"You’d better tell your uncle to quit spitting his nonsense, Andrew." Clarence said to his barber as he put the finishing touches on his cut. "I might leave and forget to pay for this fine haircut ya gave me."

Angus, taking the money of another patron whom just finished getting a cut, called back from behind the register. "I bet you would, ya stingy bastard!"

The entire building busted into laughs, as Clarence told Andrew to lean in so he could whisper. "Don’t worry, son, I won’t forget to tip ya."

Andrew smiles and continues to even the edges of the old man’s sideburns. As the last customer left, another rose from his waiting seat and into the chair that Angus often frequented. He asked the patron what cut they wanted, they said just a trim, and Angus prepared his scissors and comb while thinking of something witty to say to Clarence.

"Not surprised you tryin’ ta cheat my nephew, just like that granddaughter of yours is always tryin’ ta cheat him out of a date!"

Clarence began to laugh as Andrew turned to face his uncle, somewhat embarrassed. "Angus�stop."

"Aw I’m only ribbin’ ya some."

"STOP!"

Crash. And the walls come tumbling down.

From the next building over, what seemed to be an explosion created a path between the front areas of the two stores. The rumble sent both Angus and his nephew spilling to the ground as dust filled the entire barber shop.

Andrew coughed a bit and tried to wave away the smoke, unaware of what came before him.

Then, through the clouds appeared the tiny frame of a man. Tense and breathing heavy, he was clothed only in a pair of ripped pants, a ripped white t-shirt, and a wrestling mask. His eyes were wide and full of vigor while his mouth dripped wet of foamy saliva. They’d never seen him or anything like him before, and they weren’t too sure what to make of the situation.

Clarence stepped up from his chair and approached the small man somewhat cautiously.

"What the hell�"

Without warning, the figure grips Clarence by his shoulders and slams him back with the most ferocious head butt that anyone had ever seen in the history of mankind. Seriously, this head butt was fucking GODLY. So amazing, that Clarence’s head actually blew up upon impact. The entire barber shop was covered in blood instantly, and everyone who bear witness stay frozen.

"My God." Says the patron who was still waiting to get his cut. The small man rips him out of the barber-chair and delivered the same fate to him as he did to Clarence.

Head butt. Consider his ass dead.

Angus climbed to his feet and attempted to make a stand. "THIS IS MY BARBER SHOP AND I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERV-"

"ANGUS!" Andrew screamed while reaching out, but it’s too late to save him.

The man cocked his neck back and destroyed Angus’s skull effortlessly, as he did to the people before him.

But as the small, seemingly possessed man turned his attention towards Andrew, someone busted through the front door.

"FREEZE, FREAK!" Deputy Davis said.

The man turned around to face the Deputy, only to face down the end of his gun. Angered by his presence, the man SCREAMED in anger and approached the Deputy.

Davis fired out of panic and hit him in the shoulder, but it did not do anything to alter his movement. The man grips him by the shoulders and shoves him through a wall, back onto the street.

From down the street, Officer Marshall finally reached the shop and is not shocked to see his friend about to grace death. Knowing he couldn’t save him from the clutches of the evil, Marshall did what he could instead by rushing into the destroyed barber shop and retrieving Angus’ nephew.

If he would do one thing right today, it would be saving that boy.

But Davis, he couldn’t even yell for help.

The man tilted his neck back and shot his head forward, Davis’ head exploding as they collide.

Marshall turned away from the sight, having not bared witness to the act and frankly not caring to. Andrew, however, couldn’t turn away. He could only stare as this man, this tiny man, who ruined another man’s life just as he did to the entire town. All he could think about was how it didn’t make sense.

He soon would realize that nothing on this planet makes sense.

***

...In case you’re just joining us, we are in progress of updating you in the midst of an unspeakable horror currently rampaging across the New Mexico desert. While the identity of the culprit remains unknown, Police determine that a PCP-induced killing spree being committed by a SINGLE PERSON is beginning to make it’s way towards the city of Santa Fe. Now, no word has been given from Political Officials to evacuate the city, as they feel certain that law enforcement officials will contain the matter AND that the situation is not devastating enough to require evacuation. However, citizens of affected communities, such as the recently decimated town of Farmvilla, will attest that the source of the destruction is an invulnerable party and without mercy, citing that not even gun shots can bring him down. Reports from the Sheriff’s department request Federal involvement at this time and even go as far as to say a heavy artillery may be required to bring down the suspect. While it seems far-fetched that PCP could possess a man with such attributes to bring such destruction to the city, one cannot doubt the ramifications this will have for the entire state of New Mexico. Relief efforts have already been organized to help the victims of this tragedy cope with the continuing of their life. If you have any questions on how to get involved, please call us here at the studio. Now while the identity of the culprit is unknown, he appears to be meek in appearance and a betrayal to his demeanor. Standing at about 6 foot even and looking like he weighs about two hundred and forty pounds, he hides the features of his face with a mask resembling that of XWF wrestling employee, John Gambino, otherwise known as the Bigg Rigg. While no connection has been made to the two at the time, Police consider this just a ploy for the culprit to keep his identity a secret, and no accusations have been made that it is indeed the Bigg Rigg. THIS JUST IN, Police have failed to secure the threat and the Mayor of Santa Fe has just put out the word that all residents occupying the outskirts of the city to find refuge closer towards the center. We bring you live footage via our news-choppers to hopefully provide you with a full understanding of how devastating the scene is...

As the Cult Icon approached the larger buildings that inhabited the inner city of Santa Fe, he felt his rush dying down. So before any Police cruisers or SWAT vans rolled up, he took another hit of PCP out of his usually-used-for-marijuana pipe. The smoke burns him, but provides him with enough anger and adrenaline to remember why the fuck he was so bad ass, and continue on with his rampage of death.

He saw running cars abandoned in the middle of what looked to be busy streets on any other normal day. For good measure, he head butts those cars out of his way.

In the distance, he noticed the blue-and-read swirls of at least a dozen squad cars, all aligned to make a roadblock. SWAT units aligned the top and sides of the buildings, each member was ready to take a shot at the Face-Eater as he approached.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed Snipers peaking over the top of the buildings. Why they weren’t shooting at him yet sort of confused him, but he didn’t care. They’d be dead soon.

"Soon, they’ll all know how fucking hard I roll." He thought to himself.

Further behind the roadblock was a barricade, blocking the rest of the road off in an effort to protect the civilians that were too curious to go home instead of face certain death. The fact that they were so ignorant, or even arrogant, to what Shawn was capable of made him angry and feel the need to punish them.

Caught up in his drug-addled frenzy, Shawn rushed the roadblock. He ran at impeccable speeds that most four-cylinder auto-mobiles can’t even reach. He was too quick to be caught in the Snipers’ scopes, so the infantry units began to try their hand to defend. They fired their assault riffles without relent but the spray of bullets was not enough to stop the onslaught of the Cult Icon. With one head butt, he destroys all the cars in an explosive, domino-like display that renders the ground troops effectively useless. He head butts the walls of the both buildings lining the streets, causing the scaffold-scaling gunmen to fall to their death with the rubble.

A Sniper hitting the Face in the thigh caught his attention, so he retaliated by grabbing a police man who tried to herd the people away from the barricade, having just witnessed that massacre.

SC angled the man’s body up, so that when he head butted him, his head flew clean off like it was a bullet. That head connected with the Sniper’s head on the roof of the building, effectively exploding both heads upon their collision.

Having neutralized whatever law enforcers that happened to get in his way, Shawn turned his sights to doing what he did best: wreaking public havoc.

With most of Santa Fe’s curious citizens having realized that this monster had set his sights to their direction, they all scurry off in random herds to random places, screaming for their lives. SC decided that he’d show no mercy.

With all his energy, he rushes to the people and head butts everyone in sight. Men, women, children, puppies, ferrets, unicorns and old people. They all fell victim to his head. And when that wasn’t enough, or when the people would run inside for shelter, he’d cock his head back for a massive head butt that brought down whole buildings, effectively killing everyone within.

Within fifteen minutes, half of downtown was leveled flat.

But SC had been going too hard, too much balls-to-the-walls. The PCP had taken over his entire system at this point, with his heart rate going faster than a rabbit that was fucking. His blood was pumping through his body so fast, it dematerialized the molecules that surrounded it.

Soon, Shawn could feel that he was becoming much more than a mere human being. He stopped causing the chaos he’d become accustomed to in the past few hours, and instead took a moment to himself to allow his mind to process what was happening.

His body was working so quickly it was now on a plane outside of our existence. Just as more squad cars rolled in with the hopeless effort of destroying the Cult Icon’s reign of chaos, they found themselves blessed with luck.

The Cult Icon evaporated. Disappeared. Vanished.

He was transformed into a being of energy that stay suspended in mid-air. Drug-addled, ridiculous, evil energy.

Cautiously, the police drew their guns at the energy, but were left perplexed as to what it was and what it was capable of. Then, the ball of energy just faded into thin air, never to be seen again.

"What the fuck was that?" Someone asked.

"Be careful, that freak may still be around."

But it was over. They still worried about the looming threat, but it was over. The essence of the Cult Icon had left the people alone after sending their world into an unfathomable despair, at least for now. Some people even thought that the evil was destroyed.

Little did they know that two blocks away from the chaos was a frantic mother, who guided a stroller as fast as she could away from the heart of the chaos and to whatever safety she could hope to find. Inside that stroller was a child, a child who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Unbeknownst to the child’s mother or to anyone else in particular, that ball of energy gleams brightly in the depths of the child’s eyes.

For the evil of the Cult Icon lives on.

See kids? That's what happens when you listen to friends.

*****

The following promotion is brought to you by the man with a harder head than the Insane One... Shawn Christopher.

"It’s truly a hard hobby to remain dominant. Still my name pops in and out every week. Some hoping for me to start a fire. Others hoping I burn in with the flames. I’m sick and tired of the bullshit antics. It’s gone on long enough. Too many want to choose to now stand up and use the words “Shawn Christopher” and “End Career".

But I don't give a damn about those people. They're the ones who can't beat me. See, this is like a good ol' game of poker.

In poker, a good player can win a hand.

A great player can win constantly. A great player will win in the long run. A great player will be victorious again and again and reach the heights that you can only dream of.

Hardhead, you’re maybe ok. You’re not great. You’re not me.

You've fluked many hands and nearly cleaned others out. You've beaten people with a lucky performance once but you won’t do it again. You’re a two dimensional wrestler, my man. You do exactly the same as you always do, and this time I’ll catch you.

I’m here and I have more in my arsenal than ever before. I’m going to take everything from you. I’m going to take all your hopes and dreams of a main event shot and that allusive ppv and crush them as I crush your body.

What is the probability that you’ll win? Are the odds in your favour? Do you have outs? No sorry.

I’m the fucking nut flush.

I have the best hand. I can’t be beat.

Your probability is zero. Mine is one.

You’ve lost.

Now give me my second round opponent!”