"So this is it. This is what everyone's been waiting for. The great clash between giants. I've put down greats and legends. Now, it's about a third of midcarders.

I'm sure everyone is wondering about the million dollar question.

"Can you do it again, SC? Can you defy the odds, one more time?"

See, the shadows were getting dark. I'm not used to being overshadowed, but this last couple f months, that's all it's been. I respect those three for what they can do in the ring, but not for what they stand for in this company. Everyone wants to be something great. MC Terrible, Heather Halliwell, Jason Mudd.. they're all using something other than hard work to make their stake at fame.

Well awesome. You still fucking suck.

MC Terrible, amigo. What the fuck? You and your repetitive garbage. You wanna call the washed up card bro? That's cool, I've seen you around, stinking up the different federations with the same reiterated garbage. I'm proud of you bro, you managed to waltz back through the door of this fed and get pushed ahead of more deserving guys. You're great, and should be recognized. But guess what, Bigg Rigg once got a title shot. Daniel Malcolm once got a title shot. They all went down. The difference is, they actually earned the shot. You've proved absolutely nothing.

You're a wanksta.

But honestly bro, if you wanna hype yourself up to be a real challenger, fine by me.

But if you weren't a World title contender your first go around, what makes you think anything has truly changed?

So let me know when you actually get good enough to win a World title, bitch."

~-~-~-~-~

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
OUTSIDE VANCOUVER, BC

The bitter air stung the exposed flesh of Shawn’s face as he trudged achingly through the snow. Bundled up for the wintry conditions in several thick layers of coats and undershirts with a tree dragging lifelessly behind him, Sonny tried to ignore the task at hand. He recalled the warmth of his silk comforters; what he’d give to be nestled in a nice protective shell as opposed to duking it out with Mother Nature and her frostbitten fury. He shifted his gaze at the tree dragging along the snow and grumbled quietly.

"Fuckers better like this tree or their heads will be hanging from it."

He turned his head back to the cabin he was approaching. His late father’s cabin just outside Vancouver wasn’t a place he frequented nowadays, but amid the nasty divorce and times being what they were, now was as good a time as any to partake in the withdrawal from city life. With Maria visiting Japan with Steven and Rex and Timothy spending time with their respective loved ones over the holidays, this left Shawn a whole lot of free time so he decided to invite the boys up to the cabin for some nice shit-shooting and beer-tossing. Maybe a little shitfacing was in order to calm the nerves before his eventual showdown with Tchu.

Releasing a guttural growl that rattled the scenery around him, Sonny hurled the cut tree at the foot of the cabin’s door, satisfied his hundred-feet journey was complete. Rubbing the fresh powder off his gloves, he prepared to haul the mammoth portion of evergreen into the cabin, but not before sounds caught his ear out in the distance.

Laughter.

"Hey, wait up!"

"No, you!"

"Hey!"

"Tell Duke to stop!"

"Duke? Who the fuck is named Duke anymore?" Shawn wondered aloud.

A small pack of snowboarders – probably some teens from over the hill at the lodge just up north – slashed their way through mounds of snow, kicking up the slush in their wake. A portly kid was maneuvering rather well, leaving the other three far behind him as he continued his adrenaline-pumping ride.

Craning his neck, he ignored the teens and kicked the wooden door damn near off its hinges before forcefully trying to squeeze the broad tree through the tapered doorway. For a world-class athlete and possessing a physique that most people would kill for, all the grunting and twisting did nothing but incite him further.

Each curse was more raucous than the last, eventually uttering four-letter words that were probably just innovated on the spot. He managed to make some headway by getting the tree further into the doorway, but found his progress halted when it became wedged tightly.

"DAMN IT!"

He drove an angry boot into the side of the tree, kicking up needles all over the floor.

"How could this shit get any worse?"

"Hey, guy! Looks like you’re having some trouble there!"

Shawn tilted upward to see the four snowboarding passers-by now looking on with piqued interest at the exploits of the stranger with the dour demeanor. The portly leader of the group spoke up.

"Uh… you gonna need a hand with that?"

"Yeah," a girl, possibly his girlfriend by how she snuggled up to him, interjected. "Duke can give you a hand."

"Yeah, dawg, we gotcho back!"

A thuggish kid was cozying up with another young girl. The Good Samaritans looked like they were having the time of their lives out here, far and away from civilization. As he examined each of their friendly expressions, a part of Shawn burned bright green inside. He wanted to be just like these kids; free to enjoy the splendor of the world without the burden of responsibility. He bet none of them after had to somehow cope with the insurmountable pressure that came with his line of work. They were just young’uns being young’uns and enjoying their best years before real life came crashing down around their heads. Oh, how he’d like to give up this life of infamy and fame for a shot at normalcy.

…

G’yeah right.

"Get the fuck outta here, 7th Heaven!" Shawn snapped at them, shocking them in the process as he pointed a finger at the black kid in the bunch. "And YOU… learn some proper grammar, Pacman Jones or go… I don’t know, go fucking make it rain somewhere."

Appalled at the man’s reaction to their offer to aid him, they shake their heads in disbelief and turn the other direction, each one speaking their minds in irritated tones.

"I can’t BELIEVE him!"

"Yeah, what an asshole."

"Good luck with that tree, dipshit!"

High-fiving and laughing at Shawn’s misery, the boarders made their way back to the lodge on the other side of the hills while an irate World Champion was left to glance at the massive piece of evergreen wedged between the doorway.

"God-fucking-damn it."

You’re a Dickhead, Mister Christopher.
You really are a goof.
You’re as venomous as a snake,
And most days you’re a douche, Mister Chrissssstopher!

~-~-~-~-~

"...But then there's Jason. The Shawn Christopher wannabe. God damn man, I bet you whacking yourself off to a photo of mine. You wanna be great kid, get a clue, and get some talent. You'll never be what I am. You bring your emotions up so high, believing that you'll always be the answer. You wanna be the Savior?

Start with saving yourself.

If I gotta hear you claim to be the most arrogant wrestler, I'm gonna shoot myself. But then again, If i even thought about that shit...

You'd prob do it right after.

I don't need a copycat bro. Be yourself.

You still blow.

So do yourself a favor and just go back to hiding behind your cruiserweight title. And leave the REAL championships, to the REAL wrestlers."

~-~-~-~-~

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
LATER THAT DAY

"How’s that?"

"A little lopsided."

"Okay… how about now?"

"Nice ass."

"I meant the LIGHTS, horndog!"

"Oh, yeah, you got those, too."

A sigh of relief emanated from Eme’s lips as she finished the last of the tinsel above the front door. Several trips to Wal-Mart, hundreds of dollars spent on surplus equipment and a big-ass tree to decorate later, her apartment was now Christmas-ready. Carrying her off the stepladder, her new boyfriend of only two months, Tom Whitmer, coiled tightly around her dainty waist. Enamored with the mere sight of her captivating beauty, he thought quietly to himself. How her -ex-husband could let such a gem escape from his grasp was beyond him.

Eme was grounded, but every time she saw Tom, she felt like she could truly walk on air. That tanned skin, his pecs, the spiky, yet silky hair most would kill for; everything was just so perfect about him. He’d been there one night for her after a phone conversation with Shawn turned emotionally abrasive. A night on the town and several shots later, he appeared to her as a knight in shining armor ready to pull her from the clutches of despair that came with being married to an obsessive, volatile beast. The two decided they wanted to take the relationship one day at a time and eventually, it came to light that she was still technically married to Shawn. But with the divorce having wrapped up recently and this gorgeous goddess ready to be free from her imprisonment, he would’ve waited an eternity just to be hers.

Sneaking a suspicious glance around her living room, he turned back to Eme and grinned mischievously.

"Where’s Gaby?" Tom asked.

"Asleep. Just put her down, so she’ll be out for a while."

He tilted her chin up and planted one on her lips.

"Good."

Reading each other’s facial expressions, giggly little schoolchild grins formed knowing Eme’s daughter would be passed out for hours. In a split second, Tom started to whip his shirt off when a sour thought crossed Eme’s mind.

"Wait."

In mid-change, Tom stopped himself from getting undressed and pursed his lips.

"What?" He inquired. "I got condoms on me, if that’s what you’re worried about."

A playful slap grazed his arm as she reached for her purse on the couch.

"No… I, uh… told Shawn I was gonna call him real quick. Gabrielle wasn’t feeling well and I forgot to tell him how the doctor’s visit went."

"Yay." Tom was less than enthused. "Even when he’s thousands of miles away, ex-hubby still finds a need to cockblock me."

"Hush," she tapped him again before procuring her cell phone from the pocket. "I’ll tell you what…" That touch on his arm he loved so much… yeah. Totally working for him. "You wait in the bedroom for me, I’ll wrap this up real fast, then we celebrate freedom the way it was meant to be celebrated."

In a flash and nary a word uttered outside "YIPPEEE!" Tom hurriedly raced to the bedroom, readying himself for the delights that were to come. Meanwhile, Eme’s next two minutes would not be that of anticipation, but the sounds of a jaded old individual. Cautiously, she hit the number on her speed dial for Shawn and braced herself for the awkwardness of their situation.

"Fuc… Uh… Yello?" The voice on the other end of the phone didn’t sound like itself. Eme finally spoke up.

"Shawn?"

"Yeahitsmewhat’sup?"

"What? Shawn, where the hell are you?"

An obnoxious rap music beat – sounding suspiciously like "From Tha Chuuuch To Tha Palace" by Snoop Dogg – grated her eardrum. Barely comprehending Shawn’s words, she tried again to reach him.

"Wait… are you drunk?"

"I uh… plead the fizzith!"

Oh, yeah. Shawn Christopher was GONE.

"Shawn, I’m trying to tell you something important! Gaby’s fine! The doctor said it was just a cold bug and the fever went down!"

"Head cold? Fever? What the fuck you talkin’ bout, Willis… uh, Eme, right?

"Unbelievable! I’m trying to talk to you and you’re off partying? Probably just shacking up with some stupid ring rats, I bet, instead of worrying about your daughter!"

"Whuzzat? I couldn’t hear you, I almost tripped over your self-righteousness! Yeah, nigga! Yo, Derek, turn up the beat, hommes!"

"I’m trying to tell you something important! I�"

"You lost the right to talk when you started banging some guy WHILE we were married! I tried to like… help and shit, but you dogged me! Shame on a nigga for tryin’ to run game on a nigga! Peace, bitch!"

CLICK.

Hurling the phone at the floor, she gnashed her teeth together and let out a roar that echoed throughout her tiny two-bedroom apartment. Rubbing her temples together, Eme went through every self-medication technique that crossed her mind, only to have her train of thought broken by Gaby waking and crying the next room.

"Damn it!"

Eme kicked at the couch, burying her face in her palms.

Baby crying, Tom sexually frustrated, Eme both sexually AND emotionally frustrated, this was turning out to be the best December ever.

You're an asshole, Mister Christopher.
You treat people like shit!
It's no wonder you're alone
And your ex is throwing a fit, Mister Chrissssstopher!

~-~-~-~-~

"..Oh shit, Is that Heather Halliwell up in this match too? Fuck I remember when you were fucking around with Orchid, just to get over. Look at you now. You got some guidance and you're a world title contender. Congrats. You've earned it. I'm sure you're earned it the tough way to. You've got those singer lungs.

Bitch, you must swallow.

And please don't bother with the whle 'I AM WOMAN, HEAR MY ROAR' diatribe that is sure to come. I have no problem with beating the shit out of a chick, even if it is a shemale looking bitch like yourself, to hold onto my title. I'm an equal opportunity asskicker. And that sweetheart, you will learn at X-Mas Xtreme. Cause I will hold nothing back.

If I need to break your back and paralyze you from the neck down to keep this title... I will. This title means the world to me, and I promise you that you.. will.. not.. take it from me.

I promise you that."

~-~-~-~-~

VANCOUVER, BC
1 AM-ISH

The evening’s drunken early Christmas festivities were slowly winding down. Whether due to inebriation or the simple fact the time of evening called for it, the tone of the party with Hardaway and CJ was much more subdued than earlier that day when Eme called for some reason. Something about a sick dog, Shawn thought.

Shawn was rested on a couch, World Title in hand while visually astounded by a large crackling fire. In another corner of the room, his boy Derek Hardaway was fast asleep.

"I forgot to say how badass this place is earlier." CJ was still partially awake, seated at Shawn’s father’s old bar in a corner of the cabin, a half-empty scotch bottle at his side. "How’d you get this place, anyway?"

A slightly groggy SC shrugged.

"When Dad passed away, he left me this place. Piece of property he owned. He’d drive a couple hours out of Seattle to come here and get away from it all."

The alcohol had a good couple hours to settle so several of his mental faculties were still intact. For the most part, upright movement was still possible so he made his way behind the bar counter. Taking the scotch, he nudged it in CJ’s direction to offer him another swig. Chris nearly nodded.

"If I have any more, I’m gonna puke out my liver."

Pouring himself a half-glass of scotch without the ice, he nodded politely to CJ while holding it up.

"Cheers, bitches."

Shawn took a long gulp of his drink, letting the Johnnie Walker settle down his throat and the burn reawakening him. Clenching his teeth for a second, a satisfied sigh educed from Shawn’s mouth. He looked at the glass before sitting back down on the couch.

"Gooood shit."

The title found its way across his lap again as CJ scratched his mussed-up hair.

"Well, Shawn, I’m turning in before I get tempted to drunkenly write my name in the snow… again. Mind if I take the other bedroom?"

Shawn shook his head, allowing CJ the solitude of his own room for the night. With the door shut behind him, The World Champion was left to his own devices. His eyes turned to that tree – or rather, an even SMALLER version that he’d severed off the original piece – decorated neatly in the corner. The season was a time for giving, a time for caring, and a time to spend with the loved ones.

Pfft.

What a bunch of fucking rubbish.

What’d giving get him? He gave his heart and his soul to legions of fans week in and week out and even though they loved him, the company HATED him. They’d rather push MC Terrible and Jason Mudd, despite the fact that SHAWN and not them had been all over their television screens in the last four months, giving into their whims and sating their lust for blood, be it his own or the guy standing across from him.

Caring? The only real person to care about him and hold his heart was now divorced from him and shacking up with some douchebag on the other side of the Greater Forty-Eight.

Loves ones? What loves ones? They were all gone. Sure, he had friends, but this group wouldn’t say that way forever.

But he didn't need any of those things. Yes, there was a void when he was without accolades to back up the bravado and yes, there was a void where he felt the last pieces of humanity slip through his fingertips.

Times were different, now.

His eyes fell upon the title.

He gave up everything he had to wield this title, even for a moment. He cared greatly for the opportunity to be able to say he was now the flagship for not only Anarchy, but the XWF. And the title? He loved the ability to accentuate his own greatness and every last word he boasted. Regardless of how many times or how many fights he had to go through to get it, the bottom line was he had it and he loved the feeling that came with the power. The title wasn't likely to get bitchy with him for no reason or make his life a living hell. It wasn't going to divorce him any time soon and it wasn't going to ignore him. It was here, waiting for him all this time when nobody else was. And that was all the Merry Christmas he'd needed all along.

Speaking of loved ones, though…

Time to call Eme again, he thought. She was probably banging that guy by now, so what a better way to frustrate her than to bring her down with him.

He secured his cell from his pocket and chortled devilishly as he leaned back on the leather sofa, finally finding a way to enjoy this early Christmas.

You’re a scumbag, Mister Christopher.
You care only about yourself!
You’re a rotten SOB
And one day you’ll burn in hell Mister Chrissssstopher!

Letting the glow of the fire wash over the surface of the World Championship, he beamed proudly and rubbed a hand across it before letting out a soft tenor tone.

"And it’s all miiiiiiiiine!"