X-treme Wrestling Federation
I Fucking Hate You Dickie, Let's Die! - Printable Version

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I Fucking Hate You Dickie, Let's Die! - Charlie Nickles - 01-03-2026

We open on a wide shot of a highway somewhere out in Ohio. Snow piles along the shoulders of the road, covering the ditches and coating the barren trees along the path. The winding road is quiet, aside from the occasional semi-truck or farm trailer…until a Hummer limousine suddenly bursts into frame from the far side of the screen!

Freshly coated with red paint, the stretch limo literally drips with arrogance as it candy-coats the pavement behind it. The limousine zips and zags down the highway, passing everyone without a single turn signal in sight- just a whole lot of honking!

A semi-truck gets cut off by the Hummer and is forced to turn into the shoulder! It collides with the piled snow, losing all traction and tipping over along the side of the road! The loud crash shakes the frosted leaves off the nearby trees as a pillar of black smoke rises from the engine. The camera stays locked onto the tipped semi as the limousine speeds out of frame, candy-coating the crashed truck with fresh paint as it passes by.

That’s when you notice a green highway sign in the corner of the still frame. It proudly reads:

Steubenville
Population: 18,161
Home of Universal Champion Charlie Nickles!


It looks like the sign hasn’t been updated in a couple of months. I guess the XWF website team must be in charge of it- or maybe, someone was too proud to let them change it. After a few seconds, the shot changes.

We’re now cast inside the red limousine itself, sitting in the backseat alongside Charlie Nickles and a gaggle of scantily clad escorts. Charlie briefly looks back at the wreckage left in his wake, but he’s far too gone to care. He’s too busy having a care-free time, spilling champagne all over his suit while he passes his Championship belt around, letting the women ‘ooh’ and ‘awe’ as they touch it. One woman pours out some booger sugar atop Charlie’s X-treme Championship, and he quickly puts his nose to work!

As he snorts the line, his eyes go wild as his pupils swell to three times their normal size. A few specks of white powder fall onto Charlie’s black suit as he suddenly jolts up!

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The women are taken aback by Charlie’s sudden shift in demeanor.

An air of discomfort overtakes the backseat as Charlie’s good senses fade away…and The Nickleman comes out to play. The women go still, like deer in the headlights, as The Nickleman cocks his head directly towards the limo’s 4th wall. He looks directly into the camera as a sinister scowl spreads across his jowls.

“I Fucking HATE You Dickie, Let’s Die!

And I mean that with every fiber of my being.

You don’t even realize how good you have it. You don’t have the acumen or breadth of experience needed to truly appreciate the position you’ve found yourself bent ass-backwards in.

That belt you stumbled into at War Games with your merry band of fuckups and nitwits?

It still belongs to ME!

But it’s not my cold and calloused hands caressing that championship tonight…

I can’t press my chapped and cracked lips against the gold plate…

Only you can kiss the Universe goodnight, every night.

Only you can have...what is still mine.

Only you get to reap, what I have sewn…for YEARS!

My blood, sweat, and tears candy-coat that championship belt that you so carelessly take for granted.

The prestige of that belt, the prestige of this entire UNIVERSE, was built brick-by-brick one 5-star match at a time- by none other than the God-Damned NICKLEMAN himself!

I mean, hell: why else do you think they call me the NICKLE-man?!

I shit out 5-star bangers for breakfast. The blood type of my stool is 5-star. My body literally produces all-time classics: I couldn’t even stop if I tried!

I put it all on the line, every time- 

Against LACKLAN.

Against PAGE.

ALIAS.

KIDO.

SHARK.

WATERS.

And King…

My DNA is built into that belt, into the fabric of the entire XWF Universe. My career is the shine on the crown jewel that keeps it so sparkly and clean.

And you?

You’re just some schmuck who won a gimmick match.

You’re just a guy who got LUCKY.

But this universe isn’t built on LUCK.

It’s built on hard work, resilience, and perseverance!

MY HARD WORK.

Over half a dozen marquee matchups for Big Gold, over the course of five years.

MY RESILIENCE.

To keep coming back even when this place tries to bury me.

MY PERSEVERANCE!

To always find a way back to the top. No matter who I have to use.

I represent everything the Universal Champion is supposed to be.

You just represent another flavor of the month.”

An escort pours a line of ketamine onto the X-treme Championship, playing 4d chess as she tries to get Charlie mellowed out. The Nickleman takes a brief break from his rambling to snort it up his nostril- but after the line, he stares right back into the camera!

“I Fucking HATE You Dickie, Let’s Die!

This isn’t just a match.

This was never going to be “just a match”.

This is a SCARLET VERDICT on your reign! On your entire UNIVERSE!

Come Monday Night Warfare, I’m going to be your judge, jury, and motherfuckin’ executioner!

So let’s candy-paint our faces with a fresh coat of red!

I’ll show you how to leave it ALL on the line- even if you’re too much of a bitch to defend MY title.

Come Warfare, Dickie- we’re going to share a moment.

A moment of truth, a moment of clarity.

A moment of REFLECTION- on what was lost when The Revolution swept to power.

A moment of REDEMPTION- as I prove once more, that I have what it takes…

To keep the Universe in the palm of my hands.”

Charlie starts to slow down, his speech slurring ever so slightly as his motor skills decline from the K-line. The Nickleman may be a bull in a china shop, but horse tranquilizer still seems to do the trick. The escorts all breathe a collective sigh of relief as Charlie settles comfortably back into his seat. After a few seconds, the limousine itself even seems to slow down and come to a stop!

Then, the doors to the back are opened from the outside.

The camera switches perspectives to show a wide-shot of the limousine pulling up to a mighty McMansion built right in the middle of Steubenville. Painted sickly green with red trimming, it was the biggest eyesore in town- but it was Charlie’s eyesore, and he loved subjecting everyone to it.

Or at least, he used to. But these days? Those visceral reactions of disgust just weren’t hitting the same. They weren’t enough to fill the Universe-sized hole in his heart.

Charlie drunkenly hobbles out of the limo with the help of multiple staffers as the escorts trail behind like a brood of baby ducklings. But as the scene lingers, and as Charlie stumbles, the ducklings begin to look more like vultures circling a wounded man.

The last escort out of the limo carries the X-treme Championship around her shoulder, treating it like nothing more than a cheap prop. But that metal piece of junk was the last thing on Charlie’s inebriated mind- as far as The Nickleman was concerned, the X-treme Championship was just a tool: just another means to an end, just another Solomon Kline, just another thing to be squeezed dry and used for its juice.

As Charlie was dragged into his ‘Steubenvilla’ by the help, his mind fixated on lost glory. He didn’t care about the big house, the fancy car, or the charming vultures circling overhead. The very same things he reveled in after beating James Shark- had now become painful reminders of the life he used to live, and the status he used to have.

The staff helped Charlie inside the house and up the stairs to his room, past the kitchen and the personal chef. An endless hunger was plaguing The Nickleman, but he didn’t even glance in the chef’s direction. He knew there was only one way to satiate the roar of the universe in his empty stomach, so full of bile and hate.

Hatred for the world that passed him by.

Hatred for the fans who forgot.

Hatred for the grand pretender, Dickie Watson.

But most of all…

Hatred for himself. Hatred for his failures, too numerous to count. Charlie wrapped himself in a blanket of self-loathing as the staff laid him down to rest. Instead of counting sheep to sleep, he counted his mistakes under the moon- each one more painful than the last.


[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTYULi7d8ngZBk_isic-Fh...AYiiutmA&s]



You already know how I feel about you, Dickie.

But do you know why?

It’s because you don’t even want the burden that I crave so fucking badly.

It’s more than skin-deep between us.

You might find it shallow…but truth be told, the depths of my disdain for you are endless.

You have it all right now, the entire UNIVERSE in your SOUL and in your HEART, and around your WAIST!

That’s why my heart is so cold, and why my soul is so lost.

You have a part of me, Dickie, the best part of me- and you can’t even bring yourself to cherish it.

To JUSTIFY it!

As soon as you win the grandest prize in all of wrestling, you…take your ass to E.W.O. and start fighting on the fucking midcard?!?!

What the FUCK are you doing with Big Gold, Dickie- besides tarnishing the legacy!

MY LEGACY!

You can’t even bring yourself to fucking TWEET about the XWF these days! It’s all “E.W.O this” and “E.W.O that”! You’re not a soldier of the fed’. You don’t even wear our universe on your shoulder like a badge of honor when you wrestle in Miami…you just leave it at home, like it’s your fat and ugly girlfriend.

Shirking out on your duties as the XWF Universal Champion, just so you can go play with your friends down in Miami…wasting time wrestling for a self-described “REGIONAL”  promotion in Miami, when you already have the entire UNIVERSE hanging on your every word…

A fucking disgrace, that’s what it is.

What YOU are!

Our company looks second-rate when our champion acts second-rate.

And I refuse to wrestle in second-rate promotions!

But on Warfare, I finally have a chance to make a statement! To show everyone what a REAL Universal Champion is supposed to look like!

Do you know the real difference between our runs at the top, Dickie?

My reign added to the DNA of the XWF Universe.

But your reign?

It just spits all over our company’s proud history!

I built The Corporation up, one pawn at a time. I hunted my rivals into extinction; I made sure the entire universe felt my wrath!

But your wrath only extends to midcard matches in Miami.

You let Snakes McGee slither in the grass, and now, he’s biting you in the ass!

You even let Centurion pin you!

You’re not the Dickie Watson people thought you were.

Not when you’re this distracted, this torn between worlds- between promotions. You’ve lost focus, purpose- and you’re trying to find it in all the wrong places.

But I know exactly where my purpose is.

And I throw up in my mouth every time I see it slung over your shoulder!

When you hold ‘Big Gold’, the entire Universe is supposed to bend to your will. The XWF is the world’s premiere wrestling brand, and our Universal Champion can’t even Main Event the place he’s choosing over the XWF!

The only reason he can Main Event Cleveland is because THE NICKLEMAN is across the card, and he’s itchin’ for a hometown bloodletting!

Because The Nickleman? I’m a main event machine!

Rebellion. Leap of Faith. Relentless, Night Three- TWICE!

I’m like the Main Event MONOPOLY- because whenever someone walks onto my property, they fucking pay! I set the standard around here. I’m the top of the card because I’m top of the line! I’m the role model wrestler that every young talent should be looking up to, and aspiring to be like.

Because every time I’m in the ring, I give it my all- every drop of blood and every bead of sweat.

What I’m saying, Watson…

Is that I would DIE for the glory you won’t even KILL for!

So when we meet in the Main Event on Warfare, in an arena nestled in the heart of Ohio, just know that The Nickleman is coming home to take back his mantle.

And you if plan to keep the XWF Universe around your Dick-less waist, you’re going to have to pry it from my cold, dead hands!

I Fucking HATE You Dickie, Let’s Die!


[Image: solar-sun-on-black-background-photo.jpg]



Charlie awoke in a blurry haze as the rising sun ripped through his curtains. He hated this part of the day: the part where he had to wake up and live the life he’d made. Surrounded by the luxuries of wealth afforded to him by The Corporation, Charlie had grown numb to the niceties. Even his long-lost sister was bringing little light to his life, no matter what he did for her. But as he threw the blankets from his chest, he felt a renewed vigor in his chest.

A lost sense of purpose, finally flowing through his veins.

Charlie’s eyes drifted over towards the X-treme Championship belt laying astray in the corner of his room. A wolfish grin curled across his lips as he reached for the tarnished metal belt, wrapping it around his waist like a carpenter’s toolbelt.

It may be just another tool to Charlie, but in the hands of a few good bastards, he knew this tool could build a briefcase.

And with that beautiful briefcase, he could finally fill the void.


BRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGGGGGG


BRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGGGGGG


Charlie’s phone started to shake and ring, vibrating atop his nightstand with urgency. The Nickleman sneered as the buzzing call interrupted his daily dose of self-aggrandizement. He reached for the cellphone and rolled his eyes as the caller ID flashed across the screen.


PETER PRINCIPAL

The Nickleman audibly groaned as he threw the X-treme Championship onto his bed and answered the GM’s call.

“What do you want now?”

Charlie said dickishly, clearly bothered by the intrusion. He waited for a few seconds as Peter replied, before his face flashed red with anger.

“What the hell do you mean there’s a “problem” with my freebird rules?!”

Charlie held the phone close to his ear, pacing around his room like a tiger trapped in a cage.

“I crossed all my I’s and dotted all my T’s! Oz defended the Championship for me on Anarchy, and now, I only need someone to defend for me on Warfare and-“

Charlie pounded his fist on the nightstand as Peter so rudely cut him off.

“What do you mean Oz’s defense doesn’t count?! Who the fuck told you that?!”

He listens closely for a few seconds, until a look of sheer and unfettered annoyance replaces the rage in his eyes.

“NADINE?!?! Who cares what she thinks? I don’t give a damn if Nadine found a thousand bylaws against it, she’s just your assistant! Tell her no!”

The Nickleman can’t contain himself as he listens to Peter explain the predicament.

“She already went to The Trillionaires? AND THEY AGREED WITH HER?!”

Charlie sweats bullets as he runs a hand through his graying mane.

“That bitch! I always knew she was a snake in the grass, I should’ve taken her head when I had the god-damned chance! You see what she’s trying to do here, don’t you Peter?”

A muffled reply comes from the other side of the speaker, but Charlie looks aghast at it.

“What’s not to get? After all those hours scouring the 24/7 hallway, I finally cracked the code! I realized the shortcut that nobody wants to tell you about!”

Charlie walked back to the X-treme Championship, placing a single hand upon the center plate as he spoke.

“If you convince other people to defend the belt for you, it’s way easier to get a briefcase!”

The line goes quiet on the other end as Charlie gazes down at the world’s most X-treme golden ticket.

“I was just a few shows away from cashing in on Dickie Watson, and setting right Dolly Waters’ wrongs! I was going to usher in another reign of Corporate dominance! I was on the precipice of crushing our enemies, once and for all! I’m not just doing this for me, Peter…I’m doing it for all of us! For the entire Corporation! So tell the Trillionaires that Nadine can kick rocks, because I’m going to-”
Charlie’s expression flattens as Peter quickly interjects on the other end. His skin goes pale, it’s like he’s seen a ghost! Or rather, like he just heard his dream become one.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE CHOOSING SCOOPS TO BE THE NEXT CHAMPION?!”

Charlie Nickles grabs the X-treme Championship by the strap…

“What is the point of being in your Corporation if I can’t bend the rules whenever I want?!”

He throws the championship belt at the wall, creating a gaping belt-sized hole!

“I don’t care about the house, I don’t care about the chicks! I just want my universe back- and I’ll do anything it takes to get it! I’ll use Oz and Kline like a pair of fucking puppets, I’ll set the rulebook on fire, I’ll tear this entire Corporation apart if that’s what I need to do to!”

The Nickleman held the phone away from his ear, just glaring down at the caller ID with a look of pure hatred, of unbridled betrayal. He’d built up The Corporation as a shield, to protect his status and his legacy: but now, that shield was holding him back from the battle of his life.

Charlie snarled at the phone before lifting it just below his bearded lips. He spoke slowly and clearly, each word part of a deliberate message to his newfound Benedict Arnold.

“Don’t be a fool, Peter. You have until Warfare to change The Trillionaire’s minds. My freebird run is going to be respected and officially acknowledged- or this bastard is walking.

But not out of the building…

Just all over you.”

The Nickleman abruptly hung up the phone, tossing it onto his mattress before collapsing atop the silk bedsheets. Charlie felt his newfound vigor being suddenly stripped away, leaving him naked and bare in the face of an uncaring universe. Nadine’s dirty meddling didn’t just leave a belt-sized hole in Charlie’s wall, but in his very soul.

Charlie had given everything he had to The Corporation since the moment he first touched the Universal Championship. He thought that aligning himself with the rich and powerful would protect his reign and his status, but when he needed The Corporation most…his network of connections vanished.

Just like they always did.

When he needed to free his sister, The Corporation wasn’t there.

But when The Corporation needed someone to do their bidding, Charlie was always there.

And where had it left him?

Charlie thought The Corporation would look out for their own, but ever since The Trillionaires came to town, any semblance of Brotherhood was abandoned.

“Brotherhood…”

In quiet conversation with the demons in his mind, Charlie couldn’t help but repeat the word that defined him for so long.

The word that would rebuild his universe, exactly as it was meant to be.


[Image: zEJU187.png]


I Fucking HATE You Dickie, Let’s Die!

You’re only a Universal Champion because our Corporation is rotting from the inside-out.

I know, because I’m the mold in the foundation.

I’ve been holding the XWF back, with each and every bow of the head.

Each and every bite of the tongue.

But I’m done putting myself on a leash so I can play politics with Peter Principle.

Now, it’s time for this bastard to take the XWF by the throat and give it a real brotherly thrashin’!

Starting with you, Dickie.

The Prince who never should’ve been.

You’re only a Faceless One, because no one will remember you in 5 years time.

You’re the one who’s run at the top died before it even started. You’re the one who couldn’t carry the burden of the belt, who melted under the pressures of the spotlight.

But in 5 years time?

I’ll still be looked at as one of the greats. I’ll still be giving everything I have for this Universe…

Just like I was 5 years ago.

Because Bastards like me? We’re not Faceless.

We’re heartless.

And that means we can never die.

We will always get up, we will always come back…

To claim our place in this Universe.


[Image: zEJU187.png]


We cut to a shot of Charlie Nickles in the back of his limo, completely alone. He’s ditched his suede suit for a pair of gray sweatpants, a black shirt, and a plaid jacket with no sleeves. The X-treme Championship lays atop his lap as he carefully goes through a list of names. His eyes scan up and down the sheet of paper, carefully analyzing each option.

“He’s still out with a tongue-infection, so cross him off the list…and they’re probably dead in some ditch, so maybe…hmm.”

The Nickleman scratches name after name off his list before bringing the eraser of his pencil up to his mouth, gingerly placing it between his lips as he considers the options.

“I need a Bastard who can come in today and help me rebuild our Brotherhood from the ground up. I need a Bastard with bonafide experience, with real XWF credentials, a Bastard to help me convince the others that we don’t need Peter Principal and The Trillionaires anymore! I need a Bastard who is a complete and total agent of chaos. I need…”

The list trembles slightly in Charlie’s hand before he lets it fall to the floor. Names scatter like dead weight at his feet. Charlie’s jaw tightens as his fingers drift up to the mangled ear he lost years ago, rubbing it thoughtfully. A thin, humorless smile cuts across his face. He reaches for his phone, scrolling past contacts he no longer respects, until he finds the number he should’ve lost a long time ago.

He places the phone against his mangled ear as he waits for the phone to finally click. And then, it does.

“Jenny- it’s Charlie. Your dearest Brother.”

The Nickleman leans forward as a bunch of chatter comes through from the other side.

“Now now girly-pop, I know we haven’t been on the best of terms lately…but I was hoping you could lend me an ear.”

Charlie looks down at the X-treme Championship with a smarmy gleam in his eye.

“Worry not, your Bastardly Brother comes bearing a gift. I know women like you can’t resist a little gold. So tell me….have you ever heard of the Freebird Rule?”

Charlie waits a beat, before digging in his knife.

“Good. I need you at Warfare…tonight.”

We cut away to a wide-shot of the limousine rolling down the highway, just as reckless as ever. The stretch hummer zigs and zags past the traffic, slowing down for no one. As the shot zooms out, you see a sign in the distance reading ‘Next Exit - Cleveland’.