[Backstage.]

[Standing in front of an OLW logo, we see the upper body of a man dressed in bright-red tux jacket and frilly white shirt. His hair is covered by a bright-red top hat, his eyes are brown, and his smile is toothy and whiter than fresh snow.]

Man: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Old Line Wrestling. I am The Ringmaster, leader of ceremonies for the Dark Carnival, and we have the privledge of making the next stop on our worldwide carnival tour here, in the great state of Maryland.

[Cheap pop for mentioning the great state of Maryland.]

[Taking off his hat and revealing gel-slicked, bleached blonde hair, the Ringmaster takes a bow in front of the camera.]

Ringmaster: Unfortunately, though, we're not all fun and games. You see, brothers and sisters, the Dark Carnival is all about justice, which there has been little of within the confides of the World Wrestling Alliance for a long, long time. Men and women all around this alliance make their living off the backs of other peoples' efforts, wickedly profiting from other people's misfortune. And these people set an example for the millions that tune into the World Wrestling Alliance worldwide, from Ireland to California and all the way back around. People take that example of evil deeds and put it into practice in their own lives, spreading this disease like the plague.

We're here to stop that at the source.

[Pause, another toothy grin.]

Ringmaster: Yes, I said "we". As you can plainly see...

[As The Ringmaster looks down at himself, we pan back a little bit, and get a look at most of the Ringmaster's upper body, which is not really that impressive in its physique...small-width arms, narrow body. Not unhealthy in the least, but not someone that could compete well in the ranks of professional wrestling.]

Ringmaster: ...I am not fit for combat within the squared circle. But I brought someone with me that certainly is.

[Pan back a little more, and we see that there's someone else standing behind The Ringmaster. He wears a Hatchet Man basketball jersey and blue jeans. But most frighteningly, he also wears a full-head clown mask, painted into the face of an evil grinning clown, with green hair glued to the top in a monk's crown-style haircut.]

Ringmaster: Allow me to introduce to you all my fellow Dark Carnival member. He draws his strength from your own bigoted hatred. He is a master of mind games as deadly as the brutal physical force he brings to that very squared circle. He can read into the deepest reaches of your soul and pass judgment upon the darkest and most hidden of your sins. He will turn your hatred against you. He is...The GREAT MILENKO!

[The silent masked man slaps his right fist into his left hand and squeezes with his left hand, cracking the knuckles in his right hand.]

Ringmaster: And it is this day that will forever live in infamy as the day the wicked began to get what they deserved.

Be afraid, wicked ones. Be very afraid.

[Cut.]

[Who are these guys?]

Sloe: You'd better get into character, we have a meeting with the owner of this fed in the next ten minutes.

Johan: Didn't you listen to me? I don't know how to speak Swedish.

Sloe: That doesn't matter, you just need to act Swedish

Johan: I don't know how to act Swedish!

Sloe: It's not hard.

Johan: Why are we going with Swedish? I'm Irish.

Sloe: Because there's a good chance that the federation would have scouted the Irish leagues, that being said you have a higher chance of passing as a Swedish wrestler since they haven't been as widely scouted.

Johan: So how do I act Swedish?

Sloe: No clue, talk about large breasted women playing volleyball in bikini's during the winter? Bite people randomly and act like a Viking. Try to talk like you've had some input in an Ikea catalogue.

Johan: Ok-k-kay. . .

[Door opens. Out walks a brunette in a not inappropriate but not conservative either business suit. You’ll recognize this as Jennifer “Miss Jenna” Lyons, who briefly managed a heel stable and has since then done various backstage work.]

Jenna: Avarice will see you two now.

[The camera opens up to two men sitting on a couch. One of them, Sloe Buford, a handsomely dressed black fellow standing about 6 foot 5. Short black hair and clean shaven, the type of man who could blend into a crowd if need be. The other, Johan De'Lovely, a scrappy looking Irish fellow, not dressed nearly as nice as Sloe. The two rise from the couch and enter the office of the OLW owner for what they hope is their official welcome to the federation.]

Avarice: Evening Gentlemen. Let us get to the point - why do you want to be a part of OLW?

[Both men sit at a desk across from the Commissioner of OLW.]

Johan: Paycheck. . .

Sloe: [cutting Johan off] After coming back to America after our time in the Swedish Elite wrestling league, Borrbottin Wrestling League to be specific, we thought we would apply ourselves in the same atmosphere we had in Sweden.

Avarice: So you're registering as a tag team? You understand that OLW uses a three man tag division…

Sloe: No, Johan is going to be wrestling as a solo wrestler. I'm his manager.

Avarice: Alias?

Sloe: No we're going to drop the Bjorn Jorginsson gimmick, it probably won't have the same effect over in the USA.

Avarice: And what do you plan to do to stand out? OLW is filled, polluted even, with wrestlers who are good at promoting themselves. You will need something that's going to make people care. In the past Swedish wrestlers have had great success playing the crazy angle.

Johan: I'm not crazy.

Avarice: But you're not interesting either.

Sloe: How's this, we'll see how we perform the first few matches before we judge if Johan is boring or not.

Avarice: Very well. We cannot offer you anything at this show, but at the following Outrage, you will be given a match against one of the talent enhancement wrestlers.

Sloe: That seems fair. . .

Avarice: [Cutting Sloe off] It is fair.

Sloe: Don't cut me off, I realize it's fair, but we're in for the long haul not a one or two match 'entry' so something long term would be appreciated.

Avarice: You get a three match entry level contract, then from there we see if we want to keep you on board. Now which enhancement wrestler do you want to face?

Sloe: Andrew Brady.

Avarice: Good then, you have a match next show. Now get out of here. We’ve a PPV to run.

[Fade out.]

[Cut.]

[Backstage, in one of the assorted locker rooms. It's a common misconception that everyone has their own personal dressing room at a wrestling show. Only certain people are afforded that luxury. Most of the time, it is because the person in question is a mega-star.]

[Here, it's because the people in here are so bloody obnoxious that the rest of the roster can't stand to be in the same room as them.]

[We speak, of course, of The Conspiracy--"The Judge" Deacon Dale, "Rotten" T.J. Ratigan, and their leader, "Wise Guy" Wyatt Connors. They are, as one might expect, preparing for their forthcoming match for the OLW Trios Tag Team Titles, which will definitely be worth watching. Besides, you've already paid for it. At the moment, Connors and Dale are putting on the last of their ring gear, while Ratigan faces them, his back to the camera.]

Ratigan: C'mon, ladies. I can't wait for you all day.

[Ratigan turns around, so that his face can be seen by the camera. His shirt, however, cannot--it has been blurred out by the censor.]

[Think about that for a moment. We're on PAY PER VIEW tonight, and the producers still think that whatever he's got on that shirt is out of line.]

Dale: Dude. You cannot wear that.

Ratigan: What? Why not?

Dale: Why not--LOOK at it! Hell, I almost want to punch you for that.

Ratigan: That's the whole point, right? Pissing people off? Boss, back me up here.

Connors: No, I have to agree with him, kid. I mean, I'm all for offending the populace, but that's taking things a little too far.

Ratigan: This is weak, dude. Ain't "too far" what you're all about?

Connors: Yes, but I'm not all about fines and lawsuits. Wear something else.

[Ratigan sags at the shoulders, pouting like a little kid. Which really isn't that far from the truth.]

Ratigan: You guys are lame...

[With that, he sulks off to another part of the dressing room, conveniently located off-camera.]

Dale: I'd like to know where he found someone who would print up that shirt.

Connors: Oh, you can do that shit at home. What confuses me, is where he got a picture of Danny Vicious' mother.

[And the world may never know. For the best, really.]

Connors: So. Did you boys enjoy yourselves this week?

Dale: What?

Connors: Come on, now. Just because there exists no conclusive proof that I am NOT the devil, it doesn't mean I'm not a regular guy. Did you and Trevor have a good time?

Dale: Umm...I dunno.

[Connors lets out a frustrated sigh.]

Connors: Don't do this, Deacon. Don't try to act like I'm the stupid one. I know that you blew off your training--abandoned the assignment that I gave you--to go to a strip club. Excuse me, "titty bar."

Dale: Hey, it was his idea. Why aren't you chewing him out?

Connors: Because he doesn't know any better, but you do. At least, you're supposed to.

Dale: It was one night, sir. And besides, it's not like we couldn't use a night off once in a while.

[Connors cocks an eyebrow, letting Deacon know that he's gone too far. Deacon gets the message, and seems to recoil slightly.)

Connors: Maybe you could use one, yes. Or perhaps you could use the rest of your life, off. Next time Trevor's penis starts thinking for both of you, I want you to keep in mind just where you were when I found you, and how quickly you can go back there. Now get this through your thick head, Deacon. You are to follow one person's orders, and that one person is me. Are we clear?

Dale: ...yes, sir.

Connors: Good. Glad to know we're on the same page now. Although you should know--if we don't win the titles, you're not getting paid tonight.

[Deacon turns to protest, but immediately thinks better of it. Instead, he hangs his head and looks away. At this rather dramatic juncture, T.J. Ratigan reemerges, now wearing a shirt that reads "I Swear I Didn't Know She Was Three."]

Ratigan: There. Is this better?

Connors: Much. Now let's get going; we've got some titles to win. Right, Deacon?

[Deacon Dale grumbles something, still not daring to look his boss in the face.]

Connors: What was that?

Dale: Yes, Mister Connors...

Connors: Excellent.

[Connors opens the door, leading to the main hallway. This leaves us free to cut to...]

[Daeriq Damien stands in relative darkness, letting the few muted lights that are on bathe him in it’s faint glow. The locker room is silent save for the lone shower going on around the corner, hidden from the possibility of prying eyes. Very few people could see themselves standing in the spot that Damien now resides. Well, many may have seen themselves in this position, but the actuality that it would come to happen was probably nil. Even fewer would dare to take the risk of that opportunity.]

[But here Daeriq waited.]

[He didn’’t think of the consequences of his actions because they mattered little to him. If Cole or Adam came in, they’d almost certainly think the worst. Damien had come to sabotage the team. For them, War Games would be all for naught even before the bell rang. And this thinking, that Damien would sacrifice personal gain for the revenge of jealousy would be just, albeit not entirely true.]

[Because, isn’t there a little personal gain in getting revenge?]

[And that thinking, those thoughts that Cole and Adam would immediately react upon, is exactly why Damien takes the direct approach in a final effort before they all team up tonight. Those two hadn’t felt up enough the extending a hand of camaraderie when Damien had extended an invitation to meet up and strategize. Hell, they hadn’t even acknowledged it. So, in hopes of strengthening the team, he took a bold move.]

[He waited for Heidi.]

[And in a quite a predicament, no less. Caught between shower and dress. Uncomfortable she would certainly be, but left with nothing much more to do than listen. That’s what prompted such a setting in his visual of this attempt. He just wanted to be heard. So, when the shower knob squeaked the cleansing session to a halt, he simply turned around. He wanted to show that he was not a threat.]

[He also wanted to calm her from thinking that he was some pervert trying to catch a peek.]

[So, as she came around the corner, her head in a towel trying to exert any extra water from her hair as she could, she didn’t notice him across the room. She barely noticed the floor as she bent over, swirling her hair into the towel as women will do. And as she came up, she caught something from the corner of her eye. She only identified it once her hand has finished flipping the light switch.]

Heidi: Holy S[bleep]t!

[Damien stood with his arms folded, eyes trying to adjust to the sudden impact of light now flung upon them. He also stood there awaiting a kick to the back of his skull. Instead of a kick, however, words were thrown at him.]

Heidi: You’ve got less than a second to get your ass out of here.

Daeriq: Is that any way to talk to a teammate?

[With his back to her, he doesn’t realize that she’s nodding her head back and forth in disgust.]

Heidi: You’re no teammate. History dictates that. And…shouldn’t you have jumped me by now? You must be losing your edge.

Daeriq: History, Heid, also promotes change. As for your second question, since my return, I’ve never meant you any harm. If I had, you’d have felt it already. In fact, I seem to remember doing the complete opposite and coming to your aid. That…now that was a haul in it’s pre-conception. I had to convince Gemma to not attempt to kill you. And, she didn’t. I did that for you.

Heidi: You also knocked my skull in with a chair the very first time I laid eyes on you. Remember, Daer…I’ve been along for the ride since the beginning. I’ve seen how fu[bleep]g evil you could be. I just see this as the ‘ol bait and switch. A conscious mating of Dr. Daeriq and Mr. Damien with no potion involved.

And don’t call me Heid.

[Daeriq knows that she speaks true. His past has been a heavy burden to bare since returning to action in OLW. He tried the old ways but soon felt that his home needed a bit of pride re-instilled in it. Watching things unfold as they have, made it his need to change.]

[His need to do good.]

[Raising his hand with his index extended, Damien twirls it in a circle counter-clockwise and says two words.]

Daeriq: May I?

[He wanted her to see his eyes and watch them not fluctuate from the truth in his words. She wanted to see the fore-telling of his lies so she let him turn and face her, a hand enforcing it’s hold on the fabric hugging her bare skin.]

Daeriq: Obviously, since my actions of the past have vastly outweighed the words I offer now, I cannot blame you in your continued resentment toward me. Believe me, Heidi…you would be a far better ally in this building war than you would be a foe. I had hoped my recent actions would have shown my respect in that manner.

[For the first time, Heidi's hostility leaves her. She lowers her head.]

Heidi: Daeriq, I wish I could believe you. Truly. But with everything you've done in the past... to me, to Dawn, to Jeff, to everyone I've cared about... I can't. I'd be stupid to try.

Daeriq: Fair enough. Actions speak louder than words.

[Almost instantly Daeriq moves to the door on the left, purposefully avoiding Heidi in all manners. He only leaves behind six direct words.]

Daeriq: I’ll just continue to show you.