“Everything is going to be alright, stop worrying.”

“My flight back lands late tomorrow night... but maybe I should stay.”

“Lycana! It will be fine.”

“But you haven't slept...”

Marf laughs mirthlessly. “And I won't, not until you get back. Look, I get it, but you have nothing to worry about. I’ll stay awake and nothing will happen.”

Lycana chews her fingernail while regarding him with an anxious expression. “If you're sure...”

“I am. I’m sure Reika will love to having a stay up all night slumber party, watching movies and having popcorn, with Zara and...” he makes a face. “The asshole.”

Lycana hesitates still until Marf pulls her over for a heavy embrace. “Relax. Go, this is something you need to do. I have everything under control. Trust me.” With a soft sigh, Lycana hugs him back. “I do, and you're right.” With a quick peck on the cheek, she leaves him standing by the door of their new hotel room in Portland, to slide behind the wheel of a rental. With a wave, she is off.

She is running. Her feet are flying with the wings of youth, her heart racing as she manages to stay one step ahead of the one following doggedly behind her. She gallops across the plush lawn, zigging this way and that, scampering around the trunk of a tree and still cannot shake them. She can sense hands reaching out of her, and she agilely switches directions, lithe body responding immediately to her demands, and her pursuers hands only catch air.

She charges forward, seeing the small picket fence surrounding a garden bed looming up towards her. But they were right behind her, she had no choice. Her fists pump at her sides as she gives it her all, hurling herself forward, speed unchecked. She leaps, nimbly clearing the fence with the precision of a steeplechaser, heels thudding into the ground ready to propel her onwards.

“YOU’RE IT!”

The words ring out moments before a crash and loud cry do. She skids to a stop, turning to see her tormentor on the ground. He sits up, coated in dark soil, pulling the leg of his pants up to reveal a skinned knee.

A sniffle.

Oh no....

Another sniffle as his lower lip juts out.

Here it came...

He tosses his head back and wails, large crocodile tears streaking down his dirty cheeks as he howls, holding onto his leg and rocking back and forth like he was in danger of losing the limb.

“Shhhhh. Stop, you’re fine!” she tries to calm him, but it's too late. “What is going on here?” another figure, exasperated has appeared, standing with one hand on a hip just starting to curve with the promise of adolescence. Her light colored eyes take in the scene before her. “Moms going to kill you.” she remarks as she steps forward to help the crying one up, leading him off to the house for a band aid and likely a Popsicle.

The one left behind looks around, noting the lovely garden, now trampled. Once beautiful flowers beheaded, torn, or squashed into the dirt. The picket fence lays forlornly. She tries in vain to make it stand up again, before giving up and starting her trudge up to the house herself.

The sound of tires on the driveway alerts her to their return. She cringes. Her punishment would come sooner rather than later. She hadn't thought they would be home quite yet. She takes one last look at the garden bed, in hopes it had magically repaired itself. No such luck. She walks around the corner of the house, watching the sleek Town Car pull up to the garage.

She hears the door open, and the other two emerge, the boy holding tightly onto a yellow Popsicle. Lemon was always his favorite. A man emerges first, hair slightly greying at the temples, bearded but handsome, cutting a dashing figure in his ever present suit. The woman was next, coiffed, made up to perfection. While silver had started to tint her blond hair, her skin remained smooth and unblemished. She frowns at the sight of two of her children, sweating and grubby from their day of play, but she says not a word.

Surprising.

And then the back door of the car opens. Long gangly legs appear, attached to a slim body that seemed just a hair off. He awkwardly crosses his skinny arms over his chest as he reluctantly steps forward at the man's behest. The woman introduces them one by one, and when it her turn, the silvery eyes look deep into hers, as they say his name.

“He will be staying with us from now on. He will be your brother.”

She wakes from her cat nap as the fasten seatbelt sign pings, signaling their descent from the sky. She sighs and obliges, leaning her head back against the seat. Once the plane landed, she still had a bit of a journey to get where she is going. And from there, on to another place. And then finally back to the airport to head back to Oregon.

The wheels touch down with a jolt, as she watches the rushing landscape slows down outside the window. The plane soon arrives at its gate, and everybody rises to disembark. Lycana soon joins the masses as they mill down the jet bridge and into the terminal. She veers off to the left, heading towards the exits rather than the baggage claim, having carried nothing with her.

She steps into the sun, squinting her eyes as she surveys the row of taxis all vying for a fare. She slides into the back of one and gives her directions. Luckily, her cabbie doesn’t seem particularly inclined towards conversation, and she is left to her own thoughts as they rush their way down the highway.

The address she had given had been a fake. Necessary in this case. The car pulls over, at a small gas station in the middle of nowhere. The cab driver looks at her in his rearview mirror. “You sure this is it?” he questions, gesturing with a hand. She nods, and thanks him politely as she pays. She exits and watches as he pulls away, then turns and walks right on by gas station, and starts walking down the road. After a time, she veers away and heads towards an old abandoned barn.

She studies the decrepit door that was barely hanging onto its hinges, listening intently. Nothing. She knew better though. She raises her hand and knocks sharply. He had been anticipating a guest and was quick to answer, but the fact that it was HER caught him by surprise. He was sure that his eyes betrayed his emotions but he was quick to collect himself, rustling his hands back into his robes and nodding his head, permitting her entry into their sanctuary.

"Et extende manum sinistram." she greets him, raising her left hand, her sharp gaze focused on his face. She sweeps by, turning to face the robed man. "Did you not expect me to come to be sure all was well?"

“No, no,” the man felt like there was a sudden frog in his throat, impeding his ability to speak. “Of course we were expecting someone to check in on our progress. We’re just used to it being… him.” The robed man quickly glanced around outside to make sure she wasn’t followed, before closing and locking the door in place. He immediately ushered Lycana over to a small table where an assortment of refreshments and snacks had been placed out.

“Please, help yourself,” the man instructed, nervously trying to get things in order. “You must be parched from your long journey.” He knew nothing of her other than her reputation and if half of it was true, then that was enough to put him on edge. Never once could he have imagined that he’d miss the face of the devil he knew, to the one that he didn’t. She inclines her head, studying the man before her.

She did not know his name, nor did she care very much. He was merely a vessel, a body to carry her message to the bigger names of the Left Hand within the federation of which he was employed. In the grand scheme of things, he was a nobody, and she would keep things that way. Her lips quirk up at the corners as she saunters over and wraps deceptively delicate fingers around a cool bottle of water. She idly twists the cap as she speaks. “It will be me, from here on out. Expect it. There has been...” she pauses. “An incident.” Her fingers still on the cap as she hesitates, then just jumps in with both feet.

“The Baphomet has been shot.”

The man's reaction was void of any and all emotion. Lycana had answered the unasked question and now he knew why SHE was here, in HIS place. He stood in silence before finally nodding his head in understanding, almost as if the shock of the moment had now surpassed. “I see,” he said under hushed tones. “Then as his decree dictates, I – we – are at your service. What do you require from us?”

Her careful eyes miss nothing, noting the carefully blank stare. His answer was as she wished, no questions. Just instant obedience. As it should be. She straightens her spine, taking the time to slowly raise the water bottle to her mouth, sipping the liquid, enjoying the cooling sensation before returning the bottle to a spot on the table. She puts her hands behind her back and slowly begins to wander around, looking over all the different items and artifacts on display. “Things progress as they should within the fed? Has there been members.... remiss within their duties that you know of?”

“We have done as was instructed per our last liaison,” the man announced, his eyes carefully watching her, hoping she found all to her satisfaction. “Those that were not loyal or strong enough for phase two have been cast out of the order. As for the rest, we still operate per the new prime directive… unless; this recent turn of events has changed things?”

“Some. The biggest being only in that you will be reporting to me from here on out.” Her mind wanders. The weak had been purged, either by their own hand or by choice upon the news of the Baphomet. The ones left, were extremely loyal. They would be the strength, the pillars of the Left Hand. It was unfortunate that it appeared the chapter within the XWF was coming to an end. No matter, she still had a small army at her disposal should it come to that.

“You will hold things as they are, do nothing without my approval. We will take this time to contemplate the next steps for the future. No movement, in anyway. Is that clear?” she stops, shifting her body towards him as she gives her directive. “But of course,” the man bowed, showing her the respect that was owed. “Please let us – me – know if anything needs to be adjusted in the meantime…”

An ear-piercing shriek is suddenly heard from somewhere within the secret confines of the barn, no doubt a hidden room. The man cringes at the sound as the scream fades away into a series of villainous cackles as he irritably closes his eyes, waiting for the sound to subside. Once it eventually dies down, he smiles apologetically. “As I was saying,” he clears his throat, hoping they can pretend that interruption didn’t just happen. “We shall remain in the shadows and await your further instructions. Nothing will occur without your say so.”

Lycana’s brows remain somewhere along her hairline as she stares in the direction the scream had come from. Her mouth works slightly, before subsiding into nothing. Her eyes flick back to the robed man, skittering back to the now silent spot. “Ahhh...” she forcefully drags her gaze back to him, deciding she might not want to know after all. Some things were better left that way. “Orders will come through myself, if not me... Marf is the only one to be trusted. Please, tell your lead horseman what has transpired here today.”

“Marf?” the man began to question, realizing the inner-circle had already changed with her in charge. “I mean… of course, we are your disposal; whatever the dark commands of us, it shall be done.”

“Good.” a simple word, yet laden with praise sent in his direction. She meanders towards the door once more, satisfied with her mission out here, and more than ready to leave to move on to her next destination. She pauses, one hand on the handle to look back at him. “I will be in touch when things need to be done. Until then...” and she is gone.

And onto the next order of business. Her feet lead her back the way she came, right to the small out of the way gas station. She eyeballs the rusted truck parked there. It would have to do. Pulling the little trick she had learned from Marf, she was on the road in no time, clattering along, wondering if she would get there in one piece or not.

She did. As she steps out from the rust bucket, she walks towards a break in the trees. Like magic, two figures melt from the surrounding foliage, glaring at her. She stops, her voice coming out in a language known to very few. They stop, allowing her to walk up to what appears to be a solid rock wall coated in moss. She raises her hands, channeling her energy as she recites an incantation. A golden glow appears between her palms, with a matching one starting upon the rock, in an arc shape.

With a rumble, it shifts, leaving a gaping black hole before her. She glances at the elven warriors and gives them a brief nod before they melted back into the forest, and she stepped forward into the darkness. She moves along, her footsteps echoing in the corridor. The damp air starts to change as she nears her destination, and then she steps into a room.

A room nobody would expect to find underground in the middle of nowhere.

Gleaming with the most technological equipment one could find. Nothing but sterile white and sparkling chrome everywhere. A short, chubby woman holding a clipboard hurries over, recognizing Lycana. She bobs her head. “Well?” Lycana asks as the other woman comes to a stop, practically trembling with excitement.

She adjusts her glasses, fumbling the clipboard as she looks at Lycana. She inwardly breathes a sigh of relief; happy she has good news to share with this blue haired virago. She had worried for a while, had considered what would happen should the worst occur, and it still could. But for now, for now, things were moving along in the right direction. She clears her throat. “Everything is going as well as can be expected. I cannot see the future, but forgoing any untoward developments, I do believe things will go as you wish them to.” she stops for a moment, deciding to covering her own ass. “Of course, nothing is set in stone you understand?”

“I do understand Miranda. I hope you understand the need to be on top of things, and exactly what I expect from you?” Lycana roots her to the spot with her steely glare. Miranda feels the chill race down her spine. “I always do my best, as you know... there are just times where it is out of my hands.” she starts to stammer as Lycana’s eyes chill even more. “In this case, let's hope not. This is one of the utmost importance to me. You are among the best Miranda, this is why I chose you for this.” she reminds her.

“It would be better if I was able to bring in...”

“No.” Lycana cuts her off before she can go any farther.

“There will be very few who come here. Only those who meet with my approval, and I know to be loyal to myself. The less people involved, the better. You have everything you need, do you not?” she inquires. “Well, yes” Miranda admits, quickly backtracking. “Sylla, she takes over when I need to sleep, and she is quite skilled as well....” her voice trails off under Lycana’s gaze. “She is known among her village for her prowess, as are her brothers at the door.” with a sigh, her voice softens a little bit. “Should things.... turn for the worse in this, I shall consider allowing one of your choice to help, does that satisfy you?”

Miranda nods. It was more than she had hoped for. It was an honor to be chosen by her, to be singled out as the best among the supernatural for this, but should she fail... She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. There were rumors about incurring the wrath of Lycana. But there were other whispers about her loyalty and understanding. That she was fiercely protective of those who were under her care. It was confusing to be sure. What was true and what were falsities?

“Sylla is asleep?” the voice breaks her from her thoughts. “Yes, we alternate as much as possible so we are both alert.” Miranda clasps her hands in front of her. “Excellent. I will take over for a little bit here, I want to look over things myself. Why don’t you go rest and enjoy some time to yourself?” Lycana offers. Miranda is taken aback by the small show of kindness from the werewolf. “I... I... yes, I think I will.” she stammers as she backs towards the large steel door towards the back of the room. She settles her palm on the reader, and it opens with a whoosh.

“Oh, and Miranda? Thank you.” the normally steely tones have gentled, her eyes no longer on the other woman.

She nods, even though she knows Lycana’s attention and mind are elsewhere now. With a smile, she walks through the door, which obligingly slides shut behind her leaving Lycana in silence. Her feet make no sound on the shiny tiled floor as she moves, circling the glassed dome in the middle of the room. She lets her fingers touch the smooth surface, trailing over it as she moves along.

She would be putting others in charge of their own sector of the Left Hand, the group put on hold until she decided what to do as a whole. She trusted them to do what needed to be done without her having to oversee every last detail, though they would still report to her upon request. Left Hand, in XWF... well, it was now the Dissentients, but that was okay. The loss of one fed was not the loss of it all. It wasn’t over until she said it was. This though... she would never put this in the hands of another. Her left palm presses against the glass as she stares inside.

At the body of Baphomet.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Ah here we are, on the eve of Warfare, time for everybody to take their last parting shots before we all meet in the ring where the real test begins. A dozen of us enter, only two will emerge on the other side, their eyes firmly affixed to the Tag Team titles, reveling the opportunity to get ahold of the champions at Leap of Faith.

Through the past couple of weeks, we have seen the promises, we have heard the words, we have watched each others faces. Studied. Tried to ascertain where our opponents' minds were at. There has been the good. The bad. The ugly. Hell, we even had a rap music video thrown into the mix. All of us hungry for this, all of us desirous of being the ones to emerge on top. Most will walk away, unfulfilled and to the victors go the spoils.

Some didn’t make it very far... The Disintigrators seemed to have disappeared out into the great unknown early, for which I am eternally grateful. Listening to those verbal venereal diseases attempt to get out anything remotely of merit was painful. Perhaps they got lost on their way to Portland. Perhaps they wizened up and turned their bikes back towards Florida realizing how stupid it would be for them to even participate in this match. Hell, maybe they got sucked into the black hole that is Clint Fatwood’s gravitational pull never to be seen again.

One can only hope.

I’m starting to think that was the fate of Terry Borden as well. Did he go off to track down his wayward partner, only to find himself stuck, unable to escape?

I have no idea; someone should really go check on the two of them. At their age, well... you never know. Wellness checks for the elderly are important ladies and gentlemen.

Maybe this fine show of absolutely nothing from the Dream-A-Maniacs was just preparing everyone for what they planned to bring tomorrow night. A fine bit of fanfare from Borden as he drags his comatose partner down the ramp, followed by a whole lot of nil in the ring. Sorry Terry, it doesn’t seem like lightning will strike in your favor this time around. Your magical wins have run out come the tag turmoil, especially if you meet up with the Dissentients. This is one where you should consider your luck still holding, if you manage to get yourself out with no broken bones.

I’m telling you Borden, you and Clint, if you ever find him, would be much better off just hanging around in the back and watching this... if you decide to come down, you will regret it. This is not your path to BoB, trust me on that.

Then we got the Thugs warning us that they can't walk the straight and narrow path, like that’s something new and exciting. Have you seen the rest of the roster? BoB? Hell, weren't you a PART of BoB? Have you seen what Marf has done? Have you seen what I have done? More importantly... have you seen what we have done TOGETHER?!

You talk about bloodshed and breaking peoples necks as if that’s a threat. Oh darlings, I say please come and try. That sounds like one hell of a good time! If you had been paying attention you would know that’s what we live for! We both love to get down and dirty in that ring, violence is our thing boys... the more ruthless the better. If you can back up those words anyway... and from what I’ve seen, you two simply cannot walk the game you talk. It’s a damn good thing you don’t care about winning this thing, because it seems like before, when I said your chances were slim to none? I was being generous adding that ‘slim’ in there.

Grandpa Cooper... You seem to have subsided a little bit. Past your bedtime? Prune juice kicked in? Realized that you were outmatched in this little event? It's okay, if you sense you are losing you can always wave that big ol' pair of depends in the air and call it a night? To tell you the truth, you should probably just go sit with the Dream-A-Maniacs on the sidelines. You won't though, and then when it looks like you are going to get hurt, your troops will come storming down to the ring to rescue you from your betters. Is that why you hooked up with Ned Kaye and Dean Rose? To relive your youth vicariously through them?

I thought for a second it might be the hair... I wouldn't blame you if it was his hair.

You all seemed mighty proud of Avalanche's newest acquisition in Dean Rose. I'm not really sure why. He really hasn't done much except be some sort of keyboard warrior and beat Barney Green. Faced with anything more than that, he shit the bed. I guess that's right in line with your other factionmate though huh?

Eobard Stone. The more I see of you, the more flabbergasted I get. It's becoming more and more apparent why you said you were the brawns and not the brains of Avalanche. You didn’t have to take on that role with such gusto though, it doesn’t mean you can't act like you have at least a little something rattling around in that head of yours. Is that the element of surprise that you are talking about? You want to shock us with just how idiotic you are? Because its working, so good job boo!

First off, why are you talking about Mickey?

He’s not even in this damn match!

Was it all those hits to the head or are you just naturally this stupid?

Look I know you're new here, so here is a little piece of advice from me to you... You should probably at least look at the names with yours on the card. Unless you thought your name had suddenly become Ash Quinn. I guess considering you didn’t even know your own tag team name, that’s a plausible excuse.

I mean hell, if you can't even be bothered to pay attention to that while you’re doing all this supposed research, why in the world should I be scared of you? What could you possibly have learned about me that would have me thinking you might have some sort of advantage over me in that ring if you didn’t even know the NAME of one of the people you were facing?

Oh, that’s right... you jumped on the blue-hair-watch-her-tits-bounce-she's-just-a-pretty-face bandwagon instead of actually doing homework. Look, I know your eyesight is pretty questionable, but in what world do I look like I would be in a Miss America pageant? That overactive imagination you got is running wild with that one. I’ve gone from having to be carried, to being the best thing that has come out of the Left Hand. I’m pretty according to Eobard, and pretty gets you fucked.

Is that what happened to you?

That why you wear a mask now?

Doesn’t matter, because you're going to get fucked in this match no matter what you do, right along with your partner. You were fucked the minute you signed up despite knowing the Dissentients were ready to play. You should probably just go back to playing all those games you enjoy so much... things that don’t need a lot of brain cells. Like Tiddlywinks or Connect Four. Those seem right up the alley of the lights are on but nobody is home sort.

All hail the shining beacon of hope! Who is really just some busted up redneck with a shitty flashlight that’s batteries are about to die.

Oh, hey there Reggie! I was almost worried that you weren't going to show up to this little party even though promos are soooo important to you! But here you are, looks like you were just waiting for me. Were you anxious to see what I had to say about you? Distressed at the thought I might not talk about you enough? You know, for someone who tries to brush me off as some kind of pushover and act like he isn't concerned about me, my name is sure in your mouth an awful lot.

Even when you aren't facing me, you bring me up, like when you likened Ned to me.

Why am I on your mind so much Reggie?

If the Dissentients are such a nonthreat, how come you felt the need to spend nearly your entire promo talking about me? You barely gave anybody else a second glance! I think the blue hair might be starting to entrance you after all. I rather like my spot living rent free in your head, it rubs that huge ego you say I have quite a bit, knowing that you just can't stop thinking about me. Knowing that I have gotten to you so thoroughly, someone who isn't worth shit according to you... that you find yourself saying my name when I am not even the one who is going to be standing across from you.

If we are not even a factor in this, why are you trying so hard to tell the world we are fucked? Why are you wasting so much of your precious time rambling on and on about the Dissentients?

Is it because you know how fucked you are yourself?

You can thank Demos for that.

Did he at least offer to use some lube?

Bring you flowers?

Enter... Bobby Bourbons challenge; “If he wins at Savage against Page, I will vacate my half of the tag team championships and leave BOB forever. If and when he loses, he can never challenge any member of BOB for a championship.”

And I DO believe your partner agreed to those terms my love! Let's see here....

“Three birds, one stone. How could I ever say no?”

Boom... quote the Demos. Then there's...

“Well of course the Demos accepts your plea bargain.”

But wait! Theres more!

“Did you deaf fucks not hear me the first seven times I agreed?”

Hey wait! You guessed it... even more!

“Demos! Before you go, you must tell me! All these offers, all these BOB-Bets: which ones are you going to take?”

“ALL OF THEM!”

Now I don’t know what YOU saw on Savage R.L., but what I watched was your partners shoulders getting pinned to the mat for the three count by Chris Page.

You’re over here blabbering about how TNGB are WORRIED about you two? Darling, for as long as they hold the belts, your partner cannot challenge for them or any other ones they hold. You two are a nonfactor to them. Why would they give you even half a thought? Unless you plan on doing it all by yourself? Or unless... Demos, you know... your partner in bringing down the evil BoBs... LIED.

But the pair who are here for TRUTH and JUSTICE, who want people to believe in them and trust their what they have to say, would never do something like go back on their word now would they? That would be... BAD? Why, it would almost be downright... villainous wouldn't you say?

But what do I know? I’m just the shit heel who beat your buddy Betsy Granger at her own game after she tried to use a cheap shot with a chair to win, right? Oh wait, we were skipping over that part again... sorry! Wouldn’t want to burst your bubble with any FACTS now, would I?

Sure I would.

The fact of the matter is this, you say TNGB aren't sweating any of the entrants to this tag turmoil, and you might be right... but that includes you. Them No Good Bastards don’t give a shit about your partner, or you either. They don’t give a shit what you say because your good friend Demos took your team right out of the equation. You know what else is a fact?

After watching your meager performances at March Madness and the following Warfare, do you really think Chris Page is sweating you? Do you actually think YOU stand a chance against this man? AND I’M THE ONE WITH THE MISPLACED EGO? Chris Page just wiped the floor with a man who has a hell of a lot more to back his name than you do... You’re just easy work. A boredom buster. Something to pass the time until someone more interesting comes along.

R.L... you say TNGBs want us to win because we’d be an easy win... huh, ever wonder why Chris Page chose you?

At least your partner had a couple personalities to roll through to make things interesting.

Too bad you can’t try again, huh Demos?

It must suck, really badly to be you right now. In your never-ending quest to be just like Thunder Knuckles, you have even stooped to the level of screwing your own partner over. And for what? You didn’t even get X-Bux out of the deal. What did you walk away with after signing your deal with the devil? Empty hands and a bruised ego... thus proving, you are even stupider than you look, which quite frankly I didn’t think was possible. You will never be anything more than a second-rate TK and that’s saying something. TK is pretty second rate himself. Why are you so obsessed with him?

Looks like you let all the people you're supposed to be the hero for, down again.

All you're doing lately Demos, is writing checks that you can't cash. You didn’t have what it took to go all the way and become the King. You lost your precious Television title that you never shut up about to Marf. And now, not only do you fail at your second attempt for the Universal title... you take bets that prevent you from even sniffing in the direction of any of the belts worn by BoB, gold you were booked in a match to try and get a number one contender's spot for!

The icing on the cake in that is that you held R.L. by the hand, said trust me and jumped... hauling him into the pit of doom along with you. And his stupid ass went right along with it with a smile!

You two are a match made in heaven, I tell you.

R.L. is over there blasting Marf and myself for following the Baphomet blindly, as he does the same with you... trusting you to lead the charge to bring the darkness into light or whatever the hell it is you think you're doing. And instead, one of the first things you accomplish is losing any chances at the championships BoB holds. Ripping the opportunity from Reg as well. Great teamwork guys! You both made some bang up decisions already! Can't wait and see what else you manage to bumble as you accomplish fuck all!

But I mean... ones got a pebble?

Look Demos, I’m not saying your bad at this saving the world thing.... you're downright atrocious at it.

You started months ago, with a prod to the Left Hand, looking to start a fight. When I appeared, and the rest soon to follow you disappeared, running just like you do best. I hunted you down and got you to agree to a match on Warfare. Crickets chirped for weeks to follow. No one on one match to be had, nevermind a damn table. You decided then to declare war. That you were going to be the one who rid the XWF of the Left Hand! A cry that had been heard so many damned times before from the moment Alias started it, and it was just really getting old, but onward you came, acting like it was all brand new and you were doing the world a favor that no man had ever tried before!

What have you accomplished since then? You lost your belt to a member of the Left Hand annnnnnd failed to chase us anywhere whilst still running from our one-on-one match. You’re so gifted at being commander in charge, however do you do it?

So, to sum it up, Demos’ talents include not knowing who he is half the time, losing every match of note that gets placed before him, and running like a coward from challenges until he is forced into it.

And this is who all the villains of the XWF are supposed to be pissing their pants over?

THIS is the dream team who is going to stand up for the meek and voiceless?

THESE TWO?!

Can you see why I’m laughing? I imagine the BoBs are laughing just as hard over in their secret evil lair.

You two aren't going to be the knights in shining tinfoil winning this war.

You won't even be the ones winning this match.

You will be falling flat, just like the rest of these teams will. It doesn’t matter who walks down that ramp first, it doesn’t matter who comes down last. The Dissentients will be the ones who are left standing in the ring with their arms raised.

Are you all ready? Let's go.”