Where the fuck did he go wrong?

It was all so perfect.

Shawn replayed the scenario continually, but every time he conjured up Insanity in his head, it mocked him; denied his answers as to why this transpired. Why did the night go sour? He did everything right that was needed to be done.

Much to the delight of the fans and the chagrin of his nemeses, he delivered beatdowns in abundance. He ha disposed of the lackluster Brian Pearlman, and it just left himself and Violater. And through a cruel twist of fate, when it was all said and done, Violater stood tall with his title.

But he couldn't dwell on it for more than 30 seconds, because he was then thrust right into a title match, against the very man the XWF wants to have the World Championship, Bigg Rigg. The world watched as Shawn Christopher and John Gambino engaged in a tooth-and-nail battle. One seeking to retain his prize against insurmountable odds, the other taking the fight to the man standing across from him in that cage in a bid to take the title that he – or any XWFer, for that matter – sought since walking through the door. They wrestled around on the mat for what seemed like an eternity until one little bitch helped Bigg Rigg to capitalize and overwhelm The Cult Icon.

Because of Raziel’s jealously and hatefulness, Shawn was forced to watch as his second title was in the hands of another man. The cold steel he attached himself to would’ve stung bare flesh like a hundred needles simultaneously in other instances, but it was a back massage compared to the pains of knowing he’d be defeated yet again. Every single promise he’d made to himself and to fans to be the one to never let the title go had been broken easier than a fragile vase. Now, the sight of Bigg Rigg holding the title over his head became permanently imbued into his retinas, forever to haunt him every time he shut his eyes.

With his face now redder than blood and a heat burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, Shawn had no choice but to pick himself up YET AGAIN and try to reevaluate himself YET AGAIN. Make whatever changes he deemed necessary in order to further himself and prepare for the next time he got a shot – IF he would ever get one again, that is. He had no other choice but to go back to basics; take himself back to the place where he honed his craft to be one of wrestling’s best strikers.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

THIS… IS… SPARTA!

Er, sparring. You know, at his gym. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense. It’d be the shit to be a Spartan, but then it wouldn’t be fair that Shawn was an unbeatable killing machine and people would bitch that he was too powerful and he had the spear and…

Okay, that non-sequitur sucked.

Sounded a lot better in my head.

Moving along now.

_______--_______

"Dude, where the HELL have you been?"

Making his way stealthily into the gym to avoid this awkward situation proves fruitless. Arriving for his session nearly an hour late was completely out of the norm for Shawn, which prompts his brother, Timothy’s reaction. Standing in the ring, arms folded and a look that can burn a hole right through him, one could draw the conclusion Shawn’s little brother is pissed the fuck off. Shawn searches far and deep into the First National Bank of Bullshit for a decent withdrawal.

"Sorry, Tim. I overslept just a wee bit."

"AWESOME! KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER!"

Sitting around in his boxers, Shawn is enamored with the "Battle at Kruger" Youtube video depicting an angry herd of buffalos going to town on a herd of lionesses for fucking with their young.

"Wait for it… wait for it…"

CRACK! REEARRRRRGGGGGH!

The gruesome noise of a buffalo knocking a lioness into the sky is music to The Schemin’ Demon’s ears.

"HAHAHA!" Shawn’s venomous chortling fills the room. "Take THAT, bitch! You should be at home putting food on the Lion’s table instead of eating it yourself! God, even chick animals are big Feminazis."

"Yeah, traffic sucked, too, dude. Sorry."

Clearing his throat, Timothy removes his Adidas jacket and lets it fall haphazardly out of the ring. Not taking his eyes off Shawn, Tim proceeds to tie up his wrestling boots. Each jerk of the shoestring is backed with an obvious irritability, making Shawn cringe in unison.

"Hey, I told you I was sorry, man!"

"Well," Tim begins. "You’re the one that begged me to spar with you today. I find some free time this week away from teaching my class and you dog me like this."

"Oh, bitch, bitch. If you bitch any more, Tim, I’m taking you to the next dog show."

"Suck my dick."

"No, thanks, you fucking twink!"

Tim laughed a little, almost forgetting his prior annoyance and enjoying the brotherly ribbing. It was always their way of patching things up – an insult at the other’s expense and a hearty chuckle.

"You kiss mom with that mouth when she’s on the road with you?" He inquires with a sarcastic chuckle.

"Nah, but I kiss lots of people’s moms with this mouth when I’m on the road."

Shawn and Tim share a laugh again before the two continue putting the finishing touches on their wrestling gear. While Shawn was adjusting his boots, he catches an "I got a question" look from Tim out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes?" Shawn asked.

"Mom… how’s she doing anyway?"

"Why, what’s up?"

"Well, dude…" Tim folds his arms again and leans back against the turnbuckle before resuming his query. "I mean, I’ve never seen her away from her house for so long. Is she handling the trip well?"

"Oh… well…"

In a solemn manner that vexes Tim, Shawn approaches his brother slowly and places a hand on each shoulder, pursing his lips as if he doesn’t want the answer to escape from his mouth. His head inches away from looking directly at him, instilling a little more fear in him.

"Timothy… how do I put this?" A heavy sigh emanates from his lungs. "She told me you were adopted and… I think there was talk of her not loving you anymore."

Realizing his brother’s dickhead attitude is rearing its ugly head again, Timothy punches him in the arms, to which Shawn jumps back and cradles the sore muscle. The blow lands clearly, but the shit-eating grin on Shawn’s face tells Tim that he’s satisfied with his prank.

"Sorry, dude, I just couldn’t resist. She’s doing fine, man."

Tim shakes his head in a mix of disbelief and amazement.

"Do you ever change, Shawn?"

"Not in a million years, kid."

Looking cocksure for somebody recently coming off of losing two title matches, Shawn adjusts his gloves and prepares for battle. Sparring – either by himself or with his brother -- was always his surefire way of being rid of any kind of pent-up aggression. Attributed to either years of practice honing the ability of brutalizing things or just the fact that rage was bottled up in mass quantities, he used each session effectively, therefore providing a peace that wasn’t attainable anywhere else.

Once he dresses for the part, both men ready their bodies via a pre-match stretch and make their way into grappling positions. With a confident wink, Shawn grins at his younger brother as they put their hands up.

"All right, kid. Bring it."

______--_______

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The three meaty smacks of Knife-Edge Chops landing soundly across the chest of Tim fill the air. You know that you now have him in the corner with no place else to go. It was a fool’s errand to try and go for that single-leg that he ALWAYS goes for when he’s trying to get back on the offensive. Now, he and his chest pay for it.

Heh. You don’t remember your chops leaving THAT big a welt before.

AHH!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

He fires back with a trifecta of his own. While not on the level of fury that empowers your own, his chops still ebb the air from your lungs. The exertions of breath with each chop thrown tell you that he’s getting a little bit spent. You are, too, but your poker face won’t let him in on that factoid. However, you can’t help but be impressed with his exhibition. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes into the routine before fatigue starts to set in for him. Boy’s been eating his Wheaties. That, and the pesky youth thing’s still on his side.

You go for a Rear Waistlock. Your strategy is straightforward, yet effective. You’ll power Timothy down to the mat, go for that Armbar and crank that motherfucker back until he starts screaming.

"You knocked me down, but you let me get back up. You'll be lamenting that until the end of days, Shawn Christopher Danielson.

Shut up, John, go away.

NO!

Timothy rolls behind you and kicks a leg out from under you. No sooner do you go down when his arms coil around your neck like a snake ready to bite its prey. The chinlock comes fast and equally as powerful. You find yourself in dire straits now that he’s got you in the center of your mat. The ropes are nowhere to be found, so looks like you’re doing this the hard way.

You crave what I have, but you haven't suffered enough for your yearnings to be rewarded!

I SAID SHUT UP!

You throw three vehement elbows to his side and soon enough, you’re free from his grip. You snap him down to the mat with a Drop Toe-Hold and ensnare an arm before you roll him up into a modified La Majistral cradle pin.

Only a two-count is garnered before Timothy uses that leg strength to break free. He rolls through and onto his feet, but you’re quick to meet him by ramming a knee into his chest. While he’s vulnerable, you know what comes next. You lock him up in a headlock and using every ounce of power you can muster, heave him up and over, sending him crashing back to the canvas. He wiggles a free leg and tries to muscle it underneath the ropes, but you twist your body and maneuver him just enough to place him dead-center while the ropes face you.

SHAWN FUCKIN’ CHRISTOPHER. THE GUY GAMBINO TROUNCED ALL OVER TO WIN THE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP AT INSANITY. THE GUY WHO ASS I KICKED AND MADE REAIZE HE WOULD NEVER BE CHAMP FOR AS LONG AS I HAD THE TITLE, KICKED YOUR ASS AND BECAME CHAMP! YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKIN' LOSER!

FUCK YOU, TOO, FAMINE! AHH!

His superior flexibility allows him to shift his legs up and around your neck. The Leg Scissors force you to let go. Your mind races as you try and free yourself with a Kip-Up of the legs. The kicking effect offers you a way to spring free from his grasp.

You meet him on your feet and a Low Back Kick to the breadbasket knocks you for a loop. He throws all his body weight in an attack from the ropes, but you bury your boot in his abdomen to prevent any future assault. Three more chops take his breath away and you can hear each blast echo like a gunshot throughout the empty gym. Not having a bunch of retards screaming "WHOO!" makes them sound that much fiercer. As fun as this little t�-�� has been, it’s time to end the sibling war

I can't deny the wave of satisfaction I felt when I dropped him head first into the mat in front of his fans at Insanity. Felt real good.

YOU DIDN’T BEAT ME IN THAT CAGE, YOU FUCKING JACKASS! YOU COULDN’T! YOU NEEDED HELP!

Before you know it, a searing pain shoots through your arm, dragging you arm and face-first into the mat. Your arm gets twisted into a direction the arm doesn’t naturally bend. Out of your peripheral vision, all you see is Timothy’s upper body cranking back with a Fujiwara Armbar.

Frantically searching for a way out like a rat in an endless maze, your eyes dart up, down, and all around searching for an answer to the submission. The ropes are several feet away from you in any direction and you’re spent. He pulls the arm farther and farther away from the body, trying to almost break a bone.

Ring Announcer: Your winner… and NEEEEEEEW XWF WORLD CHAMPION! THE ANGRY ITALIAN! BIGGGGGG! RIGGGGGGG!

…Fuck.

Soon, you concede defeat and slap your hand against the canvas until the skin goes red and tender.

______--_______

"Dude…?"

After taking a reprieve from their last session, Tim pokes his head into the office where Shawn’s now dour form remains, slumping halfway in the computer chair almost staring into nothing. This… whatever this was… was a new experience for the brothers. Tim had beaten him on the mat before and it was no big thing. These were mere sparring sessions meant to be a cathartic release of bundled emotions. They’d laugh, they’d grapple, they’d critique the other’s techniques and in-ring mannerisms and occasionally, Shawn would drop a cocky statement like "I kicked your ass into next week" or "who the fuck taught you to wrestle? Ultimate Warrior?"

But today, none of that transpires. To Timothy, a day where Shawn DOESN’T make a jibe about his style is downright chilling.

"Shawn, you all right?"

"Yup," he tells his brother unconvincingly. "Fine. Awesome and shit. It’s all gravy, dude. Way to work on the arm."

A red alert suddenly goes off in Tim’s head.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA!" He feverishly waves his hands. "Dude, now I KNOW something’s bothering you. You don’t compliment people, at least not without a sarcastic joke preceding it."

"Sure I do." Shawn waves him off and tries to resume some semblance of liveliness by working on some of his bills. Putting a hand on the table to prevent any more evasion, it’s clear Tim isn’t buying any of what Shawn sells him.

"Bullshit. Because it’s either something’s wrong or I accept the fact that you genuinely mean everything’s hunky-dory, you compliment me, then I have to deal with things like the Four Horseman, the flaming chariots, the blood falling from the sky and eventually, the end of days."

"It’s fine."

"You’re lying."

"You’re stupid."

"You’re stressed."

"You’re ugly."

Shawn awaits a response from Tim, but he refuses to give into any more of his oldest brother’s evasiveness. Smugly, SC turns in his chair before making another attempt to resume his financial work.

"I win," Shawn shoots out. "Everything’s fine. Stop probing."

A heavy sigh from Tim fills the silence of the office before he stops leaning against the wall and turns on his heel. Deciding that no more prodding was necessary, he makes it through the doorway when he hears the sound of a pencil being thrown against the desk.

"Dude, it’s just…"

Tim stops himself and jerks his head just enough to see his brother give his overdue explanation.

"What the fuck have I been doing lately?" Shawn runs a hand through the jungle he calls a beard and slumps back into his chair again, still feeling the effects of the vicious sparring session.

"Everything was supposed to be great the second I shed that stupid moniker."

"That Mr. Christopher thing, right?"

Shawn nods somberly.

"I mean, I was being an entertainer, dude. I was having a lot of fun, I wasn’t putting my body out there in mass amounts like I do now and everything was tight. I was getting a big, fat paycheck for pretending to be someone else and I even had the fans cheering me again, despite the fact I told them to go to hell. It was fantastic."

Tim tries to offer up some condolences, but before one word escapes, Shawn presses on.

"Then, I got fed up. I got tired of all the compliments on my charisma, but not my work ethic. I wasn’t being true to myself, so the first chance I got, I tried to take over the world while being simply me in the process. I get the TV title and everything's cool. Then I get the World title, and the mission is almost complete. I go against Gambino and I beat his ass everytime we're in the same ring together. But somehow, all that I have done is not good enough for the XWF. I'M not good enough for the XWF. So they gotta throw me in back to back title matches on the same night. And that's not even the worst part.."

"Sha-"

"I get stuck in a bullshit triple threat match, then a cage match right after. No break, not fucking anything. First that fuckface Violater beats me and takes my precious TV title. Five fucking months of dedication night in and night, all gone down the drain in three seconds. Then I had Bigg Rigg dead to rights… when it was me in that fucking cage, his stupid friend, Raziel, cost me the title in the match and now I gotta go to aworkplace that has no problem screwing me over and face Bigg Rigg in a last man standing match, in which I'm sure that he has someone waiting in the wings to bail him out. If I lose now, then there’s no fucking way I’m picking myself up and fucking getting back into the title hunt and no way I can live out my dream and now they have me doubting myself and I'm trying to play it off and FUCK IT ALL!"

The last three words of his emotional diatribe reverberate through the empty walls of the gym as he clenches his chest. The burning sensations left from Tim’s chops finally catch up to him. Tim rushes to his aid by grabbing an ice pack from the first-aid kit and tossing it to him. While Shawn clenches the ice pack tightly, the beginnings of guffawing start to form.

"Wait… what the fu…?" Shawn inquires.

"What happened to you? At least when you were this Mr. Christopher guy, you weren’t so worked up over everything. Nobody got into your head this much and now, you’re letting yourself spiral out of control, dude."

Before he can retort, Tim holds up a finger.

"I know this. You don’t let people get to you, EVER. But now that you've lost what little success you gained, you don't know what to do next. Everything has always coe so easy for you, that now, you have to deal with the reality that you're not the absolute best in the world. You're human. You’ll keep falling to him and everyone else UNLESS you find a way to cope. Shrug it off."

Stammering a little bit, Shawn tries to form the words.

"You… think I need to shrug off… my title aspirations?"

"Not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’ve got to take him and everybody else on in the XWF with a whole new approach. Anything, something. I’ve seen your performance, both in that sparring session AND here. You’re slipping. That’s why Bigg Rigg beat you, that’s why Violater beat you, that’s why Bigg Rigg guy WILL beat you again, too, unless you find a way to change."

"What…? That’s… that’s stupid. I’m fine just the way…"

"Yeah, sure you are. You lose one match, you lose a string of them, then you cry to your brother when this conversation should be going the other way around with big brother empowering little brother with pearls of wisdom. Just think about it. I gotta go hit the showers, but I’ll see you later for lunch?"

"Yeah."

The two brothers pound fists before he leaves Shawn to his own devices. With a grunt, Shawn forces himself to the nearby mini-fridge and pulls out a much-needed Gatorade to revitalize himself.

After the first sip of his drink, he heaves a deep breath as his eyes lock on the ice pack soothing the welts on his chest.

The duration of these last few months had been spent playing the part of a crazed, temperamental Neanderthal; something less than human whose anger manipulated his every decision and whose thirst for blood was never truly sated. All he knows now is that he's back at square one.

Maybe – just maybe -- it was time to play it cool, eh?

________--________

The following promotion is brought to you from your soon to be King, once again.. Shawn Christopher.

"Welcome plebes.

SC cracks a hearty smirk before continuing.

"You know, this promotion will be a little different than what you're used to. You see, I was all prepared to stand here and rip Bigg Rigg a new asshole, because as ol' Jason Mudd told me one night, if anyone knows about assholes, it's me. Cause Lord knows I rip em' and kick em' better than anyone.

After doing some thinking, I've realized that maybe, just maybe, my mouth has done more harm than good. Maybe there's no need for me to stand here and brag and talk shit about Bigg Rigg. After what's gone down, what I need to do and step in that ring and beat the spaghetti out of him.

I've said all I've needed to say for months now, and I've always backed it up. This time, will be no different. I won't call what happened two weeks ago a fluke, just a misunderstanding. Raziel showed up at the right time for Bigg Rigg. Hell, I would've done the same thing you did John, so I won't bitch. Just know that this time...

... that pussy can't save you.

The moment he realized what he did, he left the XWF again, ducking out of this match.

It's cool though, cause he didn't stand a chance anyway. So Johnny, one more time, we will step in this ring and do battle for the World title. And this John, if you wanna hold onto that title for one more night.. you're gonna have to kill me.

I hope you're ready to die John... cause I am. So bring it bitch."