I mean Jesus, how much can you expect one man to withstand? Apparently nobody expected quite what they received. Well they'll be better prepared next time. Next time... *chuckle* Next time it wont be so swift, it wont be quite so merciful. They think what happened Friday was extreme? Do they REALLY think that what has happened over the past week was bad? They're in for a buzz kill. All the chaos, all the madness. And it's all about to unfold, right before their very eyes. Just wait... it comes...

*Mark stands slowly, stretching his back as the crease in his pants comes back to form. He looks around to his surroundings and finds only mere toys. Nothing to satisfy this rage burning inside of him. As everyone saw last week, he had made a return, a painful one. A return many suffered for, but a particular few suffered an unbearable amount. Mark smirked a sinister one, as he considered his actions of the past week. His untimely exit, and much like a phoenix, his rise from the ashes, free of the shackles that held Mark inside of Markus. The fans seemed to have created the legacy that was Markus Katastrophik. And it was what the fans created, Mark had finally succeeded at destroying. Of course the legacy remained. And the talent was there, but something was different. More so than just the name, but a characteristic, a feeling, an emotion....HATRED. An unrivaled despising for everyone that didn't reside in his coven. 

He had found his solace in the one everyone knew as nothing more than Darkest Desires, but Mark knew Shelly. Shelly was the one. She was the only one who knew what really beat deep inside that thing called a heart, inside of Mark. But even she wasn't around tonight. Mark saw this as an opportunity to relieve himself of a great deal of unneeded anger and frustration. No Shelly meant nobody to keep him level. Beautiful.

As he continued to scan the room, he noticed a note on his duffel bag. He released a sigh, sort of a fed-up sigh. As though he didn't really want to do anything, yet the adrenaline pulsing through his veins gave him what he needed to create havoc and destruction abroad.  He picked up the piece of paper and read over it briefly*

Mark, we should talk immediately. 

I think you have something to offer me,

As do I something to offer you. 

I'll be in my office all night.

-D.J.R

Perfect. This is the last thing I need right now.

*The pasts of Mark and Dave James were always closely mirroring. The two trained together, the two fought side by side. But even with their rather quaint past, much like building blocks, it'll all come toppling down, and the past will come unglued in the present. With Mark's further successes in his career Dave James grew bitter, more so each and every time he'd see Mark's popularity, and status in the ring grow. It all boiled over, and came to a head when Michael Calhoun signed the prospect James to a contract. Dave sought an immediate impact, and found it, attacking Mark. But over time, it seemed as though the wound that was a broken friendship healed over, and the two looked to regain that friendship they once had. 

Lately though Mark hadn't exactly been the most available man in the SwF. What once was a man who surrounded himself by his fans, his friends, and his co-workers, now is in the arena just long enough to get his job done, and leave just as quick as humanly possible. It was preferable over the attention-seeking Markus Katastrophik. He was happy that Markus was no more. No longer burdened by that need to please the world, Mark could do what many strive to do, but few actually accomplish. The question presented is this: When you've accomplished all that there is to in this sport, winning the Supreme Tournament, becoming only the fifth Supreme Champion ever...really, what is there left to accomplish. And when presented with this thought, Mark was quick to swat it away with a simple, no-nonsense answer...DOMINANCE. Plainly, simply, while Mark had accomplished all there was, it didn't come without it's hardships, and without its ups and downs. One thing he looked to achieve this time around. Utter domination! Unrivaled, and uninhibited, raw, merciless domination. He'd beaten nearly everyone the SwF has to offer, from the Icon-like Andrew 'Blade' Gibson, to even the most lowly of scum--of course everyone else showed them enough respect to call them 'jobbers', but Mark wouldn't even acknowledge their presence. 

But as all these thoughts and feelings crept in and out of his head, Mark crumpled up the paper, staring at it  --almost hypnotized--, and threw it against the wall. He knelt down and tied his boots up, as they laced up nearly half of his calf muscle. Mark threw on a button down satin shirt over his fishnet tanktop. He took one look in the mirror, seeing something he couldn't bare to see. Quickly and thoughtlessly Mark threw his fist right into the mirror, leaving it a broken mirror, webbed with cracks, as he stares even deeper into the image reflecting back at him, a distorted gothic image of himself. He nodded and walks off to the door, flinging it open and slamming it shut tight behind him.*

That is absolutely bizarre Thor! I cant quite understand what we've just seen, but something is very off. We're seeing a side of Markus we've never seen before. And I know that phrase is thrown around a lot in this sport. But honestly, I've got chills running up and down my spine. I don't know I've ever been this spooked by something so simple before in the history of my working for this business.

You have to remember Sammy, it's not Markus anymore, it's just Mark now. And I have to say that for once I agree with you. I've seen someone--something, I don't think I've ever seen before. And that note... what do you think Dave James has to say to Mark? Both men returned to very similar reactions. If these two are on the same page, think of the power they'll wield. The physical prowess of Mark Patton, and the political power that Dave James has here in the SwF. It scares me to think about it.

*The GeoTron comes to life once more, as cameras follow Mark Patton into the office of Blackout General Manager Dave James. Dave stands and walks around the front of his desk and the two shake, before Dave pulls Mark in for a friendly hug. Mark looks somewhat oddly at Dave, who seems a bit intimidated by Mark's appearance. Dave sits back down behind his desk, sort of childlike in the chair, as it swivels and rotates in a full circle. He spins around once, and turns back towards Mark, who seems un-amused, with his arms folded over his chest, and a look of impatience upon his face. Dave James plants his feet on the ground, stopping the spin of the chair, and sits forward, elbows perched up on the desk. He rests his chin on his hands, clasped together. Dave offers a seat to Mark, who neglects to even reply, simply stands there, growing even more impatient than before. Dave nods and takes a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.*

Well if it isn't the great Markus Katastrophik, or wait, it's Mark Patton now, isn't it? Finally come full circle, eh? I'm proud of you. I never thought you had it in you. It took you long enough, but finally you're back on the right path. I was wondering when, or IF you even could shed that clown suit the fans had you masquerading yourself in.  I've seen this in you before. Well, I haven't seen you looking quite as, uhm...gothic. I don't know WHAT the hell is up with the new look, but hey, to each their own.

Dave, I don't have the time to listen to you talk to me about my wardrobe. You called me in here for something. So just spit it out all ready damnit. I've got stuff to do.

Ok, ok. I can see you're a busy man. And you are right, I didn't get you to talk to you about your wardrobe. I think there's a lot we can offer each other. You bring to the table something I no longer possess, merciless rage! If I had someone like you on my side, imagine the damage I could cause. First off I'd have you obliterate Pancrazio and Big Nasty, little bastards think they pulled one over on me. Just wait. Friday night, Pancrazio gets to face an opponent of MY choosing! 

Sure, this sounds all good and well for you. *Mark leans forward, pressing both of his fists knuckle-first into the desk, speaking sternly, yet softly* But what is in it for ME? You fail to show me where this would do me any bit of good.

Well, uhm... I was getting to that. You see, you would give me a rage that is unparalleled in this business. And in return, I offer you things you only ever dreamed of. The power I wield here, I could get you anything you asked for. The SwF would be at our mercy. Your physical abilities, and my SwF politics... who could stop us, huh? NOBODY, that's who!

*Dave James lets out a laugh, one that sort of seems to annoy Mark quickly, which prompt's him to cut it off a bit early. Mark backs up, bringing his structure back to full upright position, with one arm folded over his chest, and the other using that arm as leverage and stroking his chin, pondering the opportunity given to him.*

So, are we in agreement?

*Mark takes yet another moment to silently question what this would really mean for him, versus what it would mean for Dave James. He looks down --his eyebrow rises slightly--, with a hard look on his face, finally, he replies.*

We'll see.

*Dave James doesn't seem to like the answer much, and is somewhat surprised that Mark wouldn't jump  at the opportunity to form what would appear to be an alliance that'd be nearly unstoppable. As much as Dave would love to argue with Mark about the positive's in this, he's noticed the increasingly intolerable look upon Mark's face, and stands to shake his hand before he leaves the office. Dave extends his hand to Mark, who looks down at it, then back up at Dave, with a shifty 'what do you think you're doing' facial expression, before turning towards the door and walking out. Dave tries hard to play it off, wiping the outside of his black pinstripe blazer, before clearing his throat and sitting back down, sort of worried at what may be to come, if Mark doesn't accept his proposal.

Mark heads down the hallways, backstage at the SwF venue for the night. He pays no mind to people as they pass, give him looks, stare at his appearance oddly, and scowl at him. He seems not to care in the least at the fact that none of his co-workers care for him. He'd much prefer it over the alternative, creating a friendship with someone and having them turn their back on him, much like the majority of his past. He thinks to himself as he walks along.*

Well isn't this just f**kin quaint. Good ol' Dave James wants my services, now that it benefits him. Figures, the asshole was never in it for anyone but himself. But what if that's the right thing to do. Maybe he's onto something there. Of course I cant be selfish like that, not when I have Shelly. God I miss her. I wish that I hadn't have gone out last night with Fate, and stayed to talk to her. But who can turn down a round, at someone else's expense? Oh well, I'll see her tonight when she gets here. What time is it anyways? Oh shit! She should be here all ready.

*Mark passed through the catacombed halls of the arena in search for his treasure. As he made his way down towards their locker room, he was halted by his cell phone, ringing loudly. He removes it from his belt and answers it, speaking to whomever is on the other line. Though as the conversation continues on further, his face grows hollow, and it becomes apparent that the voice on the other line belongs to none other than Shelly, Darkest Desires. After an exchange of pleasantries, Mark hangs up the phone and turns his attention to a technical assistant standing beside him at a table, a cup of scalding hot coffee in his hand. Mark snarls and jerks over towards the technician, causing him to flinch and jump back, spilling the hot coffee on another man walking by. The two technicians begin to argue, voices growing angry, leaving Mark to snicker, shake his head and walk back in the direction of the ring. 

But what was he to say? He had just resurrected himself, brought his true form out into the forefront. He won the Supreme Elimination match, giving him the shot at Dragon at Supreme Tournament, which seemed to be only a few short weeks away. But that way of thinking quickly was replaced, remembering that Dragon denied the shot, granting it to Big Nasty, and hoping that it would become a triple threat, with Sean Hardy added to the mix. Mark hated the idea though, Sean Hardy hadn't EARNED the shot. It was simply granted to him by the champion. And Big Nasty, Mark didn't even think to say his name in the same breath as the SwF Champion. He thought that he was a good champion, while he was, but now... he was nothing to him. Disappointed by the fact that Big Nasty couldn't even manage to retain the title to make it to Supreme Tournament. But this left an opening...

Mark had won the Supreme Tournament just one year ago, when his climb to stardom neared its pinnacle. He had managed to do something very few had even dared try, much less succeed at. It was nearly one year to the day when Mark won the SwF Intercontinental Championship from Kurt Angle in a brutal Hell in a Cell match, with a breath-taking Superman Frog Splash from the top of the cage, down fifteen feet onto Kurt Angle. That alone would put a man in the history books, for being the victor in such a battle. But he topped that by defeating four men, first Crazy Canuck, then Kurt Angle again, and finally Syxx to win the Supreme Tournament. That night was when he lived true to the motto pronounced by his theme music 'Till I Collapse'. And again, he found himself in a position to take charge of his future. In the event that Dragon came out victorious at the end of the night, there was still the fact that Mark had to come out on top, to capture back-to-back Supreme Tournament titles. 

He got to the steps, and waited for his entrance to be played, so he could go out and speak his mind finally.*

"Babble babble bitch bitch
Rebel Rebel, Party Party
Sex sex sex, and don't forget the violence.
Blah blah blah
Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely
Stick your stupid slogan in
Everybody sing along...

ARE YOU MOTHER FU*KERS READY FOR THE NEW SH*T!
Stand up and admit, tomorrow's never coming!
This is the new sh*t
Stand up and admit it!
Do we need it, NO!
Do we want it, YES!
This is the new sh*t, stand up and admit it!"

*To that sound, the fans grow loud and infuriated, chanting massive boo's towards Mark as 'The New Sh*t' from Marilyn Manson brings him to the top of the stage. The eyes of the monster seem fierce, simply waiting for something to happen, for someone to step up to him. He throws his arms into the air, raising the SwF Intercontinental Championship into the air in his right hand. He pats on the face of the title a few times, pointing out to the fans, seemingly unaffected by the jeers being placed on him. Nonchalantly he paces down the ramp, raising his fist to a few of the fans as he passes them. At the bottom of the ramp, one fan even holds a sign out and points at it, taunting Mark. The sign read:

"Mark sold his soul...for a bitch!"

*Mark saw this and lunged forward at the fan, who instinctively jumped back. Mark grabbed the sign from the fans hands and tore it down the middle, throwing it back at the fan in anger. As bad as he wanted to lose it, and tear the weak, pathetic fan to pieces, he knew the ramifications would be far more serious, and damaging as the satisfaction would ever be to destroy such a lowly creature. Besides, he knew that even if Desires wasn't here tonight, that she was watching it back home, and wouldn't take too well to his outbursts. Mark pushed that fury aside and stepped up the ring steps, and climbed through the middle and top ropes, entering the ring. He climbed the turnbuckle he entered nearest to, and raised the title in his right hand, mimicking his actions at the top of the ramp. Mark walked over towards Lilith Evan, and felt the temptation to look over the slick physique of the ring announcer, but held back, overcome by his insatiable desires for the woman he is with as it stands. He takes the microphone from her and moves to the center of the ring. He pauses and collects himself, leaving the fans a moment to look over the monstrosity that stands before them. 

His baggy black vinyl pants seemed to reflect the bright hot lights from the rafters. His boots looked brand new, without as much as a single scuff mark on them. The massive bondage straps of his pants hung effortlessly beside the wallet chain. His belt was riddled with spikes, leaving it a wonder how he made it through security with so many dangerous objects on him. The deep crimson red button down satin shirt concealed a fishnet tanktop, and his wrists were covered in all sorts of bracelets, be it spiked ones or bondage bracelets. Up further the thick, wide collar around his neck housed a thick ring in the front, and three-inch spikes all around it. The black hair was spiked up in short single liberty spikes, with the tips a similar shade of red to his shirt. 

After collecting the thoughts in his head he finally raises the microphone to his lips, as thoughts form words, and words take on a life of their own.*

And the truth shall set you free... free from bondage, free from this induced reality. Markus Katastrophik is DEAD, and I killed him. You all built this sort of shrine up to who he should be, who I should be. How I should act, how you all wanted me to respond, what you wanted me to say, what you thought was the most proper way for me to be, and what you all wanted me to do. And with that, I grew stronger, I became a force in the SwF. I climbed the ranks, one rung at a time. Slowly but surely, you were all killing my creation, and in return, creating a beast inside of someone you loved so dearly. And now, the beast is FREE, and there isn't a good damn thing any single one of you runts can do to stop it! It was only so long, and only so apparent what was happening. And not a one of you saw it. You were all blind behind this false sense of security, a false sense of comfort, knowing that no matter what bad was going on, that your 'savior' Markus Katastrophik would come and make everything better. Well you know what? TO HELL WITH THAT! As time went on, I grew weary of your games, of the slave each and every one of you were making of me. Your thoughts and carelessness brought me to a point where I didn't even know what or WHO the hell I was anymore. And for that you've been found guilty of committing the greatest sin imaginable... idolizing Markus Katastrophik! 

The truth has set me free, and in doing so, the truth has enslaved you all. Now you'll all witness chaos in all its ripe, unparalleled nature! But I'm not here to preach, cause not even your own God can save you from the hell you've built upon yourselves. 

Things have come to my attention, people have said things, acted upon certain thoughts and desires, which need to be dealt with. But with so much to say, where do I start? How about DEATH!

Death, poor simple Death. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, do you? And answer me one question, what the hell is it with you and your continuous 'bring the pain' comments? Also, when are you going to find something ORIGINAL? I used that saying a long time back, so you're not impressing anybody with your lack of originality. Besides, who are you REALLY going to bring the pain to? You think you're going to lay one hand on Desires? Dream on kid! It's gonna take a lot more than a DREAM to get that far, for you, more like a miracle! So let me tell you a little piece of advice, and this will definitely help you along in the SwF well after I've washed my hands of you. Never, and I do mean NEVER screw with someone, unless you're ready to accept the wrath and consequences that come along with it. And my friend, you've just pissed off the wrong damn man! And when your time comes... it wont be quick... but a slow, painful fall from grace.

*Having said this, Mark felt fired up, and ready to continue, but pauses to soak in the arena full of boos, echoing off the walls. Mark shakes his head, just egging the fans on all the more, before continuing his speech, which seemed to become more and more holier-than-thou as he went along.*

On to a topic near and dear to my heart, one on a much grander scale. The SwF Heavyweight Championship, and all the players involved in it. It appears as though my shot at the title was denied by Dragon, though it doesn't much surprise me. I mean, I wouldn't want to face myself either, knowing I couldn't beat me. I had his number once, and he senses that, so he shut me off before it even came to pass. But no matter, in due time my desires will come to life. Dragon, I know you're back there listening to every word I'm saying, your face pressed against that screen. Do you remember last year Dragon? Do you remember the mistakes of your past? Well those who refuse to confront their past, are inevitably doomed to repeat it. Lets just see if you can get past Supreme Tournament in the first place.

Which brings me to my next point of interest. Sean Hardy. You've grown up. Finally made a name for yourself. I wish I could say I'm proud of ya! Oh hell, who am I kidding. I actually AM proud of you. You always claimed to have that streak in you, and I see it coming to the forefront finally. The way you disregarded Dragon, was something you needed to do. I see more and more of Rocko in you every day. *Whispers* Why don't you just quit trying to hold him back. *Voice grows louder, more intense, almost as though he's trying to give Sean a gut check* Bring him out. Unleash the beast in you Sean. We both know you want to. What are you so afraid of? It'll only help you. It cant hinder you any more than the situation you're in. You know you'll need him to win at Supreme Tournament. You don't need these people, you don't need the great fan equalizer. You need pure rage! You need fearless fury. Simply put Sean, YOU NEED ROCKO! The olive branch has been extended... I want Rocko. The history between Rocko and myself lays as thick as any history in the SwF. Do yourself a favor, do us BOTH a favor... make sure your on the right side when hellfire and brimstone come over the SwF. Either you're with me...and finally reject these fans from controlling you, steering 'Sean Hardy' in the direction they want... or you remain as you are, mindless to their every demand. Friend...enemy. The choice is yours to make.

*Pacing the ring* Now on to the man who just COULDN'T GET THE JOB DONE on Friday night... Big Nasty. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Too bad really. I was looking forward to annihilating you at the Supreme Tournament, but you should feel fulfilled in any right, now you get to face the paper champion anyway. Just beware, your own doing, will become your undoing, if you don't watch yourself now. Words of wisdom? Nah, simply a warning to someone who needs all the help he can get! If you couldn't get through Dragon, and had to even try and cheat to win, how the hell do you expect to get through Dragon AND someone else as well? Frankly, I question whether you have what it takes. But I say this in challenge... prove me wrong! Go out there, win the title if you're more than just a fluke. Trust me, no matter who wins that match... I'll have my eye on them. We're not done, you and I. Oh no. This little war is far from over. We're going to end up in here, in this very ring, one-on-one, sometime. And when we do, we'll unlock the gates of hell and go at it until one of us cant get up.

As far as this Friday and every other week is concerned, heading into the Pay Per View... think of it simply as a warm up. This Friday I take on Bill Baker and the two flunkies in Team Y.O.T. What the hell kind of match up is that? But of course, I have the distinguished pleasure of choosing my partners for this match. And my partners will be... wait. Oh what the hell. You'll all just have to wait until Friday to find out who my partners are. So Billy boy, Zhann, Thunder... whatever the hell you're called... prepare for everything. But the one thing you cant prepare for, no matter how hard you try... the inevitable. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you train, no matter how hard and long you prepare, whatever way you do... the inevitable wont change. Your fall from grace is inevitable. And there simply is nothing any of you can do to stop me!

*Mark stopped pacing the ring, and walked forward, towards the ropes, resting his elbows on the top rope. He seemed pleased at the things he had said. But something was missing in his verbal tirade of some of the biggest players in the SwF. He had meant to say something, but couldn't for the life of him remember. Through the 'asshole' chants coming from a pack of fans in the crowd, he instantly remembered, though didn't speak immediately. He allowed the chants to grow, allowed the fans to grow in an even bigger frenzy. He loved that the fans were in an uproar over it all, and found satisfaction in just how much he was getting under THEIR skin, and how much his actions and remarks was causing THEM to bend out of shape, a big change from the usual clichéd fans getting under the wrestlers skin. Mark raised his arms in the air, making hand gestures for them to continue, for them to grow louder, doing everything imaginable to provoke them more and more.  

After using up a lot of their energy, and screaming their voices to their breaking points, the fans calmed. Mark took another moment, as the arena fell silent, before making a comment that he would either look on in a month and regret, or look on with a smile and a nod, knowing it was a choice, a comment that would have a great big payoff in the end. He opened his mouth as the words flowed out like water.*

Two weeks and counting. The Supreme Tournament is right around the corner and I do believe I have a title to defend. You see, last year I managed five victories in one night, risking life, limb, and heath all for the pursuit of one goal: a chance to become the SwF Heavyweight Champion at Dark Revolution. A goal which I realized at Dark Revolution, overcoming the odds, defeating who? None other than the flavor of the month, Dragon!

Well it seems as though this year the roster will be a bit more challenging, with a virtual who's who of the SwF. But alas, one name you WILL see on there, the defending tournament winner... Mark Patton! That is right. I will strive to accomplish something nobody has ever in the SwF. Nobody in the history of this federation has won back-to-back tournaments. Nobody has ever before won back-to-back Supreme Tournaments, back-to-back King of the Rings...back-to-back Pure Evil. It's never been done. And never is a word I love to hear. Especially with the stakes as high as they are this time around! 

So I leave all of you ungrateful sloth's of human beings with this sentiment...

Fight if you will... run if you must...

Through my will... I BRING FEAR!

*Mark was finally satisfied at what he had started tonight. And it was noticeable by the sadistic grin upon his face. 'The New Sh*t' re-played over the GeoTron as Mark tossed the microphone down on the mat and exited the ring through the middle and top ropes, dropping down to the apron, with his Intercontinental Championship slung over his right shoulder. As he arrived at the top of the ramp, he turned back towards the crowd, raised his arms into the air, much to the displeasure of the fans in attendance. He turned back around, brushing off the reaction from the fans, and walked back into the back, as the staff in the back all stared at him wide eyed and stunned by the comments he had said out there in the ring. Mark paid no attention to all of these people and walked back into his locker room, waiting to see what came of his tirade. 

The camera switched over to the office of Dave James, who had been watching the entire thing develop before his very eyes. The camera scooped around the front of the desk, and then back to dead center, staring down at the back of Dave James' chair, as it spun around, now face-to-face with the camera. He leans back and taps his fingers together as the camera faded to black with one single remark from the Blackout General Manager.*

Excellent...