The Edgecrusher comes stumbling through the curtain and past Gorilla position. He is disgustingly sweaty; his dreads stick to his face giving him partial visibility. A thick droplet of sweat forms on his brow and drips onto the tip of his nose then trickles down the side of his face and splashes on the US title resting on his shoulder. He stops right before the hallway, blocking the door and annoying several people who have places to go. He lets out a big breath and lowers the title belt from his shoulder.

EC: Fuck yeah, still champion!

He holds the belt up above his head in a celebratory fashion to the empty doorway. From behind him we can hear a groan, then a different voice cussing out the Edgecrusher under their breath.

EC: How convenient of that lighting fixture to fall on my opponent as he was charging at me with that chair. It's almost like something really shady is going on around here... ANYWAY! Man I'm hungry... where the hell is catering?

From behind we hear somebody shouting.

Definitely a Mafia Goon: Hey buddy!

Marc turns around and is greeted by the sight of two very large Italian gentlemen in what appears to be very expensive suits. Each one of them carries a large steel Samsonite briefcase attached to their wrist with handcuffs.

Definitely a Mafia Goon: Wanna move it, pal? We gotta get this here life insurance scam money to the mob boss Mr. Fulci.

Marc pauses, scratches his still sweaty chin. I can't begin to describe how sweaty he is. Imagine I.R.S. levels of sweat. It's really just freaking gross, dude needs to see a doctor.

EC: Life insurance scam money... Mob boss Mr. Fulci... Mmmmmm... Hey, wait a minute! ...Do either of you guys know which way catering is?

Definitely a Mafia Goon: Third door on the left.

EC: Gotcha, Thanks!

Marc waves goodbye and goes down the hallway counting the doors out loud.

EC: One!

Second door

EC: Two!

Third door

EC: Three and dinner on me!

The Edgecrusher enters the fourth door.





Various XWF wrestlers and staff gather round an impressively large buffet style spread. Everything you can imagine is provided, tacos, hamburgers, steaks, those fake bean burgers for people who hate happiness, tacos, salads with every possible dressing you could dream of. And for desserts an orgy of chocolates, cookies, pies, and chocolate tacos. Several feet away rows of tables and chairs, mostly filled with even more members of the XWF crew enjoying their lunch. Their peace is shattered by some shouting from the doorway.

EC: THEY HAVE TACOS!!!! HELL YEAH.

All eyes turn towards the Edgecrusher as he makes a mad dash towards the table of food. He is no longer the young fit guy from 2002; father time has done him dirty. All muscle tone has vanished from his body, replaced by a rather large beer belly. He still rocks the dreads, but his hairline has retreated far from his younger years. His clean-shaven look replaced with a long and scraggily greying beard. He starts to trip when his bad knee almost gives out. He stumbles into a random person spilling a drink from their hand. EC doesn't seem to notice this, not that he would care anyway. He begins grabbing hard-shell tacos and eating them one after the other in a single bite.

EC: These things are freakin' awesome.

The Edgecrusher not known for his self-awareness surprisingly notices the dead silence. He feels the stares from around the room focused on him. He pauses chewing briefly.

EC: Sup?

He raises his half-eaten taco like he was toasting with a mug of ale then finishes it in a single bite. Most people stop paying him any mind as his attention turns towards the Choco Tacos. We do hear a few whispers amongst people questioning who the hell this guy was. One guy, a young wrestler at the show for a trial match walk up to the Edgecrusher, he stares at him with a look of confusion.

Rookie: Hey, excuse me.

EC continues engulfing the tacos.

Rookie: EXCUSE ME!

The Edgecrusher looks up at the rookie, ice cream melted into his rats nest of a beard.

Rookie: Are you the Edgecrusher?

EC: Oh yeah, autographs $50.

Rookie: No... No, I'm good. I was at an AWF show when I was a kid. You fell off the top rope and landed on my grandma. She was in the hospital for months after that!

The Edgecrusher pauses and takes in the seriousness of the moment, really chews on it. The Choco Taco that is. He then remembers he was talking to some super fan.

EC: Wow... and that moment made you want to become a pro wrestler and now here you are, trying out for the AWF! That's great kid, tell ya what... only $25 for an autograph.

Rookie: No, just... no. I don't want an Autograph, and this isn't the AWF. It's the XWF.

EC: No, it isn't, I just defended my US title like maybe half an hour ago.

Rookie: Dude, you disappeared like 24 years ago, right before the feds busted Lucio Fulci for being a mob boss.

EC: I get it, I get it. Trying to fit into the locker room, rib the champ. Good try kid. Mr. Fulci was no mob boss. Sure, sometimes he would get angry with people and take them to go swim with the fishes, but that's because he just cared about marine life.

Rookie: I'm being serious, the entire company was a front. They paid a serial killer to murder wrestlers for the insurance money.

EC: Smiles the killer, yeah... that guy was crazy. Hope they catch him someday.

Rookie: They did, 24 years ago. He got the chair.

EC: Well, that's good, he was probably tired from all the killing and could use a sit down.

Rookie: Where the hell have you been?

EC: Trying to find catering.

The rookie pauses, his jaw hanging he stares at EC, not sure if any of this was serious.

Rookie: Wait... for 24 years... you've been wandering around this arena looking for catering.

This doesn't seem to faze the Edgecrusher, he just shrugs and pops open a can of soda.

EC: Yeah, I guess.

Rookie: But how have you not died from starvation?

EC: I would occasionally find half eaten hotdogs in trash cans, usually could find some popcorn under the bleachers, and once I was able to catch a rat in the boiler room. Things are the size of a small dog down there. They did come for vengeance shortly after, had to use my US title to defend myself. I survived, but the rats took the belt. Last I saw it became the nest to the one I call Big Bertha. Ol' Bertha was a mean one. Yet, she had such a loving touch. I'll always remember those cold nights togeth....

A light bulb goes off above The Edgecrusher's head.

EC: Damn... I guess I have been walking around for a while. Guess I work here now, what ya say the company is called?

Rookie: XWF.

EC: cool.

The Edgecrusher grabs another taco and surveys the room.

EC: So, who the hell do I talk to about my first match?

Rookie: I guess you would want to talk to the Warfare general manager. He's that guy over there in the corner talking to some of the crew.

EC: Awesome, thank!

The Edgecrusher slams another taco, spilling even more toppings down his front. He faints a "thank you" pat on the back of the rookie, instead wiping the sour cream and sauce from his hand onto his back.

EC: Time for me to give him the exciting news, what's his name?

Rookie: Peter Principle.

EC: Peter Precipice, got it! He's gonna shit himself when he gets to book an all-time legend like myself.

Rookie: I gue....

EC: Goodbye!

The Edgecrusher waves the rookie off and walks over to Peter Principle. He is discussing some details of the upcoming Warfare card with a production assistant. EC steps directly between them blocking their view of each other.

EC: Peter Perogi!

Peter just stares at the Edgecrusher blank faced.

EC: I know... I know... you are absolutely amazed and excited to see me. Just relax, I'm a normal guy just like you. I put my pants on two legs at a time like everybody else. It is an honor to meet me I know, but I've come with come great news. Looks like I'll be wrestling on your show. I know this is last minute, but a star like me gets that kinda special treatment. You don't have to say anything, I've worked in the business longer than I can remember... apparently.

Peter: Um, okay. And you are?

EC: Man, you guys here in the new AWF really love ribbing the vets. Anyways, I'm super excited to take on my first opponent. I've spent countless seconds thinking about taking my vengeance against my opponent for the wrongs he's done. Not only to me but the entire fanbase of new AWF. I will hunt him to the edges of this room. I will climb a moderate number of stairs. I will search till the streetlights come on and everybody's mom starts calling for them. I will find him and destroy him in front of the entire world!

Peter's face now twisted in confusion.

Peter: AWF? Who are you even talking about?

The Edgecrusher abruptly stops in record scratch moment fashion.

EC: Well... um.... I'm talking..... about...... HIM!

Peter follows the Edgecrusher pointing motion to a cardboard cutout conveniently placed directly behind him.

Peter: Solomon Kline?

EC: Yep, Salmon Cling. That guy, he's got it coming to him.

Peter: What?

EC: No time now Peter Pepperoni. I have to get my theme song to the sound guy and find out who's in charge of the pyro.  We'll talk about my entrance budget down the road. Oh, any chance you guys still use cassette tapes? Cause I only have "Edgecrusher" on cassette tape. No case, I lost that in my divorce settlement. 

The Edgecrusher wanders off to prepare for his debut match leaving a shocked Peter Principle. He watches the Edgecrusher strut towards the door. EC stops at the lunch spread and grabs several hamburger buns. He starts tearing pieces of the bun off and leaving a trail behind him as he exits the room. Peter turns to the gentlemen he was just talking to.

Peter: Who was that?

The production assistant looks toward the door, then at the bun crumbs scattered across the floor.

Production Assistant: ...I have no idea.

Peter turns to the random cardboard cutout of Solomon Kline.

Peter: And where the hell did this come from?

Another shrug from the man and our scene fades out.