street where the rampage had stormed to, the two finally had come to the source of the destruction. And upon the sight of it, the two couldn’t believe their eyes.

"What the hell...?"

"It’s headed for Angus’s Barber Shop!" Davis yelled out as he sprints heroically down the street.

"DAVIS, STOP! WE DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT THANG IS!!!" Marshall cries out, pleading for Davis to retreat.

But it’s too late.

***

"Just calm down." That’s funny, Derek Hardaway told someone to be calm. The Cult Icon, no less. "CALM DOWN!!?? CALM DOWN!?!?!" Shawn dropped his phone for a moment to pick up an extremely expensive vase he happened to be standing by in his otherwise dingy apartment. Without remorse, he gripped it with one hand and chucked it against the wall. The shattering of the porcelain decorated the room. "DON’T YOU FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" he screams back into the cell.

"Did you just break that really nice vase I bought you?" Derek asked.

"What the FUCK am I supposed to do now, Derek!?!? I’ve got a reputation to up-hold. I WAS ATTACKED BY A MIDCARDER! A... MIDCARDER. THE HORROR!"

"I heard the guy is pretty good."

"What the fuck ever, man the point is I was robbed of my victory celebration by some midcard bit player! ME, I’m a legend and shit!"

"No you aren’t."

Shawn began to stomp up and down. "But I should be."

"Look, the way I see it, there’s only one thing to do."

Shawn perked up. "What!?!? TELL ME!"

"Well, you fucked up pretty bad. Now you’re a lowly US Champion and you’re letting guys pass you by, and that ain’t good. Everytime you get a title, you seem to make yourself look bad by losing it to jerk-offs. Zach Rizza, Brad Pierce, Violater, Bigg Rigg and Heavy D. You’ve got a tournament coming up with fifteen of the hardest mother fuckers in the XWF, so you’ve got a chance to redeem yourself. But they’ve got reputations, Shawn. And frankly, no one likes you. So they're gonna be coming to put you out, possibly for good. The best thing you’ve ever done is convinced a chick to have sex with you in your car."

"That was FUCKING COOL and you know it!"

"Regardless, you’re still pretty green around these parts. Aidan Collins is the champ, so he's good by default. Bigg Rigg's all wannabe Soprano, so he's got something going for him. I'm pretty sure Black Death has cut open farm animals before, while Legion fucks them. I suggest doing something super cool to give your reputation a good kick-start. You know, do something a badass mother fucker would do. Like Eko from Lost."

"Eko is a bad ass, huh?"

"Damn straight!" Derek said. "Listen, I’ve got to go. I gotta go to the doctor for a colon exam, so I’m going to get a book and try to not to feel violated. Let me know how it goes."

Derek didn’t say goodbye because people never do that in the movies. Shawn needed to learn that aspect of life or he was going to be disappointed every time a conversation ended.

He began to rub his chin and ponder all the bad ass possibilities of taking that step back to bad-assdom. Shawn thought about beating up a cripple, or even rigging a Reality TV show. He even considered fulfilling the dreams of a Make-A-Wish Kid, if only for the publicity to humiliate this kid in front of the world.

But then, a light bulb came on.

He withdrew his phone and called Bitty, who is of course no more than 200 feet away at all times.

"BITTY! I NEED SOME ANGEL DUST!"

***

The following promotion is brought to you by the soon to be winner of the 'Own the PPV' tournament... Shawn Christopher.

"Ok, ok, ok.. before I get to the hate, lemme get this out of the way. Megan, I hope that you get well soon. You have my respect as you're a great wrestler, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And don't worry, I'll deal with that loser that attacked us. I promise you that.

Now onto this week, and the first round of the 'Own the PPV' tournament. And my first round opponent is... Hawaiian Hardhead?!

I guess we all know who the number one seed in this whole thing is. But you wouldn't think by the way ol' Hardhead is talking. I mean, we all know that your head is as empty as a coconut, so I'ma explain things to you real slow.

....

I can't believe you have the gall to claim to be able to beat me in three minutes. Truth be told, you're a fucking nobody and just a guppie in this ocean that is Xtreme. Me, I'm the fucking Great White, effortlessly destroying anything that catches my eye and leaving blood in my wake. Normally, a big fish, such as me, wouldn't even hesitate to give a puny piece of shit, such as yourself, a second glance. What happened to catch this sharks eye, you wonder? Owning the March pay per view. That aspect alone is your downfall.

You're a nobody, Jack. I've faced and beaten better men than you in some big matches over the past few months.

But you; all you've done beaten are overglorified jobbers. You, you're merely a speed bump on my path, not even enough to cause me to slow down. I watched Death ride in on his pale horse and take the man's soul behind the wheel of the car that struck mine. He turned his icy stare to me, next, and I laughed. He turned and mounted his horse and left with a new soul for his collection. You, you could be his next passenger.

Come this Thursday night on MY show, Anarchy.. not Massacre, hell, how do you expect to beat me and you don't even know what show I'm on? I know you island boys aren't brought up to be too smart, but damn. Anyway, I will make short work of you and continue to march onto what will be my final destination.. Turning Point, and my chance to own the PPV. And with owning the ppv, will come the one thing that has eluded me..

... the Universal title."

FTB.